by Elise Noble
“I’ll have a go.”
That earned me a smile. “You won’t regret it.”
What do you know? Roscoe was right. Talk about exhilarating. For twenty minutes, we floated above the valleys of Bello, and I even got a video of the flight. At first, I thought I’d need the footage to prove to Rafe that I’d actually done it, but as we turned back to land, he soared past us solo. When did my brother learn to paraglide?
I didn’t get the chance to find out, because Roscoe settled the bill and led me back to his Mercedes.
“Dinner? We don’t have to make it ourselves today.”
“Nothing spicy?”
“Nothing spicy, I promise.” He leaned in to kiss me softly, on the lips this time. “Do you trust me yet?”
“I’m starting to.”
“Good.” Once again, he opened my door. “I enjoy spending time with you, Lina-Catalina.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
That evening, we went to a small café hidden away in a village between Bello and Medellín. The bandeja paisa wasn’t as good as Grandma’s, but it was still delicious.
“How do you find Colombian food?” I asked Roscoe.
“At first, I thought it was kinda weird. Rice and beans for breakfast? But now I’ve gotten used to it, and it’s healthier than what we have back home. Sure, there’s still KFC and Burger King, but there are so many other options, and everywhere delivers. It’s too easy for kids to live on burgers and fries in the US, and more and more people have a weight problem. Do you cook?”
“When I have time.” And when Grandma would let me use the kitchen. “I make a mean pandebono.”
“That’s cheese bread, right?”
“Right.”
“Maybe we could try cooking together one day. I’ll be your kitchen bitch.”
I burst out laughing. “You can do the washing up.”
“No need. I have a dishwasher.”
“You want me to cook in your apartment?”
“Unless you’d rather we went to yours?”
“No, no. Yours is fine.”
I half expected my brother to appear with another supermodel, but he didn’t show up, and the café stayed almost empty the whole time we were there. Another couple talked quietly in one corner, and an old man sipped from a cup of aguapanela. I’d always found that drink too sweet, but Izzy loved it.
Roscoe wrapped his arm around me for the short walk back to the car. Truthfully, although this was supposed to be work, I’d enjoyed the trip to Bello more than any of the dates my ex had taken me on, and I found myself hoping more and more that Roscoe wasn’t wrapped up in Izzy’s disappearance. He drove slowly on the journey back to Medellín, and when he parked outside Esther’s apartment, I was in no hurry to get out.
“Thank you for today,” I said. “And thank you for pushing me outside my comfort zone.”
“Right now, you’re pushing me outside of mine.”
He leaned towards me, and our lips met across the centre console. My first proper kiss in over a year, and although it wasn’t a tear-each-other’s-clothes-off sort of a kiss, it left me breathless. And yes, there were tongues.
Roscoe cupped my face in his hands and leaned his forehead against mine. “Can I take you out one evening next week?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call you. And I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
As I walked up the path to Esther’s front door, texting her with an update as I went, I found myself wishing I was wrong. Wrong about Izzy, wrong about the phone call, wrong about the big conspiracy. Usually, I hated being wrong, but I wanted Roscoe to be one of the good guys. I wanted to go on more dinner dates and unexpected trips to the countryside. I wanted to find a little of the happiness that had eluded me for the last eleven years.
But first, I had to help my brother break into Roscoe’s apartment.
CHAPTER 8 - CORA
“JUST SIT ON the bench opposite and call me if Roscoe comes back. That’s all you have to do. Pretend to be on the phone or something.”
So far, my brother had been worryingly vague on his plans.
“But what are you going to do? How will you get into Roscoe’s apartment?”
A secret smile flickered across his face for a second, and then it was gone. Why did the bad stuff make him happy?
“Leave that to me, patata.”
“Stop calling me a potato!”
Okay, so I’d been chubby as a child, but I’d lost all the puppy fat. Fifteen years on, my brother’s old nickname for me didn’t really fit anymore.
