by Lyn Stone
The living area, its wall of windows facing the view of the Gulf, had three other doors in addition to the kitchen, that opened off of it. There was a staircase leading up to what were probably more bedrooms. Joe’s parents’ home was very large, airy and comfortable. The rooms she could see were decorated with family photographs, handmade crafts and wicker furniture. She wished to heaven she’d been invited to the place under happier circumstances.
Joe embraced his sister fiercely, ignoring her laughing protest that she was sticky with cookie dough.
“Where is Linda?” he demanded, obviously having come to the same conclusion Martine had reached. If Humberto didn’t have this sister, then he must have the other.
“At work, I guess. I haven’t talked to her today.”
“Aha, Joseph, you’ve come home!” A man, obviously Joe’s father, rushed in, slapping him on the back and planting a kiss on either side of Joe’s face. Then he noticed Martine. “And you bring pretty company. What a wonderful surprise!”
“Martine Duquesne,” she said, holding out her hand. Instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips.
“Welcome to our home. Son, you should have—”
“Where’s Mama?” Joe interrupted, his impatience evident. He squeezed his sister’s arm and gave her a little push. “Go and get her, Delores, while I make a phone call. I’m afraid I might have some bad news.”
The happy expressions worn by Mr. Corda, Delores and the child, Nita, sobered instantly. Joe’s father looked to her, his dark brows drawn together in question, probably figuring the bad news must have to do with her.
Delores returned less than a minute later with the mother. The older woman obviously had been asleep. Her short blond hair was a bit tousled and the shirt and shorts she wore looked wrinkled. She hardly looked old enough to have a son Joe’s age.
“Joe, honey? What’s wrong?” his mother asked, her Southern accent even more prominent than Joe’s when he wasn’t speaking Spanish. Her arms went around his waist as he hugged her with one arm.
He carefully replaced the receiver of the phone on the handset as his gaze met Martine’s. He shook his head. No answer at his sister’s house.
“Let’s sit down,” Joe told his mother gently, leading her over to the brightly patterned sofa that sat facing the bank of windows.
Martine looked out. You could see a panorama of surf from here and faintly hear its breathing. Even inside the house with doors closed and the air-conditioning on, the fresh scent of the ocean added its fillip to the tantalizing smell of homebaked cookies.
How the senses could lie, Martine thought sadly. All was not right with the world. And here, in this peaceful place, it should be. It really should be. She knew she felt only a trace of the awful betrayal Joe must feel at that. This was his haven. Invaded.
She and the rest took the chairs as Joe began. “Mama, have you spoken with Linda today?”
She shook her head. “Not since yesterday afternoon. I phoned early this morning, but… What’s happened, Joe?” Her voice rose with every word.
He sighed, worrying his bottom lip for a moment before he went on. “We think Linda might have been kidnapped. Her and little Consuelo.”
“Oh, my God, no!” Mrs. Corda cried. She reached out, grasped at his shirtfront. Delores clutched Nita to her and held her protectively. They stared at Joe, speechless and wide-eyed with shock.
His father was already on his feet, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “It is that no-good man of hers! This time I will destroy that—”
“No, Papa. This has nothing to do with Paul. He’s not involved in any way.” He urged his father to sit back down. “Be still now and let me tell you what we know.”
“Who has them and where are they?” his father demanded, still standing, his hands fisted at his sides. Martine could see where Joe got his fierce determination.
“I know the kidnapper. He’s not from around here and his name is Carlos Humberto.”
Joe Senior’s eyes narrowed. “You know this man? From your work? This has to do with drugs?”
Martine watched Joe nod, guilt written all over his features. “We don’t know where he’s taken them yet. But you have to keep your head and not go off half-cocked. Agreed? We can’t call in the authorities. He might panic if we do. I can handle this.”
Mr. Corda exhaled harshly, finally dropped down in the chair again and pressed a hand to his face. He nodded, his conflict evident. A loving father and grandfather forced to relinquish taking an active role. His jaw clenched and his hands fisted, he narrowed his eyes at Joe. “You find them, Joseph. Today.”
“I’ll move heaven and earth, Papa. You know that,” he promised.
Martine could see that Joe was clearly over his shock and back in control now, thinking logically, able to handle whatever came.
“But we must call the police,” Mr. Corda announced.
“Joe’s co-workers have offered to help, sir,” Martine said. “Believe me, that’s a much better alternative in this case.”
All they needed was a bunch of uniforms muddying up the waters, maybe initiating tragic results if Humberto saw them as a threat. “We’re advised to keep things quiet and wait for further word from the kidnapper. Then we’ll know how to plan.”
Joe gave her the ghost of a smile and a nod of approval as he stood up. “Martine will explain further while I go over and check at Linda’s. There might be evidence there that can help me find her.”
“Then go, go,” his mother urged, pushing at him.
He spoke to Martine. “I’ll be back as soon as I have a look around.”
“I’ll be here,” she said, amazed when he cradled her face and brushed a quick kiss on her forehead.
“Take care, Joe,” she told him as he was leaving.
When the door closed behind him, Mr. Corda pinned Martine with a worried glare. “Why did you say that to him? To have a care? Is our Joseph in danger, too?”
