by Diane Noble
I prayed especially hard for Zoë that night, that she might find peace. God’s peace. She was a little girl lost, and I worried about her.
At 3:35 in the morning, I awoke with a start. The pagoda was quiet, but something—or someone—had awakened me. I lay still, listening.
For a moment my heart pounded in fear. Sounds from the distant rain forest—night animals—added to my discomfort. The air was thick, oppressive. Even my sheets were damp.
In the bedroom across the pagoda, someone stirred. Two puffs whooshing from the inhaler in the living room told me it was Zoë. Next I heard the soft pad of footsteps moving toward the front door. It opened, then closed with a dull thud. I sat up, swung my feet to the floor, grabbed my robe, and stepped out on the balcony to see where Zoë was headed.
I thought about the scene at the bridge and her spiteful words to Kate and me. Truth be told, I was still a little upset and perfectly willing to give her the space she seemed to want. She didn’t want anyone to care for her, to watch out for her. So why should I traipse into the night—wild animals prowling and who knew what else going on in this place—to watch over someone who was likely to turn on me and chew me out for it? Why should I bother? I should just go back to bed and pray for deliverance from the whole maternal-instinct, caring thing I’d had going on since boarding the Sun Spirit.
I moved closer to the railing and peered down. Zoë came around the corner and, without looking up, headed onto the path leading toward the large building I’d been watching earlier. She was almost running, perhaps in fear of what might lurk in the shadows or because she was on her way to meet someone. She made her way along a few twists of pathway, then skirted a stand of date palms, and her shadowy figure disappeared.
I’d raised my own children, given them pieces of my soul throughout the years. I was the quintessential velveteen rabbit, rubbed and worn, but at this moment determined to keep intact whatever fur was left.
I looked after Zoë with nagging worry, fighting to keep my feet from sprinting to the door. Instead, I got back in bed, fluffed my pillow, and with a sigh started counting the lengths of bamboo in the ceiling.
I’d reached eleven when curiosity got the best of me. That and a burning need to explore the grounds while the rest of the compound slept. And, of course, there was that rabbit business. I guess I wasn’t ready to keep the rest of my fur after all.
I had left my clothes on a nearby wicker chair, planning to nose about the compound before daybreak. As I pulled on my shorts, T-shirt, and baggy vest, I tried not to think about the animals that might also be out roaming. Costa Rica is known to have a healthy population of jaguars. Nocturnal. I shivered as I tied my walking shoes in the dark. Without so much as a glance in the mirror, I put on my “You Go, Girl!” ball cap and pulled my hair into a ponytail through the opening in back.
In four minutes flat I stepped onto the balcony outside my bedroom and scanned the compound. With only starlight and a scattering of safety lights on the various paths, it was difficult to make out images. But in the distance, a slight figure was making her way toward the unmarked building.
It was Zoë. I was sure of it.
I gathered my courage and headed out the door after her, at first determined to coax her back to safety. Then, judging her speed, I realized that she knew where she was headed. It was time to follow.
She wound in and out of my field of vision, behind trees and night-flowering plants, around fountains and waterfalls. Their splashing masked the fall of my footsteps behind her. I hoped. The sounds of water again brought to mind the beasts that might have wandered here from the nearby forests and savannas for a drink. I picked up speed.
Zoë arrived at her obvious destination and seemed to hesitate. She didn’t look back, but her movements were jerky as she sidled a few feet one direction, then back, all the while staring up at the now dimly lit windows of the building. I sensed she was nervous, perhaps aware she was being followed. Or worried about what she was attempting. She moved to a large stand of ferns and disappeared.
I faded into the shadows of a canopied tree and waited for her to come out.
Instead of Zoë, though, two armed guards stepped into the night through the heavy doors. One of the guards—a burly man—lit a cigarette, its glow reflecting on his face, and the other, slightly taller, stretched his shoulders as if he’d been sitting a long time.
