Tourist Trapped (19 page)

TWENTY-TWO

Monday December 14, Evening

Amanda’s cheeks warmed
as four pairs of eyes riveted on her. “Everyone, this is Miguel Santos, an old friend of mine. This is my father, Don Sloane and his wife, Miriam.”

“And is this your husband?” Miguel gestured to Cooper.

“Oh no—Chad’s wife and family are in Chicago. He’s an associate helping me on a project.” Amanda focused on Miguel, avoiding Cooper’s gaze.

But why? Neither Amanda nor Cooper cared for the other beyond friendship. Besides, she knew his type—they married for life, the human equivalent of Canadian geese.

“Nice to meet you, Miguel,” Miriam said. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Must be twenty-five, thirty years,” Miguel said.

Her father’s eyebrows flew up. “You’ve known Mandy since her college days? Interesting.”

Miriam’s stare settled in the direction of Cooper.

“Señor Sloane, may I borrow your daughter for a stroll along the lagoon?” Miguel offered Amanda his arm. “I won’t keep her long.”

“By all means,” her father said. “She’s all yours.”

* * *

Amanda and Miguel
strolled along the shore of the lagoon, her hand snuggled in the still-familiar crook of his well-muscled arm. How could the water look and smell the same after thirty years? She felt as if decades had washed away like a sandcastle in high tide, pulling her back into the life of the naive college junior who’d fallen for a dashing, older man.

“Why did you stay away for so long, Chica?”

“I’ve been back, just not here.”

In the other life he had smelled of Polo. Amanda didn’t recognize his new cologne, a sensual mix of patchouli and leather. A flood of memories, emotions and sensations rushed through her, overwhelming Amanda as if she were trying to dog paddle through a tsunami. The unbridled torrent crashed through thick, decades-old walls of denial and regret that buckled as if erected with Popsicle sticks.

Had they been, all along? Were the walls strong, bolstered over time by the sorrows of the wives she had defended, or had they been a flimsy excuse for her actions—so rickety that she had to circle them, a snarling German shepherd ensuring no one knocked one over?

An uneasy feeling of vulnerability engulfed her and she slipped both arms around Miguel’s bicep. He pulled her to him.

Her mind whirled, trying to assimilate decades of indignation with the man who held her in his embrace. Amanda’s body betrayed her, inviting the intimacy of his touch, reveling in his warmth.

Had she clung to her anger over the last thirty years because she had rejected everyone and everything dear to her, leaving nothing but bitterness and resentment? Had she avoided Miguel for fear he would see through her facade and come to the same realization as her dad, that at the heart of Amanda Sloane existed merely emptiness and spite?

But she could no longer evade Miguel’s gaze, the man she loved stood beside her. Amanda rested her head on his chest and listened to the familiar sounds of his breath. While they stood entwined, wordless, she tested her heart and found it beating again. The ice encasing her soul had begun to melt, slowly warming like the April sun against late-season snow.

“I’ve missed you.” He pulled her closer. “It’s been a lonely thirty years.”

“Don’t tell me that you’ve been alone for more than a week, Miguel, I know you.”

“Alone and lonely are two different things. I married three times, but none of them worked out. My partners weren’t the woman I loved.”

“It’s been lonely for me, too.”

“Did you marry?”

“No.” After their affair in Cancun, Amanda never found another man who resonated within her the way Miguel had. She didn’t know if the others lacked some essential ingredient, or if her relationship with Miguel, along with her father’s abandonment, had tainted her opinion of men to the point where none would be satisfactory for a lifetime commitment.

“I’ve been a divorce attorney for a long time. Witnessing all of the bad marriages I helped dismantle made me a bit of a cynic.” She knew she couldn’t enter a marriage with the cards stacked against her and, to Amanda, the cards had always felt stacked.

Thankfully, she had left her engagement ring in Chicago. How could she explain to Miguel that she had agreed to marry a man who never made her feel even half as alive as Miguel did?

“Have you forgiven me?” Miguel said.

“For what?”

“For being married when I met you and not leaving my wife. And not telling you.”

“I was angry about a lot of things for a very long time, but I think you’re off the hook.”

