by G. K. Parks
“Bastian, I need to know who hired the Four Seasons to kidnap the girls.”
“Read this first.”
“Tell me.” He was heading for the door, and I blocked his path. “Was it Rosa? Did she do this to her daughter?”
“Love,” he wouldn’t budge, “in due time.” Taking a breath to calm my nerves and resist hitting something or someone, I remained between him and my still open front door. “I have to get back.”
“How long have you known? How much do you know?” The accusations were starting, despite the prematurity.
“Read the documents.” His eyes betrayed him, and I saw actual remorse. “Whatever remaining questions you have, they will be answered.” He kissed my cheek. “You saved your girl. You might have to help us save ours. Just remember, lives might still be on the line.”
“Bas,” I was tired of all the cloak-and-dagger, “why can’t you explain?”
“Oh, look,” his gaze shifted behind me, “you have company.” He escaped without another word, brushing past Martin.
“Bad timing?” Martin asked.
Shrugging, I shut and locked the door as soon as he stepped inside. “Did you happen to bring some sodium pentothal? My questions haven’t been getting answers recently, and I’m not sure how else to up my game.”
“So now wouldn’t be a good time to ask why the British gentlemen kissed you on the cheek and left your apartment at seven a.m. after you apparently went to bed early in a string bikini?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I forgot to put truth serum on my shopping list.”
Forty-two
Martin didn’t have any early morning meetings planned for the day. So as he stood in my kitchen, cooking breakfast, I opened the envelope and spread the contents out on my kitchen table. It became apparent why Bastian left so quickly. There were dozens of communications between Estobar Santino and the Four Seasons. Locations, maps, times, negotiating tactics, the entire scheme was expressly laid out, even hiring the kid to steal the supplies, pouring the blood on the pier, and leading me to believe Catherine was dead. I was livid. Slamming my palm down, I screamed in pain and cursed.
“Alex,” Martin dragged me away from the table, “relax.” Without releasing me, he grabbed a bag of peas from my freezer and laid it against my hand. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I’m going to fucking kill him.” The desperation resurfaced. The entire time, Julian knew she was alive and who was responsible, and he did nothing to help. “How could he? That sick bastard.” With my free hand, I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
“In that case, it’s a good thing I can alibi you out. But let’s eat breakfast first, that way when they ask how the eggs were, you’ll at least have an honest answer to give to one of their questions.” Regaining my composure with the sobering reality that acting like a time bomb would end badly for everyone, I took a few steady breaths and tried to detach myself from the circumstances. It was damn near impossible. “Just for my own clarification, are you planning to kill the guy who was here earlier?” It was a sad attempt at a joke.
“He’s only guilty by association.”
Burying my face against his shoulder, I had to get through the information and determine what was pertinent and what to bury. Honestly, if O’Connell knew the information I possessed, I was afraid to think what he’d do. At the moment, I was still afraid of what I might do. Thoughts of Adam’s bloodied face emerged in the forefront of my thoughts, followed closely by the seven lifeless men from the hangar. Someone would make restitution through proper channels. My days of vigilantism were over.
“What is this?” he asked, sifting through the documentation.
“Did you say you had a free morning?”
“Absolutely. I just need to make one call.”
* * *
One thing was painfully obvious; there was zero possibility that I could be unbiased. My emotions had been put through the wringer since the first phone call O’Connell made. There was no amount of distance or perspective that would permit rational thought to make a decision. Instead, I gave that responsibility to the man I loved.
Never in a million years would I have dreamt of a day where I would lay all of the cards on the table and tell James Martin everything about a case. Yet, somehow, here we were. He listened intently as I detailed everything, including my involvement with Adam and the previous night’s rescue. The only thing I failed to mention was my personal reaction. Being stuck in my own head was clouding rational thought, and he tended to crawl inside on numerous occasions without permission. This was not the time for him to react simply because I was. When I finished, he read through the communications and documents Bastian delivered. I sat patiently, picking at the forgotten eggs and resisting the need to lash out.
