Chapter 17
“How long are you going to keep me here?” Sam asked. He’d lost track of how many times he’d asked the question. The clock on the wall told him he’d been here way too long.
While he was ready to leave, he wasn’t ready to face Tamara. That truck should have hit them. It had hit them. What should have been a life altering— or ending— accident had barely left his car with a scratch. His car wasn’t a tank that could handle a hit like that with barely a scratch.
Then there was the issue of how fast she'd recovered and went from a scrawny waif to looking like a teenage porn star. And her hand, after she'd grabbed the pan out of the oven. The food was smoking and practically on fire but her fingers hadn't even blistered! What the hell was going on with her?
Or was it him? Had he finally had the breakdown his ex had been telling him he was headed for? Was he even really at a cop station or sitting in a hospital somewhere in a straightjacket while he drooled on himself? He'd seen a movie a few years back about a sexy young girl that was crazy and managed to escape by slipping into some weird fantasy world where she danced her way out of her problems. Only problem was, nobody wanted to watch him dance, even if he could. That and he didn't feel crazy. If he remembered correctly, that girl had died at the end of the movie.
That brought him back to Tamara. Was she some sort of guardian angel? Sam shook that thought from his head. He didn’t believe in ghosts and angels and all that crap. He believed in the power of his own two hands. If he could touch it, or affect it, then it was real. Hell, his old NCO loved to comment that if Sam couldn’t eat it, destroy it, or fuck it, then it didn’t matter.
But what stopped that truck?
“We’re working up the paperwork to release you now, Mr. Mendez,” Detective Anderson told him. This was a different answer than any he’d received before now. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you’d like to tell us?”
Detective Anderson had been the one interrogating Sam. He'd been polite and courteous throughout, even going so far as to extol Sam’s military service, but it was still an interrogation. Sam had grown tired of the man’s syrupy sweet attitude and repetitive questions.
“I’ve already told you everything I know,” Sam snapped. “Fuck, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jenkins cut my brake lines to cause the accident. I don’t know how we avoided getting creamed. I don’t know anything about what happened at the aquarium or on the beach. I’ve told you everything I know.”
“You and Jenkins seem to have a long history,” the detective stated. It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t the first time he’d brought it up.
“I told you before, I want a restraining order against him.” Sam had to work hard to keep himself from yelling. The man wasn’t listening to him.
“Yes. We talked to your boss. She told us about what happened at the aquarium. Please believe me, and on behalf of our department, we’re sorry for his behavior.” Which meant they heard him, but weren’t going to do a damned thing.
Sam only grunted. What else could he say that he hadn’t already said more than once?
Someone knocked on the door. Detective Anderson poked his head out for a moment, before turning back to Sam.
“It looks like you were right about your car, Mr. Mendez. Somebody messed with your brakes.”
Sam was speechless. It was one thing to suspect it, but to have it confirmed caused a knot to form in his stomach. He’d been in a hostile environment where people wanted to kill him— he'd been to war— but that had been a general hatred of all Americans. No one wanted Sam Mendez dead because he was Sam Mendez. They wanted him dead because he was an American soldier in their country and he stood for change and a new way of life.
Now somebody wanted him, Sam, dead. And there was only one person he could think that would be.
“It was Jenkins,” Sam said, knowing he was right. “He was at the aquarium, giving me shit, and he followed us when we left. That’s why he was there and saw the accident. He knew it was going to happen.”
“That’s a pretty strong accusation,” Anderson said. “Are you sure it couldn’t have been someone else?”
“No one else would do something like that to me.”
"You're divorced?"
Sam stiffened. Would she? He shook his head. "No way. She's a bitch, but I made her that way. We used to get in fights and sometimes things got violent, but we never hit each other. We wouldn't. We're not like that. She's still the mother of my kids and I'm still their father. She wouldn't do that."
He raised an eyebrow.
