Sins That Haunt (27 page)

She turned away from the mirror just as someone knocked.

“Boss wants you downstairs,” Tomás said through the door.

Super, he'd come to escort her. “Give me a minute.”

She lifted the diamond stud to eye level as she twirled it between her thumb and index finger. “That's odd.” She took the earring to the lamp by the bed for closer inspection. There was a dark inclusion under the setting. She unscrewed the lampshade and used the bulb to reflect through the stone. The spot shone red. Blood? Who did this belong to? And what had happened to her? She slipped the earring into a hidden pocket in the cocktail dress and opened the door, praying no one would find the blood on her earring.

S
omething Casales had said had been nagging Noah.
The women don't last long
. What did that mean? And why did he think the man had been trying to tell him something?

“Monroe, you still with me?” Jada, their technical analyst, wasn't Monty but a very close second. And he suspected the only thing that separated the two were rules. Monty had none.

“I'm here.” Most of the team had flown down and now congregated in the meeting room of the Las Vegas office, a short drive from the Wynn Towers. Wanting quiet so he could hear better, he stood outside that room.

“Sorry this took so long, but I had to pull some of the data from Spain and their hospital records aren't as good as ours,” she said.

“Hospital records?”

“Yeah, it looks like women who associate with this dude end up making a trip to the emergency room.”

That didn't surprise him. “Let me guess: No one presses charges?”

“There was one, seven years ago. Spanish police charged him, but the case never made it to court.”

“Not enough evidence?” He could see Santos paying off the authorities.

“No, the victim died. Car accident. Fluky, if you get my meaning.”

He got it only too well. Thank God Shannon was safe. “What about his wife? Any reports of her going to the ER?”

“None that I could find, but I suspect he wouldn't dare lay a hand on her. Not if he wants to keep it.”

There was a long pause. Jada liked to be dramatic. She didn't get out much. “Jada, why do you make me drag things out of you?”

“Because I can.”

“You know I love you, right? But Ms. Joyce seems to have captured Santos's attention. We're a few hours from making this bust. If I have to put a guard on her until then, I'd like to know.”

“Shit, sorry. Mrs. Santos is Alejandro Casales's niece.”

Diaz passed him holding two bottled waters in his hand and silently offered him one on his way back to the meeting room. Noah shook his head. “Are you sure?”

“Do you really have to ask that? She's his brother's kid. She flew in with him for that wedding in Reno.”

“She's stateside?”

“Better. She's in Vegas.”

The woman in Casales's room, the one he thought was Shannon. “Thanks, Jada. I owe you one.”

“You owe me several. There's more. Two of his girlfriends disappeared, bodies never found.”

“No connection made to Santos?”

“Oh, they made the connection, but without evidence he couldn't be charged. That was in Madrid. There was a missing persons report filed on his last girlfriend, an American. Maybe you can add murder to his charges. Miami police just fished her body out of the Everglades. What was left of it anyway. Looks like he made one very big mistake. Alligators aren't fond of wool. They traced the blanket he used to wrap her body to his yacht. They're searching it as we speak.”

“Thanks, Jada. You're the best.”

“You remember that the next time you go to Monty for information. You hurt my feelings. I want a dozen orchid stems to make up for it.”

“Orchids? Those cost a bundle.”

“My feelings have expensive tastes. When I get the call from Miami I'll contact you. Let you know what went down. Ta for now.”

He knew she was kidding about the flowers, but he'd give anything to see the look on her face when she received them. She was an invaluable member of the team and everyone tended to forget that. Even him.

“Agent Monroe,” the receptionist called out to him. “There's a call for you, line two. I put it through to conference one,” she said, waving in the direction where everyone was gathered before returning to her desk.

“Thanks.” Inside, his team and local agents, along with Vegas PD, met to coordinate the bust. “Keep it down, boys,” he said and picked up the phone. “Monroe.”

“Noah, it's Maggie. Have you heard from Shannon?”

He told himself not to get alarmed, not yet anyway. “This morning; why?”

