“Simple, I didn’t. I appeared at parties. I flirted. Never did I let anyone physically close to me.”
“Never?” asked Cruze with a tone of incredulity.
“How could I? I may appear as a metrosexual man, but underneath I remain a woman.”
“You never have sex?” Cruze asked.
“Not since the awful night when I was sixteen. I am strange that way,” Julio said.
“Don’t you have any, uh, urges?”
“Cruze, my sick father ruined me. He left me as a woman afraid of men, so much so I became one in all appearances. I schedule around the obvious logistical issues like using the restroom. Many restaurants now have unisex bathrooms.”
“No gender change operation?”
“Underneath this silken Armani suit, I am still flat-chested, boyish Annetta.”
Cruze poured more coffee, added sugar and cream and stirred in a slow motion using the time to think before he asked, “What will you do all day here?”
Julio nibbled on a piece of croissant, smiling a little at its buttery goodness. “Shop, sunbathe, go to the spa. What occupies your time at your cabin?”
“I work on fused glass projects to improve my craft. Once I am good enough, I want to define a style and develop a line for sale, donating the proceeds to the nearby monastery.”
“If we are talking about illusory dreams,” Julio said, “I want to study animation programming as well as hone my writing skills. Over time, my goal is to produce an animated cartoon series of action heroes. My life has given me lots of material to morph into fiction, particularly on the so-called bad guys. Perhaps one day, I will draft my memoirs to be published after I die.”
“We will transform into the people we dream about . . .” Cruze let his voice trail off and stared at the beguiling blue of the lapping waters. “Did Cristo and Eduardo harbor secret aspirations?”
“I think they lived what they dreamt. Fuentes Enterprises encapsulated who they wanted to be and who they became, sweeping you along with them. We are not like them, Cruze. They functioned as the businessmen and the hard-nosed aggressors. You and I claim more artistic sides.”
“Once you settle in here, I hope you will come to Bataya sometimes to my little home and give input on my glasswork.”
“It is remote?” Julio asked, his voice tightening as he spoke.
“The only sounds are birds, the deep knells from the bell tower calling the monks to vespers, the tinkling bells on the goats and sometimes if the wind is right, the church peals from Botaya,” Cruze said. “The house is off the grid. Solar panels and batteries supply the electricity and propane gas tanks power the stove and the kilns. Heat is from a wood fireplace, and fans do the cooling. Water is from a well. After years of the flashy life Cristo favored and the constant moving about, I am content with the simpler life of a poorer man.”
“In contrast, I will be pleased in a penthouse condo with a view of the sea, a luxury bath and a full terrace. Somewhere high up and quiet where I can find inspiration to create.”
“These are but beautiful daydreams. How do we increase the odds for our safety?”
“I am devising a strategy, Cruze. The approach is dangerous and runs the risk of exposing us to the FBI and to the worst of the remaining drug lords in the United States, Colombia and Mexico. Or we might buy our liberty. Understand if the plan goes awry, we will be committing suicide.”
“As long as we do not land in prison,” Cruze said. “Death does not scare me. The prospect of imprisonment for the rest of my life frightens me to the core. I am like Eduardo in that way.”
“We both are,” Julio said.
He contemplated Julio as he sat across from him, his brilliant blue eyes enhanced by the proximity of the blue waters. Whatever Julio was planning would not be flawed. His cousin stayed safe for the last twenty-five years through careful scrutiny of his options and detailed planning.
On and off during their adulthood, Julio came and went in their lives, always available when they needed him for business tasks and for family times, including during illnesses and bereavements. Now he warmed to the vision of spending the remainder of his life, whether days or years, in regular communication with Annetta, the real self of Julio, bringing their youthful bonds into the rest of their lives.
Cruze leaned forward and nodded, eager to learn about Julio’s plan for a chance at a new life.
