Ripped Apart Page 16

  Eduardo knew he’d finally reached her. Maria stared open-mouthed at him, her face gone white.

  “Not a pleasant thought, is it?”

  “You lie.”

  “Not this time. She’s eluded everyone I’ve sent to destroy her—and spare me any more mention of your threat to run to Manuel.”

  “But you swore no one would take Daniel from me. Damn you to hell, Eduardo, you swore!”

  He caught Maria’s curled fist just before she struck him and squeezed her fingers together so hard she gasped in pain. “I told you yesterday that I’ve forgotten nothing. It’s a very good time to start packing, wouldn’t you say? I want to leave for the airport within the hour.”

  She nodded, tears swimming in her eyes as she tried in vain to pull her hand out of his grasp. He held her fast for another few seconds. Her discomfort made him feel for the first time in days that he’d regained some control over her—until abruptly he let her go. She glared at him with hatred as she backed away from him, rubbing her bruised fingers.

  “Is Luisa packing, too?”

  “That’s none of your affair.“

  “No, Eduardo, only your affair! If you think for one moment your cock-sucking whore will share our plane—”

  “Mr. Ruiz, forgive me for interrupting.”

  Eduardo waved his hand for Maria to be silent but she’d already focused upon the cardiologist who stood in the doorway to Daniel’s bedroom. The older man’s face looked more heavily lined than usual, and his grim expression told Eduardo volumes without him having to hear another word.

  Maria must have sensed, too, that what the doctor had to say wasn’t good. She let out a wail that sounded like a dying cat and rushed past them into the bedroom.

  “The boy’s temperature has gone up,” the doctor said to Eduardo, spreading his hands helplessly. “It’s far too high. It might be an infection or maybe the immunosuppressive drugs—too much of them, too little, I can’t say. His body might be rejecting the heart. If we could get him stabilized—”

  “Do it. Why the hell are you standing there?”

  “He needs to be in a hospital, Mr. Ruiz. Here, I can only do so much but in an intensive care unit—”

  Maria’s piercing scream silenced them both. Eduardo at that moment wanted nothing more than to tell the doctor to do the best he could, but they were heading to the airport and not the hospital. He was fast becoming convinced that it would be better if the boy died, anyway. Yet Maria would blame him and until Eduardo thought of some way to counter her threat—

  “Call Hospital San Pedro, then get him ready to be moved.”

  The doctor ran his hands nervously down the front of his white coat and nodded, then disappeared into the bedroom. Eduardo had only to wait a few seconds before Maria began to weep hysterically, the cardiologist no doubt having just repeated to her what he’d told Eduardo.

  So much for Maria packing her things. She needed a sedative instead. Eduardo clenched his fists and moved to the door, determined that he would drive the needle into his wife himself.

  * * *

  “I fear for my wife and children, Lieutenant Colonel Wyatt. If not for them I would do anything to help you.“

  “It’s all right, Pablo. I understand.” Jake got up from the wrought iron patio chair, wondering if the taxi had waited for him out on the street. He wished he’d never broached the subject of Eduardo Ruiz with his former military associate. In the dim light cast by a lantern, Pablo Sosa’s youthful-looking face was taut and anxious as he looked up at Jake. “Forget we had this conversation, okay? Better yet, forget you ever saw me.”

  Jake didn’t wait for Pablo to say anything more but headed for the side gate that led out onto the street. Metal scraped against ceramic tile as Pablo got up from his chair, but the younger man didn’t follow him and Jake hadn’t expected him to.

  Why wouldn’t Pablo be scared shitless at the prospect of helping him take on one of the most notorious drug traffickers in Mexico? He had to live here after all, work here, and raise his family here. If Pablo operated on the possibility that they might somehow fail in their mission, and then suffer the consequences, Jake couldn’t blame him. He had no assurances himself that he and Clare would make it alive out of Monterrey.That grim reality rang in his head as he walked up to the taxi, thankfully still parked at the curb. He climbed into the back seat while the driver, heavy set and reeking sourly of sweat, stamped out his cigarette and started up the engine. Jake gave the man the name of a hotel near the one where he’d left Clare, then shut his eyes and leaned his head against the seat as the taxi eased out onto the dark residential street.

