Avenging Alex (18 page)

Alex awoke the next morning to find that John wasn't there. She found breakfast on the desk in front of the bed along with a note.

Milton Toliver's ruddy complexion flushed a blistery shade of crimson informing of his demeanor when John stepped off the elevator into the marshal's office. “Well, look who decided to finally show up. My office. Now!” John went ahead of his lanky, balding boss. He followed and slammed the door behind them. “Do you have any idea how much shit you've caused?”

“Yeah,” John answered. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“What the hell, John? Two of my best inspectors are running amok. I got two dead guys, and a missing baby. Give me one good reason I shouldn't lock you up right now. Where the hell is my missing witness?”

“She's safe.”

“Safe? That's all you've got to say?”

“I'm not ready to tell you where she is.”

“This isn't a request, Inspector. You're a United States marshal. You've broken at least a half a dozen regs that I know of, if not more. You're thumbing your nose at policy and procedure. Just what the hell do you think you're going to accomplish?”

“I need to finish this, Chief.”

“It is finished, John. At least it is for you.”

“No, sir, it's not.”

“This Lone Ranger shit isn't going to cut it anymore, John. The Department of Justice is all over this thing.”

“I didn't know who I could trust,” John responded. “I still don't.”

“You're not referring to me, are you, Inspector?”

John's lack of response was answer enough.

Infuriated, Toliver leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “I don't even know what to say to that.”

“Say you'll give me the time I need to figure out where Donovan is hiding out.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I know him. I know how he thinks.”

“You apparently don't know as much as you think you do, otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to get by you for so long.”

“Donovan fooled us all. Including you, sir.”

Toliver could not deny that aspect. “If I were to give you more time how exactly do you intend to go about flushing him out?”

“They still don't have Alex Solomon. Rivera didn't go to all this trouble slipping back into the country and watching her and following her for nothing. He took his time; that's why he took her mother and baby. He's a sociopath. He wants her to suffer. If he simply wanted her dead he's had more than one opportunity to kill her. We can use his arrogance to our advantage.”

“So, what are you suggesting? We just wait for him to make his next move? You got lucky this time. You were able to get your wife and Jamilah Solomon out of this alive, but what if your luck has run out; what then?”

“You can't pull me off this case. I gotta . . . I need to do this. Please, I can't trust anybody else with this. Look what's already happened.”

“I'm curious, what was it that got you on to Harley Donovan in the first place?”

“It was something I remembered him saying about enemies.”

“Shit.” Toliver leaned into his desk and folded his hands in front of him. “You're holding on to this case like a dog with a bone. Is it just because of Donovan, or is there something else you're not telling me?”

John looked directly into the chief inspector's eyes. “That son of a bitch worked with me for five years. He called himself my friend. He's been to my house . . . around my kids. He kidnapped my . . . I want him, and I want him to pay.”

If Toliver suspected more he didn't ask. Whatever he may have heard or thought he knew about John's involvement with Alex Solomon he didn't question. He grunted and shook his head. “I spoke to your wife last night.”

John tensed up, wondering what Lorraine may have said.

Toliver picked up a file from his desk and tossed it over in front of John. “Based on the description we got from her and Jamilah Solomon, and the evidence we found at Donovan's place, I did some digging. There is something you may find interesting . . . Pilar Vélez is Rivera's daughter.”

John perused the file and studied the woman's picture. “Donovan told me that he had done all of this for love and money.”

“As far as we can establish they've been travelling in and out of the country together under assumed names for the better part of a year. There are dates on the documents you found that coincide with all the time Donovan had taken off going back to the beginning of 2009. The doctored passport tracked half a dozen or so trips into Cuba and a place called
Castillo de los Tres Reyes Magos del Morro.
There is a villa deeded to a Marisol Yelina . . . formerly Marisol Vélez. She was Pilar Vélez's mother.”

“Was?”

“She died giving birth in 1981.”

“Why didn't she show up in any security checks on Rivera before now?”

“I'm still trying to find that out. But, what we do know is that Pilar Vélez grew up in a convent just outside Santa Clara. There was no record listing Rivera as the father. Until you found her papers in Donovan's files she didn't even register a blip on the radar.”

John rubbed his chin curiously. “Is Rivera at this
Tres Reyes
place now?”

