Hey, girlfriend. Have I got some dirt for you! Love triangle, greed, land-grabs, revenge, bandits. Ingredients for a great movie.
Here’s the deal. When the Carinas went to the New World, another family traveled with them and took up a neighboring land grant. The two families were close friends. For a couple of generations, everything was hunky-dory, and then an impetuous young Vidal ran off with the beautiful bride of a Carina don.
Vidal? The top of a steel-gray head showed above the seat ahead of her. She read on.
I notice that members of both families are on the board of directors at the Museo de Arte Mejicana, but with so much water under the bridge, I doubt either of them gives a hoot.
Desi swallowed. No wonder she’d had the impression that the bad blood between Corona and Vidal went deeper than a disagreement about which security company to hire.
As to the medallion, the unfaithful wife took a cask of jewelry that included the medallion. The lovers fled to New Mexico Territory and were never heard from again. Given that the woman’s skull was found at the bottom of a canyon, we can deduce the runaways met with tragedy.
The Carina don was a powerful man, far more influential than the Vidais, and notorious for adding to his holdings by hook or by crook. Because of friendship, the Vidais had been spared.
No more. The Carinas proceeded to strip the Vidais of every possession. Eventually, the Vidal family fled into the jungle and lived in stick huts among the Maya.
Desi stopped breathing. Jungle? Maya? Okay wild imagination, settle down. No way was she sitting in a helicopter with El Jaguar because of some ancient family history.
Vidal didn’t live anywhere near the Yucatán jungle, said the voice of reason.
But he had his own air transportation to get there, answered the voice of suspicion.
Max’s e-mail went on:
The Vidal’s weren’t licked. They became bandits and assassins. Over a few generations, they killed off the Carinas—except one, who sold out and moved to Mexico City. In a sense, you could say the Vidal’s routed the enemy and won the war. Eventually, they emerged from the jungle, bought property with their ill-gotten gains, and became respectable again.
Desi’s head whirled. She should have listened to her urge to flee while her feet were still on terra firma. Stay calm. you’re probably making too much out of an ugly slice of history When they touched down at the bank, she could slip away. She could—
Below, the city slid out of sight and countryside opened up.
“Where are we going?” Her words came out in a hoarse yell.
Vidal poked his head around his seat and grinned. The more the guy smiled, the less she liked it. “Be patient. You will see.”
Desi turned toward the policeman. “Do something. This man is a crook.”
The cop trained his gun on her, his gaze a new level of don’t-mess-with-me. She’d seen that look in those eyes before. For an instant, she was in the back of a limo, inhaling the smell of bad cigars, while merciless fingers squeezed her jaw. A tremor shook her. The gunman grabbed her laptop and passed it to his boss.
“Give me a moment, won’t you?” Vidal turned away.
Desi opened her mouth, but Rat Fink Cop shot her a stare, and she fumed in silence.
Vidal tossed the laptop into the empty seat next to him. “Your Max is very resourceful.”
“What are your plans? Leave the country with this priceless art? You can’t stay in Mexico. Too many people saw you leave with this load. When it disappears, they’ll realize—”
“How do they know that we were not hijacked by the resourceful El Jaguar?”
“You are El Jaguar.”
The man’s smile faded into an exaggerated frown. “Poor, courageous Fernando Vidal. He gave his life for his country.”
“You’re going to kill yourself? Some people might call that a service to humanity.”
The hired gun snickered. Vidal glared at him, and the man shrugged and turned away.
The gang leader pinned Desi beneath an iron stare. “If I hadn’t promised to deliver you, I would toss you out right now.”
Desi swallowed a rush of bile at the picture of herself in free fall without a parachute.
“By tomorrow, I shall be a national hero, missing and presumed dead. Corona will be ruined, my enemies eliminated, and I will be on my way to Brazil with no one hunting for me.”
An antarctic breeze blew through Desi. “And I’m numbered among the enemies.”
“You are a nuisance, but Agent Lucano is the enemy. He took my Angelina from me.”
Desi’s breath hitched. “What have you planned for Tony?”
Señor Vidais grin sent horror pulsing through her veins.