He pressed his lips together, putting down the final sheet of paper. His eyes met mine, and I looked away. “What do you want me to say?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I have to come up with a solution, and since you can consult for Francesca, you can consult for me too.” I forced my eyes closed and shook my head. Asking for help didn’t mold well to my personality. “You know what happened. You know everything that’s happened. And you know what’s just been unearthed. Mercer dropped the bomb in my lap, and either I defuse it, or I let it take everyone out.” The rage was back, and I tried to push it aside.
“You don’t do either.” He put the pages in a pile and slid them into the envelope as if their presence alone was the cause of my aggression. “First, you determine the outcome you want. Next, assess the ramifications and collateral damage. Then make sure it’s something you can live with, turn over those facts to the police department, and wash your hands of the rest.” It sounded so simple when he said it, but it wasn’t that easy.
“He let Nick get shot. He led me to believe Catherine was dead, and it was my fault. I practically beat a guy to death because of it. We faced off against ten armed men which were all just pawns in this sick game. Seven of them were killed, and you stuck your neck out to cover for me.” I bit my lip and got up to wash the dishes. “What do I do with that?”
“I’m not a factor,” he argued. “That’s something between us. Maybe there was impetus, but I’ll always stick my neck out for you. And the rest,” he turned the water off, “there’s no easy solution. Catherine is home with her mom and dad. Nick is going to be right as rain. The only concern I have is you.”
“I’ll be okay.” That seemed to be the only fact that I didn’t realize until this point. I would be okay. My hand would heal, just like the bruises on my face and hip. I didn’t kill Adam, and the men who died gave me no choice. There was no vendetta against them.
“You always are.” The slight smile didn’t reach his eyes. The bleakness of the situation prevented it. “Which is why you’ll push your shit aside and make sure Adalina gets the best outcome, regardless of the rest.”
“Well, since you had the answer, why didn’t you just start with that?”
“Because I needed to hear you were okay. If not, I would have to stage my own reenactment of the Revolutionary War.” Sometimes, Martin’s adolescent attitude rivaled that of his romantic side. It often led to pointless clichés and inappropriate jokes. This time, he earned a chuckle and an appreciative kiss.
“Get out of here. One more minute and I’ll have to take out a loan to pay your by-the-hour consulting fee.”
“Maybe we’ll work something out in trade.”
* * *
By noon, I separated the documentation into two piles. One would eventually be turned over to the police department; the other would be destroyed. The only remaining question was what Mercer planned to do in the meantime. Not only did the envelope contain information on the kidnapping, but it also provided transcripts of conversations Estobar Santino had with the kidnappers, detailing Rosa and Adalina’s plight. Hell, one might even argue the Four Seasons were acting as good Samaritans, at least initially.
Rosa
married Miguel a decade earlier. He offered wealth, power, and protection. Or so it seemed until she was treated horrifically. While trying not to judge any of the potential cultural differences, it was hard to find a way to put a positive spin on physical abuse. Miguel Estes was nothing more than a bully. The tabloid stories claiming an impending divorce were real, but after Rosa became pregnant a second time, she changed her tune. For her troubles, she was thrown down the stairs, resulting in a miscarriage. The father of her unborn child was never mentioned, but I’d wager it was Estobar’s.
Fearing for her safety and the safety of her daughter, Rosa approached Santino. Estobar Santino intentionally created the cracks in the Estes’ security. He allowed the personal security contract to expire, aware it would take a few days to have a new one drawn up. Counting the days, he orchestrated the kidnapping by finding a group willing to abduct Adalina and keep her safe. He modeled their name and tactics after a few cases he read about in the European papers. The Seasons were promised a fifty percent cut of the ransom if they followed orders.
