Caught in the Act

by Jill Sorenson

  “You saw him without clothes?” Kari asked, surprised.

  “I try to wake him up with a cold shower. But it did not work.” A crease formed between her brows. “I have a question for you.”

  “What?”

  “Can a man stop in the middle? During sex, I mean?”

  Kari’s jaw dropped. “You had sex with him?”

  “No! I am only curious.”

  Kari closed her mouth abruptly, realizing she had no room to judge. She’d slept with a strange man this afternoon, and enjoyed it so much she’d masturbated to the fantasy. “He should be able to stop, yes.”

  “Even after …” Seeming embarrassed, she made a crude gesture, sliding her forefinger into a half-closed fist.

  “Yes. Even then. The only time he might have trouble is at the very end, when he’s …”

  “Coming?”

  “Right,” she said, relieved that Maria understood. “And just because you ask him to stop doesn’t mean he will. Some men won’t listen.”

  Maria’s shoulders stooped. “I am more familiar with those kinds of men.”

  Kari rubbed her arms, wishing there weren’t so many abusive scumbags in the world. She also wondered if Maria was too innocent to know the difference. Young, inexperienced women were fooled every day.

  Kari was tired of being at the mercy of bad men. She hated getting jerked around by Moreno and watching Sasha throw her life away. From this moment forward, she wasn’t going to wait for his orders and hope for the best.

  For Sasha’s sake, and her own, she had to go on the offensive.

  12

  The next morning Maria went back to the Hotel del Oro.

  She convinced Kari that she’d stay out of trouble, but she planned to keep her eyes and her ears open. Unfortunately, she also had to go back to room 28. Sometime between dragging Agent Foster out of his hiding place and shoving him into the shower, the pepper spray canister had become unclipped from her waist. It wasn’t in the supplies closet, near the vending machines, or inside the elevator.

  She must have left it in that hotel room.

  Maria performed her cleaning duties as quickly as possible, glancing around for Armando. Just because she hadn’t bumped into him lately didn’t mean he wasn’t around. When the coast looked clear, she approached the damaged room with stealthy movements, using her key card to get in.

  Safe.

  Pressing her back against the closed door, she let out a slow breath, her heart racing. No one had seen her. Although it wasn’t wise to linger, she found herself staring at the bed she’d occupied with Foster.

  His touch had been like a very sexy dream, not quite real. She’d responded without thinking, without her normal inhibitions. As she became more alert, she’d been struck by the startling realization that they were two short steps from intercourse.

  Letting him continue would have been a disaster. As much as she liked and admired him, Foster was a different person now. The man who’d found her on the dunes and held her hand in the hospital seemed like a distant memory. She didn’t know this new Foster. He was still a nice guy, she supposed, but she couldn’t sleep with him. It was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong situation.

  After what she’d gone through at El Caracol, she needed to feel safe and be with someone she could trust.

  Maria tore her gaze from the bed and crossed the room, looking for the small black spray canister. The bathroom was the most likely location, so she went there first, glancing in the shower stall, around the toilet, underneath the sink.

  It wasn’t there.

  Frowning, she checked behind the door. Nothing.

  Maybe Foster had picked it up by accident and taken it home with him. Or maybe the canister had rolled under the bed. She walked out of the bathroom and knelt beside the mattress, peering into the dark space.

  While she was down there, she heard an ominous click. The door!

  Acting on instinct, she lay flat, hiding behind the bed. When she heard the faint, almost indiscernible creak of an approaching footstep, she panicked, wiggling her slender body under the bed frame.

  It was a hot, airless space. She prayed that Chuy and Sonia hadn’t come for an early tryst. The thought of him heaving and grunting on top of the pretty receptionist made her sick. And their combined weight would suffocate her.

  The intruder moved through the room como indio, without noise. She knew then that it was Armando. Only he could step so lightly. Appearing out of nowhere was one of his talents, like whittling.

  She closed her eyes and held her breath, trying to become invisible.

