Chapter 46
My heart is roaring in my ears by the time Stone starts our Land Rover rental in San Juan. I don’t waste a moment before calling Parker for the latest update, grinding my jaw so hard, my teeth ache.
The phone rings and rings as we exit the airport. Thanks to the highspeed internet connections on our private plane, I’m not completely in the dark.
I know that, even though Yolanda hasn’t been missing long, Parker and Mateo convinced the police to start looking for her. The blackmail text I sent mid-flight along with her slashed tire photos, the water bottle contamination evidence, and the change in voting scores was enough.
Parker answers my call. I put her on speaker. “Talk to me, Parker.”
“The police found Yolanda’s car abandoned a mile from the San Juan villa. They think she was on her way to the meeting here.”
Parker sent out an early-morning emergency text requesting all contestants go to the San Juan villa. She intended to explain the voting irregularities and how the show is going to move forward.
“That’s not right,” I say. According to my in-flight call with the security company, Yolanda, rationalizing the danger was over since she was no longer on the show, sent her bodyguard away last night. He reported leaving around one a.m. but hadn’t alerted next in shift because he’d hoped she’d change her mind in the morning. That person arrived at her door at five a.m. and waited outside for her to wake. When Parker and Mateo arrived, they’d unlocked the door. The apartment had been empty and there were no signs of struggle, meaning… “Parker, did you tell the police that Yolanda went missing way before that text?”
“Of course. And I mentioned that Mateo spoke to someone named Liza at four a.m., who said Yolanda was supposed to take her morning class. But since the security cameras at La Vida were messed with and the hotel searches have turned up nothing, and her car was found near here, they’re assuming she was moved.
“They’re combing this area. We’ve been asked to get everyone from the show, including staff, here for questioning. They’re asking for you and Stone to come here, too.”
Dread flares in my gut at the thought. “Where’s Mateo?”
“At the hotel with Haydée and their familia. He’s conducting another floor-by-floor search there with the extra security you hired.”
“Good,” I growl because I’m still pissed that the security person assigned to Yolanda left her.
Stone coasts to a stop at a red light. “Where should we go?” Stone asks. “Right toward the hotel or straight toward the villa?”
I run a frustrated hand through my hair.
“I vote villa,” Stone says as the light clicks green. “It’s where Yolanda’s car was found. In addition, since there’s no record of Cecily flying in, it’s likely that they intend to move by boat. I think the police are right. She’s been moved. If we’re with the police, we can find out more information as it’s happening.”
Logic tells me he’s right, but My gut is telling me I need to be at the hotel.
The person behind us lays on the horn. Fuck. “We split up. You drop me at the hotel, then head for the villa. Parker, can you make excuses for me with the police?”
He turns right.
“No problem. A number of crew and contestants are running late.”
“Thanks.” I hang up and we speed toward the hotel.
* * *
Ten minutes later,my jaw is ground near to dust as we arrive at La Vida Buena. I push open the door, but Stone grabs my arm. “We need constant communication. If I don’t hear from you or you don’t hear from me, we’ll know to send out the calvary.”
“I’ll start a text with me, you, Parker, and Mateo.”
“We’ll find her,” Stone says.
Throat tight, I jump out of the car, and he takes off. Adrenaline has my heart pounding as I start toward the hotel. Ramon, the valet, flags me down then tosses me a key fob. I pick it from the air with a questioning look.
“My key,” he says. “It will allow you onto the private family floor. Manny’s room is our search center. I’m keeping an eye out down here. We all are doing something.”
Gratitude washes over me. With so many people helping, we’re going to find her. We have to. “Gracias,” I manage through my panic-tightened throat and head straight for the elevator.
I pace as I ride up. Where is Yolanda? Is she okay? Am I in the right place? Could a boat be involved like Stone said?
Fuck. I slam a fist into the palm of my own hand. Right now, my regret goes all the way back to the night I’d left her twelve years ago. I want all those days, weeks, and years back from that time to this so I can spend them with her. I was such an idiot for wasting that time when I’d known, even then, how I felt about her. Hell, I wrote in my journal that I thought she might be the love of my life, wrote about how she made me feel, about having sex on the roof with her.
Shit. Stark realization grips my throat and cold washes down my body. Cecily read those journals. And she’s not the type of woman to forget a detail like that. If she’s out for revenge, if she has Yolanda…
The elevator dings and the doors open to Yolanda’s floor. Heart thudding, I press the button for the gym floor and start a text with me, Mateo, Parker, and Stone.
Me: Has anyone checked the roof?
Mateo: No. It’s secure. I get an alert if it’s accessed.
Am I wrong? Maybe. But I honestly don’t think so. And if someone can mess with the cameras, how much harder would it be to change an alert?
Me: I’m checking it out. Will update in a second.
