by Odell, Terry
“Clever,” Jinx muttered.
Aguilar slipped a key card into a slot and the elevator doors slid open. Inside, he used the same key and the doors closed. There was a muffled hum, and the car moved.
“Where are we going?” Jinx asked.
Aguilar said nothing.
Elle paced the room, running her fingertip across the serrated blade of the steak knife. Airlines gave plastic knives, even in first class. Why had they left her a weapon? Were they not thinking? Or did they figure she couldn’t do anything with it? That she’d be overpowered?
As a cop, she’d learned someone can cover a distance of twenty-one feet in less than two seconds, which was longer than it took to draw and fire a weapon. If her captors thought she had a knife, they’d come in with guns drawn, which would negate any advantage she had.
If she left the knife on the dining table, would that show she could be trusted? Was it a test?
Damnation, this was giving her a headache. She always had a plan. Always knew, within reason, the probable outcome. Sorely tempted to use the knife on the wardrobe they’d selected for her, she continued pacing.
The door opened. She spun. It was the waiter from downstairs, wheeling a cart. She held the knife behind her.
“May I take your plates?” he asked. “Do you wish dessert? We have flan, ice cream, cheesecake, and sopapillas.”
“Nothing, thank you,” she said.
He hesitated as he cleared the table. Had he noticed the missing knife? His gaze fixed on her face, then on his task, then on her face again.
Might as well go for it. “Is there something wrong?” she asked.
“No, señorita. Not wrong. I am thinking you look like… like someone I have seen before.”
Elle’s pulse quickened. “Someone here? In this place? When?”
The waiter’s brow furrowed. Elle realized she’d said too much, acted too excited. Damn. She knew better. But it was her sister who was missing. Reflexes had taken over. Could she spin this? Her brain whirled, trying to come up with a logical reason she’d be so curious.
But then the man spoke. Quietly. She could hardly hear him. Gripping the knife, she stepped closer.
His eyes and hands busy with the dishes, he said, “This person, she is important to you, yes?”
Dare she trust him? Saying yes would put her in a position of vulnerability. He’d have power over her. A way to get her to do his bidding—whatever that might be. Hell. She thought of what Aguilar wanted to do to her. Would probably force her to do. At least this guy was younger and good-looking.
What the hell are you thinking?
That if sleeping with him would save her sister, she’d do it.
He didn’t wait for her to respond. Dishes clattered as he set them onto his cart. His voice was a mere whisper now. “My parents, my sister. I work here, do as the patrón says, and he promises they will be safe. I have worked hard for his trust.” He straightened his shoulders. Elevated his gaze. Spoke louder. “Are you certain you do not wish dessert, Señorita Grisham? Our chef, he is excellent with the pastry. Or perhaps fruit? We have an excellent selection.” His head bobbed the tiniest bit.
“You’ve convinced me,” Elle said, matching his volume. “I’ll try the sopapillas with a bowl of fruit. And you can call me Elle.”
He shook his head. “No, that would not be appropriate. However, you may call me Diego.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Diego.”
“I shall be back in a short while.” He stepped closer, his mouth almost at her ear. “Please. There will be trouble if I do not return the knife.”
She nodded and slipped it into his hand. He wheeled the cart out of the room, and she heard the door lock behind him. Had she found an ally? She considered herself darn good at reading people, and he hadn’t set her radar bleeping. If she was going to find Trish, she was going to have to take a few risks.
While she waited for Diego to return, she tried to lay out a plan of action, the way she and her cop colleagues did before setting out on a sting. Trouble was, she had virtually nothing to go on. Afraid to write anything down, she went over everything in her head.
She was in a fortress, probably in Mexico. She strode to the window. The sun had gone down, and floodlights bathed the grounds in light. Some were positioned on the wall, and others, judging from the direction, were mounted on the roof. So much for sneaking out under the cover of darkness. Which, of course, assumed she could figure a way out of the room. Would Diego let her go? Was there another way out beside the key card-controlled elevator? Emergency escape routes? In case they got raided? Probably only a private one for Aguilar himself.