Tony hefted a bag of cement powder off the back of the supply truck and followed the guy ahead of him to a pallet fifty feet away. Wiping sweat from his face, he headed back for another.
“Just a bunch of ants in a line.” Matt laughed as he trailed Tony to the truck.
“Good for us ants this isn’t the height of summer.” He threw a bag onto his shoulder, and a grunt filtered between gritted teeth. “Were pretty rank as it is by the end of the day.”
“Speak for yourself.”
The growl of a motor drew Tony’s attention. A large truck lumbered over the rutted road toward the work site. “Great. Now we can unload bricks too.”
Matt laughed. “Not to worry. That truck’s got an attached crane that lifts the pallets and sets them on the ground. Then we get to carry the bricks in handbaskets to the work areas.”
“Sounds like fun.” Tony walked off with his bag.
When he got back for another, the brick truck had pulled up. A crane fitted with block and tackle and a whale-sized hook jutted from the forward section of the cargo bed. Workers crawled across pallets securing chains and talking in rapid-fire Spanish. Tony hesitated, tempted to hang around and watch the show, but he grabbed a bag and walked away.
Several pallets of bricks had been lowered to the ground by the time Tony hefted the last of the cement bags.
“¡Hola, gringo!”
Tony turned. Was that shout for him? Lots of gringos around here.
The operator who stood at the control panel on the side of the truck motioned to him. Tony stepped in that direction. Did the native workers need help? Seemed like they were doing fine.
One released the chain from a grounded pallet and waved to the operator. Hook swinging, the crane moved toward the cargo bed—too fast for the safety of the man on top of the load. Tony called a warning.
The operator grinned and pressed another button. The crane reversed direction, and the hook lashed toward Tony.
Barely time for a last breath.
Zero time to duck.
Twenty-Five
Pain shot up Desi’s arms where sheet wound her fingers into vise grips around each other. Lord, I know You haven’t toppled off Your throne. You’ve brought Tony and me through so much. Please, help us again. Protect Tony. Help me—
“Señor, someone wishes to speak with you.” The copilot stood bent over in the space between his seat and the pilots. Removing his headset, he handed it to his boss.
Desi couldn’t hear his end of the radio conversation. She needed to get away from these people to warn Tony. Desi’s ent a sidelong glance toward the armed guard. Was he really a turncoat cop or a gang member dressed in uniform? The patented stare said cop.
Vidal handed the headset back to his copilot and turned toward Desi, fierce triumph in his stare. “It is done. Lucano is eliminated.”
A scream tore from Desi’s throat, and she lunged against her seat belt, clawing for that hateful smile. The cop’s forearm slammed her against the seat, and his gun jabbed her temple. She froze. “It’s not true! I don’t believe you!”
“My man at the scene confirmed the kill.” Vidais gaze swept her up and down. “In another generation, you would wear a black gown and veil. But I’m afraid you will have no time for mourning. Give me your ri
ngs. They offend someone I find useful.” He extended his palm.
Desi covered her left hand with her right. “You’ll have to slice them from my cold, dead finger.”
“Not out of the question.” He turned away.
Except for the muted drone of the rotors, the silence of the tomb encased the helicopter. Tears fell in a steady stream on the hand that protected Desi’s wedding rings.
Hours later, the Eurocopter set down in a tiny clearing in the midst of dense forest. Tree foliage and thick grasses whipped in the wind of the rotors. Desi’s tared, dry-eyed and numb. The rotor storm calmed, and the pilot and Vidal exited the craft. Rat Fink Cop remained next to Desi.
Why did she always end up in an aircraft with some kind of creep-azoid from Jerksville? And why should she care who she was with if Tony no longer lived in the same world? Wait a minute. Maybe she could work bad company to her advantage. The tip of her tongue moistened dry lips. She could jump out and run—force him to shoot her. She could… Don’t go there, girl!
These people were not going to snuff them both out and go on their merry way. They were going to pay. How, she had no idea, but it would come to her. Hate scalded her throat.
Her door opened, and Vidal stood there…smile on his face.
