“Hello, Noah. Remember me? It’s Diego, your partner down under. Are you there, Mr. big-shot lawyer?”
“Get out.” Noah screamed at the girls.
They froze, their eyes bulging in his direction.
“I said, get the fuck out.” He shoved Indigo in the shoulder, and she stumbled sideways but managed to remain on her feet.
They clutched their clothes from the floor and raced for the door. Noah bolted the door behind them and strode to the phone. Diego’s voice still dribbled from the machine.
“What the fuck do you want, Diego?”
“Ahh, you are there. Good. I have fascinating story for you.”
“I don’t have time for this shit, Diego.”
“Oh, but you do. Believe me.” Diego’s laughter slithered down the phone line like a cobra.
Chapter Twenty
Charlene’s scream had been cut short when her back slammed into a pool of water. It was like smashing through plate glass, and the impact knocked the wind out of her. Pushing through the pain, she clawed through the murky water, aiming for the light at the surface. Gasping for fresh air, she screamed again as invisible things brushed against her legs. Hurling herself toward the edge, she dragged her sodden body out of the foul water.
Panting, she rolled to a standing position, and it was a couple of thumping heartbeats before she found her voice.
“Get me out of here!” Her voice echoed about the darkened room.
“Hey!” She screamed until her throat hurt. “Don’t leave me here.”
But there was no response, confirming that they had indeed left her. Her eyes darted about the space. Above was the circular hole that she’d been thrown through, and she could see blue sky and clouds. A scraggly vine had made the wall up to the hole its home, and while the root dangled into the water, the rest of it spread like gnarly veins over the brickwork. The room was dome-shaped, and her best guess was that it was once some form of bathhouse.
Squeezing the water from her hair, she stepped from the pool to examine the walls. If it was a bathhouse, then there had to be a door. Nearly every inch of the floor and walls was covered in some kind of vegetation, from moss to vines to shrubs. Some were alive, but most were dead. Sunlight streaming in from above cast as much light as it created shadows.
A series of uneven steps curled around the left-hand side, and using the wall for support, she inched up the stairway. At the top, recessed into a nook, was a door. It looked like something from the Dark Ages. The wood was black and chunky, carved without fanfare, and metal rungs studded with round bolts held the door together.
Charlene banged her fists against the solid wood. “Get me out of here!”
“Hey, please. Help!” She screamed until her throat burned, and her fists were red. Beyond exhaustion, she slumped to the floor and looked down upon the room. The pool was green and swamp-like; lily pads floated on the top, along with olive-green scum. Above the point where the pool touched the wall, there was a rectangular hole; based on the wear on the bricks, she assumed that was where water was once pumped into the pool.
Charlene climbed back down the stairs and crawled along the raised bricks skirting the edge of the pool. At the rectangular hole, she eased onto her hands and knees and peered into the darkness. “Hello.” She screamed into the void, and her voice bounced back to her. Charlene wriggled onto her stomach and peered into the black hole. But that’s exactly what it was. A black hole. No light anywhere. Something tickled her cheek and, screaming, she yanked her head back and wriggled away.
She climbed to the highest point on the stairs and glared up at the circular hole above the pool. “Hey! Let me out of here!”
It seemed like an eternity before she gave up and returned to the edge of the well. Only now did she realize that she’d lost a sandal in the water. That’s where it was going to stay. The enormity of her situation hit her like a paralysis drug, and she sat staring at her bare foot. Her previous image of being washed up on a shore as a Jane Doe flashed into her mind again. But this time it wasn’t American soil she was on. It was Cuban.
A sob burst from her throat. She’d known what she was doing was risky, but she never envisaged anything like this.
She suddenly realized Peter’s cane was gone too. In light of this new development, the cane seemed like a stupid idea anyway.
A mild breeze drifted down to her, and she shivered. Slinking into the shadows, she removed her dress, squeezed the excess water from it, and put it back on. A flash of yellow in the corner caught her eye, and she strode toward it.
