Tourist Trapped (27 page)

Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked it clear. She couldn’t think about the girl who sacrificed herself for Rebecca. Not yet.

Trent!
Was the same thing happening to his body? Had he been tossed into the jungle, fodder for scavengers and pests? Slowly rotting away?

She choked back more tears and ran. She couldn’t do anything for either of them, and she wouldn’t also be left for dead. Rebecca ran for her life.

THIRTY-THREE

Thursday December 17, Late Morning

Amanda accepted Miriam’s
help in rising from the deck to a seat on the boat. Her legs felt as heavy as anchors and her right thigh throbbed. She was bone tired and frustrated—they had been so close. Would the kidnappers escape while they waited for backup? Although she creamed the boat pretty good—Cooper would be proud of her—Amanda had spotted the ATV. Evidently there were trails the goons could take for a fast getaway.

Fernando cruised down the coast, passing a small outpost on a vast expanse of beach, and then nothing except sand, surf and jungle.

Part of Amanda wanted to kick herself. Finally, they had unearthed the Ocean Fox, but she had insisted on checking it out alone, too impatient to wait for assistance. Had she further endangered the couple’s lives by swimming out to the boat? She prayed Rebecca wouldn’t be harmed.

“How are you holding up, Miriam?” Amanda said.

“I’m scared to hope too much. You’re positive you didn’t see any blood in the boat? Maybe they cleaned it up?”

“They didn’t wash the dishes or pick up empty bottles, so I doubt they were concerned about company. And the fact they’re hiding in the middle of nowhere must indicate they have hostages—otherwise, why not book a resort and wait there for the ransom? I think we’re close.”

Miriam smiled and nodded. She gave Amanda’s shoulders a squeeze.

“We’re here.” Fernando pointed toward a small outcropping of buildings that stood in a swath of sand. As they neared, Amanda spotted a series of pools surrounding a number of palapas. A slice of civilization amid the wilderness.

Once Fernando anchored the boat, they jumped into the waist-high water. The hop off the swim deck stunned Amanda as her leg screamed in protest. Miriam and Amanda held hands and waded to the beach, fighting to keep upright in the push and pull of the surf. Fernando followed, steadying them when they faltered. Each muscle movement in Amanda’s thigh reminded her of the wound, stinging from the immersion in salt water.

Once on shore, Fernando hoofed it to the bar. Strands of salsa music fought through the crashing waves along the beach. A smattering of people sunbathed or cavorted in the swells.

Miriam paced while Amanda sat on a lounge chair, gathering energy. Fernando shuffled through the sand, holding two Piña coladas. “You’re in luck, the bar opened.” He handed a glass to Amanda. “Drink this, you’ll need it.” For once, she obeyed a man. It took some persuasion for Miriam to comply, but finally she sat down and sipped on the drink.

The rich, sweet liquid filled Amanda’s hollow stomach. The booze eased some of the tension of waiting. “Fernando, la bebida es perfecta. Muchas gracias.”

“De nada, señorita.”

“Yes, thank you,” Miriam said, stirring her drink more than consuming it.

The energy hit reignited Amanda’s restlessness. Minutes ticked by, allowing the abductors time to react to the discovery of their lair. She wanted to call the police for a status update, but her phone sat on the boat.

She rose to wade back out when a steel gray vessel appeared in the distance, skimming over the ocean like a surfboard. Armed soldiers stood on deck. The boat drove directly at the shore and beached. The bow opened and two officers strode onto the sand.

“Señoras Sloane?”

The women and Fernando gathered around the soldiers.

“We’ve spotted the boat and a team is searching it and the shore. So far no one’s been apprehended. Come with us.”

Miriam hurried up the gangplank. Amanda pulled Fernando to her. “Follow us, please? We may need your services.”

He nodded. “Por supuesto.”

Amanda whispered another prayer as she ran up the gangplank, ignoring her complaining thigh.
“Please, God, let my sister be safe.”

* * *

“Glad you’re finally
here,” Vince said, extending his hand.

“That makes two of us,” Chad said, grasping Vince’s palm for a firm shake.

The center of operations for the Portland stakeout resembled the others. This time Vince chose a Ramada Inn that stood across from the cheesy, flea-bitten motel Danielle and the kids had holed up in. The team lived in two adjoining, rearranged rooms, one for Vince and Fozzy and one for Sally. All unused furniture in the guys’ room sat stacked against the walls and the crammed-together double beds looked like a giant mattress. Although the curtains would remain closed throughout the day, Chad watched the image of his family’s motel room on a laptop’s screen, the picture projected from a camera Vince had mounted on the window.