"No, it was Jenkins. That son of a bitch has had it in for me from day one. He jumped to conclusions and just saw what he wanted to see. Now he's not getting his way and it's pissing him off, so he's out to get me one way or another."
“Officer Jenkins is an officer of the law,” Anderson replied. His voice carried as much skepticism as Sam’s certainty. “Are you sure the target was you, and not the girl? According to you, she doesn’t remember her past. Maybe she made an enemy somewhere?”
Sam opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. There was something strange about Tamara. Too many things had occurred around her lately for him to dismiss anymore. And he didn’t know her past. Could she have an enemy somewhere? Was she even old enough to have made an enemy willing to murder her ? One that was willing to kill Sam to get to her? Maybe that was why she’d washed up on the beach.
“She’s just a girl,” Sam lied. “Jenkins has been hounding me for years. Recently it’s gotten worse. I’m telling you, he’s the one!”
Anderson studied Sam for a moment, but Sam couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.
“We’ll look into it,” was all he said concerning Sam’s accusation. “In the meantime, go home and get some rest. Someone at the front will give you the address of where your car was towed. You’re free to go.”
“That’s it?” Sam gasped. “You just found out that Jenkins was trying to kill me, and that’s it?” Never mind that only a few moments ago he wanted to get out of here. He was being brushed aside. He’d served his country, risking his very life for the freedoms people took for granted. One of those freedoms was knowing that his life was supposed to be protected by the police. Instead they were shoving him out the door and protecting his attempted killer.
“Like I said, we’ll look into it.” There was a slight edge to his voice. He was no longer trying to be friendly and get answers from Sam. Now he was being professional.
Sam grunted as he stood up and walked out the door. It took a great deal of effort not to shoulder check the man as he passed by.
“Sam?” Tamara’s uncertain voice reached him as he stepped into the lobby. His gut wrenched to hear the normally confidant young woman sound heartbroken.
Sam held up his hand, unable to look at her. He heard her sniff, and he knew she’d been crying. What was he going to do about her. There was something really fucking weird about her, but that didn't stop him from caring about her. Damn it! Just what he needed, more drama.
He got the address for where his car was, and turned around to face Tamara when he heard another voice.
“I’m telling you, something happened to her!” Brock’s baritone rang out loud and clear. Sam turned to see him arguing with another cop. “She wouldn’t just leave like that.”
“Until she’s been missing for twenty-four hours, or unless you have evidence to show me, we can’t do anything,” the cop sounding bored.
“Brock! Hey, what’s going on?” Sam asked, approaching the young man.
“Sam? What—Never mind. It’s Subie. Something’s happened to her.” Brock’s eyes were wide and his breathing shallow. Sam had seen the signs of panic often enough to see that Brock was scared. “These pigs won’t lift a finger to help!”
“Yeah, that seems to be their thing today,” Sam agreed. “Come on. Why don’t we head outside and you can tell me what happened.”
“What about. . . ?” Brock asked, indic
ating the officer he’d been arguing with. The officer had already walked away. “Damn it!” he swore, before allowing Sam to lead him out. Tamara was right on their heels.
“What happened to Subie?” Tamara asked as soon as they were outside. Her voice came out quiet and uncertain.
“Tamara!” Brock exclaimed, noticing her for the first time. “Did Subie say anything to you last night? Did she mention going anywhere?”
“No, she didn’t,” Tamara said.
Brock let out a forlorn wail that sounded more like an animal dying, than someone worried about his girlfriend.
“Calm down,” Sam admonished him. “I’m sure she’s all right.”
“All right?” Brock demanded. There was anger in his eyes as he spun on Sam. “All right?! Last night after the cops let us go at the beach, we went back to our room. Subie said she couldn’t go to sleep, because she kept seeing that. . . that place! She said she was just going to walk around the lobby, but when I woke up this morning, she wasn’t there. I figured she just went out to get coffee or breakfast or something, but she never came back. Subie wouldn’t just leave like that!”
