As she suspected, a stairway as well as a small elevator led to the upper level from the garage. Leine sprinted silently up the stairs and tried the door leading into the house. It was open. She eased into the hallway.
Listening to the rhythm of the air conditioning and other typical house noises, Leine eased past a laundry room and small bathroom, and paused near the entrance to the kitchen.
Satisfied she was alone, Leine proceeded through the living area and slipped down a long corridor that led to the back of the house. Angry voices floated toward her from a room at the end of the hall. She edged closer, her footsteps silent against the marble tile.
“You’ve run out of options, Belinda,” offered the cool voice. The man’s accent pegged him as one of Zamir’s associates. “Now that your daughter is safe, I have no recourse but to extract my payment from you and your husband.”
“You must do as he says, Mrs. Bennett, or he will kill us both.” Teuta’s desperation came through loud and clear.
“It can’t be undone,” Belinda Bennett’s voice cracked. “They already have the information. After tomorrow, Zorbane will control the company.”
“I don’t care about your husband’s fucking IPO. I care about the formula, and you have access.”
“No, I don’t. Dick keeps the password for the system on an encrypted website. His partner has the second password, and you need them both. If anyone attempts to obtain the information without the two-step verification process, the files will disappear. You have to believe me, Ivan.”
“He will do anything you tell him to do. Your death is too high a price for his silence. Call him.”
“Mrs. Bennett, please…” Teuta sounded on the verge of tears.
“Take the Ferrari, Ivan. It’s worth millions,” Belinda pleaded. “I’ll pay you the rest, I promise.”
“Your promises are worthless.” Ivan scoffed. “The car would not even be a down payment.”
Leine inched her way toward the open door. A crescent-shaped steel desk was visible to her left. The reflection from a glass-fronted painting on the far wall showed Ivan with his back to the door.
“We will see how you feel when your body struggles for air.”
“No—stop! What are you—”
The sound of tape ripping told her Ivan had grown tired of talking. Belinda’s muffled protests were soon drowned out by rustling plastic.
Leine went low and moved silently through the doorway into the room. Belinda sat at the far end, her wrists and ankles duct taped to a chair with her back to a gas fireplace. Ivan was in the process of securing a dry cleaner bag over her head. With each shallow breath the thin plastic shrank in size, conforming to the contours of her face, revealing her distorted, panicked features, and billowed out with each exhale.
Teuta had been taped to another chair next to her employer. She watched Ivan, her expression a mixture of fear and anger. The housekeeper’s eyes widened in surprise as Leine stood up and sighted on the back of Ivan’s skull. Alerted by Teuta’s sharp intake of breath, he turned.
Ivan dropped to the floor as Leine pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the wall above the fireplace. Leine tracked him, firing as he dove for cover behind a nearby sofa. He grunted and his gun clattered to the floor.
She crouched down and peered under the sofa. Ivan lay lengthwise on the marble tile, stretching for his gun. Leine emptied her magazine into him.
“Mrs. Bennett! She is dying,” Teuta cried, straining at the tape around her wrists.
Leine closed the distance between them and ripped the bag open. Belinda gasped, sucking in gulps of air.
“Thank God you’re here,” Belinda wheezed. “He was going to kill me.”
“What the hell did you think would happen?” Leine asked. She stepped behind the sofa to make sure Ivan was dead. There was no pulse. Leine returned to the two women and slid her knife from the sheath attached to her leg.
“Ivan was a friend of Dick’s business partner—”
Leine bent to cut through Teuta’s restraints. “Zamir Ristani? You need to choose better associates, Belinda.”
“I’ll have you know, Zamir has connections worldwide.”
“Had, you mean.”
Leine felt Teuta stiffen. She glanced sharply at the housekeeper. “You knew Zamir?”
Teuta relaxed and shook her head. “Only from Bennetts. They say he is-was good man.”
“Yeah. Not so much.” Leine finished cutting through Teuta’s restraints and straightened.
“Aren’t you going to free me?” Belinda asked, frowning.
“Are you aware that your daughter has checked into a private hospital?” Leine asked her.
“Where is she?” Belinda Bennett struggled against the tape. “Let me go. I need to see her.”
Teuta rose from the chair, her movements stiff, and crossed to the sofa to look at Ivan’s dead body.
“I’m sure you’ll get to see her soon.” Leine brought out her phone. “But first, I’m going to call a friend of mine and see what they want to do with you. Can’t have you leaving the country now, can we?”
There was a flash of movement in her periphery and she turned.
Teuta held Ivan’s gun in her hand. Leine dove behind the chair. Bullets sliced through the air, the rounds shredding the room around her. Ears ringing, Leine rolled onto her side and rose to one knee, her knife in her hand.
Teuta ducked behind the sofa, moving too quickly for Leine to hit her.
What the hell? Why is Teuta trying to kill me?
“It’s over, Teuta. Ivan’s dead.” She reached above her to see if Belinda had a pulse. Her hand came away slick with blood. Correction. Why is Teuta trying to kill Belinda?
“He was vicious man. You have done favor for world.”
