“You’re off on a mind trip,” Billy remarked, leaning across the table. “Where you at?”
“Right now I’m here with you,” she said affectionately. “I’m thinking how great it would be if we could get to do this every weekend.”
“You’d soon be bored.”
“No I wouldn’t.”
An overbearing woman in a lilac pantsuit interrupted them by storming the table and thrusting a slip of paper under Billy’s nose.
“My daughter’ll never forgive me if I don’t ask you to do this,” she gushed. “My daughter simply adores you, thinks you’re wonderful. Would you mind signing? Oh my! This’ll make her year.”
Billy graciously scrawled his signature on the slip of paper, then passed it over to Venus.
The woman started to object—that is, until she recognized Venus, whereupon she launched into fan overdrive.
Venus signed, not so graciously, and told Billy to get the check.
Somehow or other the spell of being two almost normal people out on a lunch date was broken.
Still … it was nice while it lasted.
Chapter 33
The offices Anthony Bonar kept in Mexico City were merely a front. Beneath the facade of a thriving import/export business most of his dealings in the drug trade took place.
He entered his private office, nodding at a couple of trusted associates he’d summoned from his plane. It was time to make sure everything was on track—shipments, deliveries, cash payments.
Privacy and secrecy were of paramount importance to Anthony—every morning he had a surveillance expert sweep his office for bugging devices. In his business it was imperative to always be careful and alert. One mistake and it could all be over.
His office was spacious, the focal point being an oversized partners desk. In front of the desk stood a big leather couch along with several matching chairs. A fully stocked bar was over in the corner, while one wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling bookcases. This wall featured a concealed door that led into an inner office where Anthony took care of private business. A sophisticated entry code scanned his fingerprints before the concealed door would open, and he was the only person with access. He kept three safes in his second office, all of them stuffed with cash. There was also a private exit to the street should he ever have to get out fast.
After a couple of hours going over the latest business transactions with his associates, he instructed The Grill to bring the car around. It was time to go home.
“You want I call Mrs. Bonar, tell her you’re coming?” The Grill inquired.
“No,” Anthony said. “I’ll surprise her.”
This was a first. Usually he told Irma well in advance when he was coming, but since he planned on only staying overnight he didn’t bother. Tomorrow they’d move on to their Acapulco home. He felt like taking a break—the unpleasant experience in Vegas still had him on edge.
Irma would be pleased to see him, especially when he told her they were going to Acapulco, and as an extra surprise he was flying in the children.
On the drive to his house he called the Miami mansion and spoke to the nanny. “Pack everyone up, you’re all comin’ to Acapulco,” he informed her. “My secretary’s gonna contact you with flight details. Be there tomorrow.”
“The children will not be very happy about this, Mr. Bonar,” sniffed the nanny. “They have arrangements with their friends.”
“Cancel whatever arrangements they got. Tell ’em to bring their friends if it’ll keep ’em happy. Make it happen, Nanny, or get your uptight ass fired.”
Irma glanced at the bedside clock, noting that it was almost five. Luis was asleep beside her, sprawled across the bed. Since the gardeners’ hours were eight until four, she realized that she had to get him out of there before the guards became suspicious. It was one thing Luis being there all day, but all night? She didn’t think so. Too risky.
Gently she leaned over and stroked his muscled back. “You have to go,” she whispered. “It’s getting late.”
“Qué?” he muttered, turning over and stretching.
“You have to go, Luis,” she repeated. “Get up.”
“Ah, sí, Missus Bonar,” he said, leaning on one elbow. “Veree good.”
“You’re starting to speak English,” she exclaimed. “Engleesh,” he repeated, a shy smile spreading across his craggy face.
She put her hand against his cheek. “I’m going to teach you a word every time we’re together,” she promised. “Love. Can you say love?”
“Love,” he repeated, rolling off the bed.
She watched him as he picked up his clothes and began pulling on his worn jeans and frayed work shirt. He was certainly what her sister back in Omaha would call a hunk.
She moved close to him, placed her arms around his neck, and impulsively kissed him. “Adiós, Luis,” she said softly. “Mañana?”
“Tomorrow,” he agreed, nodding his head.
It pleased her that he’d obviously been trying to learn a few words of English; it proved that he cared. She wished he could spend the night, but how could she outthink the guards? It was impossible. If Luis stayed, they’d know.
Once he left she was faced with a long lonely night by herself. What did Anthony imagine she got up to? He refused to allow her any friends, nor could she entertain when he wasn’t in residence.