As I continued to read through the communiqués, I realized that Sonia was grabbed by chance. It didn’t matter which girl was taken, any one at the school could afford the ransom demands, except for Catherine Cale. Catherine was the secondary target. From the stipulations in Miguel’s insurance policy, for a payout to be issued, a law enforcement agency had to verify the actuality of the abduction; although, they were not required to play any part in the recovery or investigation. Since no kidnapper could ever conscionably make the demand to call the police, the only way to ensure they became involved was to kidnap someone with a direct connection, and Catherine Cale was the only child that fit the bill.
The identity of the driver who took the girls from the school was still unknown, but it was someone Adalina was familiar with because there was no other explanation as to why they would have gone willingly with a stranger. Probably Estobar hired one of their relief drivers to make the run. It was likely off the books and didn’t seem at all questionable. The girls were delivered to the small hangar bay near the storage units I visited and immediately taken elsewhere. Sonia was released as soon as possible while Miguel and the Cales scrambled to save their children.
The Four Seasons were required to report to Santino twice a day. The girls’ favorite foods, games, toys, and activities were provided, courtesy of Estobar’s inside knowledge of Adalina. The only way they could have known anything about Catherine’s preferences was by asking. Adalina must have known all along what was happening. Her mother probably told her to go with the men, and it would be okay.
Sonia was released without complications, and the Seasons received their cut of the ransom. The two remaining girls were only separated when time ran out on my intended recovery. The original drop-off was a ruse, and the blood on the pier was meant to scare Senor Estes. The only thing I knew for a fact was that it terrified me.
There were two reasons for the delay. First, to make Miguel more desperate. By blinding him with frustration, he would be less likely to point fingers and more likely to give in to any new demands they had. Second, if it was believed one of the kidnapped girls had been killed, it would sell the cruelty of the kidnappers. Unfortunately for the Four Seasons, they underestimated Miguel Estes.
Instead of cowering in fear, the bully of a man who built a gold empire and beat his wife far too often hired a hit squad to take out the men. When the police investigation began focusing on Estobar Santino, so did Miguel. Maybe it was partially my fault Santino had the shit knocked out of him, but staging a kidnapping was not the way to help your lover escape her abusive husband. Then again, I wasn’t completely sure how one should go about doing that. The situation continued to go from bad to worse until it culminated in the firefight two nights ago.
Mercer tried to keep the secondary team at bay, but he couldn’t do it without jeopardizing Estobar’s plan. He knew all along about the kidnappers, and he played me from the start. Everything he said was a lie. The fact he was willing to go so far as to beat a man practically to death, or let me do it, didn’t bode well for any of us. It was time we talked because the conclusions I reached made me angry. And although I couldn’t grow three sizes and turn dark green, I still didn’t think he’d like to see me this irate.
Dialing, he didn’t answer. Whatever he was doing now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Furthermore, nothing he said could be believed. It was a house of cards built upon a foundation of deceit, and the whole thing just burned to the ground. Locking the files in my safe box, I set out for the hospital. It’d be best to get my hand examined before I had to use it to hit someone else.
After getting x-rayed and having my hand taped, it was suggested I avoid using it in order to prevent further complications. While the threat of surgery served as a great deterrent, particularly since I hate doctors, there was still a good chance I’d have to come back for a follow-up x-ray by the time everything was said and done. It depended on a few factors, like what I would do to Mercer and what he needed help with. If he wanted an excuse to eat all of his meals through a straw, then I was his girl.
Inside my car, I wasn’t sure what to do. There were still a lot of questions that needed answers. How long did Mercer know of the actual situation? Who hired him, and what was his mission? Why did he take Adam hostage? Resigning myself to keeping my temper in check, I drove to his apartment.
“Love,” Bastian greeted, opening the door, “if you’ll allow me a moment, I’d like to fetch my mouth guard.”
“Is Julian here?” I ignored the joke.
“He’s in the other room.”
Bastian led me down the hallway to the bedrooms. Knocking on one of the doors, Mercer opened. He might have been asleep or devising a plan for world domination. Obviously, I couldn’t read him very well.
