“A siesta, you mean.”
“Exactly.”
It had already been a long day. They’d stayed up late at the ranch, gotten up early, and had taken a long plane ride. “First we need a plan.”
“We can go back to the restaurant tonight. Maybe Knox decided to go there for dinner instead of lunch.”
“I guess that’s reasonable.”
“Argentinians don’t eat early. El Puente won’t open until eight.”
“Okay then.” She got to her feet and moved to the bed. Then she noticed Simon studying her from across the room. “What?”
“We’ll have to do something about that gorgeous red hair of yours before we go out. It’s a dead giveaway.”
She blinked at him, stunned by the backhanded compliment. “Do you really think the men in the chopper followed us here to Buenos Aires?”
“I don’t know. But if they can figure out we’re here, they’ll find us sooner or later.” He turned back to his computer.
With that reassuring news, she laid down, closed her eyes, and drifted into a troubled sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
He was livid with himself.
How could he have made such a ridiculous miscalculation?
He should have listened to his pilot and followed Sloan through the tunnel under the cabin in Patagonia. But he had been certain he could remember where the exit of that long cave was.
He had not.
After all these years the landscape had changed. The trees, the rocks, the dry overgrowth had all been unrecognizable to him. They had spent all the time they dared looking for it. They were running short of fuel.
Instead they returned to the airstrip in Nacimiento where they had refueled, and returned to Concepción.
Now they were inside a room at a university, scouring the computers. Or rather, his pilot was.
He was pacing back and forth from the window to the bookshelf. “Have you found it yet?”
“The facial recognition software is running, sir, but the connection is slow.”
Everything was slow here. He longed for New York, where he’d been working during the past year.
“Starting to get something now, sir.”
He hurried over and peered at the screen as a lovely redheaded woman appeared. “That’s her. Who is she?”
The pilot scrolled to the data. “Her name is Janelle Wesson. She’s a private investigator for the Parker Agency in Atlanta.”
What was Simon Sloan doing with a private investigator? He had good taste, though. She was a beauty.
The information didn’t tell them where he was now.
“What’s our next step, sir?”
He sat down and rubbed his chin. There was only one person he could think of here in Argentina that Sloan had been connected with in the past. The thought of him brought back fond memories of hot days and cold nights and hard work and good play. They had a bond, he had thought. A brotherhood.
And then he remembered when a top agent came to him a few days ago and told him Simon Sloan had slit Barnabas Cooley’s throat in his office.
His own throat choked with anger at the image.
“He’s been disavowed. He must be eliminated,” the man had told him.
“Yes, sir,” had been his immediate response.
Where would Sloan go? Into hiding in the mountains? To a city? No, Sloan would go to a person for help. And there was only one he could think of. He would find him. And if Sloan had the woman with him, all the better.
He put a hand on the pilot’s shoulder “We need to do a search of agents in Argentina.”
“Who are we looking for, sir?”
“A man who worked here ten years ago. His name is Tiziano.”
Chapter Fourteen
When Janelle stepped into El Puente shortly after eight p.m. and followed the hostess to the same table near the window they’d occupied at lunch, she wondered if anyone recognized them.
The black pageboy style wig Simon had produced from one of his magic duffel bags to hide her “gorgeous red hair” went well with the fitted yellow dress with the deep blue pansies that she’d grabbed from her closet when she’d left Atlanta. Simon had donned a dark suit and tie, white shirt included, and a pair of glasses. He’d trimmed his beard, and combed his jet black hair straight back. He definitely looked more like a movie star than an FBI agent. He was definitely sigh worthy.
But could anyone tell they were the same couple who’d been here for lunch? And could anyone tell she had a weapon hidden in her lambskin clutch bag? Simon’s was tucked into his belt at the small of his back.
She was surprised when he held out her chair. “You are incognito tonight, aren’t you?” she murmured as she sat down.
He waited until the hostess had handed them menus and left to scowl at her. “Are you saying I don’t have manners?”
“I’m saying it was an unusual gesture.” Not that she wanted to be treated like she was made out of china.
He grimaced as he picked up his menu. “I’m sorry I’m not as sophisticated as your former boss.”
Mr. Parker always did treat Steele special. It was obvious they loved each other, but they were always professional about it. She and Simon? Not so much.
She thought about the way Simon had acted when she threatened to leave. He did have feelings for her, didn’t he? But how deep were they? Or did he just feel responsible for her.
It didn’t matter. She’d help him get out of this mess, and then they’d no doubt go their separate ways.
Janelle Wesson did not chase men.
She glanced around the restaurant and scanned the tables outside. The establishment was more crowded than it had been for lunch, but she didn’t see any sign of Agent Julian Knox.
Turning back to Simon, she watched him doing the same. He caught her gaze again and shook his head slightly.
No luck, so far.
She opened her menu. “So what do Argentinians eat for dinner?”
“If you’re hungry, steak. If you’re not hungry, steak.”
