Chapter Twenty-Two

Anxiety dipped low in his stomach like a sinking ship as he studied Mickey’s face. Her freshly washed hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and the pale green tank top showed off her battle scars. He didn’t want her to fly home by herself, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

She’d been through hell last night, but she wasn’t going to crumble to pieces and demand his protection. Instead, she insisted he give his full attention to talking to Pete and finding Becca.

His rental car idled on the curb near the arrivals at the Cancun International Airport. Cars crawled by his window, searching for their own spots to drop off friends and loved ones. The hard leather of the steering wheel bit into his hands. Every ounce of his being screamed at him to pull her close to him and refuse to let go until she agreed to stay. Instead, he kept his hands at ten and two and focused on the way the leather chafed against his skin.

“Any idea what time you’ll take off?” A car honked behind him, and he peered out the window, waving the impatient bastard along.

“No. My boss understood why I needed to take a few days off, but she couldn’t get me on a direct flight home. A few flights go to Chicago today, so hopefully I can weasel my way onto one of them.”

“And if you can’t?”

Mickey shrugged. “Then I’ll be here waiting for you.”

“You should be here with me anyway. Wait a little while and I’ll book us a flight home together. You might not even be able to get home on standby.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure I’ll be on a flight in no time.” She reached out and squeezed his forearm. Her touch warmed his skin despite the frigid air blasting from the vents and his muscles relaxed. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get home.”

The heat from her touch spread from his arm until it filled his whole body. The idea of her waiting for him was more appealing than he expected. “I like the sound of that.”

Her full lips curved up and his heart constricted in his chest. “Me too.”

His hands dropped from the steering wheel and reached out to frame her face. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the mole above her lip and she grimaced. She was so damn cute. “I gotta go meet Eric. We need to talk about our next move. Did you program my number in the phone you picked up?”

“Yes. I’ll text you when I know my flight time, and you keep me posted as well.”

He pulled her to him and crushed his mouth on hers. He needed one more taste before he let her go, even though it would never be enough. A rush of emotion flooded his chest, warming him to his toes. He broke away, his forehead pressed to hers, and inhaled the smell of strawberries and citrus. “I’ll let you know as soon I can.”

Mickey sighed and her warm breath skimmed over his face. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and then turned to open the door. The hot morning air swept into the car and pushed back the cold air he preferred.

Leaving the car idling, he stepped outside. His dark aviator sunglasses blocked out the glare of the sun, but couldn’t hide the brilliant blue of the sky. The salty ocean air swirled around the slight breeze, settling on his skin. Palm trees swayed along the wide sidewalk winding into the airport. He walked around to the back of the car, popped open the trunk, and grabbed Mickey’s carry-on bag. The wheels squeaked over small pebbles as he rolled it to where she stood on the sidewalk.

“Thanks,” she said and reached for the handle.

He pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her. “Have a nice flight,” he said, his mouth pressed into a mass of hair above her ear.

“I will.” She pulled away, offering him one last smile, before she turned and walked toward the entrance.

He stood watching after her like a puppy waiting for its master. When she stepped through the threshold and the doors shut behind her, all the air left his lungs. Damn, he had it bad. His phone vibrated against his thigh and he fished it from his pocket.

Dude, where are you? You were supposed to meet me ten minutes ago.

Shit. Between sex with Mickey this morning and getting her to the airport, he’d lost track of time. His thumbs moved over the keyboard with a reply.

Sorry. Leaving the airport now. Be there in five.

Somehow Eric had managed to have Pete sent to a prison in Cancun instead of Playa Del Carmen. Graham didn’t ask questions, just took the small luxury of having a partner with connections inside Mexican jails.

He put his phone in his pocket, climbed back into the car, and took off for the coffee shop where he’d agreed to meet Eric. The small shop had parking in the back and he found a spot easily. Heat pounded down on him and sweat gathered at his temples as he stepped into the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. The cool air was thick with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Taking a deep breath, he let the coolness chase the god-awful heat from his skin. He glanced around the room and quickly spotted Eric at a table for two in the back corner. Caffeine called to him, but Eric’s pinched face and rigid body had him walking straight to the table.

“Hey, man, what’s going on?” he asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Did you get Pete to talk last night? Any word on how long it will take to extradite him?”

Eric ran a hand over the day-old scuff on his chin and sighed. “He’s closed up tight. He knows he’s going to jail regardless of what he says. I couldn’t crack him.”

He hadn’t expected anything different. He’d take a stab at him. No way he was leaving without sitting down with the bastard. Maybe he’d have better luck. Graham leaned back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll head straight there once we’re done. Maybe I can pry some information out of him.”