“Come inside, I don’t want to disturb the others,” he nodded curtly to Bastian who exited without a word. The bedroom was an appropriate venue for this meeting. It was much more intimate, just like the things we had to discuss. Stepping into the bedroom, there was a twin bed in the corner, a table and two chairs were in the opposite corner, and tactical equipment and electronics littered the floor next to the bed. By all accounts, this wasn’t the same man. The neat and orderly Julian Mercer had been replaced. “If you’re planning on turning me over to the authorities, I’d prefer if you wait until after Rosa and Adalina are no longer within Miguel’s grasp.”
“What you prefer doesn’t matter.” I finished scanning the room and sat in one of the two chairs at the table. Closing my eyes, I heard Martin’s voice in my head. Keep it together, Parker. “How long have you known about Santino’s arrangement with the Four Seasons?”
“I only discovered the connection after the first girl was released.”
“You sent O’Connell to get killed.” I ground my teeth together, trying to keep the fury at bay.
“He wasn’t supposed to have gotten hit. That was a mistake.”
“Bullshit.” I gripped the edge of the table to keep from knocking it across the room. “They were Teflon coated bullets.”
“It was meant to disable his vehicle, not him. These fucking twats lack aim and discipline.” The anger in Mercer’s voice was almost convincing. Maybe it was convincing, but I was too pissed off to accept it.
“Is that your justification for practically letting me kill one of them?” I snarled.
“As far as I’m concerned, he deserved it. They all bloody well deserved it.”
“Then what the hell happened?”
Mercer took a seat and started at the beginning. Originally, the insurance company hired him for Adalina’s retrieval. He worked with them before, and they valued his skill set. The day after he arrived on scene, Rosa Estes approached him while her husband was fielding a business call. She begged for his help, but he tried to keep his distance, believing their personal matters were not within his job description. When she showed him photographs and hospital accounts of what Miguel
had done to her, Mercer couldn’t refuse.
“I’m supposed to believe you’re the hero with a heart of gold?” I retorted.
“You’d be sorely mistaken.” His eyes burned with self-loathing. “That was when Santino contacted me directly.” He pulled out a copy of the same information Bastian delivered. “Their plan relied too heavily on the human element. The Seasons got greedy. I trust you’ve read through all the communications.” I nodded. “Then you see the problem. They wanted a larger cut. Rosa was still willing to give them whatever they wanted, but Santino was afraid this faked kidnapping would turn into the real thing.”
“They changed your play.” I swallowed. “When?”
“After you threatened to kill them.” He tilted his head to the side as if the concept was amusing. “The Seasons didn’t know what to make of a private security consultant and former federal agent. I suggested you could be scared off.”
“You fucking-son-of-a-bitch.” I launched myself at him, but he caught my arm and used my momentum to spin me around so my arms were crossed in front of my chest, and he held me in a firm grip. “You put the blood on the pier.” A vague recollection of what appeared to be spilt wine or grape juice from the fridge resurfaced. “You did it yourself.” I fought against him, but he didn’t release his grip. In all honesty, I wasn’t fighting as hard as I could because I didn’t want to know what would happen if I was free from his grasp. He kept my back against his chest but remained steady in his speech.
“Santino had supplies taken from a clinic because the girls’ locations were moved so often he didn’t want to risk the shopping lists alerting the police. The medical items were an afterthought in case of an unexpected emergency, but it was enough to throw you off the scent. Bastian blocked the cameras, and Hans set it up three hours before you arrived.”
Crumpling, resigned to the deceit, I was barely aware of my knees buckling and kneeling on the floor with Mercer’s arms still keeping me in place. “You did this.” My voice sounded foreign to my ears. “Her parents thought she was dead. I thought I killed her.” I was shaking with ire, but there was no fight in me. Mercer had psychologically beaten it out of me. His grip on my arms relaxed.