Against the Law (16 page)

Zepeda frowned, but Santos looked pleased. “You may count on me, as always.”

Santos departed, Zepeda in his wake.

Alvarez moved to the huge, ornate desk that dominated the west side of the study, opened the lid on an ivory inlaid humidor, and pulled out an expensive Cuban cigar. He held the cigar beneath his nose and inhaled the fine tobacco aroma.

One way or another, the problem would be dealt with.

Antonio clipped the end off his cigar and stuck it between his teeth.

He had no doubt of that.

“T
hanks for stopping by,” Lark said. Molly Monroe stood in the entry of the condo getting ready to leave. “But you don't have to worry. Both of us are doing just fine.”

Molly smiled. She looked pretty tonight, her auburn hair shining and her cheeks blooming with color. Clive Monroe made her happy. Molly had confided that she had gone off the Pill and they were trying to have a baby. Clive would make a good father, Lark thought, ignoring a shot of envy she hadn't expected to feel.

“I'm not supposed to tell you,” Molly said, “but Dev called Clive again. He wanted to make sure you were all right. I thought you might like to know.”

She wasn't really surprised. Dev took his job very seriously. On a personal level, he didn't want to continue their one-night affair, but she had been his client and he wanted to be sure she was okay.

“He's very conscientious about his work,” she said.

Molly leaned closer. “To tell you the truth, I thought the two of you might get together. Seemed like there was a real spark between you.”

Oh, there was a spark, all right. She was starting to feel hot just thinking about it. “It was mostly just business,” she said.

“Too bad. The two of you made a really great couple.”

Maybe they would have, but each of them had too much going on in their lives to get involved in a serious way.

“Listen, girlfriend, I've got to run,” Molly said. “Call me if you need anything.”

Lark bent and hugged her. “I will.” She waited for Molly to leave, closed the door and walked back to check on Chrissy, who was getting ready for bed all by herself, since it was Marge's night off and she had left to visit a friend.

“I love my new jammies,” Chrissy said as Lark appeared in the doorway. She was trying to fasten the buttons on the top of the pajamas Delilah had bought her on their shopping trip to Beverly Hills, managing to get them closed but in the wrong holes.

The little girl smoothed a small hand over the animals printed on the flannel. “Ponies are my very favorite.” She looked up. “Except for kittens.”

Lark laughed. She knelt in front of the child and re-fastened the buttons, then straightened the top. “We need to go down to the animal shelter so you can adopt a kitty. Maybe this weekend. What do you think?”

“Yes!”

Lark gave her a hug, lifted her up and carried her over to the bed. Once she was tucked beneath the covers, Lark sat down on the edge of the mattress and they folded their hands in prayer.

“Now I lay me down to sleep,” Lark started and Chrissy joined in, both of them bowing their heads. “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

They said the prayer together, words Lark's mother had taught her when she was a little girl.

At the end Chrissy added. “God bless Mommy and Daddy and Nana Lupita in their house up in heaven. Amen.”

Every night was the same and every time Lark heard the words, a lump formed in her throat. Silently she added,
and bless my sister, Heather. Amen.

It wasn't time to say the words aloud, to tell Chrissy the truth about her mother. She was dealing with enough death and loss already.

Lark leaned down and kissed the child on the forehead. “Good night, sweetheart.”

“Good night Aunt Lark.”

Chrissy hadn't asked to call her “mommy” yet, but Lark thought she would very soon. Lark was looking forward to the day the little girl felt as if she were truly her daughter.

Leaving the door open and the butterfly night-light on, she turned off the overhead fixture and continued down the hall to her bedroom. She read for a while, a romantic suspense that left her feeling a little bit wistful, then turned off the bedside lamp and plumped her pillow. It didn't take long to fall asleep.

She was dreaming of Dev, thinking of their last days together, her body warming at the memories, when her eyes blinked open. The red numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand read 2:00 a.m. Lark wondered what had awakened her, then heard a soft shuffling sound in the hall.

Her ears strained toward the sound. Her body tensed and her heartbeat quickened. For several seconds she lay unmoving, telling herself the noise had just been part of the dream. Then the faint murmur of voices drifted toward her, and her pulse jerked into a higher gear.

