Kidnap and Ransom (13 page)

“Kel, I’ve got to. There’s no other way.”

He reached out and rubbed her shoulder. She didn’t respond to his touch.

“So I’ll stay, too,” she said.

He hesitated before answering. “You can’t.”

“We’ve been through this before—”

“This time is different,” he said. “We’re going into the jungle. It’s going to be a lot of trekking across rough terrain.”

“I can manage,” Kelly protested.

“Not in the shape you’re in, and we both know it.”

“This is because Syd doesn’t think I can handle it.”

“No, it’s because even if you were healthy, I wouldn’t want you along. It’s just too dangerous. Hell, I don’t even want to go,” Jake said wearily. “And if something happened to you, I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

Kelly threw off the covers and sat up. Her left foot landed on the carpet. She avoided looking at where the stump of her right leg ended at the edge of the bed.

Jake wrapped his arms around her from behind. She let him, but remained rigid. He buried his face in her hair anyway. “When you were in that hospital bed last summer, all I could think was that I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting.”

“Bullshit. Sometimes we all need it.”

“Well, you won’t be there to protect me if you go,” Kelly said. “What if something happens to you?”

“If you tell me not to go, I’ll stay.”

Kelly debated. When it came down to it, she really didn’t want Jake to go. This was the craziest thing she’d ever heard of, the group of them heading off into the jungle, trying to chase down an army of well-trained mercenaries. Heright to call it a suicide mission.

By the same token, Kelly knew that if she stopped him, and something happened to Mark, Jake would never forgive her. Not even if it meant he survived. Every time he looked at her, he’d be seeing his dead brother. And although she felt guilty admitting it, Jake’s departure left her free to pursue her own case.

“Go with your brother,” she said.

“Kelly…”

“But don’t get yourself killed,” she said fiercely.

“I won’t. I promise.”

He pulled her back down on top of him. Kelly buried her face in his chest, felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear. She tilted her head to kiss his neck. Jake’s breath quickened as she nuzzled his ear, then nibbled his lower lip.

“I don’t know if we have time,” he said, glancing toward the clock.

Kelly didn’t answer. She moved forward, breasts inches from his lips. Lifted her hips and drew him into her. His lips parted and he let out a small gasp. “Oh, God…”

Kelly started slowly. It had been so long, and it felt so good that for the moment she forgot about her leg, forgot about him leaving, forgot about the way she sometimes caught Syd looking at him. For now, he was all hers.

He arched his pelvis up, matching her movement. Put his hands on her hips to guide her, driving her faster. Kelly let her head fall back. As they got close she leaned forward again, her body lined up with his, lips inches from his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I love you so much.”

Kelly didn’t answer, just watched as he threw his head back and moaned. One way or another, she knew this was goodbye.

JANUARY 31

Fourteen

“Crap.” Syd swore as she slipped on a pile of rotting leaves. “I hate the jungle.”

“Right there with you, boss.” Maltz extended a hand to help her up.

Jake didn’t say anything. He was already second-guessing the decision to accompany them. Kelly was behaving strangely, too, which didn’t help. First, she initiated sex last night. Not that he was complaining, but even before her injury she’d never been the first to make a move. And the way she’d looked at him as he closed the door that morning—it was like she never expected to see him again, even if he survived.

He shook it off. No matter what, he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Kelly was probably already on a flight back to New York. She’d be safe, that was the important thing.

That morning they’d exchanged their rental car for two jeeps. The road into the mountains wound for hours, the surrounding foliage growing greener and thicker as the city receded in the rearview mirror. At times they slowed to a crawl, edging around potholes, going off road in places where the pavement had failed. They’d only passed a handful of other cars, mostly trucks, farmers headed toward the city and buses overloaded with passengers. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t drawn any attention: just another group of adventurous tourists on their way to visit the ruins at el Tajin. In truth, they passed that turnoff and headed south instead, weaving up into the mountains. Mark was in the lead car, Isabela navigating. An hour or so past the turnoff, they pulled over to the side of the road.