“She's not picking up.” Maggie, however, was in panic mode. “I dropped my cell phone in the hot tub and wanted to tell her to call Christian's if she needs me.”

“Got it,” he heard Christian shout through the line.

“And?” Maggie asked. “Hang on. Christian wants to talk to you.”

“Noah,” Christian said, “I have surveillance cameras on the house. Sorry, I'm no techy so it took me longer to tap in. I have Shannon leaving the house roughly two hours ago. Looks like she took an Uber somewhere. She had an overnight bag with her. You got any ideas where she was headed, because I won't ask you what the fuck possessed her to leave. I know these women only too well.”

“No, she said she wasn't going anywhere.” He didn't like this.

“Something or someone lured her out. How close are you to closing your case?”

“Couple hours maybe. We're waiting for the IRS. Just tying loose ends with Madrid.”

“I'll see if I can find where she was headed. Keep your line free.”

He would need a search warrant to tap into Uber's records. Monty wouldn't. He dialed Shannon's phone and, after several rings, got voice mail. “I need a phone trace,” he said to no one in particular. “Now.” He wouldn't panic. As far as he knew, she was fine. Of course his body wasn't listening. Every fiber of his being, all his instincts, said something was wrong.

“Push four on that phone. It will take you right to tech,” Riley instructed.

He pushed four and gave the tech guy her number, then waited on the line. She would've had a good reason for leaving the house, and with an overnight bag no less. She was flying out. “Once you GPS her phone I need you to check the airlines. See if she booked a flight,” he told tech.

“Sure, and we won't need a warrant. I got a friend who works at the airport. He's not allowed to give out that information, but he likes to do me favors. Never know when he needs one in return. Okay,” the guy said. “Got it. Shit. She's at the Wynn. Signal is faint; must be underground. Parking maybe. You still want me to call my buddy?”

“Yes, let's find where she was headed.” He disconnected.

It was Lopez who must have noticed his distress. “What?”

It took a few deep breaths before he could answer. “I think he has her.”

“For sure?”

“No, not for sure,” he gritted out. This wasn't Lopez's fault, but fuck, if Santos had her... “What would her phone be doing at the same hotel as his?”

“Monroe,” the receptionist yelled at him again. “Line two.”

“Who is it?”

“Some kid, says it important.”

He pushed line two on speaker. “Hello.”

“Agent Monroe?” The kid sounded Hispanic.

“Yes.”

“Get to the Wynn. Santos has a dinner date and she didn't look willing.”

“Who—?”

But the kid hung up.

“Let's roll, everyone,” Lopez shouted to all assembled. “Riley, stay here and light a fire under Madrid's ass. If we have to, we make the bust without them. Let's go,” he said to Noah and opened the door.

As he grabbed his Kevlar vest, Christian called again. “What did you find?” Noah asked with no preamble.

“She called for a ride to the airport. But when the guy got there, she didn't answer and he left. I could see the Uber sign in the window. So either the driver is lying or someone else picked her up. Maggie is freaking out.”

She wasn't the only one.

“We're flying back now. Any idea where she is?”

“Yes, and it's not good. On our way now.” He slammed the front doors open and began to run to his car. “I'll let you know when I have her.” And he would find her. And if Santos put one hair out of place, there'd be nothing left of him to throw in jail.

“Let me drive,” Lopez said, opening his hand for Noah's keys.

Fine by him; in his state he might kill them or innocent bystanders. Diaz and the others took their own cars.

“Don't worry, man. We'll get her back.”

“Right.” But in what condition?

* * *

When Shannon went downstairs she saw Santos had indeed ordered dinner. Even if she was hungry, her stomach turned every time their eyes met. Something about him read
off
. His outside didn't match his inside, but it was more, like discovering a delicious piece of fruit had gone moldy. He wasn't ugly, but what lay beneath, behind the eyes that seemed to follow her wherever she went, was. She'd seen less spooky paintings hanging in museums. It wasn't only that he was a lying, cheating waste of skin
and
a drug lord but something more. He kept staring at her, his eyebrows twitching as if confused.

“You're not wearing the lipstick I left you.”

