by Odell, Terry
Before Jinx could respond, a hulk of a man marched across the room and took Elle by her upper arm. Her eyes flew open, as if she’d been so intent on what Aguilar was saying, she hadn’t noticed him enter. Seconds later, Maria appeared and took Elle’s other arm.
Would Elle do a cop martial arts thing and overpower them? No, her face reflected pain, probably from Hulk Man’s grip.
A frisson ran down Jinx’s back. “What are you doing to my fiancé?” He gripped the edge of the table, leaned forward, started to rise in protest.
Aguilar lifted a palm. “Merely removing her to a safe place. As long as you render the services I require, she will remain unharmed.”
Jinx could only sit, helpless, as Elle was half-dragged out of the room.
This wasn’t in the plan.
Elle yanked her arms away from Maria and whoever the gorilla was. “No need to manhandle me. I get it. Come quietly, no funny stuff. Even if I managed to get loose, where could I go?”
Maria released her, but the gorilla merely relaxed his grip. Elle accepted that as progress. She’d spoken the truth. She’d evaluated her options. Maria’s stilettos were a weak point, but even if Elle managed to kick Maria’s feet out from under her, the gorilla wouldn’t go down easy. He didn’t seem to be the sort she could catch off guard with a knee to the groin, and she had no doubt there would be at least three replacements if, by some miracle, she did disable both of them.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked. “I hope it includes dinner. Not very nice, taking me away before I even finished the soup course.”
“You will be fed,” Maria said. “As long as your fiancé cooperates with Patrón, you will be safe.”
Given she’d only met Steve a few hours ago, Elle wasn’t sure he’d be willing or able to do whatever Aguilar required if the demands were too great. And what were Aguilar’s demands going to be? Something to do with whatever Steve did for Treadwell—assuming he worked for Treadwell and wasn’t a P.I. for Blackthorne. From the way Steve had behaved, she had her doubts and was drifting toward accepting Steve as Steve, and not Nix, a Blackthorne P.I. Logic said a P.I. was the last thing Aguilar would want snooping around his compound.
And now, Elle was convinced Aguilar had been after Steve, not her. “I’m sure he’ll cooperate,” Elle said. She tilted her head back to take in the man holding her. “I’m Elle. What’s your name?”
“Umberto speaks little English,” Maria said. “He has other… skills… more useful to Patrón.”
Elle could only guess what those skills were. They climbed the curved staircase again, but turned right instead of left. Maria unlocked a door which opened into a short hallway with elevator doors at the far end. Using a key card, she opened them, and Umberto gripped Elle’s arm a little tighter as he ushered her into the car.
Maria used the card again inside the compartment and pressed the single red button in the middle of a panel. The doors closed and the car moved smoothly with only the slightest humming sound. She tried to visualize the building as they’d approached in the Jeep. Three stories? Four? A tower? She chastised herself for her failure to observe and remember. Being aware of your surroundings was chapter one in the cop handbook. But there could also be sub levels. She tried to determine whether they were going up or down, but the ride was too short to get a decent feel for direction.
Umberto hadn’t let go of her arm—as if there was anywhere to go in an elevator—then he stepped briskly out of the car, half-dragging her along into a spacious oval foyer. Mirrors in ornate gilt frames alternated with landscapes similar to those she’d seen below. Or above. No windows in this room, which had three doors. Maria clicked toward the door on the left, and Umberto made sure Elle followed.
“Steve’s going to be angry if you leave bruises,” Elle said.
Maria snapped in Spanish and Umberto released his hold. She opened the door. “You will be comfortable here, I think.” And, as she had done before, Maria left, locking the door behind her. Blessedly, Umberto went with her.
Elle rubbed her arm where Umberto had held her and took in her surroundings. The air was redolent with the aroma of meat and spices. A small tiled entryway opened onto a living room-dining room combination, and the dining table was set with what she assumed would have been the dinner they’d have been served below. The tableware here was china rather than stoneware, and a place setting held a silver-domed plate. She lifted the dome. Hardly typical of the fare she was used to at her local Riverside cantina. No tacos or refried beans.
