Sins That Haunt

by Lucy Farago

  “And the accounting firm?”

  “They’re my accountants. It was easy to get them to cover my story. In Vegas I meet a lot of people who really need a good tax accountant. I bring them a lot of business.”

  “What of the business you brought me?”

  Here it was. Did he know?

  “I do have connections. But I met Noah and Damon in a casino a few months before JJ contacted me. By then I’d hooked them up with my accountant. They like to spend money, only unlike me they tend to win at the tables. They seemed to enjoy taking risks so when JJ asked for my help, I thought of them.” She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. When he didn’t answer, only stared at her, she added. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. I just saw no point in explaining everything. In the end you were getting what you wanted and the Keyeses had no way of tracking me down afterward. Win-win.”

  “And yet I cannot help but wonder why you’ve been so hard to track down. Why are you hiding?” he asked, playing with the ring on his middle finger.

  How much of the truth did she tell him? What if Hyatt had been under this man’s orders? Perhaps her theory had been wrong. It hadn’t been this Shelley person who told Santos but Hyatt. The cartel had sent lawyers to his rescue. Surely he’d have told them why? But how, then, did he know Cecilia was missing? If Santos wasn’t making the connection between her and the reason Hyatt was arrested, Shannon wasn’t about to point it out. “Somebody ransacked my office.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Why would someone do that? Your financial problems—do they involve nefarious money lenders?”

  She could run with that if he’d had nothing to do with it. She gave him a noncommittal shrug.

  He tipped his head sideways. “Exactly how much do you owe?”

  “Enough that I may have to sell my share of the law firm,” she said, trying to look contrite.

  For a while he said nothing, simply assessed her with cold, unforgiving eyes. When he finally spoke it wasn’t what she’d expected.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  Did he believe her or not? “No, thank you. I make it a point never to drink during the week.” She needed to be on her game but was amazed at how easily she could lie. It really was like riding a bicycle.

  “Tomás,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  Tomás came out of the same room Santos had, now sporting a cut lip as well as a bandage over his nose. She hadn’t done that. Why had Santos struck him? Because of her? Interesting.

  He shot her a death stare before turning his attention to his boss.

  “Scotch,” Santos said. No please, no thank you, just Scotch.

  She had to bite her tongue from snapping out a drink order herself. She didn’t want to come off as a smartass in front of Santos.

  When Tomás left like a good little lap dog Santos leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “My cousin doesn’t like you.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Oh, well.” Was she out of the woods or not?

  “But I do.”

  From the frying pan … but at least it sounded like he believed her. Was he that desperate to get into her pants? What the hell was wrong with him? Sure he made her want to gag, but that was because he was repellent. Dress him anyway you liked, he was still a drug dealer. But he reeked of money, illegal or otherwise, and all kinds of skanky women would toss their panties at him. Why couldn’t he go find one of them?

  “And I think the least you could do is have dinner with me.”

  Considering he’d be in jail soon… “Sure. Call me and we can arrange something later in the week.” She stood, hoping to use this as a way to leave.

  “Tonight would be better. I find myself suddenly … free.”

  There was something behind that statement. “Unless you’re taking me to McDonald’s, I’m not dressed for anything fancy.” She was going to frame these Lulu’s when this was over. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Tonight. I insist. Sit,” he said, taking the drink Tomás brought him and nodding over his shoulder for him to leave. The flunky disappeared back into the bedroom.

  She sat back down. He didn’t want her to have dinner here, did he? Just how long would he keep her? “What do you have in mind?”

  Tomás returned with a large box and, with another of his famous sneers, handed it to her. His oversized body blocked Santos’s view of her, and she stuck out her tongue. It was childish, but watching him turn red was worth it.

  “What’s this?” she asked when the buffoon finally moved out of the way.

  “Open it.”

  Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and she forced her face to stay neutral as she opened the box. As expected, he’d bought her clothes, the tag reading Dior, the dust bag holding the shoes the same. This wasn’t good. Men didn’t buy women expensive gifts without expecting something in return. And from the lascivious grin on his face, Miguel Santos was expecting something in return.

