Ripped Apart

by Miriam Minger

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Isabella was working on an article about drug trafficking along the U.S.-Mexico border, but when she suggested that elements in our government might be cooperating in covert support, I told her she was nuts.” Jake shot Clare a glance. “Some loving support, huh? The last time I heard from her she was so excited. She called and said she’d stumbled onto something big, but she wouldn’t tell me where she was going. The next thing I heard she was at the morgue and someone wanted me dead, too. The day after her funeral, a bomb blew my car to pieces outside our home and I got the hell out of Mexico. Case closed.”

  “But it wasn’t closed. You came back with me…” Clare fell silent and looked away, feeling as if she’d suddenly been sucker-punched in the gut.

  Why hadn’t she seen it before? Jake hadn’t returned to Mexico to help her and Tyler but to find out who had murdered his wife. No one in his right mind would have accompanied a complete stranger into this nightmare if he hadn’t had some other motive. How could she have ever thought it was so simple?

  Clare’s face burned, her hands clenching painfully in her lap. Jake drove faster, the tires screeching in protest as they rounded a corner. The prosperous-looking residential area they drove through was no more than a blur.

  She had no idea where he was taking her. She’d lost her sense of direction, but something told her they weren’t heading toward Monterrey International Airport. How could they be? The place was probably overrun with people who wanted to blow her brains out.

  Anger overwhelmed Clare, making her face feel even hotter.

  Damn him. He’d probably realized he could use her as bait to get what he wanted the moment he’d discovered in San Antonio that Eduardo Ruiz was involved. Except, guess what? It wasn’t Ruiz after all who’d murdered Jake’s wife but his long-time friend—

  “Mike told you about Isabella, didn’t he?”

  Clare had to count to herself for a few seconds, so furious that she feared what she might say if she didn’t calm down. “Yes, he spoke of her. I was going to tell you. I’m sorry, Jake.”

  “No more than me. She must have seen through him from the very start—no wonder he never liked her. Told me not to marry her. I was screwing up my military career. I thought he was jealous. It wouldn’t have been anything new for him—damn him! Why the hell didn’t I see it?”

  He slammed his hand down hard on the steering wheel and the car swerved. Clare grabbed onto the armrest, fearing he might run them off the road.

  She exhaled sharply when he made a hard right turn into an alley that ran behind a complex of concrete buildings, the twin spires of a church rising above them to the left. She braced her hands against the dashboard as the small car hit every bump and rut. Jake finally drove his foot into the brake next to some steps leading into one of the smaller buildings.

  “I hope to God he’s still assigned here.” Jake pushed open the car door. “Wait for me. I’ll come around to get you.”

  Clare had no intention of waiting for him. She shoved open her door, got out and slammed it shut before he’d reached her, and she ignored his outstretched hand. “My knee’s fine, okay? I don’t need your help—”

  He’d grabbed her up into his arms and was already halfway up the steps before she could vent any further resistance. He seemed not to notice that she struggled against him, but she fell still when he pounded on the wooden door. No more than a moment passed when heavy footsteps approached, and a light to the right side of the door switched on.

  Clare blinked, and so did the stout gentleman dressed in a black shirt, trousers, and the white collar of the clergy who cautiously opened the door. He appeared to have been woken from sleep. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled as if he’d dressed in a hurry, his expression bleary. He quickly became more alert and threw open the door to admit them after a burst of rapid fire Spanish from Jake.

  The man, clearly a priest after identifying himself as Father Crispus Dominguez, indicated they wait inside the door. He turned on his heel and moved as fast as his bulk would allow him down a spotless hallway.

  “The rectory of Iglesia San Jose—a Catholic church,” Jake explained in a low voice. “I have a close friend here. He runs several orphanages—at least he did. One down the block and another north of the city. I haven’t seen him for years.”

  Clare said nothing as Jake set her down gently and turned around at the sound of someone approaching. He went to meet the tall angular man who hurried toward them with outstretched arms though his expression looked worried. The priest was dressed much as Father Crispus, as if he’d done so hurriedly, his white collar crooked and his black shirt untucked.

