“That sounds like the voice of experience.”
Sylvie didn’t answer out loud, just waved a hand dismissively before trying one of the bacon-wrapped appetizers. It tasted like pineapple on the inside, an odd but not unpleasant combination of salt and sweet. She lifted the plate a little.
‘Try one.’
‘
Changing the subject?’
he asked as he took one of the bacon pieces.
“School wasn’t my strong point.” It was a reminder of how different they were. Lucas had probably never failed a test in his life.
“Hey.” He stepped a little closer to her, his body almost touching the food that she held between them, and slid his empty hand around to the nape of her neck. “Don’t do that. We’re alike in the ways that matter.”
She looked up at him and tried to smile. “Different in most ways.”
“Different in only the best ways,” he murmured, bending his head to hers. She opened her mouth to him, letting his searching kiss warm and reassure her, until the press of the plate against her abdomen reminded her of where they were and what they were supposed to be doing.
She took a step back. “We need to decide what to do.”
He nodded, letting his hands drop and glancing into the building. “I don’t want to waste this opportunity.” His expression was somber. “I’ve been trying for months to find some evidence to prove Chesney’s connection to the cartels. Or at least enough to get law enforcement on my side.”
Sylvie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m not sure the cops are persuaded by evidence that you find while breaking and entering.”
He looked back at her, his grin flashing. “You’d be surprised. It’s not my usual technique, though. I prefer to stay on the right side of the law, but this was an exception.”
“Why?” Sylvie felt genuinely curious. Why was Lucas so determined to believe that Chesney was involved with criminals?
His smile disappeared and he paused for a long moment. His emotions felt mixed to Sylvie: a core of determination on the surface but underneath it, a sorrow flavored with a bitter anger. “I never wanted to get involved with drug cases. When I convinced my father that General Directions should expand into law enforcement, I imagined us finding missing people.”
“A kid disappears, so you show up and read the minds of all the people who saw him last?” Sylvie could see how having someone with that ability on call would make the police very happy.
“Yeah, something like that. And we’ve done that a few times. But missing people sometimes overlap with drug cases and . . .” He shook his head and let the words trail off before starting up again. “Don’t get me wrong, the war on drugs is a huge waste of taxpayer money. Prohibition didn’t work in the 1920s, so why the politicians were stupid enough to think it would work when we tried it again is beyond me. As it turns out, no surprise, we’ve arrived at the same outcome. Prohibition led to organized crime and the war on drugs leads to the drug cartels.”
Sylvie felt a trickle of unease. “You’re not crazy enough to think you’re going to take on the drug cartels, are you? Because that sounds like a fast way to get killed to me.”
Lucas’s chuckle held no humor in it. “No. That’d be an exercise in futility. They’re hydras—chop one head off, two more show up. Breaking the Columbian cartels just made room for the Mexicans. But Chesney’s a different story.”
“How so?”
“The guy’s not stupid. It’s actually a damn clever business strategy. He supplies guns to the cartels on the one hand, mercenaries to the Mexican government on the other. He expanded AlecCorp during Iraq, but now that the war’s over, he either cuts back or finds new markets. Instead, he’s creating new markets. Like the world doesn’t have enough problems.”
Sylvie scowled. That sounded dangerously plausible. “Is the Mexican government hiring mercenaries?”
Lucas nodded. “They have no choice. The Zetas control more territory than the government does, anyway. It’s war down there. And guess who funds it?”
Sylvie didn’t have to think too hard. “We do?”
He smiled at her, but there was no humor in it. “Congress is spending billions to equip and train the Mexican military to fight back against the drug cartels. Most of that money goes straight to private military contractors.”
Technically speaking, Sylvie was a private military contractor. She supposed she could even be considered a mercenary. Ty hadn’t taken any contracts for training the locals in Iraq or Afghanistan, but he could have and she wouldn’t have argued. But a good day for someone in her line of work was a boring day: one with no explosions, no bullets, and no injuries. From what Lucas was saying, Chesney was trying to make every day in Mexico an interesting day for his employees in order to get more of them hired and make more money.
That didn’t sit well with her.