  Damn, what time was it? He didn’t bother to glance at his watch, but guessed close to ten. So much for Mike calling him back within the hour. Those communications specialists at the embassy must have their heads shoved up their asses not to have ready access to Eduardo Ruiz’s addresses and phone numbers—

  “Sir, I think your friend is following us.”

  The taxi driver’s sudden announcement made Jake twist around in his seat to look out the back window. All he saw were two headlights on high beam and a man’s silhouette behind the wheel of a dark sedan that sped toward them, nothing telling him for sure it was Pablo.

  “Slow down,” he said in a low voice, reaching for the duffel bag. As the driver immediately obliged him, Jake undid the zipper and dug inside the bag for a Glock 9mm pistol. He’d bought several handguns and an AK-47 assault rifle with plenty of fully loaded magazines and he wasn’t about to take any chances. “You saw my friend get into a car?”

  “Yes, sir, near the garage as we pulled into the street.”

  “All right, stop here.” The taxi screeched to a halt between two streetlights. Jake reached for the door handle, the pistol poised in his other hand and his adrenaline pumping as the sedan pulled to a stop behind them.

  He had no idea what the taxi driver must be thinking to see him with a gun, but he didn’t care. Monterrey had enough of a criminal underbelly that it was probably nothing new. As a man climbed out of the sedan, Jake’s muscles grew taut while the taxi driver ducked behind the front seat—and just as abruptly Jake eased off the trigger when he recognized Pablo. He threw open the door and lunged out of the car.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, shoving the Glock into his waistband. “Jesus, Pablo—”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I had to catch you. As soon as you left, I knew I’d made a mistake. You saved my life more than once. The least I can do is to help you now. Tell me what you need me to do.”

  “Not out here on the street. Drive me back to my hotel and we’ll talk on the way.”

  Pablo nodded and headed back to his car while Jake went over to the taxi and pulled out the duffel bag, then shut the passenger door. The driver peered at him from behind a smudged, barely cracked window.

  “How much do I owe you?” Jake asked. The man shook his head and appeared all the more anxious to be on his way, with or without payment, his gaze falling to Jake’s handgun. Jake shoved several folded bills through the narrow opening. “You saw nothing tonight, right?”

  “Si, nothing.”

  “Smart man.” Jake stepped away from the taxi and gestured for the driver to get moving. The man didn’t hesitate but stepped on the gas and took off with a squeal of tires down the street.

  By the time Jake climbed into Pablo’s car, the taxi had disappeared, its red taillights fading into the distance. He glanced over at Pablo, who stared straight ahead with his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, sweat dripping down the side of his face. It made Jake wonder with a low curse if he shouldn’t have sent away the taxi.

  “Look, Pablo, you don’t owe me anything. We were doing our jobs back then—hell, you saved my life once or twice, too. That’s the way it worked. But this is different. I told you I understand about your family. I’d probably do the same thing in your shoes. You don’t have to be part of this thing.”

  “You said you would n
eed four or five other men—is that correct, sir?” Pablo had turned to look at him, his expression as resolute as Jake had seen it many times when they’d served together side by side on a drug raid. He’d worked with few men braver, and there were none he’d trusted more in a tight spot to watch his back.

  “Yeah, four should do it. You, me, that’s six. Expert shots, but you know the drill. And stop calling me sir. We’re not in uniform anymore. Jake’s fine.”

  “Yes, sir…Jake. Mercenaries are the way to go. Ex-military commandos. I know some people here in Monterrey, but they don’t come cheap.”

  “Loyalty to the highest bidder, just like the good old days. Things haven’t changed much since I left, have they?”

  “No, sir. Not much.”

