by G. K. Parks
“I have to go. Thanks.” I disconnected and read the names on the paper in front of me. The only one missing was the guilty party. “Holy shit,” I breathed. Grabbing my keys, I was out the door without a moment’s hesitation. Mercer was the only one with access, and hopefully, he would use his skills of persuasion to get me inside the Estes’ house.
* * *
“It’s bloody brilliant,” Bastian remarked. The others sat silently as I instilled upon the ex-SAS crew my belief that Adalina’s mother, Rosa Estes, was responsible for the triple kidnapping.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Mercer added, shaking his head for added emphasis. “Why would she take her own daughter? I must have hit you harder than I thought. It knocked out the last bit of sense you possessed.” Biting my tongue, I knew arguing with Mercer was completely pointless. “Can you substantiate any of these insane claims?”
“She knew everything. She had access. She,” before I could continue, he interjected.
“She’s fucking grieving. The woman’s barely even able to put a sentence together because she’s so overcome, and you want me to get you access to the house to question her. This is rubbish.”
“Julian,” Bastian interjected while I ran a hand through my hair, fighting to keep my anger in check, “just stop and think about it for a minute.”
“Rosa and Santino have something on the side. There’s a photograph of her and Adalina in his apartment. The way the place is set up, I bet she spends most of her days there,” I added.
“Not only is she a kidnapper but she’s also an adulteress? Any other allegations you want to add?” I didn’t understand Mercer’s attitude. Why wasn’t he on board? “Hans, check it out.” Silently, Hans collected his gear and left the apartment. “You have something to say?” he barked at me, but I stared at the ceiling, afraid of what might come out of my mouth. “Well, speak.”
I unclenched my jaw. “If I’m right, you’re walking into crossfire.”
He snorted. “And?”
“The Seasons were hired by Rosa Estes. Either they’re still acting on her orders in which case you won’t find the girl, or they’ve gone rogue.”
“Jules,” Bastian piped up, “the team Miguel hired will turn this into a spaghetti Western.” I saw the fury radiate in Bastian’s direction, but Mercer held it together. “You’re not stupid, Commander.” I watched the silent standoff between the two. “It won’t hurt to let the bird do her job. Maybe we can save some lead on this one.”
“Donovan, go speak to our friend,” Mercer ordered. He was doing a lot of that today. “Bas, either figure out what the bloody hell that chip is or not, but sitting here wanking off isn’t helping.” He turned on me next. “You and I are going for a ride. Don’t open your mouth unless you’re told otherwise.”
I didn’t take kindly to orders or threats, and I glowered at him. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” I remarked, just to piss him off. He looked temporarily shocked that I said something, and I saw the briefest amused flicker before he replaced it with a glare and headed out the door. “And typically, I’m the bitchy and insane one. Hell, it’s nice to be the calm and rational one for once.”
Seated next to Mercer in his rental car, I was organizing the evidence against Rosa Estes and Estobar Santino in my mind. There was the possibility they weren’t responsible for the kidnappings. There was also the chance that I’d hit it big playing the lottery. Mulling it over, I wondered if Miguel had any idea his wife was responsible. Was Adalina even his? Or was she Estobar’s? Hell, I should have spent my days watching telenovellas to have a better handle on the intricacies of this case.
“Parker, you don’t know what you’re walking into. The Cale girl is safe. The detective was assisting, but even he wouldn’t be this far out on a limb.” I faced Mercer. He was focused on the road, and I didn’t know why he was speaking to me.
“We had a quid pro quo. I don’t renege on my agreements.”
“I don’t need help.”
“I want these bastards behind bars.” He squinted into the distance. “You’ve said it yourself. You’re in this for retrieval only. I’ll just pick up the shit left behind and turn them over to the police.”
“There won’t be loose ends.” His tone was ominous. “Senor Estes hired an additional team to deal with any remaining mess.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll be making a call to the coroner after everything is said and done.”
