She decided to go with the carjacked story. That was her safest bet.
“You happen to have a phone?” Ace asked the kid.
“I wish,” the boy said. “Grandpa thinks cell phones rot the brain.”
“Who do you want to phone?” Max asked, shooting Ace a sideways glance. He was still a major hottie, in spite of his bedraggled appearance.
“My brother.”
“You’re not going to tell him, are you?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“No, I don’t.”
“So we’re just gonna let that freak get away with it?”
“What freak?” the boy asked.
“Nobody you ever wanna meet,” Ace said.
The old man, hunched over the wheel, launched into a nasty coughing fit. The boy took the water bottle back from Max and handed it to his grandfather. The car swerved on the dusty road as the old man drank.
“How about I drive?” Ace suggested, leaning forward. “You look like you could use a break.”
The old man acquiesced. He was tired and his arthritis was playing up, his hands bent and misshapen. “Wouldn’t mind that a bit, son,” he said, clicking his teeth. “You got a license?”
“Yes, sir,” Ace replied politely.
The old man pulled the car over. Ace got out. The boy slithered over the passenger seat and into the back next to Max.
She shied away—he reminded her of Gino Junior’s friends with their horny eyes and leering stares. The old man settled into the front passenger seat while Ace got behind the wheel.
“How long before we reach Big Bear?” Max asked.
“’Bout half an hour,” the old man said, and promptly fell asleep.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
“A detective will be calling you,” Renee informed Anthony over the phone.
“What the fuck you talkin’ ’bout?” Anthony replied, a ferocious scowl covering his face.
“Detective Franklin from Vegas. She might even send someone to interview you if she’s not satisfied with your answers, so I suggest you try and repeat exactly what I’ve already told her.”
“You must be fuckin’ shittin’ me?” Anthony exploded. “You gave the cops my name?”
“I had to, you were sitting at the table with us for over two hours, everyone from the busboys to the guests in the hotel saw you. I can’t pretend you weren’t there.”
“Why the fuck not?” he said, marveling at Renee’s stupidity.
“I’ve had to pay a lot of people off, but the entire hotel—impossible.”
“I don’t fuckin’ get it,” Anthony raged. “That’s the dumbest move you’ve ever made.”
“No,” Renee said sharply. “My dumbest move was aiding and abetting you. I should’ve called the cops.”
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, his voice cold. “You know what would’ve happened to you if you’d made a foolish move like that.”
“Are you threatening me, Anthony?”
“Of course not,” he said, backing down. “But what the fuck am I supposed to say to this detective?”
“Tell her you’re a friend of Susie and mine, we had dinner, and that’s it.”
“Jesus Christ!” he snarled. “Who needs this shit?”
“I know,” Renee said. “I’m not thrilled myself. I’ve got a detective snooping around my hotel questioning people—how do you think I like that? I haven’t given her your number yet. What number should I tell her?”
“Here’s the deal,” Anthony said, still pissed off. “I’ll call her.”
“That won’t fly.”
“How d’you know?”
“Because I do.”
“Jesus Christ, Renee! You’re a fuckin’ moron! Give her my cell, not any of my business numbers.”
Renee controlled her own temper. Anthony was the fucking moron and she was starting to think of ways to get him out of her life permanently.
“When will you be back here?” she asked.
“In time for the big event. Everything still in place? No fuckups?”
“Apart from cops crawling all over my hotel, everything’s on track.”
“You can handle it.”
Of course she could handle it. Who did Anthony Bonar think he was, issuing orders as if she were some lowly employee there to do his bidding? Fuck him.
“Right now Tasmin is listed as missing,” she said.
“An’ there’s no way they can come up with more, ain’t that so?”
“Yes, Anthony,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Your people were thorough?”
“Yes,” she said, knowing he was making sure she’d arranged to have Tasmin’s body buried where nobody would ever find it, that is, unless she pointed them in the right direction. “Everything’s taken care of,” she added.
“It better be,” he said, slamming down the phone. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled, furious that he had to deal with this shit.
“What’s the matter, Papa?” Carolina asked, entering the room wearing a skimpy yellow bikini and flowered flip-flops.
“Nothing, Princess, it’s business,” he said, distracted.
“What business exactly are you in?” Carolina asked, biting into an apple.
“Import/export, you know that,” he replied, noticing that the bikini she had on was showing too much skin. She was thirteen, for chrissakes, what moron allowed her to buy a bikini more suited for a Victoria’s Secret model?
“Yes, Papa, but what do you import?” Carolina persisted. “One of my friends asked me the other day, and I didn’t know what to say.”
“I import all kinda things, Princess. I buy items from China, ship ’em to America, then they get sold in the stores.”
“Oooh,” Carolina said, taking another bite of her apple. “Can I go to one of the stores and buy stuff?”
“There’s nothing you’d like,” he said, wondering where this sudden interest in his business was coming from. “It’s all cheap crap, not your style.”
“Why do you sell crap?”
“’Cause it makes me big bucks.”
“I lika big bucks,” Carolina said, giggling.
“Ain’t ya got some kinda cover-up?” Anthony asked. “You’re too young to be walkin’ around with everythin’ hangin’ out.”