“All right,” she said. She ate the cheese puff, picked up a skewer and nibbled at the beef teriyaki, then held the plate out for Lucas to take something. “We’ve got to go back to your original plan. Searching is pointless. Even if we got into Chesney’s office, he’s not going to leave proof of illegal weapon sales conveniently sitting out. We need to find out who he’s working with. So we can either stay together and I’ll do the listening while you concentrate on not letting the emotions get to you, or we can separate and you can listen to people on your own while I mingle and see if anyone has an interesting emotional response to the idea of Mexico.”
“We stay together,” Lucas answered firmly.
Sylvie tried to hold back her laugh, not altogether successfully. Had that been protective or possessive? In a mild voice, she said, “I am quite good at taking care of myself, you know.”
“Not the point,” he answered. Oh, possessive, definitely possessive, Sylvie realized, seeing the room they’d just been in through his eyes. Her focus on the buffet meant that she hadn’t noticed the appreciative male gazes, but Lucas had.
Letting a slight smile play about her lips, she tucked her hand into Lucas’s arm. “Lead the way then.”
As they stepped into the building, Sylvie felt her muscles relaxing at the warmth. It wasn’t bitterly cold outside, just brisk, but she wasn’t dressed for the weather. “This floor first?” Then she paused, frowning.
Lucas glanced at her, sensing her sudden worry. “What is it?”
Moving quickly, Sylvie walked to the elevator door just as it opened and its sole passenger, Ty, disembarked.
“Thank God,” he said with a sigh of relief. “Have you seen Rachel?”
“Rachel? Here? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Don’t start, Sylvie.”
“This party is totally inappropriate for a fourteen-year-old.”
“I said, don’t start. Chesney wanted her here.” Ty rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, as if a stress headache was just beginning.
“God, that man is a lousy father,” Sylvie muttered. Not that she had the right to criticize. It wasn’t as if she’d been much of a mother. But she would never have brought a child to a party of mercenaries, much less a teenage girl.
“What’s going on?” Lucas directed his question to Ty, not seeming to need introductions.
Ty glanced at him. Perhaps he recognized Lucas’s potential usefulness, because he replied without hesitating, “Hourly check-ins. Her bodyguard hasn’t answered.”
“Lydia?” Sylvie asked. That wasn’t like the older woman. Sylvie respected Lydia’s ability and ethics, but calling her strict barely did her justice. Rigid and uncompromising were closer. Fortunately, she and Sylvie usually worked opposite shifts.
Ty nodded.
Sylvie frowned, but Lucas immediately followed up with another question. “Who’ve you got looking and where?”
“I’ve got four of us on duty tonight. Mark and me on Chesney, James at the car, and Lydia on Rachel,” Ty responded promptly. “I’ve called James in already. I met him downstairs and he’s searching, but it’s crowded, noisy, and tough to see down there. Chesney’s in his VP’s office and Mark’s with him there. I was about to start looking up here.”
“Where was Lydia on her last check-in?”
“Downstairs,” Ty answered.
“And how late is she?”
Ty glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes now.”
“We’ll start downstairs then,” Lucas stated.
Ty glanced at Sylvie. She hadn’t said a word since asking if Lydia was the bodyguard on duty. She could see in the raise of his eyebrows that he was questioning whether this was okay so she smiled crookedly and nodded.
As the elevator dropped, she thought to Lucas,
‘A little bossy, aren’t you?’
‘
Sorry,’
he thought but without a trace of apology in his emotions. ‘
The first hours are the most important when someone’s missing.
’
“Tell me about Lydia,” he added aloud.
“Organized, responsible, reliable, uptight,” Sylvie responded promptly.
“Not the kind to lose track of time?” Lucas asked, but Sylvie could tell that he already knew the answer. In fact, she was almost sure that he’d known the answer to his previous question, too.
She narrowed her eyes, looking at him intently. “Did you investigate us?”
He looked away from her, glancing at the floor number display as if checking how close they were to the ground. “Are you going to get mad when I say yes?”
She thought about it. It seemed like the kind of thing she would have gotten angry about ten years ago. Was it a sign that she’d grown up that she no longer felt that way? If she’d been capable of it, she would have found out everything there was to know about Lucas and the people around him. “Not this time.”