“We have to go the rest of the way on foot,” Isabela had explained. They hid the cars, covering them with brush for camouflage. Hopefully they’d still be there when they got back. If they got back, that was.

“How much farther?” Syd grumbled as she lost her footing again.

“A few more miles, I think,” Isabela replied.

“Great,” Syd said. “Three more miles of mud.”

“Good for your skin, boss,” Maltz offered.

“Go to hell,” Syd said.

“We should pipe down,” Mark said. “Might be patrols.”

At that they fell silent.

Jake had to give Isabela credit, for someone with no training she was holding up pretty well. Mark and Decker helped her over the toughest spots, but she usually refused their assistance. It was nasty going, too. The ground was uneven, rocky and wet. By the end of the first hour they were all soaked through and caked in mud. Blisters throbbed on Jake’s feet, and his arms ached from continually batting away the swarms of no-see-ums determined to feast on him. All in all he figured this was the perfect site for a prison camp. No one would come here voluntarily.

Someone suddenly pushed him from behind, sending him sprawling.

“Hey!” Jake protested, knee-deep in mud.

Mark had landed on top of him. He clamped a hand over Jake’s mouth and shoved his head down.

Jake was wrestling him off when he heard voices. This section of the jungle was so thick, Kane had been leading the way with a machete. Now Jake was grateful for the coverage it offered. He nodded, showing that he understood, and Mark released him. Ahead of him Kane, Fribush and Jagerson were pressed flat to the ground. Syd and Maltz were behind him with Isabela. He couldn’t see Decker.

The voices continued approaching: definitely male, speaking Spanish. At first Jake thought they were arguing, then one of them laughed out loud. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted past. Shit, Jake thought. Looked like Isabela’s estimate of the camp’s location was off.

He sensed movement and turned to find Syd signaling to their men. Mark shook his head vehemently and gestured back. Jake made a mental note to sign up for a Special Forces hand-signals class if he came out of this alive. It was like being stuck with a group of pitchers and catchers, he never knew what the hell they were talking about.

Mark suddenly rolled off him and vanished into the wash ofy. Jake turned to raise his eyebrows at Syd, only to discover that she and Maltz had disappeared, too. He and Isabela were left mired in the mud. She wore an expression of abject panic. Jake tried to look reassuring, but part of him wondered if they’d just been abandoned.

He buried his head in the moss as one of the men approached. The Mexican was no more than twenty, dressed in camo pants and a Metallica T-shirt. The guard stopped on the other side of a patch of giant ferns, an arm’s length away. If he glanced down at the ground, there was no way he could miss seeing Jake.

Jake willed himself invisible. He tried to regulate his breathing, but it still sounded unbearably loud.

The guard unzipped his fly, letting loose a stream of urine two feet from Jake’s head. As he pissed he focused back over his shoulder, still talking to his friend. They both broke into guffaws: must have been a hell of a punch line, Jake thought.

Something rustled a few feet behind him: Isabela. The guard started at the noise. He took a step toward it, then barked in surprise. Jake jerked his head up: Isabela had leaped to her feet and was bolting back the way they had come, black ponytail swishing across her back. The guard stepped through the ferns, swinging a rifle to his shoulder. He was less than a foot away, so focused on Isabela’s retreat that he didn’t notice Jake.

Isabela tripped and went flying, landing on all fours in the mud. The guard aimed for the center of her back.

“Wait!” Jake jumped to his feet.

Startled, the guard swung his weapon around. At the sight of Jake, his eyes narrowed.

Jake held up both hands. The second guard came around a tree, still zipping up his pants. He was older, with a nasty scar bisecting his face.

They jabbered back and forth, then the older guard tore through the undergrowth in pursuit of Isabela.

The younger guard prodded him with his gun muzzle. Jake stood and crossed his hands behind his head. The guard jabbed him hard in the back to propel him forward.

Great, Jake thought. Apparently he’d found the perfect way into the camp: as an inmate.

