Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4) (31 page)

Simon looked at his hand, blood smeared all over his palm. He squinted, trying to get his bearings.

“Elle did that to you?”

Simon shook his head. “She headed for the bathroom. Some suspicious guy intercepted her as she left, started harassing her and trying to corner her, so I decided to intervene, but on my way there was a brawl and I was hit.”

Jack’s blood froze. “Which guy?” He’d given Simon detailed files about Maldonado’s people.

“Didn’t recognize him.”

Pushing people left and right, he got to the women’s room. Some irate ladies screamed at him but he didn’t give a fuck.

“Elle?” he yelled, flinging open the doors of the stalls.

Nothing.

He ran back out and scanned the surroundings. The band was playing some popular song that had everyone singing and bouncing, those damn pulses of light hindering his sight. In all that mayhem, he thought he saw a glimpse of what looked to him like her leg tattoo, shiny white, flanked by men and about to go through the front door.

He burst into movement, but when he made it out of the bar, there was no sign of Elle anywhere.

Then he remembered all the bugs he’d had on her. She’d disposed of some of those in one of her defiant stunts, but he’d planted more in her clothes and accessories. Would she have any on? Blood roaring in his ears so fucking badly that he was sure that people around could hear his heartbeat, he rushed to his truck. From the hidden compartment at the back, he took his computer and turned the tracking program on. Praying to all the gods he knew, all of those he’d stopped praying to as soon as his mother had started beating the shit out of him regularly, that something would fire on the screen, a small bleep. Just one. All he needed was one. And there it was, a green dot, blinking and moving slowly but surely away from the bar, going south down Pasadena Street. Fuck, he felt like crying. No time for that. He broke into a run toward a group of people and tackled one of them.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Where did you get this purse?” Jack demanded.

“It was on the ground,” he said, scrambling up. “I didn’t steal it.”

Shit. “Did you see who dropped it? Which direction she went?”

The man shook his head.

Jack searched around in desperation. He’d lost her.

Chapter Nineteen

“Look at the photos again,” Jack snarled. “Are you sure none of these men hit you?”

He was so losing patience with this asshole. He’d found Biggs at the door of the club, blood running down his nose, yelling left and right at the bouncer how he’d been assaulted while trying to fend off someone he had a restraining order against.

That had been all that Jack had needed to drag him aside.

How he’d gotten access to the club’s security tapes was beyond him; he’d never been the picture of diplomacy, but when he’d approached the club’s personnel, claiming one of their patrons had been kidnapped, he’d been like an out-of-control eighteen-wheeler, bulldozing over anybody in his way.

“I already told you. It’s none of these,” Biggs answered affronted. “Why are you keeping me here in this claustrophobic room?”

Jack had gone through the data and pics gathered by Simon, on the premise that whoever had wanted to snatch her must have kept an eye on her and probably got caught in some of the shots that Simon had taken, but no luck. He’d even shown them to Biggs but the asshole hadn’t recognized anyone.

According to all his contacts, Maldonado’s people had gone back to Miami and were keeping a low profile, but nevertheless Jack had pulled some pictures from his laptop and forced Biggs to look at them.

Nico Grabar, all of Maldonado’s bodyguards and security detail personnel. The middlemen too. None of them had been the one with whom Elle had left the club. Not that the world was short of scumbags ready to accept a contract hit for a big cartel.

He’d studied the security video, desperate to get a glimpse of Elle and whoever had her, refusing to think about the endless possibilities. That road would lead nowhere very fast and he would lose his mind. More than he was losing it already.

He’d spotted her walking out of the club, a bit wobbly, wearing the same dress she’d had on the day of the damn fund-raiser, being escorted out of the bar by two guys who must have known where the cameras were because their faces were not visible.

“Go through the photos again,” Jack ordered.

“I told you—”

Jack didn’t want to hear the same shit. “Think. Do you remember anything about the men who took her? Anything.”

“I saw them from the back, leaving with the woman. I only care about the one who attacked me. And I don’t understand why you keep saying they took her. Look at her,” Biggs smirked, pointing at one of the screens, where the tape was frozen over the image of Elle exiting the club flanked by the two men. “She obviously left with them voluntarily. If they are even snuggling, for God’s sake. They are probably now screwing her brains out in some hotel room.”