  There was a muted thud in the bathroom as the doorknob hit the wall, but no shoe sounds on the linoleum floor. He’d probably just pushed it open to make sure the area was clear. Chingado!

  She stared at the carpet in her immediate vicinity, her heart in her throat. A pair of black low-heeled boots came into view.

  Maria made the sign of the cross. Por favor, don’t look!

  But God wasn’t here at the Hotel del Oro. There was only Armando, and he worked for the devil.

  He crouched down, meeting her eyes. “Looking for something?”

  She glanced at the object he was holding. Kari’s pepper spray. Pulse racing, she scrambled out from underneath the bed. Her hair snagged on the mattress springs, yanking several strands from the roots.

  Rising to her feet, she smoothed a hand over her head. “I must have dropped it,” she said in Spanish.

  He stood also. “What were you doing in here?”

  “Looking for it.”

  His cara de cuero appeared impatient. “I mean when you dropped it.”

  “Using the bathroom,” she said, moistening her lips. “It’s more private.”

  He didn’t believe her. That hard face seemed incapable of revealing what he was thinking, let alone showing an emotion, but she sensed his skepticism. Instead of disputing her, however, he held out the canister.

  She stared at his upturned palm, wary. He smiled coldly, daring her to take it. Lifting her chin in defiance, she reached out to snatch it from him.

  A mistake.

  He locked his other hand around her wrist and spun her around, wrenching her arm behind her back. The pepper spray bounced off the bed. He put a cold blade to her throat, applying a terrifying pressure.

  Maria froze, her mind flooded with memories. She flashed back to a man holding her down, another forcing himself on her while she kicked and screamed.

  “Maybe you were here with a customer.”

  “No,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I’d die first.”

  He didn’t take the knife away from her throat. His body felt hard and strong against hers, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

  Maria was beyond fear, beyond pride. She couldn’t bear to be raped and beaten again. She’d do anything to avoid another brutal attack. “If you want something from me, just name it. I’m willing.”

  And she was. She’d rather choose to do this than fight him and lose.

  After a long, tense moment, Armando released her. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard a woman say.”

  She rubbed the marks he’d left on her skin, whirling to face him. “Why?”

  “Because there are two kinds of men in the world. The first don’t give a damn if a woman is willing. They want to inflict pain no matter what. Why do you think so many prostitutes get raped?”

  She swallowed hard, afraid to answer.

  Armando sheathed his blade. “The second kind of man, who doesn’t like to use force, will agree to your offer. Either way, you’re fucked.”

  His crude words made her flinch. “Which kind are you?”

  “The second.”

  She looked from the empty bed to his dark eyes. “Then why …”

  “Maybe there’s a third kind,” he allowed. “The kind who prefers women to be wanting, rather than willing.”

  She shook her head, wordless. For him, she would never be wanting.

>   His mouth twisted wryly, as though he could read her thoughts. “Did you have that when Chuy grabbed you?” he asked, nodding at the pepper spray.

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you use it?”

  “I don’t know. I was … afraid.”

  “No defense tactic works unless you practice it.”

  Maria couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. She picked up the canister, clipping it to her waistband. If she had a bit more nerve, she’d practice on Armando’s cold black eyes right now.

  “Don’t come back to this room, little butterfly,” he said, dismissing her with a wave. “And keep that spray can ready. If you continue working here, you’ll need it.”

  Kari’s number one priority was contacting Sasha.

  Her sister hadn’t been returning her calls, and she lived like a recluse. Moreno had curbed her shopping addiction, to some extent, by keeping her on a strict allowance. Drug use and bouts of depression isolated Sasha further. Most days she stayed in bed and didn’t leave his house.

  But there were some indulgences her sister continued to enjoy. Sasha’s hairdresser and manicurist saw her more often than Kari did. She also frequented a New Age spa that did everything from body wraps to “spirit cleansing.”

