Where was I? The last thing I remembered was pulling into the parking garage at home, and then... nothing.
Was I still there? In the parking garage?
Probably not, I decided, nostrils quivering. There was no smell of oil or gas. And although it was chilly, it wasn’t as cold as the garage would be.
But I also wasn’t at home. My apartment smells of gardenia and a hint of Chanel No 5. This place smelled of...
It didn’t smell of anything much, actually. A little musty. Dusty. With just a hint of metal and perhaps wood.
I opened my eyes again, just a slit. The chair under my butt was metal, and the floor below was concrete. No wood in sight, although the smell was there, in the air. When I squinted around, I saw I was in a dusky, cavernous room with enormously high ceilings, under which ran heating and cooling ducts and something that might have been plumbing pipes. There were a few dusty windows here and there, letting in gray-streaked daylight, but I estimated them to be at least fifteen feet above ground. I couldn’t have reached them even if I hadn’t been stuck to the chair.
That’s as far as I’d gotten when a voice said, “Look who’s awake. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
If it had been Rafe, the voice would have been ripe with innuendo. It wasn’t. There was an undercurrent of excitement, but not—thankfully—the kind of excitement I’d heard in Perry Fortunato’s voice back when I’d been half naked and tied to the headboard in his bedroom. Whatever else this guy had planned, it didn’t sound as if rape was part of it.
I squinted up at him, my eyes narrowed and my head still pounding. “It’s morning already?”
“Well, no.” He sounded apologetic. “It’s still afternoon. Two thirty.”
That was a little better. I’d been out cold just over an hour. “You hit me.”
“Sorry about that.” He didn’t sound sorry.
“Hector Gonzales, I presume?”
He nodded. “A pleasure.”
Sure. “Where’s Heather?” I looked around, carefully. I was starting to feel a little better, but with the way my head hurt, it seemed better not to tempt fate.
“She left us.” He smiled. His canines were a little too long, giving him the appearance of a vampire, or perhaps a dog.
Aside from the teeth and the fact that the smile didn’t reach his eyes, there was nothing too terribly off-putting about him. He was around forty or forty-five, with straight black hair and brown eyes, and he was tall for a South American. Six feet, give or take, dressed in slacks and a white shirt, a little worse for wear. I surmised he might have been wearing the same clothes since leaving Atlanta in a hurry last night. He looked like he’d slept in them. He also hadn’t shaved in a while, and there was a distinct shadow outlining his jaw. I wouldn’t call it a beard, not yet, but it was on its way there. And he smelled bad, a combination of perspiration and fear, with a dose of anger thrown in for good measure.
“Is she all right? You didn’t hurt her, did you?”
“Don’t worry about Heather,” Hector said. “She’s fine. All snug at home. And you have enough worries of your own. Don’t you?”
I guess I did. Nonetheless, I did my best to keep my voice steady. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what’s going on. Would you mind telling me what I’m doing here? Wherever here is?”
Hector smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “Don’t you recognize it?”
I looked around again. It looked like an empty warehouse. One I’d never seen before. “Julio’s warehouse? Down by the river?”
It seemed most logical. Hector owned another, but it was further away from my apartment. Would he have risked taking me halfway across town?
He didn’t confirm it. Then again, he didn’t deny it either, so I thought I was probably right.
“What do you want with me?” I asked. I could guess, but I wanted him to say it.
“We have a friend in common. A very close friend.”
“Heather?”
“No,” Hector said, “someone else. Let’s not beat around the bush, Ms. Martin. We both know what this is about.”
“I don’t,” I said. “Explain it to me.”
“You’re gonna call him.”
No, I’m not. “I don’t have the number.”
Hector looked disbelieving, and I added, “I really don’t. The only number I had was disconnected months ago.”
“What do you do when you want to talk to him?”
“I wait,” I said. “If he wants me, he knows where to find me.”
