Say Your Goodbyes

by Linda Ladd

  The whole sordid story sounded complicated but legitimate. Novak glanced at Claire and then at Black. They sat together on the couch and listened, weapons ready but never saying a word. Claire nodded, and he knew that she believed Sebastian Desoto’s story. Novak got up and knelt down in front of Carmelita. He had questions, and she was the only one who could answer them. He touched her shoulder, gently, so as not to frighten her. She woke and raised her head off her father’s shoulder. Then she stared back at Novak, solemn and silent. He spoke to her in Spanish.

  “Is this man your daddy, Carmelita?”

  She nodded.

  “Did he save you from Luisa and Diego out there in the ocean?”

  “Yes.” Very low, very scared, shivering all over.

  “Was Marisol Ruiz the one who hurt you?”

  She nodded again, and spoke so softly they could barely hear her. “She slapped me and pulled my hair and chained me up and left me in the dark.” She closed her eyes and kept them shut. “She said she was going to kill me, even if Papi did what they wanted. She showed me her knife and then she kept coming in and cutting me. She told me she was going to cut off my head and send it to Papi in a box.” Then the child started crying.

  The Mayan stared hard at Novak. “You see? I tell the truth. They put my child through hell. That’s why I boarded that boat, to get her and to kill them. You assumed all the wrong things, but that is understandable.”

  Novak gestured for his friends to follow him into the kitchen, and they stood there together, speaking in low tones. Claire kept her weapon trained on the Mayan. Just in case.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s telling the truth,” Black said. “I was watching him the whole time, and all the indicators told me he wasn’t being deceitful. But that’s not infallible. Just my professional opinion.”

  “Carmelita loves him. No doubt about that. Their relationship feels real to me,” Claire said. “Poor little kid.”

  Novak didn’t want to believe it. He wanted the pleasure of killing the guy right now, tonight. Nope, he wasn’t in for the hug-and-makeup scenario. Not until he got Jenn back. He walked back into the living room. The Mayan and his daughter both watched him with identical dark eyes.

  “You said that Marisol came to the beach house, killed Luisa, and attacked Jenn, right? You had nothing to do with that.”

  “That’s right. Absolutely nothing. I showed up not long after.”

  “How’d you find the beach house? We took out Luisa’s chip.”

  “I told you. I was following Marisol’s signal. She led me there. I was right behind her, as I have been so many times. She is crafty, moves often and erratically. By the time I got there, she had already left to trade herself for you. Luisa died a terrible death at her hands. I didn’t wish to tell you this, but you should know: Marisol attempted to scalp Jenn, as she did to Luisa. She cut her badly but did not take her hair. Your friend lost a lot of blood. When I got her on my boat, I didn’t expect her to live through the trip.”

  Novak envisioned the bloody crime scene inside that house. He visualized Jenn’s beautiful hair, so soft and blond and silky, revolted at the thought of it being sliced to the scalp. But she was still alive, and that’s all that mattered to Novak.

  “Marisol was in a hurry, I guess,” Desoto continued. “In any case, she took Luisa’s place in the trade, and that’s how we ended up here.”

  They stared at each other, Novak hostile, Sebastian Desoto serene.

  “I’m going to kill Marisol for what she did to Jenn,” Novak told him.

  “I’m going to kill her for torturing my child.”

  “Sounds like a match made in hell,” Claire said.

  “I don’t trust you,” Novak said to the Mayan.

  “I don’t trust you, either.”

  “Great, maybe you two ought to think this through before you do something you’ll regret.” That was Black, still in psychiatrist mode and, as usual, the voice of reason.

  The Mayan remained serious. “Marisol’s father adores her. Arturo will protect her with all he’s got. He will use his men and his money and his weapons to keep her safe. He will not easily believe she wants him dead, but he might believe me if I tell him—if I let him listen to my recording of her laughing as she tortured my child. He loves Carmelita. She is his goddaughter. If he hears what Marisol did to her, I think he will believe me.”