  “Jake.”

  Clare watched as the two men hugged each other, but Jake quickly angled the priest toward her.

  “Clare Carson, Father Gregorio Pena. Isabella’s brother.”

  Clare stared from Jake to the priest, who appeared a few years older than Jake from the gray in his close-trimmed beard and heavy eyebrows. Father Gregorio noted her astonishment and warmly took her hand, though his dark eyes still held concern.

  “You are welcome here.”

  “She needs some first aid, Father, and maybe a shower,” Jake cut in. “Last thing I wanted was to draw you into this mess but we had nowhere else to go.”

  “Of course, of course, I’m sure you’ve much to tell me but I think you may need a clean shirt.” Father Gregorio’s gaze had fallen to the bloodstains on Jake’s T-shirt, and Clare noticed for the first time that Jake’s hands were stained a rusty red.

  She didn’t have to guess…Pablo. She swallowed hard, imagining the scene on that dark street when Jake had probably bent low to Pablo’s lips to hear his last words.

  “It wasn’t pleasant,” Jake said quietly, startling Clare that once again he’d read her mind. “Pablo told me where I might find you if I didn’t locate you on the street—told me, too, he hoped you’d forgive him for hurting you.”

  “You didn’t see me get into Mike’s car?”

  Jake shook his head. “Pablo said Mike had set up a rendezvous point a few blocks away. I figured he might have spotted you and picked you up. Lucky thing he took you to his house and not someplace else, or I’d still be looking for you and we’d both be paddling up shit creek.” He glanced at the priest. “Sorry, Father.”

  Father Gregorio didn’t appear disturbed at all and gestured for them to accompany him down the hall of what looked like a dormitory. His face was so kind, Clare felt more comfort than she had in days.

  “You may use my room, Miss Carson. You’ll find towels in the tall closet by the bathtub. Leave your clothes outside the door and we’ll tend to them.”

  “There’s no time to wash clothes,” Jake interjected. “We can’t stay long. It’s too dangerous for you, for everyone here. Someone might recall my relation to you—hell, we shouldn’t have come—”

  “We’re all in God’s hands. You and I will speak together while Miss Carson has a few moments to tend to her needs.”

  Jake clearly did not want to argue with the priest. He held out his hand to Clare but she ignored it and limped on her own next to Father Gregorio. It wasn’t very far to the priest’s room and he opened the door for her.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “You’ll find some healing ointment and bandages above the sink,” he said to her gently, his gaze lifting from her scraped chin to her eyes. “A cool cloth on your cheek should ease the swelling.”

  Clare’s hand flew to the right side of her face where Mike had struck her. She hadn’t been aware of the tender puffiness until now. Her whole body must be purple with bruises. She nodded and stepped into the room and shut the door behind her, her last glimpse of Jake a disturbing one.

  His face set and grim, his eyes an intense blue, he looked like he wanted to kill someone.

  * * *

  “You have to leave the country, my brother. Tonight. As soon as possible. There’s no other way.”

  “I
know but tell that to Clare.” Jake stared at Father Gregorio’s worried expression reflected in the bathroom mirror and then bent over the sink to throw more cold water onto his face, anything to stave off the exhaustion settling over him. His efforts weren’t working but at least the blood on his hands was gone.

  He’d washed up and changed into a clean T-shirt before they had sat down in the rectory’s small library to talk, but the bloodstains lived on in his mind. He tried to block the image of Pablo lying dead on the street and failed there, too. Jake grabbed a hand towel to dry his face and forced himself again to think ahead to Clare.

  “Jesu protect her, the young woman has suffered,” said Father Gregorio, shaking his head. “You both have suffered. And her little son—”

  “Might be heading anywhere by now,” Jake cut in harshly. The thought made him feel sick as he turned around to face the priest who stood outside the door to the library lavatory. “Or he might be back at a Ruiz compound, who the hell knows?”