Her breath caught as she bent down to pick it up. It was a teddy bear wearing a yellow waistcoat. Her heart quickened as she recalled having exactly the same bear when she was a child. She searched the room again, looking for something, anything that seemed familiar, and little by little the memories came creeping back.
She’d been down here before. Charlene recalled sitting on her mother’s lap, as her mother sat with her back to the wall. They’d both been crying. They were scared and hungry, and her mother had an enormous bruise over her eye. The images that flashed into her mind were so vivid she couldn’t understand why she’d never seen them before. They were real, raw, and frightening. Her mother had been petrified. The room had been less overgrown then, and the water wasn’t as foul. But there was no doubt it was the same room.
She’d slept in her mother’s lap and could recall crying because she was so hungry. How long had they stayed down there? She frowned at that thought, trying to recall every last detail. At night, they’d huddled together, and it’d become pitch-black and cool. The cold stones and rising damp had made her body ache.
Another memory came tumbling in. It was her mother tearing the hem from her skirt. Charlene remembered her mother’s bleeding hand, and then—just like that—she knew exactly what it was. Her mother had written a note in her own blood onto the hem of her dress.
Charlene sat upright. They’d hidden the note in this very room. Behind a brick.
A quick glance around the room didn’t help. She stood and scanned the nearest wall, directly behind where she’d found the teddy bear. The bricks were covered in vines and moss. In the twenty-two years since she’d last been trapped down here, the vegetation had flourished and then died. Something had changed to the detriment of the plants—most likely the water, given its disgusting green color and swampy smell.
Yanking at the vines with her bare hands, she tugged them free, desperate to see the bricks beneath. But every brick looked the same. She pushed them with her fingers, hoping the one her mother had hidden the note behind would still be loose.
At a grinding noise, she snapped around. Someone was coming.
She tossed the teddy bear into the corner and stepped to the side of the room in an attempt to conceal herself in the shadows.
The door at the top of the stairs sprung open and banged against the wall. The sound was like a shotgun blast.
Diego entered the room.
He eased down a step, his hesitation confirming he was searching for her.
Second step.
She waited. The lower he was, the better chance she had. A sliver of light crossed his face, allowing her to see the damage she’d already done with her cane. His nose was swollen and red, and a slice of raw flesh was open across the bridge. His left eye was a hideous shade of purple. He wouldn’t get off so lightly this time.
“Where are you, Claudia?”
Claudia? The name was oddly familiar. His voice was too. Especially as it echoed about the damp walls.
Fourth step. He was nearly at the bottom. Two more steps to go. Problem was, he’d see her any second now. Her heart slammed in her throat as she silently launched at him, fist clenched, and aimed right at his already swollen nose.
He reacted faster than she’d anticipated, kicking out with his foot, intent on slamming his boot into her head. But he was a few steps above her. Charlene ducked beneath the blow, grabbed his foot at the same time and twisted
it, and with an almighty roar, she dropped her weight. Diego lost his balance and tumbled into the room with her.
She sprang to her feet and timed her attack perfectly to slam the heel of her palm at his nose again. Diego howled, and when he shielded his face with his hands, she dropped her full weight on him, elbow first, aimed directly at his solar plexus. He buckled under her blow, howling again. She pushed off him, ready for her next attack.
Her long ponytail was her downfall. He grabbed her hair and yanked her down.
She screamed and rained punches onto his torso. But her close proximity to him lessened their power.
He pulled harder, forcing her to change attack. She clawed at his face, intent on scratching his eyes out.
But he had her now.
He yanked her hair, and she screamed as much from the pain as fury over her failure. Using his grasp on her hair, he pinned her face to the floor and clambered to a standing position.
“You stupid, fucking bitch.” He kicked her in the ribs.
Charlene was thrown toward the raised bricks encircling the well. She scraped at the bricks, desperate to find a loose one to use as a weapon. The second kick came out of nowhere. Pain ripped up her back. Howling against the agony, she tried to stand. But she was too late. Diego’s clenched fist hit her just below her left eye. She screamed as she tumbled sideways into the water.
