Against the Night (24 page)

“That’s right. Farther down the road, there’s a string of restaurants, motels and shops.” He smiled. “There’s even a day spa. You can get your toes painted.”

Amy shot him a look. She wouldn’t be going to any day spa, that look said. She was there to find her sister.

Setting the brush aside, she walked up behind where he sat at the computer reading the info he’d brought up on Southern Belize, a history of the area that went all the way back to the Maya, through pirates and Puritans to the present-day government. The language was primarily English except for the Garifuna spoken in parts of the south. The local flora included hundreds of varieties of orchids. There were giant iguana lizards, and toucans were the national bird.

He Googled
Placencia.
“Population six hundred,” he read. “Not many people, but the entire country is largely unpopulated.”

He searched until his brain was stuffed with what was likely useless information, then turned off the computer and stripped off his T-shirt. “I need a shower,” he said, walking toward the bathroom naked to the waist. Amy’s gaze fixed on his chest and didn’t move away.

A corner of his mouth edged up. “I wish I had time to do something about that look in your eyes, but it’ll have to wait.”

Her cheeks turned pink and she glanced away.

“The afternoon’s nearly gone. I want to be at the villa by nightfall. Since we haven’t eaten all day, we’ll get something to eat now, then I’ll head for Ortega’s.”

Her pretty mouth tightened. He recognized her mulish I’m-going-with-you expression and he knew he was in for trouble.

The rain had stopped by the time they left the motel. At a place called The Blue Lagoon that overlooked the water, they ate conch soup and fresh lobster. In cooler weather, the walls of the building were opened out to let in the breeze and diners ate al fresco, sitting at tables out in the open air.

Too damn hot for that now,
Johnnie thought. The AC was running full blast but it was only moderately cool at the battered wooden table. But the food was worth the discomfort.

“I’m stuffed,” Amy said, shoving her plate away. “I can’t eat another bite.”

Johnnie pulled her dish to his side of the table and finished off the rest of her lobster and cole slaw. As soon as the food was gone, he asked for the check, paid the bill and took a look at his watch.

“Time to go.” It was an eighteen-mile drive up the road to the mainland, a little farther on to Las Palmas. He wanted to be settled somewhere out of sight while there was still enough light to see.

They reached the car and he settled her inside, then backed out of the lot and drove toward the motel.

“Remember how you said on the plane that you were going to make the best of my being here?” Amy asked.

He cast her a sideways glance. “Yeah, what about it?”

“I don’t want to fight with you about everything we do.”

“Then we won’t.”

She shifted in the seat to face him. “So you’ll take me with you tonight.”

He inwardly groaned. He had figured this was coming. Damn it, he wanted her safe, not staking out some drug lord’s house. “You promised me on the plane, you wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“And I won’t be. I want to go. I might see something, think of something that would help.”

“I’m not coming right back. I’m staying there, doing surveillance.”

“I don’t care. If I go, I can help you. We can take turns watching, that way both of us can get a little sleep.”

He wanted to say no, but he knew how important this was to her. From what Dietz had said and what he had seen from the plane, with Ortega out of the country, security at the house was lax. Being there wouldn’t be completely without risk, but if something didn’t look right, he could leave.

“All right, you can go.”

Her eyebrows went up in surprise. “Really?”

“Really. But you’ll have to do what I say.”

“I will, I promise.” She looked so excited he was almost glad he’d let her come with him.

He pulled the car into the motel parking lot and made a quick trip up the outside stairs to the room to retrieve the gear he needed. He returned with the bag, the semiauto in the shoulder holster under a red-flowered shirt, the ankle gun hidden by his khaki pants. The knife was already in his boot.

They drove the paved road up the peninsula, turned slightly inland and pulled onto the gravel road shown on Dietz’s map. The lane ran parallel to the ocean, passing the entrance to the villa marked by a big spiked wrought iron gate. The road beyond it leading to the villa was paved.

Johnnie drove by the house, continuing past the service entrance a little farther down the gravel road from the main entrance. He made a U-turn, waited a few minutes, then drove back to the place he had spotted where he could back the car into the foliage out of sight. From there they could watch both entrances and not be seen.

