There was always the chance Francis Remmey wouldn’t find out about his wife and Adam. There was always the chance he didn’t care. No, that was wrong. Everyone knew that after forty-five years of marriage, he was still crazy about her. Maybe he looked the other way. Still, that wouldn’t stop him from crushing Nina Bruno Designs.
Liz started up the stairs, then slowed. Which was the worst monster, Larissa or her husband?
* * *
Ben lowered himself onto the overstuffed leather chair opposite where Carlos Sanchez sat on a couch in Francis Remmey's private study. Agreeing to any kind of business deal with Carlos Sanchez meant prison time for Remmey. Ben met Remmey’s eyes and read in them a determination to take that risk, even if it only improved the odds of getting his granddaughter home safely.
“Carlos,” Remmey said as he sat on the other end of the couch, “this is Mr. Billings.”
“Yes, we met on the dance floor.”
Ben angled his head in acknowledgement. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Sanchez. I was, shall we say, distracted.”
“She is a very beautiful woman,” Sanchez said.
“She is,” Ben agreed.
“Adam is in a unique position to help us,” Remmey said.
Sanchez blew out smoke from his cigar. “How so?”
“I know every inch of the El Paso/Juarez border,” Ben said. “That's how.”
Sanchez pinned him with a hard stare. “I’m not certain how that can help me. The only men who can make such a claim are Border Patrol.”
“Border Patrol and me,” Ben said.
Sanchez looked at Remmey with a condescension born of the belief that he was untouchable. “Who is he?”
Remmey didn't flinch. “I’ve been doing business between El Paso and Juarez for nearly forty years. Do you think I don't know everyone of consequence?”
“I do not care if you know the president himself,” Sanchez replied. “I am interested only in how you know this man.”
“The president isn't in a position to know the right kind of people to help us,” Remmey replied. “The man who recommended Mr. Billings sits on the State government and is very well connected. Don’t ask his name, Carlos,” Remmey added when Sanchez opened his mouth. “You must know I can no more tell you who he is than I can refuse your business offer.”
Business offer. Ben kept an impassive expression. Even the Remmey’s compliance might not save their granddaughter. Sanchez's unwritten contracts always bent to his advantage and were lifelong. The Remmeys must know that. Once Sanchez released their granddaughter—if he released her—anyone else they loved would be in danger the instant Remmey stopped helping Sanchez transport people across the border. Their lives here in El Paso—in Texas—were over.
Only a miracle was going to save their granddaughter. Despite their desperation to get her back, Larissa had made it clear that they couldn't reconcile themselves to dooming other girls to the very fate from which they were frantic to save their granddaughter. The days were numbered before Sanchez realized that truth.
The human traffics dealer took a long drag on his cigar while he studied Ben, then said to Remmey, “I had no idea you knew people in my line of business.”
“You asked for my help,” Remmey replied.
“Our business is transportation, Francis,” Sanchez said.
Remmey didn't miss a beat. “Mr. Billings' specialty is transportation. He can see to it that shipments move.”
Sanchez's eyes shifted onto Ben. “How do I know I can trust him?”
“Because you know you can trust me,” Remmey said.
Sanchez looked at him. “I trust your motives. I do not know you well enough to trust your judgment.”
“I'm anxious to finish the first part of our business, Carlos. Rest assured I won't make mistakes. You can decide against hiring Mr. Billings, but I suggest you hear him out.”
Sanchez puffed on his cigar, then blew out smoke and pointed the business end of the cigar at Ben. “How am I to know you can do the job? You are very young.”
Ben laughed. “Looks can be deceiving. I know the border better than any man in El Paso—including Border Patrol and your men.”
Sanchez's gaze sharpened. “You're saying you know the patrols?”
“To the second.”
Carlos knocked the ash into a crystal ashtray sitting on an end table. “Do you have connections with Border Patrol?”