He pinched my cheeks, then leapt back before I managed to kick him. I’d missed this side of Rafe. The silly, playful side that had faded away with our parents’ lives. Perhaps when this was over, we could spend more time together. Right now, I didn’t even know where he lived.
Grandma wheeled herself through from the living room. “What’s going on?”
“Rafe called me a potato again.”
“Rafael, apologise to your sister.”
“Lo siento. I guess you’re more of a porcupine now, anyway. A bit prickly.”
“Shut up! Are we going to do this or aren’t we?”
Grandma’s mouth twitched, and she showed us towards the door. “Be careful today, Cora. Listen to your brother.”
“He’s barely told me a thing.”
“He’s told you everything you need to know at this stage. Just don’t panic if Roscoe returns early.”
Deep breaths, Cora. I followed my brother out to his car, and half an hour later, he dropped me off two streets from Roscoe’s apartment building, a huge glass edifice that probably cost him more rent in a month than I paid in a year. As Rafe had said, there was a bench opposite nestled under a shady tree on the edge of a small park, and I settled at one end with my phone in my hand. I should have bought a drink on the way. Or a snack. Dammit, I wasn’t cut out for this job.
Five minutes passed before my brother reappeared, and I did a double take when I saw him. Instead of his usual jeans, well-worn boots, and henley, he’d changed into a scruffy pair of cargo pants paired with a grubby white T-shirt, a cap pulled low over his eyes, and a hi-vis vest with JD Aire Acondicionado emblazoned across the back. He carried his toolbox with all the enthusiasm of a man walking to his own death. Wow. I’d never realised my brother was quite such an actor, and he didn’t turn a single female head as he shuffled up the front steps and disappeared into the apartment building.
Now came the difficult part. Watching and waiting. It was surprisingly hard to keep a close eye on the street while looking as if you were doing anything but. In the end, I sent Roscoe a text message, telling him I missed him and asking how he was getting on in La Gitana, and when he replied saying he was just about to eat lunch and sent me a picture of a pizza, I relaxed infinitesimally. Of course, he could be lying, but he’d seemed genuine so far.
Thirty minutes passed, forty, and I thanked my lucky stars I’d worn a dark shirt because the back and underarms were soaked with sweat. How long did it take to search an apartment? And how much practice had Rafe had at this? In all honesty, I didn’t want to know the answer to that second question.
Then the sirens started. Quiet at first, but as my fingers twitched over the screen of my phone, the wails grew louder. Closer. What if they were coming for Rafe? Had somebody reported a break-in? My heart pounded as I willed my nerves to hold out.
Finally, I could take it no longer.
Me: The police are near.
Nothing.
The first police car appeared around the corner, and although I willed it to drive past, it slewed to a halt outside Roscoe’s apartment building. Mierda!
Me: Rafe, you need to leave NOW!
No answer. Should I create some sort of diversion? How? I was seriously considering throwing myself under a passing car when Rafe ambled down the steps, as cool as the air conditioner he’d pretended to fix. Thank goodness.
My phone buzzed
in my hand.
Rafe: Pick you up outside the supermarket in 5.
When I slid into the passenger seat of the Honda, he’d lost the cap and the vest and looked more like my brother again.
“What the hell happened? Why didn’t you answer my messages?”
“Because I was busy putting everything back into Roscoe’s closet.”
“I thought the police were coming to arrest you.”
“They weren’t.”
“Then why were they there?”
“Probably because a couple on the first floor were having a screaming match, and the guy threatened to kill her. I bet a neighbour called the cops.” Rafe reached across and squeezed my hand. “Next time, don’t worry, patata pequeña.”
“Are you crazy? How can I not worry? Wait. What next time?”
“Just a figure of speech.”
How could Rafe act so nonchalant? I was still shaking.
“Did you find something in the closet?”
“Have patience, Corazon.”
“I’ve been patient for an hour.”