Instead, she discovered a grilled rib-eye steak, grilled zucchini, yellow rice, and fresh salsa. She hesitated, but then decided the same rules held here. If Aguilar wanted her harmed, he’d had enough chances to do so. She knew it was important to maintain her strength, and she’d hardly had a thing to eat all day. She sat down and dug in. She might be a prisoner, but she might as well be a well-fed prisoner.
Although it was less spicy than the soup had been, there was a nice kick to the steak, and she wondered if Steve could handle it. She thought she detected lime as well as several chili varieties. The kick came from serranos, she thought. Or maybe jalapeños. Not the habañeros her brother used in his chili. And garlic. For a fleeting instant she was glad she wouldn’t be sharing a bed with Steve. And where had that come from? She wasn’t sharing a bed with anyone, thank you very much.
And what was she doing, playing food critic? Eating was one thing, savoring another. Her thoughts swerved to Trish, and her appetite disappeared. She pushed her half-eaten meal away and set out to find a way out of here.
This suite was fancier than the digs downstairs—or was it upstairs? She crossed to the far side of the room and pulled gold-colored damask draperies aside, revealing a barred picture window. The sun was setting, a fiery ball glowing between the distant treetops, laying down a checkered pattern onto the floor.
Definitely on an upper level. Three stories up, maybe four. Hard to be sure; all the rooms had high ceilings, and this suite was no exception. She noticed she was above the wall surrounding the property. The room overlooked a narrow expanse of lawn, but beyond that, it was native vegetation covering mountainous terrain.
You’re trapped in a damn castle, but instead of a moat, you’re surrounded by a jungle.
She pondered what that meant. One, that Trish and anyone else Aguilar had captured would probably be sequestered on the compound. She didn’t see him hiding them away in the jungle. Not unless he was holding them for ransom, but nobody had received any demands.
Two, and contemplating it had her steak sitting heavily in her stomach, was that Trish had never been here at all. That this wasn’t a holding area, or if it was, it was a quick pit stop on the way to wherever she had value to him.
And that was assuming Aguilar had orchestrated Trish’s capture to begin with. Elle’s intel said it was a credible hypothesis. If Slice of Heaven was a “recruiting” spot for the cartels, Aguilar probably had claimed it. The cartels were vicious rivals, but she didn’t see them competing on the same resort turf. There were plenty to go around.
Wanting to see more, she crossed to the other side of the room and opened the door. The bedroom. Bigger by half than her bedroom in Riverside. A king bed with a nightstand on either side, plus a sitting area complete with a recliner, a floor lamp, and an end table that matched the nightstands. Her room downstairs had been light and airy. This one, for all its attempts at elegance, was dark and depressing. It also lacked any flavor of Mexico. More like old Europe. But she had to be in Mexico, didn’t she? Europe was sorely lacking in jungles.
She peered into the bathroom—a duplicate of the one in her original room. Curious, she went to the closet and found it full of clothes. As was the dresser. A quick inspection showed everything was in her size, and seemed brand new. And all more suited to what she’d wear on the street while she was working. Downstairs, she’d been given only the outfit she was wearing now. So, Aguilar had decided this was where he wanted her. And, based on the clothing, she kn
ew what he wanted to do with her.
Her stomach churned, and it was all she could do to keep the steak down. If that man laid so much as a finger on her….
She searched the room more carefully. No clocks, although there was a television set, which should give her a way to track time. An old-fashioned phone, but no dial, no pushbuttons. She imagined she could be summoned, but she couldn’t initiate a call.
No stones unturned.
She picked up the handset. Seconds later, a female voice came on the line.
“Señorita Grisham. Is there something you need?”
“Where am I?” Elle asked. No need to take out her frustration on this poor woman who had nothing to do with Elle’s predicament.
“You are in the patrón’s guest quarters.”
“And where might that be? Am I in Mexico?”
