by Ann Logan
“Nothing as yet, other than she hid it in a damn good place, a place so obscure neither you nor Erich have been able to find it, even after all these years. Maybe you could help us locate it faster by giving us all the information you have.”
Adolph glared at Wulf for a long minute. He lifted his hand in an angry, dismissive gesture. “Bah, Erich was useless when searching for the money after her death.”
“Maybe you can tell us about coming to Mexico with Erich? There might be a clue in that.”
Adolph leaned back and nodded. “He sent me over here in the 1930s to save my life from Hitler’s homophobic goons. The Nazis didn’t like men who had, shall we say, alternative lifestyles, anymore than they did the Jews. As it turned out, it was providential. When Erich left Germany, I had the villa ready for him and that slut. I also arranged for the Fuentes family to protect him.”
He paused and frowned, as if suddenly remembering something unpleasant, “That damned Fuentes boy!” Looking pointedly at Mercy, he said with disgust, “Your father, of course. At first, I thought he had the money when he ran off with Lisa, but I had him watched for years afterwards and nothing.”
“You spied on him when he left Mexico?”
“Of course.” Adolph looked at her. “If he took the money, though, he certainly never used it. What a fool! I didn’t care about her or her daughter, Lisa. All I wanted was the money. Just look at this place.” He waved his hand around. “It’s a broken-down disaster. It’s all that slut’s fault. I’ve never regretted killing her.”
Mercy gasped, and Wulf saw her face turn pale as her hands clenched.
“Why? Why did you kill her?” she asked Adolph in a taut voice that tore at Wulf’s heartstrings. Anger and revulsion played over her features.
“Why? Because she took my money! She was nothing but a stupid, French peasant. I had to make it look like an accident, you understand, for Erich’s sake. With the Fuentes family already causing us trouble, I felt it better to handle her death myself. Nothing but a simple matter of fixing, or should I say, unfixing, the brakes. We have such treacherous roads around here, you know.” He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “A pity. Lisa should have died with her, but the slut left the girl home.”
“What about the Fuentes family?” Wulf asked, attempting to keep Adolph’s thoughts off Mercy.
“I hired them to protect us when I bought this place. They are nothing but a bunch of thugs. I don’t know why they’ve done so well, other than the fact they are the biggest group of pretty boys I ever saw. Unfortunately for me, they were not inclined toward men.”
Wulf watched Mercy absorb Adolph’s words. It was obvious to him why Pedro had fled Mexico when he eloped with Mercy’s mother. The danger Mercy had sensed about her father was probably because he’d grown up around such thugs and miscreants.
“I thought the Fuentes family worked as your gardeners?”
“Gardeners!” Adolph snorted. “They had dirty hands, all right, but it was not from the soil. They took care of the bribes and the armed guards that protected us. The Fuentes family is riding so high now, if I did not know better, I would think they had discovered the money.”
“Why do you say that?” Wulf asked.
“If they had the money back then, their ascendance would have happened much sooner than it did. After all, no one knew the system of bribery in this country better than they did. They were smart, too. They allied themselves with every powerful family in Mexico, even the revolutionary ones. Their pretty looks always got them everything they wanted.”
Adolph’s eyes pinned Mercy to her seat. “I hated your father. If he had not run away with Lisa when he did, I would have found a way to kill him, too.”
Adolph leaned back. “It would have had to be accidental again, because nobody in their right mind tangles with the Fuentes family, not then and most assuredly not now. Can you believe it, it’s not enough that one of them is a cabinet secretary, one of them is also married to the president’s niece.” Outrage and antagonism warred for precedence on Adolph’s face as he settled himself comfortably back into the contours of his high-backed chair.
Wulf watched helplessly as Mercy’s face crumpled in revulsion. God knows her grandfather had been bad enough, but Adolph, Wulf thought with strong distaste in his mouth, had crawled right out of the sewer. If only he’d crawl right back again.
Mercy jumped up. “I need a bathroom,” she said.
“Feo! Take her to the bathroom,” Adolph called to the old man who’d let them in. The old man shuffled in and motioned to Mercy.