Miguel ran a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. His lips met hers, full of passion and memories of joy, hopes, and dreams. The years disappeared and once again she became a twenty-year-old romanced by the love of her life.

And yet the experience felt foreign. Amanda ran through men faster than a pile of hand towels in a washroom. After so many years of controlling her relationships, forcing men through hoop after hoop until they failed her, letting go and trusting fate left her in unchartered waters. One slip-up would whisk her out to sea, adrift until death offered peace.

He kissed her neck and the skin sizzled from his touch. Blood, hot with desire, flowed through her, warming her abdomen and radiating outward to her fingers and toes. Almost heady, she luxuriated in her deep, primal need for this man she had missed for so long. She kissed him and floated with the freed emotions washing over her, tasting his hunger.

Oddly, surrendering to him strengthened her. It made no sense, but with every minute she allowed herself to feel, to expose her emotions to someone she loved, Amanda began to comprehend that the courageous opened themselves to vulnerability, entrusted their hearts to others. She realized she had to believe, deep down, that no matter what happened, she would be okay. Amanda would have the fortitude to go on.

He caressed her face and stared into her eyes. “You’re really here. After all of these years.” Even in the moonlight, his eyes glistened with love, searching hers.

Amanda relented, freeing herself from any last bits of restraint. She returned his gaze, with equal adoration. She finally understood how her mother had emerged unscathed through a painful divorce and two bouts of cancer with such strength and grace. Amanda could now see past the anger.

She draped her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Miguel.” She pressed her lips against his and the heat of his body mixed with hers.

Miguel had opened the door. Ironic that the man who had betrayed her with lies about his marital status would help her past the lies about herself.

“Amanda?” Cooper stood at the water’s edge.

* * *

Gordon stopped nibbling
on his companion’s ear when the phone rang. He placed one of her manicured hands on his crotch and breathed in the scent of gardenias emanating from her hair. “This’ll just take a minute, Sondra.” He picked up the call and watched the lights of Chicago’s Michigan Avenue flash by as the limo worked its way back to his condo, and his latest conquest caressed his erection.

“Good evening, Mr. Harding,” Jonathan said. “Ms. Sloane and Mr. Cooper spent the day searching for the boat, to the annoyance of our Mexican partners, but it kept them away from your case. No phone calls were made to the office or to your wife. They visited the police station, spent the day on a boat, and then dined with Mr. and Mrs. Sloane.”

Sondra grabbed Gordon’s free hand and slipped her warm, soft lips over his index finger, sucking it in, down to the knuckle, her tongue teasing against his flesh.

“Any chance they’ll stumble upon what they’re searching for?” Gordon asked.

“No sir, we’re tracking them to make sure we keep the boat hidden away.”

“And housekeeping?”

“We’ve taken care of the bartender and we’re setting in motion another plan to reenter the office.”

“How are we doing on plan C?” She released his finger and started in on the next one.

“We’ll execute as soon as the ransom is delivered.”

“Excellent choice of words, Jonathan. I need to add another to our clean-up roster. My cousin.”

“Mr. Gray?”

“Correct. Keep me posted, I need to sign off. Another urgent matter has…um…come up.”

Sondra giggled.

* * *

What keeps prisoners
in solitary confinement from going mad? How do slaves survive each day, with no control over their lives?
She shuddered at the idea of being the chattel of another. Tortured thoughts ran through Rebecca’s mind every waking hour.

The din of the forest rose as the temperature eased and darkness crept back into the tiny hut. Soon Rebecca would be able to breathe easier, once the mix of heat and humidity abated. By now she understood the rhythms of the jungle.

She had attempted to dig her way out, hacking at the hardened earth with pebbles and twigs that lay on the tiny patch of dirt exposed in the hut, but she discovered a layer of cinder blocks set beneath ground. Her primitive tools kept her from going any deeper…so far.

Soon the girl would bring food and replace the slop bucket. Rebecca refilled the hole in the corner and sat atop it.

The buzz of insects and reptiles resounded around her. Wait—did she hear a voice over the wilderness cacophony? She held her breath and listened.

“Release Rebecca! Keep me and let her go—you don’t need both of us.” Trent yelled in the distance, followed by shouts in Spanish.

