Obsession (3 page)

She picked up her phone and choked back a sob. “They’re in Mexico.”

Dan, her ex-lover, and Jake’s father, gasped. “What happened?”

Angie filled him in about the firefight at the ranch and the loss of the Texas Rangers. “They won’t go after them. Said they’re working through the State Department.”

“What about a press conference? Get the media involved? Beg for Jake’s safe return?” His voice rasped with emotion.

She took a deep breath before responding. Dan still didn’t understand how the cult worked. “First off, I don’t want to escalate my father and his followers’ insanity. We need them to believe we’re defeated, that he’s smarter than we are and have given up.”

“Jake could be an adult before we see him.”

“As long as he’s with my father and mother and the cult, at least there’s a chance we’ll see him again
alive
.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Kidnapping and holding wealthy victims for ransom is rampant in Latin America. Even if you pay off the kidnapper, there’s no guarantee the victim will be set free.”

“I thought that was only in movies—”

“Based in reality. If we call a press conference, some thug is going to hear that the son of a rich American physician is being held by a cult leader. How long do you think it will be before some creep decides he wants to make some quick money? We might as well paint a target on Jake’s back.”

Dan choked back a sob. She knew this was hitting him hard, too. He loved Jake as much as she did.

She plunged onward. “I’m going after him. I can’t just sit here in Baltimore and wait.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. Not happening.” She wiped a tear off her cheek. “You need to stay with your wife.”

He started to protest. “No—”

“Sarah’s about to explode. If you aren’t here for that baby’s birth, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

“If something happens to you and Jake, I won’t forgive myself, either.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “I have a plan. But I’m going to need Sarah’s help.”

“Anything.”

His voice was as tight as piano wire. She needed him to stay calm, not snap. Using her closing argument voice, the one she used to coax, cajole, and win over juries, Angie shared her thoughts. “Juarez is a war zone. My father wouldn’t take him there. He’d never endanger the Chosen One.”

Dan cleared his throat. “So, where?”

She closed her eyes and concentrated on memories of her father’s ravings. “He’s been ranting about building a fortress in the wilderness for twenty years.”

“That’s half of Mexico. Drug lords control entire provinces, totally outside the law.”

“Exactly. And your wife knows the one person with longer arms than the law.”

Dan sucked in his breath. “Holy crap. You’re right.”

“We’re going to fight fire with fire. Tell Sarah to find Isabel Ramirez. Call in every favor she has. We need the biggest, baddest drug lord in the country to help us. If I can’t get Jake back with her help, then I’m going to die trying—and take my father with me to hell.”

****

Angie tapped the GPS for the hundredth time and tried to keep an eye out for landmarks, signs, anything that would tell her she was in the right village. At last she spotted the cheap dive with a battered sign,
El Hombre Loco
. A thrill of recognition ran through her exhausted body. A week of preparation and forty-eight hours of non-stop travel had finally brought her to the bar where she was supposed to meet Isabel’s underling. True to her word, Sarah had called in every favor owed her and even thrown in a few threats of sending a certain incriminating DVD to the Mexican press. Sarah had sent a photo of Angie to her former colleague, so there’d be no mistaken identity and no suspicion of undercover
federales
. Dan had even hired a Spanish speaking chauffeur for Angie, but the man had fled the car at the sight of the border patrol in Fort Hancock, Texas, saying he was never,
ever
going back to a Mexican prison. “Hellholes,” he had shouted and leaped out of the car.

She was on her own. All Angie had to go on was a name. Torres. Might as well be Smith or Jones. Without a physical description to guide her, her imagination ran wild. Was he short and beady-eyed? Tattooed? Smelly? A giant muscle-bound thug? In her practice as a defense attorney, she’d met every size and shape of alcoholic and drug addict in Baltimore. Despite the lucrative fees offered, one of the few categories of miscreants she’d refused to
ever
defend was drug dealers. Now her key ally in this battle to rescue her son was the supreme drug lord of Mexico. Angie felt like
Alice in Wonderland
, her world turned upside down.