“It's not really my color.” It was his wife's.

“But I saw you wear it in Boston. And, it suits the dress.”

She'd hoped he'd forgotten and wasn't keen about stepping into another woman's shoes. But suspected this had been his intention with the dress.

“I insist,” he said.

And something in his expression said he meant it. “Okay.” She forced yet another smile and returned upstairs to apply the lipstick. Did he always have a thing for blondes and red lips, or had his obsession started with his wife?

When she was done he met her at the bottom of the stairs, a stupid grin on his face, his hand outstretched and waiting. The idea of touching him repulsed her. Thankfully, he let her go to pour them both red wine without asking what she preferred to drink. He handed her one.

“To a memorable evening,” he toasted.

She clinked his glass and made a silent toast of her own—to his rotting in jail.

“That dress is beautiful on you,” he said.

It made her want to tear it off and throw it at him. She'd never been this creeped out before. She wished she were wearing the gorgeous gown for Noah instead of this asshole. “Thank you. It's not often I get dressed up.”

“Come to Miami. I'll take you out every night.”

“Sorry, I'm not a fan of Florida. It's too humid.” And
he
was there.

He made his way toward the dining room table. His back to her, he said, “But you'd come if I told you to.”

“I'm sorry?” He might be holding the cards, but no one told her what to do.

He held out a chair. She stared at it, then him, and waited for him to reply.

“I said, you'd come if I asked you to? Please.” He motioned to the dining chair. “Sit.”

There it was again, that creepy . . . mold. Her grip on her wineglass slipped and she had to use two hands to stop herself from dropping it. The contents spilled onto her fingers, which shook as realization dawned on her. Suddenly Santos was frantically patting her hands with a napkin. Even that simple act, which should read as kindness, on him read crazy, as if she were on fire and he had to put it out.

“It's fine,” she said before he broke one of her fingers. “I'll just use the bar sink to rinse them off.”.

How had she missed it—again? William Wright, the creep who'd tied her to a chair and made feeling exposed and vulnerable a daily part of her life for months, had been that same kind of crazy. She hoped she was wrong, hoped being forced to parade in a fancy dress and have dinner with a man who could easily make her disappear was making her paranoid. Because the alternative wasn't good. Reluctantly, she sat at the dining table when he motioned her over.

More than ever she wanted to know who the diamond earring had belonged to. She thought back to the pictures of the women Noah had shown her. All of them had been pale imitations of Elena Santos. And she'd been the only one adorned in jewelry. Money didn't buy love . . . or forgiveness. Beneath his suave exterior festered something sinister. This wasn't the type of man who would be happy with a woman leaving him. Was it her earring?

As Andre lifted the stainless dome off her plate, the aroma of dill and lemon wafted from the salmon.

“It's your favorite,” he said.

She thought back, trying to remember what she'd ordered at the Grille. The men had ordered steak and she fish. Was that why he assumed it was her favorite? Or was he that obsessive? Was this
her
favorite? Perhaps her imagination was working overtime. There'd been no blood on the carpet. If he'd done something terrible to the woman, wouldn't there have been evidence to that? Then Shannon remembered. She'd ordered sea bass, not salmon. Could it be that easy? He was confused and this was simply paranoia?

With a nod from Santos, Andre left and they were alone. She forced yet another smile and choked down a fork of rice. She wished he'd ordered her steak. Then she'd have a sharp knife. He, however, ate steak. What were the odds she could get his knife without him noticing?

“So, do you like being an attorney?” He sliced into his meat.

“It's a steady paycheck.” She wasn't about to tell him she loved it. Loving Dorothy might have completed Jerry Maguire, but practicing law had done it for Shannon. She got to give instead of take. It made her feel less of a pariah. “Can I ask how you found out?”

“I don't see why not. Shelley Hyatt. Her husband is a business associate of mine.”

Hyatt? Goddamn. Santos didn't know the real reason Hyatt had been questioned. Was this woman related to him? Married to him?

“I don't know a Shelley Hyatt.” How the hell did she know Shannon?