“You should back off.” For once he didn’t sound threatening. He sounded resigned to the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I can’t.”
“Why?” He looked at me. “You have what you came for.”
“I’m not a killer. I’m not heartless. And I’m not prepared to let these creeps get away with things. Despite what you may think, I mostly follow the rules, but every once in a while,” I let out a breath, “the ends are enough to justify the means.”
“Bastian’s right. We aren’t so different after all.” This time the thought wasn’t nearly as chilling. The rest of the car ride was in a peaceable silence, and I was willing to follow Mercer’s lead inside the Estes’ estate. It had taken us long enough, but we finally managed to achieve a truce.
Following the path leading to the estate, Mercer left the car parked near the front door. Obediently, I trailed him into the house, surrendering my nine millimeter without protest to Barr. He didn’t seem surprised to see me again, but he might have been attempting to perfect his impersonation of a statue.
“Mr. Mercer,” Estes greeted, pretending I was invisible, “is everything set for the exchange?”
“Sir,” Mercer nodded, “we will be ready to go as soon as the location is verified. Are there any additional details or stipulations?”
Estes shifted his gaze to study me. He said something in Spanish which I didn’t catch. I remained silent, and Mercer began what sounded like a long-winded explanation. Fighting the urge to interject or wander through the house, I took a page out of Barr’s book. When the non-English portion of the meeting was over, Estes spoke again in English. “Miss Parker, you are part of Mercer’s team, but do not think that means I have hired you, nor that I want anything you witness to be reported to the authorities.”
“Understood.” I don’t know why I was being so agreeable, but it probably couldn’t hurt. Estes turned and strode briskly from the room. Apparently he had nothing else to say.
Mercer put his hand against the small of my back and leaned in. “Rosa is at your three o’clock. No accusations. Make the conversation brief. I’ll meet you at the car in ten minutes.” He stepped away, following Estes down the corridor. Now was my chance. Inhaling, I wasn’t sure what to say or do.
“Senora,” I began, standing on the threshold to the veranda, “I’m so sorry for all that you’ve endured. Is there anything I can get you?” A matching pair of metal bracelets perhaps?
“Gracias,” she attempted a smile, but it didn’t make it past the ends of her lips. “Has my husband hired you?”
“No, ma’am. I was originally hired to recover Catherine Cale.” I watched for signs of guilt or some type of acknowledgement, but she stared at the floor. “Since I was familiar with the situation regarding the kidnappers, Julian asked for my assistance.”
“I see.” Although she spoke Spanish, she had no discernible accent. “Do you do work like this often?” She stared with a fierce intensity.
“Often enough.”
“I can tell.” She stared at my bandaged hand. “What type of work is this for a woman?”
“The same type of work it is for a man.” Holding my tongue wasn’t going over well. “What can I say? I fail to succumb to gender stereotypes.”
“You have no husband to object?”
“I’m not married.”
“What about a father or brother? How can any man in your life allow you to act this way?”
Wow, I felt like the sexual revolution never occurred. Granted, lack of equality was s
till something argued when it came to wages and sexual harassment in the workforce, but this was neither the time nor place for an ideological or political discussion. It was also possible this was a cultural difference, but my bet was that Miguel laid down the rules and didn’t take no for an answer.
“I don’t need permission.” But I needed to find an in to get her to open up. Some common ground would be nice. “But my boyfriend is supportive.” I saw the briefest flicker in her eyes. It was the first sign of life I’d seen since stepping outside to speak with her.
“It must be nice,” there was a forlornness about Rosa that was almost heart-wrenching, “to do as you like without consequence.”
“There are always consequences. Sometimes, the easiest thing to do is nothing at all. But when you reach a breaking point, it’s hard to remember that a simpler solution might still exist. Maybe it’s best to just walk away.” I saw the alarm register in her eyes.
“It is too late for that.”
