First You Run (20 page)

“Great. Dan has more to report.”

“A lot more,” Dan said. “I was just talking to some friends in the FBI. The Mexican authorities have been looking for a woman by the name of Juanita Carniero for two years. She was part of a powerful Mexican crime syndicate that started in the eighties, selling illegal identity documents all over the world. The bulk of the business was done on the streets, recruiting young people in very much the same way magazine distribution syndicates run subscription crews. Over time, they moved into much more sophisticated forms of fraud, including telemarketing and Internet scams.”

“Don’t tell me,” Fletch said. “Juanita Carniero is Doña Taliña Vasquez-Marcesa Blake.”

“Precisely,” Dan continued. “Juanita was just in charge of the street operations. Evidently, she wasn’t a favored member of the syndicate because of her tendency to dabble in witchcraft, shamanism, and various other activities that didn’t make money.”

“But her street recruitment skills could be very appealing to Blake’s business. They’d make a formidable team. When did she leave Mexico?”

“She was arrested about five years ago on a very light sentence and released on bail in hopes that she’d turn over the real leaders of her syndicate to the Mexican authorities. Then she disappeared. Some family members claim she married and moved to the U.S., some say she’s dead.”

“So why don’t they use Blake to get Carniero?”

“Because Victor Blake hasn’t actually done anything illegal. And to complicate matters, he’s not married. Not to anyone, by any name. He’s a widower.”

Fletch was silent for a moment, and Lucy suspected he’d hit Mute to fill Miranda in.

“The connection to the survival kits you uncovered is key, Fletch,” Dan said. “We suspect that if Blake and Carniero have hooked up and brought their joint skills to the table, they may be selling these as a ruse to obtain credit card numbers fraudulently.”

“Why don’t the feds go to Canopy and get them?” Fletch asked. “They’re not exactly living in hiding.”

“She disappears. And they have nothing on Blake—who isn’t even married, so he has no reason to produce her.”

“She won’t disappear from Miranda. My plan is to drop in and surprise them. Look around, question them.”

“Absolutely,” Lucy agreed. “Get on the compound, find anything incriminating you can, and we’ll put together a case for the FBI to nail Carniero and, at the same time, help our client, Mr. Bellicone. I’ve alerted Wade, who’s on his way by helicopter with Bullet Catcher backup if you need it. But if she suspects anything, Carniero will likely disappear.”

“She’s a master at it,” Dan agreed. “According to a lot of people, she really is some kind of Mexican witch, and Blake is a hobbyist sharp-shooter, so watch your…principal.”

“Got it,” Fletch told them. “I’ll be reporting in to Sage; keep the lines open.”

After discussing some logistics, they signed off, and Lucy pushed away from the table, but Dan reached over and grabbed her hand. “Damn convenient that Fletch just happened to be there, isn’t it?”

“It’s working to our advantage,” she said vaguely.

“Especially since he’s supposed to be on personal leave this month,” he added.

“His activities in California are most definitely personal,” she said. “His work protecting Dr. Lang on a book tour is on his own time. She is not a Bullet Catcher client.”

Lucy turned to the locator screen to end the conversation. But Dan had a hand on her shoulder before she even realized he was behind her.

He leaned very close. “Just a wild-ass guess, Juice. Does this have anything to do with Jack Culver?”

S
OMEWHERE BETWEEN
L
OS
Angeles and Santa Barbara, after he’d debriefed her about his phone call and they’d spent an hour speculating about Taliña and Blake and another on Jack Culver’s search for Eileen Stafford’s daughter, Miranda lost her doubts about leaving the airport with Adrien.

She also gave up the fight not to hold his hand. He’d threaded their fingers together in the space between them, maintaining contact for the hours it took to wend their way north along the coast. May Gray, the overcast skies that settled above coastal California, draped the Pacific Ocean in silvery dreariness. The cliff-clinging ride along the Pacific Coast Highway, with the wind-whipped waters of the Pacific on their left and the rolling California mountains on their right, added to the sensation that she was hanging on the edge of the world.

Which gave her even more reason to hold that rock-solid hand.

She understood so much now—about his search to help a friend, about a woman who had given up a child for an illegal adoption and how he needed to find her, about her name on that list. And as the hours and miles passed, she started to understand a little bit about her hyperprotective mother, who no doubt lived in dread of the day Miranda would learn the real circumstances of her birth.

“I always took their love for granted,” she admitted, leaning against the headrest as her mind flipped through snapshots of her childhood.

“And no piece of paper can take that away from you, Miranda. Count your blessings, luv, and all that.”

She heard the little twinge of emotion buried in that gentle accent. “I can’t imagine what you went through, Adrien.”

He shrugged. “Made me what I am, you know?”

“And what you are is”—the list of adjectives was so long, she simply seized the first thing that came to mind—“fearless,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.

That earned her a flash of his dimple and a sexy glance from under his eyelashes.

“So what’s going to happen when we get to Canopy?”

“Remember, we’ll have surprise on our side, since Taliña is not expecting you.”

“And what do you want me to do? Distract her while you hunt for evidence that connects them to the magazine subscription crews?”

