Ripped Apart Read online

  The Salinas boy had had bodyguards, but several other children from wealthy families had them at the camp, too. The Salinas bodyguards had disappeared without a trace, though, so they couldn’t be questioned either.

  None of that mattered to Rebecca anyway. Living in her own personal hell was almost more than she could bear. How could she think of functioning normally when she had only to close her eyes and the terrible moment she’d identified her son’s corpse in the hospital morgue and realized her mistake came back to haunt her? No, Victor would just have to tell the managing partners at the law firm to give her cases to someone else—

  Rebecca jumped at the unexpected sound of the doorbell, splashing some hot coffee down the front of her white terry cloth robe. She set the mugs on a foyer table and moved hesitantly to the front door. A uniformed man stood there visible through the oval ornamental glass in the spill of light from the outside chandelier. She pressed her fingers to the intercom.

  “Hello? May I help you?”

  “City Public Service emergency crew, ma’am. We’ve got a big gas leak on this street and we need to check out your home. We’re going door to door. It’ll only take a moment.”

  Rebecca fastened the tie more securely around her waist and punched in the security code to disengage their home alarm. As she turned the dead bolt on the front door, it occurred to her that she should talk to Victor first but he was probably still in the shower. If it were an emergency, they’d no doubt have to leave the house for their own safety.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Our apologies for the inconvenience.”

  Rebecca stepped away from the door as the CPS worker, a thickset Latino man, entered the house carrying a large wrench in his right hand.

  “Have you noticed any smell of gas from the kitchen?”

  “No, I was just there—what?“ Rebecca froze as another Latino man, taller and younger, suddenly lunged inside the door at the same moment a wrench swung toward her head. The force of the blow knocked her to her knees. Pain exploded from her temple. Dear God, she had to warn Victor!

  She was punched in the face before she could scream. The metallic taste of blood made her gag and cough. The front door slammed shut and heavy footfalls pounded up the stairs, then someone grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her farther into the foyer.

  “No, please—”

  “Shut up, bitch!”

  A vicious kick in the ribs made Rebecca double over in pain on the floor. Another kick into her left kidney made her eyes fly open wide as a glint of steel descended toward her.

  “For Daniel Ruiz, you murdering whore!”

  The knife plunged deep into Rebecca’s stomach and she screamed, her body convulsing in agony.

  “You had him butchered and now it’s your turn!”

  The knife fell and fell again, into her neck, her chest, her lower belly, but Rebecca screamed no more. Icy cold melded with searing pain. Blood bubbled into her throat to choke and silence her.

  Ramon, forgive me…

  * * *

  Eduardo sensed it was Xavier and Francisco calling him from San Antonio even before he answered the telephone. He punched the button for the second line and leaned back in his chair, his hand clenched around the receiver.

  “Our first two targets have been eliminated, Mr. Ruiz.”

  Eduardo felt his body tense, Xavier’s voice as devoid of emotion as he would expect any paid assassin’s to be.

  Things were going just as he had planned, and he didn’t expect that to change. Xavier and Francisco were top-notch, but they also had the example of Daniel’s bodyguards’ to serve as an excellent incentive to get the job done right. Eduardo had made it no secret to those in his employ that the two men had been shot dead upon their return to Monterrey, their bodies left to be eaten by rats in one of the city’s dumps.

  “Good, you know the names and locations. All the arrangements are in place. Eliminate the parents. Bring the boy to Monterrey.”

  No answer came and Eduardo didn’t expect one. Less talk was best in these matters.

  He hung up the phone and sat silent behind his massive mahogany desk, sickened that he had not been the one to exact vengeance upon Victor and Rebecca Garza. Fresh rage welled up inside him, but at least now the ones who had mistaken Daniel for their son and had him mutilated for his internal organs were dead.

  Mother-fucking butchers. Maria’s demand was one thing, but this moment was strictly of his design and for him to relish.