Johnnie turned off the engine. “You might as well relax,” he said, pushing his seat all the way back. “It’s gonna be a long night.”

There was no one driving the stretch of gravel road that passed the house. From the air, Amy had seen the commanding two-story residence built in a U-shape that backed up to the sea. She had also noticed a swimming pool in the huge yard that sloped down to the beach, a long white dock with what appeared to be a sailboat and a big, fancy cabin cruiser tied to it. There was also some kind of boathouse. Except for the beach and the dock behind the villa, the house and gardens were entirely surrounded by wrought iron fencing.

As they sat in the car with the windows rolled down, trying to ignore the heat, dusk settled around them, and the night sounds began. Insects chirping, monkeys chattering in the trees, scuffling noises in the foliage hiding the car.

The air was so hot and thick it was hard to drag a breath into her lungs. Amy figured it must not cool off in Belize until the fall, but without the direct sun, it was bearable. When she slapped at a mosquito, Johnnie turned around and unzipped the bag he had tossed into the backseat. A can of mosquito spray appeared in one of his hands.

“Malaria can be a problem down here. Close your eyes.”

She did as he said, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell as he sprayed her body and even her clothes. Then he sprayed himself and settled back to wait. She had never thought of Johnnie as a patient man, but clearly he was used to this kind of work.

“What should we be watching for?” she asked.

“Anything or anybody moving around out there.”

Which hadn’t happened so far, since there didn’t seem to be a soul in the area except the guard in the gatehouse. But the small structure sat off the main road, halfway up the paved road leading to the villa.

Amy checked her watch. It was a few minutes past nine o’clock when a battered old pickup drove down the service road away from the house. The vehicle stopped in front of another iron gate, which automatically swung open, and the pickup drove through, followed by a dinged-up ancient yellow car with a shiny red fender, apparently a replacement for one that had been wrecked. A rusty flatbed truck was last in line before the gate swung closed behind them.

“They’re heading home,” Johnnie said. “It’s the end of their shift.”

“Employees? That’s who they are?”

“Kitchen staff, housekeepers, gardeners, maybe. Anyone who isn’t live-in.”

Amy watched the ragged-looking vehicles drive past, a man and woman in the pickup, four women in the battered yellow car, and two men in the flatbed truck, the wheels bouncing along the uneven road toward the tiny village of Riversdale or on to Placencia.

“It would take a lot of people to run a place like this,” Amy said. “I wonder if the kitchen help does the shopping.”

“Probably,” Johnnie said absently.

“I saw a couple of grocery stores in Placencia when we went to supper. There are stands that sell fresh vegetables and fish, but the cook would still need staples like flour and sugar, and of course, cleaning supplies.”

Johnnie looked at her with something a little more substantial than indulgence. “Good thought. Riversdale’s too small for a real store. Has to be Placencia. Something to keep in mind.”

An hour passed. The guard in the gatehouse was relieved by another man, both of them wearing short-pants uniforms that appeared to be white, but it was getting too dark to tell for sure. Amy fell asleep a little later, then woke up with a start when Johnnie lightly shook her shoulder.

“Easy. Everything’s okay. It’s late. I want to take a look around.” Pulling up his pant leg, he jerked the revolver she had seen earlier out of the holster strapped around his boot. “I don’t suppose you have any idea how to use one of these things.”

She straightened. “I do, actually. My dad and I went deer hunting all the time. I mean, I never actually shot a deer or anything, but I know how to do it.”

“Good. So you’ve used a rifle. How about a handgun?”

“Target practice. Daddy owned a .38 revolver. It looked a lot like yours. He showed me how to use it. It’s been a long time, but I think I can remember.”

“There’s an empty chamber beneath the hammer.” He put the gun in her hand, wrapped her fingers around it. “Just hold it in front of you, keep your arms straight, cock it and fire. Then just keep firing.”

Her mouth felt dry. “I remember.”

“Listen, you aren’t going to need it, but if something doesn’t look right, pull off a shot and I’ll come running. Okay?”

She managed to smile and hoped it didn’t look wobbly. “I’ll be fine.”

Johnnie reached up and pulled the bulb out of the overhead light. He rifled through his bag and took out a pair of binoculars.

