Against the Night (26 page)

Something was up.

Propped on his elbows, Johnnie glassed the boathouse and prepared to wait.

Amy approached the bone-thin woman with a woven basket on her hip picking vegetables from the stand. She was dressed in a red-and-white-flowered sarong, an orange-checked turban around her head. Amy almost smiled. Caribbean people were nothing if not colorful.

Amy waited until the woman finished her transaction, bartering in thickly accented English for corn, carrots, peppers, onions and tomatoes. Once the basket was full and she started to walk away, Amy moved up beside her.

“You work at Las Palmas,” Amy said pleasantly. “I drove by the villa yesterday. It’s a very beautiful place.”

“It is a lovely place,” the woman said.

“I have a friend who visited there recently.” She pulled Rachael’s photo out of her purse. “I was wondering if you might have seen her when she was there.”

The woman’s gaze ran over the photo and something flickered in her eyes, an instant of recognition, Amy was sure. Then her features tightened and she firmly shook her head. “I have not seen her. Please leave me alone.”

“She’s my sister,” Amy pressed. “She’s been missing for weeks and I’m trying to find her. I was hoping—”

“Go away!” the woman snapped, and stalked off toward the fish stand across the way.

Amy let her go.
No help there,
she thought, though she believed the woman had indeed seen Rachael. She was frightened, that much was clear. Which made Amy even more frightened for her sister.

Pulling a Kleenex out of her purse, Amy blotted the perspiration from her forehead and headed for the market, where the second woman had gone. The aisles were crowded with foodstuffs: sacks of flour, bags of sugar, paper goods and cases of bottled water. She spotted the second person she had seen getting out of the yellow-and-red car, a thin, older woman with skin so black and shiny it was almost iridescent. Amy walked directly up to her, blocking her escape.

“Hello. My name is Amy.” She smiled. “You work at Las Palmas, don’t you?”

The woman lifted a bag of rice into her cart. “I am one of the cooks.”

“It’s a beautiful place. So big, though. It must be hard to take care of.”

The woman smiled, showing crooked teeth. “It takes a lot of hard work.”

“A friend of mine was there for a visit recently. I wonder if you might know her?” Amy dragged the photo out of her purse and held it up for the woman to see. “Her name is Rachael Brewer.”

The woman’s whole body tightened. When she just kept staring at the picture, Amy rushed to continue. “Rachael is my sister. I’ve been looking for her for weeks. I know she was here with the man who owns the villa, Carlos Ortega. She was here, but she never came home.”

The woman trembled. “You must leave this place. I warn you. It is not safe for you here. If Señor Ortega finds out you are looking for your sister, bad things will happen.”

Amy’s chest clamped down. “What do you mean?”

The woman swallowed, the whites of her eyes a little too prominent as she glanced around to make sure no one could hear. “You are in danger. You must go now.” She pushed the cart forward, but Amy refused to budge.

“Please…if there is anything you know that will help me, please tell me. I’ll never tell anyone, I promise.”

The woman’s black eyes darted around the store. “If he finds out what you are doing, he will take you away as he did your sister. As he did my daughter, Tayla.”

“Where did he take them?” Amy asked softly, urgently. Frightened now herself, she followed the woman’s frantic gaze, but the man behind the cash register was a good distance away and busy with a customer.

“To the island. A very bad place. He took my Tayla there, and others. None ever return. It is too late for your sister. Go back where you came from before it is too late.”

The woman shoved the cart forward, determined now, forcing Amy out of the way. Inside her chest, her heart was pounding an erratic tattoo. There were islands and cayes all along the coast. Many were privately owned, she knew from the book on Belize she had bought at the airport in Houston.

If Ortega had taken Rachael to a private island, maybe she was still alive and maybe they could find her.

By the time Amy hurried out of the store, the yellow car with the red fender was gone. The shuttle was just arriving. Ignoring the heat beating down on her, she ran toward the vehicle idling in the lot and hurriedly climbed aboard.

