Fields' Guide to Abduction by - (diy ebook reader TXT) 📕

went wrong at the resort—when I decided to leave—Javier put his plan in motion.” He’d made my abduction so public, left a dead Sinaloan on the toll road, and left a witness alive—it was guaranteed to be the lead story. Everywhere. “I think he wanted the Zetas blamed.”

“I get that. But, why?”

“Javier wanted—wants—Nuevo Laredo. Anything that damages the Zetas is good.”

Mia turned her face away from the ocean. “Why did Ignacio want you kidnapped in the first place?”

“In his mind it was a means of forming a bond with Chariss.”

“Did he—”

“No. He never touched me.”

She put her feet up on an ottoman and stared out at the waves from behind an oversize pair of Gucci sunglasses. “What about Marta?”

“I’m pretty sure the Zetas forced her to steal that information. But she didn’t want to betray Javier. When she didn’t turn over the flash drive to the Zetas, they killed her.”

Consuela opened one eye, stared at me for a second, then drifted back to sleep.

“Anyone seeing pictures of Marta and me at that opening night party would have thought we were best friends. Since I was the last person to see her alive, the Zetas assumed I had the drive.”

Mia sat up straighter. “I brought you Marta’s purse. I think you should have it.” She pushed out of her chair.

“Really, I don’t want it.” I wanted no reminders—not of Marta or Ignacio or the men I’d killed. “I want nothing from that trip.”

Mia’s gaze shifted to Consuela and her eyebrows lifted above the rim of her glasses.

“Consuela’s different. She took on two lions for me.”

“I think you should have that bag.” She opened the door into the house. “I’m going to grab it for you now.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue. The handbag would end up on a shelf at the back of my closet. I would never carry it. Too many awful memories.

Consuela watched Mia leave, stood, stretched, and yipped at a seagull she judged to be too close to the deck (her deck).

A moment later, Mia, a glass of wine in one hand, the purse in the other, hurried back through the door.

Consuela, with a devilish expression on her little face, ran between Mia’s legs.

Mia’s arms cartwheeled. And her face reflected her dilemma. Drop the wine or drop the bag?

Mia never dropped wine. Ever.

The bag fell to the deck and skittered toward my feet.

With her free hand, Mia grabbed onto the back of a chair, and scowled at Consuela.

Consuela snickered.

I picked up the bag. “What’s this?” A section of the bag had swung loose revealing a flash drive. “Did you hide something?”

“No.” Mia shifted her scowl from Consuela to the bag in my lap. “There must be a second compartment.”

I showed her the flash drive in my palm.

“I wonder what’s on it.”

“One way to find out.” I swung my feet off the ottoman and went inside to the laptop on the kitchen counter.

Consuela and Mia followed me.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mia took an extra big sip of wine. “Looking at the last drive didn’t turn out so well.”

Yip.

“It’ll be fine.” Hopefully. I plugged in the drive and the file opened.

Words in Spanish. “Where’s André when we need him?”

André had hugged me like he’d never let go, scolded me for getting kidnapped, told me he loved me, and hopped on a plane for France to meet a European sports agent who could help him make a gazillion euro.

I copied the text, pasted it into Google translate, and read.

Mia read over my shoulder. “That Venti is nasty stuff.”

Very nasty stuff.

We read to the end then I closed the window.

“What’s that?” she pointed to the open zip folder.

“I’ll look.” I opened an excel sheet. “Whoa.”

“Whoa?”

“They’re projecting sales to outpace Molly in a matter of months.”

“You can read that?”

“I was an economics major, remember?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t know you paid attention. I thought you took those classes to upset Chariss.”

“I paid attention.” Chariss had wanted a creative daughter. An artist. She’d been appalled when I declared as an economics/mathematics major. I’d quietly taken every English and creative writing class I could.

“What are you going to do with this information?” Mia asked.

“Turn it over to the authorities as soon as possible” Another conversation with the sharp-eyed John Brown—this time I could prove I was right about Javier and Venti.

Mia stared out the window at the waves lapping against the beach and her lips thinned. “You’re different. Since you came back, I mean.”

I’d grown up. “I know.”

“Have you heard from Jake?” Her voice was soft, almost gentle.

“No. Why?”

“We’ve talked about everything—the resort and Marta and Javier Diaz and Ignacio Quintero. We’ve talked about your failed escape and your actual escape. We’ve talked about everything but him.”

First off, we hadn’t talked about everything. I’d skipped the parts of the story where I killed people. Secondly, I didn’t have anything to say about Jake. After our brief conversation in the hospital, he’d disappeared. Another wound. “I don’t know where he is.”

Mia’s expression softened till it was perilously close to pity. “You need to go out. Party. Have fun.”

Maybe the girl who’d gone to Mexico believed she could party her troubles away. The woman who’d come back knew a club, a cocktail, and a flirtation wouldn’t solve a thing. “Not tonight.”

Bzzzzz. My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

“What’s wrong?”

“How do you know something is wrong?”

“You’re pale.”

“Chariss is here. She wants to talk.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

Having a buffer was oh-so tempting but I shook my head. “I have to talk to her sometime. I might as well get it over with.”

Mia gave me a quick hug. “I’ll be on the deck if you need me.”

I picked up Consuela, snuggled her close, and walked to the foyer.

My fingers curled around the door handle, I took a deep breath, and opened the front door.

Chariss blew in like a sirocco. She took one look at Consuela in my arms and curled her lip. “I can’t believe you still have that dog.”

“I’m keeping her.”

“A drug lord’s dog?”

“It’s not the dog’s fault.”

“Do you have any sparkling water?” If Chariss couldn’t win an argument, she changed the subject. “I’m parched.”

“Lime or grapefruit?”

“Plain.”

“Sorry. No.”

She favored me with a put-upon sigh. “Lime.”

I put Consuela down, went to the bar, and fixed two drinks.

When I turned around, Chariss and Consuela were eying each other with obvious dislike. Both had their lips curled. Both showed a hint of teeth.

Chariss should be careful. Consuela might actually bite.

“Here.” I handed her a glass.

Chariss perched on the edge of a sofa with her ankles crossed and her back straight. “You’re mad at me.”

I flopped into a chair. “I’m not.”

“You blame me.”

“I don’t.”

“That man kidnapped you because he was obsessed with me.”

“That’s not your fault.”

Her mouth tightened. “But you still blame me.”

“This isn’t about you.”

She blinked. “Then what is it about? What’s making you so cold?”

“I killed people.” The words slipped out—unbidden and unexpected. Why could I tell my mother what I’d done but not my best friend?

Chariss’s jaw hinged open and her eyes widened. She’d obviously planned this conversation, but I wasn’t cooperating. I’d gone off script. “I’m sure they were bad people.”

“They were still people.”

“Bad people. I think you should come to Paris with me.”

I blinked, thrown by the shift in topics. We were done talking about my killing people? Already? “Paris?”

“You love Paris.”

I did love Paris.

“I have to go back. Tomorrow. Come with me. You could disappear in Paris. Get away from the photographers. Hole up in a café on the Left Bank and write.” She paused took a small sip of her water and a moue of distaste flitted across her lips. “When were you going to tell me you wrote a book?”

Not congratulations, or wow, or who knew you had any talent. “I don’t know.”