“Ivan was your boss, is that it?” Leine asked, peering around the side of the chair to get a bead on the housekeeper. Teuta must have been spying on Elise for Ivan. That’s how he knew she was in Tijuana. A slice of shadow on the wall indicated she was using Ivan’s body for cover.
“I have no boss,” she said, her voice dripping disdain. “He was employee who did not follow instructions.”
“You mean when he kidnapped Elise?” Leine scanned the room for better cover. A coffee table with a marble top stood a couple of feet behind her.
“When he sold her. It was then I knew he make irreversible mistake. Otero will never give her up. We lost bargaining power.”
“So your concern for Elise was an act?” Leine asked.
“A spoiled child,” she said, contempt littering her words. “Just like her mother.”
Leine wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand and slid her pistol from her waistband. She ejected the spent mag and snapped in fresh ammunition from the side pocket of her cargo pants. Her old rib injury throbbed and blood from the gunshot wound stained her shirtsleeve. Again.
Goddammit. When this is over, I’m taking a month off.
“Well, Teuta, it looks like we’re at an impasse. What do you want to do?”
There was the sound of shuffling, followed by a pause. “I do not wish to kill you, Leine Basso.”
“That’s awfully kind of you, but I’m sure you can understand that’s a little hard to believe at the moment.”
Another pause. “We are two of a kind, you and I. You work for me, yes? I pay very, very well.”
Seriously? Leine thought. What is this, a fucking job interview? Leine eyed the coffee table and calculated how long she’d be exposed if she turned it over to use for cover. If she could keep the housekeeper off balance, she thought she might make it without becoming target practice.
Depending on how good a shot Teuta was.
“I’m flattered, Teuta. But I’m afraid I’ve already got a job.” Working for her was right up there with being on North Korean leader Kim Jong-un’s payroll. Leine popped from behind the chair and squeezed the trigger, peppering the sofa with bullets. Return fire zinged past her from the ri
ght.
Leine lunged behind the table, pushing it onto its side.
The shots hadn’t come from where she’d expected. The housekeeper had moved.
You’re losing it, Leine. When the hell did she change position?
She scanned the room, searching for shadows. Something caught her eye and she backtracked. There. Next to the door.
Leine maneuvered herself into position on the other side of the upended coffee table and waited.
The housekeeper’s shadow wavered on the wall as Teuta fired from behind the door. The bullets chipped at the marble tile and pinged off the corner of the table. Leine tracked her as she moved. She caught a glimpse of sleeve and fired.
The sharp intake of breath told her she’d hit the mark. Leine leaped to her feet and rushed Teuta’s position, firing as she ran. The housekeeper burst from behind the door, gun in her left hand, hugging her right arm by her side.
Leine feinted right as a lamp exploded beside her, recovered and fired, hitting Teuta in the shoulder. Teuta cried out and gripped the wound. The gun clattered to the floor, skipping across the tile. Leine kicked the nine millimeter out of her reach and at the same time grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her.
With a screech of pain, Teuta went slack and pivoted, but Leine pinned her other hand and wrenched it up between her shoulder blades.
“You’re strong for your age,” Leine said through gritted teeth. Despite being shot twice, Teuta raised her knee and brought the heel of her sensible shoe down, narrowly missing the delicate bones of Leine’s foot.
Leine dragged her toward the sofa and seized a nearby lamp, yanking the cord from the wall socket. Teuta moaned as Leine wrapped it around her wrists and pushed her onto her knees.
Breathing heavily with one hand on her throbbing rib Leine gasped, “Stop it. Just stop, okay? It’s over.”
Teuta scowled at her and spit on the floor near her feet.
“What is it with you guys and spitting?” Leine asked, her irritation flaring. “I get it. You’re pissed.”
“You will regret this, Leine Basso. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“I’ve never heard that one before,” she said, the sarcasm thick in her voice. “How about something a little more original?”
Unwilling to let go of the feisty older woman, Leine dragged her across the floor toward the fireplace. Ivan had left the roll of duct tape on the mantel. Though the blood loss and trauma from the gunshot wounds was significant, the older woman gave no indication of distress other than ragged breathing, and her struggles made it supremely difficult for Leine to tape her ankles.
Tough woman, Leine thought. She found herself wondering about Teuta’s training.
With the housekeeper suitably restrained, Leine hurried back to Belinda to see if she was still alive. Blood poured down the side of her face and torso. A reedy pulse beat weakly against Leine’s fingers.
Leine found her phone and dialed 9-1-1.
Chapter 40
Santa broke away from the embrace first and picked up her bag. Leine’s stomach growled at the aroma of garlic and spices floating toward her from inside the apartment. “That smells incredible. What is it?”
“Dinner,” Santa said over his shoulder.
Leine followed him through the living room and into the kitchen, taking note of the glass vase filled with a variety of multi-colored tulips—her favorite flower—as well as several lit candles on a table set for two. An open bottle of red wine and two glasses had been placed nearby.
Santa grabbed two hot pads off the counter and opened the oven, waving away the heat as he slid out a deep pan covered in banana leaves and set it on top of the stove. He dropped the pads and, using a fork, lifted one corner. Steam filled the air, and the mouthwatering smell of roasted meat, citrus, and pepper followed.