“A figure of speech, sir. You know Joe can look after himself. And as for your daughter and her baby, I don’t • believe the man who has them would harm them. I was hostage to him myself not long ago and he treated me very well, like a guest. Once he gets what he’s after, he’ll let them go.”
“What does he want?” Delores asked. “Do you know yet?”
Martine hedged. “We’re waiting on instructions.”
“You were a hostage? Joe saved you?” his mother whispered, hope flaring in her wide blue eyes.
“Of course,” Martine said with a wide smile to reassure the woman. “And if your son went to that much trouble for me, someone he hadn’t even met before, you know he’ll find his own sister and niece. He’s the very best person to handle this.”
Little Nita came over and climbed on the arm of Martine’s chair, bumping one foot against the side, studying the stranger her uncle had brought home with him. “Are you going to marry my Uncle Joe? He kissed your head.”
Martine noticed the others were staring at her as intently as Nita was, waiting to see what she would say. Would they be glad or upset if Joe really had brought her here with serious intentions?
A small laugh escaped. “No, no, sweetie. We’re not that kind of friends. I’m only here to…well, help if I can.”
“Tell us about this man, this kidnapper,” Mr. Corda ordered. “What sort of person is he and what do you think he is after? Money?”
“Humberto’s after me.” She figured she could admit that much. They didn’t know her so that shouldn’t upset them. But Martine didn’t want to be the one to tell them he was after Joe as well. “I believe he wants an exchange, and if Joe can’t find and rescue Linda and little Consuelo right away, then we’ll make it.”
“We know something of what Joseph’s job entails. This man is a drug runner,” Joe’s father said. “Does he also use drugs?”
Martine shook her head emphatically. “No, sir. Humberto is not your run-of-the-mill drug lord. He views himself as a very savvy Colombian businessman, n
ot as the criminal he is. Self-delusion on his part, I know, but he behaves accordingly.”
“He behaves as a gentleman?” The father of any abducted daughter would desperately hope that was true.
“Yes, sir. He always did with me,” Martine said, hoping to alleviate a little of their worry.
She watched relief deflate Corda’s chest. His wife and daughter looked a lot more skeptical. Did they suspect what a rosy colored picture she was painting about all of this? Of course, they must.
Martine took the little girl’s hand. “Now if you would come show me where things are, Nita, we could finish baking those cookies your mother started and make some coffee or something. I don’t really know anything else to tell anyone, and I’m sure your mother and grandparents will want to discuss this without little ears tuned in.”
“Or stranger ears,” Nita retorted, squinting at Martine’s. “We can talk to each other while they say secrets.”
“You bet.”
Nita gave her a look that acknowledged Marline’s frankness, almost a thank-you for not inventing some phony excuse to get her out of the room. Children were so much more savvy than people gave them credit for. Martine could never understand why some people talked down to them.
Mr. Corda was already comforting his wife. Delores had set about reassuring them both about her sister’s strength and how little trouble the baby was. Everything would be all right, Martine heard her say. Joe would take care of it. Linda and little Connie would be home before breakfast tomorrow. Martine prayed to God she was right about that.
All in all, they had taken the news much better than she had expected. The Cordas were a strong family who apparently bred strong children.
She smiled down at the six-year-old who exhibited a bold confidence that was pure Joe. A sudden and unfamiliar longing stirred in Martine’s heart.
Her children would probably look just like this if Joe were their father. Beautiful, fearless kids with wisdom and warm humor shining out of deep brown eyes.
He would be so gentle and loving with them, but firm, she imagined. He wouldn’t just demand, but would earn their respect as they grew up. He seemed to have a good example to follow. Yes, Joe would make a fine father. She would be the one lacking in the parental department, but she still had this incredible urge to give it a try.
What a rotten time for dormant maternal instincts to kick in, she thought with a sigh. This was so not good.
Joe hated it when his worst fears were realized. Linda’s purse was on the floor in the small foyer, its contents scattered. Quickly he searched the five small rooms of the little tract house. None of the sparse furnishings were disturbed. She must have decided not to put up a fight. He was relieved about that.
In the baby’s room he found the diaper bag, empty except for a crumpled paper, the daily report form from the nursery listing feedings and changes. The coverlet in the crib was wadded to one side. Joe touched it, willing his rage down to a manageable level, then hurried back to the kitchen.
There were two prepared bottles in the fridge, one lying on its side.
He propped his hands against the edge of the counter to keep from trashing the kitchen himself.
The sugar bowl was tipped over. In the spill of sugar a finger had hastily carved out the number three. Linda had left the message, probably when she’d been allowed to grab a bottle for the baby. Three, signifying there were three men involved, he guessed. It was all she would have known at that point.
Joe looked around more carefully. Near the sugar was an electrical outlet. And an unplugged cord which led to a cheap plastic alarm clock. Another message. The hands had stopped at six o’clock. This morning or yesterday evening?
She usually picked up Connie at the Playhouse Nursery and got home from work about five-thirty. If Humberto and his men had been waiting to take her then, the diaper bag would not have been in the nursery waiting to be packed with diapers and bottles for the next day. He would have found it with or near her purse.