  Eduardo poured himself a double shot of Scotch and stared at the framed photo of him and Daniel astride a gleaming, black Harley-Davidson Fat Boy a week before Daniel had left for camp—his son’s wide smile, Daniel’s smaller hand atop Eduardo’s as they shared the throttle. Daniel had always been a quiet boy and more interested in his books and computers, but he’d enjoyed their motorcycle ride that day and had told Eduardo he couldn’t wait for the next one.

  Except now, there would never be a next ride.

  Pain ripped through Eduardo and he downed the entire shot in one swallow, his throat so tight he almost choked. Wishing again he’d been the one to go to Texas, he laid the picture frame facedown on the desk and forced himself to focus instead on when he would receive the next call from Xavier.

  He’d breathed a lot easier when the Facilitator had informed him that the heart recipient was a six-year-old boy. Maria’s mad intuition had served her well. Lucky for him.

  * * *

  Marcela Villarreal hurried up to the Garzas’ front door, angry with herself for being late to work.

  It wasn’t her fault, her truck had gotten a flat tire, but she was not one to take advantage of her employers. She prided herself that every morning for the past two years she had arrived promptly at seven o’clock, but now it was almost eight. The Garzas were good people and trusted her, and she did her best to keep their house nice and clean for them. Lord knows, the place was big enough, and poor Mrs. Garza certainly didn’t need any worries about such things right now.

  “Sad, sad house.” Marcela leaned against the front door to dig inside her purse for the key, but she inhaled in surprise when the door gave way beneath her weight and opened slightly. Strange. Mrs. Garza had said they would both be at work today, unless she might have changed her mind. She’d always been careful before about keeping everything locked and secure.

  Marcela pushed open the door the rest of the way and came to a stunned stop. Her eyes widened in horror.

  Rebecca Garza lay spread-eagled and covered in blood on the marble floor, her body gutted like a deer.

  Marcela finally found her voice to scream.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Read the story to me once more, Mommy, please?”

  Clare set the well-worn copy of Curious George on the bedside table and glanced with mock sternness at Tyler. “Three times is enough for one night, don’t you think?”

  She couldn’t help smiling as Tyler vigorously shook his blond head, but she could tell from his pallor that he was tired. Her son’s steady recovery since the transplant surgery hadn’t ceased to amaze her or the doctors, so they claimed, but he still wasn’t out of the woods. She rose from the chair that she’d pulled up to the bed and tucked the covers more snugly around him. “First thing tomorrow morning we’ll read it again.“

  “Promise?”

  Clare stared into Tyler’s hopeful green eyes and nodded. “The very first thing. We have a date. You, me and Curious George.”

  Tyler’s smile grew so wide that Clare felt a tug at her heart, and she questioned again her decision to sleep at home tonight.

  She’d practically taken up residence in the overnight area, but Tyler was doing so well and there were others with sick children who needed the space. Things were piling up at the house, too, mail, laundry, and she was determined to return to some semblance of a normal schedule before Tyler was ready to come home.

  Oh, God, ready to come home…

  Tears clouded Clare’s vision. She turned to pour some water i
nto a cup so Tyler wouldn’t see.

  For a woman who’d sworn the day she’d left Billy that she wouldn’t cry again, she wasn’t making very good on her resolve. She needed to be strong for Tyler but she needed to give herself a break, too. She remembered so vividly when she’d feared he might never come home, and now the doctors had said Tyler might leave the hospital within a day or two.

  “No more water, Mommy, okay? It makes me pee too much.”

  Clare laughed and smudged at her eyes with the back of her hand, deciding that she’d become an emotional wreck. One moment she was trying not to cry, then the next she was laughing. The overabundance of emotion felt so good, though, because Tyler was alive and thriving. She set the cup on the table within his reach and bent down to kiss him.

  “It’s late, almost nine thirty. Go to sleep now.”

