Chapter Seven
Laura took several deep breaths before peeking around the corner of the main house toward the cottages. Mark had followed her out of the kitchen and asked her again to let him search, but Rosa had called him back.
She looked for one of the six cameras he told her about. There, on the two-story garage. It moved at a steady pace, making a sweep of the darkened grounds. Two others were perched on the front corners of the bunk house.
If Mark hadn’t been here, she would certainly have been caught because she never considered monitored grounds.
A soft breeze stirred the bougainvillea planted beside the house, the stiff ocean wind blocked by Ruiz’s privacy wall which rose six feet in front of this part of the compound.
She waited for the camera to pan away from the first cottage, carefully glanced around for anyone who might be outside, and then ran to the building. She peeked in the front window. No lights inside, but the one atop a tall pole made it possible for her to make out the shape of the room and the furniture.
Out of the view of the surveillance system, she moved down the side of the cottage, looking in each window. Nothing, not even furniture. She made a complete circle of the cottage. The place hadn’t been used in a long time.
The other cottage lay less than twenty feet away, dark and apparently unoccupied. But she had to be sure.
She paused to watch the cameras on the bunkhouse pivot on their bases. One complete sweep, two. On the third, she saw a point at which she’d have a window of opportunity. On the fourth sweep, she sprinted to the cottage, her heart thundering, her breath tight. The seconds it took to get there felt like eons. Reaching the window on one side, she ducked behind a hedge of oleander, then peeked inside.
She couldn’t see a thing. The oleander blocked all the light. She moved to the second window on this side. Again, nothing. Maybe there were curtains. It was so dark she couldn’t tell.
Pushing back another bush, she crept around the corner to the back. Another tall outside light poured onto the cottage. A glance up told her one camera would make a sweep that would encompass this area. If anyone turned on the monitor, she’d be in plain sight. Hiding again, she stilled as the camera finished its sweep, then hurried to the window.
The outdoor light glistened off something odd that streaked the glass. She reached out, tracing the downward course of the streak, and realized it was on the inside. Beyond, she saw two single beds, both bare of linens. A television and game console sat on a portable cart in one corner, a thick braided rug covered the wooden floor.
Abandoned. But it felt different. Someone had been here. A small metal trash can beside the TV overflowed with paper that cast geometric shadows against the back wall.
Another window lay just beyond this one. A glance upward told her the camera would soon pan her position again. She scooted back into the bushes and let it pass.
She had to tiptoe to see inside this window. Fingers on the frame, she peered in. A pile of something lay in the corner beyond the beds. Sheets? A blanket? Each bed had a pillow. Yes. Someone had stripped the beds and left the linens on the floor.
Rushing back to the bushes, she glanced around for the best way to circle to the front. She studied the camera again, then made her move.
She ran down one side, staying low behind the oleander. At the front corner of the cottage, she pulled her uniform up, hiked her leg onto the cottage porch and scrambled up. Crouching low, she reached for the door handle. It turned. She nudged the door open, slipped inside, pushed it closed behind her and sagged against it, chest heaving.
Light shone brightly through the curtains in the small living room/dining room combination. Moving to the side, she stayed in the shadows. If someone turned the monitor back on, she wouldn’t be seen.
No kitchen, but a small refrigerator stood against one wall. She headed toward the back where two bedrooms were divided by a bathroom.
She took the one to the right first, the one she’d seen from the outside. Yes, the window had streaks. Sticky lines, she realized, as she traced one down. A gum drop shaped like an animal lay stuck against the window frame.
Her knees threatened to buckle.
Tony liked Gummy Bears when he was three. He licked the candies to make them slippery and then let them slide down the glass.
He’d been here. He had to have been.
Don’t jump to conclusions. This could mean nothing. Or everything.
Tony hadn’t even wanted the candy in years. But he must be so frightened… ¡Dios mío! He had to be terrified.
Taking a deep breath, she focused on the surroundings. Maybe there was something else, something to verify her suspicions.
The two beds. The linens. She hurried to the corner where the sheets lay and rifled through them, hoping to find something he might have left behind. But there was nothing.
She poured out the contents of the overflowing trash can.
A child’s drawings, colored with crayons, covered a few sheets of paper. Fighter jets, helicopters. Cars. Soccer balls. On others, a mixture of two very different handwritings, one an adult’s, the other large and blocky, spelled out Spanish sentences. And two names.
Esperanza and Tony.
***
“Laura tells me you have two children,” Rosa said.
Mark managed not to choke on a bite of the ají de pollo. It was what the servants ate, and was good, but Rosa’s comment caught him off guard. If the spicy chicken dish didn’t give him indigestion, the interminable wait or Rosa’s conversation would.