No. Jack knew Elle better than that.

“That bitch—”

Next thing Jack knew, he was holding the asshole by the throat against the wall. He was whimpering and thrashing, the chair where he’d been sitting tipped on the floor.

“Don’t fucking dare talk about her like that.”

Whatever Biggs said in response was all gibberish, seeing as he could barely draw a breath.

Through his murderous haze, Jack heard Simon’s voice. “Put him down. He’s not worth it.”

No, he wasn’t. Beating the shit out of him wouldn’t help Elle. Jack released him, and Biggs crumpled to the floor, gasping for air.

One of the security guards came in with a cup of coffee and a bunch of newspapers. Biggs was sputtering something about lawsuits and abuse of authority.

“Sit,” the guard said, as he left the coffee and the papers on the table. “And let’s try to remain calm. Here, have something to read while we sort this out.” Then he turned to Jack. “Are you sure she was kidnapped?”

Jack stared at the image in the screen. Trying to tamp down his fury. “She didn’t leave voluntarily.”

“That’s the man who assaulted me,” Biggs suddenly said, pointing at the newspaper on the table.

All the muscles in Jack’s body tensed. “What?” In between the sore throat and the bashed nose, the guy sounded a bit weird.

Biggs tapped on one of the newspapers. It was a picture of the fund-raiser for abandoned dogs.

“Isn’t that David Exxum and his bodyguard?” Simon asked. “What does he want with Elle?”

Realization froze his insides. Man, he’d been so stupid. “Not with her. With me. Exxum is after me. She just got caught in the middle.”

The only way to contact Alex Ayala was through the Internet. He accessed the chat room, entered his password. There it was, a message for him.

Your life for hers. You have 24 hours, then she dies. After her, it will be her family.

* * * *

The brightness blinded her the second Elle tried opening her eyes, a sharp stab of pain making her brain throb. Ouch. Mega, super-duper hangover, although for the life of her she couldn’t recall drinking last night. Squinting, she slowly scouted her surroundings. Where the heck was she? Then the events of last night rushed over her like a frigging tsunami swallowing her, her breath catching, her heart thumping in her throat. While Mr. Asshole had gotten punched, she’d been stabbed in the arm with a needle and two men she hadn’t recognized had grabbed her. She’d wanted to yell and wrestle, but she couldn’t. Her body hadn’t been obeying her, a terrifying feeling of falling deep into the rabbit hole had spread over her as they’d taken her out of the bar and she’d been able to do nothing to stop them. Oh God, the ache in her head intensified, but she swatted it away. Last she remembered, she’d been forced into a car. Then a blank slate. She reached for her arm. Yeah, the needle mark was there. She’d been drugged. The fact that she was still wearing the black dress and her shoes were strapped to her feet gave her a small measure of relief.

She scrambled up and tried the door. Locked. Ignoring her wobbliness, her dizziness, and the blinding sun, she rushed to the window. She had to get out, but one look sank her spirits. There was water as far as her eye could see. A small beach on her right, a pier with a couple of boats on the left.

As she heard the door unlock, she turned, hugging herself.

Exxum walked in. “You’re finally awake.”

Elle had thousands of questions but the first that plopped out of her mouth was, “Where am I?”

“You’re my guest at one of my private retreats on the North Shore. My security detail was nice enough to get you for me.”

“I’m not too savvy on proper etiquette in high circles, but I’m positive drugging your prospective guests is a big no-no.”

Exxum smiled. “I don’t usually have to resort to such extreme measures. It was a shot of something to make you more agreeable. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Apology not accepted. I would like to leave. Now.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Of course not. “What do you want from me?”

“From you nothing, but the man I know as Alex Ayala doesn’t seem to be what he appears, and I’d like to have a chat with him. In the last six months several of my business deals have gone belly-up inexplicably. Everything has started to make sense.

“Ayala had passed all of my security filters, which are many, with flying colors. He’d brokered several high-profile transactions for me and now, because of him, I have some disgruntled clients, not famous for their coolheadness or reasonability, thinking I’ve cheated them out of their guns. He’s cost me a lot of money, directly and indirectly. And a lot of the headaches. To say we have a score to settle is an understatement. You are a means to an end. So, you see, I don’t want anything from you per se.”

