by Amy Jarecki
He threw open the next, then the next, finding a pile of wet clothes. He reached in and pulled out a pink shirt—the one Mia had worn yesterday. “Jesus Christ.” Did she run? Luke checked the ceiling, spotting a security camera, then dialed Garth.
“Talk to me.”
“She’s gone. Send someone to seize the security video for the laundry room. She went missing between 10:06 and 11:30. I’m heading to Mexico City.” At a run, Luke dashed for the parking garage.
“She has an hour on you. Wait until they get to the city and see where they head from there.”
“No. I’ll take the jet. I’ll get there before they do.” He opened the door to the garage, and spotted the car while the bile in his stomach burned. He almost wished she’d taken it. If the car had been missing, she’d be a hell of a lot safer than she was now.
Damn, he’d kept an eye out, and they hadn’t been tailed, not once. There weren’t any bugs in the apartment—hell, it wasn’t even leased in their names. The whole lease thing had been done through a bogus company that couldn’t be traced to them or any espionage agency.
***
An hour and twenty minutes later, Luke landed at the charter terminal at Mexico City Airport. Mia and her microchip had been on the road for about two-and-a-half hours, still heading in the direction of Mexico City.
He taxied the plane to a holding area while Garth’s voice came over the headset. “I’m patching through the security video. It looks like our girl put up a good fight.”
Luke cringed. Damn it, he should have gone down to the laundry with her. Nearly three bloody weeks and he’d dropped his guard. No, there hadn’t been any signs of Morales, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking out there somewhere. They’d made damned sure he would be. But Luke had been so sure contact would be made at the plane. Morales needed his plane back—in the air was an ideal place to stage a hijacking.
He watched Mia on the screen—saw her check over her shoulder. Something had alerted her and she’d ignored it. And then she’d fought like a champ, until the bloody beast tackled her to the ground and zip-cuffed her wrists. When a second man entered the laundry, Luke leaned forward. “That’s Marco.”
“Thought so,” said Garth. “And they left via the maintenance exit. You got any ideas on where they’re headed?”
“They’re leading us straight to Morales. I just hope—”
“What?”
“I get to her before he does.”
The line on the other end went silent for a moment. “Look, Fox, I’m not a blind man. I’ll tell you right now, not only Mia’s life, but the lives of teens all over the world are relying on you.”
He clenched his teeth. “Yes, sir.”
“That means the op comes first. Nail Morales. Then you can think about the girl.”
Luke wasn’t about to agree. His jaw twitched.
“Did you hear me?”
“Affirmative, sir.” He agreed to the second question. No matter how he sliced and diced it, the op wasn’t more important than Michelle Bradford.
“You might as well get something to eat. You have at least an hour to burn.”
Luke could have reached through the comm and strangled the CO. The last thing on his mind was tucker. He wanted to kill something. Now. “What about backup?”
“NATO naval forces are on standby in the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Ground troops?”
“I need to know where to send them first.”
“Shit.”
“You got it, soldier. You’re in the eye of a shit storm with the weight of the world on your shoulders. Now stop flapping that gob of yours and put some sustenance in it. You know the drill: eat when you can. Sleep when you can. My guess is you won’t be doing either for a while.”
“Roger that, sir. Over and out.” Grumbling under his breath, Luke headed for the galley. He wasn’t about to go into the terminal to buy a sandwich. And besides, they always had things on board—peanuts, cookies, crackers. He found it all—even some cheese spread. He made up a plate, grabbed a water and headed back to the cockpit to check the contents of his bolt bag—pocket knife, rake and pick, compass, stash of cash, folding shovel and more. Yeah, it was all there just as he’d packed it when they’d started up the charter operation.
He’d just shoved two crackers with a lump of spread in his mouth when Garth’s voice came over the comm. “Wombat, come in.”
“Wombat here.”
“They’ve stopped in Cuernavaca.”
“For food? Gas?”
“Nope, they’re at the airport.”
