Desi stalked into the washhouse and slammed the door. She glared at the ceramic tub that took up most of the room. Maybe if she stayed stinky, she’d have less appeal for Clayton. Then again, that woman at the cinder-block house hadn’t been too clean. Desi turned the single faucet knob and felt the stream that poured into the tub. Lukewarm. Perfect for a bath in the tropics.
She disrobed and climbed in, letting the tub fill around her. A cake of white soap sat in a dish hooked to the side. She rubbed at herself as if she could scrub away the horror of the past hours. Darkness robed her mind, and sobs clogged her throat. She washed blindly, frantically.
A woman’s hand closed over hers. Desi gazed up through a fog. Juanita, the maid from Pilar and Ramon’s house, gazed down at her, dark eyes liquid and gentle. The woman took the soap and handed her a small vial of shampoo, then squatted by the tub while Desi washed her hair and the sobs calmed. Desi took a towel from Juanita. The woman motioned toward a pile of clothing on a bench by the door, and then left on silent feet.
Desi slowly dried herself off. A few minutes later, clad in native blouse, skirt, and flip-flops, she left the washhouse. Ignoring the guard who trailed on her heels, Desi returned to the long house. Several people sat around the dining table—Vidal, Pilar, Clayton, and Salvador.
Clayton stood and pulled back a chair. Desi plunked down and stared at her bone china plate and soup bowl, odd elegance in the crude surroundings.
“Now that we are all here,” Pilar said, “let the serving commence.” She rang a small bell, and Juanita rusded from the kitchen. Pilar inhaled audibly as the servant set a steaming bowl on the table. “Fish soup. Excellent.” She smiled at Desi. “The Mayans call it Che Chak. Try some.”
Clayton ladled a chunk of fish and some pale liquid into Desi’s bowl. Scents of lime and garlic teased her nose. Her stomach clenched. Any other time, any other place, and the soup would have made her mouth water.
Pilar spooned soup into her mouth and then dabbed at her lips with a cloth napkin. “It will be good to have another woman along in Rio. The stores are fabulous.”
Vidal chuckled and twisted the ring on his finger. “My sister lives to shop.”
Desi’s eyes widened. “Your sister? Ramon Sanchez was married to the sister of El Jaguar? Did he know?” Desi crushed her napkin. “Was he part of this?”
Vidal took a long pull from a glass filled with dark liquid. Not his first drink, judging from his flushed face and heavy lids. He opened his mouth, but Pilar jumped in.
“My husband did not know the identity of El Jaguar, and he could have been spared if he had taken the deals he was offered. But he would not give up his notions of good and evil. He might have been the richest, most influential man in all of the Yucatán if he had cooperated—”
“Nonsense, woman!” Vidal bellowed. “El Jaguar is the richest, most influential man in the Yucatán. Always has been, always will be. A pity no one can know it was me, but I pass the mande of the Vidal dynasty to my son.” He slapped Salvador’s back.
The son leveled his dead stare on his Either, then returned to his soup. So Salvador was less than enamored of his parent. And it couldn’t have done filial respect any good to see dear old dad beaten up by a half-pint female today.
The elder Vidal drained his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Always has been?” Desi’s aid. “I thought El Jaguar was a modern invention.”
Vidal shrugged. “A reinvention.”
A fresh picture focused in her mind. “Your bandido ancestors. The leader called himself El Jaguar. Am I right?”
Pilar clapped her hands. “I told you the woman is clever. The Vidal’s have never given up their influence with the Maya. It was easy to organize angry youth. The gang soon grew to include all types of oppressed Hispanics.”
Right. El Jaguar and his Fraternidad were misunderstood Robin Hoods—the cry of gang leaders everywhere. “But why marry an honest man like Ramon Sanchez? You must have known he would oppose your plans, and you could only ruin him.”
Vidal let out a drunken heehaw. “All part of the grand scheme to at last avenge all wrongs. The unfaithful Carina bride who ran off with a Vidal? She was a Sanchez.”
