Got the Look (20 page)

Very definitely.

So, you would really like me to tell you where Mia got her scar.

Yes, I would.

All I can say is, I wish I knew.

I wish I believed you.

Jack was taken aback. Hey, I've got nothing to hide here.

Really?

Yes. Really.

She folded her hands atop the table and leaned forward slightly, as if sizing him up. You seem like such a smart man. A nice enough guy, too. But your ostrich imitation is getting pretty hard to swallow.

What are you talking about?

Her voice tightened, and the words came faster. You dated a woman for two months, slept with her, apparently fell in love with her. The first time she spent the night, you ended up just holding her, no sex, because you found a scar on her leg. But as we sit here today, you can't even venture a guess as to whether she was ever the victim of sexual assault, even though her scar obviously has some history to it, or she would never have lied to you about what caused it. And to top it all off, as recently as this morning you still expected a half million readers of the Miami Tribune to believe that you didn't know Mia was married. So I say this with all sincerity and with the best of intentions. I hope you are trying to hide something here, Swyteck. Because if you're not, it has to be a living hell to go through life so positively clueless.

Jack felt his body heat rising, but with cops you always had to be careful. They sometimes angered you just to see your reaction. What's this all about?

She took a deep breath, then shook it off. Sorry. That was a good bit more personal than intended.

You think? he said, doing nothing to mask his incredulity.

I said I was sorry.

Jack considered it, then said, Apology accepted. I guess we can still be friends.

She smiled just enough to keep it light, then almost chuckled.

What? asked Jack.

Your friend's' remark. It reminded me of a line from a book I read, or maybe it was an old movie. How men and women could never really be just friends.

You think that's true?

Let me put it this way. Perhaps my remarks were out of line, but I'm not going to pretend I didn't mean it. You really can be I don't know. Frustrating. Take that as a little friendly advice.

I was just being nice with the friends thing, okay, Henning?

Great, she said, rising. Sounds like we finally understand each other.

They shook hands, a little firmer than usual, as if each was sending a message that kicking the other's ass would be no problem at all. Jack led her from the conference/bed-/lunch-/playroom, and Andie thanked Jack's secretary as they reached the reception area. Jack opened the door for her.

Andie said, Call me when you're ready to pluck that head from the sand, will you?

She seemed to be teasing, but it wasn't entirely clear. Everything about her was puzzling now, and Jack wondered if he was finally seeing the real Andie Henning - or if it was all just a calculated change in FBI strategy.

I'll be in touch, said Jack. But only if you promise to call me as soon as you have anything on Mia. Salazar's ransom payment has to prompt a response of some kind. One way or the other, I want to know.

Her expression changed, a bit too somber for Jack's comfort. Deal, she said.

Jack said good-bye and closed the door, watching through the window as one very perplexing woman walked quickly to her car. She'd definitely pushed his buttons with her remarks. Clearly she was trying to get under his skin. But why? Then it came to him: She wanted him to confront Ernesto Salazar and find out just how much he was trying to help - or hurt - his wife. But if that was her angle, she'd badly misread Jack. He didn't need to be goaded by Andie or anyone else into a showdown.

He knew he was long overdue for a talk with Mia's husband - mano a mano.

Chapter
29

What a house, Jack thought as he drove up to the wrought-iron gate. A life-size pair of stone lions stood guard outside the entrance. Ivy-clad walls ran the length of the estate like a medieval fortress. Jack stopped his car but left the motor running, taking it all in. The feeling was unlike anything he had anticipated, a strange and powerful mix of emotions. It was as if Mia's other life - her life as Ernesto Salazar's wife - hadn't fully materialized for him until this moment. This was the place she'd called home, the place her husband had built specially for her. It was a multimillion-dollar monument to her personal tastes, her decorating likes and dislikes. Here she ate breakfast, walked in the gardens, and lounged by the pool. Jack could only imagine the parties they'd thrown, the countless guests that Mr. and Mrs. Salazar had greeted in the name of business, charity, or friendship. This was where she'd awakened each morning and gone to bed every night.

Well almost every night.

He lowered the driver-side window and rang the intercom button.

Who is it? asked the butler, his tinny voice rattling in the outdoor speaker.

Jack hesitated. Mia's lover? Her, uh, friend? It's Jack Swyteck. I'm here to see Mr. Salazar.

There was a long pause, and Jack half expected the sentries to pop up from behind the wall and douse him in boiling oil. Instead, the gates yawned open, and Jack drove up the long curving driveway to the front entrance. The butler stepped down from the porch and escorted him around the side of the house, through the garden, to the pool area in back. Ernesto was seated at a glass-topped table in the shade of a large canvas umbrella. He offered a chair with a gesture, but he did not rise to shake Jack's hand. The butler retreated to the loggia, out of earshot.

You surprise me, said Salazar. I didn't think you'd have the balls to come here.

Jack settled into his chair facing the pool. It was more of a water feature than a conventional swimming pool, with man-made streams of crystal clear water rushing through lush tropical gardens. It was built to resemble a lagoon, neither angular nor kidney shaped, and the black finish created a mysterious illusion of depth. Across the way, beside a huge gumbo-limbo tree, a twelve-foot waterfall produced the soothing sounds of water in sheets cascading over limestone boulders. Jack couldn't help but notice the replica of Michelangelo's statue of David standing on a pedestal. Somehow it didn't seem like a good time to bring up his own litigious battle of the bulge, so to speak, and Theo's rendition of Suwannee River.

I didn't come here to trade insults with you, said Jack.

Ernesto's gaze shifted away from the pool, and he was looking straight at Jack. Why did you come here?

Because I heard a rumor that you paid a ransom.

