She picked up the atlas she had put on the desk yesterday and forgotten about. Now she opened it and found Colombia. Where would Gerald be? In a big city? In hiding? She tapped her fingers on the desk. Was there any way to find out?
She got an idea and logged into her email account. She typed Gerald’s email address, and then wrote, Hi, Daddy. Where are you? Her mouse hovered over Send. Had Dylan told him she knew he was alive? If not, “Surprise, Gerald.” She clicked Send.
To keep her mind off what was happening in the dining room, she decided to get the DNA testing done. After doing some research online, she found that it would be faster if she had a sample from her mother as well as father, but it could be done with just a sample from her and the father. There were several DNA labs in the San Diego area, so she picked the closest one.
She took Gerald’s toothbrush, which still hung from the holder in his bathroom, and put it in a plastic bag. Then she told the cleaning crew she would be out for a while but would be back before they were done.
The dining room already looked much better, thank God.
She was gone nearly three hours by the time she found the lab, filled out forms, and had a buccal swab done. They told her it usually took three to five days but warned her it could take longer to get the results without a sample from her mother and using the toothbrush—especially since it hadn’t been used in a while. She already knew that from what she’d read online. She gave them her email address and told them to send the results as soon as they could.
Laurel waited two days to hear from Gerald but got no reply. She wasn’t surprised, just annoyed. She kept wondering if there was a way to find out where he was from his email to Dylan. She finally decided to ask Jim Tanner. She knew he was taking Sue to lunch. Maybe she could catch him before they left.
Jim understood her dilemma, but told her, “Many email servers have ways to bring up the IP address, and you can find out how online. Gmail doesn’t. The mail will only show it going to the IP address of Gmail’s mail server and that makes finding the sender’s true IP address impossible—unless the government requests it from Gmail.”
Laurel slapped her hand on her desk in frustration. “Well, it was worth a try.”
When Laurel got home, she pulled out the map of Colombia and stared at it. Then she went online and did some research on the country and drug cartels. Despite the cartels, Colombia also had a nice tourist industry. When she realized the direction her mind was heading, she knew going to Colombia would be ridiculous.
Still, she needed to get away. Being in such close proximity to Dylan kept her on edge, but she couldn’t decide where to go. Whether as close as San Francisco, or as far away as Australia, what difference did it really make? She would be running away from Dylan and her feelings for him. She knew no matter where she went, he would be foremost in her mind.
Three days later, she was just sitting down at her computer to see if there was an email from the DNA lab—there wasn’t—when she heard Dylan’s SUV and saw it pull up to his apartment. He hadn’t attempted to contact her, for which she was thankful. They had sort of a tacit agreement to stay away from each other for the time being.
She opened her email and froze. There was a message from Gerald. Her hand shook as she clicked on it.
Dearest Laurel. I want to see and hug my baby girl. If you will make reservations at a hotel in the tourist section of Cartagena, I will find you. As soon as you have your itinerary, write me at this address and give it to me. I’m safe for now, but it may take several days to get to you, so have fun, sightsee, be a tourist. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Don’t tell anyone. Love, Dad.
Laurel stared at the message for a couple of minutes. She noted the email address was different from the one he used to contact Dylan. Why hadn’t he contacted Dylan? His encrypted message, I’ll let you know when you can tell her I’m alive, had made it clear he was depending on Dylan to tell her—probably so he could explain the fake death. He must have decided to contact her directly after getting her email. But why didn’t he want her to tell anyone? Not even Dylan?
She sent him a reply telling him she’d be there, and then saved the message and signed out of her email account. At least now she knew where to go. Meeting up with her father should erase Dylan from her thoughts, or at least, put them on the back burner. After checking all the accommodations she could find in Cartagena, she booked a room in a five-star hotel.
Once her plans were firm, she emailed them to Gerald at his new address.
She felt giddy. He really had to be her father. Didn’t he? And she’d soon get to see him for the first time in what seemed like forever. Sure, there would be things to work out, such as his occupation, and questions to be answered about the Markham murders, but she was certain he would tell her everything. She pondered how she’d feel about him in the end, but this was her opportunity to find out once and for all. I’ll finally have closure.
Chapter 34
Laurel sat at a table outside a cocktail lounge in Cartagena and sipped a Tequila Sunrise. She wore a light blue sundress and matching sandals. The lounge wasn’t air-conditioned since it opened to the outside, but ceiling fans did their best to circulate the hot, humid air. She took in the sombreros hanging along the wall behind the bar. Piñatas in all colors and shapes hung from the ceiling. She wondered if they were traditional in Colombia or if the bar was just trying to cater to what it believed the tourists would expect.
She’d been in Cartagena three days—days that weren’t wasted as far as sightseeing was concerned but wasted in her attempt to connect with her father. She was glad she’d checked tourist sites on the Internet before she left home, so she was prepared for the many people who would approach her offering their services. She’d read most of them were rip-offs, and some were even dangerous. She’d taken a couple of legitimate guided tours but decided from now on to strike out on her own.