  Kari closed up Zócalo and visited all of Sasha’s haunts, hoping to catch a glimpse of her sister dashing to or from an appointment. The stylist at Wild Hair was very understanding. She admitted that she’d been concerned about Sasha and promised to call Kari the minute she heard from her.

  The manicurist was angry rather than sympathetic. Sasha owed her several hundred dollars. Kari didn’t think her sister would dare show her face at this particular nail salon, but she left a twenty and her phone number.

  Kari’s last stop was Soul Oasis, Sasha’s favorite spa. Kari had been there with her just two weeks before, getting a painfully embarrassing bikini wax.

  The girl behind the counter smiled. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for my sister,” Kari said, glancing around the waiting room. “Can you tell me if Sasha Strauss has an appointment this week? I remember she said something about needing a toxin cleanse or a seaweed wrap.”

  The receptionist, whose name tag read Tracy, had a delicate dragonfly tattoo on the inside of her wrist. “I’m sorry,” she said, closing the appointment book. “We can’t give out personal information. At Soul Oasis, our clients enjoy total privacy.”

  “It’s a family emergency,” Kari said, lowering her voice. “I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tracy repeated, blinking her pretty eyes.

  “You can’t bend the rules, just this once?”

  “I wish I could.”

  She sighed, drumming her fingertips against the counter. “Is the owner or manager available?”

  “Sure,” the receptionist said. “Have a seat and I’ll get her.”

  “Thank you.”

  As soon as Tracy was out of sight, Kari reached over the divider and grabbed the appointment book, searching through the names. Sasha’s was scribbled in for 2:00 p.m. today. Relieved, she returned the book to its rightful place.

  She drove her van to the transit station and parked it. The GPS device that Adam had found was still in the passenger seat, and she knew it could be used to track her movements. She’d decided to keep it. Play along—for the time being.

  Donning a floppy straw hat and oversized sunglasses, Kari took the bus back to Soul Oasis. It was almost two o’clock when she arrived. She waited near the outdoor fountain, listening to the annoying faux jungle sounds that emanated from the speakers. Sasha was late, but she showed.

  Unfortunately, she had a bodyguard with her. Chuy Pena.

  “Damn it,” Kari said, slipping further into the garden. Dripping springs and frog calls echoed in her ears. After the pair passed by, Kari walked around the back of the building, searching for an alternative entrance.

  The receptionist she’d met earlier was there, also engaged in a furtive activity. Tracy was crouched near a dumpster, smoking a cigarette. When the girl saw Kari, she straightened, crushing the butt on the asphalt.

  “Sneak me in to see my sister and I won’t say a word.”

  Tracy used hand sanitizer and breath spray, deliberating.

  Kari held up a twenty.

  Tracy grabbed the bill and shoved it into the pocket of her low-rise jeans. “Come on.” She led Kari through the back door and to a private bathroom. “You’re not planning anything harmful, right? I don’t need any more bad karma.”

  “I just want to talk to her.”

  “If you cause a scene—”

  “I won’t.”

  Tracy brought Sasha in a few minutes later. Her sister was wearing skintight leggings and skyscraper heels. She skittered forward, frowning at Kari. “What are you doing here? My acupuncturist is waiting.”

  Just what Sasha needed—more needles.

  “I had to see you,” Kari said, shutting the bathroom door behind her. “Why haven’t you been returning my phone calls?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Carlos took my phone away. He has me on a very short leash.”

  “I saw your escort.”

  “Exactly.”

  Kari put a hand on her shoulder. “He wants to get rid of you, Sasha. Chuy said that Carlos would deliver you to me after I brought the packages over the border.”

  This time Sasha didn’t dismiss Kari’s claims as silly or unimportant. Perhaps she’d had a rude awakening over the past week. “Carlos is worried about me,” she admitted. “He thinks I’m high all the time.”

  Carlos was right. He was also responsible. He’d been a toxic influence on Sasha, fostering her addiction for more than five years. It was a little disheartening to hear that Sasha cared more about his opinion than anyone else’s. On the other hand, her sister had almost admitted she had a problem. That was a step in the right direction.

