Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Navy SEAL Newlywed\The Guardian\Security Breach (35 page)

“All right.” Graham nodded. “Carmen, you go with them. Keep me posted about whatever you find.”

Michael pulled out his keys. “Come on,” he said.

They piled into the Cruiser, Carmen in the front with Michael, Randall and Lotte in the back. Carmen rolled down her window and leaned out. “It should be pretty easy to follow the tracks through here,” she said.

“He must have some kind of hideout,” Randall said. “Either that, or he knows a shortcut back to the main road.”

“Get the map from the console and tell me if you see any likely hiding places,” Michael said. He hunched over the steering wheel, following the faint depressions made by the vehicle's tires across the prairie. He wanted to tear out across the empty expanse, but the rocky ground forced him to reduce his speed to scarcely above a crawl.

The stiff paper of the map crackled as Randall spread it out. “There's half a dozen side canyons branching off from the main gorge in this direction,” he said. “Careful you don't drive us into one.”

“Do you see any place that would make a good hideout?” Michael asked.

“Dozens of places,” Randall said. “There's the canyons, old buildings left from the days when this was a ranch. And he could pull a trailer in anywhere. No roads, though, so he's probably not headed to town.”

“Just keep following the tracks,” Carmen said. She leaned forward, squinting out the windshield. “And keep your speed down, so you don't kick up dust. We don't want him to know we're tailing him.”

“He's far enough ahead he can't see our dust,” Michael said, but he forced himself to ease off the accelerator.

He guided the Cruiser along a dry creek bed, around an outcropping of rock. The remains of an old corral appeared on their left, ancient fence posts sticking up from the eroded land like broken teeth. “The map indicates some old ranch buildings around here,” Randall said. “Keep an eye out for vehicles.”

“I see something.” Carmen grabbed his wrist and he braked to a halt. She pointed to the ruins of an old log cabin. “There's a car parked there.”

He peered closer and could make out the front bumper and headlights of a vehicle. “Looks like an older Jeep,” Randall said.

“Let's get out and take a look.” He backed up and parked the Cruiser in the shadow of the outcropping they'd just passed, out of sight of the old Jeep. Michael looked through the gap between the boulders out on what must have been an old bunkhouse or line shack, the roof caved in, glassless windows showing grass and piñons growing up from the dirt floor. The vehicle, an older Jeep Cherokee, had been parked against the remains of a log wall, partially hidden from view.

He settled into position behind the right-hand boulder and took a pair of binoculars from the pack.

“See anything?” Randall asked.

“Just the Jeep. It wasn't one of the vehicles Abby and I saw at the camp. Maybe it's been parked there awhile. It doesn't look as though anything but coyotes have been out here for years.”

“The maps designate the ruins as a historical structure,” Randall said. “Part of the ranch that operated here before the park.”

“Doesn't the park date back to the thirties?” Carmen asked.

“Something like that,” Randall said. “Amazing how long things last in this dry air.” He snapped the leash on Lotte. “She'll tell us if anyone's been here recently, and where they've gone.”

Moving quickly and quietly, they shouldered day packs, and Michael picked up the assault rifle he'd removed from the gun safe at headquarters that morning. The memory of that first day Abby had walked into headquarters, when they'd been pinned down by that sniper, still burned fresh. He could still recall the feel of her body beneath his, and the fierce protectiveness he'd felt for her even then. Multiply that anxiety by twenty now.

They approached the Jeep from an angle, spreading out and putting Lotte in front. The dog remained relaxed, tail up, ears erect, nose alert. “She'd tell us if anyone was around,” Randall said. “Whoever parked there is long gone.”

“Not too long.” Michael pressed his palm against the hood of the vehicle and felt the heat of the engine.

Carmen dropped to one knee at the front of the Jeep. “The pattern on the tires looks the same as the ones we've been following,” she said.

He scrutinized the landscape around them, alert for any sign that someone was near. But he didn't have the sense that anyone was watching. A hot wind buffeted them, bringing the scents of sage and piñon. The only sounds were the scrape of their boots on rock and the occasional creak of a pack strap or the clink of the rifle stock against the pack. Whoever had driven this Jeep seemed to have disappeared.