  Claire was not so sure. “If all this is true, why didn’t you just go to him and tell him the first time she tried to blackmail you?”

  The Mayan smiled, showing them all those sharp little white teeth. The light from the kitchen reflected in his jet eyes. “Because I wanted to kill her with my own two hands, ‘up close and personal,’ as you Americans like to say. He would never let me do that, because she is his only child. He dotes on her, but he is fair. He will listen to me, especially once he hears the recording, but I do not know if he will agree to let me kill her.”

  Novak knew that feeling, that craving for vengeance. He understood the reformed assassin’s overwhelming obsession to get his hands around the throat of Marisol Ruiz. Novak had seen the woman only twice, but the desire to put her down ate like acid dripping onto the fabric of his soul. She had pulled all the strings but kept herself alive. He thought of how she’d smirked at him during the exchange at the Ruiz compound. That little knowing smile, when she was fresh off the butchering of Luisa and the attempted murder of Jenn. Then his mind went back to Jenn, and Jenn alone—her kindness, her smile, her hair, how it would look now after that devil had tried to slice it off. If the Mayan hadn’t gotten to Jenn when he did, she would have bled to death. He did owe the assassin that one debt of gratitude, even if he didn’t like it.

  “Thank you for saving Jenn’s life.” His words sounded begrudging, because it hurt like hell to say them.

  “Thank you for taking good care of my daughter.”

  Novak sighed and laid down his weapon. He didn’t like this turn of events, not at all, but he wanted that woman dead. Right now, she was alive and under her drug lord daddy’s protection. The Mayan could get Novak around that obstacle.

  Novak looked at the Mayan. “Then let’s do this together. As a team. Let’s kill Marisol Ruiz for what she’s done to us.”

  Claire still had her gun pointed at the Mayan, not one to forgive and forget so fast. Not one to disarm herself around an assassin, either. “Now c’mon, Novak, let’s not get too hasty here. This guy’s still an admitted assassin. He could put a knife in your back the minute you turn around. Cut your throat, sever body parts. You need to think this through some more.”

  “Look at the child cuddled up against him and tell me that he’s the one who cut her up and beat her.”

  Claire couldn’t, of course. The love between them was obvious. The little girl clung to Sebastian Desoto as if she’d never let go. He was a bad guy, just as evil as Marisol Ruiz apparently was, a killer for hire, nothing more. He probably didn’t deserve to live another minute. But he could get Novak into that compound on the hill outside Mexico City, and that’s where Novak wanted to go. They would make the Ruiz girl pay for the string of bodies she’d left behind. First, though, Novak wanted to get Jenn out of the Mayan’s control and make sure she was in a safe place.

  He turned to Desoto. “Will you agree to keep Carmelita here at the lake? Over at the hotel, under guard, where she’ll be safe?”

  “Never. I am taking my daughter home to be with her mother. Marta is grief-stricken. She thinks our only child is dead and never coming home. I promised her that I’d get her back. I will not make her wait any longer. Carmelita goes home with me before we do anything else.”

  Claire wasn’t having any of this unholy alliance. “Novak, you need to think about this. At least, sleep on it. We’re talking about a powerful drug lord’s assassin here, for heaven’s sake. This guy is no saint. You can’t trust him.”

  “Like you thought things through last summer when those crazy people had
Black?”

  Claire shook her head. She couldn’t deny what she’d been willing to do in order to save her husband. “Well, be careful, damn it. Just because you both want that crazy psycho bitch dead doesn’t mean this guy won’t stick a knife in you, too. Watch your back.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Same here. I will watch my back,” said the Mayan. Then he rocked the frightened little girl until she fell asleep in his arms again. The other three sat silently and watched him. Novak itched to pull the trigger, as he’d hungered for days to do—get the bloody assassin right between the eyes, but he didn’t. He needed Sebastian Desoto at the moment, but after that, all bets were off.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Novak, Sebastian Desoto, and his daughter flew back to Mexico, with Black’s personal pilots at the controls of his sleek Gulfstream jet. Novak sat in a large tan leather seat and kept his gun on his lap, while the Mayan sat on a white couch across from him. He and his daughter were snuggling and looking at pictures in a magazine, acting as if he weren’t one of the most ruthless assassins ever seen or heard of in Central America. Yeah, just a loving papi reading one of Rico’s superhero comic books to his kid in Spanish. Not likely. Novak was on edge and ready for anything, and he had better keep it that way.

