Liberty At Last (The Liberty Series) (4 page)

And so here I was.

If everything did happen for a reason, then maybe this was the reason John and I met in the first place: I was destined to be the one to find Catherine. I was the only one I knew who was this stupid. No one else on earth would wander around a dangerous town in a foreign country, asking where the cartel leaders lived,
hoping
they’d kidnapped my boyfriend’s daughter six years ago.

It took a certain brand of stupidity. In my defense, it was fueled by my deepest inner wish — to heal John’s heart. I knew how Catherine’s loss tortured him. I just wanted him to know the truth. And if I couldn’t uncover the truth, at least I could show him that I would go to the ends of the earth for him. That I would do anything in my power to save him. And that if I couldn’t find Catherine in my crazy search, she probably wasn’t there to find.

I’d been walking through the downtown, near the
taquerias
, dentists’ offices and the outdoor market, when they’d picked me up. A gold van had pulled up next to me, quick, and I knew. I just knew: I’d been reckless, asking too many questions. One guy jumped out and had grabbed me around the torso, clamping my arms down, and threw me in the van. There were three men with machine guns in the back, just sitting there, watching me, like it was another typical day at the office. Which I suppose it was.

“Why are you asking questions, bothering the locals?” the one who’d thrown me in asked, over his shoulder, as he hopped into the passenger seat and slammed his door.

My heart was pounding in my ears. I felt like I was going to vomit. “I’m actually looking for a friend of mine,” I said, trying to calm myself and reign in my shaking voice. “I was hoping your people could help me.”

“Right,” he said. “My people.” He nodded to the men in the back and they grabbed my bag, going through it roughly. One of them threw my wallet to the man up front and then grabbed my glittery pink cell phone. I watched in horror as he took what looked like the battery out of it and crushed it with his boot. Then he threw all of it out the window.

My last link to the world.
I had to choke back my tears.

“What’s your friend’s name? The one you’re looking for?” the guard asked casually, while he dug through my wallet and pocketed what was left of my cash.

“Catherine,” I said. “Catherine Quinn. She’s American. She’s in her early twenties…brown hair…she’s white…” It sounded so ridiculous. A brown-haired needle in a haystack.

“She disappeared down here a couple of years ago. Some people I’ve met said that this was where I might find her. I was hoping that if you didn’t know her, your boss might know someone who did,” I said, lamely. But that was it: that was my not-so brilliant plan. I was looking where the bartender had told me the bad guys were, praying that I was going to stumble upon someone who knew something, anything, about her. I was starting with Matamoros and then I was going to work my way across the Mexican side of the border, looking for criminals and cartels, hoping to find any scrap of information I could, and then make it back home in one uninjured piece.

“You just happened to think your friend was here? Why?”

He was staring at me, taking me in, weighing something in his mind. I was frightened by his look. He understood far more about the ramifications of what I was asking then I did: his choice, whatever it was going to be, was going to be an informed one. No such luck for me. I was at his mercy, and I’d willingly thrown myself there. I exhaled and felt myself shaking, adrenaline caused by fear coursing through me.

I might be the stupidest person I ever met.
My inner voice just nodded. She wouldn’t even bother to speak to me right now.
Because we are so dead,
she added.
What’s the point of talking it through?

“Catherine, huh? That’s your friend’s name, American?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I whispered, trying not to look at the guys behind me with their machine guns. “Catherine Quinn. If she’s alive, she’d be twenty-four.”

“And what’s your name?” he asked.

“Liberty,” I whispered again.

“Liberty?”
he asked, incredulous. He looked at my driver’s license again to confirm it and then turned around to look at me. “That’s one I haven’t heard before.”

“American women are crazy,” offered the driver, an older guy who’d been silent up to that point.

The men all nodded.
Si, si,
they agreed.

“Your crazy American mother name you that?” the guard asked me, giving me a vicious smile.

“Yes,” I said, lowly, feeling my hackles rise.
He shouldn’t be talking about my crazy mother; that was none of his business.
But I couldn’t get riled up about my mother or his disrespect right now. I had to find a way to play ball here, or the inning — and everything else — was all over.

“American women
are
crazy,” I said, speaking as kindly as I could make myself, nodding at them.
I was Exhibit A on that point.

