Seduced by Sunday (33 page)

Weakness, Alonzo despised weakness.

Yet his hands shook as he answered the phone. There were only two men who sickened him, and the one calling him now had a thick Latino accent and enough money and power to wipe the planet free of everyone Alonzo knew.

“Señor Diaz. How nice of you to call.”

“Is it?”

Alonzo’s head started to heat and sweat formed on his brow. “I was going to contact you today.”

The deep-throated laugh of the man on the other side of the line made Alonzo squirm. “Why do I not believe you? My shipment, Picano. Where is it?”

“Safe.” But that wasn’t what Diaz wanted to hear. “I’m arranging transport.”

“I have heard this before.” There was no laughter in the man’s voice now. “You have twelve hours. From then on, a series of unfortunate events will begin and continue on the hour until I have what I need. Do you understand, Picano?”

Alonzo bit back bile. “I-I need more time.”

“Eleven hours and fifty-five minutes.” Without another word, Diaz hung up.

Meg took Val’s position at his phone in his office while he met Rick on the dock. Because Stephan was the man behind the bow of the charter and none of them wanted to tip the man off, Val insisted on greeting his new guests.

Val observed the charter with different eyes. It was larger than most passenger charters. There were times that the ship had been used to pick up last-minute supplies, so there was a loading ramp on the port side. Today, the ramp was elevated, the passengers hung off the side, getting their first glimpses of the island.

The charter arrived like it always did. Three parties departed the craft and Val’s staff stood by to deliver the newcomers to the island. Val greeted them by name with Rick last.

Acting unaffected by Rick’s presence, Val left him with one of his staff and stepped onto the charter for a brief moment with Stephan.

With hands in his pockets to avoid wrapping his fingers around the captain’s neck to squeeze any information out of the man, Val forced a smile as he moved on deck. “Captain Léger,” Val called the man’s attention his way.

A smile followed a brief look of confusion. “Mr. Masini, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Acting as a confidant, and not an adversary, Val nodded away from the other staff. “A moment, Captain.”

Léger offered an instruction to one of his mates and joined Val at the bow of the craft. “How can I help you?”

Val kept a low voice. “Seems we have had yet another security breach.”

Concern passed the captain’s face. “What kind of breach?”

Val waved a hand in the air. “Nothing from your end, I don’t think. I want to keep it silent, but want you aware of my concern for stowaways.”

“Not on my end, I assure you.”

Val forced a hand from his pocket and patted Léger on the back. “Just keep your eyes open. Report to me directly if you see anything suspicious.”

“Of course.”

Val stepped off the charter as other passengers from the island stepped on.

Rick was already out of eyesight.

Val found Lou and Rick in the warehouse. Adam walked them around and pointed out the space designed to accept food and beverages that needed to be kept cool.

“Who delivers the wine?” Rick was asking when Val walked up to the group of men.

Adam told him the name of the company in charge of delivering the wine. “Mr. Picano himself will often bring in cases. But the crates started to come in between his personal deliveries. We have quite the stockpile.”

Rick removed his phone and sent off a text. “How long does it sit in the warehouse?”

“As little as possible.”

The four of them followed Adam as he led them to the wine vault. An entire ten-by-twenty-foot space was stacked with Picano’s label.

Val knew the system of taking deliveries, but hadn’t realized that Alonzo’s wine had started to arrive in such large quantities.

Rick shrugged off his coat, even though the vault was just below fifty degrees. “This is going to take some time.”

Val narrowed his eyes. “What is going to take time?”

Rick pointed to the pallets. “We’re opening every crate.”

Lou took a box cutter and started slicing into the plastic wrap that sealed in the crates of wine.

“What do you hope to find?” Val asked.

“Answers.”

Without anything else to do, Val removed his jacket and pulled off his tie. “Adam, bring in a pallet to transfer what we’ve already gone through. Don’t mention what we’re doing to anyone in passing.”

“Yes, sir.”

An hour and a half later, they were on the last pallet, each crate was opened, the wine and packing removed, then placed back in to return to the stacked pile. They worked in silence, each crate a disappointment as they found nothing but mislabeled wine.

The hour grew near when Val needed to go to his office and make the call to the authorities about his missing sister. The last text from Meg stated that the phone had yet to ring.

Val yanked open one of the last crates and carelessly removed every bottle. One broke but he kept digging through the box, removing the straw as he went. When all he found was a wooden end to the dig, he lifted the empty crate in both hands and yelled at the object, “Nothing. We have nothing.” He hurled it at the crates they’d already gone through and watched it splinter. “Damn it!” He closed his eyes in frustration, pushed his palm into his forehead to ease the pounding.

Gabi is out there, suffering, and I have nothing.

“Holy shit!” Rick said in a low, rumbling roar.

“What?” Val turned away from the mess he’d made to find Rick and Lou staring at the broken crate.

He swiveled and stared.

The crate had taken the force on the bottom. The wooden box had a deep pocket between the bottom of the bottles and the actual base of the crate. In between was a space not larger than an inch. But that inch held something other than air.

The three of them approached the broken crate.

Rick reached it first and lifted a hammer they’d used to open the boxes to pry the unbroken wood away. The box shattered and displayed a false bottom. In it was a tightly bound substance. Using a pocketknife, Rick poked into the wrap and removed something black. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. “Jesus.”

“What is it?”

“I need a test kit to be sure . . .”