  Black and Claire had stayed put at Cedar Bend Lodge, much to Claire’s discontent. But they’d done enough to help, had come through for him big-time. Novak needed to finish this by himself. He wanted to see Jenn first, actually talk to her in person, hide her somewhere safe, before he made Marisol Ruiz pay for what she’d done. He wasn’t sure he believed everything he’d been told by Desoto, but he believed most of it. Marisol had proven herself to be no angel, but Jenn could tell him in detail more about what had happened to her. Upon that revelation of truth hung Marisol’s life. If she had done what the Mayan had accused her of, if she had tried to scalp Jenn, then Novak was going to make her pay. If not, he still might make her pay for what she did to Carmelita and the pathetic little trusting Luisa. But somehow, he figured the Mayan just might save him the trouble.

  They put down in Merida, an ancient city and the capital of the Yucatan province. Signs in the airport said it was founded by the Spanish in 1542 and that its present-day population was just under one million people. It was purported to be a beautiful city, with big white cathedrals and ancient buildings, but Novak saw little of that. A car met them at the airport. Novak instructed Black’s pilots to return home to Missouri and that Novak would find his own way back to the States. He just might be on the run after dealing with Marisol and her father, and he didn’t want to drag Black and Claire into his troubles again.

  Outside on the tarmac, the three of them got in to the backseat of a shiny new dark blue Lexus. A big, burly driver in a white shirt, black tie, and black pants whisked them away. The man wasn’t as big as Novak, but he looked like he’d be a competent opponent. He looked like an Olympic weight lifter—strong, but slow as molasses. Novak would deal with him in time, if need be.

  Novak was not in a chipper mood. He was ready for something to happen. He wanted payback for way too much suffering all around. He wanted to throttle somebody, and at the moment, he didn’t much care who it was among the evil cast of characters he had dealt with since he had awoken from that nightmare aboard the Sweet Sarah, which was still sitting on the bottom of that bay. He wanted his boat back, too, salvaged and refurbished, damn it. That was the second thing he had to do before returning to Bonne Terre. If he ever made it back there alive.

  Carmelita slept on her father’s lap for the entire ride. Nobody said much—not much to say—not Novak, not the Mayan, and not the tough driver with all the muscles. The kid just slept. It was probably the first time in weeks that she hadn’t been scared out of her wits. That gave Novak more time to think. He was worried about Jenn’s health, as they drove on, and about blithely waltzing into the Ruiz compound with the Mayan. It could very well be a trap, and the Mayan’s long involved story an imaginative pack of lies. Jenn had talked to Novak, but she had not looked so good. She had looked like she was going to die. Still, he wanted to believe she would be all right. Once he knew she was all right, then he could enjoy the revenge he was about to exact.

  The ride took almost an hour, driving up through wooded hills on dusty dirt roads. It appeared the Mayan did not want his home to be easily found, and it wouldn’t be. They passed periodic intersections with iron gates chained across isolated roads. Men stood guard and saluted the car as they drove past, as if Desoto were the president of Mexico. Maybe the Mayan had set up his own personal little crime syndicate and/or kingdom on the hill. So Novak held the gun on his lap, ready to fire. After a while, the Mayan turned to him.

  “You don’t need that weapon.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “I was frantic when you took the Calakmul. I was afraid you’d kill my daughter.”

  “I don’t kill children. Do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You just kill whoever you’re told to, that it?