Desi ripped away her seat belt and lunged, screeching, at the murderous scum. Vidal’s astonished expression barely registered as she slammed into his chest. He back-pedaled, windmilling. She clawed—she kicked—she punched. Yelping, Vidal went to his knees, arms over his head. She aimed a kick for his groin, but someone slammed into her from the side.
The ground hit her hard, and air wheezed from her lungs. Jungle grasses caught at her clothes and skin as rough hands yanked her upright. Her manhandler whirled her to face him. Rat Fink Cop. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was fighting a grin. But amusement at his boss’s expense didn’t make him any gender as he bound her hands in front of her with twine.
A soft bray came from the tree line, and then a mule led by a Mayan handler emerged into the clearing. Then another and another and another—a whole pack train. Just like she’d wished for at the museum. Her captor threw her up on one of the beasts and wrapped a loose end of her binding around the saddle horn. Then he returned to the helicopter.
Desi pulled in a quivering breath, and a musky animal scent filled her nostrils.
A steady stream of workers went in and out of the belly of the helicopter as it regurgitated Mexico’s cultural heritage. Such reckless handling. Desi bit her tongue. Strange how she cared about art when her whole world had been destroyed. Must be in our genes, Daddy. We’ve always been nuts that way Pal around with Tony until I get there, okay?
Desi sniffled and cranked her neck at an awkward angle to wipe her nose on her shoulder. Bits of grass clung to her clothes, the sun cooked her back, and sweat glued her shirt to her body.
At last, the pack train was ready, and the first mules were led into the trees. Her handler turned the animal but waited as others passed them. Mounted on a tall mule, Vidal rode by. He glared. No smile. Desi met the look. Maybe that bloody scratch on his cheek would go septic with some kind of fatal jungle rot. One could always hope.
Desi swayed and jounced as her animal entered the trees, following a faint trail. In the shade, the air was cooler but close, muggy, and full of buzzing insects. She could do little to fend them off except toss her head like the patient beast she rode.
She gritted her teeth. As a Christian, she ought to be ashamed of wishing someone to get sick and die. But ought to didn’t make a dent in her feelings. Okay, so maybe she could hope he made peace with God on his agonized deathbed.
Nope, she’d be lying to herself. She wanted the guy to burn in hell.
Time passed in a fog of discomfort and grief. The pack train entered a gully, and hooves clicked against moss-covered rocks. A steep grade loomed, and the lead mules struggled upward in little leaps. Desi winced at what must be happening to delicate antiquities. Her handler grunted as he climbed, back bent. Desi clamped aching legs against her mounts sides. Leaning over the animal’s neck, she breathed in mule sweat and clung to the pommel of the saddle.
Finally, they clambered over the lip of the ravine. Under the lowering sun, the rain forest cast long shadows across a clearing. Desi’s animal stopped, but the pack mules threaded on between thatched huts. A typical Mayan village…except for the long brick structure tucked under the canopy of the forest and a concrete-block building next to it. Aerial reconnaissance would see only the native huts. No wonder the lair of El Jaguar had remained a mystery.
The aging Jaguar dismounted and strode toward the brick building. A woman emerged from the front door, a vaguely familiar figure, but Desi couldn’t make out her identity. The pair embraced. Desi’s niffed. Hadn’t taken the larcenous Lothario long to find a new ladylove after the passing of his dear Angelina.
A burly figure burst out the door of the concrete-block building and trotted toward her, blond hair flashing in patches of sunlight. Clayton Greybeck. Another creep she’d just as soon stake out over an anthill and let the buzzards peck out his eyeballs.
Clayton loped up. What was it with these bad guys wearing smiles? At least he’d shaved and didn’t look like the crazed lunatic he had been at Chichén Itzá. Probably because he thought everything was going his way again.
“Easy now, Des.” He stopped a few feet away. “Im going to untie you, and then you’re going to come with me quietly. I’ll explain when we get where we can talk.”
“I hold you responsible for Tony.” She spat each word through gritted teeth.
Blood surged into his race. “Sure, I wanted him out of the way, and I got a little nuts when I saw you two at Chichén Itzá. But you’re alive today because of me, and you’d better appreciate it. Now, shut up!” He pulled a knife from his pocket and popped out the blade.