Twenty-Three

The heat was making him drowsy. It was the hottest time of day and even in the deep shade of the thick tropical foliage it was sweltering. It was the heavy rumble of an engine that had his head jerking up, and Johnnie realized he had almost fallen asleep. He trained his binoculars on the boathouse and saw the big, white cigarette boat being slowly eased out and into the water. The men from the silver pickup were aboard, the skinny blond man at the helm. The crates and boxes were stacked around them, but nothing indicated what was inside.

Swinging the keel of the boat toward the open sea, the driver increased the throttle and the boat began to build up speed. Johnnie watched it head out to sea, moving faster and faster, until it finally disappeared from view.

What the hell was Ortega delivering? And where?

Johnnie couldn’t imagine Ortega risking a drug deal this close to one of his private homes, but there was no way to know for sure.

Forcing himself to ignore the heat, Johnnie settled in to wait for the boat’s return. When it didn’t come back within the hour, he packed up his gear and headed for the car he had hidden down the road. A few minutes later, he was driving back to the motel, a little more eager to get there than he wanted to be.

When he got there, Amy wasn’t in the room. Next to the note he had left for her that morning was a second piece of paper.

Gone to the village. Back before supper. Amy.

Son of a bitch.
Maybe she had just gone to get something to eat. A sweet roll wasn’t enough food for the day. If she had, she should have been back by now.

Johnnie crumpled the note in his fist. He had specifically told her to stay out of trouble. But Amy’s middle name was Trouble. If she wasn’t back in the next half hour, he was going after her.

Twenty minutes later, he was pacing the floor, contemplating the notion of paddling her sweet little ass. A rush of relief hit him when he heard the key in the lock. The door swung open, and Amy walked in.

She slammed the door and ran toward him. “Johnnie! Oh, thank God you’re here!”

“Yeah, well, you won’t be glad when I get finished with you.”

She just rolled her eyes.

“I told you to stay out of trouble. Where the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been doing exactly what we came to do. I found out where they took Rachael.”

“What?”

“That’s right. Ortega owns an island somewhere along the coast. He’s taken other women there and that’s where he took Rachael.”

“How the hell did you find that out?”

“I went to the market this morning. Remember last night I was thinking that one of the servants in the house probably did the shopping in the village?”

He frowned. “So you went there and started asking questions.”

“And I got lucky. I recognized the yellow car from last night, the one with the red fender. There were two women inside. One of them recognized Rachael’s picture. She said Ortega took her to his island. The woman warned me that I should leave before something bad happens to me, too.”

That was exactly why he hadn’t wanted her involved in this. “Asking questions that might get you killed—that’s your idea of staying out of trouble?”

“I’m here to find my sister, Johnnie. All we have to do is find the island Ortega owns.”

“That’s all, huh?” But her information could be right on the money, he had to admit. It fit with the boat full of supplies he’d seen leaving the dock. If Ortega owned an island, that’s where the crates and boxes were likely headed. “What makes you think this woman was telling you the truth?”

“Because Ortega took her daughter there—Tayla, she said. Because Tayla never came back. She was terrified, Johnnie, but she didn’t want to see the same thing happen to another girl.”

Johnnie sank down on the bed, ran his hands through his hair. “Christ.”

“We have to find that island.”

“Then what?” he asked, glancing up. “If she’s there, we need a way to get her off. We’d need men, equipment, weapons.”

Amy’s shoulders slumped. “We
have
to find a way,” she said softly, desperately.

Johnnie’s chest tightened. Then his sat phone started ringing, saving him from having to reply.

He dug it out of his pocket, pushed the button and pressed the phone against his ear. “Riggs.”

“Got some intel for you.” Jake Cantrell’s deep voice boomed over the line. Jake was a longtime friend, a former marine sniper and Force Recon, one tough son of a bitch. He’d been part of the job with Dev Raines down in Mexico. He was now back in Texas, working with Trace.

“Fire away,” Johnnie said.

“Before he and Maggie left for Australia, Trace filled me in on your missing persons case. Sol flagged the tail numbers on Ortega’s jet for any new flight plans his pilot might file. A few minutes ago, one popped up on the screen. Tomorrow morning, Ortega’s on his way back to Belize.”

Johnnie hissed a curse.

“You there now? Trace said you might be headed down there.”