Ben shook his head. “Connections with Border Patrol are unreliable. What I know is every rock along that border.”
“Only a snake can know every rock along that border.”
“Or a man who has the desert in his veins.”
* * *
Ben glanced out the limousine’s tinted window, relieved that he hadn’t encountered Liz on his way out of the mansion. Larissa had kept her promise to divert Liz’s attention while he and Sanchez left. How would she react when he eventually appeared at her office and confessed the truth about himself? No woman liked being deceived. If her compassion matched her smarts, she would understand. If that didn't work, he wasn't above begging forgiveness for leaving her at the party—and lying about who he was. Catching the most notorious human traffics dealer in Texas might make him look enough like a hero to dazzle her—for about five minutes. Then he'd likely have to beg again.
“I warn you, Mr. Billings, I do not like liars.”
He shifted his attention onto Sanchez, who sat between two of his line-backer-sized bodyguards opposite Ben. “Neither do I,” Ben said.
“I’m not a man who cares for surprises.”
Then he wasn’t going to like the surprise waiting for him at the end of this ride.
Ben wasn’t disobeying orders, not strictly. Yes, he’d discovered the connection between Remmey and Sanchez. Yes, he should have called for backup. But the possibility of saving a young woman from Sanchez’s bordellos trumped orders. Ben had promised Larissa he would try to find *out something, anything, about her granddaughter’s location and condition, and he intended to keep that promise.
The Feds wanted Sanchez. They needed to show the American public that they could catch the man behind the murder of two innocent girls, the man who had enslaved thousands of men women in the course of his career. But they hadn’t said a damn word about plugging the hole he would leave in his organization. The organization wouldn’t miss more than a day’s transportation of victims across the Texas/Mexican border. But Larissa had put him in a position to learn something about Sanchez’s organization. This was an opportunity he couldn’t let pass.
“What would you like from me?” Ben asked.
“I have some special cargo that needs to be transported across the border. I want no mistakes.”
Ben lifted a brow. “You mean like the mistake two months ago?”
Surprise flickered in Sanchez’s eyes.
“I recognize your signature, Mr. Sanchez.”
“I haven’t been in Texas in seven months,” he replied.
Ben nodded. “I hope you disciplined those men. Killing those girls was messy and wasteful.”
Sanchez’s eyes narrowed. “I know how to deal with my men.”
“Choose the right men for the job and you won’t have to deal with them.”
Sanchez studied him. “Are you saying the Border Patrol wouldn’t have caught you?”
“The Border Patrol wouldn’t have known to look for me,” Ben said.
“You are very certain.”
“I am.”
“Then you feel you are the man to handle special shipments?”
“Yes, though I’m surprised you would trust a stranger with such an important task.”
“You have not yet been entrusted with the task, but if you are, you will have passed a test that will ensure your sincerity and loyalty.”
“What test might that be?”
“Do you care as long as it gets you the job?”
“I’m not an idiot, Mr. Sanchez. I understand business risks. If I’m awake
, I’m calculating risks. And you don’t have to worry about me asking the wrong kinds of questions, I have no desire to run your business. I also have no desire to find myself in a federal prison because of someone else’s mistake.”
“You’re cocky,” Sanchez said.
“Careful,” Ben replied. “Just as you are.”
“Will you discuss business with me over dinner?”
“I assume you know a good restaurant?”
“You will not find a better chef in El Paso.”
Ben snorted. “That’s a cockier claim than any I’ve made tonight. El Paso chefs are among the best in Texas.”
Ben caught the flicker of amusement in Sanchez’s eyes as he said, “Yes, but are they among the best in Mexico?”
Chapter Six
Liz paused outside a door, the first that she’d found ajar. Faint light shone through the two-inch crack between door and jamb. If—when—she found Larissa and Adam, she would thank Larissa for inviting Nina Bruno, then usher Ben from the mansion. Her best chance of extricating Nina Bruno Designs from this situation was to act as if nothing was wrong.