She inhaled the restaurant’s aroma of grilled deliciousness and took in some of the dishes people around her were enjoying. “They do seem to like their beef.”
“Some say it’s better than Brazil’s.”
She closed the menu and gave him a sassy look. “Why don’t you order for me.”
He seemed surprised, but smiled sexily. “I think I’m up to that challenge.”
He called the waitress over and ordered in Spanish. After a few minutes she brought a plate of bread and little pastries that looked like turnovers.
Janelle picked one up and tried it.
It was filled with tasty ground beef mixed with onions and olives. “Hmm,” she said, taking a bite. “What is this?”
“Empanadas. It means ‘wrapped in bread.’ They’re made by folding a dough around stuffing. They have them stuffed with meats, vegetables, or even fruits.”
“This one is yummy.”
“Save your appetite. There’s more to come.”
He wasn’t kidding. Soon a huge silver bowl filled with salad appeared.
“This is ensalada completa,” Simon said as he dished some onto her plate.
It certainly was complete, filled with lettuce, carrots, eggs, beets, heart of palm, and potatoes in a flavorful vinaigrette. She couldn’t help scarfing it down.
“Slow down. We’re probably going to be here a while.”
He was right. There was no sign of Knox yet.
As she pushed away the salad, the main course was served.
For a moment she stared down at the thick cut, then picked up the heavy knife that could have been used as a weapon and cut into it.
As she savored the first bite, she couldn’t help moaning again. It was heavenly melt-in-your-mouth, grilled-to-perfection goodness.
Wiping her mouth, she caught Simon watching her with a satisfied grin. “This is the best steak I’ve ever had.”
“So you’re admitting I’
m right?”
“About what?”
“About what you’d like.”
Her comment about the chair thing must have really challenged his manhood. “Sure.” Giving him a flirtatious smile, she took another bite.
He inhaled with pride, then concentrated on his own meal. Obviously, he was fighting his attraction to her. It gave her as much of a sense of satisfaction as the hearty meal.
Though the steak was beyond delicious, she’d eaten too much salad and empanada, and couldn’t get down more than a third of it.
But it gave them an excuse to linger and watch the crowd. Parties came and went, things began to thin.
Around eleven o’clock, Simon told the waitress “para llevar,” and she wrapped up the rest of Janelle’s steak for her.
Though she was stuffed, Simon ordered a dessert, which was chunks of tart quince fruit atop bread and cheese, accompanied by strong coffee. No wonder people here slept only five or six hours a night.
They lingered over the final goodies for another hour, but there was still no sign of Agent Knox. Once again, the place was closing when, except for Janelle’s leftovers, they left empty handed.
Chapter Fifteen
“Maybe Agent Knox found a new favorite place to eat,” Janelle sighed as she studied the pedestrians on the brightly lit sidewalk, heading for clubs or the bus station.
They were back in the Beetle, driving down the Avenida Santa Fe on their way back to the hotel.
Simon made a U-turn around the bus stop. “I was thinking that. It leaves us with few choices.”
They could start going from eatery to eatery, but how long would that take? She turned to Simon. “Do we dare go to the embassy?”
He let out a pained grunt. “They could have a wanted poster of me on every wall.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Only a little.”
His statement took her breath. She imagined them wandering the embassy halls, only to get arrested before they found Knox. She would be arrested, too. She’d tell them Simon was innocent, that she was innocent. But would anyone believe her? The phrase “aiding and abetting” went through her mind.
Simon was right. Going to the embassy was too risky.
The traffic slowed them down as they rolled past a church and several closed shops, then Simon made another turn and they were at El Puente again. He steered the car down the street where they had parked. It was darker here, the road lined with older apartment buildings that looked like they might have come from Europe or New York. Was this the way to the hotel?
Simon had gone silent again. Then she noticed he was glaring hard into the rearview mirror.
A cold shiver went down her spine. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s following us.”
So they weren’t going straight back to the hotel. He was trying to lose them. Casually she glanced at the side mirror.
“Gray Citroen two cars back?”
He seemed surprised. “You’ve got a good eye.”
“I’ve had good training,” she said smugly. He kept forgetting that.
He continued down the street, which seemed to be getting darker. Shadows cast by trees and a quaint stucco balcony on one side of the road mirrored the ones from a new construction with a metal and wood awning on the other. At a bicycle shop with graffiti and posters on the windows, Simon made another turn.
The Citroen was still behind them, now one car back.
She drew in a tense breath as Simon turned again. Now they were moving down a street with apartment buildings, a “farmacia,” and European style corners with prettily decorated buildings.
Then the street changed.
The buildings became shabbier, and there was more graffiti and more iron bars on the shop windows and doors. The Citroen was the only car behind them now.
Janelle’s throat was going dry when she spotted an empty parking spot alongside a building. Before she could point it out, Simon pulled into it, and the Beetle came to a halt.
She held her breath.
