Deliverer (16 page)

Chapter 28

"The old man's up to something," Rodriguez said, slipping into the office where Truman sat at the computer.

Truman didn't even look up from his calculating. Today was the day; Sid should be here before dinner, and this nightmare would end. Earl had proven himself time and time again. "Your evidence?"

Rodriguez shifted his wiry body and narrowed his eyes. "He goes outside to use his phone. As if he doesn't want us listening."

Truman lifted his eyes, considering the issue. "I think that's fairly normal. Most people don't want other people listening in on private conversations, and I doubt he trusts us with his personal life."

"But he's gone outside five times just today."

Truman resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. Earl had three kids and a handful of grandkids. That could equal a lot of phone calls. Still, it might give Rodriguez something to do. "Where is he now?"

Rodriguez crossed to the window and peered through the blinds. "In his car. Said he needed groceries. He's backing out of the driveway."

"Follow him. Don't let him see you."

Rodriguez disappeared from the room, and Truman pushed Earl from his thoughts. He accessed his bank account for the hundredth time that morning. Sometime within the next twenty-four hours, he fully expected the
Carnicero
to deposit at least four million dollars. But by then it might be too late. Once Sid had the girls, Truman would quickly vanish into obscurity. It would be up to Sid to collect on the ransom money.

Truman ran the plan over again in his mind. Sid would arrive. There might be a brief finagling over money, but they'd reach an agreement, do the exchange, and part ways.

Truman wouldn't stick around to see what Sid did with the girls. As soon as the money made its way into his SUV, they'd leave the house. They'd stop at several banks on the way to the airport and deposit the money into various fictitious accounts. There wouldn't even be time to buy a new car before Truman would board a plane and disappear. His last job would be to transfer the money to McAllister, and then no one would hear from Jeff Truman again.

The phone jangled, and he answered before the ring completed. "Yes."

Rodriguez started speaking as though they were in the middle of a conversation. "He stopped at the grocery store. Bought food. Now we're at a pet store."

Truman furrowed his brow, trying to catch Rodriguez's train of thought. Ah, Earl. Was there an animal in the house? He remembered the cat he'd seen lounging on furniture. Smooshed face, long fur. Gourmet cat food. "So, that's normal. His cat was hungry. Has he talked to anyone?"

Rodriguez hesitated. "Can't tell...can't really see him."

That didn't make sense. "What do you mean, you can't see him? Are you trailing him, or what?"

"Yeah, but tinting on the windows blocks the view. And he might see me."

Truman bit his tongue and shut his eyes, giving himself a full five-count before speaking. "You idiot. Get out of the car and follow him. You have to hear everything he says, see everything he sees."

The car door slammed shut in the background. "All right. Okay. I'm going."

"Call me if you get anything." He put down the phone but didn't have a chance to get back to his train of thought before it rang again. Rodriguez's name danced across the screen. He pressed it on. "What?"

"I lost him."

Incompetent. "How?"

"I was about to go into the store when he came out. I ducked to avoid being seen. He drove away, and by the time I got to my car, I couldn't find him."

"Fine.” Wild goose chase was over. Now Earl could buy his cat food in peace. “Get back here." Truman hung up the phone. Breaking away from his team looked more appealing by the hour.

#

"This is dinner?" Derek's face contorted as he lifted the lid off the skillet in the kitchen. "What is it? Cat food?"

The question made Truman think of Earl, who still hadn't returned.

"What's wrong with it?" Grey asked stiffly. "It's sloppy joes. There weren't a lot of options, okay? I had to use what I found."

"Garbage," Derek muttered, chucking his plate in the trash and stomping away.

"You cook next time!" Grey yelled after him.

The garage door opened and Rodriguez walked in. "Sorry, boss. I don't know where he went."

Truman gestured him inside, trying to ignore the nerves that sputtered in his chest. "Earl's never done me wrong. He probably went to get us dinner." Of course, that didn't explain why he hadn't answered his phone earlier.

Rodriguez spotted the food and launched himself at it.
"
Caramba
, this looks good. I'm starving."

"Thank you," Grey said, tossing his empty plate into the sink. "Some gratitude."

A thump sounded from downstairs, and Grey snorted. "Tell me Derek isn't taking his hunger out on the walls."

Rodriguez took a huge bite of his sandwich. "This is great, man. Why didn’t he eat?"

Another thump sounded, louder than before.

Truman rose to his feet. "What is he doing?"

