by Julie Leto
She pressed the nozzle to Max’s temple. “Tell me the truth.”
“Don’t aim a gun if you aren’t prepared to use it,” Max said evenly.
“If I have to sacrifice you to save Frankie, that’s what I’ll do.”
He glanced at her briefly, but didn’t move his head. However, when he swerved around a slow-moving taxi, the inertia threw her sideways. He had her gun in his hand before she could counter his move.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he tossed the 9 mm back in her lap with a smirk. “Keep that off me, understand? We’ve got a teenager to rescue.”
She checked her weapon, then braced her hands on the dashboard as he maneuvered around another trio of cars.
“You didn’t take her?” she demanded.
“Blake nixed that plan, Marisela. He’d never betray his own agents.”
“Then what the hell are you doing here and who took Jessica?”
Max hopped a curb to avoid slamming into the back end of a car stopped at an intersection. Marisela braced her hands on the roof of the car to keep from banging her head.
“Your guess is as good as ours,” he answered.
“Then why are you here? That’s no coincidence!”
“We were watching you.”
“Watching me? Why?”
“Standard procedure. Don’t get paranoid.”
“Too late,” she snapped.
“Frank will not be harmed,” Max assured her.
Marisela turned in the seat so she could see his face clearly, even if only in profile. Not that she expected to learn anything from a man with an uncanny ability to fade into the woodwork and hide his reactions.
“If we get Jessica back before Perez starts looking for someone to blame, maybe, just maybe, Frankie will get out of this alive,” she told him. “The bodyguard called Perez. He’ll be here any minute and might be tracking us right now” She leaned under the sun visor to check the bright afternoon sky for any sign of Perez’s helicopter. So far, nothing. “Exactly who am I supposed to tell Perez you are anyway if he shows up? Just a friendly bystander I carjacked?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The truck turned abruptly, so Max threw the car into a controlled spin that brought them directly behind the escaping kidnappers. Marisela rolled down the window of the car and prepared to lean out to fire, but Max grabbed her arm and tugged her back in.
“Don’t waste bullets. We’re coming up on the marina. They’ll have to stop once we reach the pier. Get ready. I’m guessing they didn’t anticipate pursuit, but we can’t be sure.”
Marisela checked her gun clip. She’d fired only one shot at the locked door, so she was good to go with a full load of ammunition. Lot of help her trusty weapon and all her super-secret, intense training had done her and Jessica so far. Now that the kidnappers had returned to their van, there was no telling the firepower she and Max would face at the end of the narrow road. She glanced into the backseat, speechless when she caught sight of the weaponry Max had brought with him.
“You always come this prepared?”
“Of course,” he said with a smirk.
“Is there backup?”
Max glanced up at the rearview mirror. Marisela followed his gaze and caught sight of the mini-camera attached to the mirror that could easily rotate and survey both the inside and outside of the car.
“Hola, Ian,” she said instinctively leaning to the left as Max swerved around a trash can knocked into the air by the speeding truck.
“Hello, Ms. Morales,” Ian answered, his voice tinny and remote, and yet still annoyingly omniscient. “Max, the kidnappers are clearly heading for a boat moored at the end of the western side of the pier. The engine is idling and we see only one man aboard. We’ve moving in to intercept.”
“Any sign of the police?” Marisela asked, not sure if she wanted the cops there or not. While she certainly wouldn’t mind anyone and everyone with a gun working toward retrieving Jessica, there was the little matter of Marisela not being who she claimed to be, not to mention her criminal record whether the authorities thought her to be Dolores Tosca or Marisela Morales. She trusted that Ian would eventually extract her from the custody of the Puerto Rican officials, but not before her cover was blown.
“They’ve been alerted. Two helicopters left Isla de Piratas only moments after the bodyguard put in the call. Lie low, Max. We’ll extract you at 5-21-876.”
“Understood.” He turned toward Marisela fast enough to unnerve her with a tiny smirk. “You’ll be on your own soon. I’m an innocent bystander, remember?”
