“I always wanted to be in the theater.” Lillian weaved around several cars, following the man’s directions. He was using the GPS on Sam’s cell phone to chart their way through the busy streets of Tijuana, and she prayed silently that Sam was okay. “Now that you’re in Mexico, you don’t need me anymore.”
“You never know. I think you should stay with me a little longer.”
Lillian was afraid he would say that. Question was, how long was a little longer? They were winding through the older section of the city, working their way south by a circuitous route that would eventually meet up with the highway going south. How far south, she had no idea. She only knew that they were quickly approaching the border zone’s eighteen-mile limit. Going beyond that line meant they would officially become illegal aliens with no tourist or vehicle import permits.
She felt certain her captor had no intention of returning to the United States, and even if she could escape him, she didn’t have her passport to regain entry. Would a U.S. Customs agent believe she’d been kidnapped at gunpoint and forced to drive her abductor across the border? Only Sam would be able to corroborate her story, and she had no idea if he was alive or dead. Tears welled in her eyes. She dashed them away with her fingertips.
“No need to cry, Lillian. Mexico is a beautiful country.”
His name was Jorgé Molina. At least, that was the name on the driver’s license he handed to the Mexican customs agent. To add to the indignity of it all, she had to prove ownership of her car, then purchase Mexican insurance for it. The two men conversed in Spanish, and she reluctantly confirmed his story in English. Little José slept like an angel through the whole ordeal, oblivious to the gun hidden beneath several soiled diapers in his diaper bag.
On the outskirts of the city, they stopped at a grocery store, and while she changed the baby’s diaper, her captor sat on the hood talking on Sam’s cell phone. She had no idea to whom he was speaking, but it was definitely a man’s voice, and the conversation didn’t appear to be going very well. Lillian flinched when Jorgé shot off the car hood. Tried to slow her heartbeat while he paced back and forth along the front of the BMW, slapping the gun against his thigh. Because he nodded more often than he shook his head, she thought he must be receiving orders.
Lillian was considering how and to where she might escape when he ripped the passenger door open, nearly tearing it from its hinges. He dropped his butt into the seat, twisted the cap off a fresh beer bottle, and pointed the gun at her.
“Drive.”
She opened her mouth to ask where, but the fury in his dark eyes stopped her. Returning to the driver’s seat, she turned the key in the ignition, then headed in the direction he indicated. “I suppose you know that shooting your chauffeur and only hostage would be a stupid idea.”
“Then don’t tempt me.”
* * *
Amanda followed Sam into the garage. “You’re going to rescue my mother on a motorcycle? You can barely stand. Besides, shouldn’t you wait for the police?”
“I gave them everything I know on the phone. Your mother has been kidnapped. I won’t let that crazy man hurt her, so just give me your phone and get out of my way.”
“It isn’t charged,” she reminded him.
“I have a charger on the bike.”
“You’re as crazy as the baby’s father if you think you’ll make it into Mexico and save her in your present condition.”
“What do you suggest I do? Wait for Homeland Security to do something?”
Amanda could see the love for her mother glowing in this man’s eyes and wanted so much to hate him for it. Wanted to hate him for putting her mother’s life in jeopardy. Yet, what might have happened to her had he not been here last night? The man had taken a nasty blow to his head defending her. Dammit! She didn’t want him to love her mother. More than that, she didn’t want her mother to love him back. Or marry him. But if one of them didn’t do something damn quick, she might never see her mother again.
“We can take my car. I’ll drive.”
He didn’t argue, merely let her treat his head wound, then followed her meekly out the front door. While she drove, he watched the scenery go by without uttering a word. Was he going to stay silent all the way to Mexico? She had only half listened to his conversation with the police, and since it was going to take them at least an hour and a half to reach the border crossing at Tijuana…
“How do you plan to pull off this Walker-Texas-Ranger rescue?”
Amanda watched him glance down at his hands folded tightly in his lap and fight a smile. She wasn’t totally ignorant of television heroes.
“To be honest, Amanda, I have no idea. I’m not even sure if we can get across the border.”
“Do you have your passport?”
“Not with me. You?”
She shook her head. “We can go into Tijuana without a visa card. I do it all the time to shop. Do you know where this man was taking her?”
“No, that’s when he hit me.” He turned his face to stare out the window, leaned his head back against the head rest. “I failed to protect her. Now I don’t know what’s happened to her, where she is, or if she’s still alive.”
Amanda heard the catch in his voice, fought the tears threatening to cloud her eyes. “You really love her, don’t you?”
He simply nodded. “She worried about being older than me. It took me awhile to convince her that love is no respecter of age. That when it happens, it just happens. It happened big time for me. And I think for her, too.”
Amanda couldn’t respond to that. Couldn’t imagine someone else loving her mother. Or her mother loving someone besides her father. “She’s just having a mid-life crisis. She’ll come back to her senses and realize you’re much too young for her. That this love affair you’re having with her is just a fling.”
“And if I assure you it’s not?”
She sucked in a sharp breath, turned her head and sent him her most ferocious glare. “My mother loves my father. She can’t possibly love you.”