She clawed for the surface, but her head was above the water for barely a second when Diego grabbed her hair and shoved her under again. Her mind screamed as she attacked his hand, clawing her nails across his flesh. But he held her there. It was impossible to go down, impossible to up either.
Her lungs screamed for oxygen. Her head was set to explode. She needed a breath. Had to take a breath. She thrashed her hands, and desperate for release, she braced for the pain that would come from her hair being yanked from her scalp and pushed herself down. But it wasn’t that easy. The pain was more than she could bear.
Stars danced across her eyes, and in that second, she knew she was drowning.
Her recurring vision of her body being washed up on shore flashed across her mind again. Her lips were blue . . . her flesh deathly pale. Then her body was on a metal slab, just like Peter’s had been, but the tag on her toe had her labeled as a Jane Doe.
The murky water got darker, muddied.
The adrenaline that’d fed her limbs evaporated, and her arms floated out to her sides. Her legs began to float to the surface. It was peaceful, with the sun piercing the green-tinged water in a sunburst above her.
Charlene was dying, and her thoughts drifted to Marshall, the only person who knew she was in Cuba. She’d failed him. That thought broke her heart. Maybe one day, he’d find her again and take her body back to US soil.
The pain in her lungs was beyond excruciating, and without thinking, she opened her mouth and sucked in the foul water. Her body jerked against this new affront, shaking her from the despair she’d fallen into. Surrender . . . that was her last resort. Fighting the urge to do the opposite, she put her hands straight up, showing Diego that she’d given in.
He released her hair with one last shove, and she kicked to the surface. Charlene gasped for air, spluttered water, and the pain in her lungs was agonizing, worse than when she’d inhaled the water. Clutching the moss-covered brickwork, she spewed out the rotten liquid.
“You lucky I need you alive. Stupid bitch.” Diego’s voice was barely a whisper.
Shoving her hair from her eyes, she looked up at him. Blood had dribbled from both his nostrils in dual rivers that ran over his lips and down his chin. She liked that she’d done that to him. “Why?” Her voice was a brittle croak.
“Because you worth more alive than dead.”
His statement rolled around her murky brain, and it was a couple of moments before she realized what he meant. He was planning to use her for ransom. The idea was ludicrous. Not a single person would pay money to save her. She burst out laughing, and it hurt both the injury to her face and her burning lungs.
“You think this funny.”
“You’re an idiot if you think someone will pay ransom money for me.”
He squatted down at the edge of the pool. “Who said anything about ransom?”
She frowned. “What are you talking about then?”
“Your real father coming to Cuba. He wants to see you for himself.”
“Who’re you talking about?”
Diego cocked his head, then a creepy grin split across his bloodstained lips. “Do you not know your daddy?”
Charlene didn’t answer, and by the conniving look on Diego’s face, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She swallowed back the foul taste in her mouth and fought the urge to throw up again.
“Your father, he Noah Montgomery. Heard of him?”
The only Noah Montgomery she knew was the lawyer for the Hollywood elite, the man who made a habit of appearing in headline news. It obviously wasn’t him, so she shook her head.
Diego huffed. “Well, that funny, ’cause he forgot you existed until thirty minute ago. You will meet him soon.” Diego pulled back from the edge of the pool and began to walk away.
“Wait!” Charlene coughed up more water and gasped for breath. “Do you mean the Hollywood lawyer?”
“Sí. That him.”
“But that’s . . . that’s not possible.”
“Oh, but it is. He your father. He rape your mother, and the happy couple make you.”
Charlene’s heart lurched.
Diego stepped onto the stairs.
“Stop. Please. It doesn’t make sense.” She pulled herself higher out of the water. “Why does Noah want to save me?”