“Oh, come on! That extramarital intrigue took place centuries ago.”
Vidal’s face crimsoned. “And for generations my family lived like animals trapped in the jungle. When we stepped back into society, the taint of the bandito dogged our steps. And all the while the Corona and Sanchez families, the ones responsible for our downfall, enjoyed respect and position. Only in my generation have we Vidal’s been restored to our proper place.”
“So you destroy your hard-won respectability by turning gangster?”
Vidal grinned. “It is in the blood. We do it well. Salvador is stationed in Mérida. He will continue the operation from within the policía and groom Pilar’s son as his lieutenant.”
Desi glared at Pilar. “You would leave your son to this sick life? Did Ramon get too close to the truth? Is that why he had to die? What sent him to New York?”
“I’d be interested in that answer,” Clayton said.
Desi shot a sidelong glance at him. His chin dimple pulsed in a white face. So Clayton didn’t know everything about this organization either? Not too comforting when he was her only buffer between the local godfather and son.
Pilar set her empty bowl and spoon away. “Certainly, I—”
“Pilar?” The word was a warning growl from the senior Vidal.
The woman glared at her brother. “It’s time for him to know. The understanding can only further convince him that the deaths of Randolph and Wilson were unintentional. We did not know they were in the rental car with Ramon.”
Vidal shook his head and downed the last of his drink.
Clayton stared into his empty bowl, lips thin.
Pilar’s gaze on Clayton was warm as a long-lost aunts. Desi’s hivered. This was one slick black widow. And if Clayton believed that hooey about them not knowing his family was in the car with Ramon Sanchez, he was dimmer about people than she’d thought.
Pilar wound her fingers together. “My son Carlos is your half brother.”
“What?” Clayton leaped up.
“Sit down!” The command came from Salvador.
Those were the first words Desi’d heard from the man since their unpleasant chat in the back of the Sanchez limo, and the creepy-crawly sensation in the pit of Desi’s stomach hadn’t changed from then to now.
Clayton sank into his chair. She didn’t blame him. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, the man was as thunderstruck as a pole-axed steer, in Max’s vernacular.
Pilar touched Clayton’s hand. “Randolph and I had an affair years ago.”
He moved his hand into his lap. “So that’s how our family became involved with yours. Dad would never tell me how he got hooked into helping with a smuggling scheme.”
“When Ramon came to me with something Desiree said, I told him the truth about Carlos’s parentage. Then he went to New York.” She turned toward Desi. “I was angry with you at first, but now I see you did the cause of El Jaguar a favor.”
“Sorry to oblige.”
Juanita whisked into the room with a steaming platter—seasoned pork steaks, from the aroma. Conversation fell silent. The servant set the platter down and began picking up bowls. When she got to Desi, she stopped and looked a question at the full bowl.
Desi nodded. “It smells delicious, but I have no appetite. Wait a second!” Her nostrils dared, and she pinned Pilar beneath a hard stare. “Can Juanita read and write?”
“What a silly question. Of course not.”
“Has she been to this location before?”
“She accompanies me everywhere. A lady cannot travel without her servant.”
Desi rose, and not even Salvador’s glare inspired her to sit down. “Did you have her tongue cut out to keep her from telling about the lair of El Jaguar?”
“Be calm.
It was of no more consequence than docking a dogs tail.”
Desi picked up her soup bowl and flung the contents at El Jaguar’s sister. Pilar’s shriek, Vidal’s howl of laughter, and Salvador’s shout sounded as one. Clayton dragged Desi from the table. She caught Juanitas astonished gape as they entered the hallway. Tipsy chortles and Hispanic curses in a feminine voice followed them.
Clayton flung her into the bedroom and bolted the door. Then he doubled over, clutching his stomach. His face turned a vibrant purple, and tears leaked from the edges of his eyes. Squeaks filtered between his lips.
Poison in the soup? Good thing she hadn’t taken a bite. Oh, good grief, he was laughing so hard he couldn’t get his breath. Desi flopped into a chair.