The Citroen’s horn blared, and from its rear window a hand emerged holding a beer bottle. The person inside yelled at them in Spanish. Whether in anger or in celebration, she couldn’t say.
Then the Citroen zoomed past them.
“Not a good technique if you’re tailing someone,” she muttered.
“They must have been partygoers.”
She sat back and let out a breath, wondering if they were both getting paranoid.
Simon wiped his hand over his face. “Sorry about that.”
“It could have been a tail. You were right to be cautious.”
He didn’t answer.
While he sat collecting himself, her gaze drifted to a building a few feet away.
It had a white stucco facade with a Roman style cornice jutting from it. Beneath the cornice was a tall recessed doorway with a few steps leading to the entrance. In the shadows, she could make out a figure sitting on the stoop.
A small figure. With his arms wrapped around his knees, and his head buried in his lap as if he were crying. He had on a faded T-shirt and dark sweatpants. But his shoes looked like designer racers. His face was hidden, but she could see a head of thick dark curls.
A boy?
Slowly he raised his head and stared at the idling Beetle with big desperate eyes.
It was definitely a boy. Maybe eight or nine.
Suddenly, he jumped up and rushed toward the car. Reaching it, he tapped on the glass.
Cautiously, Simon rolled his window down a bit. “What do you want?”
Was he a beggar? Her heart went out to him.
“Oh, Señor, Señor. You have to help me. You are good people, no?”
“I hope so. Are you?”
“Si. I am good. But my papa, my father, he is a very bad man.” Large dark brown eyes shone with urgency, accenting his dark shaggy curls. He had been crying.
“Why do you say that?” Simon asked.
“I heard him talking on the phone. He is planning something terrible. He talked about a meeting with some bad men tonight. I followed him here.”
“On foot?” Wesson said.
The boy must not have noticed her before. He stared at her in awe. “Oooh, Señora hermosa.”
The words Tiziano had said when he first met her. Janelle didn’t know whether to be flattered or irritated. “Answer my question, young man. Did you walk here?”
The boy nodded. “Si. We do not live far from here.” He pointed toward a building on the corner. “My father is in there now talking to the bad men. I am afraid to go home. You have to stop him.”
“How do you know all that?” Simon asked.
“I saw them. They are on the third floor.”
“What makes you think we can stop him?’
“You look like someone who can help.”
Was this some kind of Argentinian ruse kids played on unsuspecting tourists? Were they about to get rolled? But they weren’t tourists. And they certainly weren’t unsuspecting.
Simon started to roll the window up again. “Sorry, friend. We’re here on vacation.”
The boy put his fingers on the window. “But what about the boys?”
Simon rolled the window down again. “What boys?”
“I heard my papa talking about boys to the bad people on the phone tonight. I think it has something to do with the missing boys.”
“What missing boys?”
“Boys missing from La Boca and the ville miserables. That is what the kids at school say. I think they sell them. Last week, my friend Diego disappeared. I think my father is going to sell me to the bad men.”
Janelle watched Simon’s back go stiff. That remark got her attention, too. “We have to help him,” she whispered quietly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“It could be a set up.”
She didn’t know what to think. “What if it isn’t? We do have—you know.”
She patted her clutch bag.
His expression told her he knew she meant their weapons. “I suppose I could go and check out that building.” He turned back to the boy. “What does your father look like?”
For a moment the boy didn’t have an answer. “He says I look like him.”
“Tall? Short? Thin? Chubby?”
The boy frowned then put a finger under his nose. “He has a moustache. Oh, and a cap.”
Simon turned around to her. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
Her stomach went tight at his words, but she couldn’t just drive away. “I’m fine with it.”
“Okay. In the meantime, keep an eye on the kid.” In one smooth move, he got out of the car, grabbed the boy by the arm and shoved him into the backseat. Then he put a finger in his face. “If anything happens to her, I’ll come after you. Understand?”
The boy’s eyes went even wider as he mutely nodded agreement.
Simon tossed the keys to her. “Keep the car locked.”
“Right. Be careful.”
“I will.”
And she watched him turn and walk away down the sidewalk to the corner building.
Nerves tore at her insides. Had she just made the biggest mistake of her life? Was Simon walking into a trap? If there really was a group of bad men who kidnapped boys inside that building, what would happen if he confronted them?
She had to think of something else or she’d go crazy. Turning, she eyed the boy, who was running his hands over the upholstery of the backseat as if he were in a swank limo.
“What’s your name?” she said.
He blinked up at her with those big endearing eyes. “Alejandro.”
Might as well get as much information out of him as she could. “What’s your father’s name?”
He sniffed the air, then began to play with the knobs for the air control. “People call him Tomas.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Last name?”
“Your surname.”
“Torres.” He reached for one of the seat belts and pulled it out.
“Put that back. So your father is Tomas Torres?”
He slid the seat belt back in place and hunched his shoulders. “Si. That is his name.”
Escape from Danger Page 6