Diego burst out laughing. “Oh, he no want to save you. He want to kill you his self this time.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Marshall had spent the entire day searching for the bar supervisor from the dance club. But with just her first name of Kamila and her description matching nearly every other waitress in Havana, he’d have more luck finding an escaped convict. It seemed everyone knew a Kamila, and the number of doors he’d knocked on was heading into the dozens.
Each ticking second put Charlene closer to body-bag material, and the thought of a zipper gliding up over her gorgeous unblinking eyes had his gut churning and his hands squeezing the throttle harder.
The onset of daybreak didn’t change a thing, and Marshall turned his attention to the workers setting up their shops. Despite how tired they all looked, smiles still lit up their faces when they thought a potential customer walked through their doors.
During the day, he’d filled up the motorcycle twice and stopped only once for food and a piss. It was late in the day, when his energy was taking a nosedive and his frustrations were doing the opposite, that he hit pay dirt. By pure chance, he’d found Kamila walking toward the center of town. It helped that she was dressed in her white cowgirl uniform. Marshall didn’t usually believe in luck, but he’d take this one.
“What did Charlene do?” He asked Kamila once he’d established that she was indeed the supervisor who’d worked behind the bar.
“She took a picture off the wall?”
“What picture?”
“It was photo of one of our dancers. Pueblo García, but he disappeared many year ago.” She told him the mystery behind Pueblo, and Marshall assumed it was the man who’d pretended to be Charlene’s father. “What’d Charlene do then? Where’d she go?”
Kamila shifted on her feet, obviously nervous.
“It’s okay, you’re not in trouble. But Charlene may be. I just need to find her.”
Kamila looked to the ground. “She go in taxi to see Diego Álvarez.”
“Diego Álvarez!” The name stung like a ten-foot wasp. “Why?”
“Pueblo was boyfriend to Diego’s sister. Charlene wanted to talk to him.”
“Shit! Where? Where is Diego, Kamila?”
“He at Airshee factory.”
Marshall frowned and cocked his head
. “Where?”
“Airshee factory. Chocolate.”
The answer hit him like a sonic boom. “Hershey! Hershey factory?”
“Sí. Sí.”
“Shit! Gracias.” He pulled his wallet and handed fifty Cuban pesos to Kamila, and that had her smiling. Marshall adjusted his ass on the rock-hard seat, kick-started the Ural, and shot between a Chevy Bel Air and a Ford Skyliner. Both cars had to be at least fifty years old and were in better condition than his five-year-old Dodge RAM back home. The motorcycle farted at the ancient cars, lurching Marshall into the cruising traffic, and he raced through the middle of old-town Havana heading toward the setting sun.
On any other day, he’d appreciate the golden glow shimmering off the water. Not today. Not when a young woman’s life was in eminent danger.
His brain was a raging torrent of unanswered questions. Is she still alive? Could she be related to Diego? Why did she go alone? That last one was answered easily; she didn’t have anyone. But the fact that she went anyway highlighted both her bravery and her desperation. Together the two attributes created the perfect storm. Charlene had nothing to lose, and that made her dangerous. It was the implication of her potential relationship to Diego that was freaking him out.
Marshal had never met Diego Álvarez, but he knew enough about him to know this shit had just gotten real. Diego was the leader of the notorious crime gang Sangre Por la Libertad. Blood for Freedom. Although the only freedom that was guaranteed was some poor sucker’s death. Sangre Por la Libertad specialized in prostitution, and a woman like Charlene would be a prize catch. After seeing her determination beneath the bow of Miss B Hayve, he could picture her fighting like hell. But this gang fought dirty. She wouldn’t stand a chance against the likes of Diego and his band of hired thugs.
His heart invaded his throat as he shot around a gravel corner without tapping the brakes. He only just managed to keep the beast on the road, yet he didn’t slow down.
Despite the hellhole Charlene had fallen into, the good news was that Diego would want to keep her alive. With her beauty and stunning physique, she’d start a bidding frenzy. No . . . Diego wouldn’t kill her, not yet anyway. And that glimmer of hope put a rocket up Marshall’s ass like he’d never experienced before.
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