Nancy cursed her own vanity. She’d been shopping for a scarf—something to go with the dress she’d wear to dinner. Her friend had offered to go with her, but she’d told him to continue watching the soccer game. She’d only be a minute. As she’d crossed the street to the shopping area, a car had stopped in front of her, a gun had pointed at her face, and a girl had shoved her into the vehicle from behind.
Now they were parked on the outskirts of town in an abandoned plastic factory parking lot. It was littered with trash, a shanty stood in the corner with a homeless person sleeping beside it, and a dead puppy lay next to him.
Nancy shivered. She’d never been this frightened. Her voice shook and tears welled up in her eyes. “Please … you can have everything. My husband’s rich, very rich. Just let me go. Do you entende?”
Snatching the gun up, the blonde ground it into Nancy’s ribs, making her cry out in pain. “Shut up, vadia. All you filthy-rich women are the same—none of you earned the money you have. You go whoring yourself out to men—not only your own men, but also other women’s men. I HATE YOU ALL,” she screamed the last words. “I have to sit here in a stinking lot, smelling your piss and your fear, and listen to your whining. Keep it up and I will kill you just to get some peace and quiet.”
Nancy bit her lip, clenched her jaw, and willed herself not to cry. Sweat soaked her back and she gripped the steering wheel.
“That’s better.” Placing the gun back in her lap, the woman smiled. She looked like a bug in her oversized sunglasses. “This takes two hours at the most. It’s been an hour. See, hon, we’re halfway there.” Her tone went from violently angry to chipper in a split second. “I guess I’m willing to do anything for money too, as long as it doesn’t involve taking orders from a man.”
Nancy stared out at the ocean just beyond the parking lot and past the winding concrete path. There was no help coming for her.
“I like this time of the year. Flowers blooming, babies everywhere, sunlight lasting through the evening, warm sand, everyone running around half naked.” Nancy’s kidnapper seemed to lose her train of thought as if tangled in a long-forgotten memory.
She paused, and then said with a sigh, “You know, when I was a little girl I used to lay on the beach in my little bikini. My mama hated it, said I would attract the wrong kind of guy.” She laughed. “She should have been scared for the guys. My avó understood. She called me a borboleta, a butterfly, said I’d have great delight in fluttering around in beautiful wings, sipping the nectar of life, not caring a flitter or flutter about anyone else, and then die young, with great joy.”
Nancy let her shoulders relax and she took a deep breath. Maybe she could get through to the woman, make conversation and somehow get out of this alive. “Do you have any siblings?”
In a flash of silver, the gun whipped across her cheek. Bright white flooded her vision and pain exploded down her face and neck. Again, the hard metal handgun crashed into her face.
Nancy twisted and pulled, trying to dodge the blows, but it was no use. She was trapped and couldn’t shield herself.
She wasn’t aware of when the beating stopped, just that her head was down. She watched blood drip off the tip of her nose and splatter on her pale pink dress.
“Don’t try that again.” Breathing hard, her captor coughed and cursed. “The next time you try to work me, I’ll put a bullet in your head.” She swallowed, and then spoke as if to herself. “Puta que pariu. What’s taking them so long?”
I SOAKED IN THE sight of Rio. A thousand shades of green covered towering cliffs that rose around the city. Palm trees lined every street, their leaves rustling in the hot wind. On the shuttle ride from the airport to our hotel, we passed skyscrapers and gleaming shopping malls, dirty marketplaces and crowded tenements. But my eyes kept pulling back to the ocean. It would be my first visit to the beach, and I was thirsty for the experience.
The hotel Mandy had reserved was simple and clean, nothing lavish, but very tastefully put together. It smelled of coconuts and tanning oil, with a hint of fresh fish. Not smelly, oily fish, but the clean, white fish I loved to eat. The hotel beside it, some Hilton or another, dwarfed it both in size and opulence. I was glad Mandy had chosen this local hotel—it had more character. We might as well be in the States if we stayed in a Hilton.
