by Cindy Gerard
Hugh threw up a hand. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”
“I’m just stating the truth.”
“Right. The truth according to Saint Sophie.”
“You haven’t even asked about her,” she threw back, to prove her point.
He dropped his chin to his chest and clenched his jaw. When he looked at her again, his guilt was undercut by impatience. “How is she? Where is she?”
“She’s traumatized. And terrorized. And she’s somewhere safe. Wyatt saw to that.”
“I told you I got here as soon as I could,” he reminded her, his anger rising because she’d pointed out the obvious. Wyatt had taken care of things because Hugh wasn’t there. Hugh had never been there. “You know what?” He lifted a hand. “Fuck it. I’m not apologizing again. You want to blame every bad thing that happened in our marriage on me? Fine. But know this. It was you who changed when we adopted her. You never saw me anymore.”
“That’s because you were never here,” she fired back. “I don’t need you here now, either.”
“Because you’ve got good old stand-up Wyatt to help you with every little thing?” His tone was full of ugly innuendo as he took a menacing step toward her.
Wyatt quickly blocked his way. “This isn’t solving anything.” His quiet strength interjected both a warning for Hugh to back off and a buffer that settled them both down.
Hugh glared at Wyatt, his fists curled at his sides, and for a moment, Sophie thought Hugh would hit him.
“Stand down, man.” Wyatt’s voice was soft, but his tone made it clear that he’d do what he had to do to keep the peace. “You don’t want to mix it up. Not here. Not now. Let’s focus on the real problem.”
Hugh cut his gaze to Wyatt, his eyes narrowed in anger. “Fine,” he said after a long moment, then held up both hands as if to say, Okay, standing down now.
He looked past Wyatt’s shoulder to Sophie. “You’re going to have to suck it up, Sophe, and deal with it. I’m not leaving. You’re not gonna make me the bad guy by cutting me out of this. Hope is still my child. It could be her fighting for her life instead of Lola. I’m going to help find that girl. I’m going to get her back safe. You know I can do that.”
On that point, Sophie couldn’t argue, not without coming off as more of a shrew than she already had. She hated that she’d lost control, hated that Wyatt had seen a side of her she wasn’t proud of but that Hugh always managed to bring out of her.
“I’m sorry.” For Lola’s sake, she swallowed back both pride and humiliation. They needed his help. “I appreciate that you came. I do. It’s … it’s been a rough few days,” she added, because it was the best excuse she had for losing it.
She glanced at Wyatt. For approval? For understanding? Whatever she expected, she didn’t see it. He was watching her with quiet eyes, so totally devoid of emotion it felt as if he’d physically left the building. Left her. The man who had come apart in her arms only hours ago was gone. The loss she felt was so acute tears burned her eyes.
She fought them back. Her tears weren’t important now. What she felt didn’t matter. What mattered was that Wyatt had just seen a side of her she wasn’t proud of. What mattered was that Hugh was now in the mix, and Wyatt was the kind of man who would shoulder guilt where none was warranted. She knew without him saying a word that he was in pain, struggling with his feelings for her and with his guilt over what he perceived as a wrong he’d done to Hugh.
There was nothing she could do about it. He had to work through this miserable situation in his own way. Just as she had to work through the truth that last night, in Wyatt’s arms, everything had been uncomplicated and perfect.
Yeah, last night, everything, including love—most especially love—had been crystal-clear. Today it was as muddy as the Río Lempa, churned up after a monsoon rain.
22
Sophie stared at the phone for a long moment after she’d ended the conversation with Ramona’s brother Hector. She needed the time to pull herself together, well aware that the four men in her living room all had their eyes on her. Besides Wyatt and Hugh, Mendoza and Jones had arrived at the house about fifteen minutes ago. Wyatt had introduced them to Hugh, then they’d made a quick report.
“Shook a lot of trees,” Mendoza said. “Not a single bad ass fell out.”
“Doc and Green should be back within the hour,” Gabe added as he sank down on the sofa, absently rubbing his leg when he thought no one was watching.