  Not a chance in hell was he getting it. “This is very nice, but wouldn’t it be better if we do this tomorrow night? I left my purse in the car. I don’t even have a hairbrush.”

  “You’ll find everything you need in the second bedroom upstairs. Andre will escort you.”

  The one guarding the door approached, stopping to stand by her chair. Okay, so she’d have to find a way to get away from him at the restaurant.

  “I’ve ordered dinner.”

  Her heart sank. She was screwed.

  “You have one hour to get ready. That should be plenty of time. You’re already beautiful.”

  “We’re eating here?” she said. “There are so many amazing restaurants in Vegas. I know a lot of the maître d’s.”

  “I’m not sharing you,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

  Gritting her teeth, she stood and followed Andre to the second floor and into one of the bedrooms. This, like the living room, also had floor-to-ceiling windows. When she was alone she tossed the box onto the bed and sat, scrubbing her hands over her face. Was Santos the type who took no for an answer? And when was this bust going down? He’d given her an hour. She would take that hour, giving Noah more time to make the arrest.

  She discovered Santos wasn’t kidding. Everything a woman needed—makeup, brushes, even a fresh razor—was laid out on the granite countertop in the bathroom. He’d planned this. So how long had he known who she was? And how did Shelley fit into all of this, if she did? JJ must have had more than the Keyeses working for him. She couldn’t remember a Shelley, but that might not be her real name. And who really had her sister if not Santos?

  The black dress was exquisite, but she usually liked Dior because of the tasteful necklines. This had no such thing. The center plunged nearly down to her navel, where it was met with a flared skirt, above the knee in front, midcalf behind. It was 1960s with a twist. She figured it would be easy for a man who spent a lot of time with women to guess dress sizes, but shoes? How had he noticed that? Thankfully, the dress had built-in bra cups. He’d supplied stockings as well, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a pair and left them in the box.

  She applied fresh makeup, sans the obvious red lipstick, then twisted her hair into a French knot, securing it with a pretty silver clip. Stepping out of the bathroom, something glittering caught her eye. On closer inspection she realized it was an earring and picked it up. A diamond stud. A real diamond stud. Santos didn’t have pierced ears so it must belong to one of his girlfriends. He’d said his evening had opened up. Huh. She went to look at herself in the full-length mirror. She had to admit the dress was divine, as were the shoes, but had they been meant for someone else? She’d be offended if she gave a flying rat’s ass.

  This getting dressed up for a romantic meal should have been for Noah. She rubbed the sudden ache in her chest. She was getting too attached to him. She’d counted on having her heart broken, but this—how would she survive this? That was if she survived the evening with Santos.

  Even if they could
work through the two different cities, she couldn’t be what Noah needed. She wasn’t Maggie. She wasn’t Mrs. P. Hell, she wasn’t even Rhonda, a woman who’d sacrificed everything to take care of a drunk father. And Noah deserved better.

  Noah wanted small town, and didn’t small town mean nice or sweet? She was neither of those. She didn’t bake cakes and take in neglected kids, love them like they were her own and ask for nothing in return. She was a hard-ass attorney who busted balls in court. She fixed people’s lives the only way she knew how. Even though the scale would never balance or tip in her favor, she had to keep trying. How was she to do that in Tweedsmuir? She couldn’t. And without that proverbial scale she was just trailer park Shannon, never good enough to play with the preacher’s daughter. Never good enough to date the golden boy. Only good at lying.

  She turned away from the mirror just as someone knocked.

  “Boss wants you downstairs,” Tomás said through the door.

  Super, he’d come to escort her. “Give me a minute.”