He pulled a pair of thin latex gloves from his pocket and slipped them on, then carefully opened the driver's door. The brown cloth seats were worn, a rip in the back repaired with duct tape. The cup holder was empty, as was the center console and the glove box. No dust collected on the dash. “It looks like they wiped it clean,” he said. “But we'll get someone to check for prints anyway.”

He moved to the backseat. More of the same. He might have been looking at a used car for sale on a dealer's lot. He started to close the door when the glint of something on the floorboard caught his attention. He bent to get a closer look and his heart stopped beating for a moment. Carefully, he reached down and picked up the little ceramic figure of a brown-and-white rabbit.

“What have you got there?” Carmen came to stand beside him.

“It's Abby's,” he said. “She was here.” He folded his hand around the good-luck charm and looked at the seemingly empty prairie around them. A few hundred yards away, the ground fell away, into yet another canyon. Abby had been here, maybe only moments before. But where was she now?

Chapter Sixteen

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Raul Meredes motioned to the chair across from the sofa in the little cabin.

“I can't be comfortable with my hands tied like this,” Abby said. She'd never be comfortable as long as she was held prisoner here, but she saw no sense in pointing that out to a man whose whole livelihood revolved around imprisoning people against their will.

In answer, he reached into the pocket of his neatly pressed jeans and pulled out a large knife. He pressed a button and a blade sprang out, sharp and gleaming. Abby shrank from it and he laughed, then grabbed her shoulder and turned her around.

Having her hands free again felt wonderful, then it felt awful, as blood flow returned and with it sharp pains like needles, up and down her arms. She massaged her forearms and wrists and looked at Mariposa, who had watched the exchange without a word. The other woman turned away, her attention on the kettle on the stove.

“Sit,” Meredes ordered, and Abby did so, perched on the edge of the chair as if poised to run at the first opportunity. But she had nowhere to run, with the deep canyon on one side of the cabin and guards all around it. She wanted to ask what he intended to do with her—but she wasn't sure she really wanted to know the answer to that question, or that Meredes would tell her the truth.

She focused again on Mariposa. The stove made the cabin uncomfortably warm, even with the windows open. Standing next to it, Mariposa must be burning up, but she showed no signs of discomfort. She spooned instant coffee into two cups and added boiling water, then took one cup to Meredes. He smiled and caressed her hip, then pinched her bottom. Her expression never changed, though when she turned away, Abby thought she read disgust in the woman's eyes.

Mariposa brought the second cup to Abby.
“Gracias,”
Abby said. She sipped the brew to be polite, though she wasn't a fan of instant coffee; this concoction tasted particularly nasty.

“What happened to your face?”

The question startled her, both because she hadn't expected El Jefe to talk to her, and because most people—most adults anyway—were too polite to ask about her scar.

“I was injured in the war,” she said.

“You should have plastic surgery to fix it,” he said. “Without the scar, you would be beautiful.”

Her hand tightened on the cup. She wanted to hurl the hot liquid into his face, but she wanted more to keep living, unharmed, so she simply said, “Some things can't be fixed.”

“This is what happens when women try to fight,” he said. “They are too sentimental to make good warriors. And they make the men around them soft.”

She'd heard similar opinions from some of the men she'd served with in the army. But the majority of her fellow soldiers had respected her and trusted her skills and training.

“Do you have other injuries from the war?” he asked.

Everyone she knew who'd fought had injuries, even though many of them weren't visible. “I don't see how it matters to you,” she said.

“I was making conversation. Passing the time.” He looked offended.

She sat back in the chair, determined to appear relaxed, even if she wasn't. “How long do you intend to stay here?” she asked.

“As long as necessary,” he said, which was no answer at all. She was sure he was purposely trying to frustrate her, so she said nothing.

“I will offer to trade you to the Rangers for Angelique,” he said after a moment.

“If Mariposa wants her baby back, she can petition the court to return her to her.” Though Abby wasn't sure how the court would view an illegal immigrant who had willfully handed over her infant to a stranger.

“Why would I waste my time with courts and judges? My way is much faster, and more effective.”

He sounded so sure, but she doubted the Rangers—even Michael—would hand over the child in exchange for her. “Why do you want the baby?” she asked.