Wulf thought hard. The only way to keep them both alive would be if Adolph thought they might lead him to the money.
“You’ve given us a lot to think about,” Wulf ventured, “but it will take some time to put all of the pieces together. Maybe we can help each other without making the Fuentes and the Chamorros come gunning for you.”
“What are you saying?” Adolph cocked his head toward Wulf, his strange, unblinking eyes narrowing intently.
“We’re both after the money, aren’t we? I believe there’s some clue in Mercy’s memory that will lead us to where her grandmother hid it. I’m willing to split the money with you if I find it, but you have to cooperate with me on this. Mercy and I are engaged, you know, and she’ll do anything I say.”
Adolph stared at him for several long minutes. “Your plan has merit,” he agreed, “but it will not be split. I will let you live and that is all.”
“No deal. We not only live, but I get forty percent.” Adolph stared at him for a moment, then nodded shortly.
“When Erich told me of his plan to see his granddaughter,” Adolph mused. “I told him to pick her brain for information. He clearly didn’t, the old fool.”
“Erich has disappeared. He may even be dead.”
Adolph shook his head impatiently. “I knew something like that would happen if he left Mexico. Who are you with anyway? The Jews? The Germans? Who?”
“I’m not with anyone,” Wulf said. “Do I look like a fool to you? What kind of a fool turns over that much money to anyone else? Yes, I’m working for an Israeli organization, but I’m doing this for myself. I’m convinced Mercy is the key, and everything I’ve found out so far has proven that right.”
“What do you mean? I thought she didn’t know anything?”
“We’ve already come across a bank account number that was in the locket she was wearing,” Wulf said in a conspiratorial vein, leaning toward Adolph. “Now all we have to do is find out where the bank account is. Leave me alone with her for a while longer, and I promise I’ll find the information you want. With a little time I know I can get her to tell me everything she knows.”
Adolph gave him a wicked sneer. “You are a clever man, Mr. Rheinhart. Do not forget I am also very clever. I have known about your presence in this country since you landed, and I have had you followed. If you fail me, I can also have you eliminated. Both of you.” Adolph drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “But what you say has merit. If she is the key, then it is up to you to find the lock…or else.”
Mercy stopped in the hall listening. It felt as though the floor had opened up beneath her and she’d fallen through. Her heart slowly shattered into jagged shards. He’d lied all along. About everything!
Tears rose in her eyes. How could he turn against his own people like that? The answer was inescapable. Because his Jewish father had rejected him, and perhaps his Jewish family, too.
Mercy shook her head silently, her eyes full of tears. Turning abruptly, she went back to the bathroom. Cold water would take away the tracks of her tears. To hell with refreshing her makeup or brushing her hair, she thought, despondency making her body feel limp. What difference did her looks make now? She didn’t give a damn about anything anymore.
Several minutes later, composed and pulled together as well as she could manage, Mercy re-entered the main room. She had to make Wulf believe she still believed in him, and she had to make that
despicable slime, Adolph, think she didn’t know what they were up to. Her only hope was to get in contact with her father’s family, the Chamorros, or maybe even the Fuentes’. God forbid, she thought with a sinking feeling, they should feel towards her as Adolph did.
Adolph turned as Mercy entered the room. “I am sorry we will not be able to see any more of each other, my dear. Your young man has convinced me you know nothing of importance to me. A pity, but he has also persuaded me it would not do for the Fuentes or Chamorro families to find out I’ve harmed you. Because of that I’ve decided to let you both live. The driver is ready to take you back into the city. You will see Ramon Chamorro a little late, but at least you will be alive.”
He gave her another of his reptilian smiles. “Forgive me, a little joke of mine.” He waved his hand to the driver, who pocketed his gun and led them back to the cab that had brought them.
“That was a close call,” Wulf said with relief in his voice. “I had to do some fast talking back there.”
“Um-hum.” Mercy’s heart wallowed in despair. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a little nap on the way back.”
