Grant Marsden is constantly surrounded by friends, even though he would rather be at home with a wife.
—American Gazette
Grant spun the tiny black cell phone in his hands, willing it to ring. His plan should have come to fruition by this point. It had been almost three weeks since the fateful night. The night Amelia bested him. He was a patient man, but his patience was wearing thin. He had to put the phone down on his dresser or risk squeezing the thing to pieces.
Why was there no call? Had Grant overestimated the young man’s love? Had they died in the helicopter? He’d been too busy with visits to the capital and press appearances to perform the necessary research. He remembered the last time he was so unprepared.
He had been in Miami, just out of the orphanage, all alone and not expecting to feel so . . . hungry. Sleeping on the streets didn’t feel right to him, so he decided to learn a trade: picking locks. At first Grant would break into small empty apartments, a different one each night. Then he moved on to homes, waiting until the occupants were fast asleep and borrowing a couch. Except for some missing food, they wouldn’t know he was ever there. As his skills grew, so did his tastes. He started sleeping in mansions, making a game out of eluding the staff members and the occupants. That of course required him to become familiar with security systems. He’d been living an easy life, until one fateful night he woke up on the wrong side of a shotgun.
Not wanting to relive his past, Grant decided to get proactive about his future. That involved settling the score with Amelia. He swallowed his pride and strode out of his room with one destination on his mind. Grant walked through his home and headed out back, toward the man who had made it clear he had some knowledge of the former Mrs. Marsden’s whereabouts.
He’s already shown me some of the facilities,” Grant said. “I think he’s a bit outdated.”
“What do you mean?” Rex asked.
“Let’s say I’d like to put the country’s resources elsewhere,” Grant said. “If I were grand commander people wouldn’t have it so easy.”
“You think people have it easy?” Rex asked.
“Unwed females are cared for, unserved men get to carry on as they please,” Grant said. “And some unmarried men are a drain on our economy. Not to mention the females who work for the government. There are better ways to use our money.”
“It’s bordering on treason to talk like that,” Rex said. “There’s only one grand commander, and he holds that office until he chooses to move on.”
“Well, let’s say I have the inside track,” Grant said.
Rex looked at the ground. His jaw was clenched. Grant thought he must be uninterested in political goals.
“So did you discover anything?” Grant asked.
He was sitting at the table in Rex’s house. The military man had never bothered to set it up like a home; instead it resembled a tactical center. Grant apologized for his behavior at Amelia’s funeral and he was not surprised to hear that Rex had ignored his instructions.
“Well, I went on an international server—don’t worry, I masked the address like you told me; nothing can be traced here,” Rex said.
“Speed it up,” Grant replied.
“Based on the fuel left in the helicopter and the direction they were headed, our best bet is they crashed within one hundred miles of this spot,” Rex said.
There was a map of Mexico with a blue dot on the southeast coast.
“This is undeveloped desert,” Rex said. “Odds are in your favor that they died, either in the crash or from dehydration in the desert.”
“So that’s your news. She’s dead?” Grant said.
“I looked for reports of a crash in the Mexican news and there weren’t any,” Rex said. “I couldn’t believe that nobody saw the helicopter fly by or go down. So there’s some reason it wasn’t reported.”
“Go on,” Grant said.
“Have you heard of the thieves’ paradise?” Rex asked.
“I’m not a criminal,” Grant said.
“I called a contact who was stationed in Mexico during service,” Rex said. “I told him someone stole something from me and fled to Mexico. Couldn’t give him a name or any information outside of it being tracked to this area. He laughed and said that section of the country has a lot of folklore about it, including this city of thieves. It’s a story; criminals want to retire, so they go live out their days drinking in the sun.”
“If such a place existed—and I don’t think it does—the authorities would shut it down,” Grant said.
“Not if it was controlled by the authorities,” Rex said. “I did some more digging. Most of that land is owned by a corporation, Puesta del Sol. The plan was to turn it into the next vacation spot for tourists, but it fell through. Now, the CEO of this organization is Joseph Ruiz.”
Rex clicked a button and the screen changed to a picture of a distinguished-looking man.
“He doesn’t own any other business except Puesta del Sol, and their only holding is this land,” Rex said. “Even though all he owns is worthless real estate, he is a consistent donor.”
“Donor of what?” Grant asked.
“Money, to everything,” Rex said. “Politicians, hospitals, city parks, hundreds of charitable organizations.”
“So you think he’s doing something in this area that is generating a profit and buying off government interference?” Grant asked. “How does the city of thieves tie in?”
“My contact made a joke,” Rex said. “ ‘Every thief thinks his sun will never set.’ ”
“Interesting,” Grant said.
He crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair.
“If Amelia landed there what would happen to her?” Grant asked.
“Nothing good,” Rex said.
Grant smiled at the thought. He had made up his mind to send Rex to Mexico before he came to visit with his second in command.
“It’s a long shot,” Grant said. “Be cautious and bring me some proof back.”
“I already have my forged travel documents and a commercial plane ticket to the nearest big city. I leave in an hour.”
“Have Brandon give you some cash,” Grant said. “Leave no paper trail. This cannot get back to me.”
Both men stood up and Grant shook Rex’s hand. He headed toward the front door.
“About the incident,” Grant said.
While Grant was an intelligence officer in the army, Rex had worked on the front lines. They were helping the people of Sudan end a civil war. It was the end of a battle and Grant was surveying the remains. Rex was his escort. A wounded enemy combatant was on the ground. Grant saw the flicker of silver against the sun as he raised his weapon. Without thinking twice Grant pulled his pistol out. Rex thought Grant was going to shoot him and tried to knock the gun down. Grant squeezed the trigger and ended the attacker’s life. It only took Rex a moment to realize what Grant had done. That was when his true loyalty was born.
“Let’s not mention it again,” Rex said.
Grant did not appreciate being interrupted.
“I was going to say, I hope you remember your place from now on,” Grant said.
Rex kept his face stone and didn’t make eye contact. Grant cracked a smile.
“One last thing,” Grant said. “If you find her and she’s dead, bring back proof. If she’s alive, don’t alert her to your presence. Just trail her.”
“Why?”
“Bringing a girl who the entire country thinks is deceased kicking and screaming over the border might draw some attention,” Grant said.
“I can kill her there,” Rex said.
“Not until you have my permission,” Grant said.
Amelia deserved punishment from Grant’s own hand, not a surrogate. Grant believed his initial strategy could still work. Rex was insurance. The large man nodded his head and they parted ways. Grant headed to his home and let out a yawn. Today was exhausting. Everything should have been perfect, but Amelia Morrissey continued to be a thorn in his side.