  “God knows, and God watches over him.” Father Gregorio’s voice had grown stern but then he sighed, searching Jake’s face. “Isabella’s death shattered your faith, of this I have no doubt. But have some hope yet for the boy and for his mother that they be reunited.”

  “Right now I’m thinking about Clare and I making it alive out of Monterrey. That’s as far as it goes.” Jake threw the towel onto the sink and walked past Father Gregorio into the library, empty but for the two of them. “If Mike’s got the connections I think he has, probably every road out of here will be under surveillance and the airport’s no longer an option—”

  “I’ll drive you from the city myself in one of the church vans.”

  “No way. I stopped here to get my bearings and come up with a plan. Not suck you into the middle of this thing.”

  “I have a vehicle already loaded with supplies for the orphanage up north.” Father Gregorio grabbed Jake’s arm to stop him at the door leading out to the hallway. “Hear me. It’s better than you taking the risk of driving a car and being spotted and shot dead. We’ll leave right away, as soon as Miss Carson’s ready. I know someone near the orphanage who has a plane.“

  “No one has a plane except the military or drug runners and Reed’s probably got contacts in both. Ruiz, too. Add to that almost every cop from here to the border is probably one of their paid lackeys—no way, it won’t work.”

  “It must work. What other choice do you have? You said yourself it’s too dangerous to remain here.”

  “Right. We’ve stayed too long already.” Jake twisted his arm free and strode into the hallway, but Father Gregorio persisted and followed him.

  “If you’d stayed four years ago to hunt down Isabella’s killer you would have been murdered, too, but I convinced you to leave.”

  “This is different. You don’t have to do any convincing. We’re leaving, I just don’t know how we’re going to do it.”

  “Then allow me to help you. Isabella was my only sister. Do you think I’ve not spent sleepless nights like you wishing there had been some way I could have saved her? I’m a priest, yes, but I, too, have prayed for vengeance for her death. To help you escape is the most I could ask or pray for. Will you deny me that comfort?”

  “Dammit, yes, there’s been enough dying for one night!” Jake had rounded on the priest so suddenly that the taller man had fallen back a step. “Not your death, too, Father, okay? That’s it.”

  The priest shook his head, undaunted. “You call me Father but we’re brothers first, even now though Isabella is long dead. Tell me a better plan and I’ll say nothing more—but if there isn’t one, you’ll not keep me from helping you.”

  Jake stared into Father Gregorio’s eyes that burned with conviction. He knew that there was no better plan. He didn’t have to say a word. Father Gregorio nodded and then hurried past him down the hall.

  “Five minutes, my brother,” the priest said over his shoulder. “Meet me with Miss Carson outside the back entrance where you came in.”

  Jake stood there after his friend had disappeared through an archway at the end of the hall. Another wave of exhaustion swept over him.

  His exchange with Father Gregorio had sapped him. He had a stale bitterness in his mouth that tasted of failure. He wasn’t one to allow despair to overpower him but it threatened to do so now, much like the fatigue making his limbs feel weak.

  Mike Reed had betrayed him.

  Strangely, Jake had to admit he hadn’t been surprised. He had known the moment Pablo drove into the ambush that all was not as it seemed to be.

  Everything had happened so fast like a speeding train he had no power to stop.

  The worst moment had been when he’d ducked for cover from the bullets whizzing through the air and watched as Pablo drove away the van with Clare still inside. A split second decision had made Jake leave her with Pablo instead of pulling her with him into the street, though he’d immediately sensed he had abandoned her to a different danger where he wouldn’t be close by to assist her.

  That realization had made him kill with deadly efficiency, enemies falling to the ground in front of him. Two of the commandos had died seconds after their feet hit the ground out of the van. The other two—hell, they’d earned their thousand dollars apiece and taken off as soon as the assailants still alive had fled in the truck.

  Jake had bolted at a dead run in the direction the van had disappeared, blood pounding in his ears.