“Hey Coop, how ya doin’?” A bearded and baseball-capped Fozzy tapped away on a laptop keyboard.

“Better, now that I made it here.” Chad concentrated on the webcam-fed screen, looking for any indication of his family. “Are they inside?”

“Danielle is; the kids are out,” Fozzy said. “Same routine, they always come back before dark.”

Chad stared at the monitor, willing his children to appear in the image, but other than a cascade of drizzle and the occasional passing car, he observed nothing more than a soggy street in front of the two-story motor lodge.

When he landed in the locales of his kids, Chad always hoped he would feel their presence—some kind of psychic connection similar to the one he had with his brother. The moment Zane had died, Chad sensed the loss. It had been subtle, like a dove abandoning a nest, but permanent. He feared similar ties he may have possessed with his children had eroded over the years.

Would he recognize them—did they have the same endearing quirks? Skye used to twirl a lock of hair between her fingers when she watched TV and Jason constantly jiggled one leg when forced to sit quietly. Chad gasped as a wave of longing almost pulled him under. So close and yet his kids remained outside his grasp.

Sally unpacked the sandwiches and drinks they had picked up on the way to the hotel. She extracted paper bags and a beverage holder from the duffel she used to smuggle in food. Over time they had realized that somehow Danielle picked up on unusual behavior at locations near the hideout du jour, always escaping. Whenever Vince’s team camped out, they made an attempt to blend in; even a modest delivery of fast food might tip off Danny.

“I got a good feelin’ about this one.”

“Me too, Foz.” Chad pulled off his weathered Cancun baseball cap and replaced a pair of sunglasses with his prescription eyewear. He wore a Cancun T-shirt he had purchased while waiting for his flight to depart. He figured Danny and the kids would ignore a guy strolling into the Ramada Inn donning souvenir gear from the tropics.

“Yeah, well, don’t start celebrating,” Vince said. “This nut ain’t going to be easy to crack. Look.” He pointed at the laptop image and then grabbed a toggle and maneuvered the camera lens. “They’ve got a helluva lot of escape routes.” He pressed a button and a picture from another angle filled the screen. More buttons, more angles.

“You have cameras all over the place. How’d you get them installed?”

“I got a buddy who does utility work in Portland.” Vince shrugged. “He owed me a favor.”

Chad whistled. He understood what Vince said about escape routes. The building sat almost on top of the Interstate and a set of railroad tracks could be accessed from a gated fence behind it. A sprawling shopping center stood directly across a busy street and homes populated the parcels on the other side of the hotel, which meant backyards and trees. “How does she find these locations?”

“Either your wife’s fakin’ it, or she’s getting some serious help from somewhere,” Vince said.

“Well, we’ve got what we’ve got,” Chad said, sighing.

“Thank goodness,” Kate said, running across the floor and grabbing Chad in a death lock.

“I can’t breathe, Sis.”

She released him and gave him the once over. “I hate it when you make me worry—why is your arm bandaged?”

Crap. Here we go.
“I got in the way of a bullet.”

“Oh my—Peter, get in here. Chad got shot. Are you okay? Is it bad—I hope your arm isn’t chewed up like hamburger.”

“Now that’s an image, just before lunch. Sally, what are we having?” Vince said.

“Cheeseburgers.”

Kate examined the bandage.

“It’s a little sore, but I’m fine,” Chad said.

She eyed him up.

“Kate, really, I’m fine. Vince, what’s the plan?”

“Tomorrow at dusk we go in. I’ve set up a dozen off-duty cops to help out. They’ll start showing up around three for instructions and prep—like the ark, two-by-two, every ten minutes. We’ve also got a patrol car comin’ round at five thirty.”

“Sounds good.”

Vince scratched his shaved head. “But will it work? So far we haven’t been able to nab them. I’m thinkin’ we should change it up a bit.”

“Barely twenty-four hours before we execute and you want to change it up? Have you started sipping Jack early? We’ve got them sitting in our crosshairs with backup scheduled to assist and you want to make adjustments?” Chad said.

“Yeah, I do. Even off-duty cops look like cops. We gotta find a way to get the kids to let their guard down, and I think I know how.”