  Tyler nodded, and Clare brushed her lips against his cheek. His skin smelled so sweet to her. His arms flew around her neck and she hugged him back, careful not to squeeze too tightly. She knew he wouldn’t break, but he was still hooked up to telemetry that monitored his heart rhythm, electrodes taped to his chest. Sobered by that reality, she hugged him again and turned her head to whisper in his ear.

  “I love you, Tyler.”

  “I love you, too, Mommy. Me and Curious George.”

  Clare released him reluctantly and stood up, not surprised by the playful light in Tyler’s eyes even as he yawned. “Nice try, but no more stories tonight. It’s time to go to sleep.”

  “Remember, you promised.”

  Clare squeezed Tyler’s hand, his eyes growing drowsier. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  A small nod was his only answer, Tyler asleep before Clare left the room.

  * * *

  “Damn, Xavier, look. She’s leaving the hospital.”

  Xavier didn’t respond to Francisco sitting across from him in the sedan’s dark interior. He drew on his clove-scented cigarette as Clare Carson exited the well-lit main entrance and made her way toward the parking lot.

  She looked just like the framed photographs he’d examined earlier that evening after breaking into her home: slim build, dark blond shoulder-length hair, medium height, not beautiful but attractive enough by American standards, and dressed casually in jeans and a light-colored T-shirt.

  “What the hell’s our plan now?” Francisco demanded.

  Xavier ignored him and kept his eyes on Clare and several other people who had exited the hospital for their cars. His body grew tense although he hadn’t moved a muscle.

  Posing as a local policeman, he’d discovered from her talkative neighbor that Clare had spent every night so far with her son at the hospital, which would have made things a lot easier with the two in the same place. Xavier glanced at his watch, but it was only nine thirty p.m.

  The hospital’s shift change wasn’t until eleven. He looked over at the dark blue van parked three cars over, the vehicle practically an ambulance with its abundance of medical supplies and physician on board, everything in place just as Eduardo Ruiz had ordered.

  “Xavier, did you hear me? What the hell do we—”

  “We wait.” Xavier swore under his breath as Clare climbed into a red Chevrolet Blazer parked two rows down from them, and his eyes met Francisco’s. “We focus on the boy. That’s too important to risk any commotion right now. The rest will come later. We know where the woman lives.”

  Francisco sighed heavily and dropped his hand from the door handle. Xavier drew on his cigarette and watched Clare pay the toll at the booth and then drive out of the parking lot.

  She was the last one. A simple pop between the eyes with a silencer and then he and Francisco would be on their way back to Mexico.

  * * *

  “Geez, what a mess.” Clare switched on the light in the living room and wearily surveyed the stack of mail on the coffee table.

  Catalogs made up most of the pile, easy to toss out, but she wouldn’t be able to deal in the same way with the laundry waiting for her in the utility room. Her time spent at home over the last two weeks had been a mad dash to grab up bills and stuff them in her handbag for perusal at the hospital, and a quick shower and change of clothes. She didn’t want to think about what might be growing in the refrigerator.

  Clare sighed with resignation and took a sip of Dr. Pepper. Maybe the sugary soft drink would give her some energy to clean up the place but now that she was home, sleep sounded like the best idea. She hadn’t gotten much rest at the hospital, dozing mostly while the latest updates on Tyler’s progress circled through her mind.

  Even now, it was hard to think of anything else but she’d given herself this time to catch up with things and she had best use it wisely. She should make a quick call to the principal of the Northwood Elementary, too, and give her an update on Tyler’s progress. The school district had been so good to her, granting her a leave of absence to be with him. He was doing so well, maybe it wouldn’t be long before she’d return to teaching her third-grade class and Tyler to first grade.

  Clare glanced at her watch but it was almost ten o’clock. The call to the principal would have to wait. She set the can of Dr. Pepper atop a bookshelf and squared her shoulders. “Okay. Laundry first and then to bed.”