He didn’t answer, just signalled and pulled out into traffic. Rafe’s poker face was strong, and I had no idea what he was thinking.
“Will you tell me what you found? Please? Anything of Izzy’s?”
“I didn’t find anything that looked like it belonged to a woman at all, and nothing to suggest she’d ever been there.”
“So we wasted our time?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
“Then what did you find?”
“Let’s talk when we get home.”
I was fizzing with impatience by the time we walked into the kitchen, but Grandma merely looked up from her spot at the kitchen table and raised one eyebrow.
Rafe shrugged. “Maybe.” Why did I get the feeling the pair of them spoke a language I didn’t understand? “I got through everywhere but the kitchen, then the cops turned up due to an unconnected problem, so I figured I’d better leave. Glad I don’t live in that building. Drama fucking central.”
“And?”
“Bank statements.” Rafe took a seat opposite Grandma. “I found offshore bank statements in a shoebox in the closet. In the last year, Roscoe Ward has deposited $280,000.”
“US dollars?” Grandma asked.
“Yes.”
I paced out of habit. “Why is that strange? He runs a successful business.”
“His ‘export company’?” Rafe used air quotes around the words. “It’s a warehouse barely bigger than this apartment filled with more dust than goods. The guy who sits at the desk out front has no idea what he does to earn his salary every month, but like he told me, he doesn’t get paid to ask questions.”
Oh. Then how…?
“Eight deposits of thirty thousand each, then one of forty thousand the day after Izzy went missing.”
Grandma’s hands balled into fists. “That cabrón is selling the girls?”
Roscoe was what? Oh, no. No way. Where the hell could he sell them? Women weren’t merchandise, and who would want to buy them anyway?
Rafe just nodded. “It would explain why most of his so-called girlfriends have never been seen again.”
“You can’t honestly believe this?”
Grandma’s theory was even more farfetched than Esther’s.
“Why would he go to the trouble of staging Izzy’s murder?” Grandma asked, seemingly unphased by developments. “When he didn’t do the same for the others?”
“Probably because Izzy had a family who cared about her.”
I stopped and put my hands on my hips. “Why would he take her at all if he knew people would search for her?”
Grandma looked at me sadly. “An extra ten thousand dollars.”
“You’re crazy. You’re both crazy.” My legs didn’t want to hold me up anymore, and I sat down with a bump.
“I only wish we were, Corazon.” Grandma reached out to smooth my hair back the way she’d done since I was a little girl. “I only wish we were.”
“Everything fits, but how do we prove it?” Rafe asked. “And how do we find out who bought Izzy?”
“Proving it’s simple, unfortunately. Sooner or later, Roscoe’s going to invite Cora to Barranquilla. And you, Rafael, have to go with them.”
Rafe shook his head before she finished the sentence. “No way. Sending Cora out for dinner is one thing, but she’s not going to Barranquilla. What if he gets away and we can’t find her?”
“Have faith in yourself. How often have you let men get away?”
Rafe hardened. Every part of him hardened—his face, his body, his eyes, his voice.
“Never.”
This was insane.
“Wait. Wait! Don’t I get a say in this? What if I don’t want to be a worm on a hook for a demented kidnapper?”
“Of course you get a say,” Grandma said. “But this is the fastest path to Izzy. If we delay, it might be too late.”
“What do you think they’re doing to her?” I whispered.
“Don’t dwell on that. Concentrate on what we can do to find her and bring her back home.”
But I did dwell on it. All night long, when I didn’t sleep a wink. Rafe was next door, in Izzy’s bedroom, and I heard him tossing and turning as well. If he and Grandma were right, it didn’t take a genius to work out what had happened to Isabella Morales. What might be happening to her at this very moment. I once watched a documentary on girls trafficked into the sex trade, forced to work in brothels with no hope of escape, and it made me cry. Now, tears rolled down my cheeks and soaked the pillow once again.
