WE FLEW OVER an expanse of uninhabited, rocky desert and the rugged mountains of the Sierra Madre, turned north and followed what I assumed to be the Yaqui River. By the position of the sun I estimated the time to be close to three in the afternoon. I hoped Quinn and his men had been able to get some rest.
I also hoped they hadn’t run into any trouble. Quinn had assured me he’d planned for every contingency, calling the worst-case scenario his ETS plan, or Everything goes To Shit plan. It didn’t do much for the anxiety roiling in my stomach, but I doubted anything short of being back in the US with Cole’s kids would alleviate that.
Neither of the gunmen was very talkative. Arsenal Man kept nodding off and Gold Chain poked him awake with his foot more than once. It would have been comical, except the closer we got to Anaya’s the more anxious I became.
Stay calm, Kate. Quinn has everything under control. The girls are going to be fine.
I stared out the window, trying not to think. Inevitably, the landscape began to look familiar. Dread pooled in my stomach as I recognized the section of river below us. The plane dropped in altitude, flying low over the rocky terrain as Scary Face set up for his approach. The ersatz runway stretched along the river to our left. To our right, the compound slid into view. In daylight, it looked remarkably similar to when I’d been there a decade before: same two-story hacienda with matching verandas on the upper and lower floors, same servant’s quarters, same fountain.
We dropped again and landed, taxiing to a stop a few minutes later. Arsenal Guy snorted awake after Gold Chain jabbed him in the ribs with the toe of his boot. He shook his head, rubbing his face with his hand, and then exited via the passenger door. Gold Chain opened the side door and climbed out next.
“Get out,” he ordered.
Hands still tied behind me and completely numb, I scuttled forward and jumped onto the shore. The high humidity near the river stood in direct contrast to the dry sand and gravel beneath my feet. Late afternoon shadows provided little shade, and a ferocious sun beat down on my neck and head. My mouth tasted like someone had stuffed flannel in my cheeks, although I wasn’t sure if that was because I was dehydrated or just terrified.
Scary Face hopped out of the cockpit and walked to an inflatable boat beached on the shore.
“Let’s go.” Gold Chain pushed me toward the boat and everyone but Arsenal Guy climbed aboard. He gave his MP5 to Scary Face and threw his considerable girth against the hull, shoving the boat into the waterway. He jumped in at the last minute and took a seat near the stern. Scary Face started the outboard and steered us into the middle of the river. The current appeared strong but was no match for the motor. A few minutes later we crossed the Yaqui and entered the mouth of the intermittent river, headed for the dock.
A man with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder met us as we docked. He caught the mooring line Arsenal Guy threw him and tied it off to a metal cleat. Gold Chain told me to stand and pushed me toward the metal ladder.
“Listen, I’ve tried climbing up ladders with my hands tied behind my back. It doesn’t work well. If you don’t want me to fall in and drown, I suggest you cut my hands free.”
Without a word, Gold Chain bent over, grabbed me by the back of the legs and threw me over his shoulder. He climbed up the ladder, depositing me onto the dock like I weighed nothing.
I’d have to figure out another way to get them to cut my hands free.
Scary Face led the way through the large double doors, escorting us into the compound. Another gunman swung the doors closed behind us, slamming them shut with the finality of a prison cell. The enormous fountain in the middle of the courtyard gurgled and splashed, echoing against the stucco walls. A beetle crawled by us on the ground, oblivious to the drama being played out overhead. Birds called to each other. Everything appeared calm and serene.
A stark contrast to my erratic heartbeat and cold fear.
“Where’s Anaya?” I asked, wondering if he was even in Mexico. “I thought he’d at least grace us with his presence.”
I didn’t get a reply. They’d avoided any kind of dialogue other than commands and instructions. It would be so much easier to kill someone you didn’t think of as a person.
As we neared the hacienda, another man carrying a machinegun and a surly attitude appeared. Gold Chain handed me over to him. Before letting me go, he leaned in close to my ear.
“See you later, puta.”
“Not if I’m dead, cabrone,” I whispered back.
“Especially then,” he answered, a sadistic grin on his face.
“This way,” the surly one said, practically wrenching my arm from its socket. The tiny beetle scuttled away, narrowly missing death by snakeskin boot as the gunman dragged me past the gaudy, gold-plated fountain into the hacienda.