“You really…got us…in the soup…now.” Clayton gasped.
A snort came out through Desi’s nose.
“Good thing,” he continued, “…the broth…had cooled…or we’d be…in hot water.”
A full-blown chuckle escaped Desi’s lips. Too bad this guy hadn’t shown a decent sense of humor before. She might have liked him a little. Her breath caught, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. How could she laugh when Tony was—Oh, Lord, please forgive me.
Desi rose and lay down on the bed, curled into a tight ball.
Little rustles sounded behind her, and the light went out. Desi’s tiffened, ready to do battle. More rustles, and then a masculine sigh.
“It’s okay, Des. Get some rest. I’m not a rapist, and I sure didn’t ask to be a part of this.”
“Don’t even try to tell me you’re a victim. The reluctant smuggler. Hah! You love the money as much as that bunch out in the dining room.”
“The money, yeah. But the way it’s gotten? Well, lets just say dear old dad wanted it this way, and a Greybeck always gets what he wants.”
“Did he want to get shot into Swiss cheese?”
Silence.
“I’m sorry. That was raw.” Desi rolled over. “I know what it’s like to lose people you love.” Sobs quivered in her chest, but she bit her knuckles. Not in front of the man who thought he could take Tony’s place in her bed as easily as musical pillows.
“I didn’t love them.” A lifetime of discouragement weighted Claytons voice. “Wilson and I never got along, and Randolph Greybeck wasn’t lovable, but he was my dad. You know?”
Desi didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.
She had to plan an escape with not a single good idea. The only person she knew would track her to the ends of the earth was no longer in this world. Despair sucked at her, and the feeble flicker of faith winked out like a snuffed lantern.
Twenty-Six
I’m in Cancún, Stevo.” Tony spoke low and urgently into the public telephone near the bus depot. The place was busy even this late at night, a factor that could work for or against him. Lots of noise to cover up his conversation, but hard to see someone coming for him.
“What’re you doing back in the Yucatán? I thought you were working in Mexico City?”
“Don’t talk, just listen.” His gaze scanned the passersby for anyone showing interest in an Anglo on the phone. “Desi’s missing, and Im on the run.”
Stevo hissed in a breath. “El Jaguar?”
“You got it…and the federales.”
“The federales! How did you get into it with them?”
“If you’ll stop asking questions, I’ll tell you.” He sketched out the details of the attempt on his life. “The other workers jumped on the crane operator when he tried to run away, and then radioed the federales. By the time they arrived, I at least had my breath back. We made the operator contact his boss with news of my demise, and things got interesting after that.” Tony’s mind relived the scene as he shared it.
He snatched the radio from the crane operator. “At least you handled reporting my death better than killing me.” Coughing up cement dust, he shoved the man toward a pair of federales.
A third agent, their supervisor, who had introduced himself as José Peña, grabbed the crane operator by the collar. “Tell us who hired you to commit murder.” Peña twisted the collar. “Or we can get it out of you the hard way.”
The would-be killer went as ashen as the powder that coated Tony from head to foot. “I do not know, señor. A radio frequency. That is all I have. Please, you must believe me.”
With a foul exclamation, Peña released the crane operator. The other federates hauled him off, blubbering and begging.
The supervisory agent turned toward Tony. “You look like a powdered sopapilla.”
“Yeah, well, the cement bag over my shoulder burst when the hook hit it.” Tony rubbed his chest near his heart. Being kicked by a mule might’ve felt better. ‘I’m only alive because the bag cushioned the worst of the impact.”
One of the gathered workers let out a high laugh. “He flew ten feet in a cloud of white.”
The federal narrowed his eyes. “Do you require medical attention, señor?”
“I require to know that my wife is safe. She’s at the Museo de Arte Mejicana.”
“An officer will check on her.” He crooked a finger in Tony’s direction. “Walk with me.”
Tony fell in beside the agent’s swagger. “What haven’t you told me?”
The man pursed his lips. “What is your wife’s relationship with Señor Esteban Corona?”