“Honestly, we don't know where he is,” Toliver responded. “I've been in touch with ICE, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, and given them everything we've got. I'm waiting to hear back from them.”

“What about the authorities in Colombia or Cuba?”

“Diplomatic relations between the US and Cuba are still sketchy at best. So far I'm not getting dick from the Colombian authorities.”

“So, why are you telling me all this?”

Toliver exhaled deeply. “As much as I hate to admit it, you were right. I need you to stay on this. It's too dicey to bring anybody else in. We're moving Jamilah Solomon out of the hospital and into an undisclosed safe house. Rivera's got to be getting pretty antsy right about now. Stay close to Alex Solomon. If that baby is still alive the best chance we have for getting her back is for them to try to contact her again.”

John scooped up the file. “Thanks, Chief.”

“John, I'm disappointed that you felt you couldn't confide in me. I'm going to bat for you on this. I need you to trust me from here on out, whatever happens; understand?”

John lowered his gaze and nodded affirmatively.

The US Customs officer closely examined the declaration form and inspected the passport photo as he took note of the towheaded man in the dark blue pinstriped tailored Versace suit. This was a familiar process that the swarthy Xander Rivers had all but memorized. Simple detailed facts: name, birth date, street address, country of residence, countries visited, and what if anything you were declaring. He didn't even break a sweat knowing that his papers would be found in order and there was no reason for anyone to suspect otherwise.

With one last glaring eye and nothing that remotely resembled a smile the customs officer waved Rivera through. He donned his sunglasses and sauntered arrogantly past security. In a matter of minutes he'd made his way through the Los Angeles International Airport concourse to a waiting Town Car. The driver helped with the one bag he carried and he stepped inside to find Harley Donovan. He smiled warmly. They embraced and Xavier pulled him into a kiss.

“I've missed you,
querido.
”

“God, I've missed you too. And I'm glad I can finally drop this
Hee Haw
act.”

“An Oscar-worthy performance to be sure. And no one, not even the intrepid Inspector Chase, was the wiser.”

They kissed again, more passionately than before.

“I'm glad you came,” Donovan continued.

“I had to, didn't I? You and that daughter of mine were making it difficult for me to maintain my distance.” Rivera reclined in the plush leather seat as the car motored away from the terminal. “This is taking much longer than I anticipated. But, I must say I am enjoying the risks.”

“I didn't expect John Chase to become so uncontrollable.”

“Indeed,
Señor
Chase has become quite the fly in the proverbial ointment, hasn't he? I suppose he's not completely to blame in all of this. The beguiling
tentadora
need only to bat her lashes to have a man fall at her feet in service.”

“Not every man.” Donovan leered.

Xavier kissed his hand and smiled. “Have our other plans been solidified?”

Donovan pulled papers from his jacket pocket and passed them to Xavier. “We'll drive across the border into Mexico. The documents we need will be waiting. From there we'll fly on to Argentina.”

“Excellent.” Xavier brushed his fingers over Donovan's lips. “You look tired,
querido.
How are you feeling?”

“I got the shoulder taken care of. It looks a lot worse than it actually is. Good thing I'm left-handed.”

“It's too bad you didn't eliminate Lorraine Chase when you had the opportunity.”

“She isn't the one John loves . . . not really.”

Xavier pulled Donovan into another kiss. “Love is indeed a powerful motivator, is it not?”

“Yes, it is.”

“No matter, we have the child. And I trust the next time Inspector Chase gets in your way he won't walk away unscathed.”

“You can count on it.”

“Welcome back to the Four Seasons,
Señor
Rivers. Will you be staying with us for a while this trip?”

“Thank you, Scott. It all depends on how quickly I can wrap up my business and tie up loose ends.”

Xavier slipped the concierge a one hundred dollar bill, winked, and breezed on to the elevator with Donovan in tow. They rode to the twelfth floor where they found Pilar waiting for them in the suite.

“
Papá.
”

“
Mi hija.
” He smiled. They embraced. Xavier let Pilar go and turned to retrieve a cognac that Donovan poured for him. He unbuttoned his jacket and eased down on a plush chenille sofa facing them and slowly sipped. “Where is the child?”

“Sleeping in the next room,” Pilar answered.

“Well, it seems that we have a lot of cleaning up to do, don't we?”