They spoke to each other in Spanish, then laughed. After a few minutes of conversation, the taller man pointed to the corner of the building and shook his head with a shrug. The larger man dropped his cigarette and squashed it with the tip of his shoe. No smoking on the premises. Even for the staff, I assumed. And these two knew they were being observed; that much was obvious. It was probably part of their job, watching a panel of video-camera screens in some secure room deep in the building’s guts. I studied the exterior facade, moving my gaze from the camera behind the guards to other surveillance devices—at least a dozen that I could see—lining the roof.
The building was much larger than I’d thought when I saw it from a distance. It was two stories, with larger, tower-like edifices on each corner rising still higher. With no balconies and no open windows, its design was similar to those in high-rise buildings. Sealed shut.
The guards turned and walked to the front door. One punched in a code on a keypad, and the door swung open. Seconds later it closed with a click. A whirring sound followed. Then a decisive thud shook the ground as a another heavy-sounding metal device on the inside further secured the door.
I stared at the building, looming gray and massive against the starlit sky. Whatever was housed behind those doors must be valuable indeed to La Vida Pura. And to Lorenzo Nolan.
I was torn between finding out what Zoë was up to and getting her back to the safety of the pagoda or taking the risk of entering the building. I decided to take care of Zoë first and sleuthing second. So I skirted the tree I’d been hiding under and, hoping I was out of sight of the cameras, moved silently to the stand of tall ferns she’d ducked into.
“Zoë?” I whispered, stepping closer. “It’s okay to come out now.” I waited, but there was no answer. “Zoë?”
All that greeted me was silence. “Zoë?” I called again a little louder. “Zoë!”
Still no answering movement or sound.
I crept into the ferns, willing from my mind the image of the three-inch-long rhinoceros beetle. Pulling back the lacy fronds, I peered into the darkness. “Zoë?” The small, dark area in the center of the ferns was empty.
Backing out of the fronds, I batted their tendrils away from my face. Zoë must have slipped away while my attention was fixed on the guards, the building, and its heavy security. I fought a growing sense of annoyance.
I crept around the building, squinting into the darkness and trying to ignore the sounds of the night creatures, the hoots and cries, the fluttering of insect wings as I neared the safety lights. I kept clear of the cameras, at least those I could see. I didn’t call out to Zoë, but every few minutes I stopped to listen for voices.
Nothing. No human sound, at least. The other sounds, I didn’t want to dwell on.
It took only minutes to completely round the building. I stopped at the entrance, hiding in the shadows where I hoped the cameras couldn’t pick up my image. I stared at the heavy door and whispered a quick prayer.
I ducked beneath the surveillance cameras and crept to the entryway. The whirring of movement caught my attention, and I looked up. The camera, apparently sensing motion, was swiveling toward me. I dropped to my knees, heart thudding, and waited for the device to return to its original position.
I had just pulled a miniature screwdriver from my pocket when the camera did its whirring thing again. I tucked and rolled out of its way. Then I held my breath as it whirred away from me.
I peered at the keypad. Any tinkering would undoubtedly set off an alarm somewhere in the innards of the building. I thumped the pad with my screwdriver handle, trying
to remember scenes from Law and Order that would help me out. Nothing came to me.
I had pathetically little experience breaking and entering, except for the time I smelled smoke and thought Joey was sneaking a cigarette in his room. I jimmied the lock and burst through his door only to find out that he was trying to pop a bag of Orville Redenbacher’s over a 500-watt light bulb.
I was about to give up on the present B&E when I heard a sound from the backside of the building. Strangely, it sounded like a dozen trash cans being rolled down a hill. I started forward, then halted with an annoyed sigh.
The camera was grinding toward me again. I wasn’t as quick to drop and roll this time, and the security lights blazed on, blinding me. I heard no wailing alarm, maybe because it was silent. I was almost certain I was drawing plenty of attention from security inside. I took off at a dead run, racing around to the back of the building.