Kelly dialed again, staring out the motel-room window as she waited for an answer. By now she had the number committed to memory. Ten calls in the past few days, and each time she was redirected to a voice-mail system where a bland female voice announced that Global Investigations was currently on another call, and to leave a message. Either they were the busiest P.I. organization Kelly had ever encountered, or it was one guy who didn’t bother checking his messages. Based on the area code, the firm was located in New York. Which made sense—she vaguely recalled that Lin Kaishen’s father had been some sort of diplomat with the UN. The family had hired Global Investigations to continue following up leads on Stefan Gundarsson after the FBI closed the case. Kelly’s boss at the time, a smarmy so-and-so named Bowen, declared that the family refused to accept the truth because they were Chinese and had no respect for American police work. Privately Kelly thought they had good reason to doubt that the FBI had done its job. She wished the file provided more information on why the P.I. was convinced that Stefan was still alive, but there had only been a short report written by the agent welded the call. “Global Investigations claims to have evidence that suspect Stefan Gundarsson survived and is living in Mexico. Kaishen family requests that field agents follow up.” A note scrawled at the top read: Case Closed, Do Not Pursue.

A click, and the voice-mail message started to play again. Kelly hung up, frustrated. She cracked the window and lit a cigarette. Jake didn’t know that she’d fallen back into the habit. She’d been careful to hide it from him, never smoking in their apartment, sneaking drags on the roof or by the service entry to their building. She knew he’d never tell her to stop, but hadn’t wanted to deal with the weight of his disapproval.

Kelly inhaled deeply, causing the embers to flare. She tried not to stare at the tangle of sheets on the bed. God, she hoped Jake came out of this all right. But she’d let him go because this was what they did, who they were. Which was precisely why she was so focused on Stefan. She needed closure on this case, once and for all.

She held the smoke in her chest for a long moment before releasing it. Perhaps she should just head to the airport and try to catch a flight home. She felt the darkness starting to encroach upon her, the almost overwhelming sense of futility and purposelessness that she’d struggled with ever since waking up in that hospital bed.

Maybe she was so fixated on the possibility that Stefan was alive simply because without a case to pursue, she really didn’t have a reason to go on anymore. When she’d first met Jake three years ago, she’d been at the top of her game. Her professional reputation was spotless, her solve rate the envy of her peers. Since then she’d lost a high-profile case, her lower leg and very nearly her life. The FBI didn’t want her back. Jake was staying with her out of a misguided sense of obligation. Her entire family was dead. Aside from Jake, there was no one in the world who cared if she lived or died. She didn’t even have any real friends.

Ironically enough, she’d met Jake while pursuing Stefan. Her therapist would probably have a field day with that one. Kelly dropped the cigarette into a half-f water glass. She rubbed her eyes, suddenly exhausted.

Her phone rang. She fumbled for it, knocking it off the windowsill. Recognizing the number, she scooped it up and answered just before it went to voice mail.

“Hello?”

“This is Mike Caruso at Global,” a voice thick with a Brooklyn accent said. “Got a few messages from you.”

“Right, hello.” Kelly cleared her throat. “I wanted to find out more about your investigation for the Kaishens.”

A pause, then he said, “I take client confidentiality seriously. Can’t share details.”

“You called the FBI with a tip a few months ago,” Kelly pressed. “I’d like to follow up on that.”

He laughed. “You got some nerve. It’s thanks to you people they fired me.”

“The Kaishens fired you?”

“Yeah, after one of you douchebags told them I wasn’t reputable. All because of some bullshit DUI they dug up. I still got an outstanding bill for expenses.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear about that,” Kelly said, her voice conciliating. “I was the lead on the original case.”

“Well, I’m not in much of a mood to help. Bye.”

“Wait!” Kelly exclaimed. “How much do they still owe you?”

“Three grand, give or take,” he said after a brief silence.

Kelly was willing to bet the real figure was much lower, but she was in no position to bargain. “I can get you the money if you tell me what you found.”

“Yeah?” Another pause. “Cash, in my account. I’ll tell you what I know when it gets here.”

“I’m in Mexico now, I can’t send it until I get back,” Kelly said. “Please, Mr. Caruso. This is important.”

Another long pause, then he sighed. “You bastards better not screw me over again.”

“I won’t, I promise. How did you find Stefan Gundarsson?”