Pilar and Donovan eyed one another.

“I had hoped that all the planning I did would have produced better results by now. I suppose I could walk away, simply disappear, but I do have a reputation to salvage, don't I? Pilar,
quiero que llames a nuestro pequeño problema.
Use pictures of the little one to get her attention.
Querido,
you will reach out to your friend the inspector, but first you will see to the matter that we discussed on the way here. Once the two are separated I will take it from there. I want to be able to look into the eyes of Alexandra Solomon when I do.”

Outside the Reardons' home everything appeared normal. Nestled among the other affluent homes on Hillcrest Avenue it was the safest place that John felt his family should be until Harley Donovan was apprehended.

Lorraine knocked on John Michael's bedroom door. He didn't answer. She opened it to find him lying in bed on his back tossing a basketball into the air.

“Sweetie, do you think you should be doing that? You just got your cast off.”

He didn't respond.

“We're all downstairs about to have lunch.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“So, he can speak.” Lorraine stepped into the room and sat on the bed next to him. “Are you feeling okay? Is your arm hurting?”

“No.”

She reached out to feel his forehead.

He pulled away and turned over. “I'm not sick.”

“What's wrong?”

“I'm sick of bein' in this house. I wanna go outside and play.”

Lorraine threw her head back and sighed. “Honey, we talked about this. I thought we agreed that you and Chloe are better off staying inside for now.”

“Please, Mom. Can I please go outside for a while?”

“I'm sorry, John Michael. Until we hear from your father you're not going to be able to, that's just how it has to be.”

“Why can't you tell me what's goin' on? Why is that cop hangin' around? I heard you and Grandma Maddie whispering about him. I know he's not really one of Grandpa's friends.”

“Your dad . . . your dad just wants us to be safe.”

“From what?”

Lorraine didn't answer.

John Michael pressed on. “Dad's never comin' home, is he?”

Lorraine was doing all she could to shield her children from the potential danger they could all be in given what she'd just been through. John Michael was having none of it. He sat up and tossed the ball across the room. It hit the wall with a hard thud, barely missing a window.

“John Michael, you know better than that.”

“I hate being stuck in the house. I wanna go outside.”

“I said no.”

“It's not fair,” he pouted.

Lorraine furiously rubbed her temples. “I know you can't fully understand why we have to do what we have to do right now, but I promise you that things will get back to normal soon.”

“When? How long are we gonna have to stay here?”

“Let's just give it a few more days, all right?” She stood up and walked back toward the door. “Are you coming? We're having tacos. I know how much you like them.”

John Michael turned away from her and crossed his arms in protest.

“Okay. If you get hungry we'll be downstairs.”

As soon as Lorraine was out of the room John Michael dashed to the window and slowly raised it. He straddled the windowsill and carefully scaled the lattice attached to the house. It was something he'd done before when he and his sister were left in the care of their grandparents and hadn't been caught. Once he reached the ground he looked around to see if he'd been spotted, and took off up the street, where he hoped to find his friends playing basketball. When he rounded the corner at the end of the block he was disheartened to find that none of them were there. He decided that he'd go to one of their houses just as a dark sedan pulled up to the curb and the tinted window rolled down.

John Michael's face lit up when he saw who the driver was. “Uncle Donny!”

“Hey, buddy. I just circled the block hopin' to see you. This must be my lucky day.”

 

 

Alex was agitated pacing the floor of the hotel room, waiting for John. It seemed to be the only thing she did of late. Her fate, her choices, her decisions all taken from her and it made her crazy. It didn't help that she was in the throes of PMS: swelling, wild cravings for sex and food, irritability, crying jags, and the ever-attractive constipation. This was not the time or place for nature to conspire against her as well as everything else.

She had just spoken to Jamilah, and it at least made her feel better to know that Milton Toliver had taken her out of the hospital and she was being kept in a place she was sure that Xavier Rivera wouldn't dare try to get at. But, he was still out there . . . with Cerena.

Staring at her cell phone her mind raced again to the unthinkable: what would happen to her baby if she died? She scrolled through the contents of the phone and located Tirrell Ellis's number that she managed to commandeer before her old phone was confiscated. She configured the cell phone so she wouldn't be identified, and dialed, not knowing what she would say if he answered.