Sam was quiet for several minutes before turning in the seat to face her. “There is no kind way to say this, Amanda, but your father is dead.”
Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked furiously to drive them away. “She loved him.”
“I know,” he said, and though his voice was gentle, she resented his even mentioning her father, let alone knowing anything about her mother’s feelings for him. “He must have been a great man, but please don’t make her crawl into his coffin to prove that love.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Yet, deep inside her heart, she wrestled with the possibility that he was right. His words mirrored those of Dr. Stevens… and… and Gregg.
“You want her to stay loyal to your father because you have.”
Amanda stared straight ahead, saying nothing, her mind in turmoil. How could he possibly know her deepest thoughts? Her most profound fear? “She was his wife.”
“The optimum word here is was. Your father is dead. Do you really want her to remain alone for the rest of her life?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “If she loved him, she would honor his memory.”
“Can you take the next exit?” At her hesitation, he whispered his request again. “Please, Amanda, I’m going to be sick.”
When he leaned forward, his head between his knees and his hand over his mouth, Amanda pressed harder on the gas. Cut across two lanes of traffic toward the Palomar exit, the blare of horns honking behind her. She didn’t care if the other drivers were pissed. She didn’t want her mother’s lover upchucking all over the passenger seat floor. Making a quick left onto Bay Road, she pulled to a stop beside the road.
Sam shoved the door open, managed several wobbly steps before dropping to his hands and knees in the grass. Amanda listened to him wretch, her own stomach threatening to do the same. Some rescuer, he was. She sighed, waited while several cars passed by before getting out of the car.
“Ma
ybe I should be taking you to a hospital instead of into Mexico,” she counseled, offering him a bottle of water.
He sat back on his heels, hands on his thighs and looked up at her. “I’ll be okay. I just need a minute.”
“You need an emergency room. You’re white as a ghost.” She unscrewed the cap, shoved it into his hand. “Here, rinse out your mouth, then take a sip or two. Slowly.”
“Why do I think you might have some medical training?” He took a sip, then spat it to the ground.
Amanda offered him a condescending smile. “I have a rambunctious daughter.”
Sam chuckled. “She is a pistol.”
She didn’t want to discuss her daughter with him. Jennifer had grown much too fond of her mother’s friend. Jealous, Amanda? “If you’re feeling better now, we should get going before a nice policeman comes along and arrests you for littering.” She retrieved the water bottle, then reluctantly gave him her hand when he wobbled in his attempt to rise.
“And here I was beginning to think you didn’t have a sense of humor.”
She yanked her hand from his and opened the passenger door. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know I’d like us to be friends.”
“Why? Isn’t being my mother’s lover enough for you?” She shot him a hateful glare before returning to the driver’s seat. Relished the look of astonishment on his face and was certain she had put the man in his place. She slipped her key into the ignition. Friends. How dare he think she would ever befriend the man who had… had stolen her father’s place in her mother’s life. A life that should be dedicated…
“Why do you hate your mother?”
She twisted around, gave him her most defiant stare. “I don’t.”
“Yes, you do, or you would want her to be happy. Not spend the rest of her life in the grave with your father.”
“Why you…”
Sam caught her upraised hand in midair. “What happened, Amanda? There’s something. Something you won’t even admit to yourself.”
Tears flooded her vision. She wanted to scratch his eyes out, but that handsome face her mother loved kept moving, swimming back and forth in front of her.
“What is it? What has she done that she must be condemned to grieve forever?”
Amanda tore her wrist from his grasp. Flailed at him with her fists. “She killed him!” Don’t you understand? She killed him, and she has to pay for that!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sam didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. It was not possible. Lillian could never do such a thing. “What do you mean? Lillian told me your father was drunk. That he hit a bridge abutment.”
Amanda gazed at him, her cheeks streaked with mascara. “It was her fault.”
Could Lillian have misled him about who had been driving? No, though he hadn’t known her long, he didn’t think she would lie to him about how her husband had died. But Amanda believed it. He could see that conviction in the hate emanating from her eyes, the determined set to her mouth. She had deemed her mother wholly responsible for her father’s death four years ago and continued to judge her guilty even now.
Sam’s head throbbed. Thinking made the vibration at his temple worse, but he needed to know the truth. And so did Amanda. “Do you remember what happened that day?”
“Like it was yesterday.”
Her chin rose arrogantly, her misty blue eyes daring him to disagree with her. He nodded carefully. Walk on eggshells. His psych professor had said trying to understand the mind was akin to walking on eggshells. Sam had taken two psychology courses on his way to becoming a teacher, and that phrase had seen him through the years of dealing with his ex-wife.
“Good. How did the day start?”
“It was my twenty-fifth birthday. We were going to celebrate it with dinner at the country club. I remember Mother baked a chocolate cake for the occasion.” Amanda smiled, her gaze drifting to the sky through the windshield while her fingers traced the rim of the steering wheel. “That’s my favorite.”
“Mine, too.”
Her gaze flickered to him briefly. “I had a sitter for Jen. Gregg and I were going to pick up my parents at 7:00, but Mother called that afternoon to tell me she would drive. That Daddy had already left for the club to celebrate a friend’s promotion to Admiral.” Amanda stopped to chew on her lower lip.