Luke pounded his fist on the yoke. “Bloody hell. I flew right over it—and if they were going to take a plane, why didn’t they fly out of Acapulco?”
“No clue. Maybe they didn’t want to run into you.”
“You got a flight plan?” he asked.
“Our girl needs to get on a plane first—then we’ll figure out where it’s headed. Jesus, Fox, you know the drill.”
Yeah, he bloody knew the drill and that’s what had his gut wound in a solid knot. “I know where they’re heading.” Without another word he flashed up the engines and notified the control tower of his flight.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Marco wouldn’t tell Mia where they were taking her, but she recognized the hacienda before the plane landed. She instantly tensed. “Is El Padrino here?”
“What do you think?” asked the big man who she once thought to be her only ally in the cartel.
“Is Zambada no longer a threat?” She reached her cuffed hands up to scratch her head, her fingers inching under her hairclip.
“Zambada’s dead.”
“What? How?” Mia asked as she unfastened the clip and concealed it in her palm.
“He’s buried in the avocado grove along with the other morons who attacked us.”
“You mean to say, he failed?” Casually, she slipped the barrette into her pocket. “From security it looked like all hope was lost.”
“Zambada took over the hacienda, but once I was released from the hospital, we took it back. No thanks to the Aussie backstabber The Godfather trusted.”
“But we would have been killed if we had stayed and fought.” Mia pursed her lips. She wasn’t about to say that she knew the authorities hadn’t spotted El Padrino’s return. Heck, no one had mentioned anything about Marco’s return either.
“That’s what you say.” Marco unfastened her seatbelt and grabbed her by the elbow. “Come.”
“Do you think he’ll kill me?”
“Yeah.”
She yanked her elbow away. “And you don’t care? Marco, we’re friends.”
“I thought we were until you disappeared with that traitor. How could you have been so stupid? You knew El Padrino would never let you go.” He pushed her into a golf cart and headed for the mansion.
Of course she couldn’t expect any of the cartel’s men to help, blast them. She knew how Vincent Morales controlled and coerced his people into abject loyalty. She clenched her arm muscles to stop her hands from trembling. ICE’s plan was for the Morales Cartel to make contact through the charter operation. And now they’d been duped. She thought she was safe with Luke? Good Lord, Mia wasn’t safe with anyone anywhere.
Without another word said, Marco marched her inside and up the grand staircase. Repulsed by the excessive display of wealth that could be used for a greater, more noble purpose, Mia seethed, her fists clenched, her head held high. But she couldn’t help the shock of ice pulsing through her blood as the door opened and she gazed into the eyes of evil.
The chair with the crown of pain had been moved to the center of the room, facing the desk. Mia’s breaths came in short gasps. He’d fixed it, she knew he had. God, she would die this day. Zapped by vicious volts of electricity. Where was Luke? How long did it take before he realized she was gone? Was the tracking device still working?
Stay alive.
She moved into the office of her own volition.
“You have been unf
aithful,” El Padrino said, his eyes blacker than coal—heartless, remorseless. He dismissed Marco and the men with a wave of his hand. “Wait outside the door.”
Mia said nothing, eyeing the letter opener sitting neatly in the display where it always was. She headed straight for the crown of pain and sat. If only it were still behind the screen.
“Ah, you understand that you must be punished.”
“Why fight?” She held up her zip cuffs. “You have me restrained.”
“Hmm.” El Padrino sat back, crossing his arms. “You were very reckless, starting a charter business with my plane.”
“Really? I thought it was ingenious—payment for all the years you stole from me.”
“Stole? You ungrateful bitch. I fed and clothed you. I took you off the streets and provided you with a home in paradise, and you think I owe you something?”
Mia pretended to stretch her shoulders back while she inched the hair clip into her palm. “It wasn’t my choice to come here.”
El Padrino narrowed his gaze. “I never would have believed how ungrateful you could be.” Standing, he moved to his liquor cupboard.