“We’ll have to be flexible and take our cues from them,” he said. “I’d like to stay together. It might be a simple matter of cornering her, letting her know we know her real identity, and getting her to make a deal. It might be trickier than that. We have to be ready for any contingency.”

“Don’t you wonder why they’re faking being married?”

Fletch frowned. “I was just thinking about that, and I don’t believe I heard him refer to her as ‘my wife’ or vice versa. Not once. Did you?”

She thought for a moment, replaying their conversations. “I think she did. I recall her saying, ‘My husband is delayed in Los Angeles.’ Remember?”

“I do—but Blake was there, not in LA.” He checked the rearview mirror and passed a slower truck. “I suppose she’s just a liar who comes from a family of liars and cheats. I didn’t trust her from the beginning—all that
toli
bullshit. I threw it in the glove box, by the way, when I left the hotel.”

She opened the latch and took out the mirror shard, turning it over on the bandaged hand it had cut. It felt heavy, much heavier than a regular mirror.

She held it up to her face, seeing her reflection. What had Taliña seen? A fool? An impediment to her goal?

“Here’s the turn to Maya Land,” he said.

“It’s a shame that a place so awe-inspiring and brilliantly constructed was funded by fraud,” she said wistfully. “The place should be used for more than parties, it’s like a museum. Students of the Maya could come here and learn so much. Or anyone who’d like a chance to see ancient history unlike anywhere else on earth. Archeologists and anthropologists.” She shook her head, considering the vast possibilities. “It would be so much better to teach Maya studies here than in a classroom.”

She was still thinking of the idea when they reached the gate, and he inclined his head for her to come closer. “Let her hear your voice.”

But nobody answered their buzz. Adrien pressed the button again, holding it down, then glancing around at the wall that surrounded the property. “I could climb that.”

“Let’s do it.”

He grinned at her. “I think I’ve been a very bad influence on you. I love the spirit, but let me get in and see if I can open the gate from the inside.”

He left the engine running and climbed out. The wall didn’t appear that imposing, considering it was built to house a fugitive. In a matter of a few minutes, he hoisted his muscular frame to the top, shook back his hair like a victorious warrior, and crouched and leaped to the other side.

She slid over the console to the driver’s seat while Adrien disarmed the gate. In less than five minutes, it rolled open. He climbed into the passenger seat with a cocky grin.

“Very impressive, Mr. Fletcher. Like everything else about you.”

She drove around the curved road, then up the steep hill to the precipice where the first view of Canopy was visible.

Miranda studied the vista with a wholly different eye this time, seeing it as a museum and educational center, getting a little zip of excitement as the first threads of a tapestry started to weave in her mind.

“Would you ever leave the university?” he asked, watching her expression.

“It would be tempting,” she said. “I love teaching about the Maya. I hate the cutthroat atmosphere of academia.”

The end of the drive narrowed to a paved path where the branches met overhead, forming a tunnel. On a cloudy day like today, it seemed almost nightlike, oddly eerie. Suddenly, dramatically, it opened up to the mind-blowing vista of the pyramid-shaped palace with its soaring tower and the two smaller temples that flanked the home to the north and south. The last time they’d arrived, at least a dozen cars had been parked at the base of the massive front stairs. Today there were none. Canopy felt as deserted as the real city of Palenque, centuries after its famed inhabitants had died.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, her tone as hushed as the grounds around them.

No graceful, gorgeous woman descended the long, steep stairs. No well-dressed staff bustling about, no sounds of life. Miranda parked, dropped her phone and the piece of the mirror into her shoulder bag, and climbed out.

Once again, she marveled at how much the stucco and stone building replicated Palenque at its height of glory, ingeniously proportioned to fit into the hills as though Mother Nature herself had built the palaces.

But this monument to the past was built by a Mexican criminal whose partner indulged her passions.

Where was she?

Adrien stood with his hands on his hips next to her, his sunglasses hiding eyes that she knew missed nothing. “Something isn’t right.”

“It does feel abandoned.” She sniffed as a bitter odor reached her nose. “Do you smell—”

“Smoke,” he finished. He pivoted, scanning the horizon.

“If we go up to the main floor of the palace, we can see into the jungle. Maybe there’s a brush fire in the hills on the outskirts.”

“It’s closer than that,” he said. “But okay, let’s try.”

He drew his weapon and pointed it downward, his hand on her back while they trotted up the steep stone stairs. Under the vaulted portico, the curved wooden doorways that led into the labyrinth of rooms were all locked. He tried every one as they followed the veranda around the side of the structure, to the back that overlooked the pavilion and the two temple-like structures. The height allowed a direct view over the canopy of trees.

“There,” he said, removing his sunglasses and pointing southwest. “Not exactly a brush fire.”

Almost a mile away, a single plume of smoke curled into the sky. It rose, then stopped, then another puff followed. Three in succession, then none. Then three more.

A breeze wafted over her, carrying the scent of smoke, but that wasn’t what caused the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to stand. “Somebody wants something from the gods,” she said, taking his hand. “They’re bloodletting.”

He turned to her, his eyes piercing in disbelief. “What?”