“Good idea,” he said, noting the puffiness of her eyes as well as the dark smudges under them. He felt a momentary pang of disappointment when instead of leaning her head on his shoulder she leaned against the side of the car. Although he tried to pull her toward him, she was already asleep and resisted his pull. Just as well, he thought, he needed to concentrate on what to do next. He couldn’t do that very well when she was near.
* * *
“Mercy, wake up. We’re here.” Wulf’s voice came to her from far, far away. In her dream, she was on a cruise ship with her parents. The cruise ship was sinking, but for some reason, no one on board would tell her where to go or how to save herself. She couldn’t understand why everyone was ignoring her. The confusion made her frantic. All the faceless strangers pointed to her parents. Her parents, however, only smiled benignly at her and, with their arms around each other, walked away.
Her eyes opened slowly, looking up at Wulf’s concerned gaze as he smoothed her hair back from her face. Mercy sat up, straightening her clothes and looking around. It was late afternoon, and they were in downtown Mexico City at one of the newest glass-and-steel buildings.
“This is the place. Shall we go in?” He reached back to help her out of the car, but she ignored his hand.
The subtle change in Mercy’s attitude bothered Wulf. When she looked at him, it was as if she was seeing an insect. At first, he put it down to the scare with Adolph, but for some reason he felt it went deeper than that.
The security guard at the front desk eyed them warily as they entered. The guard called up to the penthouse suite, then walked them over to the private elevator. He turned the key and pressed the alarm before returning to his desk.
Pretty elaborate security measures, Wulf thought, as they rose to the forty-fifth floor. Why did Chamorro need so much security? Something smelled fishy here.
A man using a metal scanner met them as they exited the elevator. They followed him down a long mahogany-paneled corridor that was about fifteen feet wide. Museum-quality Mexican artifacts artfully lighted and displayed on polished granite and marble tables and shining brass and glass etageres lined the walls.
The double doors at the end of the corridor opened and their escort ushered them into a huge room. The room screamed wealth, privilege, and power—from the quality of the marble floor and its Oriental rugs to the state-of-the-art computer setup in the background.
A man emerged from the shadows. “Allow me to welcome you to my offices. I am Ramon Chamorro.”
Chamorro stood about six feet tall and was around seventy years old, a handsome, distinguished-looking Mexican gentleman. Wulf studied Chamorro, taking in his impeccable posture, the dark blue, Italian-cut suit, the spotless white shirt and blue silk tie. Generations of wealth and breeding showed in his dark coloring, his silver-shaded, black hair, and his haughty stance and demeanor.
Wulf watched with burgeoning jealousy as Chamorro looked expectantly at Mercy, a warm smile on his face. How did she know he wasn’t just like Adolph? Then again, he reasoned, after Adolph, any family member would look good.
“I’m Mercedes Fuentes. My father was Pedro Fuentes. I believe he may have been related to you.”
Chamorro smiled even more warmly and took her hand in both of his, raising it to his lips. Jealousy had never been a part of Wulf’s life, but since meeting Mercy he felt he was on a first name basis with the green monster.
“I am honored to meet my baby sister’s granddaughter,” Chamorro told her. “Sylvia treasured Pedro, her youngest, and was heartbroken when he left for the United States. She still misses him every day. When I alerted her of your call, she cried to think someone who knew Pedro would visit me. She will be even more overjoyed when she finds out who you are.” Chamorro looked pleadingly at her. “Please say you will come and be our guest at our ranch in Chihuahua.”
He glanced at Wulf and added, “Of course, this invitation includes you also, señor. I assume by that ring on your finger you are affiancéd. No?”
“No,” Mercy said.
“Yes,” Wulf said at the same time, glaring at her. He’d had enough of this smooth Casanova. Mercy was swallowing his slick words hook, line, and sinker.
Chamorro waited, looking at them both his eyebrows raised. “We were engaged,” Mercy began, “but then…well, things have changed. Drastically,” she said, gazing up at Wulf’s scowling face.
