Tourist Trapped (10 page)

THIRTEEN

Saturday December 12, Morning

“You? In Cancun?”
Chad’s sister, Kate Dalton, squealed through the phone.

Chad cringed. He knew the call would open up a can of wriggling, tequila-swilling worms. “Yes, I’m in Cancun.” He leaned over the balcony railing. “It’s surreal—like I’ve stepped into one of those tropical paradise photos.” A smattering of early risers ambled around the pool area, selecting choice locations for a day in the sun. They sprawled out on lounge chairs and paged through books or slathered on sunscreen. Their biggest worry? Deciding between a Bahama Mama and a Mai Tai.

“This is my little brother, right? The one who’s done nothing except chase his family around the continental United States for the last five years? What in the world took you to Cancun?”

“Amanda.”

“You’re in Mexico with your boss? Is it serious—of course it is if you’re frolicking in the Yucatán with her. When did you two start seeing each other?”

And my meddling sister wonders why I don’t call more often
. “No, no—it’s nothing like that. Amanda’s sister’s been kidnapped and I’m helping with the search.”

“With all of the law firms in Chicago, and all of the attorneys, you would work for the one with an abducted family member,” Kate said.

“Yeah, evidently my luck hasn’t changed.” A bird resembling a large starling alit on the end of the balcony railing and started his exotic song. Something so beautiful from something so ordinary.

“Is the rest of her family there, too?”

“It’s just the two of us. Her dad’s having problems finding his passport.”

“Amanda must really rely on you, to ask you to fly down with her.”

“Yeah, well, she wanted to continue our work on a case, so I was the logical choice—but that’s not why I called. Since I’m out of the country and Vince is still in the Northwest, I’d hoped you could check in with him every few days.” He caught sight of Amanda walking toward the beach. The ruby red swimsuit and matching sarong did nothing to hide her figure. Chad did a double take.

“Of course Peter and I can do that. Um, if you’re back from Quintana Roo in time, are you coming out to Seattle for Christmas? Mom and Dad will be here and we’d love to have you spend the holiday with us.”

“You would know Cancun’s Mexican state name—is that a professorial requirement?”

“Don’t change the subject. Are you coming?”

“I’ll have to see how we do here in Cancun, and how Vince fares in Wyoming. Maybe.”

“Will you bring Amanda with you?”

“Kate, why would I drag my boss to Seattle for Christmas?”

“If you don’t know, I’m not going to explain it to you.”

* * *

Amanda’s mind quieted
as she propelled herself through the ocean, her physical movements splashing away her thoughts. When she stopped, the worries would rush back, but for a few moments she almost experienced bliss.

Almost.

She rolled over and floated on the waves. The rising sun warmed her face and abdomen while the water cooled her spine and shoulders. A pair of pelicans lazily flapped their wings, soaring above the water in search of breakfast.

The threats and the kidnapping—although she had slept, it had been a restless slumber, her mind roiling like the incessant tide. The bartender’s warning had pierced her family’s sphere of safety, but the ransom note blew it apart, leaving the Sloanes exposed. Vulnerable.

Like a sapling in fertile soil, fear took root. A subtle terror as great as the moment Amanda’s mother shared the news that the breast cancer had metastasized and the chemotherapy had failed. Six months later, after two strokes, one surgery, and weeks of agonizing pain, Elizabeth Sloane surrendered life. Amanda had remained at the cemetery long after the guests had departed, standing by her mother’s grave until the casket disappeared beneath a shower of earth.

The surf smacked against the shore, and Amanda smelled the subtle undertones of seaweed and fish. Her lips tasted of brine.

The water sloshing around her ears muffled the calls of early morning birds. A sensation she imagined paralleled life in the womb. Insulated in an aquatic cocoon, safe from life’s perils and losses. She wished she could telegraph her thoughts to her sister, to tell Rebecca to be strong, to stay safe.

“Amanda?” Cooper stood on the beach, his hand shading his eyes.

The spell broken, she balanced on the shifting sea floor and waded to dry land. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

“I just enjoy walking the beach whenever I can.”

The hotel staff busied themselves preparing the shore for the day’s activities. Two raked the sand and picked up knotted strands of seaweed. Others arranged lounge chairs into orderly rows for the tourists who would soon overtake the halcyon setting.

