Chapter 18
It took Carlotta a matter of moments to reach her room, less time to pull on jeans, roll the sleeves of Shep’s shirt to her elbows, and bag the rest of her possessions. But she did not rush back to the elevator. Instead, she hurried down the stairs to emerge, unseen, near the building’s back door.
She had lied, of course. Sofia was not in New Orleans.
She was here. Close. For reasons unknown, she’d been kept at the very inn Carlotta had shared with Shep. But she had used an alias. Cattleya Peya. None other would choose such a name. The lovely cattleya, Sofia’s favorite orchid. And Peya…it was the surname of Señor Tevio’s gardener. How often had Sofia sat amidst the old man’s raucous blossoms, questioned him about his renowned techniques?
Carlotta saw it all clearly now. Sofia had indeed been taken from school, but she had not been so much abducted as compelled, coerced into leaving, only to realize too late that it was all a terrible mistake. Yet she had been wise enough to play along, to pretend all was well as she sent secret messages only her sister could decipher.
It was not difficult to flag down a cab. Not hard to convince the driver to take her to a pier on Key Largo. The difficulty came with the internal turmoil. The fear, the angst, the uncertainty. But she would do what she must.
Reaching into her bag, she felt the cold steel of the handgun she’d shoved into her bag. It had been frightfully simple to bring it to America. A permit, a locked case, and voila, it emerged on the baggage carousel like magic.
If only the remainder of her mission would be so easy. But she had known it would not be. Instead, it was fraught with a hundred worries, a thousand possible missteps.
The cab fare was astronomical, the boat rental even worse. The entire process was punctuated with warnings of shoals, sandbars, and offers to captain her little vessel at a reduced rate. But Carlotta had been manning her own craft since childhood and was relieved to finally be alone on the open water. Minutes passed like hours as she navigated the circuitous course. The sun beat down on her bare head, and doubts heckled mercilessly.
By the time she spied the island’s sandy beach, the air had begun to cool. Darkness was falling like a black curtain, stealing what little confidence she had retained. Throttling down while still far from shore, she anchored the sleek Bayliner.
But for the lap of soft waves against the hull and the squawk of a night heron, the world was silent. A perfect place to hide a kidnap victim…or for other nefarious deeds.
Chanting a silent prayer for heroes and fools, she retrieved a few necessities from her bag, shoved the pistol into her waistband, and slipped into the water. It rose to her thighs, cold and dark.
The cabana, a wooden structure with a thatched roof and multiple egresses, crouched far back from the shore, but the night was deepening, and the trees were full, offering cover until she was only a few strides from the door. Carlotta stopped in the blackest shadows, heart beating in her throat, hands damp as she checked the pistol hidden beneath her borrowed, oversized shirt.
Uncertainty crept up her arms, tingled in her fingertips while the small voice of fear warned her to return to the shore, to her boat, to her home. She glanced longingly in the direction she’d left the Bayliner, but she could not quit now.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, she crept to the nearest window and tried to peer inside. But the shades were drawn, the house closed up tightly. She tried the next and the next. Each was the same…until she arrived at the fifth window.
It was open, just a crack.
Carlotta would’ve liked to believe she was elated. Even mild relief would have been welcomed. But terror gnawed at her in earnest now, immobilizing her limbs, accelerating her heart. Yes, she had lied about Sofia’s whereabouts. But she had not been entirely untruthful regarding the frightening man so often at Tevio’s side. Long she had wondered about his role in Señor Tevio’s life. Why did a peaceable doctor need such a person? And was that person responsible for her sister’s disappearance?
Carlotta was no hero. No champion of any sort. In fact, she had left the hero behind. Had tricked him, lied to him. What a fool she was. But perhaps it wasn’t too late. She could return to the inn. Beg for his—
It was then that the scent of peaches reached her nostrils. Close on its heels was a muffled moan. Sofia! She almost gasped the name, but she steadied herself. Fortifying her flagging courage, she slid her hands beneath the window and lifted. It slid silently upward. Inside, the room was dark as pitch. Still, she jerked away and pressed her back against the warm siding. But no monsters swooshed out to devour her.
It seemed an eternity before she could find a modicum of quavering nerve. But finally, she pulled the folding knife from her pocket. Reaching out soundlessly, she cut through the screen as quietly as possible. The blade against the mesh seemed as loud as a freight train to her sensitized ears. She held her breath, waiting to be caught, to be questioned, to be tortured. But only the sound of night insects disturbed the stillness.
Heart in her throat, she forced one foot through the opening and slithered over the sill. Dropping silently to the floor, she remained as she was. Like a prisoner awaiting execution, she hunched her shoulders, held her breath. Silence marched on, seconds ticking away like a time bomb until there was nothing she could do but go on. Swallowing her fear, she pulled out her gun as her eyesight adjusted. Before her lay an open floor plan, living area, kitchen, entry, and a small bathroom. Only one door was closed.
Her heartbeat increased, pounding in her ears. She scanned every visible inch of her surroundings, the muzzle of her weapon following her line of vision, but no desperados shared her space. Either Sofia was alone, trussed up like an animal waiting to be slaughtered…or the bastard was in there with her.
Another moan, louder now, issued from behind the closed door.
Rage stormed through Carlotta, drowning her fear, devouring her uncertainty.
There was no more thought of consequences. No more time to wait.
Staggering to her feet, Carlotta rushed forward, ripped open the door, and launched into the room.
“What the hell!” someone rasped.
“Do not move!” She shouted the words, though she hadn’t meant to. “Don’t move or I will shoot. I swear I will,” she vowed and, crouching slightly, reached for the switch beside the door.
Light blazed from the ceiling, illuminating the couple in the bed.
They were young, pretty, wide-eyed, and speechless. He was dark-haired and bare-chested. She was blond and terrified, peeking out from behind the sheet she’d dragged like a paper-thin shield to her nose.
Confusion roared through Carlotta, but she rallied, straightening slowly. “What have you done with her?” she rasped and swung the muzzle of the gun toward the man.
He held up a quivering hand and squabbled something inarticulate.
“My sister,” she demanded, though doubts were swarming in like army ants. “Where is she? Tell me or you die.”
“No!” rasped the blonde.
Carlotta swung the gun toward her. “Where?” she repeated. “Where you have Sofia?”
The girl clutched the sheet tighter to her face and whispered, “Mandón?”
Confusion swamped Carlotta, nearly bowling her over, dragging her under, but she spread her legs and remained upright. “How do you…” she began.
But just then the door crashed open behind her.