Very slowly, she leaned over and opened the drawer in the nightstand. Reaching quietly inside, she punched the code into the keypad, lifted the lid and pulled out her 9 mm Ruger. There was a shell in the chamber and the clip was fully loaded. Matt Jensen had made certain she understood that an unloaded weapon was no weapon at all.

Swinging her legs to the edge of the bed, she eased to her feet, gun in hand. Her pajama top brushed against her panties as she started for the door. She was shaking inside, her mouth bone dry, but amazed at how calm she seemed on the outside, how each of her movements was controlled, how she knew exactly what she would do if the situation turned into a serious threat against her or Chrissy.

Flattening herself against the wall as Dev had taught her, the gun gripped in both hands, she inched forward. The faint, muffled voices reached her again, and a chill slid down her spine. The sounds were coming from
Chrissy's bedroom, and her stomach knotted in fear. Her pulse hammered so hard she could hear it.

Lark thought of Matt Jensen and the hours she had spent training for something exactly like this, took a deep, calming breath, and forced herself under control. One wrong move now, one mistake, and she and Chrissy would be lying dead on the floor just like the Wellers.

“I have her,” a deep voice said, husky and male with a thick Spanish accent.

Lark held her breath as the intruder stepped out into the hall, dimly lit by the tiny butterfly night-light. He was dressed completely in black, a black ski mask over his face. He carried Chrissy against his chest and she was either asleep or unconscious.

Oh, dear God.
Fear tightened her chest, but her hands remained steady. She braced her legs apart and aimed the Ruger.

“Stop right where you are.”

The man, about five-ten and wiry, jerked to a halt and slowly turned to face her, the child still in his arms.

“Put her down and leave. If you don't, I'll pull the trigger.”

It was a bluff. Chrissy was directly in the line of fire. Lark swallowed, praying the man couldn't tell how terrified she was, couldn't know she was so scared she felt light-headed.

Instead of leaving, the intruder started backing away, spun and bolted, taking Chrissy with him, and a second man in black stepped into the hallway, a powerful semiautomatic pistol gleaming in his hand.

Lark's fingers tightened around her weapon. Her hand
was shaking. All she could think of was Chrissy and that the man who had taken her was getting away. The ratcheting sound of metal echoed in her ears as the intruder chambered a round and lifted his weapon. Death was in the smile she saw through the hole in his mask.

Lark fired.

And fired and fired and fired and fired again. She lost count of how many times she pulled the trigger, how many blasts she heard, before the man's body hit the wall behind him and his gun went flying. He groaned as he slid onto the polished hardwood floor, then there was only silence.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
For an instant she stood frozen, unable to think, to get her mind to focus. She dragged in a deep breath. She had shot someone. A man lay bleeding in the hallway.

Then it all came thundering back. “Chrissy!” Lark bolted after the man who had taken her child. “Chrissy!” But the intruder was already gone, the front door shut behind him.

She followed at a dead run, shaking all over, no longer in control, the gun quaking in her numb fingers. She raced out into the hallway but no one was there.

Doors began to open along the corridor; other sleepy condo owners peered out into the passage.

“Call 911!” Lark shouted, recognizing a few familiar faces. “He took my daughter! A man stole my daughter!”

They all ducked back inside to use the phone, but Lark kept running. She took the stairs instead of the elevator,
assuming that was the route the kidnapper had taken and praying she would reach the bottom floor before he did. The metal stairs echoed with the ring of her bare feet and her chest was squeezing so hard she could barely breathe, but when she shoved open the door to the ground floor lobby, the elevator stood open and no one was there.

“Where are you, you bastard!” Spinning one way and then another, she searched frantically for any sight of him.

The fire escape!
Instead of the elevator, he must have used the outside stairs that led directly to the open parking lot. Whirling in that direction, her heart threatening to pound through her ribs, she ran for the emergency exit. As she banged open the door, setting off the alarm, she spotted a black SUV, its engine racing as the man holding Chrissy slammed the passenger door behind him. Rubber burned as the vehicle raced for the exit.