“Rebecca! Rebecca!” His voice grew louder. Was he loose? Had he escaped? Her heart raced with hopes of freedom. She’d run through fire barefoot if it meant getting back home.

“I’m here Hon. Get out—I’ll hold them off. Make a run for it.” Trent’s voice came from the other side the door and she heard him pulling on it. “It’s locked. Step back; I’m gonna break it in.”

Rebecca hugged the wall. “Okay, I’m ready.” Her heart thumped hard enough to hear the blood rush past her ears.

A gunshot cut through the darkness followed by silence. No frogs, no bugs. Then another. A third rang out, followed by a thud as something—or someone—crashed to the ground.

“Trent,” Rebecca screeched. “Are you all right? Speak to me!” She pushed at the locked door. “Trent!” She ran at the wooden obstacle, shoulder first, but couldn’t budge it.

Slowly the songs of the forest rose again, followed by footsteps.

“Lady, your husband is dead. Obey or you’ll die too.”

TWENTY-THREE

Tuesday December 15, Morning

Amanda waded waist-deep
into the sea and then kicked off of the sandy bottom, swimming up and down the shoreline, finding her rhythm. The early morning sun, a vibrant pink orb, rested on waters in the horizon, propelling rays of fuchsia across the sky. An older couple admired the sunrise as they ambled along the deserted shore, holding hands on their early morning stroll. Another couple who had captured true-frigging-love.

Amanda tried to empty her mind and let her body take over, but she kept returning to Captain’s Cove. How could she have made such a fool of herself—in front of her father, Miriam and Cooper? Acting like an insipid twenty-year-old—it must have been the alcohol. But she didn’t have a hangover.

Idiot.

The expression on Cooper’s face when he found them at the lagoon—he’d looked as if he’d caught them rolling naked among the mangroves. Cooper had the luxury of marrying the woman he loved, clean and simple. How could he understand the mess conjured when love mingles with guilt and lies? Besides, didn’t Amanda have the right to revisit an old romance?

The cool water slid along her body, chilling skin as it passed. She sped up, skimming through the water as it rose and dropped beneath her.

In her old life, on rare afternoons when Miguel escaped from work, they spent hours in the ocean. She could still feel his strong arms pull her out of violent waves she had mistimed. She’d cough and sputter and wipe her eyes, then dive in for more. By the end of the afternoon she’d rinse a pound of sand out of her swimsuit. Amanda recalled unfettered laughter and the feeling of lightness she had experienced that first year with Miguel.

The mild surf in the northern part of the hotel zone verged on boring. She longed to hear the thunderous crashing of the waves and feel the vibrations as they slammed into the shore. To once again tumble through the water, as insignificant as a seashell or wayward fragment of kelp, encountering firsthand the power of the sea and trusting it would do her no harm.

After her father had announced his plans to move in with Miriam, Amanda had left it all behind—the relationship, the happiness, the wholeness. She devoted her life to defending the wives who had been wronged by the “other woman,” by those heartless mistresses.

No different than her, once upon a time.

Now that she had seen Miguel again, she felt like a steering wheel after the airbag deployed: stuff hanging out all over, impossible to cram back into the tiny void from which it came.

One gets stronger through vulnerability—where had that brilliant idea come from? Too much tequila? But after a few minutes with Miguel, hard-assed Amanda, the woman who cleaved the balls off of philandering husbands on a daily basis, had felt thirty years of armor loosen and begin to fall away, scattering in Cancun’s breeze.

Vulnerable or downright wimpy?
First she exposed her soft belly to Cooper after a round with her father. Then she melted into a puddle of sentimentality with Miguel. What in hell was happening? There had to be something in the water. She needed to retrieve Rebecca and exit Mexico quickly, otherwise there may not be any Amanda left, merely a confused and quivering blob of compassion and schmaltz.

She swam to shore and toweled off. On the way to the lobby, she walked past the swimming pools and wondered why anyone would fly all the way to Cancun to swim in a sterile, concrete-lined pit filled with chlorinated water.

“Mandy.”

Her father waved her over to a table. Two Bloody Marys sat in front of him and he offered one to her. “I thought a bit of the ‘hair of the dog’ might be in order after last night.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.”

