A Dangerous Harbor (30 page)

"He's certain Spencer is holding his daughter prisoner. Idiot man. The silly girl doesn't want anything to do with a respectable father, and why should she, when all she has to do is lay on her back to get a paycheck."

That explained a lot of things: The empty bottle of Scotch and
Myne
saying her earlier night time visitor wasn't able to do her any good. And he bribed Jeff with better wages to convince
Myne
that Jeff's interest was only where the money was, not her. Poor
Myne
. Then there was Wally begging
Myne
to come with him. Poor Ida.

"Then Fred's not associated with Spencer, that is, other than trying to get his daughter away from him?"

Ida shrugged. "I've never seen him before we got here. If my husband had kept to what he knows, instead of attempting to get one over on Spencer Bobbitt, we wouldn't be in the mess we are today. And no, I don't know anything else about Fred McGee, I've got my hands full with keeping my husband out of trouble."

Katy turned to walk away.

Ida called after her, "Then you'll tell that Mexican police chief that we're not to be pestered anymore, won't you? We'll be escorted back to the States soon."

Another person asking for reassurance that was not hers to give. Katy shook her head. "I really have no influence here, Ida. The Mexican police do so as they see fit with or without my advice. Now, I have to go."

Ida was clutching at straws. She knew, she had to know, that her husband wanted
Myne
instead of her. Was Ida the one who tried to tie up a sleeping
Myne
? Ida was a hefty woman and hadn't she dead-lifted that anchor? She could easily pick up
Myne
and toss her over her shoulder, then into the sea. Booth was small for a man, and except for his belly, he probably weighed only a few pounds more than
Myne
. But was Ida capable of shooting a young girl in cold blood to save a husband who didn't want her? It didn't add up.

Moving down the dock, Katy could feel the woman's eyes boring a hole in her back.

Chapter Twenty-one:

The usual assortment of wives, mothers and relatives at the police station had been replaced with hard-eyed young men in military riot gear and helmets and automatic rifles across their laps. Phones rang, instructions were shouted across the room and police scurried in and out of offices.

Katy waited by the door until she found a familiar face; Sergeant Moreno, his head down, shambled past without looking at her. Sweat stained the underarms of his shirt and the tight crease of his uniform pants had long since been destroyed. The sergeant blinked at her greeting, then gave her a weary smile.

"Ah,
Señorita
Hunter! I did not see you."

The feeling was mutual. She would never have recognized this rumpled, tired version from the Hollywood
wanna
-be of a week ago.

In Spanish she asked, "Is the chief in?"

"Oh, no,
señorita
. The
jefe
is away. Please, you must leave, we are
muy
busy." The sergeant must be very distressed to allow his near perfect American English to slide.

"When will he be back?"

He shrugged, already signaling to someone over her shoulder. "If you will excuse me, I must get back to my men."

She followed his glance to what appeared to be a SWAT team filing through the entrance. "What's going on?"

The sergeant chewed on the end of his black mustache while he considered.
 
"There was an incident in El
Sauzal
."

"El
Sauzal
?" They'd passed a sign for the small community where Raul's home perched on a hilltop. "What happened?"

The sergeant pursed his lips and scratched wearily at his thick dark hair. "You are an American policewoman so you know that I cannot tell you much, but—the
j
efe's
… someone set a bomb at his house. It is completely gone now."

Katy felt as if the bottom of the floor had fallen out from under her feet. She grabbed onto the sergeant's arm. In the shock of the moment, her emotions spread across her face. "Is he… is the chief okay? Please, can you tell me?"

 
"I cannot say,
señorita
. Please, you must leave now,"
he said, pulling her hand off his sleeve.

He couldn't be dead!
 
He was with
her
last night at the winery. A wonderful moonlit night filled with the kind of lovemaking she'd always dreamed about and he didn't bring her back to the marina until almost three a.m. where she found Gabe, beaten and dropped at her gate.

But Gabe's beating wouldn't compare to Raul being murdered in his bed. No, this couldn't be happening, not now.

Then she thought of Spencer Bobbitt and her heart sank. That devil! This was his doing, she just knew it. She pulled out her business card, the one with her police ID on it, and handed it to the sergeant. "Please call me the minute you can tell me more?"

The sergeant pulled his eyes away from the army boys, took the card and slipped it into a breast pocket, then snagged a passing officer, but before he left, he patted the shirt pocket over his heart to show that he wouldn't forget and then handed her off to the jailer.

Katy allowed herself a slight smile at the sergeant's kindness, even in the midst of a crisis like this one—oh God, please let him be alive—she followed behind the officer up the elevator to the prisoner's visiting room

At the end of the hallway, a guard stood up and let her into a small side room with no windows. She sat down in one of two beat-up and filthy plastic chairs and stared at the bilious green and pockmarked walls.