Lark ran after it, a sob caught in her throat.
Please…

Please don't let them get away.
But the car gunned out of the parking lot, roared down the block and disappeared around the corner. Lark kept running. Her side was aching, her breathing ragged. She could hear the squeal of tires on the pavement, but when she reached the corner and stared down the road, the SUV was gone.

Lark sank down on the curb, the gun cradled in her lap, her body shaking uncontrollably. The police would be coming. She knew her neighbors, knew they would have called 911.

But Chrissy was gone and she had no idea where the men were taking her. What they might do to her.

“Oh, God.” The sob in her throat broke free. It was followed by a racking bout of tears. Sirens wailed in the distance.

But they were too late.

A
s his cell phone continued to chime, Dev forced open his eyes. For once, he had actually been sleeping. Maybe it was the shot of Jack Daniel's he had drunk before he had gone to bed.

He pressed the phone against his ear. “Raines.”

“Dev?” The caller's voice was shaking and clogged with hysterical tears, but he knew who it was.

“Lark!” His fingers tightened around the phone as he tossed back the sheet and stood up beside the bed. “Lark, what is it?”

“They…they took her, Dev. They…they came into the house and they…they took her.” She made a sobbing noise and his chest tightened.

“Ah, God.” He was already moving toward his closet when the next words came out.

“Sh-she's gone, Dev. I don't…don't know where. And…I—I killed a man.”

“You had a gun?”

“I was afraid so I—I bought one. I took lessons…I—I learned how to shoot it.”

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Listen to me, Lark. I'm on my way, all right? I'll be there as fast as I can. Where are you?”

“At…home. The police think the men…the men will call…that…that they'll try to ransom Chrissy for money…b-because our story was…was in all those magazines. Do you…do you think that's what they want? Because I have money. I—I have plenty of money and I would pay anything—” her voice broke “—anything to get her back.”

Dev's hands were shaking as he tried to get a leg into his pants. He forced himself under control. This was his fault. He should have known something would happen. But taking the child made no sense. He never believed Alvarez would do something as insane as that.

“Listen to me. I'll be there as soon as I can get there. Have they put out an AMBER Alert?”

She swallowed. “Yes…”

“Do you have someone there with you?”

“Steve…Steve is here.”

“Call Madman. Call Clive and tell him I said to get over there. I want someone there to protect you.”

“The police are here. Lots of police. I—I killed a man, Dev.”

“One of
them?
”

“Yes.”

“Then you did the right thing. Now just do whatever Clive tells you until I get there. Okay, baby?”

“Okay.”

He didn't want to hang up. He wanted to keep her on the line, hear her voice, make sure she was safe, but he had to go. He had to get to L.A.

He had to find Chrissy.

He still didn't understand what Alvarez could possibly want with a four-year-old girl, but she was still alive, so the bastard wanted something.

“Lark…baby, I'm coming. Once I get there, we'll figure this out. And I promise you, we'll bring home your little girl.”

Lark sobbed and started to thank him.

“Just hang on,” he said hoarsely, ending the call and running back to the closet. He grabbed the overnight bag he always kept packed and ran, shirt unbuttoned and flapping, down the hall.

“Town! Town!” The huge black man staggered sleepily out of his quarters at the opposite end of the house.

“Jesus, what is it?” One look at Dev's face and he knew. “It's Lark.”

Dev's jaw hardened. “The bastards took Chrissy. They kidnapped that little girl. I've got to get there. I need a plane. A fast one. Now.”

“I'm on it. I'll have a jet waiting at the airport when you get there.”

He nodded. “And a car. I'll need to get downtown.” He started walking, turned back. “She shot one of them, Town.” His mouth curved into a ruthless half smile. “Lark killed one of the bastards.”

Town's dark expression turned hard as stone. “Good for her.”

Dev was pulling out of the driveway in the SUV when
Town walked up and opened the back door. He tossed in a camouflage duffle left from his Ranger days. “You may need this.”

Boots, shirts, a heavy coat, sleeping bag, miscellaneous equipment. “Thanks.”

“Take care, boss.”

He just nodded.

It took hours to get there. Even in a sleek Citation jet, a rental car waiting near the gate when they arrived at the Burbank airport, the hours it took to get there felt like an eternity.