Which made me pretty pathetic, come to think of it. Not at all the modern woman I’d imagined I’d become. Just the same old Southern Belle, sitting at home waiting for her beau to phone in.
Hector smiled unpleasantly. “Good thing I know where to find him.” He pulled out his phone.
I’d hoped he was kidding, that it was another way of trying to get me to admit I knew the number all along, but unfortunately it wasn’t. He dialed and put the phone on speaker. It rang once, and then Rafe’s voice came on. “Hector. Took you long enough.”
“Been busy,” Hector said and gave me a nasty little smile. “Been spending some time with a friend of yours. She wants to say hello.”
He held the phone up to my mouth. I shook my head. Hector added, “Looks like she’s gonna need a little convincing, though. Hang on.”
He took a step closer. I figured he’d just threaten me, but instead he hit me. Not hard—it wasn’t a punch or anything, just a slap across the cheek with the flat of his hand—but it was loud, and it hurt. My head snapped sideways, and I could feel my cheek turn hot. It didn’t do my headache any good, either. Tears stung my eyes, but I managed to keep my mouth shut.
“Looks like I might need some help here,” Hector told the phone. “Your girlfriend don’t wanna talk to you. I can keep hitting her till she does, or you can talk some sense into her yourself.”
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and then Rafe’s voice came back. He still sounded calm, but I could hear the anger underneath, that edge of stone-cold fury. “What do you want, Hector?”
“I wanna kill you,” Hector said pleasantly, “but since it looks like I can’t, I’ll settle for killing your girlfriend instead. I’ll keep the line open so you don’t miss nothing.”
Oops.
There was another pause. Then— “Where are you?”
“Can’t tell you that,” Hector said. “You’ll try to stop me.”
Well, duh.
“I don’t even know who the hell’s there with you. And if you can’t make her talk...”
“She’ll talk,” Hector said, and stuck his hand in his pocket. When he brought it out, he held a knife. The light glinted on the blade when he leaned down and held it in front of my face. Suddenly his voice was neither suave not friendly. “Listen, puta. You don’t do what I want, I’m gonna cut you. Comprende?”
I nodded. I understood perfectly. Judging from the look in his eyes he’d do it, too. I cleared my throat. “Rafe.”
There was a beat. “Yeah.” I wondered if Hector heard the difference in his voice. Up until now I guess he’d been hoping I was someone else.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have been more careful.”
“You all right?”
“So far.” Although I guessed I probably wouldn’t continue to be. Hector was grinning unpleasantly, twisting the knife back and forth as if admiring the play of light along the blade. I averted my eyes for the next little bit of conversation. This might be my only chance to say these words and I’d just as soon forget that we had an audience. “Listen. It looks like I might never get the chance to say this again, so... um... I love you.”
He didn’t respond, and after an awkward silence I added, “I’m sorry it took me so long to admit it. Listen...” I had to stop and swallow something that felt like my heart, beating at the top of my throat. “Remember that afternoon a couple months ago, in the car, when you offered to let me tie you to the bed and hav
e my way with you?”
I waited for him to answer this time. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get there.” I emphasized the last two words as much as I thought I could without attracting Hector’s attention. “I’m sorry for a lot of things I didn’t do. Tell my mom I love her, OK? And my brother and sister.”
He didn’t answer. “Hector still there?”
Hector grinned and lifted the phone to his own mouth. “I’m here, ‘mano.”
Even though the phone had been taken away, I could still hear Rafe’s voice. He was making no attempt to control his emotions this time, and anger vibrated down the line. “Listen, fucker. You hurt her, I swear to God, I’ll find you and kill you if it takes the rest of my life. You’d damn well better hope the cops get you first, cause if I ever see you again, you’re a dead man.”
The next thing I heard was silence.