Chapter 23
Two days later with nothing new popping up in the Fuentes case, Steve and Ivy hopped in the car for a shopping trip to Portland. Hand-in-hand and feeling like two young sweethearts playing hooky from high school, they left the parking garage and walked up to the Pendleton store. Together they picked out an additional blanket for their bed, choosing one that was washable wool in a muted blue plaid to fight off winter’s rare cold days, as well as a blue wool shirt for Steve. From there they wandered around Pioneer Place, exploring the shops in the downtown indoor mall and picking up cappuccinos at the corner Starbucks near the exit.
Relishing their relaxed time together, they walked up the long block to the Nordstrom store. Together they browsed in the men’s department. When Steve picked out a distinctive bold plaid sports coat, Ivy said, “Buy that and people will think you stole a blanket off a horse.”
Steve laughed and put it back, then pulled out another one in a muted dark tan wide herringbone. He would have never bought the first one, but he wanted to see Ivy’s reaction.
“Better?”
“Definitely. What else are you getting?
“You know I love winter clothes – the wools, worsteds, twills and tweeds hold their shape. Gonna pick up some corduroy trousers, maybe a sweater vest. Couple of striped shirts.”
“How about we split up? I’ll go down to shoes and then over to makeup and fragrance. You can meet me down there at noon, and we’ll toddle off somewhere for lunch. Text me if you’ll be late.”
When he took her hand and kissed it, Ivy leaned in to brush his lips with hers and said. “Hmm, let’s snuggle this afternoon when we get home.”
Once Steve made his choices and measurements were taken, he strolled back to the cosmetics area. At her height with her silvered hair, Ivy should be easy to spot, but he could not see her. He surveyed the displays of fragrances since she favored the English scents from Jo Malone. Not finding her, he wove around the makeup counters and headed to the adjacent shoe department. No Ivy. He dialed her cell, which rang and went to voicemail.
While his wife possessed a strong streak of independence, she would not go wandering off without at least texting him. He found his way to the women’s restroom and called her name through the door. With no response, he buzzed her again. Still nothing. His heart started beating faster as he opened up an app on his iPhone to trace her by the coordinates of her phone.
Damn. Her position was two blocks away heading south on Broadway. She must be sneaking off to surprise him with a gift.
He walked out to the street and up two blocks tracking her phone, which seemed to be stationary. He turned and checked the sidewalks around him, but no Ivy. He ducked into two nearby shops but still did not find her.
Back on the street, he refreshed the application. It again indicated his location. After looking around, he spied a litter basket and his stomach did a flip. He began digging through the trash until he found her phone slid down the side.
No way would Ivy leave him of her own choice. She would not toss away her phone. He felt his throat tighten in panic. Had his lovely Ivy been abducted? Why? Was the mob leader in California attempting to gain leverage in the negotiations? Were those nefarious Fuentes up to a new trick?
Forcing back his panic as best he could, he swiveled around in a full 360 then called Brian who answered on the second ring.
“Brian, grab Moll and get downtown. Ivy disappeared!”
“What? On my way with Moll. Where are you?”
“Two blocks south of Nordstrom’s on Broadway and Salmon,” Steve said.
&nb
sp; “We’re in the car and racing down.”
“I’m going to hang up and call the FBI office here and then Mathew.”
Steve stood on the street, trying to keep his mind on the calls he was making, but his heart was so panicked that it seemed to speed up with each conversation he had. After about five minutes, Brian and Moll screeched up by the curb and Moll jumped out. An agent Steve recognized stopped his car across the street and sprinted over.
Steve debriefed the three of them on the sequence of events. From his phone, he emailed photos of Ivy and of Cruze and Annetta/Julio, even though some hired had thugs likely carried out the abduction.
He doubted Ivy had a chance to use the weapon in her purse. What they might do to his darling wife! Will Ivy’s determination to survive and her smarts keep her safe? The thought of his wife overpowered and held at gunpoint frightened him to a depth he had never before experienced, taking away his ability to think rationally and act quickly.
