The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3) (40 page)

There is such a thing as hell on earth.

I’m living it.

There’s a sound and the once-loud room goes silent.

My heart stops and my body covers in sweat.

The cell phone on the table, hooked up to all the high-tech shit, is ringing and vibrating.

The burner from Milo Bassard’s mouth.

A suspended pause of all action, then everyone starts moving at once. Alan is escorted to the table with Jared and Graham at his sides, rapidly talking. Jena Garret is at the computer across from them.

In the room is near noiseless sound that is deafening.

“Are you ready to do this, Alan?” Graham asks grimly. “No matter what happens, stay with the plan. They’re going to try to fuck with you, get in your head. Don’t let them. Don’t react. Say only what Jena tells you to say. What she types on the screen. Nothing else. We know where Krystal is. But we need more time.”

My eyes flare wide.

They know where she is?

I can’t breathe.

Five days.

Jesus Christ, why didn’t they tell me they located her?

The phone rings and Graham is counting down.

I clutch my hair with my hands until the pain nearly blocks out the fucking phone ringing. It’s like depth charges exploding in my body.

Each ring.

Percussive shock.

Ring.

Goddamn it, answer it.

Alan hits the icon, then speaker, and sits back.

“Yes.”

One word.

No emotion.

“It’s a pleasure to finally talk to you, Alan Manzone,” the digitally altered voice pours from the speakers in the room. “On the phone. A better way than how we communicated before.”

“Fuck you.”

“Interesting reply. You are an interesting man. Not the least of which, four days and I haven’t received your wire. Surely sixty-three million dollars is not an issue for a man like you? Perhaps I was not clear. Twenty-four hours or we kill her. The clock starts now.”

My blood thuds in my veins and is a hum in my ears.

I’m hyperventilating.

There was a ransom demand?

Why didn’t they tell me?

And why didn’t Alan send the money?

“I want proof of life before I do anything,” Alan says coldly.

“We can send you another video,” Alberto mocks as he laughs.

Video? What fucking video?

“Fuck you. That’s proof of nothing except you’re a bastard. Ask my daughter what my security team nicknamed her. Then we talk about an exchange.”

Jared runs his hand across his neck.

Alan hits the button on the phone.

Click.

Everything inside me erupts. I shoot across the room to Jared. “What the fuck are you people doing? You hung up. There was a ransom demand. Why haven’t you paid it?”

Jared looks up from his conversation. “Because we’re not paying it,” he says, annoyed.

“Why the hell not? She’s my wife.” I stare at Alan in disbelief. “You hung up the phone for sixty-three million dollars? That’s nothing to you. She’s your daughter.”

Alan’s face hardens into stone.

“Stand down, Jake. Stay out of it,” Graham Carson orders, his massive hands seizing my shoulders. “There’s a lot going on. A lot of moving parts right now. You stay the fuck out of what we’re doing. Yes, we got a ransom demand. Yes, we didn’t tell you. And yes, we didn’t pay it. There’s no way in hell we’re letting him wire transfer anything. The longer he doesn’t pay, the longer she lives, Jake. That’s how this works.”

Lives?

“What are you saying?”

“Jake, this isn’t a kidnapping,” Dillon says. “It never was. That’s not what’s happening here.”

“Sixty-three million dollars is what Milo Bassard skimmed from Alberto Ramos’s money-laundering enterprise,” Jena Garret explains. “The Ramos Cartel has generated over a billion dollars drug trafficking across the board. They have schools, restaurants, major holdings in Chicago, LA, and New York. NBBC was part of their money-laundering apparatus. And Milo Bassard didn’t borrow money from Alberto Ramos and fail to pay it back. They don’t cut off your head for that. He stole from the cartel, and in their book anyone involved with NBBC is guilty. Even Krystal. This isn’t about money. This is not a kidnapping for ransom. Alan is worth billions. This is about Alberto Ramos’s pride and making an example out of your wife so that no one steals from the cartel again. If Alan pays, they kill Krystal. A quick death instead of a slow death. That’s what paying the ransom buys Alan.”

Oh God, no. My knees feel like they can no longer hold me and I lean on the desk to keep me upright.

Graham Carson puts an arm around me. “We didn’t relocate across the border from Juarez for a hostage exchange. We’re going in and getting Krystal.”

