Fields' Guide to Abduction by - (diy ebook reader TXT) 📕
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I raised my brows.
“Drugs are a business like any other.” Javier actually sounded defensive.
“Your employees carry guns.”
He shrugged. “It’s a dangerous business. There’s always an upstart organization who wants to take something from us—to steal part of our business. This cannot be allowed.”
Like the Sinaloa Cartel wanted to take Nuevo Laredo from the Zetas.
I kept that thought to myself. “Your business—it’s illegal. It hurts people.”
“Americans, you’re good at blaming Mexicans for the United States’ drug problem. We did not create the demand. We are simply filling it.”
“Didn’t Pablo Escobar create a demand for cocaine?” It’s amazing the information that could be gleaned watching Narcos on Netflix.
Javier pursed his lips. “I suppose. But one could also say that American drug companies with their opioids created a demand for heroin.” He rested his elbow on the table and a smile flitted across his mouth. “I’m sure that was an unintended consequence.”
“So you’re comparing what you do to a pharmaceutical company?” I could hear the outrage in my voice. I needed to shut the hell up, to delve deep and locate an iota of Chariss’ charm. Because, in a similar situation, Chariss would be charming. Chariss would not poke the bear. Chariss would have the bear eating out of her hand.
“In many ways, we are like a pharmaceutical company. But our drugs don’t require a prescription.”
I bit my tongue.
“Yours is a country of children looking for easy fixes. Take a pill. Snort a line. Cover the pain rather than dealing with it.”
“Not everyone is like that.”
“Give it another generation.”
Be charming. Be charming. “May we agree to disagree?”
He nodded and the silence returned.
I ate a bite of chicken. “The food is delicious.”
He grunted.
Be charming. “How did you meet Marta?”
For half a second something alive and grief-stricken shone in his eyes. “I financed one of her movies. She was special.”
So special he’d had her and her family killed.
I lifted the wine glass to my lips.
“The Zetas will pay for what they did to her and her grandparents.”
I choked on my wine. The Zetas? “But—”
“Señor Diaz, I’m sorry to interrupt but you need to see this.” Yet another mustached man pointed a remote control at one of the walls. Panels slid away revealing a television set. The screen flickered, came to life, and filled with a shot of the resort I’d just left. I recognized the entrance. Were they reporting on my abduction?
The reporter spoke at an alarming rate—far faster than my ability to understand.
Why hadn’t I learned Spanish?
The reporter stepped out the shot, allowing the viewers a glimpse of two bodies piled by the front gate.
The screen was big enough I had no difficulty making out a claw tattoo on the hand of the larger body.
Apparently Javier recognized Grizzly too. The stream of curses that escaped his lips was impressive—and I only understood one out of every ten words. His gaze shifted from the television to me. “Manuel!”
The medic appeared like a genie rubbed from a lamp.
“Take Señorita Fields back to her room.” Javier’s tone left no room for argument.
“This way.” Manuel tried pulling my chair out.
I didn’t move. “What’s happening?”
“Those—” Javier let loose another string of curses “—Zetas. Do they think they can get away with this?”
“That’s the man who abducted me.” I pointed to the screen while everything I’d eaten roiled in my stomach. “The Zetas killed him? Why?”
Javier shifted his gaze to me.
His eyes weren’t dead anymore. Something worse than death burned with cold fire in his irises.
Icicles formed in my veins. “I’ll go now.” I stood.
“Good night, Señorita Fields. Sleep well.” Javier’s voice was as a cold as his eyes.
I hurried my steps and followed Manuel down the endless hallway.
Manuel wasn’t a big man. I retained enough of what I’d learned as a child to know I could knock him out without much effort.
But what then?
I couldn’t run in an evening gown and four-inch heels. And where would I run? I didn’t know where I was. There was no place to run.
I sighed.
“Are you still hungry?” asked Manuel. “I can have something sent from the kitchen.”
“No.” The sight of Grizzly’s hand had stolen what little appetite I had. “But, thank you.”
“Do you need ice for your wrist?”
“I’m fine.”
We reached my room and he opened the door and waited for me to enter.
I paused, looked up into Manuel’s face. “Why am I here?”
He returned my gaze. “I don’t know, Señorita.” He nodded toward the telephone. “If you need anything, just pick up the receiver.”
“I need to go home.”
He looked away. “They won’t hurt you.”
Neither one of us believed that.
I paced the too pretty bedroom. An elegant cage was still a cage. And I was locked inside.
I threw myself on the fainting lounge in the closet, pulled off Javier’s Jimmy Choos, and threw them at the wall.
I unzipped the Gucci gown, stepped out of it, and left it on the floor.
The bracelets I tossed onto the dresser.
The same with the earrings.
I paced in my underwear until it occurred to me there might be video cameras.
I stalked back to the closet and pulled on a pair of jodhpurs (the only pant option), an oversized cashmere sweater, and a pair of riding boots stiff with newness.
Then I paced some more.
I made mental lists—the mistakes I’d made in my life (over-plucking my eyebrows at thirteen, attending college in California within an hour of Chariss rather than heading east, dating Jake, and most of all coming to Mexico). I reviewed the reasons I should have dumped Jake months before he faked his death (he lied to me—daily). And I hatched a plan for escaping the hacienda but rejected it as suicidal.
In the movies, a kick-ass heroine might prevail against a gang of heavily armed men. In real life, the not-so-kick-ass woman would get herself shot. Or raped. Or both.
Back and forth.
If Javier was to be believed, the Zetas had killed Marta’s family. Had she double-crossed them? Decided not to give them the drive?
They’d come looking for it. For her. And when she died without giving it to them, they decided I had it.
They’d come for me.
As had Javier.
How had he known where I’d be? The thought stopped me in my tracks.
Who knew I was leaving the hotel?
The better question was who didn’t know.
The concierge knew. And Mike. And Brett. And probably half the lobby.
I growled at an innocent print of a Frida Kahlo painting and looked more closely. Not a print. An actual painting.
My cage was definitely gilded.
I paced over to the telephone, picked up the receiver, and held it to my ear while my pointer finger hovered above the dial. Who was I supposed to call?
“Good evening, Señorita Fields. How may I assist you?”
“I need some fresh air.”
Silence.
“I mean it. I need air. Now. I can’t breathe in this room.” I gasped as if my lungs were failing me.
“Someone will be happy to escort you around the grounds tomorrow.”
“I can’t breathe.” My voice pitched to somewhere between shriek and panic attack.
“I’m sorry, Señorita Fields, but—”
“Please. Just for a few minutes. Just open the doors to the veranda.”
“I—”
“Please.” I could sense the man at the end of the phone weakening. “I just need air. I’m desperate.”
“I’ll send someone.”
And everyone said I couldn’t act.
“Thank you. Gracias.”
A few minutes later someone tapped on the door.
“Come in.”
A man almost as big as Grizzly lumbered into my room. He gave me one
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