Ripped Apart

by Miriam Minger

  “Keep it down, Wyatt, for God’s sake,” Mike hissed at him, glancing around their table. “We’re out in public.”

  “The place is packed, salsa’s loud enough to bust an eardrum. Plenty of damned noise to drown us both out, so what’s it going to be? You going to tell me what you know or will I have to dig around for it myself?”

  “The Castillo organization, okay? But it’s classified.“

  “Always is. What of it?”

  Mike didn’t readily answer but looked around them again and shot back some beer. It seemed he was thinking about whether or not he would say anything further, which made Jake curse under his breath and start to get up out of his chair.

  “Sit down, Wyatt, you were always an impatient fuck.”

  Jake obliged him and met Mike’s intent gaze. “You were always a disagreeable fuck. You should have stayed in the military. It suited you better.”

  “What? Hang out in your tall shadow for the rest of my life? You were the golden boy, not me. Plum assignments, more chest decorations, fast track to top brass, then you gave it all up for that—”

  “Don’t say it, Mike.”

  The tension between them suddenly felt as thick as the cigarette smoke choking the air. Jake was tempted again to leave the bar and chalk up this whole meeting as one big, fat mistake.

  A competitive rivalry begun at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba as company commanders had turned ugly a time or two over the years, the last occasion when Jake had decided to leave the military to marry Isabella. It was clear that the memory of their heated disagreement about him ruining his career still festered in both of them—maybe a lot of memories. Only the fact that Mike was privy to so much information and capable of pulling strings that might make the difference between life and death for him, Clare, and Tyler kept Jake in his seat.

  “Let’s get back to why I came here. You said the Castillo organization—”

  “Not Manuel Castillo, the kingpin. The car bomb was traced to his brother-in-law, Eduardo Ruiz, but that’s as far as it went. No hard physical evidence was found so no allegations were ever made—but if the bomb came from Ruiz, hell, Wyatt, you piece the rest of the story together. Your wife must have discovered something incriminating and he killed her. Or had her killed. Either way, I’d bet money Ruiz was responsible.”

  Jake stared blindly at the beer bottle in his hand, his long-held suspicion finally confirmed.

  Of all the traffickers in Nuevo Leon, the Castillo cartel dominated the region with its strategic ties to Mexico’s political elite. Why wouldn’t his wife’s murderer have come from their ranks? All Isabella had told him the night she disappeared was that she’d stumbled upon a lead that might make her career, both in Mexico and internationally, but instead it had gotten her slaughtered.

  Eduardo Ruiz. That bastard had fucked with a lot of people’s lives. It was time someone started seriously fucking with him.

  “Look, Jake, I don’t know what you’re planning to do with this information—”

  “What would you do if it was your wife? What if you hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep for the past four years? You know what? I don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to me, I just want Ruiz to pay. And that’s where you come in.”

  Mike’s eyes flared again but the thing had already been said. There was no going back.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said this wasn’t a pleasure trip.” Mike’s expression had grown stone serious, and he lowered his voice. “You’re thinking of taking him out, aren’t you?”

  Jake didn’t have to say a thing. Mike already knew the answer.

  “An eye for an eye—and you want me to help you.”

  “Only in the background. Whatever I do, you’d have no connection at all. You don’t have to know anything more about it than what we’ve discussed today.”

  “Thanks for the favor. I think you’re insane, by the way. Ruiz won’t be easy to get to. Bodyguards, guarded compound in town, armored cars, a ranch a half hour north that’s built like a fortress, and you can bet he’s got all the fancy toys that go boom.”

  Jake glanced at the duffel bag at his feet, grown heavy with weapons and ammunition he’d bought on the black market over the past few hours, and back to Mike. “I’ve got a few of my own, too, and I’ll have more by the end of the night. All I need from you is information…and a plane fueled and ready at the airport as soon as I give you the call. If we can get back into the States, I can take care of the rest—"

  “We?”