He scowled. Clearly, he didn't like being on the receiving end of nosy questions. She braced herself for an angry retort. Instead, he sipped more coffee, then said, “Mariposa is sad without her. I don't like to see her sad.”

Mariposa, bent over something in the sink, hunched her shoulders.

Abby looked back at Meredes. “Are you the baby's father?”

His scowl made deep lines, like gullies, on his sun-damaged face. “Does that surprise you?” he asked. “Do you think a man like me would not value a daughter? One of the things that makes something valuable is rarity. With my wife in Tamaulipas, I have four sons. But I have only one daughter. She will be a great beauty.”

Of course. Beautiful women were the ones who counted. Hadn't she been hearing that all her life?

She stood. “I'll help Mariposa in the kitchen.” Surely he would think that was an appropriate place for a woman.

He made no objection, so she moved to the sink and began drying the cups the other woman washed.
“Gracias,”
Mariposa whispered, her voice barely audible.

Abby had so many questions she wanted to ask:
Why are you with this man? Has he hurt you? Why did you give your baby to me?

But Meredes's looming presence, not to mention the language barrier, prevented them from communicating with anything beyond looks.

As she stacked the dried dishes on the shelf above the counter, she looked for a knife or other weapon. But even if she found one, what good would it do? One knife was no match against Meredes and his guards. She could see one of the men out the kitchen window, pacing back and forth, weapon slung across his chest, a cigarette pinched between his lips.

Michael and the others would be looking for her. The Jeep tracks wouldn't have been too difficult to follow across the prairie, provided they'd discovered them and linked the tracks to her disappearance. Meredes hadn't tried to cover the tracks—maybe because he'd known that once they reached the remote canyon, locating the cabin would be more difficult. A visitor had to be practically on top of the building before it was visible, and the guards would see any intruder long before he'd be aware of them.

If he planned to trade her for the baby, he'd likely arrange some kind of meeting. That would be her best opportunity to escape. Until then, she'd remain alert and bide her time.

The dishes done, Mariposa indicated that Abby should sit once more. Abby reluctantly turned to the chair across from El Jefe. Mariposa started to sit at the table, but El Jefe held out his hand to her.
“Sentarse conmigo,”
he said, and pulled her into his lap.

Abby looked away as he stroked his hand up and down Mariposa's thigh. The other woman looked miserable, but she didn't try to fight him. Maybe she'd learned doing so was futile. And maybe he was only fondling Mariposa because he sensed it made Abby uncomfortable. She assumed a disinterested expression and tried to think of some way to distract him.

“Did Richard Prentice supply this cabin?” she asked.

His hand stilled and something flickered in his eyes—was it anger, or fear? But he quickly recovered. “I do not know this Richard Prentice,” he said.

“You don't know the largest landholder in the county?”

“Maybe I have heard of him, but I do not know him.”

“You're practically on his land. Maybe you
are
on his land.” She tried to remember the layout of the map Michael had shown her. The park boundary must be near here.

“I am on public land. There is a great deal of public land in Colorado, free for anyone to use. So much of it is empty. No one ever visits. This suits our purposes well.”

“What is your purpose here?” she asked.

His expression transformed to a sneer, but he remained silent.

“What happened to those people we saw at the campground?” she asked. “Who were they? What were they doing?”

“There were no people,” he said. “No campground.”

“But I saw them. There were four travel trailers and all of these people. You moved them away with trucks.”
And pushed them to the bottom of a ravine.
She swallowed hard, wondering if she dared confront him again with what she knew he'd done.

His eyes met hers, and the look in them made her feel cold in spite of the summer heat. “Senorita, if you know what is good for you, you will accept that you never saw such people,” he said.

* * *

“L
OTTE
TRACKED
A
BBY
right to the edge of the canyon, here.” Michael pointed to the place on the map on the wall of ranger headquarters. “She was there, I'm sure of it.” The frustration of being so close and not being able to reach Abby gnawed at him.