“That isn’t a fire. It’s the ritual smoke of bloodletting, a form of sacrifice to make a plea to the gods. For the Maya, it was a way of life.”

“What’s burning?”

“Paper drenched in blood, taken from whatever part of the body is involved in the request. It was usually done by the king, who would cut his ear if he wanted to hear something or his tongue if he wanted someone to say something.” It got worse, uglier, and far lower on the body, but she skipped that. “They dripped blood onto strips of parchment made to burn very slowly and let the smoke rise in a ritualistic rhythm. The theory was that the smoke would reach the gods in the overworld, who consumed it and granted the favor.”

“How much blood?”

“How big a favor? If the crop was a disaster or a civil war was brewing, a human could be sacrificed through bloodletting.” She studied the next three tendrils that curled into the sky. “That looks pretty small out there.”

“Taliña?” he asked.

She chewed on her lip, nodding. “That’d be my guess.”

They started down the steps together. As they crossed the pavilion, she sensed that Adrien was alert and ready. He scrutinized the horizon, the jungle, the entire area, then turned and looked over his shoulder at the tower.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, pushing her hard. “Run!”

She did, toward the darkness of the jungle foliage, tearing across the stone.

The first shot made her stumble, but he had her by the arm and didn’t let her fall.

“Hurry!” he cried, thrusting her in front of him, blocking her as another shot cracked the concrete about two feet away.

Miranda felt a scream tear at her throat, her leg muscles burning as she ran as fast as she could, her sneakers barely touching the ground. Adrien turned, his weapon raised, and shoved her to the cover of the trees.

“Shoot!” she told him.

“I can’t hit him with this.” He urged her deeper into the thickness of the jungle. He stopped when they had solid cover behind trees, both of them crouching low and peering toward the buildings.

“Blake’s profile says he’s a sharp-shooting hunter. That wasn’t a professional sniper, or we’d both be dead. But it was someone handy with a Remington.”

“Taliña’s out in the jungle bloodletting, and he’s up there firing at houseguests?”

“Looks that way,” he said, already pulling out his cell phone and dialing. Before he completed the call, he reached over and touched her cheekbone with his thumb. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She shifted on her haunches and tucked some hair behind her ears, catching her breath. “I really want to get these guys.”

His mouth curved in a dark smile. “Me, too.”

He stabbed the Send button and put the phone to his ear, turning to watch the tower through the trees.

“I’m at Canopy,” he said. “We have a shooter. Tower of the main building. I’m with my principal in the woods, about two hundred yards from the house. How close is Cordell in the helo? I could use his sniper talents about now.”

He listened, his gaze shifting from the palace back to her while he finished the conversation.

“If we just wait here, Taliña will disappear,” Miranda said.

“They might both go on the run. And the heat on them might stop their credit-card fraud business, but it won’t necessarily stop them from harassing you, or worse.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and studied the tower again, then the jungle that surrounded the pavilion. “If I follow the line of the trees and stay covered, I can get to the other side of the house without him seeing me.”

“You mean without him seeing
us
.”

His shook his head hard. “I can’t take that chance, Miranda. You need to hide.”

“Here?”

“How about that little stone house where I found you with Taliña the other night?”

“Pakal’s Crypt.”

“Right,” he said. “There was only one opening, and if I close you in—”

“Please don’t do that.”

“I need to be sure no one can get in there and hurt you while I’m gone.”

There had to be a better way than closing her in a cement building. “I can stay here. I won’t make a noise. I won’t move.”

“No, he knows our general location. Come on. We have to hurry.”

He was right. She should stay under cover. They hustled through the forest toward the northwest quadrant of the property, a good distance from where they’d seen the smoke, reaching the ten-foot-tall rectangular structure in a few minutes. Holding her a little behind him, his gun pointed ahead, Adrien circled the jade-colored building to examine it carefully.

“Like I thought, one way in and out.” He approached the slender opening between two stone walls, up a few stairs. “Come on.”

Inside, the walls were tall, beveled outward, and green with moss that Miranda hadn’t seen in the dark the other night. They had elaborate Maya carvings, as did the slab of concrete in the center of the floor, which was a perfect reproduction of Pakal’s sarcophagus lid, a famous work of art that showed the great king falling through the jaws of the underworld.

“Not the most cheery of hiding places,” he said, “but you should be safe here.”

“Don’t close off the opening, Adrien. I’ll stay flat against the wall, right there, where no one can see me. No one will know I’m here.”

“I’d feel better if no one could get to you.”

“But then, if I had to escape, I couldn’t.”

She could tell by his expression that she’d won the battle. “Don’t turn your cell phone off, okay? I need it on to keep track of you.”

“I promise.”

“And if anything happens, if you hear a noise or anything at all, press Star on the phone. It won’t make any sound but it will alert me, and Bullet Catcher headquarters, that you’ve got trouble. Whatever I’m doing, I’ll be here. Don’t move, don’t leave, don’t run. Be smart, not brave”

“Right.” She used his accent, and he smiled, then kissed her quick and hot and hard.

After he left, she pressed herself against the cool stone wall of the crypt, totally hidden from sight. She unclipped her phone again, checked it, and re-clipped it.