She knew she’d just have to wait and recalled Dylan telling her Gerald would let her know he was alive on his timetable. Dylan hadn’t counted on her finding out Gerald was alive from the man himself. Apparently, her father was adjusting that timetable, but she could imagine it wasn’t simple. He was probably as impatient as she was. He must know it wasn’t easy being alone in a foreign country, knowing no one.
She thought about Dylan. Ever since the day after their encounter, as she had decided to think of it, when Dylan again said Gerald was in Colombia, she’d begun to think about visiting Colombia without his knowledge. At first it was just a mental exercise—something to plan to keep her mind from remembering the night they’d made love. When she got Gerald’s email, she began to plan in earnest. She’d have to get a fake passport so there was no chance Dylan could find her. She’d soon found out it wasn’t as easy as she’d thought and gave up the notion. She’d just have to hope he didn’t put two and two together. The note she’d left him should take care of it.
She ordered another drink and people-watched. This was definitely for tourists. A large group entered the bar. It seemed everyone wore shorts and colorful shirts. They took pictures of everything as they found tables or sat down at the bar. Many of them spoke or laughed too loud. She wished the noisy ones were consigned to the outdoor patio tables, and chided herself. Exactly the same scenario had played out for three days. Either get used to it or go somewhere else, Laurel. She was tempted to go back to her hotel room, but it was boring and lonely.
She had a sudden feeling of discomfort and looked up from her drink. A handsome man in a business suit sat at the end of the bar. He stared at her in amusement. He nodded and tipped his glass in her direction. She had noticed him all three evenings, not because he was good-looking—though he was—but because he seemed out-of-place in this informal setting. He looked and dressed like a wealthy businessman—a different suit every night. Mostly he glanced her way too often. He never came to her table to introduce himself, so she figured she was imagining his interest. But he had just acknowledged her, and th
at upped the ante.
Oh great. I have to get out of here. She practically chugged her drink, put money on the table, and then stood. She felt tipsy but thought she could make it out the door without stumbling.
She had almost passed the man when she heard a low, deep voice. “Buenas tardes, Señorita.”
She ignored him and continued past. She felt him rise and follow her out the door. Her heart beat faster. What did he want? Couldn’t he take a hint that she wasn’t interested? Apparently not. He stayed a few steps behind her. She wasn’t about to go back to her room now.
She whirled around, and he nearly ran into her. “¿Habla usted inglés?” She hoped so because she didn’t know how to say get lost in Spanish.
He gave her a warm smile. “Sí. Yes.”
“Then you will understand when I say whatever it is you want, the answer is no.”
He held out his hands, palms up. “I am merely trying to be polite to a guest in our city. If you are not waiting for someone, I would like to buy you a drink and dinner.” He had just a touch of an accent. “It is not often I have the chance to speak to a Norteamericana—and a beautiful one at that. Just drinks and dinner between two people from different countries. We might both learn something. The restaurant is within walking distance, so we will never be alone.” His hand swept outward toward the many people still shopping or eating.
She pursed her lips. “How do you know I am, as you say, Norteamericana?” She wasn’t certain if he was giving her a line of B.S. or not, but she realized she was at loose ends, alone in a strange country. And he made a good argument. She was bored to tears waiting for Gerald to show up, so why not enjoy the evening, as long as they would never be without other people around?
She pushed Dylan as far back in her mind as she could. All the pros and cons she could conjure up ate at her while the good-looking man waited patiently for her answer.
“Why not? It sounds like fun. I’d like to go back to my room and take a short nap. Shall I dress for dinner?”
He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “I am honored. Tell me where you are staying and I will pick you up at eight. The restaurant I have in mind is elegant.”
Thank goodness I packed my green dress. It should be elegant enough.
“I would prefer to meet back here,” she said.
“You have a reason for hiding?”
She felt like a child. So what? Never hurts to be careful. “Not really. I just like my privacy.” She wondered if that sounded odd, but she didn’t really care. She wasn’t about to let any stranger know where she was staying.
“As you wish. I will be here at eight.” He gave her a bow and started to walk away then turned back, his friendly banter easing her mind.
“Do you realize we don’t even know each other’s names?”
“You’re right. I’m Laurel . . . Patterson.” She didn’t want to give her real last name in case it somehow got to the wrong people. She knew Aunt Velma wouldn’t mind if she borrowed her name.
“¡Encantado! Me llamo Alejandro Madeira.”
Chapter 35
Laurel had called Dylan the day she made her reservations to Cartagena to tell him she and a couple of friends had decided to go to Paris for a couple of weeks so she could think things over.
She also bought tickets to Paris, just in case he checked. Of course he’ll check.
She didn’t even balk when he asked for the names and phone numbers of her friends and her flight information. He’d see that someone was there to protect her and her friends when the plane landed. She told him she hadn’t made reservations yet, but would let him know as soon as she did. Meanwhile, she was staying with a friend for a change of scene, and dutifully gave him her friend’s info. When he checked it out, his mind eased. The friend’s father was a former cop and agreed to take the women to the airport.