“I do,” she heard a voice say.

The sun was behind the man on the door, so she couldn’t see him properly, but as he stepped in, she realized who that was. Maldonado. Alive and well, looking tanned and relaxed, as a matter of fact.

God, this was getting worse and worse.

“I thought you were…”

“Dead? Sorry to disappoint.”

“I saw you getting into the car and—”

“You saw my cousin getting into the car. If we could have gotten you, it wouldn’t have been necessary, but since your friend intervened, we had to go with plan B. And well, it was my cousin’s fault that Aalto died and I’m in this mess, so it just stands to reason that he should pay the consequences. I already had his dental records swapped with mine some time ago. Why would anyone keep useless relatives around, right? Especially one who resembled me so much. I needed you and everyone who saw the incident to be convinced it was me. Ayala wouldn’t have backed off otherwise.”

Elle frowned. It had not been just dental records that had identified the body. “DNA confirmed it was you.”

“Law-enforcement agencies should do their homework better and screen their candidates more thoroughly. People with gambling issues should not be allowed to handle forensic evidence; some unscrupulous thug could use their secrets to encourage them to forge false forensic statements. You have been a very bad girl. You impersonated Mrs. Cabrera and, to add to your stupidity, you went to the cops.”

Donald had given them her name; it was useless to lie at this point so she kept quiet.

“Why don’t you make things easier for yourself and tell us Alex Ayala’s real name?” Exxum asked. “We could bring our…grievances straight to him.”

Elle tried to play it cool. “What do you mean, what’s his real name? I know him only as Alex Ayala. I’m as much in the dark as you.”

Maldonado didn’t seem fooled. “He fought my men to get to you. I’ve read the info Exxum has on him. Alex Ayala does not fight for a woman, much less for a witness under federal protection. Someone undercover does.”

She forced her throat to work, her mind racing. She needed a way out and she needed to be damn convincing. For Jack’s sake and for hers. “I’m not a witness under federal protection.”

“You dispatched my flight. You went to the cops.”

“Yes, and yes, but I know there’s no future testifying against somebody like you. What I want is to make a deal. My silence can be bought.”

Maldonado barked out a laugh. “You are misrepresenting the situation. I don’t have to buy your silence. Dead people tend to keep their traps shut.”

“Dead people might have a safe deposit box whose contents are sent to the FBI once said people kick the bucket,” she said, doing her damnedest to squish the trembling on her voice.

“If I had a penny for every time I heard someone say that, I’d be richer than I am, which, considering the margin of profit in my line of work, is saying a lot,” he sneered. “You’re bluffing. So cute, and so pointless in the grand scheme of things. Where do we find Alex?”

She remained furiously silent.

“You don’t have to tell us anything, true, but we are trying to do you a favor,” Exxum explained with a sigh. “We don’t need it. As soon as he hears you’re missing, he’ll come to us.”

“You overestimate my influence on him.”

Maldonado walked to her. “You got him to forget common sense and remain in the open. He’ll come searching for you, and we’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

“Why didn’t you shoot me at the Baile de Diablos? You knew I was the witness. You could have killed me. End of the problem.”

“No, dear. Not end of the problem. It would have made matters worse. Obviously you mean a hell of a lot to Mr. Ayala. If I killed you, I’d have to worry about him forever. I have enough enemies already. I don’t need one as formidable as him. And things have been too hot for me lately, with all the law-enforcement agencies in the US sniffing up my ass. Pretending to be dead and then kidnapping you would solve all of that.

“Men like Alex don’t commit to women. Loving someone is like catching a frightening disease that makes you forget your priorities and self-preservation instincts. He wouldn’t allow it to go on for long, so I knew once he perceived the danger to be over, he would walk out on you, and there it would be my opening to get you. And once I had you, he would willingly come to me. After I’m rid of you two, I might remain dead. Check myself into a clinic in Brazil, get a new face and then travel to Spain and dip my toes into the counterfeiting business in Europe. Much less dangerous for one’s health, not to mention how ridiculous European punishments are. A slap on the wrist, if anything.”