Could I really follow the same path as Izzy and risk my own life, or worse? What if Rafe lost track of me and I ended up in the same boat? And I meant “boat” quite literally—if Izzy had phoned for help from the United States, she must have crossed the Caribbean Sea.
But the alternative was to stay in Medellín, drifting through my safe and boring life while my best friend went through hell thousands of miles away. Could I live with myself if I did that?
Of course not.
I was in.
Whatever I had to do, I’d do it.
I just had to have faith that my brother would hold up his end of the bargain.
Monday morning came, and I was still cycling between fear and anger and denial when Roscoe called me. Rafael had left at just after dawn, driving down to Cali to work for two weeks, although he didn’t elaborate on the particulars. Before he went, he told me to keep my dates with Roscoe to avoid arousing suspicion and promised he’d have a friend keep an eye on me.
“What friend?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just know that he’ll be there.”
“But what if something happens?”
“It won’t. Not yet. Roscoe’s MO is to charm the girl first, not take her by brute force and stuff her into his trunk for a fourteen-hour drive to the coast.”
“But—”
“Trust me.”
Funny. That was exactly what Roscoe said, and look how that turned out. Although a part of me still struggled to believe he was a people trafficker. He’d been so happy on our trip to San Felix, and nothing about the kiss we’d shared had felt fake.
When he invited me out to the Delaire Sky Lounge, Medellín’s most beautiful restaurant with views over the city from the outside roof terrace, I wasn’t sure whether to yell at him or gratefully accept. In the end, I agreed to meet him there on Tuesday evening after work, which at least meant I didn’t need to go to Esther’s place first.
“I wish Rafe was here,” I said to Grandma as I touched up my make-up.
“So do I, Corazon. But these are difficult times, and we have to do the best we can with them.”
“Do you truly suspect Roscoe took Izzy?”
“If not him, then somebody else. At the moment, I can’t think of a better explanation for her disappearance.” She wheeled herself a little closer. “This is a brave thing you’re doing, Cora. And I know it’s difficult
to believe that things will turn out well, but if anyone can find Isabella, it’s your brother.”
“I keep wondering if we should go to the police.”
She shook her head vehemently. “The police are not to be trusted. And even if they were, do you really think they’d launch an investigation with so little evidence?”
“I guess not.”
“Just stay out in public tonight, and if you feel uncomfortable at any time, make an excuse and leave.”
“Rafe said somebody will be watching.”
“Then somebody will be watching.” Grandma took my arms and pulled me towards her for a hug. “I’m so proud of you for helping Izzy.”
Proud? I wasn’t proud. I was terrified.
I’d always wanted to eat at the Delaire Sky Lounge, but now I was there, sitting on a comfortable couch and gazing out across the skyline, I longed to be somewhere else.
Roscoe sat across from me, tucking into a piping-hot pizza, freshly cooked in the wood-fired oven. He’d gone for mozzarella, ham, and caramelised pineapple. Ugh. Pineapple? That was the first obvious chink in Roscoe’s perfect exterior, because who did that?
“You seem quiet today, Lina.”
“I’ve been busy. Lessons from nine until six.”
“Is your pasta okay? Hot enough?”
“Delicious. It’s just a big portion, that’s all.”
I looked surreptitiously around the restaurant, trying to work out who my brother had sent to watch over me. The couple in the corner in their mid-twenties? No, they were almost finished with their meal. The group in the far corner were all far too drunk. I thought it might be the smart man in the suit, but then his girlfriend arrived and they only had eyes for each other. One of the waiters? Could Rafe have resorted to bribery?
Then I spotted him. The old man in the corner, wearing a linen suit and reading the paper as though he didn’t have a care in the world. I’d never have guessed if I hadn’t seen that same man in the café in Bello, although he was wearing glasses now.
That was him? That was my brother’s partner in crime? He looked older than Grandma. Last time, I’d barely given him a second glance, but now I realised he was my babysitter, I studied him a little harder. Had I seen him somewhere before? Besides in the café, I mean.