Until she’d spoken with Hector, Sophie hadn’t thought her heart could hurt any worse. And now, after talking with Hector on the phone, the pain had multiplied by limitless degrees.
“Have they heard anything?”
She glanced at Wyatt, then away. “No. No one’s contacted Ramona. Even the press has stopped bothering the family.”
Hugging her arms tightly around herself, feeling all the more adrift and alone because it wasn’t Wyatt’s arms offering comfort, she walked to the patio doors. It was a little after seven a.m. The sun glinted brightly on the clean glass window panes of the colorful little casita where Ramona and Lola had spent so many peaceful, happy days.
“How’s Ramona holding up?”
Sophie wished she could be magnanimous enough to trust Hugh’s concern. She turned away from the door. It was too hard to see the little guest house empty and wonder if she’d ever see Lola playing in the backyard with Hope again. Or if she’d ever look into Ramona’s eyes and not see haunting despair eclipsed only by grief.
“She’s not,” she said. “She’s not holding up. She’s in a daze. Not eating. Not sleeping. Not even crying anymore.” A harsh, incredulous laugh burst out before she could stop it. “The neighbors have taken it upon themselves to collect money for the ransom. Two hundred sixty-eight dollars.” She wiped back a tear. “Two hundred sixty-eight dollars,” she repeated, overcome by the generosity and utter futility of the gesture. “To them, it’s everything. How sad is that? How sad is it that they’ve given all they have to help, and it’s so far away from what we need, they’d just as well have donated dirt.”
The room fell into dead silence. Only then did she look at the faces of the men who had risked so much.
“Oh, God.” Too late, she realized what her selfindulgent slide into anger had done. “Don’t look like that. This isn’t on your heads. You’ve done everything you could. Damn it,” she swore when she felt tears well up again. “It’s not your fault,” she repeated. “But we have to face facts. Without the ransom, Lola’s as good as gone.”
When they said nothing, she realized that they, too, had lost confidence that they were going to find her.
“I agree. You need to pay the ransom, Sophie,” Hugh said, earning a narrowed gaze from Wyatt.
“And take a chance on losing both the child and the money?” Wyatt shook his head. “I thought we’d agreed on this. We continue to work the MS-13 strongholds. Besides, we’ve still got the issue of money. Sophie doesn’t have it.”
Hugh made a concentrated attempt to hide his anger at Wyatt’s challenge. “In the first place, I didn’t agree to anything. I listened to what you’ve done so far. None of it’s netting results.
“Look,” Hugh went on when Wyatt said nothing. “You’re in my backyard now. I know how it’s going to come down. You can turn the city upside down, but you’re not going to find Lola. What you do is come up with the money. These guys read the newspapers, watch TV. When they call to arrange the drop, I’ll talk to them. They’ll know who I am. They’ll know they can trust me to get them what they want, and we’ll get the child back alive. Shit, it’s part of business as usual in this country. But you try to undercut them, she’s going to end up dead.”
He was right, Sophie realized with sudden, ringing clarity. Hugh had brokered successful deals with kidnappers before. He had brought children home safe. He was legendary in that area, a hero in some circles. That was why she’d tried to contact him in the first place. She’d been sure Hugh would know how t
o get Lola back.
Only when she hadn’t been able to get hold of him had she contacted Wyatt. She’d been desperate. And she’d known that Wyatt would do anything to help her. Known, in fact, that he might even die trying.
That very real possibility had been hammering away at her conscience ever since she’d called him in Georgia. She couldn’t let that happen.
“As for the money,” Hugh continued, “what about your parents? They’ve got the coin.”
“They had the coin,” she said after a long moment.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Bernie Madoff.” She hated it but felt forced to reveal the private and personal hell her parents had suffered. It was still hard to believe that they had been among the thousands of victims Madoff had forced into bankruptcy with his Ponzi scheme.
Hugh’s eyes grew dark with understanding. “Fuck.”
“I’m going to be real generous and consider that an expression of your sympathy.” Hugh had never liked her parents. She hadn’t known until after the divorce that the feeling had been mutual.