A pause. “Yes, Mexico.” She pronounced it may he co. Another pause indicated that was as close as she was willing to narrow it down. “Are you not comfortable? Is the temperature not to your liking?”
“It’s fine. But what if I want something else?”
“We will provide you with food, linens, perhaps more reading material?”
“You have books in English?” She’d hardly uttered the words before realizing how ridiculous they sounded. She sure as hell didn’t intend to sit around reading for God’s sake. She glanced around the room, only now noticing the wall unit held several shelves of books.
“I can send someone with a selection,” the woman said.
“No, thank you. What if I want to go outside? You know, take a walk around the grounds.”
“It grows late for that now. Perhaps another day. Is there anything else?”
A knife. A gun. A real phone.
“Not now. Will the patrón be calling on me tonight?”
“I imagine so. He will surely want to make you feel welcome.”
Elle hung up without saying good bye. She eyed the steak knife beside her plate.
Chapter 12
Jinx fingered the St. Christopher’s medal through the fabric of his shirt.
You are Stephen Brand. You are Stephen Brand. You are engaged to Elspeth Grisham.
Okay, that last part wasn’t in the playbook when he, Zeke, and the boss had devised the plan, but what was he supposed to do? Abandon her? Because she wasn’t the hostage of a paying client? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try to get her out of here.
As he thought, he took a small mouthful of soup. The flavors under the spice were growing on him.
“What do you want with me?” Rather than meet Aguilar’s eyes, Jinx made a point of making sure each spoonful of soup included a single cube of avocado.
Before Aguilar could respond, Waiter Man came back with his cart, this time carrying a dome-covered plate. He stopped short when he saw his patrón. His eyes widened, and he mumbled in Spanish, ducked his head and backed away.
Aguilar barked at Waiter Man, who nodded and wheeled the cart closer to the table.
“As your dinner is here,” Aguilar said, “we can postpone our conversation while you eat.”
Waiter Man lifted the dome. Steak. Jinx’s mouth watered.
“I have no problem listening while I eat,” Jinx said. “Might save time. Aren’t you going to join me? You know, a person in my position might suspect there’s something wrong with the food if you’re not eating.”
Aguilar spoke to Waiter Man. He cleared the soup bowls, bobbed his head deferentially to Aguilar, and disappeared the way he’d come, only to return seconds later with a small plate, knife and fork, which he set in front of his patrón. Another nod, and he was gone.
“Very well, Mr. Brand,” Aguilar said. “As is our custom, we normally dine much later, but I would not have you believing I would tamper with food. Good food is an extreme pleasure in life. You may select a portion of anything you want me to eat in your presence.” He pushed his empty plate toward Jinx.
Jinx picked up the steak knife, stared at it, and raised his gaze to Aguilar’s.
Aguilar laughed. “Even if you succeeded in what you are thinking, be assured your life would end very quickly. And although my body might no longer be of this earth, my family is large and voids are filled immediately.”
Jinx shrugged and sliced off a small portion of meat and forked over a mouthful of rice and a piece of zucchini. Although he didn’t really think there was anything wrong with the food, he’d taken a stand and he had to stick to it. He waited while Aguilar studied what Jinx had given him.
The man chewed the steak. Nodded. “My chef, he is the best in Mexico.”
Jinx wondered if the chef was here voluntarily or if he’d been shoved into the cargo hold of an airplane, too.
Aguilar made a point of tasting both the rice and zucchini as well. Jinx took a tiny bite of his own steak—not because he was afraid of drugs or poison, but because he’d learned his lesson with the soup—and agreed the chef had the chops. Or, in this case, the rib-eye.
Aguilar sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “We have a problem with our communications system. I understand this is your area of expertise.”
Bingo.
Jinx touched his chest once more, as if his medal might be bouncing around from the way his heart was pounding. “Yes, sir. I’m the best there is.”
“I certainly hope so, for your sake, and the sake of Miss Grisham. As soon as you are finished eating, we will see. What is your expression? The proof is in the flan?”