It took everything he had not to race outside and check on Laura. Or barge into Ruiz’s office to look at the monitor. He’d kept a close eye on the clock. Her half hour would be up in less than five minutes. She’d be expected back in the kitchen.
“Boys or girls? How old?” the woman continued.
Hell. “One of each. They’re a year old.”
Rosa smiled at him. She might work for the snake, but she wasn’t a bad sort. He hated on-the-fly lies. He’d trapped himself with the story that he and Laura were married and had children. He only hoped she never had to back him on something he’d said.
“Ah, twins. My sister has twins, a boy and girl, too. ¿Cómo se llaman?”
Their names. Shit. He said the only thing that came to mind. “María and Juan.” He took a drink of water and stood. “I’ll get Laura.”
“Sí. There is much left to do. The others will soon finish eating.”
The servants were gathering their empty plates as he passed. He nodded at the young maid Laura had helped, but kept walking toward the servant’s room. He reached for the knob, just as he heard a noise behind him. Spinning quickly around, he fell back against the door as Laura flew into his arms.
“Are you okay?” he asked against her hair, his arms automatically tightening around her.
“He was here,” she said as she clung to him. Her heart thundered against his chest.
“Where?”
“The second cottage.” She pulled away marginally. “Esperanza was with him.”
“You saw them?”
“No. No,” she shook her head. “They were here. His—”
He hurried to open the door. “We’ll talk inside.”
She rushed into the room and spun around. “I found his drawings and a paper they wrote their names on! He’s okay. Esperanza is taking care of him.” She took a breath and choked on a sob.
But the boy wasn’t there now—not something he wanted to remind her of.
“¿No vez? Don’t you see?” But as she said the words, her chin trembled and her eyes filled with tears. “He’s okay.”
Christ, what if he wasn’t? What if that son of a bitch had done something to the boy? Like what he’d done to Fuentes.
Or worse.
“But he’s scared,” she said. “He did this thing with Gummy Bear candies that he hasn’t done since he was little.” Her voice caught. “Like he’s reverting.”
Mark wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed. He ran his right hand up her back.
Too quickly she pulled away and brushed her tears from her cheeks, then from his tux jacket. Her fingers bumped against his neck.
Her touch, cool from the evening damp, burned through him. He grabbed her hand, needing to control his fears. For the boy. For her. For Fuentes. He had to do something. Fast. Fuentes wasn’t going to last long without care, and the more time it took to find Tony, the greater the risk to them all.
“You have to go back to the kitchen,” he said.
“Where would Ruiz take him?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No idea.” He looked at the boxes. “Are they moving?”
She followed his gaze. “Yes, yes they are. Back to the capital.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned. Then her eyes lit. “Yes, I do. This week. Rosa said they are leaving this week. I have to go with them. Rosa said Margarita Ruiz would hire me if she liked my work. I saved her party from disaster after she fired Pablo. She will offer me a job.”
“It’s too dangerous to go back the city. You’re better known there. Someone will recognize you.”
“I have to get Tony back! They have him there, they have to.”
“Laura, this can’t work. I’ll—”
“You do what you want,” she said, her English suddenly tinged with a Spanish accent. “They have not offered you a job, just me.”
He flinched at her quick dismissal. “They haven’t offered you the job yet, either.”
“They will,” she countered.
“Laura, listen to yoursel—
“No, you listen,” she said, her voice strong. “This is my son. If I have to prostitute myself to Ruiz for him, I will. I will do anything—”
He dragged her against him and pressed her to his shoulder.
He would do anything. For her, for the boy. For José Antonio Iglesias’s family. “Whatever we have to do. If it means going back with Ruiz and his wife, that’s what we’ll do. But you can’t go alone.”
He thought she nodded against his shoulder, but wasn’t sure. He pulled back and locked his gaze to hers. “Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Anything to get him back.” Her voice wobbled. “Thank you for helping me.”
A wave of guilt swamped him. He cursed himself. She shouldn’t be thanking him. He hadn’t done a damn thing that merited thanks. He’d done the opposite. Now he couldn’t get the boy back from the son of a bitch who’d taken him. And Fuentes would likely die because of the choices he’d have to make.
But the real hell of it came down to a fundamental truth. As he held her pressed against himself, as his thoughts tripped ahead to what had to be done, the risks they would take, he suddenly knew.
He wanted Laura Iglesias despite his sins, those committed and those soon to be committed. So he was the son of the bitch.
***
The restaurant crew was back at work when Laura returned to the kitchen with Mark. Most of the guests were gone, but on the patio, Margarita Ruiz sat relaxed, speaking with five women.
“Don Ernesto is still in his office with his guests. Those are their wives,” Rosa said.
