Abducted:Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops) (4 page)

“I’ve never seen him before,” Sheila said. “I would remember a face like that.” 

And the body and—the smile. That smile. “He’s modeled in Paris and London,” she said. “This is his first big job in the States.” 

“I see.” Sheila took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “I understand you aren’t a professional model. You’re Head of Creative Designs for Nina Bruno. Isn’t it unusual for an executive to model? Aren’t you taking a risk?” 

Liz wanted to thump the woman upside the head. Leave it to a lawyer to ask all the right—or wrong—questions. “Our model had a last minute conflict.” She resisted the urge to dart a glance at Tanya, who was surrounded by several older men. Without a doubt, Ms. Sheila D.A. Antonio would notice.

“What brings you to the gala?” Liz asked, and instantly regretted the question. Young, male models could be what brought her to the gala.

“I met Larissa a year ago. We share a mutual friend, Senator Ross Pierson.” 

“Roos the Boos Pierson?” Liz asked.

Sheila nodded. “You know him?” 

“I do. He went to law school with my father. I didn’t realize he had a home here in El Paso. How do you know him?” 

“One of the partners of the law firm I worked for in Houston is friends with the senator. I saw him at parties. We became fast friends. He’s a straight shooter.” 

“He is,” Liz agreed, and grudgingly admitted that Sheila Antonio had some strong, good qualities to be close friends with Senator Pierson. Of course, there was always the chance Sheila overstated their friendship. She wouldn’t be the first woman to cozy up to Roos the Boos Pierson. At sixty, he was still an attractive man.

Sheila reached into her clutch bag and pulled out a card and a pen. She set her drink on a nearby table, then jotted down a phone number and handed the card to Liz. “The senator has a party planned tomorrow for some of the local pro football players. I’m betting he would love to see you.” 

“I’m returning to Dallas tomorrow,” Liz said. “But I’ll give him a call. It’s been too long since I’ve spoken with him. Thank you, Ms. Antonio.” 

“Call me Sheila. We’re practically old friends ourselves.” 

There it was. Sheila’s version of friendship.

Liz laughed. “Sheila. Thanks.” 

“Thank you,” Sheila said. 

“For what?” 

“For bringing
him
to the party.” 

Liz looked in the direction Sheila nodded and watched Larissa slide her hand into the crook of Adam’s arm. They entered the crowd, headed toward the foyer.

“It looks like Larissa knows a good thing when she sees it,” Sheila said. 

Shock froze Liz’s gaze on the doorway Larissa and Adam had stepped through. Surely, Adam Billings wouldn’t fraternize with the woman hosting the fashion event of the season?

A minute later, To Liz’s relief, Sheila excused herself and Liz started for the foyer. Before she’d taken ten steps, a saleswoman who worked with exclusive boutiques in the south stopped her. Liz listened for a moment, then promised to call next week and broke away with the excuse of finding the ladies room. She hurried the final half dozen paces to the foyer.

She slowed and scanned the guests milling about the room. From the corner of her eye she caught movement on the second floor and glanced up as Larissa disappeared through an arched opening behind a man. Was that Adam? Liz hesitated, then crossed the foyer and entered a small room. French doors opened onto the rear grounds. When she didn’t see Adam in the back garden, she searched the rear patio, but he wasn’t there either.

Her heart pounded. In her wildest worst-case scenarios, she wouldn’t have imagined her escort slipping away for privacy with Larissa Remmey. Was that what had happened? When she thwarted his overtures, had he switched his attention to Larissa? If Larissa’s husband discovered his wife cavorting with Adam, not only would he never work in the fashion industry again, neither would Nina Bruno Designs. Goodbye
LaRouche
.

Anger rammed through Liz. Anger at Adam, anger at Tanya, and anger at herself. Her judgment always had been impeccable—until now. And the worst part was, no matter which way she turned, Nina Bruno Designs was screwed. Larissa wasn’t going to appreciate a confrontation with Liz any more than Francis Remmey would appreciate learning his wife had fraternized with the help.

There was always the chance Francis Remmey wouldn’t find out about his wife and Adam. There was always the chance he didn’t care. No, that was wrong. Everyone knew that after forty-five years of marriage, he was still crazy about her. Maybe he looked the other way. Still, that wouldn’t stop him from crushing Nina Bruno Designs.

Liz started up the stairs, then slowed. Which was the worst monster, Larissa or her husband?

* * *

Ben lowered himself onto the overstuffed leather chair opposite where Carlos Sanchez sat on a couch in Francis Remmey's private study. Agreeing to any kind of business deal with Carlos Sanchez meant prison time for Remmey. Ben met Remmey’s eyes and read in them a determination to take that risk, even if it only improved the odds of getting his granddaughter home safely.

“Carlos,” Remmey said as he sat on the other end of the couch, “this is Mr. Billings.”

“Yes, we met on the dance floor.”

Ben angled his head in acknowledgement. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Sanchez. I was, shall we say, distracted.”

“She is a very beautiful woman,” Sanchez said.

“She is,” Ben agreed.

“Adam is in a unique position to help us,” Remmey said. 

Sanchez blew out smoke from his cigar. “How so?” 

“I know every inch of the El Paso/Juarez border,” Ben said. “That's how.” 

Sanchez pinned him with a hard stare. “I’m not certain how that can help me. The only men who can make such a claim are Border Patrol.” 

“Border Patrol and me,” Ben said.

Sanchez looked at Remmey with a condescension born of the belief that he was untouchable. “Who is he?” 

Remmey didn't flinch. “I’ve been doing business between El Paso and Juarez for nearly forty years. Do you think I don't know everyone of consequence?” 

“I do not care if you know the president himself,” Sanchez replied. “I am interested only in how you know this man.” 