I took one of the complimentary hard candies at the counter as Mandy checked in. It was strawberry, my favorite. I suddenly remembered I hadn’t turned on my phone since getting off the airplane. Even though it had cost me a pretty penny, I’d decided to spring for the international phone plan that month just so I could stay in contact with …
Ah. Two messages from Solomon. I read them both twice, a small smile tugging at my lips.
Have a safe flight. Don’t forget about me and fall for some hot beach bum.
Thinking about you.
It was a small thing, but it made me feel good. Besides our weekly gun training class, I’d gone out with him a few times and we texted a lot. Our outings couldn’t even be called dates, and I was glad about that. I liked relationships to move at tortoise speed. That, paired with the fact that I wouldn’t sleep with any guys I didn’t trust wholeheartedly (a whopping total of two men) and my all-consuming career, I usually landed in the department of “not worth the hassle.” But Solomon had seen something in me, and I liked him back. I enjoyed his humor, his confidence, and the fact that he wasn’t needy. He liked to have me around, but didn’t hound me.
He did draw a few red flags. I thought he must work for the government or something—out of the nine times we’d gone out, five times he’d received a phone call and left at a moment’s notice. Plus, when I’d Googled him, there was absolutely nothing on him. Even regular Joes leave a little cyber trail, but his was hidden, which made me think CIA. But maybe it also meant that I had an overactive imagination and a weakness for spies.
I asked him once what he did and he gave me a nondescript answer. “I work with my cousin as a consultant.” Whatever that meant. I had a dating rule: never get involved with anyone in the legal system. That meant no cops, FBI, CIA, lawyers, judges, and so on. It was hard enough working in the system with my past, let alone date in it.
I texted back. Just arrived. Met a cute beach bum. Getting married at 4. Now I need to learn Portuguese.
My phone instantly buzzed back. Mazel tov. Language is overrated.
As I tried to think of a good comeback, he texted again. Whoa. It was more like a novel.
Hey, watch out. Micro-kidnappers called the Blondes like to take ladies and empty their bank accounts. Don’t go anywhere alone. And don’t act rich.
I texted back. Shouldn’t be hard since I’m not rich. Thanks for the warning. How’d a consultant know what criminals to watch for in Rio?
I Google.
Try again.
I work for the FBI.
My jaw tightened. I saw that Mandy was done at the desk. I slipped my phone back in my purse with a shake of my head, following the bellhop who’d stacked our luggage on her cart. Was he joking? I had no patience with men who lied.
I didn’t want to ruin my vacation right off, so I decided I would talk to Solomon later and find out why he’d dodged me.
Our room had two double beds with deep goose-down comforters and luxurious red silk sheets peeping from underneath the covers. I went straight to my bed and slid my hand along it, feeling the softness, and then squeezed the pillow. Ah. Just right. If I were able to sleep in, that bed would do it for me.
The bellhop unloaded our bags with great care. I studied her from the corner of my eye. She was moving slowly, as if sore. Her arm, from the shoulder to the elbow, was covered in welts and bruises—some swollen and plum purple, others yellowed with age. I would have given her the benefit of the doubt until she craned her neck sideways and I noticed the hickeys on her collarbone. Her nametag said “Lucy.” She looked strong and athletic, not a likely victim. My eyes lowered in sadness. There was no way to escape from the evils of
the world—not even on vacation.
I gave her an extra ten bucks, which she accepted with downcast eyes. I noticed Mandy also slipping her something extra—she must’ve seen the bruises as well.
After Lucy left, I flung myself on the bed and melted into the cloud-like comforter. I’d rested, like, three seconds before Mandy tugged at my ankle. I cracked my eyes open. She wore her bright green bikini.
“Whaa—?” I rolled my eyes. “Were you wearing that under your clothes?”
“No.” She laughed, wrapping a towel around her hips. “Let’s go to the beach. Don’t you want to feel the sand between your toes?”
A slow smile spread across my face. I’d been looking forward to this moment my whole life.
I PUSHED MY TOES into the sand and lay back in the short beach chair. The ocean crashed not ten feet from us and the smell of the sea cleared my mind. Boise seemed like another world. The sun melted the stress of the journey away and I let out a long sigh.