Desi’s heart kabumped, but he only sliced the itchy twine. He pulled her down from the mule, and she yanked free of his grip, but her knees buckled. Clayton scooped her up and carried her toward the brick building. Desi’s lapped him. He said a nasty word and dropped her. She landed with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Pain sparks danced in her head.
Clayton stared down at her, hands on his hips. “Get up then and walk.”
Resenting every fresh bruise and her saddle-sore legs, Desi’s truggled to her feet.
“That way.” Clayton pointed, and she preceded him in an unsteady but chin-up walk toward the house where Vidal had disappeared with his lady friend.
Desi tromped up a pair of stone steps and stepped inside. The interior was cooler than the great outdoors but musty smelling and lit with gas lamps on the walls. A long table took up most of the room. Food smells floated through an open doorway to the left, and utensils clattered.
Clayton took her elbow and guided her down a hallway. They passed a closed door, and Desi heard Vidal and a familiar female voice. Pilar Sanchez? Processing the revelation, she let herself be tugged into another room filled by a four-poster bed, a chair, a bureau, and an armoire.
“This ones ours.” Clayton spread his arms.
“Ours?” Desi back-pedaled, snagged a heel on the chair leg, and caught herself against the bureau. “Are you insane?”
“Vidal would’ve crushed and discarded you like a scrap of paper if I hadn’t insisted he bring you to me.”
“You don’t love me, Clayton, so what’s this obsession?”
He shrugged thick shoulders. “I want you, and Greybecks always get what they want.”
“Oh, puh-lease, don’t try to tell me you’re overcome by lust at the mere thought of me.”
Clayton stepped toward her, and Desi backed up against the wall, heart fluttering like a trapped bird. What chance did she have against this mountain of muscle? None whatsoever. But her fingers turned to claws. He’d pay dearly.
He cupped her chin. “You’re the kind of woman who challenges a man, and I’m a sucker for a dare. You need a little time f
or widowhood to wear off? I can buy that.” He stepped back. “Just don’t let it take too long. Vidal will notice if you’re not making me happy, and you don’t want to know what he’d do to you.”
Desi’s throat tightened. She could believe that statement.
“I’ll take you to the washhouse. You can clean up, and Juanita will bring you a change of clothes. I’ll fix myself a bed on the floor since I take it were not sharing one tonight.”
“Not unless you want to wake up dead.”
He chuckled. “See what I mean, Des? Challenge of a lifetime. We’ll make great kids. You’ll like Brazil too. Plenty of money to do whatever we want.” He pulled open the door.
Desi swallowed a torrent of furious words and marched out, fists knotted. If only a punch from her would amount to more than a gnat bite to him.
Outside, they passed the concrete-block building. Rat Fink Cop stood on the porch, shirtless, with a tattooed arm around a scantily clad woman. He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. The woman’s shadowed gaze darted away, and Desi’s breath caught. She knew that face from a newspaper clipping Tony had shown her. A missing woman from Boston, but she couldn’t recall the name.
Clayton hustled Desi along with a hand on her shoulder. “That guy’s Salvador. He’s no danger to you as long as you’re with me.”
Desi kept her doubts to herself, along with her knowledge of the woman’s identity. “His companion didn’t look too happy.”
He chuckled. “Maybe not, but she and the other girls keep El Jaguar’s men happy.”
Desi’s stomach rolled. Those poor women. And that was the house Clayton had come out of when she’d arrived. Maybe she should be grateful he hadn’t saved himself for her. But someone else had paid the price. Resolve ignited in her belly. God, if You’ll give me a way, I’ll get out of here and take the women with me. She eyed the edge of the rain forest.
“Don’t even think about it.” Clayton squeezed her shoulder. “You’d be lost in minutes and wouldn’t last a day.” They stopped in front of a hut set apart from the others. A cistern on stilt legs stood next to it. “But I know what you’re like, Des. You’ll try something dumb, so I’m going to post a guard outside the door.” He motioned toward a man wearing a side arm.
Reluctant Smuggler Page 27