For The Love Of Laurel (22 page)

Chapter 36

Laurel found a new hotel a few blocks from the one she was in and made a reservation. She packed and called for a bellhop. Once she was at the front desk, she settled her bill and asked them to call a taxi. She took the handle of her suitcase and rolled the case ahead of her and out the door, where she stood and waited.

Within a few minutes, a taxi pulled up and the driver jumped out. He walked around the car and stopped when he reached her.

“Are you the one who called for a taxi?”

His English was passable, as long as she listened carefully. His tone was just shy of belligerent, which gave her pause. He had the proper car and uniform, but his muscular arms and general body language didn’t fit the profile of other taxi drivers she’d had while in Cartagena.

She told herself not to be so paranoid. He was just a taxi driver. She’d seen many taxis since she’d arrived. “Yes.”

He picked up her suitcase and put it in the trunk, and then opened the back door for her. Once she was inside, he went around to the driver’s side. At the same time, another man opened the back door on the other side of the car from her and slid in. She heard the doors lock.

For a moment, she was too stunned to say anything. As the taxi pulled into the street, she could see the man in the back held a gun on her. Her instinct was to scream, but she knew that wasn’t a good idea.

“What do you want?” She tried to keep her tone strong and unafraid.

“You,” came the curt reply.

“You must have me confused with someone else.”

“You are
Señorita
Avidon?”

She didn’t answer.

He tapped her cheek with his gun. “I asked you a question.”

She glared at him. “So? You already know the answer unless you’re stupider than you look.” She braced herself for pain, but though she could see him tense up, he lowered the gun.

“Lucky for you, our instructions are to deliver you without harming you.”

“Deliver me to whom?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. I anticipate getting my turn with you once the boss learns of your uncooperative attitude.”

The driver sniggered. “Save some for me,” he said in heavily accented English.”

The man in back said, “The trip will take some time. You should sleep.”

She shook her head. His hand snaked toward her, and she felt a stabbing pain in her arm. “If you took my suggestions, you could save yourself a lot of trouble.”

His words slipped further and further away.

Dylan drummed his fingers impatiently on the marbled top of the hotel’s front desk. A middle-aged man with a round belly came toward him.

“
Sí, Señor
? May I help you?”

Dylan checked in to the hotel. He hadn’t wanted to take the time, but knew if he was going to be at his best, he needed sleep as well as someplace to stay until Gerald got there.

After the paperwork was complete, Dylan put a picture of Laurel on the counter, as he checked the man’s nametag. “Have you seen her, Miguel?”

Miguel looked at the picture. Dylan saw his body tense as he prepared to lie.

“
No me mientas
,” Dylan warned.

Miguel glanced around the lobby. “I no lie to you,” he said.

“
Muy bueno
. Have you seen her?”

“
Sí
, but she leave, check out.”

“Did she mention where she was going?”

“No.”

“
Gracias
.” He slid a twenty toward Miguel, and then turned and went outside, too antsy to sleep. Within moments, Miguel was at his side.

“
Señor
, I forgot. The
Señorita
asked me to call for a taxi.”

Dylan almost relaxed.
She must have been
on her way back
to the States.
“Did she get into the taxi?”

“
Sí
.”

“Thanks.” Dylan sauntered down the sidewalk, deep in thought. He stopped at a cafe and bought a cup of coffee. As he sipped it, he dialed Josh.

“Christ, Dylan. Do you have any idea what time it is?” Josh groused.

“Where you are? Same as where I am. Laurel checked out and took a taxi somewhere. I hope she’s flying home. Check flights out of Cartagena, will you?”

“I aim to please. Can I make coffee first?”

“Not unless it’s instant.”

Josh gave an exaggerated yawn. “I have a pot on my desk, ready to go for when I get up
later this morning
.” The irony in his tone wasn’t lost on Dylan. “It’ll brew while I boot up the computer.”

Dylan downed his own coffee and ordered another.

“Okay, ready,” Josh said. “What date are we looking at?”

“Yesterday and today.”

“This’ll take some time. Go order a taco or something. I’ll call you in a few.” Josh hung up.

Dylan took his coffee and walked to the outdoor patio. He leaned against a wooden post and checked his surroundings. A number of people sat at tables eating and drinking. They all seemed to be tourists having fun. No one looked like a local. He kept glancing at his watch. Thirty minutes and no call. He began to wonder what Josh meant by
a few
. He had no idea how long these things took, but it was hard not knowing where Laurel was.

Did she find out Gerald wasn’t her father after all? Maybe Josh didn’t delete the email soon enough. Or did Gerald catch up with her and act like a taxi driver so no one would suspect he was here? No. He’d have called me to let me know.

Finally, his phone buzzed. He didn’t even have a chance to give his usual greeting before Josh began to talk.

“Nothing. She wasn’t on any flight leaving Cartagena, so wherever the taxi took her, it wasn’t to the airport.”

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this. I’ll call Gerald and see if he has her.”

“Good luck.”

Dylan dialed a number he had memorized. He and Gerald had agreed never to communicate except by encrypted computer email unless it was an emergency.

“Yeah?”

“You have the subject?”

A slight hesitation. “No.” Dylan could hear the same concern in that one word that he himself felt. “I’ll be with you in three, four hours. And then, we’ll go hunting.”

“Roger that.”