  Pablo’s voice was heavy with resignation, which made Jake study him again in the dim light as his former associate started the car and shifted into drive.

  Pablo hadn’t changed much either since Jake had last seen him at Isabella’s funeral, except for the premature gray at his temples for a man of thirty-two. He hadn’t seemed surprised when Jake had told him why he’d returned to Mexico. Maybe Pablo had always thought Jake would come back one day to find out who’d killed his wife, even if that motive now wasn’t the only reason Jake had shown up on his doorstep.

  He had laid out everything on the table—Clare, Eduardo Ruiz, Tyler, the string of murders in San Antonio—and why it was best they acted alone without getting any law enforcement involved, American or otherwise. It was the least he could do when he was asking Pablo to risk his life to help him. He didn’t blame him at all for freezing up at first but fortunately Pablo had reconsidered.

  “Your hotel, sir?”

  “The Dinastia. You need directions?”

  Pablo shook his head and focused on the road. Jake glanced out the side mirror, but no one was behind them. Little traffic had passed them since they’d set out again, which made sense in a quiet residential area. That would change as soon as they headed further north through the nightlife district. Anybody was a potential target of violent crime once it grew dark. He decided to keep the Glock close rather than stuffing it back into the duffel bag.

  “The mercenaries,” he said, glancing at Pablo. “How soon can you get them together?”

  “You say the word and they’ll be ready, sir…Jake.”

  “What’s the going rate these days?”

  “A thousand dollars each for a day’s work, American bills. No questions asked.”

  “Just the way I like it. All they need to do is show up and be ready to rock and roll.”

  That last comment brought a faint smile to Pablo’s face, but it faded even as Jake knew what he had to say next. “What about you, Pablo? Like I said, you don’t owe me a thing so if there’s something I can do for you—”

  “When this mission is over I don’t want to see you ever again. It’s better that way, for me, for my family. I know you understand…no offense.”

  “None taken.” A heavy silence fell as Jake looked out the window at the increasing traffic, the streets growing thick with pedestrians flowing into bars, restaurants and neon-lighted discos.

  He thought of Clare, wondering if she slept and figuring she was lying on the bed with her eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. He thought of Pablo’s wife and four children safe and warm in their beds and how he should have never drawn him into this insane mess. He thought of Mike Reed, and what the hell might have happened to him—

  The cell phone vibrating made Jake swear under his breath. He pulled the phone out of his jacket and glanced over at Pablo, whose hands were once more clenched around the steering wheel. “Hello?”

  “Sorry about the delay but I’ve been doing double-duty for you, Wyatt. Got some info but not exactly what you asked for.”

  “What? No phone numbers?“

  “Nobody home to call, not in town or at the ranch, and probably not at the office tomorrow either if my guess is right. It’s news to me, but seems we’ve had some people here keeping track of Ruiz the past few days—something about the Feds and red flags going up at some banks across the border. Anyway, he headed to Hospital San Pedro about two hours ago. My contact couldn’t get close enough to the emergency entrance to see what was going on, but probably something to do with the Carson kid. What’s his first name again?”

  “Tyler.”

  “Yeah, okay. I don’t know what you’re planning but it looks a lot better for you than Ruiz and the kid surrounded by a guarded compound. I’ve got one of my guys heading in there to find out what’s going on—posing as a janitor and wired for sound, my eyes and ears, so I should know more before too long. Did you get your friend Sosa on board?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not your concern, remember? Play your part and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Mike cursed but Jake ignored it and wondered what the hell might be going on with Tyler. Damn. Clare wouldn’t be happy about this news. She wouldn’t be happy, either, when he showed her a copy of the San Antonio Express News he’d bought at a newsstand earlier with Tyler’s photo on the front page. Not when he told her his instincts were screaming now that Tyler might be in more danger than some fever or infection.

  If things got too hot for Eduardo with all the publicity surrounding Tyler’s abduction, he’d kill the boy. Jake was certain of it. With Tyler in some local hospital, he’d be out in the open and people might start asking questions. The situation had become a ticking bomb. They needed to get to that hospital. Fast.