Eric set his coffee on the table, circling the cup with his hands. “Good luck. He knows he’s screwed so there’s no need to cooperate.” Hesitation had him dropping his gaze and fidgeting with his cup. “I don’t know if we’ll find those girls if he doesn’t talk. And you won’t have much time to talk to him. I had to grease a few palms to get us access.”

“Maybe I can slip the guards a little extra today to turn their heads. I’d love to get my hands on that piece of shit.” An image of Mickey bruised and bloody popped in his mind and his blood thundered in his ears.

Eric snorted. “I wouldn’t blame you for trying. Did you get a hold of Harper last night?”

“No, I was connected to Mary when I tried to reach him. She said he’ll be gone for a few days, but couldn’t give me any details. Have you ever known Harper to disappear?”

All humor left Eric’s face and his mouth dropped into a frown. “No, never. Where do you think he went? Vacation?”

Graham shook his head. “He would have given us a heads up. This is different. I can feel it in my gut. Harper’s been weird about this case, and it’s damn coincidental he drops off the map as soon as we catch a break. I don’t buy it. He’s hiding something.”

Eric furrowed his brow and his eyes flitted around the room, as if searching for the answer. “I don’t know, man. But I agree, it can’t be a coincidence. I booked a flight home, so I’ll do some digging once I get in. I’m going to head straight to the airport from here. All the paperwork to get Pete back to Chicago can be done at home.”

“Let me know if you hear anything, but I shouldn’t be far behind you. After I talk to Pete, I’ll be able to jump on a plane home.”

“You’re not planning on talking to Paula?”

Graham shook his head. “Nah. There’s no point anymore. We’ve found Pete.” Not like he’d needed to anyway. Mickey had already told him everything Paula had said. But he didn’t want Eric knowing about Mickey’s involvement. She’d overstepped a few times, and leaving her name out of things was for the best.

“Makes sense.” Eric grabbed his to-go cup of coffee and stood from the table, extending his hand. “Good luck. See you soon.”

Graham stood and shook his hand. He hoped like hell his interview with Pete went fast, and he got the information he needed to find Becca and the other girls. Without Pete’s cooperation, he’d be screwed.

…

Gravel crunched beneath his tires as he pulled into the parking lot outside of the jail Pete had been transferred to. Peering over his steering wheel, he gazed up at the large white walls jutting out in four different directions. A watchtower stood tall in the center. Two armed guards looked out the square windows, their assault rifles ready for action.

Graham stepped out of the car and checked to make sure his Glock was in the back of his waistband. Chances were the guards would make him take it off, but he’d at least try to get it inside. He’d only been inside a Mexican jail a handful of times, and it wasn’t a place he wanted to be left unarmed. Shouts of undistinguishable Spanish penetrated the walls. He locked his jaw, kept his head high, and his mind alert as he walked into the jail.

The smell hit him first, and he struggled not to cover his nose with his hand. Sweat, urine, and feces mingled together in the stifling heat, making bile burn his stomach. He held his breath and walked up to the office Eric had told him to find. He knocked on the closed door, and was greeted by an overweight Mexican guard with an assault rifle dangling at his side.

“Que deseas?”

Graham searched his mind for the limited Spanish he knew, but came up blank. “Hola, yo soy Graham Grassi. Yo necesito ver Pete Bogart.”

A deep laugh rumbled up from the guard’s belly and out of his mouth. He turned and sat down on his chair, leaning back and crossing his ankles on top of his desk. The chair squeaked under his weight, and Graham feared the chair would fall backward.

“I met your friend last night. He said you’d be around, and you’d have something for me.” The guard’s thick accent made the words come out slow and broken.

Graham nodded and pulled a wad of bills from his front pocket. “This should cover it.” He extended his hand, the bills hidden in his palm.

The guard leaned forward and grabbed the money. Shifting through the bills, he nodded his head and a large, crooked grin showed off brown stained teeth. “This will do nicely. I will take you to a room where the prisoner will be brought in. You’ll be alone, with one guard outside the door. You’ll have twenty minutes.”

“What if I need more time?”

“Too bad for you,” the guard said with a laugh as he stood. “Follow me.”

Graham followed the man out of the office and down a long corridor. Cells filled either side of the hall, and men shoved their hands through the bars and yelled as they walked by. Graham ignored them, his attention focused solely on Pete. Twenty minutes wasn’t much time, but he’d have to make it work.

A young man with dark skin and dressed in military style fatigues stood outside of a white steel door. Dark stains…blood?… ran down the door and dents made it bow in several spots. One small window looked into the room. The man’s lips were set in a grim line and he fixed his eyes straight ahead.

The head guard spoke to him in Spanish, and the young man gave one nod.

