people at risk for a man who’d never loved her as she desired.
Shame rolled through her, making her sick. She should have left when her clan demanded it upon Zeke’s and Liz’s re—
“How much longer are you going to be?” Diaz asked, breaking into her thoughts. “We’ve already perfected our plan.”
“I don’t want anything to go wrong.”
“We’ve made it as perfect as we can. That’s all we can do.”
Kele didn’t comment, nor did she move from her computer.
Diaz sighed loudly. “It’s been a half hour since Ike told us Zeke approved our strategy and to let us leave when the time came. That’s now. We have to get Pedro.”
“We can’t go until it’s safe.”
“What are you talking about? When is that supposed to be?”
Kele looked at her computer screen, the time. “In a little bit.”
“Why wait? It’s been dark for quite a while. The drive there is going to take a couple of hours.”
The route to the strip club would take even longer. However, Kele didn’t want to arrive too quickly. “I promise we’ll get your cousin…I just want to make certain I have all of this down.”
Slumped in his chair, Diaz reviewed the strategy he’d written in longhand, no doubt believing Kele had keyed the same into her computer and that’s what she was going through now.
She wanted to keep it that way. “There’s a bedroom down the hall, second door on the left. You should take a nap. Rest before we have to leave. It’s going to be a long night.”
“I’m not tired.”
He looked as beat as she felt. “You will be.”
“I’ll sleep on the drive over.”
Kele fisted her fingers, wanting him out of this room so he wouldn’t get curious and finally look at what was on her monitor. “You might have to drive part of the way. I get tired too, you know.”
He lowered his notes and studied her as if he hadn’t considered that. “Maybe we both should take a nap.”
“No. I want to make certain we have everything down right.” She forced herself to sound neutral rather than irritated. Deliberately, she reached for the coffee pot even though she knew it was empty. She’d drunk the last of the brew an hour earlier. When only a few drops fell into her cup, she swore.
“Want me to get you some more?” Diaz asked.
“You’d have to make it.”
“So? I’m capable.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s the equipment?”
“Over there.” She inclined her head to the adjoining room, then added, “There should be some biscuits and cinnamon rolls in the refrigerator. You need to bake them.”
He frowned. “You’re hungry?”
“Aren’t you? If you’re not,” she said before he could answer, “you will be. We have a long trip there and back. It’s not like we can stop for fast food, not with Carreon’s men on the prowl. Forget it,” she added quickly, “I’ll make the stuff.”
“I’ll do it. Keep studying the plan so nothing goes wrong. But after we eat, we leave.”
Kele again checked the clock on her computer screen, calculating time and distance. She nodded, then waited until Diaz left the room.
With a few key strokes, she pulled up data from the strip club’s security cameras that she’d hacked into earlier, focusing on the one that provided coverage for the back door. The blueprint she’d found of the building showed her that’s where the office was. She fast-forwarded through the recordings and stopped frequently to check time stamps.
In the other room, Diaz moved around the unfamiliar space noisily as he searched for coffee filters, the grounds and cinnamon rolls she’d mentioned. With any luck, he’d be in there for at least another ten minutes.
She continued her computer search and backed up the tape, then fast-forwarded it once more.
Minutes later, she had her answer. At the same time every morning—once the club had closed for the night and the staff had departed—the back door opened. The man who’d strangled the stripper came outside, tossed a trash bag into a nearby bin, enjoyed a smoke, then went back in. Precisely twenty minutes later, he left the building with a briefcase, got into his car and drove away. His routine never varied.
With Carreon there, would the man do the same tonight?
He wouldn’t leave, of course. He might not even toss the trash bag. However, he quite possibly would enjoy a smoke. Why not? His monitors showed the deserted parking lot, proving he had nothing to worry about. A sophisticated security system protected the club from intrusion and from anyone turning it off.
Kele knew. She’d tried.
Carreon expected Liz and Dr. Munez to return to his stronghold where he, no doubt, had someone waiting for them. He’d want to remain at the club so he could be on camera for the next woman’s execution, just in case Liz didn’t do what he wanted. However, the prick hadn’t considered that anyone from Zeke’s clan would guess he was there, or that no security system was foolproof, even if it couldn’t be turned off. All cameras had blind spots, and Kele knew where the ones for these were.
“Coffee’s ready,” Diaz said. He stood in the doorway between the rooms. “You want it now or with the other stuff?”
She kept her focus on the screen, deleting what she’d brought up. “There’s a thermos in the lower cabinet on the right and a plastic container in the upper left cabinet. As soon as the rolls are finished you can put them in the container so we can take them with us.” She looked at him. “Once you do, we’ll leave.”
With any luck, everything would go according to plan. For Diaz, that meant his cousin would finally be in safe hands, travelling back here to be healed.
For Kele, it meant the end of Carreon and hopefully the beginning of her redemption. She would settle for nothing less.
Chapter Thirteen
He had to make the prisoners talk; it was the only way for him to get to Carreon and stop this madness. Zeke tried to move his mouth but it wouldn’t work. His limbs were weighted, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense with pain. Exhaustion continued to grip him, refusing to let go.
He sank back into darkness—on some level understanding that he was asleep—and saw Liz. She smiled at him as though everything were all right. They were safe finally. Taking his hand, she placed it on her swollen belly.
“Did you feel the baby’s kick?” she whispered.
Indecent joy rolled through Zeke at the thought of their child. A son…or a little girl? He saw himself holding Gabrielle who then turned into a different baby, one that belonged to him and Liz. A sister Gabrielle would have loved and protected had she been here. Had Carreon not—
Even in his dream, Zeke couldn’t bring himself to relive her death. His sadness turned to happiness as he watched this new child growing up in a real home, not the clan’s stronghold, but a house in one of the area’s countless suburbs with grass in the front yard, a play area in the back that boasted a sand box and a swing set and—
Carreon’s office. The image intruded so quickly, Zeke flinched. He gaped at a woman’s legs, her moccasin half on her foot. Fire licking it.
He struggled to wake up. His nightmare—or was it a vision?—wouldn’t allow it. Like a camera, it honed in on a mark near the woman’s foot. A mole? No. A scar on the ankle that Zeke hadn’t noticed before. Couldn’t be Liz.