“The president isn't in a position to know the right kind of people to help us,” Remmey replied. “The man who recommended Mr. Billings sits on the State government and is very well connected. Don’t ask his name, Carlos,” Remmey added when Sanchez opened his mouth. “You must know I can no more tell you who he is than I can refuse your business offer.” 

Business offer.
Ben kept an impassive expression. Even the Remmey’s compliance might not save their granddaughter. Sanchez's unwritten contracts always bent to his advantage and were lifelong. The Remmeys must know that. Once Sanchez released their granddaughter—if he released her—anyone else they loved would be in danger the instant Remmey stopped helping Sanchez transport people across the border. Their lives here in El Paso—in Texas—were over.

Only a miracle was going to save their granddaughter. Despite their desperation to get her back, Larissa had made it clear that they couldn't reconcile themselves to dooming other girls to the very fate from which they were frantic to save their granddaughter. The days were numbered before Sanchez realized that truth.

The human traffics dealer took a long drag on his cigar while he studied Ben, then said to Remmey, “I had no idea you knew people in my line of business.”  

“You asked for my help,” Remmey replied.

“Our business is transportation, Francis,” Sanchez said.

Remmey didn't miss a beat. “Mr. Billings' specialty
is
transportation. He can see to it that shipments move.” 

Sanchez's eyes shifted onto Ben. “How do I know I can trust him?”  

“Because you know you can trust me,” Remmey said. 

Sanchez looked at him. “I trust your motives. I do not know you well enough to trust your judgment.” 

“I'm anxious to finish the first part of our business, Carlos. Rest assured I won't make mistakes. You can decide against hiring Mr. Billings, but I suggest you hear him out.” 

Sanchez puffed on his cigar, then blew out smoke and pointed the business end of the cigar at Ben. “How am I to know you can do the job? You are very young.” 

Ben laughed. “Looks can be deceiving. I know the border better than any man in El Paso—including Border Patrol
and
your men.” 

Sanchez's gaze sharpened. “You're saying you know the patrols?” 

“To the second.” 

Carlos knocked the ash into a crystal ashtray sitting on an end table. “Do you have connections with Border Patrol?” 

Ben shook his head. “Connections with Border Patrol are unreliable. What I know is every rock along that border.” 

“Only a snake can know every rock along that border.” 

“Or a man who has the desert in his veins.” 

* * *

Ben glanced out the limousine’s tinted window, relieved that he hadn’t encountered Liz on his way out of the mansion. Larissa had kept her promise to divert Liz’s attention while he and Sanchez left. How would she react when he eventually appeared at her office and confessed the truth about himself? No woman liked being
deceived. If her compassion matched her smarts, she would understand. If that didn't work, he wasn't above begging forgiveness for leaving her at the party—and lying about who he was. Catching the most notorious human traffics dealer in Texas might make him look enough like a hero to dazzle her—for about five minutes. Then he'd likely have to beg again.

“I warn you, Mr. Billings, I do not like liars.” 

He shifted his attention onto Sanchez, who sat between two of his line-backer-sized bodyguards opposite Ben. “Neither do I,” Ben said.

“I’m not a man who cares for surprises.” 

Then he wasn’t going to like the surprise waiting for him at the end of this ride.

Ben wasn’t disobeying orders, not strictly. Yes, he’d discovered the connection between Remmey and Sanchez. Yes, he should have called for backup. But the possibility of saving a young woman from Sanchez’s bordellos trumped orders. Ben had promised Larissa he would try to find *out something,
anything
, about her granddaughter’s location and condition, and he intended to keep that promise.

The Feds wanted Sanchez. They needed to show the American public that they could catch the man behind the murder of two innocent girls, the man who had enslaved thousands of men women in the course of his career. But they hadn’t said a damn word about plugging the hole he would leave in his organization. The organization wouldn’t miss more than a day’s transportation of victims across the Texas/Mexican border. But Larissa had put him in a position to learn something about Sanchez’s organization. This was an opportunity he couldn’t let pass.

“What would you like from me?” Ben asked.

“I have some special cargo that needs to be transported across the border. I want no mistakes.” 

Ben lifted a brow. “You mean like the mistake two months ago?” 

Surprise flickered in Sanchez’s eyes.

“I recognize your signature, Mr. Sanchez.” 

“I haven’t been in Texas in seven months,” he replied.

Ben nodded. “I hope you disciplined those men. Killing those girls was messy and wasteful.” 

Sanchez’s eyes narrowed. “I know how to deal with my men.” 

“Choose the right men for the job and you won’t have to
deal
with them.” 

Sanchez studied him. “Are you saying the Border Patrol wouldn’t have caught you?” 

“The Border Patrol wouldn’t have known to look for me,” Ben said.

“You are very certain.” 

“I am.” 

“Then you feel you are the man to handle special shipments?” 

“Yes, though I’m surprised you would trust a stranger with such an important task.” 

“You have not yet been entrusted with the task, but if you are, you will have passed a test that will ensure your sincerity and loyalty.” 

“What test might that be?” 

“Do you care as long as it gets you the job?” 

“I’m not an idiot, Mr. Sanchez. I understand business risks. If I’m awake, I’m calculating risks. And you don’t have to worry about me asking the wrong kinds of questions, I have no desire to run your business. I also have no desire to find myself in a federal prison because of someone else’s mistake.” 

“You’re cocky,” Sanchez said.

“Careful,” Ben replied. “Just as you are.” 

“Will you discuss business with me over dinner?” 

“I assume you know a good restaurant?” 

“You will not find a better chef in El Paso.” 

Ben snorted. “That’s a cockier claim than any I’ve made tonight. El Paso chefs are among the best in Texas.” 

Ben caught the flicker of amusement in Sanchez’s eyes as he said, “Yes, but are they among the best in Mexico?”