Rats, he said, his voice laden with sarcasm. The FBI can be such a sieve.

Cut the crap, Ernesto. I don't believe for one minute that this is something you want to keep secret.

Then you don't understand the constant threat of kidnapping. That's the reality when you live like this. If it becomes known that I'm an easy touch for a hefty ransom, I might as well start leaving a stack of blank checks in my mailbox.

Interesting word choice, said Jack. Is that what you paid for Mia last night? A hefty ransom?

What I paid is none of your business.

Jack glanced toward the black water. Would that be Mia's fate, he wondered, trapped somewhere beneath the surface in some black, watery grave like Ashley Thornton? I'm making it my business, he said.

I find your nobility truly quaint, but it's hardly necessary. I have always protected Mia, and in the end, I've done it again.

Do I detect a change of heart? Now you're suddenly Mia's protector?

Nothing sudden about it. Even before we were married, she called me her protector.

Jack recalled the comments of Mia's friend Emilia - how Mia once remarked that she'd married Ernesto for protecciA3n. What were you protecting her from?

Her past, I suppose you'd say.

What about it?

A warm breath of wind stirred the trees around them. A handful of leaves fluttered downward and landed gently in the pool. By now I'm sure you're aware that there was no Mia before I met her.

That has to be the most egocentric statement I've ever heard from a married man.

Ego has nothing to do with it. I mean it quite literally. Try to do a background check on Mia. It will lead you nowhere.

That's not unheard of among immigrants. It was my understanding that Mia was living in South America before she married you.

That has nothing to do with it. I'm telling you straight: There was no Mia.

Jack studied his expression, those mysterious dark eyes. Finally, he asked, Who is she?

What?

Tell me who Mia really is.

Mia is my wife, Mr. Swyteck. That is all you've ever needed to know.

Jack ignored the jab. Agent Henning has her own theory. She thinks Mia may have been the victim of a sexual assault. That could jibe with her apparent lack of a past. Occasionally, victims do assume new identities.

Salazar was staring off toward the waterfall, avoiding Jack's gaze. Is that who you think Mia is? A victim?

I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm a criminal defense lawyer, but I never find myself buying into everything the FBI tells me. In my own mind, I still haven't ruled out the witness-protection program.

Jack watched closely, but he detected no reaction whatsoever. If his hunch about the witness-protection program was correct, Salazar wasn't taking the bait.

Do you love her? asked Salazar.

The delivery was matter-of-fact, but the question hit Jack like a slap across the head. It wasn't a complete change of subject. Still, whatever feelings he had for Mia, he wasn't comfortable describing them to her husband. Do you?

I'm the one who paid the ransom, not you.

Hate to break this to you, Ernesto. But when it comes to ransoms, size does matter. Especially if Agent Henning's alternative theory is correct.

What alternative theory?

Jack hesitated to attribute the entire theory to Agent Henning, but he was fairly certain that he had decoded her line of thinking. A rich husband, an abused wife, and no prenuptial agreement. Financially, you're better off if the kidnapper rejects the ransom.

Salazar's face flushed with anger. I'm so sick of this. The accusations from the FBI, now from you. Do you think I'm some kind of monster? This woman was my wife. How could any human being see her suffering on that CD and simply ignore it?

I didn't say you ignored it. I just want to know if you paid enough to save her.

Who the hell made you my conscience, Swyteck? I paid plenty. There was five hundred thousand dollars in that suitcase, all right? Half a fucking million for a wife who was sleeping with another man. How many husbands would show that much compassion toward a cheating spouse?

Jack didn't answer. He was still processing the amount, which was genuinely surprising.

So don't presume to judge me, said Salazar, because I sure as hell don't see you coughing up any money. As I recall, you went on record in the newspaper to state that opening your own wallet was completely out of the question. How compassionate is that, lover boy?

I've done all I should, said Jack, though compared to Salazar's half a million dollars, it didn't quite ring true.

And I've done far more than I should. Anyone who thinks otherwise can kiss my ass. Salazar shifted his chair, not quite showing his back to his guest, but making it clear that the conversation was over. Now get lost, Swyteck. I've done my part, and I'm expecting a phone call.

The thought of a call and a final decision from the kidnapper chilled him, but for now there was nothing more to say. Jack rose and started toward the iron gate to the garden, leaving Mia's husband alone with his anger by the black pool of water.

Chapter
30

Jack's drive back to Miami was even more disorienting than usual. The never-ending construction had things so completely twisted around that a stretch of southbound traffic was temporarily rerouted to the east of northbound lanes. It was like driving in the United Kingdom, which reminded Jack of one of his father's favorite old sayings: If everything is coming your way, you must be speeding down the wrong lane. It was about the most optimistic spin he could put on his feelings at the moment. Clearly, the conversation with Salazar had not gone as expected. Jack needed to rethink his basic assumptions about Mia and her kidnapping. Was he really her only hope, or was he sticking his nose someplace it didn't belong?

Sexual Healing suddenly blared from Jack's cell phone. The old Marvin Gaye song was his customized ring, thanks to Theo and his technological practical jokes. It wasn't exactly Jack's style, but it sure beat the first song Theo had surreptitiously downloaded for him - Helen Reddy's I Am Woman.

Hello, he said, steering with one hand while grasping the flip phone in his left. He answered a split second before the call would have been lost to voice mail, though the delayed response made him think for a moment that he had indeed missed it.

It's me again, Swyteck.

Jack immediately recognized that chilling, mechanized speech - the altered voice of the kidnapper. Without even realizing it, Jack slowed his vehicle from seventy to forty-five miles per hour. I'm surprised to hear from you, said Jack.