“I agree.” Mandy’s sigh was just as long.
I looked over at her and smirked, glad I wore sunglasses—Mandy’s pale skin was blinding. “We’ve been out in the sun for twenty minutes, Snow White. I think you need to reapply your sunscreen.”
“Just because I’m a redhead doesn’t mean I can’t tan. If I lay out every day wearing SPF 50, by the end of summer I will start to get some color.”
I took a sip of my lemon drop martini. “Yeah ... you’ll be red.”
Mandy grunted and sipped her drink. She wore a huge white hat that could shade a whole football team.
I looked at the ocean, letting the sunrays wash over me, listening to children splashing in the waves and the sound of gulls. My mind wandered.
“Whatcha thinkin’?” Mandy propped herself on her elbow.
I could feel the alcohol hitting my head. “Dang, these drinks are strong.”
“That’s not an answer, and yes, they don’t make ‘em like this in Boise.”
“Hmm, what am I thinking? Solomon, my life, Angela, and ADA work.”
Mandy snorted. “Whatever. You’re only thinking about Solomon—you just added in the other stuff so you don’t seem like an obsessive, love-struck little girl.”
“Dangit, Mandy, we know each other too well. It’s not even fun anymore.”
“It’s fun for me.” Mandy accepted a fresh drink from a dark-skinned shirtless guy with perfect abs, and smiled up at him. As he walked away, she said, “I love this hotel.”
“I know. The room is clean and the breakfast bar looks incredible.”
“I was talking about the hot shirtless guys.” She winked at the waiter when he looked back.
Mandy was good for the soul. She made life more fun, and at times she was the only thing that kept me from going crazy. I knew I could always count on her and her disjointed humor. She didn’t even know how much I relied on her.
“So how’s Angela doing?”
Angela was one of the girls I trained at an inner-city kickboxing gym. She’d been kidnapped by Hank Williams as a way to get to me. I still felt a rush of guilt every time I thought about it.
“She’s good, as good as can be expected. I’ve been training with her a lot and her kickboxing is really improving. She refused to go to counseling, which worries me. She keeps what happened to herself, but I think she’s working out a lot of her feelings in training.”
“I feel bad for her. No one should have to go through what she did.” Mandy turned to me and scanned my body up and down. “And I must say, kickboxing agrees with you.” She changed subjects faster than a toddler changes moods.
My cheeks flushed and I looked down at my smooth belly. It was dotted with sweat under the warm sun. I changed the subject, uncomfortable with body evaluation. “Angela’s teaching the class till I get back. I think it’ll be good for her.”
Mandy nodded. “Yeah, the other girls really look up to her.”
I stood and breathed in deeply. The water was calling me. “Ready to hit the waves?”
She shook her head. “Not on your life. I’m too busy drinking and napping.”
I laughed. “What about your list of a thousand things to do?”
“I’ll get started on it tonight.”
“Procrastinator.”
A smile spread across Mandy’s face. “Mmmhmm.”
I walked toward the ocean and someone whistled. I turned to see a tan, dark-haired man grinning at me from down the beach. I smiled and kept walking.
The water was surprisingly warm. Waves hit my feet and washed out, making me sink in the sand a little more with each splash. I walked out farther and when the water was up to my waist, I dove in and lost myself in the joy of the ocean.
“PLEASE LET ME GO. You have my purse, so you don’t need me. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
Vitoria cursed and pulled on her cigarette. She thought about quitting smokes for the tenth time and quickly dismissed the idea. How else would she deal with her stressful job?
“Calm down now—everything will be fine. You sit there, I sit here, and when I get a phone call from my friends, I’ll let you go.”
The woman, Nancy Parker, sobbed, causing her mascara to run down her cheeks. “But why keep me? I won’t do anything—”
Vitoria twisted in her seat, rage filling her, making her lose all self-control. She ground her cigarette into the woman’s arm and held it there as she writhed and screamed. The handcuffs kept her from getting away. A smile took the corner of Vitoria’s mouth.