“Did you have a nice birthday dinner?” Sam prodded, already picturing how this scenario was bound to end.
She shook her head. “No, when Gregg and I arrived at the club, Mother and Daddy were having a nasty argument.”
Sam would need to walk on those eggshells carefully. “Had your father been drinking?” While he waited for her to answer, Amanda continued to stare out the windshield. “Was that what their quarrel was about?”
“Daddy could usually hold his liquor, but that night he was angry. Mother told him he should be happy for Paul.” She turned her face toward him. “That was the friend’s name, but Daddy said the man was a two-bit sailor who didn’t deserve to command a canoe, let alone become an Admiral in the finest Navy in the world.” She giggled. “Don’t you think that’s funny?”
No, he didn’t and doubted she wanted his opinion. “What happened after that?”
A frown replaced her smile. “Mother said he’d had enough to drink and told the bartender to cut him off. That it was time for my birthday dinner.” Amanda’s voice dropped to a whisper, and though she closed her eyes, a tear slipped through her lashes. “He said he didn’t want any damned dinner with a useless girl who would never amount to anything, and that he’d find a drink somewhere else.”
Sam stared at her. Had the man actually been that cruel? “Did he leave?”
Amanda sucked in a raspy breath. “Mother told him no, that she would drive him home, and she took his car keys. I followed them out the front door and waited while the valet brought Mother’s car. It happened so fast. Daddy pushed Mother to the ground and drove off in her car. She got up and ran after him, but he wouldn’t stop.” Her voice quivered. She licked her lips. “Then Mother got into his car and chased after him.” Amanda turned in the seat and glared at him. “If she hadn’t gone racing after him, making him drive so fast to get away from her, he would still be alive today, and she would never have gone to college and met you!”
Sam couldn’t fault her logic, but she had forgotten a few things. “So it was okay that your father was so jealous of his friend’s advancement that he drank to excess and insulted his only daughter on her birthday?”
“He didn’t insult me!”
“You just told me he called you useless.”
“But he didn’t mean it. I’m special to him. Daddy loves me, and he’ll keep loving me as long as Mother loves him.” She rubbed the palm of one hand over the knuckles of the other, over and over, in a circular motion. “Don’t you see? If she ever stops loving him, he won’t love me anymore.”
* * *
“Who were you talking to?”
“None of your business.”
Lillian slammed on the brakes, nearly throwing her captor through the windshield in the process. “You forced me to drive you across the border, and now I have to keep driving you deeper into Mexico, probably on orders from that man on the phone. So it is very much my business.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“You’re scared of him.”
“Shut up.”
Lillian said nothing for several miles. “I hope he’s paying you well.”
“He’s paying me plenty,” Jorgé sneered. “Ten thousand. Another forty when I deliver…” He hesitated, then closed his mouth and stared out the window.
Deliver what? All she could think of was drugs. But drugs tended to go south to north, not the other way around. What else? Oh, my God. The baby. Was little Joey really his, or…
“Drive.”
Lillian stayed on the main highway, following the coast, and while he stared out the window at the rushing waves
of the Pacific, her thoughts veered to survival. She didn’t believe for a moment that Jorgé would live to collect the rest of his money. As soon as they reached their destination and the man on the phone had his delivery, he would kill his courier. Jorgé was a pawn, and not a very good one at that.
And what are you, Lillian?
A witness.
And what do the bad guys do with a witness?
Shoot them.
You need to do something, Lillian.
Yes, I know.
At Ensenada, Jorgé directed her east to Hwy 3. Thirty minutes later, they were heading into the mountains on a narrow dirt road. Lillian heard whimpering from the back seat, followed by a screech, then the full-throttle cry of a hungry baby.
“Can we stop? I want to the feed the baby and have something to eat myself.”
“Okay, I need to take a leak anyway.”
Luckily, she had taken care of that at the border. Her captor could hardly stop her from using the bathroom without causing suspicion. At the market, they had purchased snacks—with her money, of course—and now she was hungry. Released from his carrier, Joey giggled and cooed as she changed his diaper, then handed him to his father to feed while she prepared tortilla sandwiches.
“Bring me another beer.”
It had been four years since Lillian had taken orders from a man. Rusty gave orders out of habit. This man did it because he enjoyed the power of it. He had said the last woman to argue with him was dead. His wife? Was she running away from him when she and the baby boarded the bus? Did that make him responsible for her death? If it did, how could such a man play so innocently with his baby son?
And would he kill her to prove himself to the man they were to meet?
You may never have another chance, Lillian.
I know.
While Jorgé fed and entertained his son in the shade of a tree, Lillian reached into her purse for the sleeping pills. Keep him distracted, Joey. Four pills spilled into her hand. Would that many be enough? If memory served her, she had slept pretty soundly with just the one. You don’t want to kill him, Lillian. Four then, she decided. She ground each one into fine dust between her fingers, then dribbled all four into the neck of the beer bottle. Done, she swished the contents, prayed the addition of the pills wouldn’t change the taste. After all, wouldn’t his taste buds be numb after consuming three bottles already?
An Equation For Murder Page 23