“Good.”
“Did you learn anything interesting?”
He grinned at her. “Nothing that indicated anyone was connected to the Zetas and that was all I was looking for. But your colleague James is an eclectic guy.”
Oh, Sylvie so wanted to ask questions. James never talked about his past. But they’d arrived at the first floor and reluctantly she put the thought aside. First, they needed to find Lydia and Rachel and then they’d try to learn more about Chesney. Maybe after that she’d grill Lucas about James.
Finding Lydia turned out not to be difficult. James was hovering outside the nearest women’s bathroom, cell phone pressed to his ear, talking to Ty.
“I don’t know,” he was saying, sounding exasperated. “There’s a sick woman, that’s all I’ve found out. I can’t go in. It’s the women’s bathroom and there are at least two women in there. You want them to call the cops on me? Ah, here she is. Back in five.” He stuffed his phone into his suit jacket pocket and turned to Sylvie with relief and a quick fire scrutiny of Lucas.
“No Rachel?” Sylvie asked.
James shook his head. “I asked a woman who was going in to look for them. She came back out for a minute, said no kid, but a woman who seemed sick or drunk, then went back in.”
Sylvie nodded and didn’t pause. Pushing the door open, she entered the bathroom. It was surprisingly empty for a women’s restroom during a party. Two women were crouched on the floor at the far wall, talking to a woman half on the ground, half leaning against the wall.
It was Lydia. Her eyelids were fluttering and she was mumbling something, weakly trying to push away the hands of a woman who was trying to get her up. “You’ve got a friend waiting outside for you,” the woman said. “Let me help you.”
“Lydia, where’s Rachel?” Sylvie dropped to the ground next to Lydia, assessing her quickly. Someone who didn’t know her might say drunk. Really, really drunk. But Sylvie knew better. Could she have had a stroke? Or a heart attack? Or was she drugged?
Lydia tried to say something but the words were indistinct. Her head lolled sideways.
“She’s trashed,” the other woman said with disapproval. “She needs to sleep it off, but not in here.”
“She needs medical attention,” Sylvie corrected her. She was running scenarios in her head, trying to think through the situation.
Say Lydia got sick. A stroke. Would Rachel have gone looking for assistance? She might not have had her cell phone on her, but surely there would have been a woman here who could help her. Why was this bathroom so empty? Sylvie asked the question out loud.
“There’s another restroom on the other side of the auditorium,” the first woman answered readily. “It’s closer to the dancing and bar. I was on my way upstairs so I stopped at this one.”
The other woman nodded. “I came over here because the other one had a line, but it’s not as convenient.”
All right, so it was possible that no one was here when Lydia got sick. It still didn’t make sense that Rachel would leave Lydia. The girl obeyed all the rules and abandoning her bodyguard was definitely not in the rulebook. But she’d been more rebellious lately, Sylvie reminded herself. There was the drinking and then the lie that took her to her mother’s art show. Could Rachel have seen this as an opportunity for a little freedom, not realizing how sick Lydia was? Maybe she was out on the dance floor this very minute, flirting and pretending to be older than her age.
But what if Lydia was drugged? Not on drugs, not by choice, but deliberately drugged with the intent to knock her unconscious. Could Rachel have been kidnapped? From the women’s bathroom in the middle of a party? That would almost mean a woman had to be involved. And maybe that Rachel went willingly.
Moving quickly, Sylvie hurried back to the door.
“She’s here,” she said to James. “But we need to get her to a hospital, ASAP. Call Ty and find out whether he wants us to call an ambulance or take her. And tell him there’s no sign of Rachel.”
James nodded, face grim, pulling out his phone before she’d finished the sentence.
Sylvie turned to Lucas.
‘What do you know about Rachel’s mother?’
He looked a little startled, but answered,
‘Almost nothing.’
‘
New question, then
—
what can you find out about Rachel’s mother and how fast?’
‘
You think she might be involved?’
‘
I think . . .’
Sylvie paused and then finished out loud. “I’m not sure what I think. Except that this doesn’t feel right.”
Chapter Twelve
The train stopped.