Tourist Trapped (30 page)

“Lucia called and told me what happened. I’m so sorry Chica.”

“Your sister is a good police officer.”

“Sí. I know.”

“She told you about my dad?”

“And your brother-in-law. That’s why I’m here. I know you need to get to the hospital and I have to get back to the restaurant, but I wanted to see how you were doing.” He held her close.

“Careful, you’ll get wet.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll dry.”

His arms didn’t feel right, not on the beach where Cooper had consoled her. She felt like she was cheating on her personal member of the geek squad. Miguel pressed his lips against hers. They felt cold and lifeless.

Had her tears been for her father and Rebecca, or for Cooper? She had known the answer all along, but had tried to deny her feelings. Years ago, the guy committed his life to somebody else, was that the reason for the attraction? Another one of her impossible-to-have scenarios?

Miguel stared into her eyes. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Who?”

The corner of his mouth rose. “Chica, I know you too well. That is my punishment: to love from afar because I messed up my chance, many years ago.”

Amanda rose to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Miguel, lo siento. I admit it, I’m head over heels for Cooper. If it makes you feel any better, I can only love him from afar, too. Looks as if we’re both cursed by our pasts.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Thursday December 17, Late Evening

A man in
scrubs held the attention of Rebecca and Miriam in the waiting room until they burst into wide grins and hugged. The older woman caught sight of Amanda walking toward them. “He’s out of surgery, he’s going to be okay,” she yelled down the hall.

A weight dropped from Amanda’s shoulders. It was over. Really over. She sighed, letting the tension and worry float away with the air vacating her lungs. “When can we see him?”

“He’s in recovery. They’ll let us know when he’s awake.”

“I can’t wait—I’ve missed him so,” Rebecca said.

Rebecca. Trent.
“Have you spoken to the police about what happened?”

“They had left by the time we arrived,” Miriam said. “All we know is what you told us, that Donny got shot.”

“You two had better sit down.”

The women exchanged looks and eased themselves onto a loveseat. Miriam clenched her daughter’s hand.

Amanda pulled around a chair to face them. “I’m not sure who phoned him or what was said, but somebody called Dad and sent him to an old warehouse on the outskirts of Cancun. I saw Dad leave so I followed him.”

How do I tell my sister her husband’s a turd?
“Trent isn’t dead.”

Rebecca shook her head. “He escaped? But they said they killed him. I don’t understand.” Her palms slammed into her chest and hope filled her eyes. “He’s alive? Where is he?”

Amanda grabbed Rebecca’s hand. “When I found Dad, Trent had a gun pointed at him, threatening to kill him—kill us all, as a matter-of-fact. He decided he wanted my money and…um…your life insurance. Rebecca, Trent thought you were dead and showed no indication of remorse. I’m so, so sorry.”

Miriam gasped and tears filled Rebecca’s eyes. “Kill me? Trent? He hated me that much?”

Where’s Cooper-the-psych-grad when you need him?
“I’m no expert in this stuff, but I honestly don’t think this had anything to do with you, Rebecca. This was all about Trent. I suspect you married a narcissistic sociopath.”

“Who had better rot in jail for the rest of his life,” Miriam said. “Lock him up and melt the key.”

Amanda pulled the worn pictures out of her bag and handed them to her sister. “Through these photos and your receipts we were able to trace your steps. Waiters told us how Trent flirted with other women, and a nightclub manager said your husband rumbled with a biker dude over his girlfriend. I say you’re far better off without the slug.”

Miriam squeezed Rebecca’s shoulders. “File for divorce and you’ll be free.”

“And I happen to know an attorney experienced in these matters who will charge you the deeply discounted family rate of zero,” Amanda said. “This one would be on the house.”

“Where is he?” Rebecca said.

“Trent’s in one of the hospitals; he took a bullet in the thigh,” Amanda said.

“Did he shoot Dad?”

“No, his partner-in-crime Lieutenant Rodriguez aimed at me and Dad stepped in front of the bullet.”

“Fernando was right,” Rebecca said. “Almost everyone involved got shot.”

“Even Chad,” Miriam said. “Any news on that front?”

“No, but one reason could be that I found his cell phone in the rental car.”

“You should try to reach him. I’m sure he’ll want to know that we found Becky—and I wonder how his search is going.”

The phone.
Amanda pulled out Cooper’s cell phone to call back the woman who tried to talk to her while she trailed her dad. Unfortunately it required a four-digit pass code.

“Miriam, what do you know about Cooper’s trip to—”

“Mrs. Sloane? You can see your husband now.” The nurse waited for them to gather their things and then led them down the hall.