As if sensing his mental paralysis, the impromptu team he assembled took over. The FBI alerted the police. Brian, Moll and the agent went off to canvas surrounding shops and hotels while Steve was directed to return to Nordstrom’s to talk to their security team. Time ticked by. Ivy could be missing for as much as an hour. The longer the timeline, the less the likelihood of discovering her close by.
After alerting the Nordstrom security team, Steve walked out and on a guess, jogged up to the Park Blocks, busy this time of day with students and people strolling around. If the perps wanted to talk to her for whatever reason, they might leave her in a park. When he got a hunch, he needed to follow it since his instincts tended to be right. He strode around, checking benches and peering behind the big trees, without catching a sign of his wife.
Never in his life was he seized by such a dreadful sense of alarm. He pushed himself to stay focused on locating Ivy, forcing back the panic that was making him hyperventilate.
Three miles away up in Forest Park near its abutment to the city of Portland, Ivy’s back glued itself to a tree on a trail where she stared at two men with pistols drawn on her. Her legs trembled with fright, but when she was shoved in a limo, she made a decision to keep fear from ruling her head.
The men told her to stay put and started walking backward up the path to their car. Fighting to control her stretched emotions, Ivy mentally took snapshots of their faces to describe them later. Up above on the road’s shoulder, Julio waited. In appearance he was quite like the photo the Bureau had produced with their aging software. She would never forget the careful modulation of his voice as if it were constrained from breaking into more melodious tones. In front of her, the men reached a bend in the track, turned and walked on uphill moving out of sight.
With a map of this part of the long forested park etched in her mind from often walking here with the corgis, Ivy decided which way to head. Down below a trail branched off to the left, skirting along a little ridge to come out across from the Arboretum office and store. After a quick up glance through the trees to be certain the men were not doubling back, she turned downhill to reach the footpath she wanted. A car started up and sped away too soon for the men who just left her. Julio must be departing in the limo, leaving the second car for the two hooligans. Ivy ran down to where she needed to turn, fearful the two men might reappear. Running in her low heels on the mud-greased surface hurt her feet. She thudded on, curling her toes to keep her pumps on.
She made a sharp left, taking the little pathway as it ran paralleling the road, though hidden from view. As she followed its climb, she hoped the hoodlums were driving away from her. She supposed Julio was already hurrying out of town, and she wondered if Cruze drove the limo.
Even though burdened with three shopping bags, Ivy refused to leave them in the woods. With mud squishing against her instep, she gripped her insoles tighter as she ran. Her sides heaved as she huffed up the incline, glad of the high brush now screening her from the road above her and from the Wildwood Trail behind her. The next hazardous point lay ahead when she emerged from the wooded hillside.
Ivy approached the end of the brushy expanse with caution. She stopped and listened, glancing around. Nothing moved except a squirrel scurrying to a tree. A heavy mist fell through the canopy of spruces and firs. Even though her hair was becoming wet, flipping up her hood would hamper her audible range and peripheral vision.
After lingering until her panting slowed, Ivy dashed through the more open woods, emerging on a little lane, which she crossed at a run, hustling into an open picnic area. Sweeping her gaze around, she turned left to run up some stairs. As she neared the road in front of the Arboretum shop, she swung her head in both directions searching for the two men, for their car and for the limo. No one skulked in either direction. She zipped across the road, ran the short distance to the shop, grabbed the door handle and skidded inside. The sales clerk jerked his head around to her in astonishment.
“I need to use your phone,” Ivy said, coming to a stop but still huffing hard. “Two men are after me. Will you lock the door?”
The older man nodded and showed her the desk phone, snatched his keys and locked the door, standing guard to one side and peeking out. Ivy grasped the receiver and called Steve.
“Nielsen.”
Relief flowed through her on hearing his voice, “Steve, Ivy.”
“Where are you?” Steve asked, his voice breaking from the tension. “Are you injured?”
“Shaken up, but I’m fine,” Ivy said, forcing away the surge of tears coming into her eyes. This was not the moment to break down.
“What the hell happened?”
