Tourist Trapped (16 page)

Dad, hear me, please. Help us.

* * *

Cooper had switched
from Johnny’s jail tunes to The Beatles’
Abbey Road
at the behest of Amanda, but even with music playing in the background, she felt as self-conscious in his hotel room as talking in church. Had they hidden a bug in the lamp? Beneath the table? Behind the headboard?

“Why do you want to go through Trent’s laptop again?” Amanda asked in a half-whisper.

Cooper pulled another pair of Dos Equis out of the refrigerator. “It won’t hurt to run through it once more, to make sure we’re not missing anything—unless you’d rather catch up with your dad for dinner. I would imagine they have a few courses left.”

She cringed. Harry’s Steakhouse was a fabulous restaurant, except that it lay uncomfortably deep in the southern hotel zone. It was silly, really. She had no idea where Miguel lived and worked anymore. She could run into him anywhere at any time, but she continued to avoid the parts of Cancun that dripped with memories from her past.

“Smart-ass. Keep working.” She had contacted Rodriguez, who told her a charter boat captain claimed to have seen the Ocean Fox in the lagoon, which reinforced their plans for tomorrow’s water search.

She dialed Genevieve for an update on Ian. To her relief, they had moved him out of the ICU earlier in the day and hoped to discharge him on Tuesday. His intestines were intact and no major organs had sustained damaged.

“Ian wanted me to tell you something,” Genevieve said. “One of his associates came across a news item about a murdered prostitute named Lisa James, and Ian thinks it’s one of the women in the Miami condo pictures. He thought you’d want to see the article.”

“How was she killed?”

“Strangled.”

Amanda arranged to have the news item sent to her while she contemplated how parts of society and some people could consider lives like Lisa James’ disposable. Mere objects for a predator’s entertainment—no dreams, no feelings, no soul.

She needed air and headed for the balcony, which didn’t help, merely reminding her of the divide between those with a few dollars in their pockets and those with none. She leaned over the railing and looked out onto the lit pools and the balconies of the other rooms. The enormous edifices, Cancun’s reputation as a tropical paradise, all of it built on the backs of workers who barely made enough to survive.

Paradise my ass.

Cooper appeared next to her. “Amanda, I have something to show you,” he said, his voice filled with foreboding. He reached out his hand and she took it, following him into the room. His firm grip offered strength.

“I found another account. It contains more emails to and from this Marty guy, who looks to be a drug dealer.”

“So that’s why they were kidnapped.”

“There’s more.” He clicked on an email to open it. “I think your dad’s involved.”

NINETEEN

Sunday December 13, Evening

Vince hopped around
to rouse his circulation, but the crackling of twigs beneath his boots echoed through the infinite darkness of the forest. He stopped and raised the icy binoculars. Still no movement in the shack. No fire, no light, nothing.

He couldn’t feel his toes and his fingers stung. “Enough of this,” Vince mumbled as he dialed.

“Fozzy here. How’s Wyoming?”

“Chad’s romping around the tropics and I’m stuck in a polar bear’s wet dream. Friggin’ sub-zero shit.”

“Want me to send a parka? Or Sal to keep you warm?”

“Gross.” Sally scolded in the background. “He’s a furball—fuzz sprouting everywhere except his head.”

“Tell Sally I’m blushing from that flattering description,” Vince said. “But I wish my ‘fur’ kept me warm in this damn icebox. Why can’t Danielle take the kids somewhere south? Like Arizona? Man, right now I’d be content with Death Valley. Instead I’m traipsing through Wyoming’s backside.”

“We’re miserable here, too, stuck with another sunny, sixty-five-degree day,” Fozzy said. “Sal’s wearing a sweater.”

“Asshole.”

“Come back to San Diego and thaw out.”

“I just might. I think they’ve moved on. I haven’t heard or seen anything all afternoon, other than a moose taking a shit. That steaming pile of crap was the only warm thing in a twenty-mile radius.”

“I haven’t found Jason playing in any online games for the last couple of days,” Fozzy said.

“Doesn’t surprise me. The places I’m surveilling are lucky to have electricity or water. I’d expect to find an outhouse in the back.”

“Austin usually updates me when Jason contacts him. The kid hasn’t forwarded anything lately…I’ll ask him to ping Jason—although he’s getting close to exams. Sis may not allow my nephew much Internet time.”

“Bribe her. We need a lead. I think Danielle’s ditched Wyoming.”

* * *

Amanda and her
father traipsed barefoot through the cool sand along the shore. The ocean had transformed from its daytime turquoise to midnight blue, with moonlight gamboling over the waves.

“Thanks for walking with me, Mandy.”

“Sure, Dad.” A techno pop dance mix drifted out from the resort bar, clashing with the gentle splash of the surf on the deserted beach.

In the midst of Cooper’s discovery of correspondence indicating her dad owed big money to a drug dealer, her father had popped in and asked to see Amanda alone. In a matter of minutes, new thoughts had taken root. How deep was his involvement—did he suspect that the abductors were his creditors? Could it be the reason her dad didn’t want them to investigate on their own, or why he and Miriam raised concerns so quickly when they didn’t hear from Rebecca?