Like a foal learning to walk, the Sloanes would try to become a family.

* * *

“Rebecca, my baby
girl, come here.” Her dad stretched out his arms and the IV tubes hung like marionette strings. “I’m so glad you’re safe, Bean.”

“Hi Pops.” Rebecca bent over the hospital bed and hugged his shoulders.

Amanda and Miriam hugged him as well, avoiding his ribs, then sat down. Rebecca remained on the mattress beside her father, holding his hand.

“Are you okay, Bean? What happened? Where were you?”

“Donny, the doctor advised us that you need to rest. He forbade any stories about Becky’s disappearance for now,” Miriam said.

“But I—”

“No, Donny. You need to follow orders. Becky isn’t going anywhere. She’s safe.”

He patted Rebecca’s hand. “I’m sorry about Trent, honey. You got a bad seed in that one, but he fooled us all. I thought of him as a son.”

“Things weren’t good, Pops. Not for a long time.” Rebecca’s eyes shimmered with tears and her lower lip trembled as she wrested control over her sorrow. “But I didn’t realize he hated me so. I thought we could work it out—that’s why I agreed to this trip.”

“You deserve better. You’ll find someone who’ll make you happy,” her father said.

She patted her dad’s hand. “That’s enough about Trent. I don’t want to talk about him. How are you feeling?”

“It’ll be a day or two before I can run a marathon, but I don’t care, I’m just thrilled my girls are safe and sound.” He smiled at each one of them. “Nothing else matters.”

“I knew you’d look for me, Pops. But I wish nobody got hurt in the process.” Rebecca turned to Amanda. “How did you find me?”

“Dad asked me to fly down and I dragged along my associate, Chad Cooper. He helped lead us to you.”

“Where is he? I want to express my gratitude.”

“Chad had to handle a family situation,” Miriam said. “He felt terrible about deserting us.”

“Amanda, I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t searched for me. That Trent thought I was dead.” Her lip trembled again. “Saying thank you isn’t enough.”

“But it is, little sister. It is.”

Amanda’s father looked at her. “What’s the scoop with this Miguel?”

“I’ve seen him a couple of times. He helped us with the rescue.”

“The way you lit up when he walked in—I haven’t seen you that happy since you dated Rodney-something-or-other your freshman year at Northwestern. Your heart’s been sealed up as tight as a vault for so many years. After seeing the two of you together for a few minutes, I started hoping…maybe we could rescue both of my daughters while we were in Cancun.”

Like a drop of Tabasco, the warmth of her father’s words spread through Amanda. “Sorry, Dad, my heart belongs to someone else. But seeing Miguel again helped heal some old wounds.”

A nurse walked in. “Hola, Señor Sloane. Time to check your vitals.” She measured his blood pressure and took his pulse. “Very strong. You’ll be out of here in no time.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ll stop back in a few hours.” The nurse bustled out the door.

“Dad, I have a question,” Amanda said.

“About the money?”

“No…that conversation will occur once you’re one hundred percent so I can kick you in the arse for ‘pulling a Donner.’”

He rolled his eyes. “Looking forward to that discussion.”

“There’s one piece of the puzzle I can’t fit. When Cooper examined Trent’s emails, he found some that you were on, along with a fellow named Marty. This Marty is the one who gave Trent the contact for the boat charter, where Rebecca and Trent were kidnapped. And…he’s a drug dealer.”

“Me? On emails from some Marty guy? Never heard of him.”

“Marty? Marty Jackson?” Rebecca said. “He always calls the house, looking for Trent. He sells drugs?”

“That’s what we’ve found.”

“I can’t imagine any connection between Dad and Marty, although one of my old high school classmates introduced Trent to Marty—was that who I—no, it couldn’t be.” Rebecca chewed her lower lip. “I think I went a bit daft in the jungle.”

Amanda reached over and patted Rebecca’s knee. “Who wouldn’t? I saw that horrible little hut. I’d be crawling the walls in two minutes, locked in there. But it’s over and you’re free of the mess.”

* * *

“Did you find
them, Jonathan?” Gordon Harding paced across the steel gray, hand-knotted Surya rug covering the hardwood maple floor in his living room. Cleo rubbed against his right leg every time he paused.

“We know where most of them are, sir, but there has been a great deal of activity throughout the day.”

Gordon waited through the extended pause on the other end of the phone.

“The good news is that we have no indication of any investigations into Command Commodities.”

“Fine. Let’s discuss the bad news.”

“Evidently Amanda Sloane found the boat and reported its location to the authorities.”