“Maybe one day I’ll go into business,” Carolina mused, ignoring his criticism.
“No import/export for you,” he said sharply. “When you’re old enough Papa’s gonna find you a nice boy to settle down with so you can give me lotsa grandkids.”
“What if I don’t want to get married, Papa?” Carolina said, pulling a face. “Boys suck.”
“Some of ’em do an’ some of ’em don’t. One day you’ll change your mind.”
“Why would I do that, Papa?” she asked, her pretty face a picture of innocence.
“Enough with the questions,” he said impatiently. “An’ go put somethin’ on over that bikini.”
Carolina looked dismayed.
“Sorry, Princess,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to get on your case. C’mon back over here an’ give your papa a big, fat hug.”
She ran over to him. He squeezed her a little too tightly. “What you doin’ today?”
“We’re having lunch at the beach club, then we might go water-skiing.”
He enjoyed the fact that he had kids who got to do all the things he’d never had the opportunity of doing when he was growing up. They snow-skied, water-skied, played tennis, rode horses. He was proud that he’d been able to give them so much.
“Where’s your mom?” he asked.
“Dunno,” Carolina replied.
“Go find her, tell her I wanna see her.”
“When are we leaving here, Papa?”
“You know I never make plans ahead. I’m a ‘feel it, do it’ kinda guy.”
“My friends need to know ’cause they have to tell their parents.”
“When do you wanna leave?”
“Whenever you do.”
“Okay, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Papa,” Carolina said, skipping from the room.
His mind was still on the phone call from Renee. He couldn’t even relax in peace without being bothered by the Vegas incident.
It was over.
Done with.
Why was Renee behaving like such a stupid bitch?
* * *
“Papa wants to see you,” Carolina said, approaching Irma, who was lying out by the infinity pool soaking up the hot Acapulco sun.
“What does he want?”
“How should I know?” Carolina said somewhat rudely.
Irma didn’t bother telling her daughter off. She’d relinquished all responsibility. Anthony was in charge now—Carolina was all his.
“Tell him I’ll be right there.”
“I’m not a message service,” Carolina said, ruder by the minute. “Tell him yourself.”
What a lovely young lady she was turning into. Good luck, Anthony.
Irma got up from her lounger and made her way toward the villa. When she got there she found Anthony sitting on one of the outdoor patios smoking an oversized cigar, his two dogs lying at his feet.
“You wanted me?” she said.
“Yeah,” he answered, blowing acrid smoke in her direction. “What’s up with you?”
“What’s up with me?” she repeated. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean, what the fuck’s up with you,” he said, scowling. “You’re acting like a zombie, all zoned out like nothin’s gettin’ through to you. You on Prozac or one of those antidepressant pills?”
“Why would I be on antidepressant pills?” she said, veering toward being sarcastic. “You’ve taken my children, left me in a foreign country with no friends. Surely I’d have no reason to be depressed?”
“You got homes all over the fuckin’ place, money to shop your ass off, an’ now you’re complainin’—is that what I’m hearin’?”
“You can hear what you want to,” Irma said, feeling quite bold. “I don’t care anymore.”
“You’d better stop this shit,” Anthony raged. “I work like a maniac to keep my family happy, an’ this is the thanks I get? A miserable wife who barely fuckin’ functions.”
“Oh, I function,” she said, wishing she could tell him how well she functioned when Luis was in her bedroom going down on her with a passion she’d never felt from her husband.
“Yeah, in Chanel an’ Louis Vuitton with my credit card in your hand you function like a fuckin’ machine.”
“Is that all?” Irma said calmly. “Can I go now?”
Anthony had been straining for a fight, and Irma wasn’t giving him one. What the fuck was she on?
“Don’t think you’re goin’ anywhere,” he said. “I—” Before he could continue, his cell phone rang. He snapped it open. “Yes?” he barked.
“Mr. Bonar?” a female voice said.
“Who wants t’know?” he said suspiciously.
“This is Detective Franklin from Las Vegas. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Tasmin Garland.”
“Hold on a minute.” He turned to Irma, waving her away. “Business, gotta take this.”
“Permission to leave granted,” Irma murmured, infuriating Anthony even more.
He waited until she was out of sight before taking the call. “Yes?” he said, pacing.
“Were you fixed up on a blind date with Mrs. Tasmin Garland last Friday night?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve spoken to Renee Falcon. I believe you, Mrs. Rae Young, and Mrs. Garland had dinner Friday night at the Cavendish Hotel. Is that correct?”
“Why you askin’?”
“Because Mrs. Garland is missing. She hasn’t been seen since that dinner.”
“I hardly know her.”
“You dined with her, Mr. Bonar. She informed her babysitter that she was being fixed up on a blind date, and since you were the only man present…”
“That means shit. I was sittin’ there with a coupla muff divers, didn’t even catch the other broad’s name.”
“I see. Well … perhaps you can recall the conversation, the mood of the evening.”
“Sorry,” he said abruptly. “Had a steak, talked business with Renee, an’ left town.”
“Unexpectedly?”