The uneasy feeling that someone watched them returned. Amanda scanned the beach and pool area. No one met her gaze.
The kidnapping must be getting to me.
She dried herself and tied a floral sarong around her hips. “Can I join you for a stretch up the beach?”

He bowed and extended his palm. “After you.”

They walked in silence, the rhythm of the ocean filling the void. They passed by an adjacent resort, equally as large and elaborate as theirs.

“Cooper, is there any way around paying the ransom? So far we have nothing to go on. Unless the police tell us they’ve come across some new information, we’re at a dead end.”

“Do you think paying the ransom will ensure their safe return?”

“I’d give it a fifty-fifty chance.”

“You’re willing to go with those odds?”

“I’d rather not, but I don’t know we have a choice. The idea of forking over all that money to a bunch of slime balls galls me, too—I’d love to hunt them down and put their asses behind bars.”

They ventured farther down the coast. Seagulls scurried back and forth with the tide, searching for tidbits abandoned by the waves.

“I think you should hold off on the ransom for now. We have another area to investigate.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Their online accounts.”

“Miriam knew their passwords?”

“No, but I can probably figure them out.”

Amanda stopped walking. “What do you think we’ll find?”

He shrugged. “Heck if I know, but it’s worth a look, isn’t it?”

The sun, a pulsating orange orb hovering above the ocean’s edge, warmed the sand and started forming tiny beads of sweat on Amanda’s forehead and back.

“I made a few calls last night,” Cooper said. “My hacker friend is digging up whatever he can find on Command Commodities.”

“Think he’ll unearth something Ian overlooked?”

“Possibly. Art makes a bloodhound look like a slacker.”

They turned back toward “Fiasco Royale.” Feeling the cool, wet sand beneath her feet grounded Amanda, reminding her of simpler days in Cancun. In her career she battled powerful men who tried to intimidate her, but no client had been kidnapped. She felt lost without her playbook—no courtroom, no motions to file, no judge presiding.

Just Cooper and her.

* * *

“Should we tell
him about the death threat as well as the ransom?” Amanda said, while waiting with Cooper for Rodriguez to show up. They sat at his desk, the aroma of tired coffee—java that sat in glass pots too long, growing thick and bitter—hovered about them. Indiscernible murmurs drifted by from a group of officers talking in the corner. Another officer sat a few desks over, shuffling through a file. All of them unconcerned that someone evil stole away her sister.

“I think it would be a good idea,” Cooper said.

One of the officers brought them coffee that smelled fresher than the aroma in the room. The hot, acidic liquid scalded her mouth. She set down the paper cup to avoid burning her fingers.

Cooper checked his phone.

“Anything important?” Amanda asked.

“Not pertaining to Rebecca and Trent.”

“Dad is going to kill me for bringing in the police.”

“This looks to be a criminal activity, and that’s what police do.”

Rodriguez strolled in, wearing a navy polo shirt and tan slacks, his black hair wet. “You have news on the case?”

“Someone called my father’s house in Florida and left a ransom demand.”

The lieutenant’s jaw dropped. “A ransom? Really? Are you sure?”

“Although we’re rather stressed, I think we’re still lucid enough to comprehend the meaning when a voice message commands us to cough up a pile of money in exchange for my sister and her husband.”

“Strange…we don’t see many kidnappings in Cancun. Drug busts, bar fights and obscene behavior in public places are the usual fare here.”

“My dad and his wife don’t want us to involve the police, so please use discretion when talking with them. He’s going to be furious with me.”

“What are the details of the demand?”

“A million dollars by Thursday night—Dad sent me a transcript. What’s your email address?” Amanda said.

Cooper flipped through his notes. “A million in a suitcase deposited in a locker at the downtown bus station by eight o’clock Thursday night. Non-sequential bills in denominations of hundreds or less. Put the locker key in an envelope taped under the last bench in the station.”

Good old Cooper-the-crime-crusader.

The officer whistled. “Wow, that’s a lot of money. Are you going to pay it?”

“As a rule I didn’t think it was a good idea to cave in to ransom demands,” Amanda said.