“But crazy in a good way,” I continued, keeping my voice even and light. “We stick together. That’s the only reason I’m here. Do you think you can you help me? Can anyone you know help me? I don’t mean any harm. I’m not trouble. I don’t care about anything except my friend. I’m just looking for any information, and then I’ll go away and never, ever come back. I’ll never say a word to anyone. I swear.”

The guard laughed at me and my stomach dropped further. “Oh, I believe you,” he said.

“And I also believe American women
are
crazy. But some of them? Between you and me?” he asked, leaning back towards me conspiratorially. “Maybe they’re not crazy in a good way. Not like you said.”

I just stared at him, not comprehending.

“We’ll let you judge for yourself,” he said, turning around and briefly nodding to the driver. I watched as we sped through downtown, the bright dresses and straw hats of the market disappearing from sight. I suddenly felt sure that I wasn’t even remotely prepared for what was coming.

For once, it turned out I was right.

They blindfolded me before we got out of the van. It sounded like we were in a regular neighborhood: I could hear children, dogs barking, people talking.

Then the guards who’d me brought me were speaking rapidly in Spanish to other men. It sounded like they were arguing, explaining, answering questions. Of course I couldn’t understand a word — except for a quick “American” and I swore they said “Catherine” — but my heart was beating so hard and I was breathing so fast I thought maybe I’d imagined it. Then they brought me down some stairs and I couldn’t feel the light on my face anymore. After walking a little further, I heard a door clang shut and a bolt being pulled across it. I was being locked in somewhere.

The guard from the passenger seat took off my blindfold.

“You’re staying here,” he said, and he had a greedy look in his eyes that made me even more afraid. I crossed my hands across my chest.

“Oh, I’m the
least
of your worries,” he said, looking at my posture. He laughed a little and the other guys around him did the same.

“The very least.”

I quickly lost track of time after that. There was a guard outside my door, but no one came in to see me. I could still hear the children and the dogs through my window. There were always people in the hall outside my cell. But I had no idea where I was, or if anyone even knew I was still in here, except for the always present guard. Twice a day he put a cloudy glass of water across the threshold of my cell. There was no food. I slept a lot. My mind shut down, willing me to lose consciousness, to stay as far away from reality as possible. I would wake up and it would be pitch black, quiet. Then I would wake up again and it would be sunny, the glass of cloudy water inside the door, the children back to their games.

The upside was that no one had hurt me. I was a prisoner, and I was starving, but I was also young, female, and completely at their mercy. I kept counting my blessings, over and over, hoping I wasn’t jinxing myself.

Then one day, she came into my cell. She was followed closely by her armed, silent guard.

“Well, hello,” she’d said, perching on the end of the chair, inspecting me. “I heard we’re old friends. Funny, you don’t look familiar. But then it’s been a long time. Forever, actually.”

I sat up and looked at her. She was beautiful, of course. And she had those eyes.

His eyes.

I had to make myself stop thinking about how I’d gotten here. I had to concentrate on how I was getting
out
of here.

Catherine was annoying me more than usual lately, which was saying something since I was no longer her human ashtray. I saw her more frequently each day. She would come into my cell and pace, her armed guard standing by. She now almost exclusively brought me my so-called meals.

“Why are you here again?” I asked, groggily, as she paced in the middle of the room. She certainly looked as if she were going somewhere exciting; today her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she was wearing silk wide-legged pants and a white linen tank top. The top was formfitting, showing off the sinewy muscles she’d inherited from her father. She wore intricately braided gold sandals and a gold watch so enormous that it was probably visible from space.

Everything about her was irritating me, right down to her glossy red toenail polish, but the worst was her eyes. Those eyes that were so much like John’s. They taunted me.

She stood there, contemplating me. “I’m here because I still haven’t figured out which one of them sent you. I guess I want to know,” she said finally. It sounded as if her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

I sat up a little, wincing at the pain I felt everywhere. I also felt dizzy and oddly cold all of a sudden, like I had a fever.

“Can I please have some clean water? And some bread? And a book?” I asked. “Then I’ll tell you.”

She looked at me and nodded, going to the door.
“Guardia,”
she commanded. I heard her rattle off some directions in Spanish that I couldn’t follow.