Well, she was definitely entertaining the thought of leaving him, and that was one reality he couldn’t stop.
Luis lingered in the vast marble hallway on his way out. To think that all this belonged to one man, the house, the grounds, the woman …
Ah, the woman. Señor Bonar might own a lot of things, but he sure as hell did not own the woman.
Luis experienced a moment of sheer satisfaction as he let himself out the front door. The woman was his whenever he wanted her. That was a fact.
He walked around to the back of the house and climbed into his battered truck, then he drove toward the entrance gates of the Bonar mansion.
As he drew his truck up to the wrought-iron gates, one of the guards stepped forward and waved him to stop.
Cursing under his breath, Luis recognized Cesar, the guard, the sometime boyfriend of his slutty sister, Lucia. Luis disliked Cesar intensely.
“Hello, Luis,” the man said in Spanish. “What’s goin’ on?”
Luis shrugged and told him that nothing much was going on.
“You’re working late today,” Cesar said, consulting his watch. “It’s past five.”
“I had things to do,” Luis said.
“What things?” Cesar asked.
“Things in the house for Señora Bonar,” Luis said evasively.
“You seem to be spending a lot of time in the house,” Cesar said.
“When Señora Bonar wants something, it is my job to take care of it.”
“I’m sure,” Cesar sneered.
Luis held his temper in check. Was Cesar insinuating something?
“How’s your lovely wife?” Cesar asked.
“Very well,” Luis replied.
“Give her my regards. Tell her I drop by for supper one night, your sister asks me all the time.”
“You’d be very welcome,” Luis lied, experiencing a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he was taking too many risks spending so much time in the house with Señora Bonar. But then again, why shouldn’t he? There was nobody around to stop him.
“Can you open the gate?” he said.
“You know who’s on their way home?” Cesar said, in no hurry to do anything.
“Who?” Luis asked, impatient to get out.
“Señor Bonar.”
“Sí?”
“Ah,” Cesar said, stroking his small black mustache, “here comes his car now.”
A sleek silver Mercedes drove into view.
“Pull over, allow him to pass,” Cesar ordered Luis in his most officious security guard voice.
Luis did so, staring out of his window at the approaching
car. He’d never seen Señor Bonar; all the months he’d worked at the house the master had never appeared.
As the heavy gates opened, Anthony rolled down the back window of his Mercedes, glanced over at Luis, still behind the wheel of his truck, and signaled the guard.
“Who’s that?” he snapped, forever suspicious.
“One of the gardeners, Señor Bonar,” Cesar replied, standing at attention. “He’s leaving now.”
“Any problems here?” Anthony inquired.
“No problems, señor.”
“Keep it that way.”
Anthony took another look at Luis. Their eyes met for a fleeting second.
Luis experienced a full-body shiver of sheer dread. Anthony Bonar had the coldest eyes he’d ever seen.
Chapter 34
Things were not progressing the way Henry had planned. He’d wanted the girl, not the girl plus one. And the plus one could present problems he’d never even considered.
After locking Maria—or Max, as she was known—into the secure room, he’d had to decide what to do about her so-called cousin. He’d felt a strong urge to shoot him and bury him out in the woods. But that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? And Henry had no intention of ending up in jail punished for a crime he’d never meant to commit. So he’d left him in the trunk of Max’s car for a while, then later he’d driven to the outhouse in the back of the cabin, and once there he’d opened the trunk. He had not expected the cousin to hurl himself at him screaming expletives, almost knocking him to the ground.
Not quite. Henry recovered quickly, held on to his gun, and waved it in the boy’s face. That shut him up.
Henry had never realized before how powerful the threat of shooting someone could be. The gun came from his father’s collection. It was not too small, not too big, perfect for threatening purposes. He was quite familiar with guns, for when he was twelve his father had taken him on a hunting trip with several of his rich cronies. They’d flown to Canada on a private plane, then gone on an all-out killing expedition in the wilderness where his father had forced him to shoot wild boar and any other animal that moved. Henry had hated the experience, he’d hated firing the gun, then dealing with the blood and guts of the dead and wounded animals, but at least he’d learned how to handle a gun.
Once he had her cousin securely locked in the windowless outhouse with the solid oak door, he had not felt like starting his relationship with Maria. Yes, Maria—he did not care for the name Max, it was a most unsuitable name for a pretty young girl to adopt as her own. And she was pretty. Oh yes, she was very pretty indeed. Prettier than her mother, who had more of an exotic look about her. Maria’s face was softer, her lips fuller, and she had the most exquisite emerald green eyes he’d ever seen.