“Yeah, right.”
The truck screeched to a stop, and Max stopped the car some five yards behind. The minute the car jerked to a halt, Marisela took her cue, threw open the side door and dove out of the car. Max had grabbed one of the rifles from the backseat and had taken a similar position on the driver’s side. Until the authorities showed up, she had at least one other gun on her side.
The door of the truck rolled up and to Marisela’s horror, one of the men had thrown a terrified Jessica in front of him as a shield. The girl clawed at his arm, pressed hard against her windpipe, her eyes hard with terror and rage. Fucking coward! Marisela wasted no time in picking off his compatriot, who fell to the ground in a spurt of blood and brain.
The return fire from the man holding Jessica sent Marisela ducking behind her passenger-side door. From the corner of her eye, she saw Max aim and fire, the sound immediately followed by a howl of pain on the other side of the truck. The driver. Two down, one to go.
The kidnapper traded his hold around Jessica’s neck for an equally unyielding grasp around her waist. Holding her flush in front of him, he leaped down from the back of the truck, tucked against her like a parachute strapped to her back. Jessica screamed. On the tottering spiked heels she’d put on in the boutique, she couldn’t support the weight of their combined fall. Her legs buckled, but the man yanked her painfully to her feet.
With her eyes trained over the sight of her gun, Marisela winced, but waited for an opening. A split second. One clear shot. She tuned out Jessica’s ear-splitting pleas for help.
Beyond her concentration, she heard the deafening beat of helicopter blades. The cavalry had arrived, but could do no more than hover until Jessica was out of the line of fire.
Or so she thought. Somewhere on the other side of the truck, shots were fired, rapid, loud, and incessant until an explosion rent the air. The sound and vibration threw the last kidnapper off balance. He loosened his death grip on Jessica. She stomped backward with her spiky heel, slicing into the man’s ankle. He howled and she answered by throwing her head back, slamming his chin with the full force of her skull. He staggered. She broke free and dove to the ground.
The man shook as Marisela’s bullets pumped into him. Jessica crawled out of the way before his bloody body crumbled to the ground.
The helicopters swirled over them. Marisela looked around. Max was gone.
Marisela ran to Jessica, keeping her body low to the ground, her gun leveled ahead of her in case there was another kidnapper unaccounted for, one she hadn’t seen in the mad chaos of the gunfight. Her face still flat to the ground, Jessica yelped when Marisela touched her shoulders.
“Are you okay?”
Jessica curled against Marisela’s body, dragging her legs up close to her stomach and burying her head against Marisela’s chest. She didn’t answer, but simply wept, shaking as if the eighty-degree temperature had suddenly dropped below zero. Marisela forgot about the hovering helicopters, the second and third explosions of the boat burning on the other side of the truck, the whine of sirens moving closer and tucked her chin over Jessica’s head, which was already beginning to swell. She touched the spot gently and made hushing noises, speaking in soft tones, assuring the young girl that she would be fine.
“You did great, mija. You fought them. You followed your instincts and that’s why you’re alive. Your father will be so proud of you.”
<
br /> Jessica shook her head, whimpered, but didn’t reply. Marisela tried to steel herself against the wash of emotional connection to the girl, but she failed. Jessica, so spoiled, so coddled, had fought for her life—crudely, but she was still breathing. Marisela knew all too well what the fear of death smelled like, tasted like. It rattled the soul. And worst of all, she knew the shaking never really stopped.
* * *
Marisela accepted the drink from Alfredo and without a single glance to determine the contents, threw back her head and swallowed. She slammed the shot glass down on the table in front of her, and by the time the kick of the distilled fire had subsided and her eyesight cleared, the drink had been refilled.
From behind her, Frankie brushed his palm across her back. She turned and scrutinized his expression, a confounding mix of concern and something—if she didn’t know better—she’d identify as fear. Didn’t make sense. Now that Jessica had been retrieved and Marisela had played a key role in her rescue, the Toscas were even safer than before. Unless, of course, Perez decided to blame the newcomers for the abduction. The logic wasn’t solid, but what frantic father didn’t entertain conspiracy theories from time to time? And the bottom line remained—they weren’t who they were claiming to be.