Everything here—the grandeur, the fancy manners, the gentility—none of it rang true. You could put lipstick on a pig, but it was still a pig. She didn’t get the impression he gave a damn about the people working for him, only that they served his every need.
Which brought her full circle. To Aguilar’s needs and how she was going to be expected to serve them. She rubbed her arms against the chill that ran through her.
A gentle knock on the door sent her heart to her throat. Aguilar wouldn’t knock, she thought. She strode to the door, noting the absence of a peephole. “Who’s there?”
“It is Diego, señorita.” The door opened. He held a tray. No cart this time. Not that it mattered. There was no way she could hide in one, even if he agreed to help her escape that way. The aroma of fried dough reminded her of days when someone brought fresh Krispy Kremes into the station. She stepped aside and let him in.
He carried the tray to the table and set a basket of hot sopapillas, dripping with honey, in the center. A bowl of sliced fresh fruit—more than enough for her—accompanied it. She smiled. “Will you join me?”
He gave her a regretful smile. “I cannot. If I am here longer than it takes to deliver food, the patrón will be upset. This floor is his, and—”
“I understand,” Elle said. “He would assume you have been encroaching on his territory.”
Diego nodded.
“Are there cameras?” she asked softly. “Microphones?”
He nodded again, then went to the television, flipped it on. “I think you will enjoy music with your food.” Sounds of a mariachi band filled the room. He crossed to the window and drew the drapes, speaking quietly. “Only in this room and the bedroom. Not the bath.”
“Well, it’s good to know your patrón shows a little respect for privacy.”
Diego returned to the table and scooped fruit into a smaller bowl. Slowly. His gaze fixed on her. As if waiting for her to speak.
Elle pretended to examine the different kinds of fruit. “This woman who looks like me? Is she still here?”
Diego shook his head. “I must go now.”
“Wait,” Elle said, refusing to have her hopes dashed. “Is there a way we can talk? A time? A place? When you won’t get in trouble?”
“I will try. Meanwhile, I suggest you enjoy your dessert.”
She walked him to the door. “Thank you, Diego.”
“It is my pleasure, señorita.” He opened the door, then turned to her. “Be careful on the telephone.”
He left, locking the door behind him.
When the phone rang a moment later, his parting words played in her head.
Chapter 13
Jinx stepped inside what Aguilar said was his control room and took quick stock. A metal desk, a state-of-the-art all-in-one computer with a huge display, and a second monitor. A man. White. Very white. Blonder than Zeke.
Jinx strode to the desk. Extended his hand. “Stephen Brand. Understand there’s a problem.”
“Bill Jorgenson.” The man gave a half-hearted handshake, his pale blue eyes fixed on Aguilar as he did so. Soft hands, Jinx noted.
“Mr. Brand comes as an expert. Perhaps he will succeed where you and your colleagues have failed,” Aguilar said.
The tone was polite, but sent chills down Jinx’s spine. What had happened to those colleagues? W
ere they still around? He hoped they’d just been demoted in rank, and not cut from the payroll—as in pushing up daisies, as his grandfather used to say.
“Be my guest,” Bill said. He relinquished the chair.
Bill didn’t give the impression his life was in jeopardy because he hadn’t solved the problem. That was heartening. Of course there was also the possibility Bill was here of his own volition and wasn’t worried about Aguilar’s personnel management techniques.
“Is this your entire control system?” Jinx asked. “How many towers are we talking about? Can you pinpoint the problems to a specific area? You’ve got a jungle canopy out there, right? Weather?”
“Thunderstorms in the afternoon for a good part of the year. Twenty-four towers. Four switch sites with their own power and control systems.”
“Have you checked those live?” Jinx asked. “Loose connections, corrosion. Or animals? It’s a jungle out there, right?”
“No, I haven’t inspected them personally,” Bill said. “The problems came and went—not unusual with the kind of equipment we’re using—but this time they went and stayed that way.”