  “You need help,” Kari said, pressing her advantage. “Let’s go right now and check you into a rehab. Please, Sasha. I love you too much to watch you destroy yourself.”

  She shook her head, her lips trembling. “I can’t leave him.”

  “He’s killing you!”

  “I’m afraid to leave,” she wailed back. “Even if I got sober, I’d still owe him money. He’d find me, Kari. He’d send his dog after me.”

  “Chuy, you mean?”

  “Yes. Carlos wouldn’t harm a woman, but Chuy would. I know he would.”

  Kari was startled by Sasha’s vehemence. “Has he done it before?”

  Sasha just stared at her.

  “Did he kill Penelope Mendes?”

  She raised a finger to her lips. “Shhh!”

  “Surely you know that Carlos makes the decisions, Sasha. He must have ordered Chuy to open fire.”

  “No. They argued about it. I overheard.”

  Kari fell silent, pacing back and forth in the bathroom. Adam would be very interested in this conversation, but it didn’t change the game for Kari. Carlos Moreno had deadly intentions and Chuy Pena was a ticking time bomb.

  What was she going to do?

  “I’m scared,” Sasha whispered. “Maybe if you … cooperate, Carlos will let me go, and we can talk about … rehab.”

  Kari whirled to face her sister. “What do you mean?”

  “Just bring the packages! You won’t get caught. They never do. Once my debt is paid, I’ll be free. I can enter a treatment program.”

  Kari wanted to say no. But Sasha was her only sister, and she was in trouble. If Kari turned her back on Sasha and something bad happened to her—again—she’d never forgive herself. “Do you promise you’ll get help?”

  “Yes! Please, sis. Do this for me. This one last thing.”

  Kari closed her eyes in frustration, because it was a familiar refrain. How often had Sasha asked her for one more favor? One last loan. And she always gave in. Besides Moreno, Kari was Sasha’s greatest enabler.
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  “Okay, but that’s it,” she said, making a chopping gesture. “If I go through with this and you refuse to get help, we’re done. I will never speak to you again. You’ll be dead to me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Sasha threw her thin arms around Kari’s neck, sobbing. “Thank you.”

  Kari endured the hug for a moment. For the first time, it was she who felt uncomfortable, she who couldn’t wait to break away.

  13

  Kari was too keyed up to sleep in the next morning.

  She went for an early jog and ran hard, pushing herself to the limit. On impulse, she headed toward Chula Vista Memorial Cemetery, which was just outside her normal route. The air was still cool with dew as she rounded the front gate, slowing to a stop underneath a sprawling live oak.

  The graveyard was neatly tended and sun-bright, its lawns a fresh, brilliant green. Kari wandered up and down the rows for quite some time before she found what she was looking for: Penelope Mendes’s final resting place.

  The smooth granite headstone was engraved with a simple epigraph: Nuestra angel. Siempre perdida, siempre amada.

  Our angel. Forever missed, forever loved.

  There was a long-stemmed rose at the base of the headstone, its bud slightly unfurled. The edges of the petals showed a hint of discoloration. Three days ago, at the most, this rosebud had been perfect and fresh.

  It was a romantic flower, blush pink. She felt certain that Adam had placed it here, and the knowledge was like a thorny stem around her heart.

  Forever loved.

  Kari stared at the inscription for several minutes, despondent. Had Carlos Moreno ordered Chuy Pena to open fire that day? Even if the bullet hadn’t come from the drug lord’s weapon, he was responsible for her death. His crew had engaged in a shootout in a public place. They’d gunned down a young, beautiful woman.

  Forever missed.

  She turned away from the headstone, her throat tight. Kari might be visiting Sasha’s grave soon, if her sister didn’t get a handle on her addiction. As she trudged toward the path that led to the front gate, another decorated site caught her eye.

  More long-stemmed roses. Deep, dark red.