Javier Perez marched into the living room surrounded by a half-dozen of his top security men and lieutenants, all dressed in impeccable dark suits that clashed with both the climate and the casual elegance of the living room. Her host practically threw his body into the chair across from Marisela and with a violent wave of his hand, sent Alfredo and his whiskey away.
“How’s Jessica?” Marisela asked.
Perez glanced away and dropped his hand limply to his side. “She’s upset. The doctor wanted to give her something, but she refuses.”
Frankie squeezed Marisela’s shoulders, a fortified show of support. She ached to lose herself in his touch, and fought to stay focused. On Jessica. On the mission.
“She’ll be okay then?”
Javier glanced soulfully toward his daughter’s room. Knowing teenaged girls the way Marisela did, having been one herself once, she figured Perez had been banished from his daughter’s presence. Not because she was angry or blamed him for the terror she’d experienced today—though that could be the case—but most likely because Jessica didn’t want to suffer a meltdown in front of the man who loved her so much, he’d kill for her.
“Her legs hurt from the fall off the truck,” he continued. “She’s got a bump on the back of her head. Otherwise, she’ll recover quickly.”
Marisela toyed with her empty glass, grateful to have something in her hands. “She was brave and strong, señor. You should be proud.”
He speared his fingers through his hair, cursing under his breath. “How can I be proud when I am supposed to protect her? She’s so young. So frightened. I’ve been very careful, señora, to see that my daughter was never dragged into my world. Today, she experienced all the ugliness I’ve sheltered her from for seventeen years.”
Marisela forced herself to relax back into the couch. Frankie didn’t take his hands off her and for this, she was glad. She couldn’t help wondering if Perez suspected she and Frankie had been somehow involved in the kidnapping, but figured if he did, they’d both be dead by now. If nothing else, she’d earned his trust by saving his daughter. And the situation could have turned out so much worse.
Now more than ever, Marisela wanted this case completed.
She wanted Jessica out of here, safe in the United States where men wouldn’t abduct her out of a boutique dressing room and spirit her off to God knew where to do God knew what, all on account of her father and his illegal business dealings.
“Who did this?” Marisela asked.
Javier glanced at the men that surrounded him, each one more silent and still than the other. Like beaten dogs, cowering. They clearly had no clue who orchestrated the kidnapping—and for their ignorance, they’d recently incurred their boss’s wrath.
“I do not know. The police will identify the bodies, but there is no indication they are tied to any of my known enemies.”
“What about this new threat? The one you’ve hired Dolores and me to handle?” Frankie asked, moving around the couch and sliding onto the leather cushion beside her.
Perez shook his head. “We have no proof they are anywhere near this island. Stealing a shipment and stealing my child are two different things.”
“But you have to suspect someone,” Frankie insisted. “Has anyone tried to take your daughter before?”
With a single-worded order, the room cleared.
“I am reluctant to speak of my personal life to business associates, but since you risked your life today to save my daughter, I believe I can share my suspicions with you. I do not believe the attempt to kidnap my daughter is related to my profession. There’s hardly been time for Ochoa’s men to retaliate, especially since I haven’t yet made it known that his death was on my order. And the three men at the marina—no one recognized them.”
Marisela watched Perez closely, alert to any sign that he wasn’t telling the truth. “Is that so unusual? Your enemies come from around the world. How could you possibly know them all?”
“I can’t, but these men were not professionals. The plan was weak at best, as if thrown together at the last minute. Opportunistic. They were sitting ducks in that truck once they reached the pier. They did not anticipate resistance.”
“They nearly succeeded. You can’t ignore that,” Marisela countered.
“I have no intention of ignoring that I almost lost my daughter today, señora, “he snapped. “Security has been doubled on the island and for the time being, Jessica will remain on Isla de Piratas, even when school is back in session next week. She’ll take her lessons here. I won’t risk losing her.”