She spent the time waiting to calm and clear her agitated mind. It would do no good to appear weak or weepy in front of Spencer Bobbitt.

Ten minutes later the door opened and Spencer sauntered through the door, his graying blond hair slicked back on his thin face.

 
"I got your message," she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. "You wanted to talk?"

"I do, but have you seen
Myne
this morning? She's supposed to bring me food every day, not just when she feels like it. I pay for a private cell or I'd have three other lice-infested wetbacks for roommates," he said, taking a chair across from her.

"I'm sure the
wetbacks
would prefer you have your own cell, too."

"I give her one simple job to do… she's probably sunning herself on the deck and painting her damn toenails."

"I'd think you'd be more worried about getting off a murder charge than about the whereabouts of your mistress."

He turned his head to stare at her; the effect was like having a large lizard turn its disinterested eyes on a potential meal. "That's being handled."

"You mean the deal you thought you had with the feds?"

He slouched down in his chair, arms folded, now relaxed and sure of himself.

"You have quite the arsenal of toadies at your disposal, Spencer, but the feds have picked someone else to testify, so you get to stay in a nice Mexican jail until they decide they have the resources to prosecute you."

Spencer hung an arm over his chair and said, "You're the one who said I was innocent, remember?"

She wasn't about to give him an inch, not when she was sure he was behind the plot to murder Raul. "You had the chief inspector's home blown up last night, didn't you?"

"It's sad, but I ran out of options at a time when I needed them most. Which brings me to you; I think I can make you an offer you won't be able to refuse."

There it was again. That eerie similarity to
The Godfather
.

"You're kidding. Do you really think I'd do anything to help you, knowing you murdered Raul
Vignaroli
? If nothing else, I'll plant some evidence just to make sure you stay in a Mexican prison for the rest of your life."

"It's nice to know that for once my sources were right, you were in love with that annoying policeman. Well, my dear, I have no intention of waiting for the Mexicans to send me to one of their horrid little prisons. I want you to do the one thing no one else has been able to do—get me released from his hell hole."

"Not in a million years."

"Oh come now. It'll be easy. I already have the paperwork for a transfer by an American Marshal to the States. Unfortunately, your boyfriend had him picked up at the
Rosarito
checkpoint, so you're going to be my safe passage out of this jail."

"Congratulations, Spencer. You've just managed to piss off the last person in Mexico who could possibly help you get out of jail."

He tipped an eyebrow at her. "Touché. And, if I may say so, you have some
cojones
on you for such a little thing.
Myne
should take lessons." He reached into his pocket and extracted an envelope and handed it to her. "Here is the paperwork. You will notice that your passport is also in there. Go back to your boat, get your police ID and come back here in one hour. I'll be waiting. Don't worry about the Mexican police, they're too busy chasing their tails."

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "You're out of your mind."

"Oh, did I forget something? Yes, sorry, completely forget to tell you—your sister is now in the hands of my associates. She will be waiting for us at the airport. Unless, of course, you refuse to do as I ask, and then I will have her body bulldozed into a Mexican dump."

"
Leila's
in LA."

"No, no.
Seems your dear sister was worried about you, flew down to give you moral support. Beautiful girl, your sister. Maybe I'll give her as a thank-you gift to my new Mexican friends, the head of the Sinaloa Cartel. I'm sure he would appreciate a real live American television actress."

Katy closed her eyes. How the hell did this happen? Gabe, Leila. She'd left them both on the boat. Then what happened to Gabe?

"Ah, I see you're considering my offer. Your Gabe was so helpful, led us right to her, good man that he is. Ask anyone, I never forget a favor… or a slight."

She should have anticipated something like this, but it hurt to think Gabe would betray her for Spencer. "I don't believe you."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, punched in a couple of numbers and waited. He spoke into the phone. "Put her on, please?" When he handed the phone to Katy, she gingerly held it by two fingers and away from her head.

"Katrina? Is that you?"

It was Leila.

"Where are you?" she asked quickly and just as quickly the phone was yanked out of her hand and closed.

She pushed back the chair and leaned over him, pointing to the cell phone. "I'll take that."

Spencer smirked, stood up and banged on the door.

She was surprised to see the door swing open so fast. The guard must've been standing outside waiting for instructions.

Spencer nodded at Katy. "She needs to leave, now."

She reached out and made a grab for his cell phone, but Spencer easily held the phone above her outstretched arm.

 
"Nah, nah, nah—we'll have none of that. I have a steady supply of these little gizmos and this one will be long gone by the time anyone gets around to asking about it. Which, by the way, may be much later than any late night date you might have planned. The Mexican federals are swarming around the bomb site like so many angry bees, looking for clues, and of course, your boyfriend's body."