Henry had expected none of this—he’d anticipated that the girl would be a bitch like her mother. The surprise was that this girl could never be a bitch, he’d immediately sensed that she was very special indeed.
He knew he should go to her, assure her that everything would be all right, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Best to let things lie until the morning. Best not to rush her.
Besides, now that he had her in his power, he was strangely nervous. He wanted her to like him, and he realized that locking her up was not a good start.
He had to think of ways to change the circumstances of their first meeting. Ways to make her like him.
Saturday morning Henry heard her yelling. He was the only one to hear her, for when his father had built the out-of-the-way log cabin, he’d bought up all the surrounding land, guaranteeing complete privacy for miles around.
After his father’s unfortunate death, nobody had visited the cabin except him. Henry had a feeling that somehow or other everyone had forgotten it existed, which was fine with him because when his mother passed on it would be his anyway, and he’d been thinking that maybe he’d sell the Pasadena mansion and move to the cabin where nobody could bother him.
It occurred to him that if he was able to gain Maria’s trust and convince her what a witch Lucky Santangelo was, perhaps she would come with him—willingly the next time.
Things could have been so different if she hadn’t brought her cousin with her. Damn him! This was an inconvenience he hadn’t expected. If the cousin hadn’t been present she would have come with him quietly, exactly as they’d planned. Hadn’t they corresponded nicely on the Internet? Didn’t she know plenty about him? The fact that he didn’t look like the photo he’d posted meant nothing—she would have soon gotten used to him. He’d posted a photo of an obscure model, knowing if he’d put up a photo of himself she probably wouldn’t have come.
Henry was aware that he was not the best-looking man in the world. However, that did not mean he wasn’t a talented and accomplished actor, unlike Billy Melina, who was nothing but a pretty boy with no substance.
Henry hated Billy Melina, just as he hated Lucky Santangelo. But he didn’t hate Maria. Oh no, one look into those hypnotizing emerald green eyes and he didn’t hate Maria. Quite the reverse in fact.
During the night he’d taken Maria’s car and driven back to Big Bear, where he’d left it in the Kmart parking lot. Before doing so he’d wiped it clean of prints, feeling like a criminal, which was stupid since he was certainly no criminal. He’d also taken her laptop, which he’d discovered under the passenger seat. After that he’d driven his Volvo back to the cabin and unloaded the supplies he’d stocked up with on his way to Big Bear before the car had run out of gas.
He’d filled the fridge with food, lit a fire, and made the place as comfortable as possible. Then he’d gone to sleep on the foldaway bed in the main room. Now it was morning and he could hear Maria yelling to be let out.
The anticipation of seeing her again filled him with excitement. What would she say to him this morning? How would she feel? She was probably hungry and thirsty, so before unlocking the bedroom door where she was held captive, he prepared a tray with something for her to eat. A dish of cut-up fruit, a glass of orange juice, and two pieces of wheat toast. He wished he’d thought of bringing flowers, even a single rose would’ve been a nice touch.
When he opened the door he found her sitting on the floor, her ankle still manacled to the leg of the sturdy bed. He immediately noticed her ankle was red and swollen and he felt bad.
“Who are you?” she shouted, glaring at him, her expression wild and furious. “What the hell do you want with me? I hate you, you freak! Let me out of here!”
He was shocked. He hadn’t expected her to hate him. His feelings were hurt.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, carefully placing the tray on the end of the bed, determined to stay polite in spite of her nasty attitude. “Do you like fruit?”
“What am I supposed to do, grovel and thank you?” she yelled, shooting him another furious look. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“I can’t let you do that unless you promise to behave,” he said, wishing she would stop shouting.
“If you don’t let me go to the bathroom,” she threatened, “I’ll pee all over the floor.”
He didn’t appreciate vulgarity, it wasn’t right. But he had to remember that she’d been raised by Lucky Santangelo, so she obviously didn’t know any better.
“I’m trusting you,” he said, reaching in his pocket for the key to the shackle on her ankle.
“Trusting me?” she shouted. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Now she was using foul language, another habit she’d probably picked up from her mother.
He bent down and unlocked the shackle.
She stood up, quite unsteady. He took her arm and led her to the small bathroom his father had added on when he’d found the outhouse was not to his liking.
“Well,” she demanded when they reached the bathroom, “are you going to stand there watching me? Is that how you get your sick kicks?”
“I’ll wait outside,” he said stiffly.
She slammed the door in his fa
ce and he heard running water.