She tightened her grip on her evening bag and peeked through the crack. The edge of a desk came into view. “Hello?” Liz inched open the door and stared into an empty room lit by a small desk lamp.
Straight ahead, floor length curtains wafted and she glimpsed a balcony beyond two open doors. Anger rose, but this time the anger was directed at herself. When Adam Billings had modeled for the job, he’d been laid back, quiet, not at all forward like he’d been tonight. Her only consideration was whether or not he would make Tanya look good in their dress. But tonight, despite his oddness—despite the fact he’d flirted shamelessly with her—she had taken a liking to him. Worse, she took his betrayal personally.
Betrayal? Is that what he’d done, betrayed her? Professionally, yes. He was on a job and she expected him to conduct himself in a manner above reproach. So why did she feel as if he’d reached inside her chest and twisted her heart?
Liz started to turn, then paused at a sound from the balcony. She took two steps forward. A muffled animal cry entered on the breeze. She froze. What was that? She crept to the doors and eased aside the curtain to find the balcony empty.
She slipped through the curtains and crossed to the wrought iron railing. In the distance, El Paso lights lit the desert nearly to the Juarez Mountains, which rose high against a star studded sky. Directly below the balcony, ground lights illuminated a rock garden that stretched into dim moonlight. Movement a hundred feet away caught her attention. Her breath hitched. Was that a cat—a large cat? Liz squinted at the shadow that seemed to glide across the ground.
She released a slow breath. Maybe she was approaching this situation from the wrong direction. If Larissa Remmey entertained men outside her marriage, that wasn’t Liz’s business. As long as she and Adam were discreet, Nina Bruno Designs wouldn’t be pulled into any problems. Tomorrow, Liz would fire Adam—permanently.
“No arguments.”
Liz stilled. The man’s voice came from the room behind her. The click of a door shutting followed.
“We had an arrangement,” came the same male voice.
“Arrangements change,” replied a man with a heavy Mexican accent.
“Carlos wants the girl moved tonight,” the first man said.
“Too hot,” the other man said. “He knows that. His men caused the problem.”
“Fuck Carlos over and you’ll be as dead as those girls,” the American replied.
Liz couldn’t halt a gasp as she whirled toward the doors.
“What was that?” the Mexican demanded.
Liz’s heart clutched. She groped for the railing behind her, then turned, wildly scanning the ground. The balcony loomed two stories above ground. She worked out four times a week, ran two miles a day. She was in great shape, but could she survive a sixteen-foot jump? Survive, probably. But a broken leg would prevent escape. She yanked off her high heel shoes.
“What the fuck?”
She swung a leg over the railing, but iron hands seized her shoulders and yanked her against a massive body. Liz opened her mouth for a bloodcurdling scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth.
“Bring her inside,” the American ordered.
Liz grabbed the man’s wrist and tried to pry his fingers from her mouth as she kicked. He lifted her off the ground and turned. The other man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light behind him. He stepped aside as the Mexican dragged her inside.
The American stepped into view. “I know her. She came with Billings.”
“A cop?” the Mexican said.
The American stepped closer, hard gaze glued to hers. “He’s going to let you go. Make a peep and I’ll knock you senseless. Understand?” He motioned for the Mexican to let her go.
The Mexican removed his hand from her mouth but kept his other arm clamped around her waist. Liz released his wrist.
“Who are you?” the American asked.
Liz’s mind raced. Murder. These men had discussed a murder. She swallowed panic. Think. Could they be sure she’d overheard them mention a death? It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t take the chance she hadn’t heard. They were going to kill her.
* * *
Ben murmured thanks to the maid who set a plate of food before him and looked across the dining room table at Carlos Sanchez. When the limo eased across the US-Mexican border half an hour ago, Ben knew that entering one of the most dangerous cities in the world in the company of a Mexican Mafioso could be considered a bad idea. Sitting in a modest but expensively furnished villa on the outskirts of Juarez with two of Sanchez’s bruisers standing eight feet away, he had to admit that things had gone well beyond a bad idea.