  She lifted the diamond stud to eye level as she twirled it between her thumb and index finger. “That’s odd.” She took the earring to the lamp by the bed for closer inspection. There was a dark inclusion under the setting. She unscrewed the lampshade and used the bulb to reflect through the stone. The spot shone red. Blood? Who did this belong to? And what had happened to her? She slipped the earring into a hidden pocket in the cocktail dress and opened the door, praying no one would find the blood on her earring.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Something Casales had said had been nagging Noah. The women don’t last long. What did that mean? And why did he think the man had been trying to tell him something?

  “Monroe, you still with me?” Jada, their technical analyst, wasn’t Monty but a very close second. And he suspected the only thing that separated the two were rules. Monty had none.

  “I’m here.” Most of the team had flown down and now congregated in the meeting room of the Las Vegas office, a short drive from the Wynn Towers. Wanting quiet so he could hear better, he stood outside that room.

  “Sorry this took so long, but I had to pull some of the data from Spain and their hospital records aren’t as good as ours,” she said.

  “Hospital records?”

  “Yeah, it looks like women who associate with this dude end up making a trip to the emergency room.”

  That didn’t surprise him. “Let me guess: No one presses charges?”

  “There was one, seven years ago. Spanish police charged him, but the case never made it to court.”

  “Not enough evidence?” He could see Santos paying off the authorities.

  “No, the victim died. Car accident. Fluky, if you get my meaning.”

  He got it only too well. Thank God Shannon was safe. “What about his wife? Any reports of her going to the ER?”

  “None that I could find, but I suspect he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on her. Not if he wants to keep it.”

  There was a long pause. Jada liked to be dramatic. She didn’t get out much. “Jada, why do you make me drag things out of you?”

  “Because I can.”

  “You know I love you, right? But Ms. Joyce seems to have captured Santos’s attention. We’re a few hours from making this bust. If I have to put a guard on her until then, I’d like to know.”

  “Shit, sorry. Mrs. Santos is Alejandro Casales’s niece.”

  Diaz passed him holding two bottled waters in his hand and silently offered him one on his way back to the meeting room. Noah shook his head. “Are you sure?”

  “Do you really have to ask that? She’s his brother’s kid. She flew in with him for that wedding in Reno.”

  “She’s stateside?”

  “Better. She’s in Vegas.”

  The woman in Casales’s room, the one he thought was Shannon. “Thanks, Jada. I owe you one.”

  “You owe me several. There’s more. Two of his girlfriends disappeared, bodies never found.”

  “No connection made to Santos?”

  “Oh, they made the connection, but without evidence he couldn’t be charged. That was in Madrid. There was a missing persons report filed on his last girlfriend, an American. Maybe you can add murder to his charges. Miami police just fished her body out of the Everglades. What was left of it anyway. Looks like he made one very big mistake. Alligators aren’t fond of wool. They traced the blanket he used to wrap her body to his yacht. They’re searching it as we speak.”

  “Thanks, Jada. You’re the best.”

  “You remember that the next time you go to Monty for information. You hurt my feelings. I want a dozen orchid stems to make up for it.”

  “Orchids? Those cost a bundle.”

  “My feelings have expensive tastes. When I get the call from Miami I’ll contact you. Let you know what went down. Ta for now.”

  He knew she was kidding about the flowers, but he’d give anything to see the look on her face when she received them. She was an invaluable member of the team and everyone tended to forget that. Even him.

  “Agent Monroe,” the receptionist called out to him. “There’s a call for you, line two. I put it through to conference one,” she said, waving in the direction where everyone was gathered before returning to her desk.

  “Thanks.” Inside, his team and local agents, along with Vegas PD, met to coordinate the bust. “Keep it down, boys,” he said and picked up the phone. “Monroe.”

  “Noah, it’s Maggie. Have you heard from Shannon?”

  He told himself not to get alarmed, not yet anyway. “This morning; why?”

  “She’s not picking up.” Maggie, however, was in panic mode. “I dropped my cell phone in the hot tub and wanted to tell her to call Christian’s if she needs me.”

  “Got it,” he heard Christian shout through the line.

  “And?” Maggie asked. “Hang on. Christian wants to talk to you.”