The reply comes back right away.
Mateo: Did Ramon give you the key fob?
Me: Yes.
Mateo: You need it and the code 43768 to access the roof.
They must’ve improved security up there since that long ago night. I’d had no problem getting onto the roof with no key or code.
Stone: Constant communication.
Me: K.
Parker: Mateo, should you send security to assist Easton?
Mateo: Sí.
The elevator opens on the gym floor. I sprint down to the locked roof doorway. I wipe sweat-dampened palms against my jeans before waving the key fob over the security pad and punching in the code.
The door buzzes red. What the hell? Every muscle in my body tightens with frustration. I push the numbers in again, slower. This time the buzz sounds louder, more insistent, and as angry as I feel.
Hands shaking, I pull out my phone and check the number. That’s what I’d fucking punched in. I start a text to Mateo. He must’ve made a mistake.
The door opens. I jerk back. An older man with a gun, flat gray eyes, military haircut, salt-and-pepper hair, and square jaw, motions me forward and inside.. “Hands up.”
A chill slices down my body. I raise my hands. Pulse hammering my throat, I step inside.
He shuts the door. A metallic thud echoes up the stairwell.
“Climb,” he says.
Clenching and unclenching my fists, I start up the steps. Wrestling my anger under control isn’t easy—I want to do some action hero shit, slam this guy into a wall, and beat him with the butt of his own gun—but anger is an idiot. And I am not.
Mateo already sent extra security. In a few minutes, I’ll have all the backup I need. Yolanda safe and in my arms is my only priority. “Where’s Yolanda?”
There’s a moment of silence, then a gruff, “You should’ve stayed in L.A.”
My shoulders snap back. He seems to know a lot about my itinerary. Since my only weapon right now is my mind, I use it. “You know your name is ironic, right? Brian Goodman.”
“Fuck you.”
“Well, this relationship is off to a bad start.”
His lip curls. “Fucking up relationships is what you do. Like fucking over women.”
All the proof I need that he’s working with Cecily. She could have written that line.
At the top of the stairs, the door’s keypad hangs from the wall. A series of wires drop out of it. They’re attached to a small black device with a digital screen cycling numbers.
I’ve seen something similar. The security professional who wired my La Jolla home explained it to me. There’s no one code for the door. This thing keeps putting in new codes. Fuck. A genius couldn’t get past it.
The cycling codes disappear and the door clicks. I assume Brian has some kind of electric passkey on him. “Go,” he says.
As I amble onto the roof, I expect to see to the ocean, like the first time I came up here, but I’m met by rumbling, heat, and towering walls of equipment. It limits my sight of the rest of the roof. Nothing is the same.
I walk past a thrumming corridor of metal, round a corner, and?—
“Yolanda.” I rush toward her, relief nearly buckling my knees.
“Stop.” Brian slams the muzzle of his gun into the small of my back.
I stumble to a stop. Breathing heavily, wishing I’d played the action hero, I hold my arms out. My focus divides. Part of me is keenly away of the gun at my back. The other part, the bigger part, takes in every detail of Yolanda. Her lower lip is split. She has a red mark down her arm. Sunburn across her nose. There’s blood, so much blood. Pain spasms through my chest.
“Yolanda.” My voice cracks. My nails bite into my palms. “You’re bleeding.”
“No.” she shakes her head.
I take another step.
The muzzle of Brian’s gun jabs into my back. “Don’t,” he warns.
The moment I get a chance, I’m going to fuck this guy up.
“Not my… my blood. It’s N… Néstor’s,” she stammers. “He n… n… needs a doctor.”
It takes me a second to understand. I’d been so focused on her that I hadn’t even seen Néstor lying on the ground next to her. He’s unconscious and shot in the leg. His stomach moves in staggered gasps. Yolanda has tied a rag around his bloody thigh. Her hands squeeze the tourniquet in place.
That’s an odd place to squeeze a tourniquet, under his thigh, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that she’s tied to the rail?
I skim the rope around her hands. Holy shit. Is she untied? Keenly aware of Cecily standing off to my left, I flick my gaze to Yolanda’s wrists, then back up to meet her eyes, down to her wrists, then up. I do it three times.
She nods almost imperceptibly. Thank God. She can get off this roof. The door won’t be locked from the inside. If I give her an opening, she can escape. Best way to make that opening? Well, the only weapon I have right now is charm.
A plan starting to form, I finally face the music. Cue the Jaws theme song.
Squaring my shoulders, I greet the shark—who’s worn stilettos to a gun fight—with my most winning smile.
“Cecily, looking good. Unnecessary violence, like stealing from orphans, seems to agree with you.”
As slick as an environmental disaster in the Gulf, an oily grin slides across her face. “Easton,” she tsks. “Now, I’m going to have to kill you, too.”