  Clare headed toward the utility room but the sound of the doorbell stopped her in her tracks. Irene Davis’s voice called cheerily to her through the front door, and Clare wondered what the neighbors must think of such a racket.

  “So much for chores.” Clare opened the door and Irene hurried inside, not waiting for an invitation just as she’d done two years ago when Clare had first moved in.

  “Your lights were on—God, Clare, it’s good to see you!”

  Clare returned Irene’s enthusiastic embrace, then shut the door as her friend plopped onto the nearby sofa and patted the cushion next to her.

  “Come on, girl, let’s visit. It gets so damned lonely around here. How’s Tyler?”

  “Good…great, actually.” Clare took a seat in the stuffed chair opposite Irene, feeling even more drained compared to her neighbor’s high energy. “His doctors think he might be able to come home soon, maybe even tomorrow—”

  “Oh, Clare, that’s wonderful! I’ve been rooting for you—all the neighbors around here wish you and Tyler the best. A cop even came by today to make sure everything’s okay with the house.“

  “The police? When?”

  “Late this afternoon. Nice guy, too. Said he’d noticed on patrol that your house was always pitch dark at night, and he just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any problem. I told him you spent nights at the hospital with your son. He suggested you might want to get the porch light set to a timer. Damn, Clare, you look tired. Want me to make you a cup of coffee?”

  Deciding that Irene must have drank a whole gallon of the stuff that evening, Clare shook her head but her friend was already on her feet and heading to the kitchen.

  “How about something to eat? That cafeteria food at the hospital must be getting pretty old by now. I swear you’ve dropped a few pounds since I last saw you. Do you have any eggs for an omelet? Shit, Clare, I think something’s died in your refrigerator!”

  Clare dropped her head in her hands and began to laugh, the sensation feeling so unfamiliar to her that she came close to crying, too. She slumped against the back of the chair and listened to kitchen cabinet doors slamming one after the other, until finally Irene popped her head around the corner and waved a tin can in the air with a grin.

  “Beefaroni, anyone? I love the stuff.”

  Clare wiped the tears from her eyes, her stomach hurting from laughing, and waved Irene from the kitchen. “No, no food. You take that can home, okay? I need to get some laundry started, maybe catch up on some news and then head to bed—”

  “Oh, Clare, I don’t know if you want to do that.”

  Irene had grown so serious that Clare sat upright in the chair, puzzled. “What? Sleep or the laundry?“

  “I meant the news. Som
ething real awful has happened. I heard about it at noon today when I came home for lunch.”

  Irene visibly shuddered and glanced at the TV across the room, making Clare feel it necessary to prod her. “Look, I’m going to hear about it anyway so why don’t you just tell me—”

  “They found that Garza couple murdered today.”

  Clare felt as if her breath had stopped. She stared almost uncomprehending at Irene.

  “You know, those attorneys, Rebecca and Victor Garza. They lost their son in that bus accident and then there was the mix-up at the hospital—”

  “I know who you mean.” Clare shook her head, still so stunned that she didn’t know what else to say. The Garzas murdered? She nodded to Irene who had picked up the remote control from the coffee table. An instant later the blaring sound of a Toyota truck commercial filled the living room.

  “We’ve still got a minute before the news. Are you sure I can’t fix you something?”

  Clare didn’t answer, her gaze glued to the TV as Irene sighed and re-took her seat on the sofa. It seemed an eternity before the ten o’clock program started, but Clare almost wished she hadn’t decided to watch when the very first image was a white-shrouded body being wheeled on a gurney toward a waiting ambulance.

  “Look at that house, Clare,” Irene hissed to her while the news anchor announced the headlining story of the Garzas’ double murder. “It must have cost them a fortune!”

  Clare wasn’t looking at the house but at the second shrouded body following the first one to another ambulance. Grim-faced police officers wearing white latex gloves assisted the emergency personnel, several of whom carried plastic bags. Clare suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Fragments of the unfolding story rang in her mind.