  Jake’s breath jammed in his chest. He stared at Mike as intently as Mike stared at him. “Me and the pilot.“

  “Yeah, right, Wyatt, you know damned well I’ve always been able to read you. You’re asking me to go out on a limb for you—a very big limb, yet you’re not willing to tell me what the fuck is really going on here.” Mike tossed back the last of his beer and pushed back his chair. “Maybe it’s time I’m the one who should be leaving—”

  “I brought someone with me.”

  Mike sat back down in his chair but he said nothing, waiting, while Jake was the one to glance around them this time. No one in the bar seemed to pay them any attention, the place growing even more crowded. The heavy salsa beat pulsing into his brain, he turned back to find Mike hadn’t moved an inch.

  “Not alone then?”

  Jake shook his head. “A woman. It’s a long story.”

  “Humor me.”

  Jake did, keeping his narrative as brief as possible and the details light, all the while thinking of Clare waiting for him alone in the hotel room and feeling as if he’d betrayed her confidence.

  It had just been the two of them but now Mike Reed was involved—maybe more than Jake would have liked. He trusted him, otherwise he wouldn’t have been at the bar in the first place, but Mike worked with the government after all and might insist they shelve going after Ruiz and instead get the Feds involved in helping to rescue Tyler.

  When Mike didn’t speak for a long moment after Jake had finished, he suspected Mike might very well be thinking along those lines which meant he and Clare were screwed. If this whole thing became public knowledge, they would both without a doubt wind up dead.

  “Damn, Wyatt. Not only an eye for an eye but killing two birds with one stone…get rid of Ruiz and get back the boy. You always were a fucking over-achiever.”

  “And you haven’t given me an answer. Will you help us or not? No questions asked, no word about my being in Monterrey to anyone, no U.S. authorities or embassy officials—”

  “I told you that you’re insane, right?”

  “Three times.”

  “Great, just so we’re clear on that. I should get up from this table right now and forget we’ve had this conversation.“

  “Go ahead, no problem.”

  “It wouldn’t stop you, would it?”

  Jake decided he didn’t have to respond to that question either. Mike, if anyone, knew from their long history that when he made up his mind to do something, there was no going back. He stared resolutely across the table, which was answer enough for Mike.

  “Anyone else you plan to talk to?” he asked quietly.

  “Pablo Sosa.”

  “Name sounds vaguely familiar. Do I know him?”

  “A Mexican national who worked on my team. You might have met him at my wedding, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. He won’t know anything about you. He’ll have his part and you have your part—just some information about Ruiz and the plane ready to go. That’s it. I’ll do the rest.”

  “I don’t doubt that you will.”

  Mike had spoken more to himself than to Jake as Mike glanced down for a moment at his empty beer bottle. His part might not sound like much but Jake knew he was asking Mike for a lot. “Look, I know there’s nothing in this for you—”

  “Sure there is. Eduardo Ruiz is scum. I’ve been doing my job long enough to know that much, even if I’ve just heard things about him through the grapevine. He deserves whatever he gets
for what he did to Isabella…and to the woman with you, too. Stealing her son from a hospital because he got the Ruiz kid’s heart. It’s fucking sick.”

  The whole thing was sick. Maybe Ruiz hadn’t been the one who’d raped and murdered Isabella but in Jake’s mind, it didn’t matter. If Ruiz had given the order to have her killed, it might as well have been his hands on her body and ultimately around her throat.

  The image made Jake want to vomit. He waved away the waiter who’d approached their table and got up from his chair. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He didn’t wait for Mike but picked up the duffel bag and began to push through the crowd toward the door, the driving salsa beat making memories flood through his mind.

  Isabella moving her beautiful body to the music she loved.

  Isabella laughing and smiling and holding her hands out to him to draw him onto the dance floor. The smell of her skin, her hair, her sweat. The feel of her hips pressing against him, her fingers gliding through his hair just before she kissed him.