“Señor Chamorro, allow me to introduce myself,” Wulf said, stepping in and speaking in perfect Spanish. It was times like these he thanked the benevolent fates for his talent in languages. “I’m Wulfgar Rheinhart, executive vice president of Steiger Oil, and Mercy’s fiancé,” he said, taking the reins of the conversation with the fluid ease of a born diplomat.
“I am, of course, very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Chamorro said smoothly. He motioned them to seat themselves in front of the large fireplace. Before Chamorro could say anything, Wulf immediately fell into a lively exchange in Spanish with him.
Although Wulf knew Mercy couldn’t follow their conversation, he could tell she understood enough to make her fume. He explained her denial of their engagement as mere, pre-marital jitters due to the stress of travel and fatigue. He further made light of the hazardous situation they’d just experienced by referring to Adolph as a bad-tempered, senile, old man.
Although he’d pulled the rug out from under her, he’d only done it because she didn’t understand the danger he sensed in his gut. She was too naive and innocent to see the acquisitive light in Chamorro’s eyes. Good God! If it was left up to her, she’d trust the devil himself.
“Can we speak English?” Mercy interrupted. “I do not speak Spanish well.”
“But, of course,” Ramon quickly assured her, looking both embarrassed and distressed. “Forgive my poor manners. I am just so very impressed with Mr. Rheinhart. His Spanish is excellent! You are fortunate to have someone so important and talented as your novio.”
Mercy glared at Wulf. “You must forgive my friend. He’s inclined to run over me in his good intentions. However, I am tired from our encounter with granduncle Adolph.”
She smiled warmly at Chamorro. “I can’t wait to see the rest of my family.”
“Good save,” Wulf muttered under his breath at her in German. His admiration for her gutsiness and courage jumped another notch. But, whether she liked it or not, he planned to keep close tabs on her when they went to her family’s hacienda.
Ramon gave her a sympathetic look. “I know Adolph Suarte, and I promise you, he will never be a problem to you again.”
“Thank you, Uncle Ramon. You have no idea how good it feels to be with family again. Both my parents have passed away, and I’ve been alone for a while now.”
Ramon took her hand in his. “My dear, you have a wealth of family here in Mexico. The Chamorro family is your family now.
”
Mercy’s eyes glistened, but Wulf’s earlier impression that Chamorro had a mercenary streak was even more strengthened. He had met too many men with this kind of smooth delivery.
“Thank you,” Mercy said quietly. She looked at Wulf as though expecting him to defy her. He smiled at her, forcing his face into a bland mask.
“Good,” Chamorro said, sounding relieved. “My private plane is waiting to fly us to the ranch. I look forward to escorting you to your grandmother. I also took the liberty of ordering us dinner, too. Please say you will come. It would mean so much to Sylvia and me.”
Wulf clenched his jaw and fought down his jealousy. Chamorro looked and sounded so sincere. Maybe he wasn’t always sincere himself, but he damn sure knew sincerity when he saw it. Chamorro was anything but sincere.
“I’m curious, Uncle Ramon,” Mercy asked. “Are there any of my father’s family members still living here in Mexico?”
Ramon grew quiet for a moment before sighing. “There is no sense trying to hide it. The Fuentes family is a well-organized group of criminals. They are very dangerous.”
So, Uncle Adolph was right about that, Wulf thought. At least Adolph didn’t bother to be insincere like Chamorro, nor did he pretend to be anybody’s friend.
“Dangerous? Tell me more about them,” Mercy implored. “I find it hard to believe, knowing the kind of man my father was.”
“It is not pretty, my dear. The Fuenteses have slippery fingers in the government as well as being responsible for a host of other illegal activities. Oh, they would probably welcome you into their midst, but I wouldn’t try to contact them if I were you.
“Pedro left Mexico to avoid becoming like the rest of them. A dispute with another family killed his own father, you know.”
“My father never talked about his family.” Mercy shook her head. “Poor Papa!”
“When Sylvia fell in love with Carlos Fuentes, I knew he had a bad reputation, but I didn’t know the half of it. I feared for her life when I found out he was even worse than I thought.” He paused without elaborating.