I rake my fingers through my hair. “Why didn’t you tell me? You’ve known about this for days. Why keep me in the dark?”

Dillon’s jaw tightens. “Like you said, she’s your wife. We thought it better to keep you out of the loop if we couldn’t find her. But we know where they’re holding her. In and out of Juarez like ghosts tomorrow thanks to Jena. We’re not waiting any longer. In the morning, we’re going in and rescuing Krystal. We rescue Krystal or none of us come out. Did you want to know that before you had to, Jake?”

No
—I lower my gaze.

“Brayden, take him out of here,” Graham suggests softly. “Take him outside. Anywhere but in here. We’ve got a long night and longer day ahead of us.”

“Come on, Jake,” Brayden says.

Silently we walk out of the command center, down the concrete halls, and out into the red and gray evening sky over El Paso.

For a while, we walk quietly along the fence line. The colors of dawn and sunset are brilliant here. Intense and different than California or anywhere I’ve been. Vivid, like a digital creation rather than something nature did. Nope, doesn’t look real. But then nothing has seemed real since we landed here.

Brayden stops at a metal ladder on the side of a building. “Have you been up here?”

I shake my head. “Haven’t been outdoors in four days.”

His mouth tightens as he nods. He starts climbing up the ladder and I follow him.

The rooftop has been turned into a makeshift lounge. Chairs. Tables. Sparse. Dusty.

Brayden sinks down in a chair and groans as he rubs his eyes before taking two beers from a cheap ice chest. The cap popping makes me jump.

He holds out the bottle to me. “Sit down. Drink. Do anything but think. There’ll be time enough to think after tomorrow. We’re all going to do a lot of that after tomorrow. Right now, don’t think.”

I take the beer and settle in the chair beside him. The sky above Juarez is filled with red lights, like a fireworks show only it’s bullets.

“Have you been to Juarez?”

“No.” Brayden laughs, something other than humor. “But it doesn’t look so different than some of the places we were deployed. Search, rescue, and kill with Graham Carson. He’s the best. Cakewalk. Just another story we’re going to someday tell our children.”

Cakewalk.

I start to shake my head and stop myself. He’s trying to be light. It’s not working.

“I’m sorry, man. About the shit I said. Back in New York. To you. About my wife. Fuck, I’m sorry about all of it.”

He pats me. “I don’t even remember it. You take care of you, buddy. That’s what Krystal would want me to tell you to do.”

It feels like there’s a fucking tire in my throat. Worse, like I’m going to cry again.

“She’s going to be OK. We’re all going to be OK,” he says, but it doesn’t even sound like he believes it himself.

I set down my beer, lean forward on my knees, and watch the bullets fly. That’s where Krystal is. Jesus Christ…

“You have eight hours for some shut-eye before we roll. Get the fuck off my roof.”

Brayden laughs and I turn to find Graham Carson crossing the concrete to a picnic table. He settles his massive frame on a bench, sets down a laptop, opens it, and starts clicking away.

Brayden leans into me and whispers, “Did you know Carson is a fucking spook, Jake?”

I make a face. “Bullshit. Who the hell told you that?”

“No one had to. All this shit was on the roof when we got here and it’s his. None of the boys come up here when he’s here. It’s his fucking place. It wouldn’t be if he hadn’t been here before. And if he’s been here before, he’s a spook.”

“He’s retired military,” I say, smiling, because that nonsense was just to make me laugh or maybe to feel less worried about tomorrow, like what we’re doing isn’t anything new for Graham.

“I’m off for some shut-eye. You should come with me, Jake. You haven’t slept in days.”

“The air feels good, man. I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Don’t stay too long on his fucking roof. Carson will toss you over the side if you do.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

He pats my leg then goes to the ladder and disappears.

I pick up my beer, as something to hold, something to do; I don’t really want it.

Graham’s talking quietly behind me. I take a fast glance over my shoulder. FaceTime with a girl. His daughter? She looks young, maybe nine or ten. I didn’t know he had kids. Doesn’t seem to fit. But neither did dancing with him or finding out he has a husband. Nope, didn’t expect those either.

He laughs and I look again.

Three girls are on the screen all talking at once to him.

Duty, loyalty, service, and family aren’t just words for me.

