Hailey's Truth

by Cate Beauman

  Usually cash made people chatty, but American twenties, fifties, and even crisp one hundred dollar bills weren’t worth the price of a few words. He did learn the girls were natives of San Miguel, Cozumel’s small island town, but that tidbit came via the news.

  And wasn’t it strange that when a picture of the young ladies flashed on screen and their mother’s pleas echoed through the speakers, the bartender turned the TV off? Why wasn’t everyone searching? It was interesting that no one felt compelled to help the distraught local family get their twin daughters back.

  The cabbie drove away from the busy, tourist-filled streets, taking Austin further out of town. With each turn, they left more of the hustle and charm of beachside Cozumel behind, entering third world conditions most guests usually didn’t see.

  Streetlights were fewer and farther between, until they vanished altogether. Buildings that hadn’t seen fresh paint in years held security bars in their crumbling doors and windows. Junkies leaned or sat against the sad looking structures while prostitutes stood in the blue and red glow of bar lights. The signs encouraged patrons to enjoy hot, ready women along with a shot of tequila.

  Frowning, Austin peered out the windows. Had they taken a wrong turn? Did the University really plan to put twelve college kids up in a place like this?

  The cabbie took a right, traveling a mile further. Homes began to appear along the sidewalks again. The small, concrete blockhouses were far from luxurious. Security bars still lined windows and doors, but it was a huge improvement. A little paint and a few plants would make this area cleaner and somewhat respectable. The block they’d come from was beyond hope.

  The cab turned once more, and came to a stop.

  Seriously?

  The two-story property was little more than a pile of dilapidated shit. The lamp across the street flickered in a half-hearted attempt to light the buildings around it, throwing the apartment in shadows.

  Austin’s instincts hummed as he stared at the darkened house. He was ten minutes late for his meeting. Why wasn’t the landlord here waiting?

  Austin unbuttoned his maroon shirt, unfastened the snap over his weapon. Something wasn’t right.

  “Will you wait for me?” he asked the cabbie in Spanish. “I’ll compensate you well.”

  “No. This is not a safe place. New trouble is brewing. It’s dangerous.”

  “What danger?”

  The man stayed silent, white-knuckling the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

  There wasn’t any point wasting time on questions he already had answers for. He knew what the new trouble was. The cabbie was smart to keep his mouth shut, but Austin tried once more. “Do you know of the girls who vanished?”

  Still no response.

  There had to be a connection between the girls’ disappearance and the Zulas. He knew there was. What else would bring such fear to an entire island? “Will you drive by again in forty-five minutes? I’ll more than triple your wage if you pick me up.” Everyone had a price.

  “I will see what I can do.” The streetlight blinked off, sending their surroundings into darkness.

  Austin gave the cabbie an American fifty, a supremely generous payment and tip. “If you’re back in forty-five minutes, there will be another.” The cabbie would make more in forty-five minutes than he did in two weeks.

  “I will be here.”

  That’s what he thought. “Thank you.” Austin stepped from the car and the cabbie drove off. On full alert, Austin looked around, his instincts screaming that danger lurked close.

  He walked to the apartment door, gave it a testing shove. The lock barely held. “Well, Jesus.” He shook his head in disgust as he wandered to a window and yanked on the black security bar. The steel didn’t move. “That’s something, at least.” He tried a couple more. The bars were solid.

  As he scanned the area, he realized he and Jackson would have their hands full. He and Ethan had been foolish to take the landlord and site director at their word when they told them the apartment was up to par for their stay.

  Austin crouched, shoved his finger in a gaping crack in the disintegrating foundation. His gaze tracked up to the decaying roof. He was starting to wonder if the pictures and diagram he’d received of the interior were even from this residence. Muttering a curse, he stood and turned into the dark alley.

  A skitter of unease ran down his spine, warning him to flee. He wanted to turn and go, to get home to Hailey, but he had work to do. There was no way he could allow twelve college kids into this house, into this section of town, if these were to be their accommodations for the next three months.