“Hello.”

Immediate tears flooded her eyes at the sound of his voice. Her breathing intensified. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Hello.”

She ended the call, tossed her phone on the bed, and decided to take another shower. While in the bathroom her cell phone rang. After several minutes she emerged to discover that a picture message of Cerena had been sent. “She's still alive.” Her cell phone rang again, giving her a start. “John?”

“Guess again.”

Alex hesitated. “Is this . . . Pilar?”

“I see you know who I am. I assume you received the picture I sent?”

“Where is my baby? Is she all right?”

“For now.”

“If you hurt her, I swear—”

“You really aren't in any position to make threats. But, if you want to see your daughter alive again you will do exactly what you are told.”

Alex could hear Cerena's cries in the background. Her heart broke. “What do you want me to do?”

“Are you familiar with the Santa Monica Pier?”

“I know where it is.”

“Are you close?”

“Close enough.”

“You will need to come to the south end of the boardwalk in an hour, and you will need to come alone.”

“How will I find you?”

“I'll find you.”

“Will you have my baby with you?”

“We have eyes everywhere. I will know once you arrive at the promenade. If you are not alone, or if the police or John Chase are with you, you will never see the child again.
¿Entiendes?”

“Yes.”

“One more thing for you to keep in mind,
chica,
if you do not come alone you will not only put your own child in jeopardy; Inspector Chase's children will be in danger as well.”

When the call ended Alex rummaged through papers on the desk and found the photograph of Pilar. She then grabbed a pair of jeans from her bag and became increasingly frustrated pulling at the fastener and trying to zip them up. She threw on one of John's T-shirts, his windbreaker, and the cap she'd disguised herself with to get in to see her mother. She grabbed a pair of sneakers, pulled her .380 from under her pillow, and headed for the door. Just as she opened it she was alarmed to find John there.

“Where are you going?”

“I don't know. I got to get out of here.”

John nudged her back inside the room. Undaunted, Alex pushed her way back toward the door.

“Alex, what is it?”

“What the hell do you mean, what is it? I've been cooped up in this damn hotel room for days. I need to get some air, John. I need to . . . to find . . . I need to . . .”

John held up his hands to her. “Slow down, okay? I know how hard this has been on you, but I can't let you go out there on your own like this. Look, I got a couple of calls from Lorraine and I need to go check on my kids, but when I get back we can go down to the pier, grab some food, and take a long walk.”

“Aren't you afraid somebody will see me?”

“No more so than you going out there by yourself.”

“John, I—”

John's cell phone rang. “Lorraine?”

She was hysterical. “John Michael is gone.”

“What?”

“He snuck out of the house. He was in his room and he wanted to go outside to play. I told him no. When I went back to check on him he was gone.”

“How the hell did he get out?”

“He went out the window. We've looked everywhere. I checked with the neighbors and nobody saw him. He's gone, John. Somebody took him. It had to be Donovan.”

“Where is Officer Malone?”

“He's still out looking for him. John, what are we going to do?”

“Lorraine, just calm down.”

“Calm down! Our son is out there God knows where and you're telling me to calm down! You need to find him, John! No one else in the world should be more important than that, and if you think they are then you're not the man I thought you were.”

“Lor . . . Hello . . . Hello . . . Shit,” John spat.

“What's wrong?” Alex asked.

“John Michael's gone. He could be . . .”

“No,” Alex gasped.

John fought the tears that were welling up. “Let's go. You're coming with me.”

“What?”

“I'm not leaving you here, Alex.”

“Lorraine will go ballistic if she sees me with you. I don't want to make this any harder for you than I already have. I can't go. Not for this. This is your family. You have to go. I'll be all right.” Alex presented the .380 for emphasis. “I'll be all right.”

Tacit emotions raged. Alex too resisted the urge to cry. “Go get your son.”

Enough was enough. Alex thought as she considered the trap she might be walking into as John bolted from the room. She had to give her life for Cerena's; it was the only way to end this. Now more than ever she was keenly aware that she also needed to give something back to the man who'd sacrificed his own family for hers. She rushed to the window and watched him tear out of the parking lot.

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, she harkened back to the woman she was before any of this happened; the less-fearful Alexandra Solomon checked her gun, composed herself, and prepared to march further into hell and give the devil his due.