In a way, he was relieved because he too needed to try to figure out if their relationship was going anywhere, or if it had been just a one-night stand. Though they had avoided each other, sooner or later their paths would cross. It was disconcerting not to have her around, but she would have protection at all times. Still, he was eagerly waiting to get her flight information.
Mari was back and more than surprised Laurel had left, but she took it in stride and invited Dylan for dinner.
As they sat eating tacos and tamales, Mari told him about her vacation and what a pleasure it was to see her parents. Dylan listened politely, but his mind was elsewhere. His sixth sense was restless and he wasn’t certain why.
After dinner, he told Mari he had some work to do and went back to his apartment. He worked on a problem he couldn’t even identify. Something was wrong. But what? Maybe I’m just uncomfortable with Laurel away from home. What is she thinking? That’s the problem. She hasn’t been thinking clearly.
He went over their last conversation where she’d decided Gerald might not be her father. Had she ever sent his DNA to a lab? Even if she had, she mustn’t have any results yet, or she surely would have mentioned it.
He tried Laurel’s cell phone, but there was no answer.
He disconnected and his phone rang. He looked to see who was calling before he answered.
“Kraft.”
“Why is Laurel out of the country?”
“Hello to you, too, Josh. She called when I was at HQ being briefed on a drug raid going down this weekend. She said she needed a vacation. To Paris, with some friends. I reported it and arranged to have someone at the airport. Is there a problem?”
“Possibly.”
Dylan’s pulse sped up. “Talk.”
“We checked the flights from San Diego to Paris after you called but she wasn’t on any of them. However, her name was on a flight to Cartagena.”
“What?” he yelled.
“As you can imagine, your ass is in trouble.”
“No shit.” He knew he was supposed to know where Laurel was at all times. And he thought he did, but she had taken advantage of the fact that he was giving her some space because of their lovemaking. Damn woman can’t be trusted.
Dylan’s boss came on the line. “Kraft, you’re on administrative leave until we get to the bottom of this. Turn your Photo ID, your Badge, and your duty weapon in to the local office.”
In a way, Dylan was glad. He’d be free to travel without having to report in. He would use a fake passport. Though he wasn’t forbidden to leave the country, his real name might raise a red flag in Colombia and at home. He made a plane reservation to Cartagena and packed. He thought about taking one of his personal handguns, but it could be a hassle to get on a plane. He’d buy one in Cartagena.
He sent an encrypted email to Gerald, bringing him up-to-date. Gerald answered almost immediately, telling him about Laurel’s email asking where he was—an email he assured Dylan he had ignored. Dylan could tell he was furious and worried.
What does she hope to find? Gerald wrote.
I’d rather tell you in person. Still, I have no idea why she would get it in her head to try to find you there rather than wait until you get home. She’s been doing some background checks on you, and something has caused her to think you aren’t her real father. After getting that idea, she’s pretty much gone ape-shit since then. That’s all I’ll say now. Tell me where you are. I’ll find out where she’s staying and get her home ASAP. I’m using a fake passport so I shouldn’t be spotted.
I hope she has enough sense to stay in a hotel.
Dylan could almost hear Gerald’s fury.
I can’t imagine her staying anyplace else.
You need to bring backup. Madeira has tentacles everywhere. If he knows about Laurel, he probably knows about you as well.
Dylan gave a sour laugh then wrote, Sorry. No backup. I’m a persona non grata at the moment—because I let your daughter get away.
Crap. Obviously, she didn’t use a fake passport. As soon as you get to Cartagena and find out where she is, tell her to stay put until you can get her out safely.
You know that’s the fastest way to get her out scouring the country for you. I’ll find her, escort her to the plane, and see that she gets on it. Then I’ll find my way to Tiquería, and we’ll get Madeira.
After L is safely on the plane, stay in Cartagena and I’ll come to you. It’s bigger and will be harder for Madeira to find us.
He has his spies. I’m sure he knows she is in his neighborhood. He won’t be looking for us. He’ll be looking for Laurel.
And will find us.
Dylan called Josh. “Can you get into Laurel’s email account and see if anything there prompted this sudden desire to go to Colombia? I’m sure she knows Gerald would be in hiding somewhere, so he must have sent her an email he isn’t telling me about.”
“But surely, Cuz, he wouldn’t tell her to come to Colombia,” Josh pointed out.
“I agree, but something triggered her change of plans.”
Josh sighed. “What’s her email address?” Dylan told him. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Shouldn’t be a big deal to hack her account. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve been successful in committing a crime.”
The call came to Dylan a few nail-biting hours later. Josh read the email aloud.
“Dearest Laurel. I want to see and hug my baby girl. If you will make reservations at a hotel in the tourist section of Cartagena, I will find you. As soon as you have your itinerary, write me at this address and give it to me. I’m safe for now, but it may take several days to get to you, so have fun, sightsee, be a tourist. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Don’t tell anyone. Love, Dad. She replies that she will be there.”
“Thanks, Josh. Send it to me right now. Do you know where she’s staying?”
“Vista Del Mar Hotel according to her credit card records. There’s another email from some lab. It just came in.”
For The Love Of Laurel Page 22