Unfortunately, this wasn’t a movie. And his room didn’t even have a balcony. So he had no choice but to take the traditional route and hope for the best.
He could, however, try a ruse.
An obvious one, sure, but simple and effective.
Stepping up to the door, Vargas rapped on it sharply and called out in his best imitation of his aunt Cecilia, a talent he had perfected at the age of nine.
“ Hola. Housekeeping.”
Silence. No sound of movement inside. Nothing.
It was a little late for a maid to be showing up but certainly plausible.
He knocked again. “Housekeeping.?Es cualquier persona casero? ”
Still nothing.
Vargas slipped the key card into the slot, waited for the green light to flash, then grabbed the knob and turned it, pushing the door open just a crack.
“Hola,” he said again. “Housekeeping.”
There was a chance he was overdoing it. He was a lot older than nine now and his falsetto wasn’t what it used to be, but as he stood there, listening to the sounds of the room, he felt pretty confident that he’d pulled it off.
He was also pretty confident that the room was empty.
Sucking in another breath, he pushed the door wide, staring into the darkness. He knew he was silhouetted in the hall light, his ruse now blown, but decided to trust his instincts and continued inside.
He ran his fingers along the wall until he found the light switch.
When he flicked it on, the lamp atop the dresser came to life, throwing dim yellow light across the room, and all the tension drained from his body.
Just as he had suspected, the room was empty.
The queen-size bed was made. The towels he’d thrown on the floor had been cleared away. The dollar tip on the nightstand was gone.
But as he moved deeper into the room, he realized that someone besides the maid had definitely been here. His suitcase lay open on the floor near the bed, half of its contents scattered around it. Shirts. Socks. Underwear.
The stack of notes he’d left on the small, round table near the window was gone. Along with his laptop.
And in their place was a set of keys.
His car keys.
Along with his cell phone.
Vargas stiffened. Took a quick look around the room again, half-expecting someone to step out of the closet with a gun in his hand.
But the room was empty. No surprises waiting.
Letting out a breath, he crossed to the table and started to pick up his keys, flinching slightly when he felt something sticky.
Pulling his hand away, he stared down at his fingers, and what he saw there sent a chill through him.
Blood.
They were covered with blood.
He was contemplating the significance of this when his cell phone rang. Vibrated on the table.
Vargas flinched, then squinted down at the screen: UNKNOWN CALLER.
Wiping his hand on his shirt, he pushed the keys aside, picked up the phone, then put it against his ear and pressed the receive button.
“Hello?”
“Welcome back, Mr. Vargas.” The voice on the other end was calm, direct, vaguely Hispanic. “We trust you are feeling better now?”
Vargas’s first instinct was to throw the phone down and run.
Instead, he gripped it tighter, steadied himself. “Who is this?”
“That isn’t important at the moment. We simply wanted to apologize to you for the behavior of our associates, and to give you a piece of advice.”
“Which is?”
“We are a family that is very protective of its privacy. As you may have noticed, your laptop and notes are gone. We took the liberty of going over them and discovered, to our satisfaction, that you are quite unaware of what you’ve stumbled into here.”
“So, in other words, you jumped the gun. Sent your goons after me too soon.”
A pause. “I hope you’ll forgive their enthusiasm. We merely wanted to speak to you.”
“Why do I have a hard time believing that?”
“If it weren’t true, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Vargas felt his gut tighten. “So are you the one that Ainsworth and Sergio were talking about? The big man? Did you have something to do with the people in that house?”
“You don’t want to be asking such questions.”
“All right, fine. What’s this piece of advice you have for me?”
“Simply this: Go home. Back to California. Find another story. We have no desire to punish the innocent, and who we are and what we do is none of your concern. I hope you’ll decide to keep it that way.”
“And if I don’t?”
Another pause. “Check your trunk, Mr. Vargas. We think the message is clear.”
Then the line clicked.
29
Fifteen minutes after Jen left, Beth started to worry.
What was taking her so long?
Beth supposed the restroom could have been occupied and that Jen had had to wait her turn. If it was like the restrooms in the states, there might even be a line. A long one. But fifteen minutes seemed a bit much.
Beth had already finished her lunch-not that she’d eaten a whole lot-and had watched as the waitress cleared their dishes away.
About five minutes in, she noticed some of the people from their ship wandering by across the street. First, the gray-haired man and his wife, the ones who had been the direct recipients of Jen’s boob flash. Then later, the young newlywed couple, who had managed to weather the storm and were smiling happily, walking hand in hand.
Pulling out her wallet, Beth dropped some bills on the table, leaving a generous tip. She was about to rise when she heard a silky Hispanic voice behind her.
“Dining alone?”
She tensed at the sound of it. Turned and saw Rafael Santiago approaching, looking much less formal today in jeans and a long-sleeved off-white shirt. The effect was dazzling. He was even more handsome in daylight, and her complete disgust with him didn’t diminish that fact.
“Not alone,” she said, “and I’d appreciate it if you’d just keep on walking.”
He ignored the request, stopping in front of her table. “Why so hostile, Beth?”
“I think you know.”
“Jennifer told us how protective you are. That’s quite an admirable trait.”
“Did I ask for your opinion?”
“No,” he said. “No, you didn’t. And I have a terrible habit of offering them unsolicited. But Marta and I got to know Jennifer quite well last night and-”