“I’ll get back to my post,” Mark said, and left.
Laura busied herself arranging the things that had to be packed to take back to the restaurant, but her thoughts revolved around finding Tony.
Thank God Esperanza was with him. Maybe Ruiz wasn’t the monster she thought him to be, not if he kept Tony in a clean place, fed him, allowed Esperanza to stay with him. Allowed him to have gum drops, paper and crayons.
She would get him back. Mark had made it possible.
What if he hadn’t found her the other night in the restaurant? What if he’d done what most men would have done—ignored the waitress having trouble with someone like Ruiz? But he hadn’t. He’d saved her. He wasn’t letting his job with her father get in the way of that.
And she was depending on him.
Because he knew what he was doing. Common sense.
This unwanted attraction was based on that.
It had to be.
“She is there,” she heard Rosa say.
Laura looked up to see Margarita Ruiz walking toward her.
“Rosa tells me you are responsible for the success of the kitchen.”
“I would not disappoint you, Doña Margarita, not after what you did for me,” Laura replied.
“I leave for Ciudad San Mateo in the morning. I would like for you to come to the city to work for me. I will have use for your skills. I will speak with Carolina if you are interested.” She handed Laura a card.
Laura smiled, unable to contain her relief. “Sí, gracias.”
“Be there Saturday morning. Aren’t you going to ask me about your salary?”
Salary? Of course. That would be the primary question on anyone’s mind. But she wasn’t thinking as she should. “My husband, he usually arranges such things.”
“You must learn not to be dependent on a man. What will you do if he leaves you? Un hombre tan guapo,” so handsome, “must have women after him constantly. Learn to stand on your own.”
Surprised at Margarita’s words, Laura simply nodded.
“Now, your salary,” the woman continued, but Laura barely heard a word. All she could think was that she was going to be with her son one way or the other.
“Gracias. I will work hard.”
“Of course you will.”
“Doña Margarita, will I live in your house?”
“No. There is no room in the servants’ quarters. My husband owns a boarding house. You can stay there if you have no other place, but do not bring your children from Argentina yet.”
Her fictitious children. She had to be careful or she could easily be trapped in the lies they’d told. “My husband? Is there a job for him?”
“That is up to my husband,” she replied.
She couldn’t seem too eager, too agreeable. “If I do well, will you increase my pay?”
“Of course.”
So it was settled. She was going back to the city she’d fled.
***
“Go in and ask Don Ernesto if he needs anything,” Gonzalez ordered when Mark joined him in front of the office.
Mark wondered why Gonzalez didn’t go in and ask, but did as he was ordered.
The men inside sat back in their chairs, relaxed, drinking pisco from shot glasses, the coffee forgotten. Ruiz had not wanted food because the pisco would loosen inhibitions. The monitor was still off.
“Don Ernesto, is there anything I can get for you?” Mark asked.
“Take the tray away and ask the women to join us,” Ruiz said.
Mark reached the credenza to retrieve the tray.
“Then take Oscar and do as I ordered,” Ruiz added.
The test of Mark’s loyalty. To kill Fuentes.
The time had come to get Fuentes to safety, and damn it, he was going to have the guard with him.
“Sí, Don Ernesto,” Mark said. He bent to retrieve the tray, coughed and turned the monitor back on. As the camera swept the garage, he saw the dark figure of a man emerge from the shadowed stairs. The man bent at the waist, in a paroxysm of coughing.
No. Not coughing. Oscar the guard was vomiting.
The man was a crude brute, but maybe he wasn’t a sadist. Either that or he was plain sick.
Mark smiled to himself. Maybe, just maybe, this was his miracle.
***
Laura sat at the table in the empty kitchen and picked at the chicken dish. She’d told Rosa she had been too tired to eat during her break. The crew from the restaurant had left and the household servants had returned to their quarters. Her legs trembled, her hands shook. Exhaustion, yes, but all she could think about was how scared Tony must be, how badly he must want to go home.
“Did you get the job?”
She jumped. Mark stood in the doorway holding the tray he’d taken into the office an hour earlier.
“Yes,” she said. “I have to be in the city by Saturday. Margarita Ruiz is going to talk to Carolina. Is Ruiz going to take you with him to the city?”
“I don’t know. It depends.”
“On what?”
He put the tray on the counter. “As soon as you’re dismissed, go to where I hid our things. Stay there until I come for you.”
The kitchen door swung open and Gonzalez walked in. “It is time. Don Ernesto is bidding goodbye to his guests.”
Mark nodded.
“Your wife will wait here,” Gonzalez said. “When you return with Oscar and he tells me you did as ordered, you’ll take her and go. Come with me.” Gonzalez walked out.
