Byron McGivens spoke low. Even though no one was within earshot at this hour, it seemed like the thing to do. He didn’t expect the rapid-fire questions that came at him before he had a chance to think. This time of night, his brain wasn’t working on all cylinders.
“Yeah, I checked. Her name’s Jessica Beckett. And I verified that by her driver’s license. She drove up from Chicago.”
The motel clerk stepped out from behind the counter and walked toward the window, looking down Main Street.
“You need me to do anything else?”
Before he even got his question out, he was left listening to nothing but dial tone, with not so much as a good-bye. He would have been irritated with the rude way he’d been treated, but with the cash he’d been given, he overlooked it. Spying on a guest was easy money. And he hoped he hadn’t seen the last of his newfound good fortune.
If his services were needed again, he’d be ready.
Estella had stayed as long as she dared, but after seeing bright light erupting from the makeshift jail cell and hearing the screams of a man in pain, she knew they were torturing the American, and she ran.
She tore down the stone corridor, back the way she’d come. There was nothing she could do for the man, not now. Tears clouded her eyes, and she had never felt so alone. When she hit the night air, she sucked it into her lungs, fighting back the sadness that threatened to choke her.
After Estella closed the door behind her, she leaned against it before she collapsed. Trembling, she made the sign of the cross and slid to the ground, clutching her arms around her. How did she end up here? And what would become of her? A small part of her had hoped the prisoner would be strong enough to escape and save her, but now she knew that would never be.
If her mother had known this, would she still have sold her to Guerrero?
Estella knew the answer to that question, and it made her sick. Her own mother had betrayed her. And she would’ve done it again if it meant more money for her next fix. When she had the strength to walk, Estella stood and headed for her room in a building next to the main house. She crept through an adjacent patio garden and stuck to the shadows, which would hide her from the guards patrolling the grounds. When she’d made it to the hallway— and knew her room was at the end of the hall—she breathed a sigh of relief. No one was waiting for her outside.
Her room was next to the maid’s quarters, not much more than a closet, with only a bed and one lamp on a small wooden table. There was no lock on her door. Even if she wanted to hide, she couldn’t do it.
She slowly turned the knob of her door and peeked inside. When she saw that the room was dark, she slipped in with hands outstretched as she fumbled for the lamp.
When she touched the chest of a man, standing in front of her, she screamed. An arm tightened around her neck, cutting off her air.
“No, please . . . d-don’t hurt m-me,” she begged in Spanish, not recognizing her own voice.
“You should have thought about that before.”
When the man whispered in her ear, she recognized his voice. And his smell had haunted her nightmares. Ramon Guerrero had her by the throat. She couldn’t breathe. In the dark, she never saw his face, but Estella knew Ramon took pleasure in her fear.
Chapter 5
Ramon Guerrero had found a new way to get the attention of Manolo Quintanilla Perez, head of his cartel. And the psychopathic tendencies of his number two man, Miguel Rosas, would aid him in doing so.
He had wanted to surprise Estella Calderone in her room, but when she wasn’t there, Guerrero had waited. Every minute that ticked by made him angrier. With her disobedience, she’d forced him to punish her. He had no choice if he wanted to retain his reputation.
“Open the cell of the American,” he ordered as he hauled the girl down the corridor, by her hair.
A guard did as he was told and stood back as Guerrero shoved the girl to the stone floor inside. When she hit the ground, she cried out in pain. And as he expected, Miguel Rosas was waiting in the corridor.
“String her up,” Guerrero demanded, but when the jailer hesitated, he yelled, “Now!”
After the man reached for the chains, Guerrero waved his hand.
“Use that rope, over there.” He pointed. “Her wrists are too small for the chains.”
He didn’t have to see Rosas’s face to know that the man was enjoying this.
“You surprise me, Guerrero, but in a good way.” Rosas smiled. “Since this is your idea, you take the lead, and I shall watch. Please, carry on.”
Although Rosas stepped into the shadows, Guerrero felt his eyes on him. He would have preferred Rosas take charge and do what came naturally to a man like him.
Estella had disobeyed him. He owed her nothing, but when Guerrero saw that Rosas wasn’t going to take over, he took a deep breath and thought about what would come next. How far would he be willing to go to impress a man he didn’t respect?
“Please . . . don’t do this,” the girl begged, with tears glistening in her eyes. “I swear. I only left my room for a little while. It was too hot inside. I needed fresh air. Please.”
“You’re a lousy liar.” He glared at her and pretended to be angrier than he truly was.
When the guard hoisted her off the ground, she cried out in agony. That was when Guerrero turned toward the American, who could barely lift his head. No matter what would come next, the blame would not be his.
“You see? You have done this,” Guerrero yelled, and grabbed the man’s hair, forcing him to look in his eyes. “Are you willing to let this innocent girl die in your place?”
Guerrero found himself pleading for Estella in earnest. He hoped the American would take pity on her, something he could not afford to do, not with Miguel Rosas watching. If the prisoner cooperated, he could release her without looking like he’d compromised. Sure, the girl needed to be taught a lesson; but if Rosas had his way, she would pay with her miserable life.
When the American opened his mouth to speak, Guerrero hoped he would let him off the hook, but that wasn’t the case.
“Using that girl? You’re a . . . c-coward, man.” The prisoner could barely speak, but he’d said plenty.
Guerrero had no choice now. He had to save face in front of Rosas and his own men.
“Very well. This is on you.”
He slid his knife from its sheath and slowly walked back toward Estella. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed.
“Oh, no . . . Please. Don’t do this, Ramon.” Her plea echoed off the walls in the small cell. Guerrero gripped the hilt of his blade and clenched his teeth.
Whatever came next wouldn’t be
The morning sun was making a valiant effort at its first appearance, but the night sky was conspiring with a menacing storm to keep dawn at bay. The dark clouds left Alexa feeling tense, as if nature foreshadowed the approach of something ominous.
Closing her eyes, she pushed the thought aside and sank into her seat on the US Airways jet as it pulled from the gate. She took solace in the fact that she was finally on her way to Mexico and breathed a sigh of relief. By late