"Maybe it's the girls?" Grey said, pulling on his lower lip.

The wall slammed this time, followed by a muffled scream. And suddenly, Truman knew what Derek was doing. The certainty settled rock hard in his stomach. He pulled his gun out. "Stay up here." He took the stairs two at a time, following the scuffling noises. Derek yelled in the bathroom, and Truman threw the door open.

Derek whirled around. Blood dripped from a cut on his cheek. Crouched in front of him, her hands held out as if to fend someone off, was the
Carnicero
's daughter. She gripped a shaving razor in one hand. Disgust and anger battled for precedence in Truman's mind. "Move," he ordered her. She threw herself between the toilet and the bathtub.

Derek lifted his hands. "It's not what you—"

Truman didn't want his explanation. Raising the pistol, he shot Derek in the chest. The man fell back, gurgling, bright red blood splattering the bathroom. The girl gasped, pressing shaking hands to her face.

Truman looked at Rivera, took in the tears streaming down her face and the bruises and scratches. Something broke inside him. This was his fault. She shouldn’t even be here.

He put the gun on the tile floor and pulled a towel out from under the sink, never taking his eyes off her. He soaked it with cold water, then stepped toward her. She scooted backwards, appearing for all the world like a feral cat, ready to fight him tooth and nail if he came closer.

He lowered his eyes, unable to meet her gaze any longer. "I won't hurt you." He reached her and began cleaning the blood from her face. He pressed the towel against a bruise rising up on her cheekbone. She shuddered at his touch, but didn't struggle. She still held the razor in her fist. Truman gently unclenched her fingers and put the razor on the rim of the bathtub.

It was time. The girls needed to clean up anyway. He lifted her to her feet and guided her back to the office.

Murphy waited just inside the door. She grabbed Rivera and glared at him. "What did you do to her?" she snapped, and Truman again couldn't help admiring her feisty, vibrant attitude.

"Keep that towel on her," he said. "It'll help with the swelling." He closed the door on them and went upstairs.

"Bennett’s dead," Truman said, interrupting Grey and Rodriguez's conversation. "Get his body out of here. I don't care where you dump it. Then hurry back. I want you both here when Sid arrives."

He followed them down the stairs and watched as they dragged the body out the walk out basement. As soon as they had gone, he grabbed a towel and went in to the bathroom to clean up the blood. Some of it wouldn't come off. The bathroom would always bear testimony to Derek's murder.

It wasn't murder. It was crime and punishment.

The offending razor still sat on the bathtub rim. He stuffed it into his pocket and checked the bathroom for anything else that could be dangerous. Soap and shampoo, but nothing that could injure anyone.

Grey poked his head into the bathroom. "We drove down to a shopping strip and dumped him in the trash."

"Anyone see you?"

"No."

"Good." Of course the body would be found; it would take a few days to figure out who he was, but most likely the police would never figure out who killed him. And even if they did, Truman would no longer exist. "Did you buy clothes for the girls?"

"Yes."

"Bring them to me." He checked his watch. Less than an hour. The girls needed to shower and change. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the messages, hoping somehow that he'd missed something. Nothing. Would Rivera really ignore this opportunity to get his daughter back? Or was it possible that no one forwarded the email to him?

Doubts nagged at the back of his mind, but he shoved them aside. He just needed to get this done and over with.

Chapter 29

Truman watched from the office window as Sid's van pulled into the garage. Truman had given him the access code five minutes earlier, so the arrival wasn't unexpected. He ground his teeth together, his head throbbing with nervous anticipation.

"They're here!" Rodriguez shouted, and something shattered in the kitchen.

Truman tried McAllister one last time, irritated that he didn't answer. He had already left a message, so McAllister knew what was happening. Everything had to be done his way, even taking a phone call.

Truman crossed into the entry way and greeted Sid as he walked in, an entourage of five other men with him. "You made it. How was your flight?"

"Pleasant, as it always is when you have your own personal jet." Sid's greasy smile slid across his tanned face. He smoothed a hand over his slicked-back hair. "But onto business. Let's see these girls."

"This way." Truman led the way down the stairs, Grey and Rodriguez flanking him. Two of Sid's men followed, but the other four took up protective positions around the kitchen.

Truman unlocked the downstairs office and opened the door, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw the two girls. He realized he'd half expected them to disappear somehow. But no, they both huddled in a corner. Rivera wore a sleeveless, silky red halter top over black leggings that showed off her narrow form. The other girl, with her fully developed body, wore a tight mini skirt and a tube-top. They looked the part. They looked good.