  “Damn, Wyatt. You running a race?”

  Jake ignored Mike who followed close behind him and shoved open the door to the bar. The balmy night air hit him like a punch in the face. He didn’t stop until he’d walked a half block, the salsa music growing dim. Mike stopped, too, and propped his hand against a storefront wall, his breathing hard.

  “Too much cigarette smoke,” he said with a cough.

  “Maybe too much sitting behind a desk.”

  “Yeah, probably. So what information do you need?”

  Not surprised that Mike had gotten right to the point, Jake was more than ready to finish their discussion, too. He drew closer and kept his eyes on the passersby moving along the sidewalk. The nearest streetlight was halfway down the street so the two of them were deep in shadow, which also suited Jake just fine. “Get me Ruiz’s home address, office address, phone numbers–”

  “You planning on talking to the bastard?”

  “We agreed. No questions.” Jake could feel Mike studying him in the dark but he had no intention of revealing anything more. If things went south, he didn’t want Mike suffering any repercussions for whatever part he might play. It was better this way. “I’ll need a cell phone.”

  “No problem, take this one. I just got it on my way here. Pre-paid, no chance of tracking. Haven’t used it yet, so no one knows the number. You won’t get any calls other than mine. Anything else?”

  Jake shoved Mike’s phone into his jacket pocket and shook his head. “How soon will I hear from you?”

  “Within the hour. Time to split up.”

  Mike merged into a cluster of people walking down the street before Jake had a chance to say another word. He waited only a few seconds himself and then moved to the curb to flag down a taxi. He’d dial up Pablo’s home number on the way there.

  * * *

  Clare squashed the pillow over her head in a vain attempt to drown out a couple’s impassioned moaning coming from the hotel room next door.

  Too bad she hadn’t simply fallen asleep but she’d drunk one too many Cokes to do that. Now she had to lay there and listen to her neighbors’ bed creaking and an occasional heel thumping against the wall, while the occupant in the opposite room had the TV blaring so loudly she probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if the party for two wasn’t heating up next door. Full of caffeine and growing increasingly frustrated, she sat up and hurled the pillow to the floor.

  She felt useless. Tyler might be only miles away and here she was doing nothing to help him. Nothing!

  Clare got up and went to look out the window again. She’d lost track of how many times. Monterrey was clearly a city that liked to party. The street teemed with people while she could only stare down at them, wondering if Jake might be somewhere nearby or miles away.

  She glanced at the clock on the bedside table that now read eight thirty.

  He must surely have met with Mike Reed already. She didn’t know if it was the caffeine, her agitation, or gut intuition but the sense of danger she’d felt upon arriving in Monterrey was only growing greater.

  Things were happening out there she knew nothing about. Jake had clearly left her at the hotel to be safe but dammit, surely he knew what a torment it would be for her, too. She hated it. Useless, alone, having no clue—

  “Jeez!” The telephone’s sudden jangling had made her jump. Clare lunged for the receiver as what sounded like the headboard banging against the wall next door grew louder, and then she caught herself just in time. The ringing stopped and a second later, began again. One, two. She grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

  “No need to shout at me.”

  Clare’s rush of relief was immense at the sound of Jake’s voice. “Where are you?”

  “Taxi, heading south. You doing okay?”

  “If pacing the room and staring out the window is doing okay, I guess I’m peachy. How about you?”

  “Fine. It’s going to be late. Try to get some sleep.”

  The grim edge in Jake’s voice made her decide not to ask any more questions, even as the frenzied pounding on the wall told her sleep would be impossible. “Jake, I…”

  “Yeah?”

  Clare pressed the phone against her cheek. She wanted to tell him to be careful, to tell him she wished she were with him if only not to feel so useless but she again decided against it. “Nothing. See you when you get back.”

  “Yeah. Keep the door locked.”

  That was it. He was gone.

  Clare hung up the phone at the same moment a woman screamed in climax next door.