“Night vision,” he explained, looping the strap around his neck. Quietly opening the door, he rounded the car to her side, leaned through the window and pressed a hot, hard kiss on her mouth. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Amy watched him disappear soundlessly into the underbrush, barely moving a leaf. Insects hummed and darkness closed around her. There was no moon tonight, which was probably good, considering they were out there spying on a drug lord. Amy fixed her eyes on the house. Only the low lights illuminating the path to the front door burned through the night. She sank down in the seat, cradling the pistol in her lap.

Praying she wouldn’t have to use it.

Johnnie circled the exterior of the compound. The iron fence was over seven feet high with spikes along the top. It wasn’t electric, but was undoubtedly hooked to a sophisticated alarm system. He’d spotted a man patrolling the grounds. Another walked the long stretch of beach behind the house. Both were currently out of sight.

He looked at the fence, wishing he could get into the compound, but he didn’t have the equipment to disable the alarm system, and it wasn’t really worth trying to get in if Rachael wasn’t in the house.

He moved along the fence line. There were no lights shining through any of the windows, no sounds coming from inside. There were probably a few live-in employees, but by now they’d be asleep.

Johnnie didn’t like the conclusion he was coming to. He couldn’t see a man as powerful as Ortega taking the risk of holding a woman prisoner in his villa, not with servants and guards, and the visitors Ortega often entertained. If Rachael had been brought to the house and hadn’t returned on the plane, likely she was dead.

Not a theory he intended to share with Amy. Not yet.

He reached the beach, careful to stay out of sight in the dense foliage and palms along the shore, noted the location of the guard patrolling the area, waited until the man disappeared out of sight, then made his way to the boathouse. It was solidly locked, but looking through the window, he could see a big, white cigarette boat. They were fast—and Jesus, this one was a beauty. More expensive toys to bolster Ortega’s ego? Or was it used for something else?

Satisfied with his preliminary observations, Johnnie left the dock area and began making his way along the fence line back to the car. He approached quietly. Stopping a few feet away from the vehicle, he reached down and picked up a pebble, tossed onto the hood on the opposite side from where he stood. Amy’s gun came up, pointed straight out the window.

Good girl,
he thought. “It’s me,” he said softly before he came closer. “Don’t shoot.”

She relaxed against the seat, lowered the gun back into her lap.

Johnnie slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

“Did you see anything?” Amy asked anxiously as they rolled quietly off down the road.

“Two additional guards besides the guy in the gatehouse. There’s probably a couple of live-in servants, but for now, that’s it.”

“Can you get inside?”

“I’d have to disable the system and I don’t have what I need to do that. And to tell you the truth, I don’t think she’s there.”

“Why not?”

“Not enough activity. We’ve been here for hours. Nothing looks suspicious. And Ortega is a very careful man. It’s not his style to leave a loose end like your sister, and that’s what she’d be if he was keeping her prisoner in his house.”

“Maybe she’s there voluntarily.”

Johnnie raked a hand through his hair. “It’s possible, I suppose. If she’s Manny’s girlfriend and he brought her down here. But if that’s the case, why hasn’t she called?”

Amy glanced away. They needed more information, needed to know if Rachael was still in Belize, and finding out wouldn’t be easy.

Nor would finding Rachael Brewer’s body if she was dead—which was becoming more and more likely.

Rachael would have called. Amy didn’t doubt it for an instant. Which meant that if she were still in Belize, she was being prevented from calling her family, held against her will.

Or she was dead.

Amy’s heart twisted. She wasn’t ready to accept that, not yet. They had only been in the country one day.

She rested her head against the window, which was once again rolled up and the air conditioner blasting. The jungle rushed past in the darkness. As Johnnie turned the rental car onto the long strip of asphalt leading back to their motel, the ocean appeared as a vast black stretch of nothing.

It didn’t take long to reach the parking lot and a few minutes later they were climbing the stairs to their room at The Orchid Inn. All the way home, Amy’s chest was squeezing. They knew now that Rachael had actually been in Belize, been a passenger aboard Carlos Ortega’s jet. Ortega was a notorious drug lord, a man with a brutal reputation.