She pulled over to the curb and parked the car. Angie tried to take the keys out of the ignition, but her hands shook and tears blurred her vision. Overcome by shaking sobs, she put her head down on the steering wheel and bawled like a baby
.

Baby, baby, baby. Her baby, her one and only reason for staying clean, for being alive, taken from her. Doubts filled her mind. Could she do this? Was this the right way to go about finding him?
She
had
to find her son and get him away from her lunatic father, if it was the last thing she did.

Someone pounded on her window and shouted in Spanish. Her heart jumped erratically, and she swiped at her eyes.
Why was that cop yelling at her?

Unsure of which piece of paper he needed, Angie rolled down the driver’s side window and thrust her license at the scowling Mexican police officer.

He glanced at her Maryland document and waved it away. “
El pasaporte y la visa.”

The passport and visa slipped out of her hand, fluttering to the ground.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” She attempted to open the car door, only to have it kicked back into place. The rental company was not going to be happy with that dent. She coughed and squinted at the sun’s glare. “What’s the problem?”

Clearly not happy that he’d had to bend over and pick up her now red-dust-coated paperwork, he rattled off a barrage of Spanish, waving his arms back and forth, spitting as he spoke.

Her high school Spanish was too rusty to keep up. “
No comprendo.”

The officer responded by pulling out a notepad and scribbling. He showed her a number.

“Five hundred dollars?”

He grinned. “
Si. Dinero.
Cash.”

She’d been warned this might happen and instructed to bargain. She opened her wallet and showed him a one-hundred dollar bill. “This is all I have.”

His eyes narrowed, and his smile turned into a scowl.

As she reached out the window to hand him the cash, he motioned at her to get out of the car.

“
No comprendo.”

He pointed to hood of the car. “Stand by there.”

The rat-faced cop obviously understood and spoke better English than he’d let on at first.

He slid into the driver’s seat and turned his back to her, obscuring her vision as he rummaged in the glove compartment.

He gave a triumphant shout. “Ha!” A plastic bag containing a white powder dangled between his fingers. “You bring drugs into my country?”

“No, no. I don’t know where that came from. It’s not mine.” Where did that come from? Had that idiot driver left his stash in her car? Or did the cop just plant it there? She closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath to beat back the panic bubbling in her chest. She didn’t have time to screw around with the police, even if it was a shake-down. She had to find Torres, get to Isabel, and rescue Jake. All the rest was bullshit. She wiped the tears off her cheeks with the heels of her hand.
Just pay the jerk and be done with it.
“You want more money? I’ll give it to you.”

“Assume the position.” Cobra quick, the cop was out of the car. He twirled her around, forced her against the hood, kicked her feet apart, and pinioned her hands behind her back with his big rough ones.

Her head spun. What was happening? She was a lawyer. She’d dealt with thousands of American cops. Her voice shaky, she tried to reason with him. “There’s been a mistake. Those aren’t my drugs. I have no idea where they came from.
Honest
.”

“That’s what they all say.” He leaned his hips against her butt, an unmistakable bulge pressing against her.

Her skin crawled as if a thousand cockroaches were tap dancing on her body. Bile rose in her throat. Having her son kidnapped by her crazy father wasn’t enough of a punishment, now she was being held for something she didn’t do by a horny, corrupt cop. What else could go wrong?

His breath rasped close to her ear. “You are under arrest.” And with that, manacles clicked into place on her wrists. He ran his hands up and down her chest, lingering a long time on her breasts.

She shuddered at his touch and bit her tongue to keep from screaming at him. He had already made up his mind that she was guilty. She had to find a way to get through to him.

Then he patted down her legs and ankles, sliding his hands up to her buttocks and pressing hard on her crotch. “No weapons.”

As if she carried a Smith and Wesson in her bikini panties. His touch made her skin crawl. She needed a bath.

“You come to the station. Now.”

This wasn’t right. She leaned hard against the car and dug in her heels.