Trent and her father had ventured into the dark side, the realm where two-legged beasts murdered, maimed—and kidnapped—the innocent.

“Rebecca’s disappearance has been hard on both of us—especially Miriam,” her dad said. “She cries constantly, and tosses and turns all night.”

“I can imagine.”

He steered them toward the firm wet sand left by each push of the tide. “But, for me, too, losing my baby girl would be terrible—as bad as losing you. She’s part of my family, Mandy.”

“If I didn’t understand that, I wouldn’t be down here, Dad—say, can you tell me a little about Marty?”

“Marty who?”

“You know, the guy Trent does ‘business’ with?” She watched for a sign of recognition—a flinch or a crease of the forehead.

“I don’t know any Marty—listen, I’ve got a problem, kiddo, and you’re the only one who can help.”

No reaction, not even a blink. “What is it?”

The synthetic music faded as they walked farther down the beach. The slosh of the surf and the glistening waves annoyed her. Why couldn’t she be frolicking in the tide, relaxing on a mundane vacation as a member of an ordinary, run-of-the-mill family?

“You know I’d never ask this of you if I had a way—”

“For the love of—just spit it out.”

“I need you to pay the ransom.”

She stopped. The rushing water must have distorted his words. “Say that again?”

“I’m broke. I don’t have the funds. Without you, we can’t cover it. A million would more than wipe me out. I don’t have that much money left and the business is worth shit—I couldn’t get five bucks for the video stores. You have to pay it. You have money—that condo of yours has to be worth at least two million. Mandy, we need you to pay the ransom.”

For a moment she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Finally she regained her voice. “Does Miriam know?”

“Not a thing. She continually asks how the financing of the ransom is going and I keep lying. I screwed up, Mandy, and I can’t tell her now—it’d finish her.”

Amanda’s shoulders slouched under the burden. Liquidating a million dollars of her assets wouldn’t put her under, but she’d lose a major chunk of her nest egg. And for what? A single phone call that she didn’t even hear firsthand? Rebecca and Trent could be dead by now—and didn’t his foolishness contribute to the fiasco? “Dad, I can’t hand over that kind of money.”

“Of course not. We’ll insist on proof they’re alive before we deliver the cash to the bus station.”

“No, Dad. I—I can’t do it.”

“You’re a part of this family, Mandy, and as a member, sometimes you need to do things you don’t want to.”

“Shopping for Christmas gifts or roasting a turkey for Thanksgiving is a little different than forking over one’s life savings. In most families, that’s the extent of what’s required. Usually people aren’t asked to drop a million because their idiot brother-in-law screwed up.”
And their father.

“It’s always somebody else’s fault with you, isn’t it? Why do you keep blaming this on Trent? Because he booked the charter? Give the guy a break and do your duty.”

“My du—you spawned a love child with your spineless secretary and proceeded to raise her right under our noses, and now it’s my job to extricate her and the loser husband because DNA connects us? What’s your duty as her father?”

“I told you. I don’t have the funds.”

“Because I’ve worked damned hard over the years and dedicated myself to my job, now I’m supposed to carve out a million dollars from my savings?”

He gripped her arms and shook her. “That’s your problem, Mandy, all you’ve got is your job. Pay the fucking ransom—for once in your pathetic, empty life, put somebody else first.”

“Let go of me.” Amanda twisted her arms to wrench them out of her father’s grasp. “You have no right to question my choices. My life—it may be empty, in your opinion, but at least it’s honest. I haven’t stashed a second family somewhere that I’ll yank into the light of day once I get bored with the first one.”

“How many more years are you going to play the victim? Till I’m dead and buried? Trust me, you don’t wear it well.”

Amanda clenched her fists to keep from slapping him. “Fine. Go ahead. You and Mexico’s version of Barney Fife can go find your long lost daughter. I’m on the next plane out of here. You can go to hell.” She turned around and marched through the soft sand, each step taking extra effort.

How dare he? Bombastic and overbearing. And broke. No wonder the sonofabitch hooked up with a drug dealer.

The waves pounded against the beach, foaming as they tumbled onto the sand. Amanda never thought she’d despise the sight.

“Amanda?”

Miriam scurried across the beach on legs as scrawny as a crab’s.

“I’m not in the mood for chitchat,” Amanda said.

“I heard you two arguing—please, don’t leave. Although Donny won’t admit it, he needs you here. We both do. Without you and Chad, I’m afraid Becky will die.”

* * *

Gordon Harding carried
Cleo, his two-year-old ocicat, into the kitchen and pulled a package of sushi-grade tuna out of the refrigerator. He plated it and petted Cleo as she sat on the granite counter and consumed her dinner. When she finished, she purred beneath his touch.

Cleo resided permanently in his downtown condo. Celeste hated cats, so Gordon delayed acquiring one until he purchased an apartment. He’d spent enough time at the place, at least a few nights each week, and his female guests adored the cat, fascinated with her ocelot appearance. Once he had moved in full time, Gordon found the cat entertaining. Cleo’s belief that she ran the household amused him.