“What the—?” Hector said and stared at the phone. He even shook it. Then he redialed the number, only to get a busy signal. Again and again. It was almost funny, or would have been, if I hadn’t been duct taped to a chair, stuck in this life-and-death situation with a man who looked more and more unhinged with every second that passed. His face got purple and his jaw tight, and he kept stabbing the buttons as if it were the phone’s fault he couldn’t get through.
I counted seconds, wondering how long it would take him to decide to kill me anyway, even if Rafe wasn’t on the other end of the line, listening.
The answer turned out to be roughly four minutes. That’s longer than you might think. My life didn’t exactly flash before my eyes, but I spent the time thinking about some of the things I’d miss when I was gone. My family in Sweetwater. Dix and the girls; Catherine, Jonathan and their kids. Mother and Bob Satterfield. I even thought about Todd.
And Tamara Grimaldi, who was probably cursing the day she met me.
And Rafe, who might be cursing me too.
He hadn’t told me he loved me. I’d said it to him, but he hadn’t said it back.
Did that mean he didn’t? Or did it just mean he wouldn’t say it in front of Hector?
Honestly, if I was going to die anyway, he might just have told me he loved me whether it was true or not. At least that way I would have died happy.
Eventually my time was up. Hector glared at the phone, which kept giving him the busy signal, and threw it at the wall. It hit with a crack, and fell to the floor. I swallowed convulsively when he turned on his heel and stalked toward me, black eyes feral and lips curled back from his teeth, vampire style.
“What did you tell him, puta?”
“You heard every word I said,” I protested. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
Except that I loved him.
And yes, I might have reminded him of a conversation we’d once had, sitting across the street from this warehouse, waiting for Julio Melendez to show his face. If he remembered the details, he might have figured out where I was. That’s what I was hoping for. It wasn’t as if I’d bring up something so unladylike otherwise.
However, that was if I’d guessed right about the warehouse. If I was in the one in South Nashville instead, or a different warehouse entirely, one I didn’t know about, all bets were off. Saving myself might be up to me, and if so, I wouldn’t give a whole lot for my chances. I was strapped to this chair, in an empty warehouse in an industrial area with no close neighbors, and Hector had a knife. He could amuse himself for hours, and no one would hear me scream.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” I said. If I kept him talking, maybe I’d gain a few more minutes of life, or a bit more time for Rafe to come to my rescue. If he was on his way, as I hoped he was.
“What’s that?” Hector was testing the point of the knife against his thumb.
“How do you even know who I am? Or that I have any connection at all to Rafe? I didn’t know anything about you until last night.”
“I didn’t know anything about you either,” Hector said, lowering the knife, “until you were nice enough to tell me.”
“Excuse me?”
He smiled. “I heard you talking to Heather. Very kind of you to warn her that I was coming to Nashville. Even if I was already here.”
“You were there?” A little belatedly I realized that yes, he’d been inside the house while Heather and I had been talking on the porch. It explained the frequent nervous glances she’d shot over her shoulder and why she hadn’t invited me in. She’d been afraid I’d see him. I’d even parked the Volvo behind an SUV with Georgia plates, and hadn’t considered the possibility that Hector might already be there.
Stupid.
“I drove up last night. Just barely got outta Atlanta with my skin.” His face darkened.
“Sorry,” I said, inanely. Sometimes those good manners that mother instilled in me can be misplaced.
He smiled. “I was gonna hook up with my good buddy Jorge. Until Heather told me that Jorge ain’t who I thought he was.”
Oops.
“Thought I got rid of him once already,” Hector added, sort of pensively, without looking at me. “Guess he wasn’t as easy to kill as I thought. And now it’s too late. But I’ve got something better.” He grinned at me.
I smiled back, weakly. “Killing me isn’t going to make any difference. It won’t ruin his life. I’m just not that important to him.”
“He sounded like you were important,” Hector said.
I shook my head. “Not so much that you’d notice. Those couple of months he spent in Atlanta after Jorge was killed? I didn’t even hear from him. And when he came back here, he spent all his time with Carmen.”