I plowed into some ferns and dropped to my knees, panting.
Nothing happened. No guards raced out of the building. No horns or sirens. No searchlights crisscrossed the compound.
I waited in the ferns until my breathing returned to normal, then I slowly pulled back a couple of fronds and peered out.
I stared in disbelief. What appeared to be a dock for truck deliveries was right in front of me. Door wide open. No one in sight. If I hurried, I wouldn’t even have to pick a lock.
I wondered how I had missed it when I rounded the building the first time, then remembered the sound I’d heard before diving into the ferns. Not trash cans. It had been a roll-up metal door opening. Slowly I emerged and duck-walked toward the dock.
All was silent now. Even the insects had stopped their cacophony.
I held my breath and climbed up eight steps to a rough wood-planked floor, straightened up, then moved deeper into a dimly lit cavernous room.
I brushed off my shorts and congratulated myself on my first successful B&E.
Then I saw a figure standing dead still in front of me.
I wanted light, dazzling light, to illumine the shape that blocked my way. But the warehouse was dim, and all I heard was the soft, steady sound of breathing. It wasn’t mine.
Not one to be kept in the dark too long, I managed to whisper, “Who’s there?”
“I thought I warned you off,” came the reply.
I didn’t know whether to be more frightened than I already was, or relieved. I chose relief. Hollis used to say the enemy you know is always better than the enemy you don’t know. I didn’t know for sure that Adam was an enemy, but the deck was certainly stacking up that way.
“Adam,” I said, still whispering. “What a pleasant surprise.”
He slowly limped toward me. “In the flesh.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing.”
“Zoë got up in the middle of the night. I followed her here … well, to the vicinity. She disappeared, and I got worried. Thought she might have come inside.” I paused. “And you?”
Silence fell between us. “We may be overheard,” he said. “I suggest we get out before we’re discovered.” Or before I found something he didn’t want me to see?
I glanced around but didn’t see any surveillance equipment. I shook my head. “Not before I check on Zoë. I need to look around.”
“She’s not here. This is a clinic, but empty right now. I suspect it’s set up for plastic surgery, lipo, that sort of thing, for certain high-rolling clientele.”
“I’d like to see it myself.” I still didn’t trust him.
He gave me an annoyed stare. “I suppose even if I said no, you’d insist.”
I smiled. “Especially if you said no.”
With a heavy sigh, he motioned for me to follow him, which I did—through a door at the rear of the capacious room, down a long, dark hallway, and into the innards of the building’s first floor. The place did remind me of a hospital, stark walls of an undistinguished color, polished linoleum floors, framed prints of flora and fauna—Costa Rican, I presumed—hung between closed office doors.
The room was silent except for the tread of our rubber-soled shoes on the gleaming floor. No white-noise hum of office equipment or fluorescent lights.
Adam led me through a maze of twists and turns until we arrived back at the warehouse entrance. “Satisfied?”
“Not really,” I said. “There wasn’t anything much to see.”
He shot me an “I told you so” look.
We made our way through the dark room to the edge of the dock.
“How’d you get this door open?” I asked as I clambered down the short flight of stairs behind him.
He waited at the base of the stairs and held out his hand to help me to the ground. Gallant. The man was full of surprises. I rested my hand in his and started to smile … until I realized he had no intention of telling me. With a shiver I thought of the black-humor line “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” I also figured he knew that if he told me, I’d be back to explore on my own before the squawk of the morning’s first macaw.
“What were you looking for?” I challenged as soon as we were away from the building.
He stared at me without answering.
I blew out a loud, impatient sigh. “Has anyone ever asked why you can’t answer a direct question? Is it a phobia or something?”
He surprised me by laughing.
“Look, there’s something going on here that’s far from funny. I’m worried sick about Carly. I’m trying to find Zoë. There’s the whole business about Easton. Which reminds me, why in the world would he sign up for a health spa? Why did you, for that matter? Why are you here?” I should have zipped my lips, not presented him with the opportunity to give me another nonanswer answer.