He gestured her to sit down and she slid onto the chair next to him.

“Did you have fun last night?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “As much as possible when your sister and brother-in-law have been kidnapped. I wish you’d let us do more.”

“That’s why I want to talk to you. I didn’t bring it up last night to avoid upsetting Miriam, but Officer Rodriguez told me about the threats—first a phone call and then a doll? When were you going to tell me?”

“Never.”

He grabbed her arm. “Do you want to get yourself killed? Stop playing detective and help us save Rebecca and Trent. No more games; we’re out of time. You need to deliver the ransom money.”

“Dad, I can’t.”

His fingers tightened. “After all I’ve done for you? This is how you repay me? Do you hate me so much that you’d let me lose Rebecca—is this some sort of revenge for leaving your mother? Are you that cold?”

Amanda pulled back her arm, but he didn’t release her. “How can you—do you really think I’d risk another person’s life to punish you?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? You’re refusing Rebecca possibly the one chance she has to survive.” His face flushed to the color of ripe strawberries.

“My refusal has nothing to do with revenge or hate. If I had a guarantee that we’d rescue Rebecca by me forking over a million dollars, I’d do it. But Cooper and I seriously question if handing over the money will bring her home safely.”

“What makes you so certain?”

How did she explain the bartender’s murder? Or their suspicions about being monitored? “It’s complicated—let’s just say it’s a gut feeling.”

“Is that ‘gut feeling’ greed? Maybe jealousy? Whatever it is, it sure isn’t compassion.”

A hotel staff member pushed a laundry cart full of beach towels past them and Amanda capitalized on the situation. She stood, forcing her father to free her arm.

“Is that your final decision? Are you dead set on letting them murder my daughter?”

“Those are your words, not mine—”

“Amanda, I woke up optimistic, hoping that your encounter with this Miguel fellow would finally melt that goddamned chunk of ice that you call a heart, but evidently you’re a lost cause.” He rubbed his forehead. “You’ve made your choice. It’s now time I make mine.”

* * *

Chad couldn’t stop
yawning as the yacht motored up the coast. He’d spent a sleepless night attempting to quash the image of Amanda locking lips with the Latin lover-boy next to the lagoon. Why did it bother him? He knew of her engagement to Matt Baird, so it wasn’t as if she’d been on the market.

What is wrong with me? I’m searching for my family and lusting after my boss?

He had to admit feeling jealous. If she planned on cheating on her fiancé, why not with Chad instead of some old haunt from her past? Sadly, the old geezer looked pretty good for his age when he had sauntered in and swept Amanda off her feet. Out by the water, in the moonlight, Chad had witnessed an Amanda unsullied by the complexities of life. She had beamed when she looked at “Don Juan” in a way that turned Chad green around the edges.

“How about over there?” Amanda pointed at a pier with a number of filled slips.

Tito signaled and Juan cruised in, but no Ocean Fox.

Before the Mexican version of Fabio showed up at the table, Don’s behavior had begun to transcend from annoyance into the realm of pissing off Chad. The guy didn’t worry about his oldest daughter’s welfare; instead he kept searching for weaknesses he could exploit to force Amanda to clean up after his family. At times Chad pitied his “bitch-on-wheels” boss who, in her interactions with her father, reminded him of an ant beneath a magnifying glass. Her father, lens in hand, kept focusing the scorching rays onto Amanda’s back.

After traveling up the coast for a couple of hours, Juan said they had gone as far north along the Yucatán shore as seemed reasonable. He suggested they venture a bit farther and then case out nearby Isla Contoy and Isla Mujeres before heading south.

Chad couldn’t wrap his thoughts around anything beyond the previous evening. Who was this Miguel guy—and how did they all end up at the same restaurant? Why did it bother Chad that his boss had a history with some Cancun Casanova? The mental imprint of him touching Amanda seared through Chad’s gut.

His cell phone vibrated: a call from Kate.

“Do you have news from Vince?” Chad asked.

“He may have a lead, but no details yet. How are you doing? Are you still in Cancun?”

“Yes, we’re continuing to search for Rebecca and Trent.”