I nodded, stepping back. “I hope your daughter is returned safely. There has been enough violence and bloodshed already.” None of the other girls were hurt, but she pressed her lips together in acknowledgment of this fact. “I hope Mr. Santino was not greatly inconvenienced by the police visiting him yesterday morning.” She turned away, facing outward toward the yard.
“Estobar determined his own fate.” Before I could say anything else, heavy footsteps sounded from behind. Barr was approaching, and it was time to go. Rosa didn’t confess, but her words removed the doubt from my mind. She was involved. Maybe she wasn’t running the show or calling the shots, but she was partially responsible at the very least.
Thirty-eight
The five of us were back at the apartment. Everyone’s outing had been a bust. Adam was still not cooperating, despite Donovan’s insistence. Hans tossed Santino’s apartment and discovered a few additional photos in the bedroom, but nothing blatantly screamed out affair. He photographed the pictures, and I skimmed through the images. But they were all of either Rosa or Adalina. Estobar wasn’t in any of the frames with the women, and it would be a hard sell to say any type of unscrupulous activity occurred. I wondered if Keener had any luck interrogating Santino. As Rosa said, Estobar made his own fate.
“It’s not a tracker,” Bastian broke the silence. “It’s more of an alarm. From what I can tell, it sends a brief transmission and then fries itself.”
“Like in Chechnya?” Mercer inquired.
“Similar,” Bastian cocked his head to the side, “but I’d say it’s probably more of a trigger for an alarm. Something along the lines of ‘you’ve been discovered, haul ass’.”
“It means they operate independently without a required check-in.” Mercer rubbed his chin. “Do you think they’re aware we have one of theirs?”
“Probably not,” Hans answered, looking completely bored. “Given the layout and the locations, they were probably working in two-man teams. But with only one girl remaining, maybe Cale and Casanov’s captors were free to go on holiday.”
“They already have two million,” I realized. Somehow, this fact had eluded me, but Casanov’s family paid, and the money I dropped off at the bus stop was still missing. “They’re probably someplace safe, sitting pretty.”
“I’d say they split up to avoid detection,” Bastian added. It was a new angle to work.
“Makes no difference,” Mercer concluded and left the room. Hans left too, and I realized Donovan hadn’t been with us. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one who suffered an emotional toll when torturing someone.
“What’s your plan?” Bastian asked, disturbing my reverie.
“Do I look like the type who ever has a plan?” The room was devoid of everything, except the computer and electronic equipment he was using. “What’s Mercer going to do at the exchange?”
“He’ll bring them the money and hope to get the location for the girl. We’re assuming she’s being held somewhere else, but it won’t matter. Either way, he’s there for the recovery.”
“How do these recoveries usually go?”
Bastian glanced toward the door. “As long as no one gets in the way, he retrieves the package and exits. Obstacles are often eradicated.” I swallowed. It was fast and potentially justifiable, but it was also brash and a bloodbath waiting to happen. I thought about the blood on the pier and solidified my resolve. “You’re going with him, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I stepped out of the room, and wanting to stay close, I took a seat in the empty living room.
Sometime during the interim, I sprawled out on the couch, an arm thrown over my eyes to shield them from the light from the setting sun invading the room through the slats in the blinds. Regardless of how calm I appeared, I could feel the pre-op jitteriness permeating throughout the apartment. Mercer went to wait at the Estes’ estate to field the final call, and Donovan and Hans were in a back room. From the constant metallic ratcheting, I was sure they were cleaning their weapons and making sure everything was assembled in proper working order. They weren’t that different from the FBI tactical unit I worked with that horrible morning at the pier.
Without looking, I heard Bastian rummage through the kitchen. Less than a minute later, the rustling of a potato chip or maybe pretzel bag sounded close by, followed by a constant crunch. “Love?” He asked quietly as if he were afraid I was asleep. I shifted my arm and looked at him with one eye. “No one’s ever this calm before a mission. I was afraid you might be dead.”