The thick walls absorbed most of the scorching hot rays of the sun, providing welcome relief from the oppressive heat. As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior, I recognized many of the paintings on the wall from my earlier visits over a decade before: a formal portrait of Anaya, complete with parade sash and the helmet of a Spanish conquistador in the crook of his arm; a dramatic study of a magnificent horse with Anaya sitting astride in jodhpurs and knee boots; a formidable oil of his mother, a wholly unhandsome woman wearing a black lace dress and a Machiavellian smile. Stately banners of purple and white hung draped between paintings, each with a gold crest stamped in the center. An imposing wrought iron chandelier dangled overhead; on the floor, thick carpets covered the Saltillo tile. A sweeping stairway led to the second level, its risers faced in colorful Talavera tiles.
“I see Vincent is still a man of Napoleonic taste,” I quipped, trying to hide my growing fear.
Don’t start, Kate. You’re in some serious shit right now. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from saying something sarcastic before I screwed up my chances of ever seeing the kids.
Or staying alive.
The surly guard pushed me toward the staircase. “Vamanos,” he grunted.
I balked. This wasn’t according to plan. The safe room was on the main floor. How is Quinn going to know where we are? Surly prodded me with his gun. I had no choice but to move.
We hit the first step, and I could feel my chest constrict and my throat close as I began to hyperventilate. Asking to relocate would raise the alarm. I had to calm down and play along. I willed myself to relax and breathe normally. Quinn and the rest of the commandos would have to be able to work things out on the fly. I trusted them. I had to.
We reached the second level and turned right, heading north down a long, dark hallway. At least we were moving in the right direction. The occasional wall sconce cast a dim glow as we passed by a number of dramatic landscape paintings, most depicting dark, angry clouds over stormy, windswept seas. We passed by a Rococo period hall table with an enormous flower arrangement against the wall to our left and several closed doors. Surly stopped at the second to last one, opened the door, and shoved me inside.
The richly appointed room boasted heavy, masculine furniture and yet another humongous portrait of Anaya—in this one he leaned against a red Ferrari in the shade of a massive tree, smoking a cigar. A buxom brunette wearing a clingy dress, huge diamonds, and way too much makeup clung to his bicep. The painting occupied most of the back wall.
“Sit.” Surly pushed me toward one of two leather chairs in front of a massive wood desk.
Panicked, my mind spun in circles, trying to figure out a way to signal Fernando or Buck. Flanked by velvet curtains, the room’s lone window faced west. The setting sun cast an orange glow across the red tile floor. Would they see me if I stood at the window?
“What a view,” I said as I changed direction and headed for it, but Surly grabbed my arm and dragged me back to the desk.
“You’re not here for the view.” He sneered as he thrust me into the nearest chair.
Two cameras had been mounted near the ceiling on each side of the desk and were pointed at the chairs. I assumed Anaya would view the meeting remotely. An iPad with a separate keyboard sat in the center of the desk.
“Where are the girls?” I asked. “I won’t give you any information until I know that they’re still alive.”
He didn’t reply.
“Would you mind cutting my hands free? I can’t feel my fingers.”
Again, no answer.
The odor of dead vermin wafted past me and I turned in the chair to see what the hell the guard had let into the room. My heart dropped to my stomach when I saw Toothless Bob standing in the doorway, an evil grin splitting his obnoxious face. Actually, evil may have been a misnomer. He reminded me of one of those jack-o-lanterns kids carve at Halloween. The ones with three teeth.
“Nice to see you, Bob,” I said. “I wondered where you were. I’ve missed you so.”
Bob walked up to me and, closing his fist, punched me so hard on the side of the head I saw stars.
“That’s for the yacht, bitch,” he said, his face contorted in what might have passed for a satisfied smile.
“Damn, Bob. That hurt.” I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head to stop the ringing, but abandoned the idea when the nausea hit. Thankfully, I didn’t feel any blood on the side of my face.
“Good. That’s just the beginning.”
Can’t wait, I thought. Going mute would probably be advisable. No sense pissing him off more than he already was.
“You’d better leave her alone or you’ll be sorry, cabrone,” the other one mumbled to Bob.
Yeah. You tell him, Surly. Although, I’d like to have seen Bob on the sharp end of sorry.
The minutes ticked by in silence, and when I began to wonder what was taking so long, the door opened behind us.
“I thought you were dead.” Anaya’s smooth, cultured voice preceded him. “Apparently, my sources were wrong.”
He walked to the desk and sat down facing me. Aware that my mouth was open, I snapped it closed.