“Okay, he’s already in there. If you need help, Hector will be right outside the door. Remember, veinte minutos.”

Graham reached out and opened the door. The room was small and the stifling air inside had to be close to a hundred degrees. Beads of sweat coursed down his face and gathered on his back. A rectangular table sat in the middle of the room and the only light hung down from the ceiling over the center. One empty chair sat pushed into one side of the table, and Pete Bogart sat on the other side.

Graham’s blood boiled hotter than the room.

Pete glanced up and met his eyes. Damn, he looked like shit. His ashen skin sunk into the hollows of his cheeks and dried blood lingered around his swollen lips. Clumps of dirt clung to his close-cropped brown hair and red veins ran like spokes in the whites of his eyes. His hands clasped together on the table. His gaze stayed fixed on Graham as he walked to the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down.

Graham sucked in a deep breath and the hot air burned his lungs. He crossed his arms over his chest and hardened his gaze. “Where are the girls?”

Pete never looked away, just shrugged his shoulders.

“Is this where you want to live out the rest of your days?” Graham asked and waved a hand in the air. “This is hell. Tell me where the girls are and we’ll transfer you to the U.S. Better food, a clean bed, air conditioning. You can’t be stupid enough to want to stay here.”

“It doesn’t matter where I am. Nothing matters anymore.” Pete’s voice held no inflection, no hint of emotion. His eyes stayed fixed on Graham, but they were looking through him.

“Why? Because you were caught? You can’t honestly believe you’d have a better life here. Tell me where the girls are and I’ll bring you home.” Graham’s mind raced. He needed an angle, a carrot to dangle in front of Pete’s face to get him to give up the girls. If it wasn’t being expedited back to a more comfortable cell, what was it?

“I have no life. Not anymore. Not when he has her now.”

Graham’s heart rate kicked up. “Becca? Who has Becca? Tell me where she is and I’ll get her away from him.”

“It’s too late. I’ve lost her forever.”

The words pierced Graham’s heart like a dagger. “It can’t be too late. I can find Becca, if you help me.”

Pete’s eyes cleared and pain contorted his face. “This has nothing to do with Becca. Paula! He has Paula! I fucked up so he took the only thing that matters to me. I got too caught up finally having her. I used my real name, I let Mickey into my life. All so she would finally be mine. And now she’s gone.”

“Who has Paula?”

Pete tilted his head to the side and he sneered. “Did you think you’d finally caught the bad guy? That it was over now? You don’t know shit.”

Adrenaline kicked up his pulse. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not the man in charge. I don’t have the answers you want.”

Graham curled his hands into fists and pounded them on the table. “Then who’s in charge?”

“Did you think it was dumb luck I found Mickey? You should know there are no such things as coincidences.”

Realization hit him like a fist to the gut. Someone else was helping Pete, someone who knew how to find Mickey. Fear washed over him. Someone who was still out there.

Graham pushed up from the table, leaned forward, and grabbed the neck of Pete’s shirt. He pressed his face into Pete’s personal space. “Give me a name. Tell me who it is.”

Pete hung limply in his hand, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The blank look came back into his eyes, and Graham pushed him back in his seat. Panic clawed at him. He needed answers, and fast. He sat back in his chair and took a steadying breath.

“I already told you, it doesn’t matter anymore. He has Paula and he’ll never let her go. She’s my everything.”

As quick as lightning, Pete unclasped his hands and his palm curled around something, its sharp tip barely visible. He slashed it across first one wrist, and then changed hands and slashed the other. Blood oozed onto the table, and a razor blade fell from Pete’s now open palms.

“No! Hector, get your ass in here, now.” He shot to his feet and his chair crashed backward to the floor. The door flew open and Graham yelled, “Get a medic in here. He slit his wrists!”

Pete’s head lolled back, exposing his pale neck. Graham took off his shirt and used the razor blade to slice strips of material. He grabbed Pete’s arm and wrapped one strip above Pete’s wrist where the cut had been made. Grabbing his other hand, he did the same thing above the other cut. Thick, crimson blood continued to ooze from the wounds. Graham placed two fingers under Pete’s neck to check his pulse. His pulse was so weak, Graham could barely find it.

He glanced up at Hector and he yanked his fingers off Pete’s neck. “It’s no use. He’ll never make it out of here alive.”

Wiping Pete’s blood onto his ruined shirt, he grabbed his phone from his pocket. He needed to catch a flight back home as soon as possible. His main suspect was dead, he had no other leads, and someone on the inside was up to their neck in this shit. He had to figure out who, and fast. He ground his teeth together as he pulled up the flight schedule on his phone.

One thing Pete had said kept spinning around in his head.

You should know there are no such thing as coincidences.