“Huh?”
“Unexpectedly, Mr. Bonar?”
“No.”
“Your pilot says otherwise.”
She’d talked to his fucking pilot! This was unbelievable!
“My pilot knows nothin’,” he said, a sharp edge to his voice. “I tell him what t’do when I decide t’do it.”
“I see. And you decided to leave Vegas at midnight. Unexpectedly.”
“It wasn’t so unexpected. I knew I was going.”
“Apparently your pilot didn’t. He thought you were staying overnight.”
“I don’t pay my pilots to think. I pay ’em to get me from A to B.”
“I understand.”
“Yeah.”
“I want to make certain I get this right. You’re saying that after the dinner was finished, you never saw Mrs. Garland again, is that correct?”
“’S right. So if ya got nothin’ else…”
“Thank you, Mr. Bonar. Any further questions, I’ll call this number.”
“Yeah, do that,” he said, clicking his phone shut.
Goddammit! Fucking dumb questions.
He summoned The Grill. “Call the main office,” he said. “I need ’em to change my cell phone number, an’ get me a new pilot—tell ’em to fire the one I got now. Make sure the new one starts pronto, ’cause we’re leavin’ for Miami tomorrow.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
The boy in the back of the Chevrolet was chattering to Max about music, telling her who he liked and who he didn’t. The old man was snoring. Max lapsed into silence, trying not to think about how much her side and ankle hurt her.
Ace, with one scratched-up hand on the steering wheel, was wondering if there was anything to eat in the car—a chocolate bar, chewing gum, anything. He leaned over to take a look in the glove department, and as he did so the old man woke up.
“What you nosin’ around for?” the old man said, his voice quavering. “We got no money. We’re hardworkin’ farmers. If you’re gonna rob us, it ain’t your day, sonny boy.”
“Not planning on robbing you, sir,” Ace said. “I was seeing if you had anything to eat.”
“All you hadda do was ask,” the old man grumbled. “We got a half-eaten ham sandwich if that’s any use to you.”
A half-eaten ham sandwich sounded like bliss. “Uh … thanks,” Ace gulped, overcome by the thought of food.
“Give him the sandwich, boy,” the old man ordered his grandson.
“But Gramps,” the boy whined. “I was gonna have that later.”
“Can’t you see these people are hungry?” he said, throwing Ace a suspicious look. “What you two young-uns doin’ out on the road so early anyway?”
“Thought I told you,” Ace said. “Our car broke down.”
“A likely story the mess you’re in. I’ve heard every story from here to Florida,” the old man said. “A likely story. Give him the sandwich.”
Reluctantly the boy rummaged in his backpack and produced a brown paper bag. “Here,” he said, thrusting the bag at Max, his eyes fixed firmly on her breasts.
She opened the bag, took out the sandwich, and passed it forward to Ace. “You have it,” she said.
“We’ll split it,” he answered.
“No, I’m okay. Really. It’s all yours.”
Ace devoured the sandwich in three quick bites.
“That’s the best-tasting thing ever,” he said. “Thanks.”
The grandfather had fallen asleep again, and the boy was continuing his music conversation. “I got my own radio,” he boasted. “Gramps won’t get me one of them boom boxes like I want, he says we can’t a
fford it. I’ll get it one of these days soon as I start workin’.”
Max made a mental note to find out where these people lived and send this boy a CD player. If it wasn’t for them, they would still be standing on the road hoping that Internet Freak wasn’t going to find them and stick a gun in their faces.
She wondered what was going on at home. As soon as she got near a phone, she’d call Cookie and find out before driving back to L.A.
Hopefully when they arrived at the parking lot her car would be there, Ace would start it for her, and she’d drive back to L.A. as quickly as possible.
What a nightmare this past weekend had been.
What a story to tell Cookie and Harry!
She couldn’t wait.
* * *
It was a clear day, crisp, cold, and quite invigorating. Henry decided to go outside into the garden and pick some flowers to put on the tray before he took it in to Maria for her breakfast. He was determined to find something pretty to put on her tray.
Making his way around the side of the house, he was startled to see several boards lying on the ground. He couldn’t imagine where they’d come from. Then it dawned on him that they’d been wrenched from Maria’s window.
For a moment he didn’t understand what was happening. It was impossible for her to escape, and yet …
Frantically he ran over to the window and peered in. There was no Maria lying in the bed. No Maria in the room. No Maria!
Rage swept over him, a stark cold rage that enveloped his entire body.
Where was she? How had she escaped?
He ran to the outhouse, finding that the big wooden door was still intact. Rushing back into the cabin, he got his gun and the key to the outhouse, then he went back outside and tentatively unlocked the door.
Instead of the body he’d been hoping to see, there was a gaping hole in the ground leading to a tunnel where the cousin had obviously managed to burrow his way out.
Black fury roared in his head. How had this happened? Even more important, how long had they been gone?
He raced back into the cabin, grabbed his car keys, ran out to his car, jumped in, and set off.
Nobody was taking Maria away from him now. Nobody.
* * *
The old man was snoring loudly.
“Mind if I put the radio on?” Ace asked.
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