“I see you weren’t expecting me.” His broad smile revealed a gold incisor. He sighed and shook his head. “Never send a lackey for such important things. What is that old saying? Good help is always so hard to find.”
The smell of expensive aftershave permeated the room. It almost made up for Toothless Bob. Anaya looked tan and fit, as though he’d just come back from a restful vacation. Apparently, he’d been dying his hair jet black. The last time I’d seen him, there’d been a touch of gray at the temples. Now, not so much.
He wore a shoulder holster with a semiautomatic over an expensive-looking button-down shirt, and either he’d eaten a lot of tamales since I’d last seen him, or he was wearing body armor.
“Where are the girls, Anaya?” I asked. The determination in my voice surprised me.
“Not so fast.” He leaned back, hands behind his head. “I want to enjoy this. You’re such a slippery target. It’s nice to know I’ll be able to tie up loose ends. Unlike some people I know,” he added, annoyance thick in his voice.
“Angie?” I asked. If he’d gotten rid of her, that would be one less worry for Quinn and the others.
He waved his hand in the air, dismissing the assassin. “She went back to whatever hell-hole she came from. Some godforsaken part of the US, I think.” He sniffed. “She had her chance to redeem herself for letting you get away in Alaska and failed. I would have killed her, but for some reason she came highly recommended and they wanted her back. I can’t imagine why. Although,” he said as he brought his gaze to mine, “she did have particularly good taste in clothing.”
“May I remind you, Vincent, that you dressed me for the occasion.”
The faux-conviviality vanished, replaced by a malicious smile. “What you’re wearing hardly matters.” His meaning wasn’t lost on me.
“Where are the girls?” I asked again, hoping he hadn’t noticed the tremor in my voice.
“Give me the website address and the password first. Then you can see the girls.”
I smiled, surprised my lips slid over my teeth so easily, what with the dearth of saliva in my mouth. “Not until I see Lauren and Abby. I need your word that you’ll let them go free—and not in the desert to die of exposure. I want your promise that you’ll take them somewhere safe so they can go back to their father in Arizona.” Not that his word meant a lot.
Anaya’s face darkened. People didn’t dictate to Vincent Anaya. Scared though I might have been, I had nothing to lose and everything to gain by affecting a tough stance. He’d keep me alive until my value dropped, which would be a split-second after I told him the information. Plus, I had to prolong the conversation to give Quinn and the others more time.
If they were coming.
His face split into a grin. “I know what you’re doing, you sneaky little puta,” he said, wagging his finger at me. “You believe you’re going to die anyway, so why not hold out for whatever concessions you can, eh?” The smile vanished. He glanced at Surly. “Bring them here.”
Surly left the room, and another gunman stepped in to take his place. An awkward silence yawned between us. Anaya drummed his fingers on the desk as we waited.
“Since you’re going to kill me anyway, mind if I ask what the big deal is with the website? I mean, I’m going to lose my life over it. I think I deserve an explanation.” Couldn’t hurt to ask, right?
That made him laugh. Not the response I was looking for.
When he’d finished wiping the tears from his eyes, he shook his head. “You haven’t changed, have you? I remember Roberto—” His eyes grew cold at the mention of his old business partner, and he flexed his hand, curling it into a fist.
He’s still angry because Salazar betrayed him, I thought. I doubted word of my killing Roberto had filtered back to him yet. No one knew except Luis, Quinn, and Pascal.
“Roberto used to joke about your impertinent American attitude,” he continued. “He quite enjoyed it, at first. But by the end he found it tiresome. I’d never seen him so angry as when you left him and took the money. Still, he loved you, which he demonstrated by not sending someone to kill you while he rotted in prison. Only women we care for can make us show such restraint.”
I was about to add my thoughts on Salazar’s twisted idea of love but thought it prudent to keep them to myself.
“I take it you’re not going to tell me,” I said. Anaya cracked a smile at the droll delivery.
“See? There you go again. Such sarcasm. I’m almost sorry you’ll be dead soon. I might like to have you around to keep my spirits up. My security detail is sorely lacking in that regard.” He shot a dark look at the guard holding a gun to my head.
Just what I needed—a job as a comedian to a vicious psychopath. Didn’t court jesters wind up dead if they failed to please the king?
“Then again, I’m not sure I could trust you.” Anaya’s eyes once again grew cold, and his voice dripped menace. “If you can murder a man you once loved, you’re capable of anything.”