  Austin wiped at the sweat pearling his brow, pausing mid-step at the scurry of sound coming from the large trash pile. His heart bumped against his ribs as he drew his weapon, breathing through his mouth. The stench was unbelievable. He held his gun with both hands, bracing his arms close to his shoulder, ready, scrutinizing the shadows the flickering lights played over the dark.

  The clatter came once more.

  Austin settled his finger on the trigger as he braced himself against the peeling white paint of the concrete wall. The noise came again as he moved forward, slowly, silently, ready for the trap.

  His pulse throbbed in his throat, in his head, as he stopped, all but on top of whoever was there. A mountain of trash bags and construction debris separated him from the other side. Austin lifted his leg, gave the garbage a powerful kick. Black bags and wood planks toppled down with a huge crash. An orange alley cat let out a frightened screech as it ran off in the opposite direction.

  “Fucking cat.” Leaning back against the wall, Austin relaxed his grip on the gun and took a deep breath, which he regretted immediately. “Goddamn, this sucks ass,” he muttered. He breathed in again, stood straight, this time alert to the putrid stench of rotting flesh. The smell was unmistakable.

  Something was dead and it wasn’t small. Austin pulled the corner of his shirt over his mouth and nose, hardly able to tolerate the wretched odor. He stepped over several of the bags he’d sent tumbling, stopping short and turning away when he found the source. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  Austin brushed his arm over his tearing eyes, struggling not to vomit. Someone had had their head blown off fairly recently, and their remains still sat slumped against the wall, bloated, rotting, partially eaten by rodents and probably that alley cat.

  Bracing himself, Austin turned again. “Fuck.” The deceased was a man, but he could tell little else from the rapid decomposition. A dirty, beat up duffel bag lay in the corpse’s lap. The victim had probably been homeless.

  He had to get out of here, had to get back to the cabana and give Ethan a call—figure out how they should handle his discovery. “Shit.” Stomach shuddering, Austin started through the piles of trash toward the front of the building. He glimpsed at his watch. The cab would be back in twenty minutes, but where was the fucking landlord?

  Even as he thought it, his gut told him the owner of the apartment wasn’t on his way and never had been. He’d been in this business too long not to recognize a setup. But who wanted him here, and why?

  He didn’t plan to wait around and find out. It was time to get the hell out of here. Trouble waited—somewhere. He wanted to run far and fast.

  Austin took a step toward the street as something whizzed by his ear, crumbling the chunk of concrete just to the right of his face. Years of training had him crouching and rolling before it fully registered he was being shot at.

  Another bullet pinged off broken cement, this time just centimeters from his shoulder. “Shit.” Austin increased the speed of his roll, no longer worried about the stench of garbage. The trajectory of the bullets came from somewhere above.

  Two more bullets winged passed him, barely missing their mark as he scurried to his feet, hurrying around the corner
of the building. Austin lost his breath as he collided with a solid wall of muscle and fell backward, dropping his gun.

  The hulk of man pulled Austin up by his shirtfront, smirking. “Where you going, punk?”

  Without hesitation, Austin slammed his forehead into Hulk’s face, making contact with his nose. The guy loosened his grip on Austin’s shirt as he crumpled forward, blood spurting like a gory fountain.

  “You broke my fucking nose!”

  Austin plowed his elbow against Hulk’s neck, sending the asshole to the ground. “Yeah, well I knocked you out too.” He whirled for his weapon, ready to make a swift exit.

  Another thug in a green skullcap picked it up and pointed Austin’s own Glock at him. “Not a good idea, homie. We came with a warning, but maybe I’ll kill you instead.”

  Austin held up his hands at chest level as he scanned the area, looking for something to use as a weapon. “I think I’ll take the warning.”

  A humorless smile creased Skullcap’s face. “A smartass.”