“Isabel Ramirez said I was to meet someone named Torres at
El Hombre Loco
. He’ll be looking for me.”

He pried her off the car and whirled her around to face him. He gave her a yellow-toothed grin. “Some paperwork. Then we go to see
Professora
Ramirez.”

Angie tried to shake out of his iron grasp. “Isabel Ramirez said to speak
only
to Torres. I’m meeting with Isabel Ramirez.” Wasn’t this guy even a little bit intimidated by Isabel’s name? Sarah had said she ran everything in Chihuahua. Had their info been wrong about the drug lord’s power?

Rat face rattled off a string of Spanish words, his face contorted with anger, and he pulled out his sidearm and pointed it at her chest. Spit flew out of his mouth. At last, in English he said, “I am Raul, chief of police. I am in charge here. You are under
my
arrest.”

Frozen in place, Angie glanced around the empty streets. A black tabby slunk between red stucco buildings, and a dust devil swirled further down the road.
Odd. She could have sworn there were people on the street before. Where did they go?

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the huge black handgun. He could have felled elephants with it. Why would anyone need a gun that ridiculously big?

He kept the weapon trained on her as he reached into the car and pulled out her purse, then he motioned for her to walk ahead of him. They walked two deserted blocks to the small building labeled
Policia
. It appeared only Raul the Rodent was on duty. Her lawyer’s mind quickly cataloged the station. One desk, olive drab metal; one holding cell, empty; two doors to God only knew where. Behind her, she heard a deadbolt lock snap into place.

Were the thugs so bold that he had to lock the police station to keep the criminals out?

He dragged her through an unmarked door. The sight of a chair with manacles attached to it caused her breath to catch in her throat. Despite years of using drugs, she’d never been detained in a police station as a perp in her life. How ironic that her first arrest was a
false
one. She turned and found Raul way too close for comfort. Sweat slicked his brow.

He shoved her shoulder and pushed her further into the windowless chamber, smaller than most bathrooms she’d used, even in Mexico. The tiny space reeked of the cop’s acrid body odor and garlic-laden halitosis.

“What—?”

The cool metal of the chair bumped into her bare legs. Her hands were cuffed, but her legs were free. She tried to slide to one side, using an evasive move from karate, but he moved faster than she thought possible. He slammed her into the wall, unsnapped one end of the cuffs and slapped it onto a metal bar bolted on the wall with a clang. She yanked at the manacles. The metal dug into her wrist, and a thin crimson line trailed down her arm and snaked under the sleeve of her white blouse.

Still trying to use her one and only connection in Mexico, Angie repeated, “Isabel Ramirez isn’t going to be happy about this.”

He gave her a slow, lecherous grin, undid his belt and tossed his trousers and holster onto a hook on the wall by the door. His dingy white boxer shorts did little to hide his erection. A musty smell that spoke of poor personal hygiene filled the tiny space, fighting for dominance over his bad breath.

Her stomach lurched, threatening to bring up hours old eggs and coffee. Angie yanked at the metal cuffs to no avail. Her gaze darted around the hot, smelly room. No windows, door locked. All she had going for her now were her wits and a good set of lungs. She tried reasoning with him. “You don’t want to do this. The Ambassador won’t take kidnapping and rape of an American citizen lightly.”

He laughed and slapped her so hard her teeth rattled. Tears welled up in her eyes and rage filled her chest. She literally saw red. “You think you’re going to get away with this?”

Raul ripped her white blouse open. Buttons flew across the room and pinged as they hit the metal table. His filthy hands touched her breasts, his dirty fingers yanking and pulling at her brassiere, until the front clasp broke.

“
Muy bonitas.”
He licked his lips and twisted her nipples so hard she yelped in pain.

The thug hee-hawed like a jackass, his erection tenting his dirty drawers. Unable to watch, she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip hard. She welcomed the pain, embraced it, made it the focus of that moment in time. At last her mind cleared and she could step outside of her body and think.