“I was taken for a bizarre drive with Julio pointing the muzzle of a revolver at me. I’m up at the Arboretum Store and Visitor Center. You remember where it is on Fairway in Forest Park? We came here for a hike last winter. Come get me and we can talk.”
“You sure you’re not harmed?” Steve asked again.
“Fine. A strange hour but I am fine.”
"Got to call the rescue party I organized. Will dial you right back at this number. Stay inside with the door secured."
Right after he came back on the line with her, Brian's SUV slewed at an angle to a stop out front. Her big husband jumped out and ran to the door. He barged into the shop and wrapped her into a big hug. With the trauma over, Ivy found herself trembling in his arms. He let her cling to him until she stopped shaking.
Once she regained her composure, Ivy said, “Two thugs dumped me on the Wildwood Trail after walking me partway down it, shopping bags and all. They moved backward away from me, keeping their guns pointed at me until they turned to walk up to the road. Once they were out of sight, I ran down away from them. They had a black town car. Julio rode in a limo. I didn’t catch the plates. Someone I didn’t see was behind the wheel of the limo. Perhaps Cruze?”
“How did you get here?” Steve asked, his eyes still filled with fear for her.
“Knowing this network of trails from hikes with the corgis, I ran down the trail I was on, hooked a left and fled up a little side path. When I hit Fairway, I ran across the street where this kind shopkeeper let me use the phone. He guarded the door for protection,” Ivy said, nodding over to the shopkeeper and giving him a little smile.
Ivy shivered and said. “Can we go somewhere warm and with food? I’m cold and starving.”
She turned to thank the man where he stood to the side. Steve sent the police car that followed them out to patrol for the limo. The agent drove up to take over the search. They piled into Brian’s car to head back to the city, following Ivy’s directions and stopping at an uptown restaurant. Once inside, Steve went to the bar and came back with a snifter of brandy.
“Drink half of this. Treatment for shock.”
Ivy drank as instructed. Her color returned and she began talking. “Julio and I sat facing each other in the limo. He kept a pistol out. The thugs took the gun you gave me. They threw my phone away.”
He held her cell up. “Used the t
racker app trying to find you. Thought you went off to buy me a treat of some sort.”
The guilt and devastation on his face told her he must blame himself for leaving her on her own in Nordstrom’s. Once they ordered their lunches, Ivy resumed talking.
“After buying two pairs of shoes, I started over to the Jo Malone counter. When a man appeared on either side of me, each one took an arm. One said something to the effect of ‘Sharpshooters are watching your husband. One false step and he is dead. Come with us or we tell them to shoot.’
“I stifled a scream when what they said sunk in. They hustled me out the door and into a limo waiting at the curb.”
“Ivy, you never should . . .” Steve said.
Brian clutched his arm and shook his head. Steve nodded.
“They heaved me into the car, pawed through my handbag, took out the phone and the gun and tossed the bag back to me, along with my shopping. On the rear seat sat Julio. I faced him. Once the limo started up and pulled away, I asked him what he wanted,” Ivy stopped to take a drink of water.
“You’ll find his reply interesting. ‘Freedom for Cruze and for me. Your husband caused the deaths of my other two cousins. I am sure he wants the same for us.’
“I noted taking me hostage seemed a poor way to start a dialog. He asked for my patience while he told me about their backgrounds.”
Ivy related the stories of the rape of Cruze’s mother and the sexual exploitation of Annetta by her father then she said, “While we meandered around, he talked about why he became Julio. He spoke of how his father orchestrated Eduardo’s kidnapping and that scene of severe abuse.”
“He or she suffered through a terrible childhood. How does this affect today?” Steve asked with more than a note of exasperation.
“Steve, let me get through this. Cruze’s bond with his twin brother and with Eduardo pulled him into the life of handling the logistics of moving drugs between Colombia and Mexico and repackaging them. He only did that because he supported his brothers. He left the drug world and wishes only a peaceful life.”
New Growth (Spook Hills Trilogy Book 2) Page 21