Carolyn Arnold - McKinley 02 - Vacation is Murder (10 page)

Undercover

THEY SETTLED IN THE BACK seat of the taxi and inhaled lingering smells of perspiration, cologne, and floral overtures. The latter struck Sara as a familiar scent.

“That’s Amelia’s perfume. We’re in the right car.”

Sean nodded. “And we know that wherever they went, it must be about a half hour away from the resort.”

“Sí.” The driver smiled in the rearview mirror, directing it to Sara.

“Where did you take them?” she asked.

“Another resort.” The driver snickered.

The taxi merged into traffic, based more on a prayer that the oncoming cars would slow to allow them safe passage rather than skill.

It had Sara reaching for the grab bar. She didn’t come all the way to Mexico to die in a car accident. She had to focus on their case—was it crazy to call it that? After all, they weren’t acting in an official capacity, but, nonetheless, they were acting. She steadied her breath and decided it best to divert her attention from the reckless, fast-paced driving of the cabbie and back to Amelia.

“Sean, this guy followed her down here. She was staying at our resort. Whatever is going on, I really think she’s in danger now too.”

“I agree, darling.” Sean reached his hand across the back seat to Sara’s and laced his fingers through hers.

Sara glanced briefly at their intertwined hands and experienced a torrent of emotion. She was used to working cases back home, in the familiar surroundings of the city she grew up in, but not here in a foreign country where she wasn’t even fluent with the language.

And surprisingly, while she had always watched Sean’s back, it was different now they were married. She stood to lose that much more if something went wrong.

She sensed him watching her and looked up to meet his eyes. She saw the same fear and doubt reflecting back at her—should they have left it alone?

The taxi took a swift curve into the parking lot belonging to a three-story motel. To term it a resort would be too far off the mark. Back home it would have been referred to as a seedy joint, one any middle-income adult would avoid, unless they had no choice.

Sean tucked that thought away as he paid the fare, having divvied out the money en route. Then he waved off the taxi.

“Oh, Sean, I have a really bad feeling.” Sara held the sunhat in front of her and softly swayed left to right.

She came across so vulnerable in that moment, as if she were retreating behind the hat, wishing away their current circumstance.

“There are only two types of people who come here. The ones who can’t afford any better and the ones who are hiding from something. We know this, so we’re prepared,” he said.

She nodded. “You’re right. I’m also starting to think this guy we’re after has a history wherever he’s from.”

“I do too, and my guess is it’s the good ol’ United States, but we’ll know soon enough.”

Sara took in the structure of the building, letting her eyes trace up and down, side to side. She faced Sean. “How do you propose we find out their room number? Assuming they didn’t get dropped here and head somewhere else to throw us off.”

“You think they know about us?”

Sara bit her bottom lip. “Absolutely. We know that Amelia does. Otherwise why scribble that note in her book? What we don’t know is her relationship, if any, to the man who took her.”

“I think the chances are slim someone from Cancun has a vendetta against her.”

“I believe you’re right.”

“That means he followed her. I hope Voigt comes back with something soon.”

“Me too, darling.”

The sun was beating down and had Sean seeking shelter. He extended his hand to Sara and led her into the lobby of the motel. In a place like this, he wouldn’t let her leave his side.

The plan of attack formulated in his mind and flicked into focus once he was free of the blinding heat. Places like this didn’t give out information—their customers typically paid cash and didn’t provide real names anyway. He had to present himself as someone to fear.

He did a quick survey of the interior—there was an ugly couch, framed in wood, its back was scalloped, the fabric a faded, rusty floral pattern. The man behind the counter was all of five-feet-four with dark skin and a wide, round face. He had his hands braced on the aging laminate countertop, a toothpick poking out from the corner of his mouth. He wore a dazed, awkward grin.

“Would you hurry up your ass, broad?” Sean tugged on Sara’s arm, delicately balancing between appearing to be a ruffian and not hurting her. He turned to face her and enlarged his eyes, urging her to play along.