While his back was turned, Mia inserted the metal end of the clip into the tiny locking mechanism and pushed against the lip of her left zip cuff until it loosened a couple of notches. Her heartbeat sped. Good Lord, it worked.
“You are a worthless whore.” He stirred his drink calmly as if he’d been talking about the weather.
Mia transferred the barrette to her left hand and twisted her arm until she found the mechanism on her right cuff.
“And that pilot will die—painfully.”
As he spun on his heel, Mia folded her hands, hiding the barrette. “You wouldn’t.” She didn’t want to believe Luke could fall into El Padrino’s grasp, but The Godfather was a snake, capable of anything.
“I was a fool to trust him.”
“He saved your life.”
“Saved it to get to you.”
“No.” Mia shook her head. “He saved me from Zambada.”
“Then why didn’t he come back?” The godfather huffed.
She pursed her lips, her skin growing hot.
“I’ll tell you why, because he thought he’d found a way to usurp me. I’ll bet he’s been feeling pretty good about himself, starting up a new business with my plane…and my woman!”
Lowering her eyes, Mia knew better than to argue.
“But we don’t have to concern ourselves with him anymore. By this time tomorrow, he’ll be dead.”
Sickly bile burned her throat while, with a slight shift of her wrist, she turned the mechanism so it was hidden beneath her arm. “What did you do?”
El Padrino cackled with his sickly laugh. “Let’s just say tomorrow’s charter won’t end well.”
She forced herself to meet his gaze to draw his attention from her hands as she worked the second cuff loose. “What makes you think Lucas will fly without me?”
“He doesn’t care about you.” He took a drink. “Men like Lewis only care about themselves and growing richer. He used you, that’s all. And he knows if he tries to come get you, I’ll kill him before he places a foot on my land.”
Mia moved her hands slightly to ensure she’d made enough room to pull free, her heart racing like a rabbit’s. “Y-you’re right, he was just using me.”
“I’m not surprised you see it now. You are so sheltered, you cannot possibly understand the minds of men.” He set his glass on the desk and headed toward her.
Every muscle in Mia’s body stiffened.
“Ah, my pet, you are still beautiful.” He rubbed his finger along her cheek while he lowered his lips to her ear. “What shall I do with you?”
A shiver shot down her neck while her mind raced. If she fought now she’d have to get through Marco and the men—could she buy time? Her gaze shot to the display of weapons behind the desk, then to the drawer where El Padrino kept a revolver. God, if only she were as well-trained and as tough as Henri.
Can I? She slid the metal clip between her fingers and made a fist, the sharp piece projecting a half-inch.
“You must be punished. Your life is so fragile, chica. You breathe because I allow you to breathe. You must never forget.” He reached behind for the belt to buckle her in to the chair.
“No!” As he straightened, Mia yanked her wrists free, sprang to her feet and swung her fist, striking him across the face with the sharp end of the barrette. A red line spread as he teetered backward. Mia dashed for the desk.
“You bitch!” he bellowed, chasing after her.
Unable to reach the drawer, she grabbed the letter opener and swung with a backhand. El Padrino shifted, taking the strike in the soft tissue of his arm. Snarling, he yanked the letter opener out of his flesh and attacked, driving it toward her heart. Mia ducked under his arms and lunged for the drawer.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Luke landed the plane on a dirt road, four miles east of the hacienda, about seven miles away from the airfield. If the cartel was watching for him, the last place they’d look was east. Though only four miles, the mountainous terrain provided concealment to ensure he wouldn’t be seen. “Wombat ready to leave the nest,” he said into the comm as he shut down the engines.
“Snow White’s party has just landed,” Asa replied, substituting the Disney character for Mia’s name. Garth had turned his attention to another matter heating up in Pakistan, though Luke was fairly certain the CO was irritated that he’d gone airborne after being told to sit and wait for orders. No apologies. Luke had proved himself right. Though now the smarter, safer move would be to wait for reinforcements to arrive.