  “Sometimes.” Spotting a glass bottle out of the corner of his eye, Austin took a step back, bringing his arms up in a defensive posture, as if someone stood behind Skullcap. “No!”

  When the man glanced over his shoulder, Austin stooped, grabbed the empty bottle, and swung. Glass shattered as Skullcap dropped the gun and began clawing at his eyes. “I can’t see! I can’t see anything!”

  Austin stooped down for his gun this time, turning to leave as two men came out of the alley across the street. What the fuck?

  “You wanna play games with us, big boy?” The man in front of Austin menacingly tapped brass knuckles against his palm as he advanced. “Let’s play.”

  Austin glanced over his shoulder as the guy in a wife-beater rushed him with a two-inch blade.

  Austin whirled, firing his gun. The bullet tore a hole through the man’s palm, knocking the knife from his hand. While the man screamed, Austin bolted down the street.

  Brass knuckles took chase. “You’re fucking dead.”

  Austin sprinted, ducking down the first alley he saw. He hurtled a metal trashcan, then hooked a left when he came to the next building’s end. Brass Knuckles no longer followed, but Austin kept his pace steady.

  He ran three more blocks, stopping to catch his breath in the shadows of an abandoned business. In his haste to get away, he’d run toward the seedy bars he’d left behind not that long ago.

  He needed to breathe, needed to think. Austin wiped his brow with his filthy forearm, feeling a singe of pain radiate across his bicep. Frowning, he looked down at his shirt, noticing the hole. “What the hell?” Lifting his sleeve, he swore again. Blood oozed from the gash in his skin. He’d been grazed. At some point, they’d gotten a shot off on him. Austin slid his sleeve back in place, trying to keep his wound as clean as possible until he got himself out of this mess.

  Who the hell were these guys? They had to be locals someone paid. He had a feeling he knew who was sending a message, but why?

  He would have to figure that out later, after he got back to the resort. If he ran straight, he would eventually come to a better section of the village. The island wasn’t that big. The glow of the busy oceanfront wasn’t far away. He just had to get there.

  Feeling steadier and more prepared, Austin turned the corner and took a solid block of brass in the gut. The shock of pain stole his breath. Coughing, Austin fought for air, as the fist came back, catching the edge of his jaw. He saw stars as he staggered to the side of the building, fighting not to pass out.

  “Not so tough now, homie. You messed up my boys. We came here to remind you to mind your own business, but now I’m gonna kill you.” Brass Knuckles picked up a filthy two-by-four, ran forward, swinging wildly.

  Austin straightened before the board connected with the side of his skull. He took the sharp impact in the shoulder. Brass Knuckles pulled back, came at him again, aiming for his head for the second time. Austin grabbed the thick piece of wood and kicked forward, planting his foot in the man’s gut.

  “Maybe I’ll kill you first, fucker.” Austin yanked the plank away and smashed it over Brass Knuckles back. The man collapsed to the ground, unconscious. “But you’re not worth it.”

  Austin rolled his stiff shoulder as he struggled to ignore the stabbing pain radiating through his jaw. He kept his back to the wall, listening, making certain there weren’t others. The bawdy laughter of a hooker filled the quiet as she left the bar with her latest john.

  Bracing for another blow, Austin stepped from the shadows of the building, leaving Brass Knuckles where he fell. As Austin crossed the street, he spotted a cop car cruising close by. He held his breath and casually ducked his head, concealing his pistol by pulling his button-down together.

  Two officers manned the vehicle, one driving, the other talking on a cell phone. Austin picked up his pace when the officer on the phone did a double take and the car slowed. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing break lights glow bright in the dark as the car came to a stop.

  Shit.

  The officer on the passenger’s side stepped from the vehicle. “Stop,” he yelled in Spanish.

  Austin kept walking, inching closer to the next alley. The cop hollered again. Austin turned the corner and ran for his life. He had little doubt that the cops chasing him were on the Zulas’ payroll. If they caught him, he wouldn’t be alive in the morning.