“This is no way to treat a lady. Get your hand off me, you creep.”

“Now, now, little darling.” Sean pulled her to him and tucked her tight into his side, looking to the guy at the counter.

“She always has to say no before she says yes. Don’t ya, darling?” Sean planted a big, wet, noisy kiss on her cheek.

Sara pushed on his chest but then surrendered to his embrace. “You know it, big boy.” She turned to face the man and smiled. “Please get us a room. Now.”

The man slowly drew the toothpick from his mouth, every fragment of the wood scraping across his teeth. With it removed, the grin was feral and Sean would recognize its origin anywhere. The man was a predator.

“We’re meeting up with two friends of ours and having ourselves a party, if you know what I mean,” Sean said.

“Ah, Señor.” The man laughed, causing the skin around his eyes to pinch into deep-set wrinkles. “Party.”

Sean realized that the man’s knowledge of English was limited. Sean used gestures as he spoke, hoping it would be enough to get the message understood. “They would have arrived not long ago.”

The Mexican’s brow knitted in confusion.

Sean went about it another way. “She’s a redhead. He’s a jerk, but also my friend. Amigo.” He passed a smile at the man.

“Sí, sí. Amigo.”

“Right. He wore a Budweiser t-shirt.” Sean patted his chest.

“Ah, great American beer.”

“Yes.”

Seconds passed with him and the Mexican staring at each other.

“Their room number?”

“Muchacha bonita.” He bent over, leaned on his elbow and tapped his fingers to his lips, then pointed at Sara.

“No way, man. She’s mine. Maybe I haven’t made myself clear.” Sean put his hand into his shorts pocket while keeping eye contact with the man. “I’m here to party and no one gets in my way. Understood?”

Sean drew out his hand.

“Stop.” The man passed a glance from Sara to Sean.

“Room three fifteen, but…señorita—” He whistled at Sara.

“If you would have let him kiss me, I would have killed you. Just having that man eyeball me,” tremors ran through her, “gave me the willies.”

“As if I’d let him get close.”

“I know you wouldn’t because you value your life.” Sara cast him a glare and he laughed.

They took the stairs to the third floor, not that there was another option.

“Here it is, Sean.” Sara stood beside the door marked
315
, her back to the wall.

Sean knocked.

They waited.

He knocked again.

There wasn’t a sound coming from inside. If Amelia and the man had come here, they weren’t in their room.

Sean studied the door handle and made the quick observation that it didn’t have any fancy swipe-key apparatus. The locking mechanism dated back as far as the worn, tattered carpeting and the rest of the touches in the place.

He held out his hand to Sara and she passed him the hat while she rooted through her purse.

“Here you—” When she looked up, holding a hairpin, she burst out in laughter. Her hand snapped over her mouth to dampen the volume.

“What?” He traced the brim of the sunhat and polished the movement with flare at the end. “I take it by your reaction the hat doesn’t suit me either.”

“One could say that, but to use the word
either
would infer that it doesn’t look good on me. The man at our resort told me it suited me.”

Sean shook his head. “Darling, we’ve been through this. He would have told you anything.”

“You say that because you’re partial.”

“I say it because it’s the truth, but it’s not time to build your ego.”

She lolled her head side to side and mumbled, “I think anytime is good for that.”

“I promise, when all of this is behind us, I will make up for lost time.”

She took the hat from him while he slid the hairpin into the keyhole and wiggled it around until the door was unlocked. With the motion, his solar plexus heated. They were making progress in this case and they would soon know what awaited them in the room.

He extended the pin to her.

“No thanks. You can keep that.”

Sean tucked it into a pocket.

“You come in behind me,” he said.

Sara followed and put her hand in his.

The curtains in the room were a rusty orange and, with the sunlight behind them, it cast an orange aura on everything in the room.  “I used to like the color,” she said.

Despite the sunlight coming through the fabric of the cheap window coverings, shadows cast about the room. The place was silent, not even a leaking tap, which surprised Sean in a place like this.