“Damn it!” Cleo weaved between Harding’s legs. He hooked the cat with his foot and kicked it into the floor-to-ceiling window that looked over the little people. The cat mewed until it made contact with the glass, its body flattening against the cold, unyielding surface. The feline slid to the hardwood, fell to her side and didn’t move.

“What was the single thing I asked you to make sure didn’t happen? The Sloane bitch finding the boat! You’ve been in Mexico for a week and this is the result of your efforts? If I’d wanted Howdy Dowdy to handle my affairs, I would have hired him.” He sauntered over to the furry heap and nudged it with the tip of his Donald Pliner loafer. The front leg retracted.

“What are the consequences of your incompetence?” Gordon asked.

“All but three of our Mexican partners are dead. One policeman was arrested.”

“The leaders?”

“Rodriguez was killed.”

The cat wobbled to her feet. The crushed side of her head made her look like a caricature, more so by her limping in circles and falling over every few steps.

“How many Sloanes are dead?”

“Trent was shot and is in police custody.”

“How many are dead, Jonathan?”

“Um, none sir.”

“Not even the sister?”

“Becca escaped and they rescued her.”

“So…let me see if I understand the situation. Almost everyone we’ve worked with is either dead or in police custody, and the Sloanes are gadding about. Am I correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And how are we resolving this problem?”

“I have a plan to take them out, all at once, tomorrow. I’ll handle the job personally.”

“See that you do, or you’re next.”

Gordon hung up and knelt down next to Cleo, ran his hand across her soft fur, then picked her up by the scruff and headed to the kitchen. He opened the drawer of the trash compactor, dropped the cat in, shut the drawer, and listened to the machine crush its contents.

* * *

Chad despised the
waiting. He tried watching television, reading a book, going to bed early—nothing stopped the reel running inside his head. In twenty-four hours would he be flying back to Chicago with or without his kids?

He had chosen a room on the other side of the hotel, away from the stakeout. It would be too tempting to sit by the window and watch all night for any sign of his children. One wrong move and they’d scatter like chipmunks, hightailing it out of town before Chad and Vince’s team could react.

He grabbed the hotel pad and pen off the nightstand and began a list of the activities he’d need to do once he and the kids were home. Buy groceries, go through their rooms and toss all of the stuff they no longer wanted, deal with Maggie’s bed and toys.

How would he explain to them that Maggie, their beloved three-year-old Westie, died of a broken heart? After Danielle and the kids ran off, Maggie wasted away. She wouldn’t eat or drink and the vet couldn’t help. He had carried the pup to bed with him every night, but she’d hop down and jump onto Skye’s bed. One day he came home and found her little, lifeless body lying on Skye’s comforter. She’d died alone. He didn’t think his heart could be more broken after his family disappeared, but losing Maggie almost did him in. Chad hadn’t realized how deeply she had wriggled her way into his life. Once she passed on, he had no reason to get up in the morning.

He thought back on the stray dogs running around Cancun. Didn’t anyone understand that every one of those furry beings held the potential to give limitless love and loyalty? To enrich a human’s life? He’d never understand how anyone could abandon or abuse an animal—especially a dog.

Chad smiled, remembering Amanda’s struggle after the gunshots, how she tried to act concerned about his arm while worrying about the wounded mutt.

Amanda. Such a kaleidoscope of emotions and behaviors. Ever changing and incandescent. He knew she’d never be interested in a nerd like him. He’d have to request a reassignment when he returned to work. Even with her thousands of miles away and his need to focus on retrieving his son and daughter, his mind continually drifted back to her.

One valuable lesson he learned from his time with Amanda: he could love again. Chad pulled off his wedding ring and laid it on the nightstand.

* * *

Amanda sat on
the balcony with a cup of hot chocolate and a brownie sundae, both graciously delivered by room service at one in the morning. There was something to be said for an all-inclusive. She had eyed up the cabinet with tequila, vodka and rum at the ready, but decided upon sugar as her vice of choice for the evening.

Her dad had made it out of surgery and Rebecca was safe. It was over. She should be happy, planning to fly back to Chicago over the weekend and returning to her life. Everything should be just ducky.

Except that part where she fell in love with Cooper.

For a woman who went through men faster than Starbucks ran through coffee cups, how did she get stuck on the married guy who sported cheap suits and spoke in acronymn-ese? It couldn’t be love—it had to be the Cancun setting, his detective skills, his willingness to help.
Please, anything but love.
The emotion left one vulnerable and usually miserable. Amanda didn’t have time for feelings.

She shoved in a heaping spoonful of warm brownie and fudge, and cold vanilla ice cream. A mouthful of sweetness to counteract her sour mood.

Denial was futile. No matter how many brownie sundaes she consumed, she’d love Cooper.