“What do you
think
it is?” Val asked.

Lou answered, “Heroin . . . in its early stage.”

The image of Gabi holding out her arm for a needle smothered Val.

Lou and Rick sprang into action. They moved to different pallets, removed a random crate, ripped open lids, dumped the wine, stuffing, and anything inside into a garbage bin, then smashed the boxes to find more of the same.

“Looks like we found out why Picano is giving away his wine.”

The three of them looked at all the pallets. “Someone is going to want this back,” Lou said. “There’s enough here to kill for.”

“Drug lord quantities if you ask me,” Rick added.

“Gabi,” Val whispered.

Rick rested his hand on Val’s shoulder. “As long as we have this, he’ll keep her alive. It’s his only real leverage.”

Val grabbed those words and pulled them deep inside. He couldn’t lose hope, not now . . . not when they were close to all the answers.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

After hours of staring at Val’s phone and willing it to ring, when Meg’s phone buzzed, she jumped. Without looking at the screen, she answered, fully intending to blow off whoever it was to pine by a phone that wasn’t ringing. “Yeah,” she answered . . . short and clipped.

There was a pause, a little static, then laughter.

“Hello?”

When her greeting met with silence, she pulled the phone away from her ear and glanced at the screen.
Number unknown.

Meg heard a moan . . . a female moan. “Gabi?” The skin on Meg’s arms prickled and her heart thumped in her chest.

The weak voice was impossible to hear. “M-Meg?”

On the landline for Val’s phone, there was a device ready to record, but not on Meg’s cell. She had no recourse to trace or record. All she could do was talk. “Gabi, dear God. Are you OK?”

“It hurts, Meg. He won’t make it stop.” Gabi’s voice cracked and she started to weep.

“Where are you?”

“Please . . .” There was a shifting of the phone and Gabi’s voice drifted farther away. “Please, Alonzo. I need it.”

“Gabi, where are you?” Meg heard the frantic tone of her own voice.

“Yes . . . yes . . .” Gabi’s tone shifted from crazed to relief.

“No!” Meg yelled into the phone. “Don’t, Gabi. It’s poison. Stop it!” She was screaming now. “You bastard. Stop!”

Gabi was still there, in the distance. “Thank you . . .” She repeated the words over and over.

“You sick bastard. Pick up the phone you ball-less prick.”

Carol ran into Val’s office with one of the security team right behind her. Meg lifted a hand, noticed how much it shook. “What do you want? I know you’re still there.”

Meg turned away from Val’s employees and plugged her open ear.

Alonzo’s voice was stone cold, his words held a threat. “Step out onto the veranda, Miss Rosenthal.”

Wasting little time, Meg ran to the French doors of Val’s outdoor office space. She stayed to the shadows, in case someone was close enough to take target practice. “Where is Gabi?”

He paused. “Red suits you.”

Meg looked at her red silk shirt, then stepped a little farther outside. The ocean was steps away, but free of any large vessels. A few sailboats drifted a good mile from the shore, but she couldn’t rule out if Alonzo and Gabi were on board one.

People were gathering behind her and talking, rushing around. Meg ignored all of them and kept the monster holding Gabi hostage talking. “I think an orange jumpsuit will work fine with your complexion.”

“Tsk, Miss Rosenthal. No need to be hostile. Tell your boyfriend I need my shipments onto his charter within the hour.”

“Shipments, what are you talking about?”
The wine? Was he talking about his stupid wine?

“You don’t have the right to ask questions. One hour. You will accompany the captain when he leaves.”

“So you can hold two of us hostage? I don’t think so.”

The phone shifted again. “What’s that, sweetheart . . . you want more? Anything for my bride.”

“Stop! You’ll kill her.”

Behind Meg, someone gasped.

“Why would I kill my wife? She’s much more valuable to me alive than dead.”

Wife? Bride?

“One hour, Miss Rosenthal. I have eyes everywhere on Masini’s pathetic attempt at a private island. You and you alone with my shipments. Or poor Gabriella will have an unfortunate accident. I don’t think she can tread water for long in her current state.”

“You’re sick,” Meg cried.

A hand grasped Meg’s shoulder. She turned to find Val staring at her.

“One hour.”

Val yanked the phone from her hand, a string of Italian spewed from his lips, his eyes narrowed as he repeated Alonzo’s name. He drew short of throwing the phone against the wall and pulled Meg close.

“She’s alive,” Meg said with a whimper.
Barely.

“You spoke with her?”

Meg nodded, looked beyond Val to the employees who had gathered. “Make them all leave,” she whispered.

Rick pushed through as Val dispersed the crowd.

When only the three of them were left, she told them about the call, about Gabi. “Alonzo said his shipments need to be on your charter within the hour. What shipments? Is he talking about the wine?”

Val and Rick exchanged glances.

“What?”

“Heroin, raw heroin is lining the crates,” Rick informed her.

“Drugs? Seriously? Alonzo is running drugs?” Meg asked.

“Afraid so.”

“Well, he wants them back. If we don’t start moving that wine onto your boat, someone is going to clue him in. Gabi didn’t sound like she could take another hit without it killing her.” Meg stood and started for the door.

“Wait, we need a plan. Following Alonzo’s orders is playing into his hands.”

“He had me step outside and proceeded to tell me the color of my shirt. Either the man can see us or has someone close by watching for him. Come up with a plan as we pack your charter with wine. We’re already ten minutes into the hour.”