  Get some sleep? Right.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “He’s dying, Eduardo!” Maria cried out. “I tell you he’s dying!”

  Eduardo backed up as his wife flew at him from across the room, her eyes wild, her flushed face wet with tears. He caught her by the wrists just before she could punch him with her clenched fists. His grip was brutal as he shook her but he wanted her to hear him. “Daniel’s not dying. The doctor says the fever has grown no worse—”

  “I hate you!” She spat in his face, some of the spittle catching in her disheveled hair and dripping down the front of her dress. Eduardo released one of her wrists to wipe the stuff from his cheek, then grabbed her arm again and forced her to turn around to face the hospital bed at the opposite side of the room, her spine flat against his chest.

  “Look at him, Maria. He sleeps peacefully right now. The doctor and nurses watch his every breath.”

  “No, you’ve paid them to let him die! You never wanted Daniel to come home. You don’t love him. I see it in your eyes when you look at him.”

  Maria twisted her body to try and free herself but Eduardo held her fast, trying to ignore the truth of her words.

  He didn’t love the American boy. This whole fucking fiasco had caused him nothing but trouble and it was only growing worse, especially now that the kid’s face had been plastered on the front of a newspaper. The only thing Eduardo loved was the heart beating inside that small chest, but even that feeling was fading with each passing moment.

  It was only a bodily organ after all, not his son, not Daniel Ruiz. Not his smile, his laugh, his keen brown eyes behind his glasses and the amazing intelligence that had prompted Eduardo to allow him to go to Texas in the first place. He cursed again the day his son’s private tutor had told him about Camp Travis, may his corpse blister in hell.

  Eduardo had sent off the application that very next morning. To Daniel it had been like a game, a different name and a different home address of Panama City, Panama instead of Monterrey—a serious game Eduardo had explained that he must play if he wanted to go to the computer camp. How could he have known that nothing would have safeguarded the life of his son?

  Eduardo’s eyes stung, which only made him angrier. If that damned tutor were alive, he would slit his throat again. As Maria began to twist and fight against his hold, he dragged her backward with him into the hallway. The cardiologist an
d nurses had been watching their display wide-eyed, which meant that Eduardo would have to speak to them again, too. He was paying them handsomely to focus on the boy, not the crazed ramblings of his wife.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded of Maria through clenched teeth. A few feet outside the bedroom door, he spun her around and shook her again, hard, then shoved her up against the wall. The impact startled her because she went still, staring up at him with wide red-rimmed eyes. “You’ve sat by his bedside for hours, Maria. You’ve seen for yourself he grows no worse.”

  “No, something is wrong. I can feel it. A mother knows.”

  Eduardo wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that Maria wasn’t this boy’s mother.

  Clare Carson was the mother and as long as she was alive, she was the worst of threats to all of them.

  He’d gotten another call from the Facilitator a few hours ago. The word out of San Antonio hadn’t changed. The local media still reported that the Carson woman remained missing, the police unable to find her and fearing that she might have met with foul play although no body or other clues had yet turned up. That news had reinforced Eduardo’s only two scenarios: She was either deep in hiding or she’d arrived in Mexico under an assumed name.

  By the time his people had staked out the Tampico and Monterrey airports earlier that day, the couple named Fisher had already arrived in Monterrey and disappeared somewhere into the city. Lunatics! If it was Clare Carson and her male accomplice posing as Canadian tourists, were they so insane as to think they might wrest the boy from Eduardo themselves? That thought made him abruptly release Maria and shove her into the middle of the hall.

  “Enough of your woman’s intuition. I told you to start packing your things an hour ago.”

  “And I told you I would stay with my son!” Maria tried to dodge past Eduardo but he caught her around the waist and spun her around to face him, his last shred of patience gone.

  “How quickly would you pack if you knew that Daniel’s real mother might be in Monterrey at this moment searching for her little boy? Tell me, Maria! Would that help to make things sink into your fucking brain?”