He took a bite of the Puerco con Pina. “You didn't lie, Mr. Sanchez.” Ben lifted his glass of wine in salute. “You do know the finest chef in Texas—probably in Mexico, too.” Ben took two large swallows and set the wine glass back on the table.
“I currently make one shipment a week across the El Paso border,” Sanchez said. “I want to make four.”
Ben looked up from his plate. Quadruple the number of women smuggled across the border?
“That’s ambitious.”
Not only was it ambitious, but Ben wondered why Sanchez shared this important bit of information. There wasn't a chance the mobster trusted him yet.
Sanchez dug into his meal with gusto. “I am tired of the Texas Border Patrol impeding my profits.”
Ben wanted to ask how much of a kink Border Patrol was putting in his business, but there was no good reason Adam Billings would ask that question. Instead, he asked, “What preparations have you made to implement the increase in shipments?”
“My organization on both sides of the border is prepared to provide merchandise.”
Merchandise. That’s all human beings were to him. Ben nodded and took another bite of pork.
“I pushed through two shipments every week this month and attempted a third,” Sanchez said.
“The two girls found by Border Patrol,” Ben said.
Sanchez took a long drink, then set the glass on the table. “How would you deal with the unexpected appearance of the Border Patrol?”
“There would be no unexpected Border Patrol, if I had been taking those girls across the border.”
“You're very certain of yourself, Mr. Billings.”
“I have to be.” Ben took another sip of wine to wash down the pig. It wasn’t tasting all that good anymore. “You have intelligence?”
“As a businessman, I am on good terms with everyone.”
Sanchez wasn’t taking chances by admitting anything. They’d patted Ben down at the Remmey’s, but Sanchez had to know not all wires were detectible with a pat down.
“But Border Patrol wasn’t the problem,” Sanchez said. “Texas Rangers intervened. I have yet to discover how they knew those men were crossing the border.”
They knew because an undercover Rang
er got a lead that the kidnapped girls were still in El Paso. Ben and his team went on alert in hopes of catching them in the act of smuggling the girls across the border.
Ben shrugged. “Probably a lucky shot for the Rangers. The El Paso border is heavily patrolled.”
Sanchez shook his head. “The men were tracked.”
Ben paused. “What do you mean?”
“Border Patrol can track. Wouldn’t you know if they were on your trail?”
“I would.” Ben studied him as if just reaching a conclusion. “The Rangers were looking for your men before they tried to cross the border?”
Sanchez leaned back in his chair and gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Now, one month later, I have the good fortune to meet a man who swears he can help me transport goods.”
“Life has a way of bringing us what we need when we need it.”
“I do not believe in coincidence.”
“Life is filled with coincidence,” Ben replied. “It’s coincidence that you happened to be where you were when you met your wife.”
“True,” Sanchez replied. “But meeting you is a very convenient coincidence.”
“Certainly not the only convenient coincidence in your life.”
“One that makes me nervous.”
Ben leaned back in his chair. “I’m not sure how to alleviate your fears.”
Sanchez took a bite of pork. “My fears will be alleviated once I receive a report that says you are who you say you are.”
Ben hoped the Feds had been thorough when they created Adam Billings.
Chapter Seven
The Mexican’s arm tightened around Liz’s waist as he demanded, “Who are you?”
“L-Liz Monahan,” she stuttered. “I work for Nina Bruno Designs.”
“Why were you hiding on the balcony?” the American demanded.
Her heart thundered. “I wasn’t hiding. I was waiting for Mrs. Remmey.”
“Who’s Adam Billings?”
That was a question she was asking herself. They’d said ‘cop.’ “He’s a model, my escort for the night. What’s going on? Where is he?”
Abducted: Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops Book 1) Page 4