  He took the next right, listening as the patrol car accelerated. When the vehicle kept moving down the street, Austin doubled back the way he came. Sirens from another vehicle wailed in the distance, heading in his direction. Damn, this wasn’t good. If the police were smart, they would cordon off the next three blocks and have him surrounded within minutes.

  With few options, Austin ran further away from where he wanted to go. He turned the corner, all but colliding with the taxi he’d left not even an hour before. Austin raised his arms, waving for the man to stop, more than happy to see the toothless cabbie behind the wheel. The driver slammed on his breaks, and Austin ducked into the backseat. “Let’s go.”

  A cop car rushed by.

  Austin ducked, then sat back, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the seat, fisting his hands together to stop them from shaking. “Take me to the water.”

  The driver looked back at Austin with uneasy eyes.

  Austin looked at his own arm, at the blood trailing from the wound on his bicep. He met the cabbie’s gaze in the mirror, took his gun from his holster, not intending to fire, but to frighten the man into helping him. “Take me to the water,” he said with more force. He pulled two hundred-dollar bills free. The cabbie yanked the cash from Austin’s hand, looked straight ahead, and drove away. Minutes later, the driver stopped at an ocean lookout.

  “Wait for me.” Austin stepped from the cab, holding his pistol by the muzzle, using his shirt to wipe the weapon free of his fingerprints. He threw the gun far into the distance, deep into the water. He got back in the car and settled himself. “Back to the resort.”

  The cab pulled around the bright circular drive of the Grand Spa. Austin didn’t want to be seen getting out. If worse came to worst, he planned to deny every event that happened over the last hour. “Not here. Further down. In the dark.”

  The cabbie met his gaze in the mirror. Austin raised his brow and the man drove forward. As the cab rolled to a stop, Austin pulled another hundred from his wallet. If the man hadn’t come back when he said he would, Austin would be dead. “Thank you.”

  Austin handed off the bill and stepped from the vehicle when he was sure the coast was clear.

  Chapter 17

  AUSTIN HURRIED DOWN THE PATH to the cabanas, staying hidden in the shadows. The lights blazed bright in Hailey’s suite, and he relaxed a bit. She was in her room—safe, waiting for him.

  He wanted to
storm in and hold her close, but he couldn’t. He smelled like shit, had blood on his clothes, and a wound on his arm. He didn’t want to scare her. More, he didn’t want to explain.

  With little choice, Austin made his way to his own room for a quick shower and a phone call. He and Ethan had big problems and less than two days to solve them.

  Austin reached for his keys, still revved from his night from hell. Surely Donte knew by now his “warning” had been a waste of time. Austin had no doubt Donte issued the message. He couldn’t put his finger on what he’d done to warrant the attention of the Zula’s leader, but he was going to find out.

  Austin unlocked his door, reached for his gun, swore. He’d hated tossing his Glock. Unarmed and on edge, he turned the knob and kicked the door open. He waited, using the exterior wall as protection, unsure if someone waited for him here as well. Pivoting, he went inside; there was no one. Austin shut the door, locked it, and did a thorough sweep of the rest of the suite until he was certain he was alone.

  He wandered back to the bathroom, flipped on the light, peeled off his filthy clothes, threw them in the small trashcan. The rotten stench was putrid enough to clear the room. He closed the bag and tied it off, unworried about the likely nosey staff. The smell left little desire for curiosity.

  Austin brought the shower to life. While the water warmed, he examined the cut across his upper bicep. A stitch or two probably wouldn’t hurt, but that wasn’t an option. Doctors would recognize a bullet wound, and he wasn’t about to answer any questions. They would be obligated to call the cops, and in the end, he would be turned over to the Zulas anyway.

  He studied the deep bruise blooming on his left shoulder, the tender purple welts in the center of his stomach from the blow of brass knuckles. He wiggled his jaw, wincing at the sharp ache. Son of a bitch, that pissed him off.