“Normally, that’s something to worry about if I’m not moving after a mission.” I considered sitting up but decided against it. “How many packs did you smoke a day?”
He grinned. “Two. How’d you guess?” He looked down at his hand covered in cheese puff orange. “It’s that obvious, isn’t it?”
“It’s not the cheese doodles.” I sat up and snatched a handful. “You’ve practically been eating nonstop since we met. And unless you have the world’s fastest metabolism, I’d say this is a recent development.” Attempting trivial conversation was one way to avoid the urge to pace and check my gun a thousand times.
“How’s your hip?” he asked around a mouthful of junk food. “And your hand?”
“The hip’s okay. Still bruised, but it’s fine.” I unwrapped my hand, realizing the bandage would make it difficult to pull the trigger, and tentatively, I flexed my fingers.
“Sore?”
“Manageable. It’s not an impediment.” Dammit, now I couldn’t avoid the nervous energy anymore. “What’s the plan? You guys do this for a living, right?”
“Circumstances have never been quite like this. It’s rather disconcerting.” He wasn’t in to sugarcoating. “Whenever we discover Adalina’s location, Donovan will set up in the distance to provide cover support. Hans will ensure no other players present themselves. I’ll be coordinating, unless additional firepower is required.” He wiped his mouth and tried not to look grim. “Normally, Julian goes in and recovers the package. I suppose you will be assisting him.”
“Now we wait.” I got up and circled the living room. More than likely, Mercer would make the drop, get the location, and we’d recover the girl. Guns wouldn’t be necessary, and everyone would walk away breathing. The problem was the second team Estes hired. If I was right in my assumption that Rosa and Santino were involved in the abduction, either they hired their own hit squad to pit against Estes’ team, or the Four Seasons were operating off the rails which could mean anything. I blew out a breath. “Did you make any progress on the chip?”
Bastian’s technological speak burned through the remaining daylight hours. It also kept me from turning into a complete basket case while we waited. After a few final tweaks, he declared the signal could be transmitted but there was no way to trace it. However, if we already knew the location, it might be enough of a distraction to make the remaining Seasons scramble. It was just a thought, but it sounded better than most.
When Bastian went in search of another cr
unchy snack to fill his need for a cigarette, I fidgeted with my phone. I wanted to call Heathcliff, Thompson, and Mark. Flashing blue lights, an FBI tactical team, and snipers would have been a nice touch to have assisting on the recovery, but I was resigned to following Mercer’s orders. Hopefully, no one would get killed. More importantly, I hoped not to get shot. Martin insisted that this not happen again, and I didn’t want to break that promise. Furthermore, O’Connell was already in the hospital, and I didn’t want to be his roomie.
“It’s go time,” Mercer announced, opening the door. Donovan and Hans were at the kitchen table, going over maps and satellite images. Apparently Mercer texted them the location prior to his appearance. He looked at me. “I have a spare Flak jacket you can borrow for the duration. Don’t put any holes in it.”
“I’m not planning to.”
We piled into the vehicles. Mercer and I rode together in one; the three ex-SAS in the other. I checked my gun and clip. On the drive to the drop, I took the extra magazines from my purse and put them in one of the vest pockets, then I put my cell phone in my jeans pocket, along with my identification. It might seem ridiculous or downright morbid, but worst case, I didn’t want to be lying in a cooler for a week while they determined who I was and who to call.
The second van slowed and remained far behind us as Mercer pulled up to an out-of-service bus depot. It was in a shady neighborhood, and the windows were broken and graffiti covered every surface. My eyes darted around. There were a few unsavory individuals near the street corners, dealers and whores, but no sign of any kidnappers or children. Hopefully, Adalina wasn’t being held someplace nearby. This wasn’t a safe neighborhood for anyone.
“Stay here.” Mercer opened the car door and stepped out. “I’ll signal if I need you.”