  “Noah,” Christian said, “I have surveillance cameras on the house. Sorry, I’m no techy so it took me longer to tap in. I have Shannon leaving the house roughly two hours ago. Looks like she took an Uber somewhere. She had an overnight bag with her. You got any ideas where she was headed, because I won’t ask you what the fuck possessed her to leave. I know these women only too well.”

  “No, she said she wasn’t going anywhere.” He didn’t like this.

  “Something or someone lured her out. How close are you to closing your case?”

  “Couple hours maybe. We’re waiting for the IRS. Just tying loose ends with Madrid.”

  “I’ll see if I can find where she was headed. Keep your line free.”

  He would need a search warrant to tap into Uber’s records. Monty wouldn’t. He dialed Shannon’s phone and, after several rings, got voice mail. “I need a phone trace,” he said to no one in particular. “Now.” He wouldn’t panic. As far as he knew, she was fine. Of course his body wasn’t listening. Every fiber of his being, all his instincts, said something was wrong.

  “Push four on that phone. It will take you right to tech,” Riley instructed.

  He pushed four and gave the tech guy her number, then waited on the line. She would’ve had a good reason for leaving the house, and with an overnight bag no less. She was flying out. “Once you GPS her phone I need you to check the airlines. See if she booked a flight,” he told tech.

  “Sure, and we won’t need a warrant. I got a friend who works at the airport. He’s not allowed to give out that information, but he likes to do me favors. Never know when he needs one in return. Okay,” the guy said. “Got it. Shit. She’s at the Wynn. Signal is faint; must be underground. Parking maybe. You still want me to call my buddy?”

  “Yes, let’s find where she was headed.” He disconnected.

  It was Lopez who must have noticed his distress. “What?”

  It took a few deep breaths before he could answer. “I think he has her.”

  “For sure?”

  “No, not for sure,” he gritted out.
This wasn’t Lopez’s fault, but fuck, if Santos had her… “What would her phone be doing at the same hotel as his?”

  “Monroe,” the receptionist yelled at him again. “Line two.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Some kid, says it important.”

  He pushed line two on speaker. “Hello.”

  “Agent Monroe?” The kid sounded Hispanic.

  “Yes.”

  “Get to the Wynn. Santos has a dinner date and she didn’t look willing.”

  “Who—?”

  But the kid hung up.

  “Let’s roll, everyone,” Lopez shouted to all assembled. “Riley, stay here and light a fire under Madrid’s ass. If we have to, we make the bust without them. Let’s go,” he said to Noah and opened the door.

  As he grabbed his Kevlar vest, Christian called again. “What did you find?” Noah asked with no preamble.

  “She called for a ride to the airport. But when the guy got there, she didn’t answer and he left. I could see the Uber sign in the window. So either the driver is lying or someone else picked her up. Maggie is freaking out.”

  She wasn’t the only one.

  “We’re flying back now. Any idea where she is?”

  “Yes, and it’s not good. On our way now.” He slammed the front doors open and began to run to his car. “I’ll let you know when I have her.” And he would find her. And if Santos put one hair out of place, there’d be nothing left of him to throw in jail.

  “Let me drive,” Lopez said, opening his hand for Noah’s keys.

  Fine by him; in his state he might kill them or innocent bystanders. Diaz and the others took their own cars.

  “Don’t worry, man. We’ll get her back.”

  “Right.” But in what condition?

  *

  When Shannon went downstairs she saw Santos had indeed ordered dinner. Even if she was hungry, her stomach turned every time their eyes met. Something about him read off. His outside didn’t match his inside, but it was more, like discovering a delicious piece of fruit had gone moldy. He wasn’t ugly, but what lay beneath, behind the eyes that seemed to follow her wherever she went, was. She’d seen less spooky paintings hanging in museums. It wasn’t only that he was a lying, cheating waste of skin and a drug lord but something more. He kept staring at her, his eyebrows twitching as if confused.