“I’m here. We’re about twenty miles from Las Palmas—that’s Ortega’s villa.”

“We?”

“Amy Brewer is with me. Rachael’s sister.”

“So I heard. Guess you finally got her in bed.”

“Fuck you, Cantrell.” Helluva thing when his buddies knew more about his love life than he did.

Jake just laughed. “Come up with anything?”

“We got a lead on the girl,” Johnnie said. “Amy was able to get close to one of Ortega’s servants. Looks like he might have taken Rachael to an offshore island. I’m guessing he owns it. We need to find the location but even if we do, it’s gonna take time to put a rescue operation together—assuming the girl’s still alive,” he added quietly, for Amy’s sake.

“Sol can find the location. I can help with the other. I’m only a two-hour flight away. I’ve got a friend, ex-SEAL. Could come in handy for the kind of operation you’re facing.”

“Might be a wild-goose chase. We’re pretty sure he took her out there. We have no idea what’s happened to her since.”

“I’ll get Sol on it and call you back.”

“Thanks, Jake.”

Johnnie paced the room for an hour while Amy busied herself reading. Johnnie stole a glance at where she stretched out on the bed with a pillow beneath her head and tried not to think of what had happened on the beach towel last night. If he did, he was in trouble.

He smiled. Both of them were in trouble.

He glanced at the clock. It could take hours to find the island. It hadn’t shown up on any of the intel Johnnie had seen about Ortega, or been able to dig up on his computer. Hell, the ownership was probably so buried even the whiz kid couldn’t find it. His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten anything but a sweet roll all day.

“You hungry?” he asked Amy.

She sat up, set the book on the nightstand. “Starving.”

“Let’s drive into town and get something to eat.”

“Great.”

But just as they headed for the door, the sat phone started to ring.

“We found it,” Cantrell said into the phone. “Took a while, Ortega’s good at hiding information, but Sol’s even better at finding it. The island is owned by a company called Genesis, which is owned by a company called Encore. Encore’s corporate officers include a guy named Raymond Dominguez. Dominguez is one of the men in Ortega’s inner circle.”

“Where’s the location?”

“About twenty-three miles due east of Las Palmas. Satellite map shows heavy vegetation, some kind of structure near the center of the island.”

“I’ll check it out.” He could find the preliminary info he needed on Google Earth. It was a different world these days.

“There’s a flight out of here in the morning,” Jake said. “We’ll be on it. We’ll figure things out when we get there.”

“I’ll have our contact waiting for you when you get here. Name’s Nathan Dietz. He can get you down to Placencia. What about weapons?”

“You armed?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got connections in the area. I’ll take care of the rest of the weapons and ammo and whatever equipment we’ll need.” Mexico, Central and South America were Cantrell’s specialty, though he’d also done some work for the Saudis over the years.

“All right then,” Johnnie said, “looks like we’re a go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell your lady to keep the faith.”

“She isn’t my—ah, hell, never mind.”

Cantrell signed off and Johnnie hung up the phone.

Amy stared at him, unconsciously biting her lip. “Your friends are coming to help us?”

“Looks that way.”

“I don’t…don’t have much money, but I’ll find a way to pay them. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Johnnie walked over, settled his hands on her shoulders. “Listen, baby, a lot of this is payback, some of it’s quid pro quo. Some of it’s just because we’re friends. Don’t worry about the money. None of us are hurting.”

She looked up at him, big blue eyes sparkling with tears. “We’re going to find her, I know we are.”

“Maybe. Cantrell says to keep the faith.”

She smiled but a tear rolled down her cheek. “I think I’m going to like him.”

Johnnie hauled her into his arms and very thoroughly kissed her.

“Just don’t like him too much,” he said.

It was still early morning when Rick Vega turned down the long paved driveway off Highway 1 along the Malibu coastline into the entrance of the Moore Estate. Behind the main house, a single-story bungalow overlooked the sea. Rick drove farther up the lane, parked his unmarked brown Chevy in a guest parking spot and turned off the engine.

Following a gray stone walkway to the front door of the bungalow, he knocked and took a step back. A minute later, a man’s deep voice came from the other side of the door.