Avoiding Wyatt’s gaze, she rushed back to her desk, opened the center drawer, and pulled out her address book. She knew Wyatt would see what she was about to do as a betrayal of her trust in him. It wasn’t about betrayal. It was about necessity. It was about keeping him alive, too.
“I’m going to contact Diego,” she said abruptly.
“Wait. Diego? Diego Montoya?” Hugh’s eyes narrowed.
She’d been dreading this. Hated that she’d kept it secret from Wyatt.
“At the theater,” Wyatt said, thinking back and putting it together. “That’s what that private conversation was about?”
“He offered to pay the ransom,” she said, wishing she didn’t feel as though she’d betrayed his trust.
Hugh snorted. “Jesus, Sophe. That’s damn generous. Makes a man wonder. You fucking Montoya, too?”
Before Sophie even saw him move, Wyatt shot to his feet, clutched a handful of Hugh’s shirt in his fist, and got right in his face. “You sonofabitch.”
“Stop it!” she demanded, aware that all of the BOIs had adopted battle stances, ready to move on Hugh if Wyatt needed help.
“Just stop it,” she repeated on a weary breath. “Let him go, Wyatt.”
The two men remained locked in a feral stare-down. As much as it hurt her to see them at each other’s throat, as much as Hugh’s crude accusation angered her, there were bigger things at stake here than egos.
“This isn’t the time or place for a pissing contest,” she said, surprising them both with her bluntness.
Very slowly, Wyatt uncurled his fist and released Hugh’s shirt. Slower still, he took a step out of Hugh’s personal space.
“Diego offered to help, and right now, he’s my only option,” she said, relieved when they both backed away. “So, unless you’ve got a better idea …” She let the sentence trail off, looking pointedly at Hugh.
Silence from all quarters. As far as she was concerned, though, it was Hugh’s silence that held more weight.
“I don’t have that much in liquid assets,” Hugh said, immediately defensive when he read her mind. “Every cent I’ve got is tied up in the business.”
“Then what choice do we really have?” Sophie asked. “Where else am I going to get that kind of money?”
When Hugh just blinked at her, she looked up Diego’s number in her address book.
“Where do we stand on the ransom timeline?” Hugh asked, his jaw hard.
She glanced at the wall clock. Felt her heart lurch. “At noon, Lola will be down to twenty-four hours.”
“It could take Montoya that long to come up with that much cash,” Doc said, giving Sophie her first indication that they knew as well as she did that the chances of finding Lola this close to the deadline were dwindling.
Sophie met Wyatt’s gaze and silently appealed to him for understanding.
“Make the call,” he said with a grim nod.
* * *
Wyatt heard only bits and pieces of Sophie’s end of the phone conversation with Montoya, because Mendoza was banging around in the kitchen. Rafe’s way of letting off steam was to sing and cook—in this case, he was whipping up a concoction of sausage, eggs, peppers, and cheese that he called Mexican breakfast tacos.
Hugh stood facing the sliders, his back to the room adding to the background noise as he talked on his cell phone. Wyatt gathered that he was checking in with his teams, which he’d told Wyatt were scattered across the globe.
Even though he hadn’t heard the conversation, Wyatt figured he knew Montoya’s response from Sophie’s body language as she hung up the phone. She remained seated at her desk. One hand still gripped the cradled receiver. She’d lowered her head to her other hand. While there were too many factors weighing on her for her to feel much relief, it was apparent from the slight relaxing of her shoulders that Montoya had agreed to front the ransom money.
Hugh disconnected his own call and nodded toward Sophie. “Montoya come through like he promised?” he asked Wyatt.
“Looks like.” Wyatt tabled his anger at Hugh and stared at Sophie’s silent profile. He wished he’d been the one to offer her even this small amount of solace. Not just because he hated that it was Montoya she had turned to. Not even because he wanted to be her hero. Hell, he didn’t care what it took to get the child home, he just wanted her back.