Sid smiled, his ivory teeth glinting in the light. He stepped into the room, invading the girls' space. He fingered Rivera's short blond hair and touched a welt on her neck. "What happened to this one?"

Truman had noticed the bruise on her cheek, but only now did he see the bite marks on her neck. Derek. He clenched his jaw. "One of my men got handy."

Sid arched one eyebrow. "Did he succeed?"

"No."

"Perfect," he purred. He snapped his fingers and his men stepped up to join him. "I've got the money in the car. Let me examine them and we'll make the transaction."

Truman lifted his chin and made eye contact with the two girls. He couldn't think of them as people, or think about what was going to happen to them. They were objects, objects that would save his life. "Out."

The
Carnicero
's daughter moved into the hallway first, one hand gingerly rubbing her bare shoulder. Sid grabbed her arm and ran his hand down her neckline. "Are they both virgins?"

How was he to know? "Yes," Truman said. If Sid found out differently, it would be too late to change the sale price.

"Well, one can never know for sure. But that'll fetch a higher price." Sid turned his greedy eyes on Murphy. "I'll give you five hundred for each."

Truman snorted. Not nearly enough. But he'd already worked this out in his head, and he was prepared to negotiate. "They know where the necklace is. It's worth a million by itself."

Sid grunted. "If I don't have to kill them to get the information."

Truman looked at Rivera. His eyes met hers, and he narrowed them. She knew where it was. "I'm sure you have ways." He took her shoulder, pulled her forward. Now was the time to use his trump card. "This one's father is the
Carnicero
. He's promised me four million for her. If you take her, I want that money too."

Sid scowled, the frown marring his handsome features. "I can't pay you for money that he hasn't paid yet."

Truman dug his fingers into her shoulder. "Then I'll keep her. Four million just for her is more than two million for both of them. Give me one and a half for the other girl and we'll call it good."

Sid hesitated. "Four million?"

Truman nodded. Lest Sid forget that was only the ransom money, he added, "That's on top of my fee. But you might get lucky. The
Carnicero
might buy back her friend, too." He had asked for eight million, after all.

"Fine." Sid gave a short nod, his greasy hair jiggling. "One for the girls, one for the necklace, and four for the ransom. Six million."

That was more like it. A smile creased Truman's lips, and he released her shoulder. "Done."

Sid snapped his fingers, and his two men bounded up the stairs.

Truman didn't take his eyes from him. "Don't leave until I count the money."

"I won't," he answered mildly. He took the
Carnicero
's daughter's wrist and pulled her away from Truman. "Easy, girls," he cooed, sidling his arms over their shoulders. "You belong to me now."

Rivera shifted under his weight, her eyes landing on the sliding glass door that led out of the basement.

Sid chuckled. "You wanna run, girl? Go ahead. I'll even give you a five-second head start."

Truman growled deep in his throat. The comment shouldn't bother him. They didn't belong to him, and they had better get used to being treated with disrespect. Still, it was cruel to jerk them around that way. "Don't play with them."

"Ah, but the disappointment on their faces is priceless. Every time the escape slips through their fingers." Sid grabbed her chin, and she yanked her head away.

A sound like multiple firecrackers came from the garage. Sid dropped his hands, his eyes darkening. "What's that?"

I don't know
, Truman started to answer. His words were interrupted by screams, and then a loud crash. Rapid explosions filled the house, and his heart plummeted. He knew of only one device that made that sound: A machine gun. Only one thought filled his mind: RUN.

He didn’t have time to act on that thought before a man dressed all in black appeared on the stairs, lights flashing as bullets flew from his gun.

The
Carnicero
. Something like a smile pulled at Truman’s lips. So he hadn’t forgotten his daughter, after all.

And then a searing pain ripped through Truman’s shoulder, knocking him backwards. Another tore through his stomach, and he fell to his knees. This was it. Justice had caught up to him.

He closed his eyes and let gravity pull him to his back. The only sound he heard was the blood pounding in his ears, the rasping in his throat as his body struggled to breathe. It appeared he would never get to live out his life in quiet and solitude. How tragic.
A last verse played out in his head, and he stopped fighting, accepting his end.

Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass. He hates him

That would upon the rack of this tough world

Stretch him out longer.

(The Tragedy of King Lear)