He carried her into the living room and sat her in his lap as he relaxed in the Rolf Benz recliner near the blazing gas fireplace. The view of Chicago’s evening skyline sprawled before him, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and Rachmaninoff’s
Piano Concerto No. 3
poured forth from the Martin Logan speakers, filling the void.

Two empty wine glasses sat on the ebony coffee table, from Gordon’s evening with his oldest daughter, Kelsey. She had spent the night berating him for the tussle with his son. None of the others would talk to him—they didn’t understand. A Harding man had to marry a woman and produce a herd of little Hardings. He could have mistresses on the side, but sex with other men? It wasn’t natural. Somehow Cole had broken and needed repair.

Where had Gordon and Celeste gone wrong? If they had forced Cole to play football and hockey, would that have made a difference? Should he have sent his son to Miami for weekend romps at the condo? Given the opportunity, Cole would realize his mistake; he’d revel in the soft flesh of a woman—not the hirsute hide of a male. Gordon shuddered to think of it. There had to be a way to deprogram his son.

The phone rang with the daily update from Jonathan.

“Good evening, Mr. Harding. No discussions or activities pertaining to you or your family took place today. Ms. Sloane’s parents arrived, which increased the focus on the kidnapping.”

“Glad to hear you’ve gained control.”

Jonathan cleared his throat. “We have a small problem. Our Mexican partners want the ransom paid.”

“As long as we keep the focus away from my business activities, I don’t care.” Gordon ran his hand over Cleo’s soft fur. “How is housekeeping going?”

“We’ve taken care of the private investigator, and nothing turned up in Ms. Sloane’s condo.”

The last notes of the piano concerto faded. “Good…have you seen any progress with plan A?”

“Not since Ms. Sloane left Chicago.”

“I’m considering shutting it down. Tell our friend time’s running out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cleo purred and stretched out her declawed paws. “I’ve been thinking. I don’t want this mess to get back to the States. Clean it up in Mexico.”

“All of them? Including Rebecca?”

“Why not?”

“Becca—she doesn’t know anything, and she’s been through a lot.”

“And?”

“And, well, I thought maybe we could let her live,” Jonathan said.

“With all of her family gone, do you think she’d want to be the only one to survive?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Is this a problem?” Gordon asked.

“No sir. Just trying to understand the scope. We’ll begin planning an elimination that resembles a kidnapping gone bad. Including the parents?”

“Amanda Sloane’s mother is dead, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then eradicate them all. Let’s add the Sloane family to the list of extinct species.”

* * *

Dad’s broke and
doing business with a drug dealer, but has the balls to proclaim I’ve got the shitty life?
Amanda stood, planted in the sand, trembling from her father’s verbal assault. They had battled in the past, but he’d never gone for the jugular.

Even the most powerful surf wouldn’t soothe away the ache of betrayal, of feeling unworthy. Tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks. If she had been an attentive daughter would he be so willing to sacrifice her financial situation? Amanda would surely pay to rescue Rebecca and Trent if it guaranteed their safe return, but couldn’t her father at least acknowledge the magnitude of his request?

She pursed her lips to stop their quivering. Within her existed the little girl who had worshiped her father, who had adored their Friday rounds to his video stores. She’d hang around with the staff behind the counter while her dad talked with each store manager. They’d stop for hot dogs at Portillo’s at lunchtime and finish the day with a Dilly Bar at the local Dairy Queen—and not a word to Mom about why they were never hungry at dinner.

When Amanda found out about Rebecca, she wondered if her sister had taken Amanda’s place on the weekly excursions. Had her father and Rebecca discussed arithmetic and first loves over colas and chili dogs? Had Rebecca replaced Amanda in their father’s heart?

She had vowed the day he deserted Amanda and her mom that she’d never let her father wound her again, but tonight his words slit her thick skin as deftly as a box cutter sliced a peach.

Amanda shuffled into the surf. Waves washed over her feet and ankles, eroding the sand around her soles with each ebb, eating away at the foundation. She lost her balance, falling backward until firm hands steadied her.

“Are you okay?”

Cooper. Damn it, she wanted to be alone. For the last few days she hadn’t a moment’s peace. With Matt busy campaigning most nights, Amanda had grown accustomed to returning to her condo after a long day, sitting down with a glass of wine, some good jazz on the stereo, and an engaging book in her hands. “I want to go home.”

The Sherlock wannabe wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I heard your dad yell. Why does he want you to pay the ransom?”

“He’s broke.”

“Ouch. That explains his dealings with Marty.”

“I can’t believe it. What am I going to do?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Cooper, I don’t want to pay it—not because it’ll be a major financial setback, but because I have a bad feeling. Something tells me that if we pay the ransom, they’ll kill Rebecca and Trent. The way to save them is to find them.” She leaned against his firm hold on her shoulders. “I can’t believe you’ve put up with this—this catastrophe.”

“Hey, it’s my job.”

She dropped her head and watched the tide steal away the sand around her feet. “I don’t know what comes next.”

He turned her to face him. “Amanda, you’re one of the smartest people I know, and high up on the list for common sense. You’re right, the ransom demand reeks like week-old fish. The last thing you should do is pay it.”