Hoping against hope someone would have seen something, he went house to house and questioned her neighbors. No one had seen her leave. But the couple across the street had been outside working in their yards until long after six the day before. Her car had still been in the driveway at nine. Now it was gone. So they must have taken her this morning, at six o’clock.
He drove his dad’s car back to the beach house. He had been gone for a couple of hours. It was nearly seven. They could be anywhere by now, but he felt they wouldn’t be too far away. Humberto would need to have the hostages handy when it was time to make the trade.
Joe pulled out his cell phone to touch base with Mercier, knowing it was too soon for him to have found out anything significant. He was right, but at least things had been set into motion.
He pulled into the driveway and sat there for a minute wondering what in the world he could say to reassure his parents that Linda would be all right. She was their baby girl, only twenty-five. And little Consuelo was only four months old.
His father came out of the house and hurried to the car just as Joe got out and slammed the door.
“You were gone for so long! What did you find?” he asked, his dark eyes searching Joe’s face.
“Linda and Connie were taken, just like I figured. Any calls?”
“None. Any sign that they were hurt?”
“No, and no indication that she resisted, which was smart.” Joe quickly filled him in on his findings based on the clues Linda had provided.
“She is smart and brave, our Linda. But I worry she will anger them. Her temper is too quick.”
“You know she won’t endanger the baby.”
His father nodded, hands on his hips as he looked off down the main drag. Traffic was fairly light, even for this late in the season, but Joe knew his dad wasn’t gauging that right now. He was lost in his thoughts of what might be happening to two people he loved. “What are we to do, Joseph? How can we find them?”
“We’ll find them. Let’s go inside.”
“This woman you brought with you, she is also working for the DEA?” He led the way back to the house, his gait weary, his head bowed.
“I’m no longer with the DEA, Papa, remember?” He didn’t want to bring up anything about battling terrorists right now, but Joe wondered if the agency he did work now for might trigger situations every bit as bad as this one if he stayed with the job. His dad sure didn’t need to hear that. “Martine is with a company out of Atlanta. A hostage rescue outfit. I met her in Colombia when I was on my last case. I thought she would have told you all that.”
“She only said that you saved her from this man. That you are very good at what you do.” There was more than pride in his father’s voice. Joe detected profound hope that what Martine had told them was true.
“Yeah, she would say that.” He tried to change the subject. “What do you think of her, Papa?”
“She knows the right things to say at times like this. And she seems willing to do what must be done. She has said that if she goes with this man, Humberto, he might release Linda and the baby. Is this true?”
“Only if he gets me, too. Did she tell you that? He plans to kill us. If I thought he would honor his word on the trade, I might try it.”
“Even if it meant the death of Martine Duquesne?”
Joe looked his father straight in the eye and meant to answer, “Even then.” But he couldn’t form the words.
He kept seeing Martine’s pale face in that vision he’d had back in McLean, her beautiful features covered with blood, her eyes closed.
Chapter 12
His father’s strong hand gripped Joe’s arm. “Go inside your mind and see what will happen, my son, for I can see nothing. The future hides from me.”
“And it only teases me with random glimpses, Papa. None of them good. It’s a curse.”
“It’s a gift and you must use it when it comes.”
Joe shook his head and pushed open the front door, needing t
o see Martine alive and well and free of the gore in the vision. “It’s a half-ass gift, then, one that can’t be trusted.”
“It is more than the gift you do not trust, Joseph,” his father argued. “You would never be still long enough to search your heart.” He flung out his hands. “Always moving, moving, try this, try that! The one thing I could not teach you is to have patience with yourself!”
In the open doorway, Joe turned on him. “The one thing you did teach me is to stand for what I believe is right, old man. I would die for any one of my family and you know it, but I do not think it’s right to expect Martine—”
“I believe that’s my call.” Martine stood there, blue eyes spitting fire.
His father’s gaze flicked back and forth between them, obviously waiting for an explosion. But Joe knew now was not the time for a battle of wills. Martine was no martyr and, even given her lack of experience in dealing with men like Humberto before Colombia, she had good instincts. Joe waited to see what else she had to say.
“I think we should try acting before we resort to reacting,” she said. “Time for a planning session. Tell me exactly what you found, Joe.”
Relieved to avoid a confrontation with her when he had so much else to worry about, Joe repeated what he’d told his father and elaborated a little more on the details. His objectivity kicked in while going over it. Maybe that’s what she’d had in mind.
He knew one thing: in spite of his urge to protect her, he was damned glad she was here.
Martine took the chair Joe pulled out for her at the kitchen table while the others took their places.
Delores had put on a Disney video for Nita in one of the bedrooms to keep her occupied. Then she made sandwiches and opened chips and soft drinks for everyone, urging them to eat. Martine hoped Joe’s youngest sister, Linda, was as practical as Delores. Linda would need all her wits to hold her own with Humberto.
By all rights, Joe should be in charge of the planning, but Martine could see he wanted to shield his mother from thinking about the worst. He would probably send her in the other room to lie down, not understanding that the woman really needed something positive to do instead of being coddled.