“Meredes must have some kind of hideout nearby, but it's well guarded,” Randall said. He rubbed his shoulder where a fragment of rock had nicked him after the guards started firing. One minute, the three of them and Lotte had been standing on the rim of the canyon, peering down. The next they'd been forced to retreat to the Cruiser. Even Michael had reluctantly agreed they needed reinforcements.

“That's almost at Prentice's boundary.” Graham traced the blue line on the map that marked the edge of park lands.

“
Almost
only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” Randall said.

“Don't tell me a man with ties to a Mexican drug cartel is hiding out that close and Prentice knows nothing about it,” Michael said.

“It's what he'll say,” Simon said. “And we can't prove any different.”

“Then, find me some proof that links him to Meredes,” Graham said.

“What do the workers we pulled from the rubble in that wash say?” Graham asked.

“Simon and I interviewed a couple of the victims at the hospital,” Marco said. “But they're terrified to say much. The man they know as El Jefe promised them work—jobs paying more than they'd been told they could earn working for the farmers or ranchers in the area. When they agreed to do the work, he brought them here and made them prisoners. During the day, they worked growing marijuana. They traveled to and from the grow sites under armed guard. At night they were locked into the trailers and more guards kept watch.”

“They can't tell us where the grow operation is,” Simon said.

“Do you believe them?” Graham asked.

“I do,” Marco said. “It's easy to get turned around out there in the wilderness, and the guards didn't take them over any recognizable roads. They moved around a lot, to avoid detection.”

“What about the woman—Mariposa?” Carmen asked. “Where does she fit in all this?”

“She didn't work in the fields with the others,” Marco said. “She did most of the cooking and cleaning. El Jefe singled her out. She wasn't exactly his girlfriend, but she had special privileges.”

“So he might be the baby's father,” Carmen said.

“We didn't ask about that,” Simon said. “We were more interested in determining how the organization is structured.”

“They all said they had never seen a man who looked like Richard Prentice in their camp,” Marco said. “But they didn't get many visitors of any kind—just El Jefe and the guards.”

“Prentice wouldn't dirty his hands mingling with the workers,” Michael said.

He paced the conference room, unable to sit. Abby had been in or near that canyon, with Meredes, he was sure. She'd definitely been in that Jeep, and left the rabbit behind. Had she accidentally dropped it, or had she left it on purpose for him to find? “We need to go back there, find Meredes and rescue Abby,” he said. “Go in there with everything we've got.”

“We're not going to do that.” If Graham shared Michael's rage toward the Mexican, he didn't show it. “We've got a potential hostage situation. We're going to approach this cautiously and minimize the risk to everyone.”

“But those people are killers.” Saying the word out loud made him shake.

“That's why we won't rush in.”

Graham's calm only increased Michael's agitation.
Get a grip
, he to
ld himself, and walked away, fighting to keep his composure. Everything the captain said made sense. But his emotions where Abby was concerned didn't always respond to logic.

“You got it bad, don't you?” Randall joined him in the corner of the room and spoke softly.

“I care about her.”

“Just don't let it mess with your judgment.”

“My judgment is fine.” But even as he said the words, he wondered. By focusing on Abby, was he losing sight of the bigger picture, the reason he was doing this job in the first place? He wasn't here to protect just one woman, but to make life safer for many people—visitors to the park, the illegal immigrants who fell victim to the drug dealers' scams and the people whose lives could be ruined by the drugs they imported. So much more was at stake than his relationship to one woman.

When had she become so important to him? He couldn't identify a single moment when she'd changed from someone who'd made a strong impression on him in the past to the woman he loved. When she'd walked back into his life that afternoon at ranger headquarters he'd been impressed by her strength and bravery, touched by her compassion, and yes, physically attracted to her. All that had come together for him sometime over the past few days. They'd clicked, and last night at her trailer, he'd been sure she felt the same.

Then he'd blown it by coming on too strong.

A ringing phone shook the tense silence of the room. Carmen answered. “Public Lands Task Force.”

Her expression of calm dissolved into one of agitation. “Just a minute.” She held the phone out to Graham. “It's for you. Raul Meredes.”

Graham took the receiver and punched the button to put the call on speakerphone. “I have something you want.” Meredes's voice, heavily accented but clear and precise, filled the room. “Since you also have something I want, I think we should make a trade.”