  He feared the worst when he spied the vehicle stopped in the middle of the road, but Pablo walking around in the dark as if he searched for someone led Jake to believe Clare had escaped. Pablo had spied Jake then and shot at him and Jake fired back, hitting Pablo in the gut.

  Dying hadn’t come quick or easy. Jake closed his eyes against the vision of hot gushing blood and shattered internal organs in the dim streetlight. Words gushed from Pablo, too, everything Jake had told Clare. Jake had sworn then he’d kill Mike Reed with his bare hands for the mental torture he’d inflicted upon Pablo all those years.

  “Bastard.” Jake rubbed away the stinging in his eyes and glanced down the hall to the door to Father Gregorio’s room.

  God, he dreaded what lay ahead. Clare had been so brave, so strong. She’d surprised him at every turn that she possessed as much fighting instinct as the best Special Ops people he’d known.

  Nothing could have stunned him more than to see her with that pistol jammed behind the driver’s ear as the sedan roared out of Reed’s driveway. He’d thought as he’d run for the van that she might not need his help, just as he bet now those would be the very words she’d hurl at him when she found out they were leaving Mexico.

  Without Tyler.

  Jake moved to the door, hating himself. The taste of failure once more filled his mouth.

  Something already weighed on her mind—she’d gotten too quiet in the car and then resisted his every attempt to assist her once they reached the rectory. Maybe she’d sensed what he intended for them even then, a necessary retreat, but he didn’t have time to think about that now. Jake knocked on the door and then stepped back to wait a few seconds.

  Nothing.

  He knocked again, louder, and called her name. Nothing. He didn’t want to startle her but they had run out of time. He opened the door and scanned the room. The bathroom door was ajar, her soiled clothes and a used towel draped over the tub.

  “Clare?”

  A cold feeling in his stomach, he knew the room was empty when he’d said her name. He lunged into the hallway and ran to the back door leading out of the rectory and burst outside, but the car he’d stolen was still parked where he’d left it.

  Relief cut through him. He doubted she knew how to hotwire a car but she’d managed to do other things that had surprised him. Father Gregorio hadn’t appeared yet with the van but Jake imagined it would be soon. He rushed back inside the rectory and almost ran into the portly priest who’d let them in earlier.

  “I-I heard you calling for the lady,”
Father Crispus stammered, backing up against the wall so Jake could pass by him. “She’s gone to the sanctuary. She asked me how to get there and I showed her the way.”

  Jake didn’t need help to find the way. He married Isabella in that sanctuary five years ago, one of the happiest times he’d ever known…until a man he’d considered a friend had taken it upon himself to destroy everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Clare hugged her arms to her chest and closed her eyes, all eloquence failing her as she tried to pray.

  She’d come to the sanctuary filled with such desperation, so many thoughts pressing in upon her, so much fear tearing at her for her son. The gilded altar was so beautiful, she felt as if her prayer must be something grand. Instead, a simple plea sprang to mind and she whispered it again and again.

  “Please help me find my son.”

  She’d not been a regular churchgoer since college, and she hoped it wouldn’t be held against her now. Maybe Father Gregorio’s kindness had inspired her or the need to find a bit of comfort. All she knew was that she couldn’t have showered and changed back into her clothes fast enough before she sought out the sanctuary.

  Clare had never been more frightened by how distant she felt from Tyler. She’d come so close to him, so close, maybe fifteen feet away at that hospital only to lose him again and now not have any idea where he might be.

  “Clare.”

  She jumped at the sound of Jake’s voice, and twisted around to see him sitting in the pew directly behind her.

  He would sneak up on her without her hearing a single footstep. All the anger she’d felt in the car came crashing back upon her, her solitude shattered, any small comfort she’d found from sitting in the sanctuary gone. She turned back around in the pew. “Leave me alone.”

  “I can’t, we have to get going. Father Gregorio is waiting in a van to take us north.”

  “What?” Clare spun around to find he’d risen to his feet. “Why north?”