Just before takeoff, he'd checked his messages and found a call from Johnnie Riggs. Dev punched Send, returning the call, anxious for anything new his friend might have found.

“I heard a rumor, is all.” A cranky, half-asleep Riggs yawned into the phone. “Can't say for sure it's true, but word is Alvarez is pissed about all the press your girlfriend, Lark's, been getting. They say he's going after some payback. I don't know what he's got in mind, but nobody's safe when Alvarez is pissed.”

“Lark's my client, not my girlfriend, and it looks like the rumor is true. As we speak, I'm on my way to L.A. A couple of Alvarez's henchmen broke into her house and kidnapped the little girl.”

“Jesus.”

“She left there alive. That's something.”

“You going after her?”

“Believe it.”

“I'm in. Let me know what you need.”

Dev took a breath. “For the moment, I need you to keep your ears open, see if you can pick up anything else.”

“You got it.”

Dev ended the call, wishing he'd paid more attention to the articles Chaz had sent him over the internet. One thing he knew: Antonio Alvarez lived in Hermosillo, Mexico. And he had a very strong suspicion that's where little Chrissy was headed.

He'd spent the balance of the trip with his laptop open, reading all of the articles again. Several of them mentioned the other cartel leaders' dislike of the man and the long running feuds between them. The leader of the El Dorado cartel, Don Ricardo de La Guerra, had blatantly admitted his animosity toward a man he regarded as “little more than an animal.” There was even speculation that Don Ricardo had backed two unsuccessful attempts on Alvarez's life.

Santos's name was also repeatedly mentioned, along with his well-known penchant for revenge. One of the articles suggested that Santos himself was responsible for more than a hundred deaths in Mexico that year. They hinted at his involvement in human trafficking, and various and sundry other nefarious endeavors.

That the men were hated by most of their business acquaintances was more than clear. All of the articles left the reader with the impression that Antonio Alvarez and the men who worked for him were utterly ruthless, conscienceless men.

Dev's stomach was in knots and the sky beginning to gray by the time he had finished the last of his research.
The jet landed smoothly and taxied to a stop in front of the executive terminal. He rubbed his eyes, which burned with fatigue. At least he knew a helluva lot more about Antonio Alvarez and his drug empire than he had before.

It took another twenty minutes to drive the lightly trafficked freeways and park the rental car in the outdoor parking lot of Lark's downtown condo. He shouldered his way through a barrage of reporters and a squadron of police, some of whom had been informed he was coming and escorted him through the lobby to the elevator and up to Lark's door.

Madman was there when he walked in. “Hey, buddy.”

The men shook hands. “Thanks for coming, Clive.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way. She's pretty shook up, but holding her own. She killed one of the assholes who took the kid.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“She's in the kitchen with her lawyer.”

Dev steeled himself and headed for Lark. The body of the dead guy was gone but a chalk outline remained in the hall and few of the forensic guys were still there, dusting for prints and going over the crime scene.

One of the detectives stopped him before he reached the kitchen. “You Raines?”

“Yeah. Ms. Delaney is my client.”

The balding detective stepped back to let him pass. “She told us you were coming. Go ahead.”

Dev's gut tightened at the sight of her standing next to Steve Rutgers, his arm around her shoulders. He didn't
like the picture they made. He didn't like to think of Lark with the handsome attorney.

She glanced up as he drew near. Her eyes found his. There was so much pain his chest squeezed. Lark's eyes filled with tears. She turned away from Rutgers, crossed the room and walked straight into his arms.

A tremor went through him and he tightened his hold around her. God, he wished he hadn't missed her so much. He wished he wasn't so damned glad to see her.

Lark leaned into him and just hung on. “I'm so glad you're here.”

He could feel her trembling and a wave of emotion hit him. He shook it off. At the moment, emotion wasn't something he could afford.

“It's all right, baby.” He cupped the back of her head and cradled her against him. “We'll get her back. I promise you.”

She nodded, took a shuddering breath. Reluctantly, he let her go, but kept an arm securely around her waist. He turned to another of the detectives, this one black-haired and broad-shouldered. With his coat off and draped over a chair, he appeared to be in solid condition.