I stare down at my folded hands. He has a family. Daughters. It feels wrong to listen, but they’ve gotten loud and they’re giving him crap. I halfway laugh. He’s a softy with them.

“Leave me alone,” Graham orders firmly, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t you girls have anything better to do than to bug me when I can’t do anything about it? Stop being pains. Do what your father tells you. I don’t have a lot of time. Put Dad on.”

“Graham?”

Their voices lower as they talk. I can make out the words, but I try not to as I sip my beer. I take a discreet peek over my shoulder because, hell, I’m curious what kind of guy becomes the life partner of a man like Graham.

That must be Leland Jensen. Forties. Blond. Handsome. By how they’re looking at each other, yes, the husband. Whatever they’re talking about is getting to Graham. That hard-nosed expression of his has cracks in it and he’s nodding.

“Everything is going to be fine, Lee,” he says, his voice catching. “This hop is nothing. I’ll be home in two days.”

“You better be home in two days.”

Graham nods.

“I will, babe. This one is nothing. Kiss the girls good night for me, and tell them that their daddy loves them.”

He slaps closed the laptop and makes a couple of quick sniffs. I don’t know if I should say anything so I keep my face forward, eyes locked on the city.

“It never gets easier, kid. The last call home before you go out. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

I turn my head and he’s walking toward me. “I’m sorry. I tried not to listen. I should have probably left the roof when you came up here, but being outside keeps the nerves manageable.”

He sinks down on the chair that was Brayden’s.

“I love my girls. Best thing I ever did. Makes everything I do mean something. Don’t skip on having kids. It’s the best thing in life worth doing.”

I pucker my lips and try not to let memories take shape in my head. “I want a family. Krystal and I…we planned to start one once…” The words are replaced by rapid breaths.

The knives dance through my insides.

Fuck, why did I say that?

I don’t want to lose my shit with Graham Carson.

His arm encircles my shoulder. “It’s OK, son. Use the pain. When we go in for Krystal tomorrow, you use that pain in your gut and you leave it all in Juarez before you go home with her.”

I press my fingertips into my damp eyes.

“Alan doesn’t want you going in with us tomorrow. I told him I wouldn’t stop you. It’s your choice because I’ve been exactly where you’re sitting and I know what you’re feeling. The rage, the hate, the fear, and even you suffocating because you think you failed Krystal. You didn’t, son. This isn’t your fault.”

“This is going to work, isn’t it? You’ve got it all planned out, right?”

“Wouldn’t go into Juarez without having everything nailed down,” Graham says firmly. “We go across the border with Jena and the Feds Trojan-Horse style on their prisoner pickup in Juarez. We peel off. We do our thing at the compound Alberto Ramos is holding Krystal in. We link up with the convoy, and get waved through the border without anyone even knowing we were there. It’s not exactly a new plan. The government sends the contractors into Mexico this way all the time. We’re going to bring Krystal home. You’ve got my word.”

I wish I were as confident as he is.

“You should bunk down, Jake. You need rest. And take some time to think about whether you want to go in with us. We’ll all understand if you don’t. Alan’s gone back to California to wait with Chrissie, but the last thing he said to me before he left was, ‘Graham, anyone who doesn’t want to go, tell them I understand. For those who go, there’s a signed blank check in the envelope for each man. They can fill it out for whatever they want. Open check. Find my daughter and then kill them all.’ I’ve talked to the men. Not a single man took a check from Alan, and not one left. We saw the pictures Alberto Ramos left. We saw the video none of us will ever show you. We all love Krystal, not just you, Jake. Kill them all. Oh yeah—that’s what I intend to do. Alan didn’t need to tell or pay any of us to do that.”

“Krystal”

I shouldn’t have eaten, but I don’t care if I live. Maybe I should’ve forced more into my stomach. Enough so whatever they put in the food will kill me. I’m only numb and groggy, weak and alive in this horrid dark place.

My focus drifts in and out. The quiet whispers of the women float around me. The cage I’m in is pleasantly blurred. I can’t even count in my head.

In and out of the fog drifts Jacob and Manhattan. Don’t think, Krystal. Not even of the good. The other thoughts sneak in, those terrifying, brutal moments in the hotel that ended your life with Jacob.

Men.