  “Gotta go, Reed. It’s time to make our move. Call me back when you know more—and make sure that plane is ready.” Jake glanced over at Pablo. “The boy’s been taken to Hospital San Pedro. Think you can make some calls and get everybody there ASAP?”

  Pablo nodded and pulled out a cell phone as he brought the car to a stop a few feet from the front entrance of the Dinastia. Jake threw open the door and lunged out, then ducked his head to look at Pablo.

  “Wait for us at the corner.” Jake shut the door, pulled his jacket over the Glock and headed to the front entrance. He glanced up and counted nine floors, wondering again if Clare had gone to sleep or instead had been watching for him from the window of their room.

  Dumb question. She’d probably worn a hole in the carpet from pacing the floor. He’d ceased being a praying man four years ago, but he silently said one to himself now that Tyler would pull through whatever had led Eduardo Ruiz to speed him to the hospital.

  He said a prayer for Clare, too. Just thinking ahead to the look on her face when she got the news about her son made Jake slam his fist against the elevator button.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Something was wrong. Clare could feel it.

  She craned her neck to look above the elevator doors to where the lighted number had read five for what seemed like an eternity.

  How long did it take people to get on and off an elevator? She banged her fist a third time against the metal door, not caring if anyone heard the noise and stumbled from their rooms to check out the commotion.

  The moment she’d seen Jake climb out of the car she had flown from the hotel window to undo the deadbolt and throw open the door, no matter he’d told her not to leave the room. She scarcely remembered racing down the hallway to the elevator, her breath jammed in her throat, each ascending floor number on the sign above her head making her apprehension grow worse.

  Five, still five! When would the elevator reach the ninth floor? She had no basis for the intuition screaming in her brain but it drove her to pound her fist once again upon the elevator door.

  Something terrible was happening to Tyler. Something—

  “Clare.”

  She whirled around at the sound of her name, the emergency exit door to the stairs closing behind Jake. She met his eyes, so intensely blue, his expression grim. He didn’t have to say a word to confirm her worst fears.

  “Oh, God…”

  “Tyler’s been taken to a local hospital. I don’t know yet what�
��s going on—”

  “Tell me we’re going there.” Clare clenched her hands into balled fists while Jake glanced up and down the empty hallway as if to ensure they were alone. “Please, Jake, don’t tell me anything else but that you’re taking me—”

  “We’re heading there right now. I’ve got a car waiting for us down the street. Where’s your passport?”

  “My pocket.” She hadn’t even slipped off her hiking boots before she’d lain down on the bed and attempted to sleep, an impossible thing just as she’d thought thanks to her noisy neighbors. “I wanted to be ready—just in case.”

  “Good thing. We’ll leave everything else here.” He shoved open the door to the stairs. “Friggin’ elevator. Jammed on the fifth floor.” He gestured for her to move in front of him and Clare didn’t hesitate, especially when she spied the handgun at his waist. She had a thousand questions but that only made her run faster down the steps, Jake hard on her heels.

  * * *

  “Pablo Sosa, Clare Carson.”

  Clare ducked into the back seat of the car and murmured a hello to the man behind the wheel, but she didn’t get a chance to say anything more as Jake slammed the door shut behind her. He got into the front seat and the car jolted into motion before he’d even closed his door.

  “Everything set?” Jake asked Pablo as Clare gripped the armrest as much out of mounting anxiety as to keep her balance.

  The somber-faced Latino nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the surging traffic. “Twenty minutes, we should be there.”

  The car sped up, veering into one lane and then another to pass vehicles that packed the street, Clare astonished that the city would be so busy so late at night. She guessed it had to be almost eleven but it might as well have been daytime. As an afterthought she fastened her seatbelt and tried to calm down, but it was impossible.

  “Jake…”

  “I told you I don’t know much, but I don’t want you panicking on me. Hand me that duffel bag on the floor.”