“Pudding, sir, but that’s close enough.” Jinx shoved his half-finished meal away and stood. “If that’s what it takes to get me back to my vacation, I’m ready. Take me to your problem.”
“Our cell communications have been behaving in a sporadic fashion recently, and now, we have not been able to make or receive any calls for the last two hours. Given our remote location, we depend on a reliable cell network.”
Jinx narrowed his eyes. Pursed his lips. Scratched his head. Gave every indication he could think of that he was contemplating the situation and working out possible fixes.
Fozzie, the first—and second, and third—round of brews are on me. I love you, you crazy Aussie.
“I understand, sir,” Jinx said. He rubbed his chin. “I need to see your system, see what you’ve tried. Maybe talk to your people. Do they speak English? Do you have a local control center? Internet connections? How many towers? Where are they? What’s your power system? A/C? Battery? Solar? When’s the last time someone checked the antennas? I can’t begin to fix your problem until I see all the components, and how they’re operating. One little link in the chain breaks, and poof. There goes your system.”
“It has worked without trouble for a good number of years.”
“Ah, well that might be part of your problem. Things wear out. I haven’t been outside, but I’m guessing you’ve got heat and humidity. Those can accelerate degeneration.”
“Very well,” Aguilar said. “In your expert opinion, where should we look first?”
“We?” Jinx said, his pulse ratcheting skyward. What he had to do wasn’t going to fly if Aguilar—or anyone else—was watching over his shoulder. He and Zeke had discussed it, and Grace—who had considerable expertise in deception—had offered suggestions.
Time to see if they worked. “Do you understand what goes on behind the scenes? No offense, Mr. Aguilar, but I’m afraid you might be more of a hindrance than a help. This is all very complex, and if I’m distracted, I can’t do my job.”
“How do I know you won’t make things worse?” Aguilar asked. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Jinx dragged his hand through his hair. “You can’t. But I trusted you when I ate your food. Tell me this? Could you tell if I was doing something hinky just by watching?”
“Hinky?”
Jinx grinned at the puzzled expression on Aguilar’s face. “It’s a term we use for things that aren’t quite right. Let’s say I wanted to make sure your
chef was preparing a meal correctly. You think there’s anything I could do in the kitchen to help him? Or would I be in the way, interrupting and asking questions? Your chef wouldn’t like it, would he?”
Aguilar frowned. “Perhaps you make a point. But these are two different things, cooking and cell phones.”
Jinx felt as though a land mine had exploded inside his chest. Role playing games didn’t put you face to face with your opponent, and you didn’t have to talk to them. He hoped his underlying state of panic didn’t show. “Let me put it this way, sir. You brought me here against my will, and by not very pleasant means. As I see it, you let me do what you brought me here to do, or else you might as well send me home.”
Jinx tried to discern anything in Aguilar’s expression indicating he thought Jinx had gone too far and was considering another option—to simply do away with Jinx and dump his body in the jungle. But both Blackthorne and Grace had insisted Stephen Brand be sure of himself and assertive. They’d said it shouldn’t be too hard to pull off—it wouldn’t be much of a stretch. Jinx remembered their smiles when they’d said that.
“Or,” Jinx continued, “do you have someone else lined up? And are they as good as me? I doubt it. I’m the best. I’ve been doing this kind of stuff since I was ten.”
“I will concede your point,” Aguilar said. “But I will also have one of my people observing your work. He, I am sure, will be able to spot anything… hinky.”
Jinx didn’t dare dispute that. If he did, he figured he would end up rotting in the jungle. “I will concede your point. And it’s possible he might serve as a halfway decent assistant. He can learn from the master.”
Aguilar’s eyebrows lifted. Jinx broke in before he could say anything else. Or think too much. “Let’s get this show on the road. It’s been a long day, and it’s likely to be an even longer night.”
“Very well.” Aguilar motioned Jinx out the door ahead of him. “To your left.”
Jinx went where the man directed, Aguilar staying slightly behind him, but close enough to grab him if Jinx decided to run. Aguilar stopped him at an ornately carved wooden door which opened to reveal an elevator.