“Roger that.” After affixing the silencer to his Berretta, he grabbed his bolt bag, tossed in a bottle of water and the last of the peanuts. Once outside, he rolled in the dirt, soiling his white t-shirt, then rubbing his arms and face. He reached in his bag and pulled out a khaki ball cap to cover the blond hair.
With no time to waste, he headed up the steep incline at a fast jog. Ten minutes in, he’d worked up a sweat. It would have been nice to have landed at the airstrip and have a nice flat walk to the hacienda, but he would have been shot before he made it to the house.
Once he reached the plateau, he crouched, moving beneath the outer branches of the avocado trees, careful to step rolling across the balls of his feet so not to alert the birds. An old Aboriginal tracker taught him to move through the bush like a tiger. Birds were always the first thing to give a hunter away. When Luke was in the RAAF, he’d spent a summer up near Darwin learning to be a native—lessons that had saved his neck more than once.
A few minutes later he reached the nine-foot chain link fence with razor wire, Luke tunneled under with the camp shovel. He used the shelter of the trees, stopping at each and checking three-sixty. As he neared the mansion, he slowed his pace. There was no doubt the cartel was on full alert. Using his wide-angle vision, he swept the Berretta from side to side as he moved through the garden. Once he reached the hedge around the pool, he stopped and studied the house. A shooter paced the upstairs balcony. Another was leaning against the wall of the pool house. They were both armed with AK-47s—no surprise.
Slowly, Luke crept around to the utility door and inspected the area from behind a hibiscus shrub, listening intently. When he was positive the coast was clear, he aimed and shot the security camera with his silenced Berretta. A screen of static wouldn’t fool them for long, but it might buy him some time. He dashed across the open pathway to the door and grabbed the knob.
Locked. Shit.
Dropping to his knees, he pressed himself against the door. It didn’t recess far, but he’d make use of what little cover it offered. Reaching inside his bolt bag, he grabbed the rake and pick. Taking a deep breath, he focused his attention on the lock, holding in the tension pick while he worked the rake.
Click.
He cracked open the door a hair as he replaced his tools in the bag. After taking one last glance over hi
s shoulder, he slipped inside and closed the door without a sound. Blinking to help his eyes adjust to the dim light, the moved further along the corridor, the noise from a dryer in the laundry room rumbling at a low hum. He continued forward, ready to shoot, both hands supporting the butt of his Berretta. He covered each room as he passed.
Ahead, Theresa stepped into the hallway. She gasped, dropping her load of washing.
“Mr. Lewis?” the woman asked, raising her hands—the only woman at the hacienda he might trust.
Damn, he didn’t want to shoot her. He hesitated for a second, eyeing her down his sights. Would she scream?
She didn’t. She moved toward him as if unfazed by the loaded gun pointed at her heart. “El Padrino has Mia in his office,” she whispered. “Three men are guarding outside the door.”
“Where are the others posted?” He lowered his weapon.
“Most are in the front of the house—five or six. I think there are two out the back. The rest are either at the gate or patrolling the grounds. How did you get in here?”
“Very carefully.” He patted her shoulder. “Will you promise not to give me away? Else I’m going to have to tie you up.”
She crossed her heart. “I swear. Bruno told me if you hadn’t saved him during the ambush, Juan would have left him to die. I owe you for my son’s life.”
“Thank you. You’re a good mama.” He squeezed her shoulder. “But you need to take him away from here.”
Luke headed through the labyrinth of rooms to the back stairs of the east wing, taking each step silently. The closer he got to the top, the louder his breath rushed in his ears. He had one chance to do this right.
Stopping on the last step, he stood against the wall, turning his ear and listening for sounds.
“No!” screamed a muffled woman’s voice—Mia’s voice.
“You bitch!” El Padrino yelled.
Rage shot up Luke’s spine and boiled through his blood. It was all he could do not to break into a run and kick in the door—but that was a sure-fire way to end up dead. He led with his gun and whipped around the corner.