Frankie broke in, his voice calm and deep. “You can’t keep her prisoner forever. She’s nearly an adult. She’ll soon make her own choices, ¿verdad?”
Javier sat forward, his hands folded loosely in his lap. “You both tell me things about my daughter that I already know. Can you tell me anything I do not—some wisdom you’ve learned during your extensive stay on my island?”
None of his sarcasm was lost on Marisela and she displayed the right amount of contrite apology in the tone of her voice and tilt of her head. “I’m sorry, Señor Perez. We shouldn’t presume.
Javier nodded, then waved her apology away. “No, you shouldn’t, but I’m honored that you do. Obviously, you care about my child.”
Marisela crossed her legs, trying to look casual, trying not to appear as if she cared too much. “She’s a special girl. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but she reminds me of myself, when I was her age. Frivolous, but smart. Lonely. Desperate for her father’s approval.”
Javier shook his head, but Marisela could see his belief in his sad eyes.
“Señor,” Frankie said, “who would have something to gain from taking her? To date, you are the most powerful arms dealer in this part of the world. Antagonizing you will not weaken your power. Your enemies would know this. At this point, all but Ochoa are working to get into your good graces.”
“¡Exactamente, Rogelio! Only one person would be so uncaring about Jessica’s safety,” Javier answered, disgust thick in his tone. “I’ve known ruthless people in my lifetime, but even you in your profession have never met anyone as cold and cruel as the person I suspect.”
“And that is?” Frankie asked.
Perez grabbed the decanter of whiskey, poured a glassful, and downed the amber liquid in one choking swallow. “Her mother.”
Marisela had to remember to act surprised. “Her mother is alive?” she asked, her voice halting. “I just assumed…”
“Yes, she’s alive. She’s Americana, lives in Boston. Elise Barton-Ryce, socialite and professional bitch. She likes people to think she has a lot of money, a lot of class, when in reality, she has neither.”
Perez stood and refill
ed his glass again, glancing through the archway that separated the living room where they conversed from the hallway that led to Jessica’s room. He undoubtedly did not want his daughter to overhear this discussion.
“I don’t understand, señor. She doesn’t have money?” Frankie asked. “Then how could she pay someone to take your daughter?”
Perez glanced down the hall before he answered. “She has enough for chapuceros like the ones you encountered today. Her trust fund would give her that. But she has expensive tastes and my sources tell me her financial resources are limited. And for all her faults—and believe me, she has many—I doubt she has adequate contacts to find anyone better than she did.”
Well, he was wrong there. Not that Marisela was going to point that out.
“Why would she try and kidnap her own daughter?”
“I don’t allow her access to Jessica. She got pregnant by accident, I assure you. She was disgusted by her condition.”
“Why didn’t she have an abortion?” Marisela asked.
Javier shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine. She’s Catholic, but I doubt God has any influence over her. I can only thank El Señor that she didn’t, because now my daughter is with me, where she belongs.”
Marisela shifted forward. She’d never trusted the woman, and here was her chance to find out the scoop from someone who really knew Elise, even briefly—even if he had a clear bias against her.
“Maybe she really wanted the baby, but was too proud to let you know.”
Javier spit on the floor, then made a gesture Marisela didn’t recognize, but could easily interpret nonetheless.
“Or maybe not,” she mumbled.
“Believe me, señora, there is not a maternal bone in that woman’s body. I went to Boston when Jessica was born. I only had to watch Elise for a few days after she returned home from the hospital to know my daughter would not receive the care and supervision she deserved. Nannies and servants! That is not how you raise a child!”
Marisela and Frankie exchanged a look, but said nothing more. They knew the rest of the story. Javier took the child and so far as Marisela could see, had done a damned good job of raising her. He’d clearly had help, but Marisela had seen Jessica and Javier together. There was no stiff distance dividing them, just the to-be-expected high emotions of a teenaged daughter on the verge of womanhood and a father who wanted to keep her safe.