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His partner was up before Nash was standing over him, shaking the daylights out of his shoulder. He spent a second blinking up at the earnest face and bright auburn hair before rolling out of the cot. Nash, accepted the cup of coffee Cam handed to him. It was almost ten.
"You look like shit," Nash said as he sipped. Cam looked at the updated reports and his notes.
"I didn't sleep very well. Burgess was up already too. No sign of Adams. We got everything locked down, but she seemed to find a way."
"We need to talk to Marco. If anyone can guess where she is, it would be him," Nash thought out loud as he paced. "
"Adams is his daughter. He also hates you," Cam reminded him. "Do you expect him to help you? Plus McCann is there now. They haven't told him anything either."
"Depends on what his conscience is telling him. Also, McCann treads lightly. He won't be pushing the way I will, the way we need to. I'll call Blue so we both can go. He'll be worked up enough to spill where she is. He started this and now he needs to deal with it," Nash said, pulling out his phone and calling Butters to pick up Blue so they could meet him at the hotel.
The three of them said nothing as they walked through the lobby and rode up in the elevator. None of them wanted to be distracted from the importance of what was going on, nor did they have time to deep dive into any other subject during the short ride up. Together, they stood in front of Cruz's door, but they let Nash knock.
He answered the door himself, ignoring his girlfriend's attempt to force him to sit down. "Leave me alone, Destiny." Cruz ignored Blue, hardly glancing her way. "I'm hiring an attorney for Cara. You're using this witch hunt to bring down the wrong person."
He looked like shit today too, Nash thought. Cruz's skin was white and clammy. He dragged an oxygen tank behind him, sucking as hard as he could to get air in through his nose. Was it an act or was Marco really sick and declining? Was he receiving oxygen because of stress? Or was the situation getting to him? Nash wondered not knowing for sure. It was a combination of both, Nash guessed. He wouldn't have much longer. Also, he noted, he hadn't bothered to dress, wearing a robe over pajamas.
"You don't believe that, Marco. You've been a criminal long enough to recognize one. Look, I realize this isn't a position you want to be in, but Adams is the prime suspect. She's charged with two murders, resisting arrest and trying to frame people for those crimes. She shot people, innocent people, in the street while she was fleeing. The bar downstairs saw significant damage because of her. For God's sake, she fired a gun in broad daylight into crowds and at the police. Now she's hiding," Nash railed.
"Merely a mistake." Cruz ignored the facts and blew off what Nash was saying.
"Nope, not a mistake. Cara listened to your rants and did something about it. I don't think you meant for the murders to happen. Her plan just got out of hand," Nash said. "She will be the one living with those lives on her hands. That is not on your reputation. Do you want it to stay clean?"
"My reputation is solid...Not..." He sighed, looking at each person, defeat crossing his features. "This is my fault."
"No. No." Destiny sank onto the couch with him, hugging him to her. He lay there as she rocked him back and forth. "It's not your fault. She preyed on a sick man's weakness."
"If you want this to stop, Marco, help Nash. Where is she? Does she have resources hidden somewhere?" Blue demanded, stepping into the conversation. "I know you own hidey holes around the city."
"I don't know," Cruz said.
Nash watched as Blue gave him a look, not believing a word he was saying. Nash was content to sit back and let her take over. Her prodding would garner more results than anyone else.
"I don't!" he insisted. "I've been racking my brain all night."
"Marco wouldn't sleep," Miss Watson interrupted to tell them. "He canceled a treatment this morning. He needs to rest."
"I said a lot of things during treatment," Marco admitted to the group. "I'm sure I ranted. The drugs are potent. My mind is not always coherent. I wanted her to retrieve it for me—the necklace. Not like this though." He used trembling hands to adjust his air. "Not with the death, but by theft. I can't deny that. You took it from me, for money, for the hell of it," he said to Blue. "You didn't even want the necklace. Once I told you, you weren't talented enough for the theft, then you stole the Comtesse. I searched for you for years and hated you. You surpassed me," he continued.