This time he surprised me. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, stepping toward me. “It’s better you don’t know anything more about me than you already do. Please believe me.”
I blinked. His voice was husky, sincere.
“Have you thought of checking your suite?” he said. “Maybe Zoë’s back, slipped in while you were … preoccupied.”
“You could be right.” I paused. “But you still haven’t answered my question. About why you’re here.”
He stopped in the middle of the pathway. Toward the east a pearlescent predawn light had begun to show in the navy sky. I could barely make out Adam’s features, but I saw enough to see his seriousness, his concern.
He studied my face for a moment without speaking, then he said, “My reasons for being here are more important to me than life itself. But I can’t say more without endangering you—or anyone I come in contact with.”
“So you’re staying mum out of a chivalrous sense of protection? Or is it a lack of trust?” I wasn’t going to let him off the hook.
“Perhaps a little of both. After all, I really don’t know you very well.” He did that quiver thing at the corner of his mouth again.
I wanted to believe this was a good man, an honorable man, even though the ugly headlines and grainy photographs were still firmly fixed in my mind.
We reached the pagoda, and I hesitated at the door.
“Do you want me to come in with you?”
I am woman, hear me roar.
I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. I’ll see if Zoë is here, then decide what to do after that.”
He nodded and started back down the path. I stepped over the threshold, flipped on a light, and blinked in surprise.
The place had been tossed. Or whatever it’s called when furniture is overturned, backpacks emptied onto the floor, clothing scattered everywhere. But I was bunking with two fairly immature coeds. Maybe this was their modus operandi. I never put up with such disorder when Janie was at home, but not all mothers make their kids toe the line like I did.
But this looked different. Dangerously different.
I hurried to the girls’ bedroom and flipped on the light. Zoë’s bed was empty.
So was Kate’s.
My first reaction was anger. My kids knew that’s how I handled fear. Whenever one of them had done something that scared me to death, I yelped, catapulted over whatever was between them and me to snatch them out of harm’s way. Today they laugh. I never thought it was funny. When they have kids, they’ll understand. Payback’s another word for it.
So when I saw the empty beds, my first thought was that the girls were playing a trick on me, or simply being thoughtless and ignorant of the dangers that might be lurking outside the walls of the pagoda. Maybe they had run off to visit Price and Max, or … I went over the list of where they might be at this hour. It was a short list.
The girls were missing. Period. I’d followed one, only to lose her in the forest of fronds right in front of my nose. Now the other was missing as well.
First Carly Lowe. Then Zoë. Now Kate.
I slumped into the nearest easy chair, letting my racing heart slow, trying not to hyperventilate. “Oh, Lord,” I breathed, “this isn’t what I signed on for. All I wanted was a little part-time job to pass the time after Hollis’s death. Now here I am in a Central American jungle, worrying over three missing girls and a dead PI whose rumored job was searching for girls nabbed by cults.”
I drew in a deep breath. There had to be a logical explanation. For all I knew, Carly would show up at the wharf today to board the tender for the trip back to the Sun Spirit, and Zoë and Kate, fast friends by now, would barge through the door, laughing about their middle-of-the-night adventures.
Pure fantasy.
Outside, the sky was turning from dark gray to hazy, damp pearl, and a twitter of birdsong from the palms mixed with the rustling of their fronds in the breeze. I glanced at the clock: 4:58. Morning was coming.
And it was time to alert someone. But who? I wondered if any of the La Vida Pura staff was at the desk this early. I suspected not. It was important to find Price and Max, to see if Kate and Zoë were with them.
I quickly ran a brush through my hair and put on my ball cap again. A quick glance in the dressing-room mirror was something I should have skipped. My wrinkled bermudas looked like I’d slept in them. My drooping vest had seen better days. Even my ball cap looked pitiful.