No, he hated it because the promise of Montoya’s money had changed nothing and had given Sophie false hope. He didn’t care what Hugh said. The bastards who had grabbed Lola would take the cash and run. And they could still kill her just because they could. Just because Lola’s life ceased to be of consequence or value to them once they got what they wanted.
“So, is the gentleman coffee baron going to fork over the dough?” Hugh asked Sophie directly when she just sat there, staring into space.
His question startled her. She turned her attention to him, as if she’d forgotten he was even here. “Yeah. Yeah, he is. But it’s going to take him a while to get the cash together.”
“How long a while?” Hugh asked.
She let out a long breath. “He hopes to have it to us by nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Ten at the latest. What if … what if that’s too late?” She turned to Wyatt, her temporary relief outdistanced by worry. “What if the drop location is more than two hours from here?”
“Don’t borrow trouble,” Hugh said before Wyatt could answer. “We wait until they give us the location, and if time is a problem, you explain what we’re up against. They aren’t going to walk away from five hundred grand over a few minutes’ or even a few hours’ delay.”
“In the meantime, we’re not giving up the search,” Wyatt reminded her. “We could still find her before the deadline. Doc called in a few minutes ago. He and Green should be here anytime. They’ve got a lead.”
She wanted to believe this was good news. Her eyes made that clear, but her bearing said she didn’t hold out much hope.
“A lead on who?” Hugh didn’t even attempt to hide his cynicism. “Another MS-13 tie-in? You’re wasting your time. Even if Mara Salvatrucha took her, you’re never going to pin them down. And why are you so sure it is MS-13? Why are you restricting your search to them? Why not look at GN or FMLN? Ransom is big money for their organizations. That Vega guy, the one you told me about who sent you chasing your tail down south. He was GN, right?”
“He’s also dead,” Wyatt reminded him. “Killed by Mara Salvatrucha gang members because he’d given us information about the camp where we found Carmen Hernandez.”
Hugh glared at him.
“All you have to do is play the odds. MS-13 is running nine to one as our odds-on favorite.”
“Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say it is MS-13,” Hugh said, his patience waning. “You just add to the mix by pissing them off with this manhunt. You’re making the problem worse, not solving it. Piss off their head banger, Vincent
e Bonilla, and you could be signing Lola’s death warrant. Think about it, man. You and your men need to just back off. Let me work out the exchange with the kidnappers. Keep it simple. I’ll get her back.”
“While we sit here and knit sweaters? I don’t think so.” On that, Wyatt felt strong. They couldn’t afford to stop their search for Lola.
Hugh worked his jaw. Wyatt knew there was a lot more he wanted to say on the subject. What he didn’t know was why Hugh had dug in so deep on this.
“Fine,” Hugh said finally. “But you’re risking your necks for no good reason.”
“Our necks, our call,” Wyatt said, making it crystal-clear that he was not backing away.
Hugh finally shrugged. “And your funeral.”
“Soup’s on.” Mendoza’s announcement ended the discussion. “Sophie,” he added, glancing across the room at her as he scooped a layer of the egg mixture onto a soft taco shell, then dressed it with salsa. “Ladies first.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She offered him an apologetic smile. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Oh, no, no.” Rafe wasn’t having any of it. “We don’t eat until you do, cara. So get your sweet a-, um, self over here so the rest of us can chow down. The team needs to refuel. If we don’t eat because you won’t eat, we’re damn good at heaping on guilt. So how ’bout you just park it on the bar stool and dig in?” He set the steaming-hot plate of food on the counter and motioned her over.
Wyatt had to smile because she finally conceded. Mendoza did have a way with women.
“Fine. Since you put it that way, I guess I don’t have much choice. Just give me a second to untwist my arm,” she grumbled, but she was smiling for the first time in a very long time as she rose and joined Mendoza in the kitchen.
Rafe grinned as he dished up another plate. “Not too painful, I hope.”
“No,” she admitted after tasting his creation. “Not painful at all. This is delicious.”
Wyatt shot Rafe a look of gratitude as Sophie dug into her breakfast in earnest. Rafe nodded. No problem.