* * *

Amanda and Miriam
gripped the patrol boat’s railing to stay balanced as the hull skimmed across the water, whizzing past beach and jungle. Amanda looked behind them at the tiny dot consisting of Fernando and his boat, unable to keep pace with the Navy vessel. Her thigh ached from tensing her muscles to remain upright.

The coconut cream sloshing around Amanda’s stomach curdled. What would they find? Had Rebecca and Trent been rescued or were they dead, their corpses splayed like deflated balloons, emptied of life’s spark? In moments the nightmare would end, but would another begin? She grabbed Miriam’s hand and squeezed it.

The cove came into view. Another patrol boat had made landfall and soldiers in camouflage swarmed the beach. Amanda noticed a team investigating the stranded fishing boat. As they passed, one of the men slipped a knife into a plastic bag. Miriam gasped.

“That’s the knife Fernando gave me. I used it to do a little ‘maintenance’ on the engine. That baby’s not going anywhere under its own power.”

Miriam gave her a weak smile. The woman was paler than usual—how that could be possible Amanda didn’t know. Her transparent skin made her veins resemble little blue roads running across her face.

The military vessel stopped on the shoreline and Amanda helped Miriam through the structure and out the front. A Captain Garza met them and led the way.

The ATV had disappeared. The only transportation in view, other than the high-powered Navy crafts, was the deflated raft.

Shit. I blew it. I scared them off and now we have no leads.
Without Cooper, Amanda wouldn’t know what to do next.

The captain stopped and picked up one of the empty cartridges. “This is a caliber used for automatic rifles. When they shot at you, Señora Sloane, they hit the boat about fifty times.”

With all of the bullets that followed her into the ocean, they must have shot off at least two hundred rounds.

Fernando waded to shore, carrying an armload of clothing. “Here. I thought you might want these.”

Miriam and Amanda threw on their outfits before the captain escorted them off the beach and into the wall of vegetation that hid land from sea. How would they penetrate the tangle of trees and bushes?

Soldiers, dressed in long-sleeved fatigues and sturdy boots, held back branches for Miriam and Amanda, but they could only do so much. The women’s skirts snagged on the brush to the point they were in tatters, and the dense branches scratched their legs. With every step, pain ripped through Amanda’s injured thigh, but she kept moving.

After what felt like miles but probably not more than three hundred yards, they entered a primitive clearing populated with a tent and a dining fly. A half dozen bedrolls filled the tent, and kitchen supplies sat beneath the canopy. Canvas chairs surrounded a collapsible table and a camp stove rested on two stacked coolers. Tecate beer cans and Sol bottles amassed along the edges of the trampled expanse of shorn land.

“There’s no good way to say this,” Captain Garza said. “We’ve found bodies.”

Amanda’s stomach lurched.
I killed Rebecca and Trent—I should have waited for the authorities instead of rushing in like Rambo.
A whimper escaped Miriam and the woman’s frigid fingers encircled Amanda’s arm.

They walked to the edge of camp where four dark-haired, male bodies lay side-by-side. None of them Trent. Or Rodriguez, or the man who had tailed Amanda and Cooper.

“Thank the Lord—Becky’s alive.” Miriam raised her trembling fingers to her lips, and squeezed her eyes shut.

A wave of relief crashed over Amanda, but they still hadn’t retrieved Trent and Rebecca. She sized up the blood-spattered corpses. “Who are they? Hostages or abductors?”

“Based on the weapons we found near them, we think they worked with the kidnappers. Somebody decided to downsize,” Garza said. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

The two women followed the officer through the area, stopping in thick jungle on the far side of the clearing. He pointed to a crude building made of cement blocks. “This is probably where the abductors held them.”

“Becky!” Miriam rushed into the hut.

Amanda peered into stank darkness. The tiny building reeked of urine, sweat, and fear, barely big enough for two people to sit next to each other.

“Anyone alive has cleared out,” the officer said. “Whoever camped here disappeared and they took the hostages with them.”

Miriam slumped to the ground and rocked, clutching her chest. “God, have mercy. Bring my Becky back to me.”

A soldier signaled to the captain and he stepped away while Amanda tried to console Miriam, wrapping her arms around the woman, feeling every bone in her stepmother’s sobbing upper body.

Captain Garza jogged back. “Señoras, we’ve found another body. It’s a woman.”

“No! It can’t be! She’s not dead.” Miriam dropped her head into her hands. “I’d feel it. You’re wrong.”

Amanda tasted stomach acid but willed herself not to vomit. The least she could do was identify the body and save Miriam the agony. “You stay here and I’ll check it out.”