“He’s Desi’s contact for a job on behalf of your government.”
Peña stopped beside his car. “Señor Corona has not been seen for a day and a half, but documents have been found in his home linking him to the gang leader El Jaguar. It does not look good for the señor…or for anyone associated with him.”
“That’s nuts! The guy takes off and leaves incriminating documents behind? Didn’t you search his property when he was accused of murder? Why weren’t those things found then?”
The agent flashed his teeth. “We are asking ourselves these questions. This attempt to incriminate a respected presidential aide appears clumsy. And he is missing. Was he taken or did circumstance force him to flee without time to hide evidence he concealed before?”
“My wife has nothing to do with his disappearance and no connection to El Jaguar.”
“Perhaps.” The man shrugged. “But for many weeks, everywhere she goes there is activity by the Fraternidad, and the Greybecks—her business enemies-die. There have been rumors about HJ Securities. Perhaps El Presidente was mistaken to disregard them.”
What was the penalty in Mexico for hitting a federal agent? He’d find out if this joker made one more insinuation about Desi. “My wife was hired by President Montoya to investigate missing antiquities. The trail led her to the Fraternidad de la Garra, and the Greybecks were in bed with the Fraternidad, smuggling drugs and human beings. That’s established fact.”
Peña inclined his head. “But we are left with many unanswered questions, are we not?”
“You’re fishing and not catching a thing. This expedition is over.” Tony turned on his heel and strode toward the transport truck.
“Where are you going, señor?” the federal called after him.
“Downtown to get Desi.” He didn’t slow down or glance back. “Then we’re going to pack up and leave Mexico.” Behind him, a radio bleeped, and he heard Peña answer. Tony grabbed Mart’s arm. “Drive me out of here so you can bring the truck back.” They crawled into the cab, Tony on the passenger side, and the other man started the vehicle.
Tony closed his eyes and rubbed his aching shoulder. “Let’s go!”
“I can’t,” Matt said. “He’s in the way.”
Peña stood in front of the truck, his face a beefy purple.
Tony got out and stalked up to him. “What now?”
“You will come with me to headquarters. We have much to discuss.”
“I’m not wasting time—”
“Do not resist.” The federal gripped the butt of his side arm. “I am placing you under arrest until this matter is sorted out.”
“Take it easy.” Tony spread his hands. “Arrest! I’m the one who was almost killed.”
“You are the husband—perhaps the accomplice—of a thief. A transport helicopter full of Mexico’s treasures has disappeared, along with one of this country’s most prominent businessmen…and your wife.”
“What?” Terror squeezed Tony’s heart.
“El Jaguar has claimed responsibility with the help of one he calls ‘the American.’ Now will you tell me that your wife is not involved?” The gun whipped from its holster.
Tony swung and connected with Peña’s jaw. The agent reeled backward, one arm flailing, the other bringing up his gun.
A kick to the wrist sent the weapon flying. Peña staggered away, gripping his hand.
Tony leaped, and they both hit the ground.
Peña struggled to his knees, but Tony rose up behind him and wrapped an arm around the federal’s neck, applying pressure on the jugular.
The man yanked and twisted at Tony’s arm, but Tony tightened his hold.
“I’m sorry, Agent Peña,” he said into the man’s ear, “but I cannot sit in jail until you tire of asking questions the Mexican way. By then, it will be too late for Desi.”
The federal went limp. Tony dragged the unconscious man into the shade of stacked bricks. He plucked Peña’s extra gun clip from his belt. Then he found the Beretta pistol and stuck it in his waistband. Matt stood by the idling vehicle, eyes huge as dinner plates.
“He’ll be all right,” Tony said. “Wake up with a headache, that’s all.”
Matt shook his head. “Oh, man, you are in deeeep doo-doo.”
“I’m taking the truck.” He headed for the driver’s side, Matt on his heels. “If you could wait until I’m out of sight to report the assault on a federal officer and the vehicle theft, I’d appreciate it. But don’t wait long, or you’ll be accused of helping me.” He opened the door.
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