“We’ll do our best to find Mr. and Mrs. Adams in time.”

“Can’t you bring in the FBI?” Cooper said. “Or the American embassy?”

“We can try. I’ll ask the captain for approval.”

“Have you any leads?” Amanda said.

“No, nothing. We stopped at the hotel yesterday and talked to the staff, but they didn’t give us anything more to go on. Today a team is heading to Isla Mujeres.”

“Speaking of the island, we had a rather bizarre encounter yesterday. At a beachside bar,” Amanda said.

“On Isla Mujeres…did it have anything to do with a crazy bartender at Buho’s?” Rodriguez asked.

“Yes…” Cooper said.

The policeman threw back his head and laughed. “What did Sergio Martinez do to you?”

“We showed him a picture of Trent and he told us asking questions would be dangerous.”

Rodriguez looked down and shook his head. “What a character. He’s famous for toying with tourists. How many drinks did you have?”

“We were on our first one,” Cooper said.

“Usually he waits until you’re two sheets under the wind and then pulls some trick. In your case, the opportunity must have appeared to him sooner. Don’t worry about it.”

“So it’s not a lead,” Amanda said.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

Although she should have felt relieved, a tinge of disappointment swirled in her gut. At least it would have been something the police could pursue. She sighed. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea to consider paying the ransom.”

“What?” Cooper said.

“I’m not saying Dad should give them the money, but we need to keep it as a viable option. If we’re backed into a corner without any leads, it may be the one way we get Rebecca and Trent back. And so far, we have nothing except a warning that they’ll kill my sister.”

Cooper’s head shook so fast it reminded Amanda of clearing an Etch-A-Sketch. “If we don’t have any leads on Thursday afternoon, giving them the money won’t guarantee Rebecca and Trent’s return. And there are avenues we haven’t researched.”

“Señora Sloane, we’ll put our best people on the kidnapping, but I think you should go with your instinct and prepare to pay the ransom.”

“And I don’t think you should.”

* * *

Chad searched the
Adams’ laptop for a password file while Amanda hunted for online accounts. The activity distracted him from annoyance spawned out of the conversation at the police station. For a woman who wanted everyone to think she had it together, Amanda’s flip-flopping on the ransom gave him whiplash. He reminded himself that the missing woman was her sibling, and whether or not she wanted to admit it, Rebecca mattered to Amanda.

He also didn’t buy the “crazy bartender” story. That guy had turned dead serious. If that was an act, Martinez should try out for Broadway.

“I’ve found Rebecca on Facebook,” Amanda yelled from his balcony. He didn’t know how she saw anything with the sun beating down on her computer screen, but she insisted that the rhythm of the tide helped her concentrate.

He hunkered down on the loveseat, bending over to reach the laptop on the coffee table. Not exactly the ultimate working environment, but the view made up for it. Even from the sitting area, he beheld the turquoise blue of the ocean. Poolside laughter and music resonated through the room. Their fellow resort guests enjoyed another beautiful day in paradise, while Amanda and Chad wondered if Rebecca and Trent still breathed.

He figured out the laptop’s password in minutes: “trent&becky.” Once in, he scanned for small files. Most of the data on the hard drive consisted of pictures. It looked like a personal workstation; Chad didn’t find any business documents.

“I broke into her Facebook page. Her password’s ‘TrentAdams.’ I’ll dig around.”

Great, I’ve corrupted Amanda Sloane.
“Look for anything to do with Cancun or conversations with someone that started recently.”

A text file titled “French Connection” looked promising. He opened it. Bingo. A plethora of IDs and passwords illuminated the screen. Chad found one for a Gmail account and logged in, but found little more than obscene jokes and political propaganda.

“Any luck?” Amanda padded in and pulled a water from the mini-fridge.

“I’m in Trent’s email, but there’s barely any correspondence.”

“Maybe he uses his business account more than the personal one.”

“Could be.” Chad scoured through the list of IDs and zeroed in on one with a “Y” next to it. “Does our Mr. Adams have a Yahoo mail account, too?” He brought up the Web page and logged in. A more interesting accumulation of correspondence appeared on the monitor.

“What’s this one?” Amanda pointed at a message labeled “Fishing Charter.”