No guts, no glory. Counting on the fact that Fozzie would have done his magic and disappeared, Jinx faced Aguilar. “Sir, I have to believe a man in your position must have an enemy or two. Have you considered that possibility?”
Aguilar scowled. “I have. It is no concern of yours.”
Jinx let it drop. If there were inter-cartel rivalries, maybe they’d keep Aguilar distracted. Meanwhile, he needed to sound convincing, and hope Bill would keep his mouth shut. “This isn’t going to be an easy fix. I presume you want more than a Band-Aid slapped onto your system. I’m going to have to run diagnostics, scan for malware, probably have to rewrite code.”
Aguilar stiffened.
“I can see you still don’t trust me. You’re welcome to watch,” Jinx said.
Aguilar shook his head. Narrowed his eyes. “My man will be doing that.” He shot a dagger-filled gaze in Bill’s direction. “Time is critical. I suggest you begin immediately. This computer is new and should do anything you need.”
Which showed how little the man knew. It wasn’t the machine, it was the software. And the person manning the keyboard, of course.
“I need two things.” Jinx struggled to keep the confidence he wasn’t feeling in his tone.
Aguilar’s eyes widened in a how dare you dictate conditions to me kind of way. But Jinx refused to back down. Kept his gaze steady.
“You want me to work on this, or not? I can’t do my job without two simple things.”
Aguilar relaxed slightly. “Which would be?”
“I need a supply of Red Bull soda. A big supply. I don’t drink coffee and this is going to be a long haul.”
“I am not sure we have that brand here,” Aguilar said.
“A man of your importance, with your connections, it shouldn’t be hard to find.”
As Jinx hoped, the man seemed to respond to a play on his vanity.
“And the second?” Aguilar asked.
“My fiancé. She’s either here in the room, or I’m not doing anything. I can’t concentrate if I’m worried about her.” Jinx folded his arms across his chest. And waited.
After what seemed like an hour, Aguilar mumbled in Spanish. Beside him, Bill tensed. Jinx held his breath. Waited some more.
“Very well, Mr. Brand,” Aguilar said. “However, I demand your word you will be working, and your attention will be entirely on the communications.”
“Of course,” Jinx said. “You have my word. No hanky-panky, just work.”
Aguilar frowned, as though he was having trouble deciphering the slang, but seemed to get the gist, because he muttered something else in Spanish, then turned to leave. He paused at the door, however, and said, “In good faith, I expect progress to be made while I arrange for your requests.”
Jinx nodded. Once the door was closed—and not locked, apparently—he turned to Bill. “What’s with our host?”
Bill eyed him warily. Jinx spread his hands in a gesture of submission. “Hey, this morning I was sitting by the pool at a resort in Cabo. Next thing I know, I’m in the cargo hold of an airplane, and then I’m here.”
Ignoring Jinx’s complaint, Bill gestured to the keyboard. “So strut your stuff. I’ll stay out of your way. Wouldn’t want to jinx anything.”
Jinx’s heart nearly stopped. Was Bill sending him a signal? He’d put enough emphasis on the word to make Jinx wonder. But not enough to say, “Hey, I know who you are.” And if he did, was that a good thing or a bad thing? For all Jinx knew, Aguilar had told Bill to test him.
Stay in character.
Zeke hadn’t said anything about an inside man. Wasn’t he supposed to be the inside man? He tugged his St. Christopher medal out from under his shirt. Touching the metallic surface calmed him.
You’ve come this far. You can do it.
Jinx settled into the chair, rested his palm over the mouse. Being in familiar territory calmed him further.
“Pretty fancy digs,” Jinx said. “Don’t often work where high-class room and board are included.”
Bill sneezed. He pulled a tissue from a box on the desk and blew his nose. “Sorry. Allergies.” He tossed the tissue into a wastebasket. “You’re getting the VIP treatment. The hired help stays in another section of the compound. Comfortable enough, if you don’t mind Motel Six style accommodations.”
Jinx wondered whether he was going to stay in the mansion until he solved Aguilar’s problem. Not that it mattered. The real question was what Aguilar intended to do with him afterward.