“She didn't get a ransom call, did she?” Dev said to him, more a statement than a question.

“Not yet.”

“It isn't money they want.”

“I'm Detective Burton.” He tipped his head toward the bald man. “Over there, that's Cox. I gather you're Raines.”

“That's right.”

“She's been waiting for you to get here. Seems to think
you've got some special way of helping her find the little girl.”

“I'll find her.”

Burton looked unconvinced. “And just where is it you think she is?”

“Since your AMBER Alert didn't stop the guys who have her, by now she's on her way to Mexico.”

“Mexico? Why the hell would they be taking her to Mexico?”

“You'd have to ask Antonio Alvarez that. I sure as hell can't figure it out.”

The bald detective, Cox, walked up just then. “You got any reason to believe that's where they're headed?”

“Word is they see the kid as unfinished business. I presume you know about the Weller shootings in Arizona.”

Cox nodded. “Anyone who watches the news knows what happened. You're saying Alvarez is the man behind the murders?”

“Just a rumor. No evidence to that effect. How long are you going to keep Ms. Delaney here?”

“She's consulted with her attorney and given her statement. She's here in case there's a ransom call.”

“So she's free to leave?”

“She can go. As long as she doesn't leave town.”

Lark looked up at him. Her eyes said she was ready to go with him. That she was going all the way to Mexico. Under different circumstances he might have smiled.

“You ready?” he asked.

Rutgers interrupted them. “Lark, you can't possibly
go. There is no way to know for sure there won't be a ransom call. You'll need to be here if there is.”

“Chrissy wasn't kidnapped for ransom,” Lark said, her eyes fixed on the lawyer's face. “The day her parents were killed…” She shook her head. “You weren't there, Steve, I was. What happened here last night…” She brushed away an unwanted tear. “The men who took Chrissy…it was exactly the same. The face masks, the black SUV. They're going to Mexico just like Dev says.”

She started to turn away, but Steve caught her arm. “Lark, you have to let the police handle this. There's nothing you can do.”

She only shook her head. “I appreciate all your help, Steve, really, I do.” She dragged in a shaky breath, grabbed her heavy leather purse off the kitchen table. She turned to Dev. “I need to call Carrie Beth, tell her I won't be coming to work this week. I wanted to call earlier, but Steve came and the police kept asking questions and I was…was waiting for you.”

He pulled her aside. “You can make your calls, but once we leave here, there won't be any more. Cell phones can be traced. I don't want Alvarez finding you.”

She nodded, pulled her cell phone out of her bag and phoned her friend. The call took longer than he would have liked. She asked her friend to call Marge Covey and explain, asked her to call the others. Eventually she hung up, stuffed the phone back into her purse, and dashed fresh tears from her cheeks.

“Carrie Beth said not to worry. She said they'd make sure everything's covered.”

“Good, now let's go.”

She glanced toward the bedroom. “I need to get some of my things.”

Dev turned to the bald policeman. “That all right with you, Detective Cox?”

“Her DNA's all over the place, anyway.” He spoke to Lark. “I'll take you back, miss. Just be careful where you walk and remember this is still a crime scene.”

They left the kitchen and headed for her bedroom to collect her things. Dev could only imagine what Lark was feeling as she passed the blood in the hall.

His jaw tightened. Son of a bitch.

He wished he had been here. Wished there had been some way to keep the two of them safe.

Don't go there.
The important thing, he reminded himself, was to find little Chrissy and bring her home.

 

Dev was fidgeting, anxious to leave when Lark returned ten minutes later. He recognized the overnight bag she wheeled across the living room. Her face looked even paler than it had before.

“I'm ready whenever you are.”

Detective Cox's bulldog face didn't look pleased. “If you're going, we'll need an address and phone number where we can reach you.”

“You've got her cell number,” Dev answered. “As for an address…I want her somewhere safe. As soon as we're settled, we'll be in touch.”

Dev didn't give them time to argue, just ushered Lark toward the door. Madman fell in behind them.

“You going underground?” he asked when they
stepped out of the elevator into the lobby. There were still a few reporters lurking outside the building, but most of them had gone, eager to print the story.