Dylan cut off the communication and went back to the hotel. He had to get some sleep. Through the years, he’d learned how to fall asleep quickly and deeply, and get by on a couple of hours when he needed to. During those times, he’d manage to set aside his concerns for a while. But with the situation he faced now, he wasn’t sure he could do that.
Yet, I must, if I’m to be any help to Laurel.

Sun shining through sheer drapes woke Laurel. She tried to open her eyes but couldn’t make them do what she wanted. She decided to drift back to sleep but kept getting jumbled visions of Colombian men, taxis, piñatas, colorful drinks, hypodermic needles, begging children, Alejandros . . .

Her eyes opened wide.
Alejandros? What are those?
And then she remembered. Holding onto her pounding head, she managed to sit up.

She didn’t recognize the room she was in. It certainly wasn’t the hotel, though it was a nice room. The plush carpet was the deep gray-green of the Caribbean Sea she could see on a blustery day—the same body of water she could see from her hotel room, but not from where she was now.

A fireplace took up much of one wall. Gingerly, she got to her feet and walked to a closed door. It opened to a bathroom.
Thank goodness, I can take a shower.
Her suitcase sat, unopened, on the bathroom counter. She opened it. It had been thoroughly searched and the clothes just shoved back in willy-nilly. At least they were clean.

Her head still ached as she opened the medicine cabinet, which was empty except for a bottle of aspirin. She grabbed it then stilled. How could she trust it was really aspirin after what had been done to her last night? A note in the cabinet partially reassured her. She glanced at the signature. Alejandro!

“Lo siento, Señorita.”

Laurel had to think back to her high school Spanish. “
Lo siento, lo siento . . .
I’m sorry? You’re sorry, Alejandro? Just who the hell are you, anyway? And you aren’t calling me Laurel anymore? Not a good sign.” She went back to the note.

“‘If you cooperate, I promise you will not be hurt and you will get out of this alive. The aspirin is real. If I wanted to keep you drugged, I would. Please feel free to use the facilities. Make yourself at home—
mi casa es su casa. Por favor
, join me for breakfast. Alejandro.’”

What does he mean by cooperate? Cooperate how?

Hoping she was doing the right thing, she took four aspirin with a bottle of water, which was also in the bathroom. She took a quick shower and dried herself with a luxurious white towel, all the while wondering how Alejandro could afford all of this, if indeed it really belonged to him.

After she’d dressed in dark green Capri pants and a modest white mid-length sleeve blouse, she slipped on her huaraches, and stole a glance out the window.

She gasped. What the hell? The property was surrounded by smaller homes, maybe a thousand square feet each. They had no fences or landscaping, but a number of children played in what passed for yards. She saw a couple of dozen men in dirty tee shirts and jeans, cleaning rifles, throwing knives at a dartboard, drinking beer, and laughing.

She suspected she knew where she was—a drug cartel compound, and Alejandro Madeira was its czar. She had no idea if drug cartels even had such a thing as a compound, but she couldn’t imagine what else to call it. They sure weren’t having a fiesta.

This must be why her father was in Colombia, but if he hadn’t been able to find this place before, how would he find it now? How would he know what happened to her and where to look for her when he got to Cartagena and she wasn’t there?

She straightened her shoulders. She was her father’s daughter. She would make him proud. He had invited her here, believing it was safe. He would soon know she’d been there, as he requested, and would blame himself for her disappearance. She had no control over that. All she could do was keep her wits and look for an opening to escape or somehow get a message to him.

She opened the door to her room. There was a long hallway before her. A man with a rifle stepped in front of her.

“Wow, I feel like a queen with a bodyguard—a filthy one at that,” she snarled. She figured he didn’t speak English but better to find out now. He made no reaction other than to point his rifle down the hall. She went ahead of him and tried to ignore her racing pulse.
Pull it together. Show no fear.

At the end of the hall were several steps that took them to the main floor. What she could see was an open, airy room. Aromas that made her stomach growl wafted into the room. Despite everything, she was hungry.

“Welcome!” Alejandro came into the room and waved her guard away. “Come and have breakfast with me. We need to talk.”

She crossed her arms defiantly and held her ground.

Alejandro growled. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her close to him. “Your days of freedom are over unless you do exactly as I say. Disobedience and posturing will not be tolerated. I don’t want to hurt you. Even so, I am very good at it. Keep that in mind if you wish to live. Do we have an understanding?”

She felt heat and pressure rise in her chest. All she wanted to do was spit in his smug face. Just the thought brought more saliva to her mouth and her lips puckered.

Alejandro shook his head. “I forgot to tell you my employees don’t mind hurting people. An attack on me is an attack on them, and they might not be as forgiving as I am.”

“So if I spit in your face, they would consider that an attack?”

“For all they know, you would spit some kind of poison that would blind me.”

She looked at the guard, who watched from a distance. “I wish I could.”

“I understand. I would feel the same if our circumstances were reversed, but they aren’t. I suggest you remember that at all times.”

She kept her expression blank, even as she began plotting how to get him alone. It appeared that wouldn’t be easy, but she would look for an opening and hope he was more of a gun person than a martial arts person.

“I’ll try my best to be good,” she said sardonically, hoping he would expect her not to completely capitulate without putting up at least a modicum of resistance.

He smiled and held out his arm. “Let’s eat. The
Huevos Pericos con Tocineta
look especially good today.”

“The what?”

“You call them scrambled eggs, though these have added ingredients.”

Crap. As if it weren’t enough that my whole world is scrambled right now, breakfast has to be too.