  He shook his head, scoffing at the idea. “I was a professional. Those to whom I was assigned were very bad men. I went in and did the job and got out. Marisol kills for the pleasure of it. She likes it. She is godless and amoral.”

  “And you’re saying you aren’t?”

  “I am not godless and I am not cruel. I finished my jobs quickly and efficiently. I never hurt anyone for the sake of hurting them. After I found my wife and had this baby, I quit the business and have lived a quiet life for the last ten years, teaching at university or staying up here in the hills with my family and men who are loyal to me. Marisol is heartless, a killer who used her knife to terrify and scar my child who had done nothing to her or to anyone else. She is the monster, not I.”

  “You were right behind us all the time.”

  “Never close enough, apparently. I knew Luisa’s GPS code because Ruiz told me to keep an eye on her and Marisol. This was his way of keeping them safe. I was tracking you and Luisa from a distance after you took her aboard your boat. When I saw the helicopter and four boats heading your way, I figured out who they were. Then you got in my way at the beach by stealing my canoe and escaping with Luisa. You are quite formidable, Mr. Novak.”

  Novak said nothing. This guy, this assassin for the drug lord, spoke softly, enunciated every word like a learned professor of the King’s English. He was a family man when he wasn’t whacking people, an in-and-out killer, like some kind of damn burger joint drive-through window. And he was good at what he did. So was Novak. Marisol Ruiz? Not so much. She was toast.

  Finally, they drove out into a large lawn cleared out of the jungle. There was a big house, square, white, with the usual decorative arches and lots of potted plants and fountains. A very nice and peaceful place. Assassins must be paid on par with American brain surgeons. They had no more than come to a stop in the front courtyard when a small woman came racing out of the house. She was dressed in mourning black and wore a lacy black mantilla and was weeping and calling out the little girl’s name. The child awoke and responded with the same kind of excitement, jumping out of the car on the opposite side and running hard into her mother’s arms.

  The Mayan got out, too, and then he looked down at Novak, who still sat in the backseat. “You see, it is as I said. My wife is distraught, as was I. Please, come inside. I owe you every consideration and every amenity. Bienvenido, mi amigo.”

  Yeah, right. Sure, they were best buds now. That’ll be the day. Novak got out, but he was wary as hell. Sometimes extra-nice former assassins were polite because they had a sharp green obsidian knife in their pocket with which to slice out your heart. Literally, in this case.

  “All I want is to see Jenn, and then I want to get her out of here. Where is she?”

  “She is upstairs in our guest wing. Please allow me to take you to her.”

  So Novak followed Desoto across a dusty patio and into a dim and cool foyer similar to the
one at the Ruiz estate but maybe half as large. It was homey and inviting inside, while Ruiz’s had been austere. There were several women who looked like lifelong servants huddling together in a doorway and watching them, maybe maids or cooks or the kid’s nannies. They pulled little Carmelita into their circle of ample bosoms and nearly hugged the life out of her. All of them, including the mother, wept without stopping.

  Novak remained where he was, the Ruger held down close behind his right thigh. He was beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland, knocked down the rabbit hole with a rifle butt to the head and not sure who had the murder weapons. Everything going on around him seemed kosher. The place appeared to be a regular, peaceful rural Mexican home. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. He kept up his guard. He didn’t trust anybody anymore. He probably never would again.

  The Mayan was speaking in rapid-fire Spanish now, a mountain dialect that Novak couldn’t follow completely, but he was telling the women something to the effect that Novak had saved Carmelita’s life. He’d taken the child to a doctor who’d given her the drugs she needed. He left out the part about Novak saving her from being chained up in her own father’s dirty bilge. That’s when Carmelita’s mother turned and rushed over to Novak. She fell on her knees in front of him, grabbing his left hand and pressing kisses onto it. “Gracias, gracias, señor.”

  “She doesn’t speak much English, but as you see, she is very grateful. She is a fine woman. I am lucky to have found her.”