"I did," Blue acknowledged. "Everything since the heist happened has been done in order to rub it in your face. You can't hate me as much as I hate you. No matter how hard you tried to beat me down or make me feel worthless, you couldn't. But I didn't hold on to the hate. I moved on. Can you?"
"The hatred and revenge has burned in my gut, been my reason to keep going after the diagnosis. But even that can't keep me going anymore." He wiggled the hose. "My daughter is a smart, vicious woman. She would have a plan in place. There would be a Plan B. She must finish this."
"Is killing Blue the plan?" Nash took back over, asking the question.
"No, special agent. The idea is to make Blue suffer. You are the one she will come after. You are what Blue loves the most," Cruz revealed.
When Cruz started struggling—couldn't catch his breath—Nash knelt in front of him, fingers pressed to his pulse. It was faintly there—the light beating only just discernible under the thin skin of his wrist. He knew he couldn't question the man anymore. This interrogation was over for now. "You need an ambulance. It will take you to the hospital."
"No. No hospital. Go find Cara, so I can help her before I die," Cruz brushed aside the idea.
"I'll call them anyway," Nash spoke over Destiny's protests. She was pressing for Nash to do just that when Cruz's eyes rolled into the back of his head—passing out. Nash and Butters both reached for him, trying to stop his downward trajectory as his body slumped against the side of the couch. They made sure he didn't continue the slip, not wanting him to fall on the hard floor beneath him.
"He needs more oxygen," Blue said, rushing around the two men to the machine which leaned against the cushions. Fingers twisted the silver knobs, cranking up the power, the level of air steaming through the clear tube that entered his nose, only for Cruz to pop up.
Nash, pissed he had fallen for the fake fainting spell, vibrated with anger—at the gun now pointed centimeters from her face. Nash and Butters both had to straighten away from him, hands raised, not wanting to irritate the asshole further, lest he pull the trigger in front of them.
"I knew I should have clamped the tube instead," Blue growled.
"Don't move! So stupid..." Marco jerked his arm away from Miss Watson.
Nash almost felt sorry for her. For the wide-eyed shock, the understanding that the man she was in a relationship with was truly the villain—the bad guy. His heart wrung for her and for the tears that flowed, for the light dying in her eyes as her soul shattered.
Cruz didn't care less what his girlfriend thought. He laughed, a short, evil sound ending in wheezy breathing—not even bothering to look her way. "You didn't think I would let you take my daughter too, did you? Throw your weapon away, special agent. We wouldn't want an accident."
"You are out of your ever lovin' mind," Nash said, but he placed his gun on the table between them. "I was trying to take it easy on you. Do you want to spend the rest of your days in jail?"
"That will not happen." Cruz sounded convinced. "I'm taking Blue with me as a hostage. You won't do anything to me while I am in control of her. Once I reach the plane and Cara is safe on board, I'll release her. We'll be on our way to Montenegro. Good luck extraditing us from there."
"And then what? You'll live happily ever after?" Nash wondered.
"With all my money and treasures, we'll still be able to live comfortably. I am exceedingly rich—rich as a king with everything I have stolen over the years, and Cara can make herself a new identity. You'll never know who she is or when she's coming. We will finish what we started." He rose unsteadily to his feet, dragging Blue up by her hair. She kept her face impassive, but Nash saw the wince as he pulled away strands from the scalp.
Nash and Butters could only stand, hands held chest high, so Cruz didn't do anything stupid like shooting her. He noticed Miss Watson—the rage taking over her face. The shift in her demeanor, in her posture as she rose just behind her boyfriend.
He didn't move to stop her. One, this would give Nash the distraction he needed to get the gun away from Cruz, but also, again, he didn't want Cruz to think he was up to something—shooting Blue in the face as retaliation.
With a screech of rage, Miss Watson grabbed a hold of his oxygen tube and yanked—his head cranked back in an awkward angle as the hooks from the air hose buried in his nose. All hell broke loose after that.