Shit! Making Laura wait was tantamount to holding her hostage. If Mark didn’t do as ordered, Gonzalez would order her killed.
When the man was out of hearing range, Mark bent and whispered, “If I’m not back in two hours, do whatever you have to do to get to the clinic on the road to La Victoria. Do you know where that is?”
“A few kilometers south, in the foothills.”
“Ask for Beatrice Olivera. Tell her everything and that I sent you. She’ll help.”
“I don’t understand. What about you? Gonzalez said I have to wait for you.”
He pulled back far enough to meet her gaze. “Remember. Two hours. You’ll have to find a way to get away from him. Promise me. Then go to Beatrice.”
Footsteps sounded as someone walked into the kitchen from outside. Gonzalez stood at the door. “Now.”
Mark looked at her, his mouth set in a grim line. “Promise me.”
***
Mark should have expected Gonzalez to keep Laura as insurance that his orders were followed.
She and the boy had to live through this. No matter what. And the tortured agent— Mark had been considering possible ways to make everything work.
“Go get Sandoval,” Gonzalez said when they reached the garage. “Oscar will go with you. When it’s done, and the body left where it cannot be tied to you or us, you will both report back.” He handed Mark keys. “Take the pickup truck. It’ll be easier for you and Oscar to handle him.”
Mark nodded and Gonzalez walked away.
Oscar sat at the top of the garage steps, his head in his hands. If Gonzalez expected the man to remain alert, he was dead wrong. Anyone could have taken the guard.
“You have come. Good,” he said. “You must finish this.”
“You don’t look well, compadre,” Mark said.
The man braced himself against the wall, stood, and opened the door. “I will be well once you finish with him.”
Fuentes muttered in the dark, stench-filled room.
“He’s awake?”
“No. He calls out. His wounds, they’re grave. He makes no sense.”
“What did he do?”
“Do?”
“To end like this.”
“I don’t know,” Oscar replied with a shake of his head.
“You have no idea?” Mark prodded.
He didn’t answer.
“None?” Mark prodded.
“Gonzalez does not confide in me.”
“What could he have done?”
“Maybe…” Oscar shrugged. “Sandoval flew Don Ernesto and Gonzalez back from the city. Doña Margarita had arrived a day earlier. That evening, I heard Don Ernesto and Doña Margarita argue beside a cottage. Sandoval wanted to smoke. I told him not to go outside. Don Ernesto doesn’t like for us to hear him with his wife. But Sandoval didn’t listen. Then Gonzalez ordered me here. I found him like this.”
“That’s all?” Mark asked and headed toward Fuentes.
“Yes,” Oscar replied as they neared the cot. “He suffers much. Death will be merciful. You have killed before?”
Mark looked down at the agent who had not moved. “Yes.” In war. Never like this. This was execution.
“It sickens me. I wanted Gonzalez to give him something to make him sleep, but he wouldn’t allow it.”
“You’re this man’s friend?”
“No,” Oscar hurried to say. “No. But he’s a man and no one should endure what has been done to him, It will be better when he’s done.”
“Why did Gonzalez wait?”
“Don Ernesto’s party. He wanted to finish with that before taking care of Sandoval.”
“Why me? Why not you?”
“I’ve met my test. This is yours.”
Fuentes yelled out, calling for someone.
“Let’s make him comfortable,” Mark said. “It will be easier to get him down the stairs.” He turned on the light and looked down at the broken man. He couldn’t blame Oscar for feeling sick.
Mark grabbed a pillow from the floor, pulled off the filthy case, and ripped it into strips.
“What are you doing?” the guard asked.
“I’ll bind his leg and his arm.” He looked around for something straight to use as a splint. “That way he’ll be quiet as we move him.”
Oscar nodded. “That is merciful.” He said it in complete seriousness.
Fuentes fought only once. When Mark straightened his leg in order to tie the chair rails he’d broken off onto his leg. That was when Oscar turned away and gagged.
By the time they got Fuentes into the back of the pickup, the impeccable tux they’d made Mark wear was torn and bloodied. It would have to be thrown away. Oscar was of little help, with his constant dry heaves.
“Sit in the back with him. I know where to do this,” he said as the man straightened from his last bout of nausea.
“Por favor, let me drive,” Oscar pleaded.
Yeah, Oscar wasn’t a sadist. “Drive north, along the main highway. To the bridge.”
“I know the place,” the guard agreed eagerly. “That’s where you’ll do it?”
“Sí. It will be easy at night.” Then, for good measure, he added, “We’ll dismember the body.”
Mark thought Oscar had nothing left in his stomach. He was wrong. Even in the dark, with only the tall compound lights on, the greenish tint of the man’s face was obvious. He spun around and vomited.