“Cochinita Pibil,” Santa said and stepped aside so Leine could see what was in the pan. She leaned over and inhaled the heady bouquet of the traditional, slow-roasted pork. The orange-red sauce bubbled in the pan.
“Mmm. What’s the occasion? Leine asked. Santa had mentioned how his mother made the pibil days ahead by wrapping it in banana leaves and burying it in the ground, allowing the pork to cook slowly, giving the meat its famous, melt-in-your-mouth quality.
Santa shrugged. “I wanted to show you I’m more than just a pretty face.”
Leine leaned over and gave him a proper kiss. “I already knew that.”
“And, I wanted you to feel welcome in your new home.”
Leine smiled. “My new home,” she repeated. It sounded right. Ever since she’d finally decided to take the plunge and move in with Santa, she’d felt more settled. Calm.
Weird.
Two months had passed since they’d rescued Elise. The early morning raid by the Mexican Marines on El Rancho del Maestro made headlines across the Baja and mainland Mexico, as did the safe return of the twelve schoolchildren from La Paz. The disruption of Otero’s operation was lauded as a significant victory in the war on human and organ trafficking. Both Felix Otero and Doctor Raul Ramirez were taken into custody by the marines, and many of the young women being kept at the ranch were released to their grateful families. Those with no friends or relatives in Mexico were taken to a holding facility and given access to a phone and email. The Catholic Church offered to help locate the families of the girls who had no contact information. The church also offered to provide a home for Sebastian and the dog, Max, in exchange for help with serving meals and other chores.
Belinda Bennett had survived her gunshot wounds, but had been in a coma since the shooting. The prognosis wasn’t good. Dick Bennett had made good on his promise to be more involved in his daughter’s life and, as a result, Elise was now researching medical schools to attend. When Leine met with her for coffee the week before, she’d marveled at the change in the young woman’s priorities. Elise had confided that when she went back to hanging out with her old friends she realized Brittany was the only person with whom she had anything left in common. She even changed her blog from Beverly Hills Blonde—Rich and Loving It! to Beverly Hills Backers—an online community of young adult angel investors based in the Beverly Hills area who were interested in backing socially responsible startups.
Leine had called Vlad to make sure Grigori and his shipment arrived in time and intact, and to inquire about his wife’s health. He assured her all was well and that they were now “square,” but that he’d keep her contact information in his database for future jobs. Immediately after their conversation Leine bought a new phone and changed her number.
Yeah, that is so not going to happen.
She watched as Santa dished up the cochinita pibil, her gaze wandering from his hands to his handsome face, to the way his jeans caressed his hips, and sighed contentedly. For the first time in a long time, Leine Basso had found a home.
THE END
(***Keep reading for your exclusive bonus short story, Privilege)
***Bonus Material***
Privilege
A short Story
by D.V. Berkom
“Look, you know this isn’t exactly legal, right?”
“Yeah. I get that.” Durban nodded at his attorney, Jack, who was sitting in one of the chairs across the desk from him. He inhaled a long, deep breath and let it go as he looked at his watch. He’d forgotten his third round of medication. No wonder he felt like shit.
“The damned wait list is who-knows how long—that’s if a match is even possible. I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Well, let me look into it for you.” Jack started to rise from the chair but thought better of it and sank back into the soft leather. “It’s not that I don’t want to help, it’s just that this guy’s not board certified.”
Durban shrugged. A self-made billionaire, he was used to taking calculated risks. This definitely fit the bill.
“If I don’t, then I die. It’s that simple.” Durban shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Ever since he’d started taking t
he laundry list of medications his doctor prescribed, he’d found it difficult to focus for longer than fifteen minutes. Sure, the meds masked some of the symptoms, but what he gained in pain relief he lost in productivity.
What I wouldn’t give for a double shot of MacCallan’s right now. Penchant for expensive whiskey aside, Durban’s life-long obsession with alcohol had put him in this predicament, and now the only way forward was through Jack’s contact. Odds were less than slim that the national donor list would find a match for his rare blood type before his liver gave out. Jack’s contact boasted a ninety-eight percent match rate, or your money back. Durban liked his odds with the uncertified surgeon working below the radar of the entrenched medical establishment. Reminded him of his young, upstart self. He hadn’t paid much attention to the rules back then. He still didn’t.
And, he’d be able to recuperate in Mexico at his vacation home on the Sea of Cortez.
Jack sighed and rose from the chair, snapping his briefcase closed. The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “In all the years I’ve known you, D, you never gave up, no matter what. You’re a persistent son of a bitch.” He glanced around the well-appointed office, his gaze settling on a rare Picasso hanging on the far wall. Durban had gone after the painting like a Rottweiler, wearing down the previous owner until they grudgingly sold it to the wealthy financier just to get rid of him.
Durban nodded, suddenly exhausted from trying to stay focused during their conversation. It must have showed, because Jack picked up his briefcase and turned to leave.
“I’ll let you know when I hear something. Apparently the guy’s pretty good with rare blood types.”
“I’m betting on it.”
***
“Mr. McNamara, your grandson is here to see you,” Durban’s assistant said over the intercom.
The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller Page 23