Hector’s face darkened. “Stupid bitch,” he said, and I don’t think he was referring to me. “So busy getting it on with the help that she didn’t look out for my investment.”
His hand tightened around the handle of the knife and I was profoundly grateful that it wasn’t me he was upset with. Until I remembered that he’d kill me anyway, whether he was upset or not. I swallowed. “He meant what he said, you know. If you hurt me, he’ll find you.”
“I’m not so much worried about that,” Hector said, “since I’m a lot harder to find than he expects.”
I opened my mouth to argue—if something happened to me, Rafe and Tamara Grimaldi would find him; there was no doubt in my mind—but before I could speak, there was a booming sound off in the recesses of the warehouse, and we both looked in that direction.
Hector didn’t move.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” I asked.
His lips tightened. “Shoulda known he’d find his way here.”
“It might not be him. Maybe it’s Heather.”
“Heather wouldn’t come back here,” Hector said, but he sounded unsure. Before I could reinforce the idea that it was Heather and he needed to open the door for her, however, the person outside started yelling as well as kicking, and then there was no doubt who it was.
“Open the fucking door, Hector! Or I swear to God I’m gonna kick it down!”
Chapter 18
Hector’s face turned purple. I held my breath while I waited to find out whether he’d choose to put a bullet in my brain before going to answer the door, or whether I’d actually survive another day. Or hour. Few minutes.
Eventually he said, “Don’t go anywhere,” and stalked off in the direction of the door. I went to work trying to loosen my hands, but without much to show for it. I couldn’t see what was going on behind my back, but from the feel of things, Hector had fastened my wrists with duct tape, and there’s just no way to loosen something like that.
All too soon he was back, walking backwards, gun up and pointed.
I looked past him and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or upset.
Rafe looked just like the last time I’d seen him, still dressed in the black cargo pants and black T-shirt he’d worn to play bouncer at La Havana. Like Hector, he must have spent the night in them. Unlike Hector, he still managed to look fresh
. And that was in spite of still looking like Jorge: his hair gelled, with the earring and goatee. He wasn’t wearing a coat. I wondered if that was deliberate or whether he’d really just run out of the safe house without a jacket in order to get here.
He was unarmed, hands up and out, empty. If he’d had a gun when he arrived, Hector had taken it.
What had Tamara Grimaldi been thinking to let him walk in here alone and unarmed? Hector would kill him. He’d already said he wanted to.
Hector stopped halfway into the cavernous room, and perforce, Rafe stopped too. He looked around and found me, and then looked me up and down, from disheveled hair to bound ankles, before his eyes came back to linger on my cheek, where he could probably see the results of Hector’s slap. I saw a flash of anger, but when he turned back to Hector, his eyes were the same flat, expressionless black again, and his voice was controlled.
“Cut her loose.”
“Or what?” Hector taunted.
Rafe’s voice stayed level. “You wanted me, not her. And I’m here. Let her go.”
Hector contemplated me, his head tilted. “I don’t think so.”
“She ain’t part of this. You shoot me, it’s business. You’ll still go down for it, but it’s different. But if you hurt her, they’ll nail you to the wall.”
Hector shook his head.
“Why the hell not? You got me; I’m what you wanted.”
“I’m trying to decide,” Hector said.
“Decide what?”
“Do I kill her first, so you can watch, or do I kill you, so she can? After all, she loves you!” Hector grinned offensively.
Rafe glanced at me, but try as I might, I couldn’t see anything in his eyes this time. He turned his attention back to Hector. “You don’t kill her at all. Your business is with me. You cut her loose and let her walk outta here.”
“Can’t do that,” Hector said.
“Then you kill me first. And when I’m dead, you let her go. You won’t need her then.”
“Works for me,” Hector said with a shrug. He raised the gun.
“No!”
There was nothing I could do but scream, so I did it. “Stop it, you bastard! I’m not going to sit here and watch you shoot him!”
A Done Deal Page 21