Doesn’t matter, idiot. You’ll be whisked away, like in Peter Pan. Only with Fozzie’s helo instead of pixie dust.
He had to believe that. Fozzie knew what he was doing.
“One thing I wish we had,” Bill went on, “is decent movies. There’s a DVD collection, but most of them are in Spanish.” He fixed his gaze on Jinx. “You ever watched the Muppets in Spanish? It’s not only the language, but the voices are all wrong. The people who dub these movies don’t come close to matching the tones. They really screwed with my favorite character. Fozzie.”
“I admit a fondness for the bear,” Jinx said, trying to keep his tone casual and conversational. Two coincidences? Hard to believe Bill was making idle small talk.
Before Jinx could decide how to play it, the door opened. Elle appeared in the doorway, Maria behind her. Maria nudged Elle into the room. “As you requested,” Maria said. “Patrón is still working to bring your Red Bull.” Closing the door behind her, Maria left.
The three of them stared at each other, none willing to make the first move.
Relieved beyond belief it was Steve and not Aguilar in the room, Elle rushed to Steve’s side. He faltered for only a second before encircling her in his arms. After an embrace that made her wish the second man in the room would disappear, he moved her to arm’s distance, stroked her cheek. Captured her gaze. “I’m all right. Are you?”
She nodded. “What’s going on? All Maria said was I was to come with her. I thought she was bringing me to… you know.”
“Excuse me,” the other man said. “I’m Bill. Don’t believe we’ve met.”
Steve dragged a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Elle, Bill. Elle’s my fiancé.”
She turned her best smile toward Bill. “Pleased to meet you.”
She shifted her focus to Steve. “So, Sweetheart, why did Maria escort me down here?” Maria hadn’t offered anything, and Elle had been too busy trying to figure out how to deal with Aguilar to ask.
“I asked for you,” Steve said. “I need you around so I can do my job.”
“Job? What job?” Steve couldn’t possibly be working for Aguilar.
“Bill’s supposed to be keeping an eye on me while I work on Aguilar’s cell phone network.”
Cell phones? Another point for Steve’s story about working for the communications company. “What could you possibly need me
for?” Elle asked. “The only thing I know about cell phones is that mine seems to take perverse pleasure in misbehaving when I need it.”
“I told him I can’t work if I’m worried about you. Hope you don’t mind.” He looked at Bill. “Don’t suppose you can dig up another chair?” He flashed the grin Elle was finding more and more appealing. “Two, if you want to sit.”
Bill hesitated.
“Oh, come on, man,” Steve said. “How big a deal is it to scrape up a couple of chairs? Of course, if you’d rather stand… but I don’t think it’s fair to the lady. And I can’t work standing up.”
“It’s not that,” Bill said. “It’s… never mind.” He crossed to the desk and picked up the handset of a phone like the one in her room. More of the in-house intercom system, Elle presumed.
“I’m thinking he’s our babysitter as well as your supervisor,” she said to Steve.
While Bill spoke, Steve moved closer, drew her against him. In character, but the way his hand slid down her spine gave her the feeling he wasn’t totally play-acting. He nuzzled her hair. “I need you to trust me,” he whispered.
Why the hell she should was beyond her. Whether it was the way they’d been shoved together in peril, or because she welcomed the idea of sharing the burden—it didn’t matter. For now, she’d do what he said. After all, they had to put on a convincing show, right? Two people in love, in what might be a life-threatening situation. Taking advantage of what could be their final moments together. She tipped her head upward, inviting a kiss.
An invitation Steve accepted. Wholeheartedly.
Her heart skittered, her blood thrummed in her ears. His tongue teased the seam of her mouth, and she parted her lips, allowing entry. He tasted of steak and chiles. And garlic, but she knew she did as well. And she liked garlic. A kiss reminiscent of her dinner, yet so much spicier. Her tongue met his. Teased. Danced. Heat coursed through her, reminding her she was a woman. And he was a man. His hardness when he pulled her against him said he was responding, too.