“Amanda lost another family member?”

“They both vanished at the same time. Trent is Amanda’s brother-in-law.”

“Are you close to finding them?” Kate asked.

“Nothing tangible at this point; there’s a lot of ground to cover. We’re looking for a particular boat.”

“Is it still the two of you searching?”

“Her father and stepmother are down here as well.”

“Are you together now, all of you?”

“No, I haven’t seen Don and Miriam since dinner last night.”

“Dinner, huh? With her family.”

“Kate, do you have something of importance here? Otherwise I’d better get back to work.”

“Just checking in.”

Chad and Amanda scanned the shore for another half hour, but as they journeyed north, civilization thinned out, leaving long expanses of bone-white beach for egrets and pelicans to enjoy.

“Let’s call it,” Amanda said, rubbing her neck.

She looked a heck of lot better than when Chad had met her in the lobby. She had shone like diamonds in platinum the previous night, but in the morning she had made a bad hangover look attractive. When he had asked, she wouldn’t tell him the reason. If it had to do with this Miguel bloke, Chad would be all over him like white on rice.
Yeah, I think I could take him.

Juan steered the boat into open water toward Isla Contoy.

“Amanda, chances are there won’t be much to see until we reach the island. Can we walk through the facts?”

“Sure, Sherlock. If you think that’ll help.”

They settled in the cabin and for a little while he had to blot out the Amanda-Miguel situation and focus on Rebecca and Trent.

Chad pulled the papers out of his backpack, along with his notes and a blank tablet. “So…what do we know? Trent booked the fishing trip from a contact provided by Marty, the drug dealer, who has financial connections to your father.” He listed the facts on the blank paper. “We’re being tailed and our rooms are probably bugged.” Chad kept writing.

“The waiters said Trent hit on other women and then he got into the fight at Dady O with some biker dude over his girlfriend.” Amanda paged through some of the receipts.

“We don’t know Trent’s whereabouts when Rebecca swam with the dolphins.” He continued to jot down notes. “He had more than an hour alone and started out at La Isla mall, which means he could have done anything, or nothing.”

“We haven’t found the boat,” Amanda said. “The captain is missing, and no first mate sailed on the charter.”

“Trent spent Rebecca’s snorkeling time in some bizarre conversation.”

“I received the doll and the warning phone call.”

“Trent met with some mystery man that a bartender warned us not to pursue. Then the bartender turned up dead.”

“Trent and Rebecca are broke and so are Dad and Miriam, and yet they spend money faster than a crew of drunken sailors. Booking a private fishing charter is expensive and so are dinners at Harry’s and Captain’s Cove. Where’s the money coming from if they’re so poor?”

“Think they’re in denial?” Chad asked.

“Maybe…but isn’t it strange that Dad insists that I come up with the ransom instead of getting the authorities more involved? And why is he taking us out on the town when his daughter is missing?”

Chad chewed on his pen for a moment. “The ransom message—why did the kidnappers wait so long before leaving it? And why is so much time allowed before we need to deliver the money?”

“I’ve been focused on Dad, but Trent’s name keeps popping up.”

“Could both of them be involved with this mess?”

“How so?” Amanda asked.

“Since the business is going belly up, could they have diversified into gambling or drug dealing?”

“I wouldn’t put it past Trent, but Dad?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“So, maybe Dad sent Trent the contact and some sort of deal was supposed to take place and instead they were kidnapped?”

“It’s possible the deal went bad, or the cartel or whatever decided to take another route to recoup their money—or maybe they looked at Trent and Rebecca as a chance to steal a wad of dough from some Americans.”

“So…we don’t know who to trust,” Amanda said.

“The abduction could be the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time…or it could be that a substantial chunk of your family did something to trigger the kidnapping.”

“Wait a minute.” Amanda picked up one of the photos of Trent and Rebecca at Señor Frog’s and pointed to a face in the background. “That guy there? He ate at Captain’s Cove last night.”

Chad pushed up his glasses and brought the picture close to his face. “We’ve seen this guy. He’s the one who boated around La Isla when we checked out the dolphins.”

“Which means the abductors planned to intercept Rebecca and Trent from the beginning.”