“Ohmygod, please—” The woman yanked so hard that the cuffs broke the skin on her wrists and the steering wheel creaked under the pressure. She hit the horn and kicked the floor. It was like having a rabbit on the end of a snare. She was going to hurt herself if she kept it up.
Vitoria’s phone buzzed, and she answered it as she threw the collapsed cigarette stub out the window. “Yeah?”
Nancy moaned and trembled, hanging her head as if she was about to faint.
“We’ve taken all we can from her accounts,” said the female voice on the other end of the line. She was the only rich female Vitoria had ever met and not hated. “Now we need the password to her account in Copenhagen.”
Vitoria put the mouthpiece of the phone to her shoulder. “What’s the password to your bank account in Copenhagen?”
Nancy’s face was swollen and red and she gasped for breath, her nose running.
“Well?” Vitoria said, her voice rising in anger.
“It’s mountfuji79800216chapter.”
Not a bad password. Most passwords were the name of their dogs and date of birth. Vitoria repeated it to her contact. Nancy hid her face in the crook of her elbow, muffling her sobs.
“Anything else?” Vitoria asked.
“No.” Click.
Time to finish the job the way she’d always wanted to. She knew it would change her forever, but she was ready for it. After taking a quick breath, she drew a .22. It had a silencer attached to the barrel. She jacked a round into the chamber and fired twice into Nancy’s head.
The gunshot was nothing more than a pop, as .22s didn’t make much noise even without a silencer. Blood splattered the driver’s side window and the woman slumped forward.
Flipping open her cell, Vitoria texted Mia to come pick her up. The gang would probably be wondering about Nancy, but they wouldn’t ask any questions. Vitoria was the only one who could ask questions. Once they found out about Nancy’s death, they’d be mad at her. At first. Then they’d come around. No one could say no to the kind of money they’d be earning.
Vitoria took out another cigarette and flicked her lighter. She looked out over the city and opened the door. It was a beautiful day, hot and humid—just how she liked it.
She left the abandoned parking lot. Nothing was flat in Rio—you were either going up a hill or down one. She hiked up a half mile to a bus stop and sat down. The stop was never used anymore and the bus that once ran this line was as dead as the woman in the parked car below.
Vitoria saw it from her vantage point. Time to erase her tracks. If she wanted this to be a career, she’d have to be careful. She took out her phone, punched in a code, and made a call.
The car exploded. The back end lifted off the ground, throwing the car forward. Shattered glass hit the pavement and flames burst out. The police would find it and the woman—well, what was left of her—and make the connection to the Blondes.
The Blondes were not just micro-kidnappers anymore—they were moving up the food chain. And if Vitoria had anything to do with it, they would make history. She’d be one of the first filthy-rich women to actually earn money herself, without the help of any man.
Man or woman—she didn’t care who she killed to get to the top.
MANDY PACED THE ROOM as I pulled a baby-blue sundress over my head. “Gah. Where is my dragon bracelet?”
We were getting ready to go out to a lobster dinner at a restaurant downtown. The concierge said it was the best lobster in Rio.
“The one Rick got you for your anniversary?”
“Yeah. I was wearing it when we flew in, but now it’s gone.”
I was about to make a snarky comment when I noticed how upset she was. That bracelet had been given to her on their fifth anniversary, and Mandy was very sentimental about gifts. I think she still had the Backstreet Boys poster I’d given her for her fourteenth birthday. So I got on my hands and knees and hunted under the bed and chairs for it, but no luck.
“Do you think it was stolen?” she said, her eyebrows creased in worry.
“Not likely. It probably slipped off your wrist.”
But she wasn’t listening. “I bet I know who stole it.” Her eyes went wide. “That bellhop girl.”
“Whoa, whoa, honey. You’re pointing fingers awful fast.”
She continued pacing. “I bet she’s in an abusive situation and is saving up to get out of here. That little thief. I even gave her an extra twenty dollars.”
The Steele Collection Books 1-3: Sarah Steele Legal Thrillers Page 14