“Okay, okay,” Sam was still trying to calm the man. “I believe you. What did the receptionist at the hotel say?”
“The. . . ? I didn’t even think to ask!” Brock hit his forehead, angry with himself. The jock spun and started running for his car.
“Hold on!” Sam yelled after him. “We’ll come with you.” He didn’t want to get into the middle of a lover’s spat if Subie really had walked out on Brock, but he wasn’t about to let the man go off half-cocked either.
“Sam?” Tamara’s voice reached him again, but he shook his head.
“Not now, Tamara. Come on, we need to go with him.” He wasn’t wearing his running prosthetic, but thankfully Brock waited for them to get in before peeling out of the parking lot.
“We need to talk, Sam,” Tamara whispered to him from the back seat. “I need you to talk to me.”
His heart did flip-flops at the pleading in her voice, but he shoved it down.
“What are Adrian and Alex doing right now?” Sam asked, to take his mind off of Brock’s driving. He’d been in some scary HUMMV rides. Brock’s driving put them to shame as he screeched around corners, cut cars off, and ignored traffic signals. Come to think of it, this was almost exactly like those rides. Except that it’s pretty hard to get a HUMMV’s tires to screech.
“Adrian is checking out the places we’ve been. Alex is staying at the hotel in case she come back.”
“Did you try calling her?” Tamara asked.
“Of course we did!” Brock snapped. “She didn’t answer. I’m telling you, something happened to her.”
“Calm down,” Sam repeated again, knowing the man was ignoring him. “Tamara is just trying to help. Don’t get mad at her.”
“You’re right,” Brock replied. “I’m sorry, Tamara. I just. . . .” He shook his head and didn’t complete the sentence. Sam understood. He’d felt that way when his ex took his kids away. He’d felt lost and hopeless, but at least he knew they were alive and well. Brock didn’t even have that much.
What would he do if Tamara went missing? He turned to look at her. He regretted it immediately. The hope that blossomed in her eyes as he finally met her gaze was heart wrenching. He turned back to face the road as Brock’s rental car jounced into the hotel parking lot.
He didn’t need to worry about Tamara disappearing. She was safe and sound. He needed to worry about what he was going to do about her freakiness.
Brock got out of the car almost before it was in park. Sam waited for Tamara to get out before talking to her.
“Let’s figure out what’s happened to Subie, and then we can talk, okay?” He placed his hand on her shoulder. He’d been afraid his skin would crawl to touch her, but it felt natural. It felt right. That didn’t stop him from pulling away before she could put her hand on his.
He saw a single tear break from her eye as she nodded. Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into a hug. He couldn’t help it. She’d almost died with him, and he’d been an asshole to her. She needed him in a way right now that few people could ever understand. He was likely the only person around that understood what it was like to narrowly escape death. He berated himself, vowing to do better by her.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll figure it out, together,” he told her. He released her, but it took another few seconds before she let go of him.
“I’m scared, Sam,” she told him.
“I know,” he replied. “So am I, but right now we need to figure out where Subie is.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and headed into the lobby to see three of Tamara’s friends standing there. He could tell by the way they were huddled together that something was wrong.
“No, no, no, no,” Brock whispered as they walked up.
“What’s wrong?” Tamara asked. Sam was glad to note that her voice was stronger.
“This,” Adrian said, pulling Brock’s phone out of his hand and handing it over.
Tamara gasped as she looked at it, the color draining from her pretty features. She began to shake and whisper something under her breath. Sam snatched the phone away.
And almost dropped it.
The picture on the screen made Sam want to vomit. Subie’s face was easily recognizable but the body she loved to flaunt wasn’t. Bruises covered most of her exposed skin, and everything was exposed. Sam had often wondered what she looked like under her bikini, but he didn’t want to see her like that.
“That came in with a text saying she was still alive, but if we go see the police, they’ll kill her.” Adrian’s tone was flat and emotionless.
This time Brock’s wail put his previous one to shame.
Devil's Island Page 23
