The men weren’t as cocky as they’d been previously. However, they weren’t a great help either. They watched the recording and offered no comment.
“Where did this take place?” Zeke demanded.
The bulkier of the men spoke first. “I don’t know.”
Zeke growled, “The hell you don’t.” He grabbed Paul’s assault rifle, resting the muzzle of it on the man’s forehead. “Tell me, dammit. Do it now, or I swear I’ll pull the trigger.”
“I don’t know!” he cried, his complexion gray with fear. “I’ve never seen that place before.”
“What about you?” Zeke snapped at the other man, training the rifle on him.
The man stared at the muzzle and shook his head.
“You’re fucking lying,” Zeke shouted. He tossed the weapon on the bed and grabbed the man’s shirt, hauling him up as much as he could given the man’s hand cuffed to the arm of the chair. The manacles around his ankles clattered. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know even if I have to beat it out of you.”
“Zeke.” Paul grabbed his arm. “Easy.”
The last time Kele had seen Zeke so desperate and violent was after Gabrielle’s death when the shock of losing her had worn off. There was no stupor in him now. Rage burned in his eyes. Behind it, she saw fathomless dread. Repeatedly, he pressed for answers from both men, forcing them to watch the video over and over.
No matter how many times or ways Zeke asked his questions, he didn’t get the responses he wanted.
Eventually, Jacob had joined them. Clearly alarmed at his brother’s behavior, he’d pulled Zeke aside and asked, “What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?” Zeke shot back. “They’re going to talk.”
“Whoa. Not if you kill them,” Jacob said.
“I won’t if I don’t have to. That’s up to them. Get out of my way.”
“Wait.” Jacob blocked Zeke from the prisoners. “What’s happened? What did Isabel want to talk to you about?”
Zeke wouldn’t tell Jacob. He pushed past his brother and concentrated again on the prisoners.
When Kele had left the room, Carreon’s men were looking to Jacob for protection against Zeke who was so despairing and exhausted he seemed on the verge of collapse.
Fatigue hunched Kele’s shoulders now, which she forced herself to ignore. She was so close.
Although she hadn’t been able to do much more than Paul had with the image-enhancing software, she’d taken what she was able to see and searched the Internet for similar calendars. A short while ago, she’d gotten a hit. A strip club in Albuquerque offered the calendar as a gift to its loyal patrons. Digging deeper, she’d learned that the club had once belonged to Carreon’s father. And now, to him.
She was certain he was there, waiting out the hours until Liz returned. Or until he had his man murder that other woman.
Bastard.
If not for Carreon, Zeke and Jacob would never have been near death. Liz wouldn’t have come here to restore Jacob’s health. The fight between their clans wouldn’t have escalated. Kele wouldn’t have put her own people at risk for a man who’d never loved her as she desired.
Shame rolled through her, making her sick. She should have left when her clan demanded it upon Zeke’s and Liz’s re—
“How much longer are you going to be?” Diaz asked, breaking into her thoughts. “We’ve already perfected our plan.”
“I don’t want anything to go wrong.”
“We’ve made it as perfect as we can. That’s all we can do.”
Kele didn’t comment, nor did she move from her computer.
Diaz sighed loudly. “It’s been a half hour since Ike told us Zeke approved our strategy and to let us leave when the time came. That’s now. We have to get Pedro.”
“We can’t go until it’s safe.”
“What are you talking about? When is that supposed to be?”
Kele looked at her computer screen, the time. “In a little bit.”
“Why wait? It’s been dark for quite a while. The drive there is going to take a couple of hours.”
The route to the strip club would take even longer. However, Kele didn’t want to arrive too quickly. “I promise we’ll get your cousin…I just want to make certain I have all of this down.”
Slumped in his chair, Diaz reviewed the strategy he’d written in longhand, no doubt believing Kele had keyed the same into her computer and that’s what she was going through now.
She wanted to keep it that way. “There’s a bedroom down the hall, second door on the left. You should take a nap. Rest before we have to leave. It’s going to be a long night.”
“I’m not tired.”
He looked as beat as she felt. “You will be.”
“I’ll sleep on the drive over.”
Kele fisted her fingers, wanting him out of this room so he wouldn’t get curious and finally look at what was on her monitor. “You might have to drive part of the way. I get tired too, you know.”
He lowered his notes and studied her as if he hadn’t considered that. “Maybe we both should take a nap.”
“No. I want to make certain we have everything down right.” She forced herself to sound neutral rather than irritated. Deliberately, she reached for the coffee pot even though she knew it was empty. She’d drunk the last of the brew an hour earlier. When only a few drops fell into her cup, she swore.
“Want me to get you some more?” Diaz asked.
“You’d have to make it.”
“So? I’m capable.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s the equipment?”
“Over there.” She inclined her head to the adjoining room, then added, “There should be some biscuits and cinnamon rolls in the refrigerator. You need to bake them.”
He frowned. “You’re hungry?”
“Aren’t you? If you’re not,” she said before he could answer, “you will be. We have a long trip there and back. It’s not like we can stop for fast food, not with Carreon’s men on the prowl. Forget it,” she added quickly, “I’ll make the stuff.”
“I’ll do it. Keep studying the plan so nothing goes wrong. But after we eat, we leave.”
Kele again checked the clock on her computer screen, calculating time and distance. She nodded, then waited until Diaz left the room.
With a few key strokes, she pulled up data from the strip club’s security cameras that she’d hacked into earlier, focusing on the one that provided coverage for the back door. The blueprint she’d found of the building showed her that’s where the office was. She fast-forwarded through the recordings and stopped frequently to check time stamps.
In the other room, Diaz moved around the unfamiliar space noisily as he searched for coffee filters, the grounds and cinnamon rolls she’d mentioned. With any luck, he’d be in there for at least another ten minutes.
She continued her computer search and backed up the tape, then fast-forwarded it once more.
Minutes later, she had her answer. At the same time every morning—once the club had closed for the night and the staff had departed—the back door opened. The man who’d strangled the stripper came outside, tossed a trash bag into a nearby bin, enjoyed a smoke, then went back in. Precisely twenty minutes later, he left the building with a briefcase, got into his car and drove away. His routine never varied.
With Carreon there, would the man do the same tonight?
He wouldn’t leave, of course. He might not even toss the trash bag. However, he quite possibly would enjoy a smoke. Why not? His monitors showed the deserted parking lot, proving he had nothing to worry about. A sophisticated security system protected the club from intrusion and from anyone turning it off.
Kele knew. She’d tried.
Carreon expected Liz and Dr. Munez to return to his stronghold where he, no doubt, had someone waiting for them. He’d want to remain at the club so he could be on camera for the next woman’s execution, just in case Liz didn’t do what he wanted. However, the prick hadn’t considered that anyone from Zeke’s clan would guess he was there, or that no security system was foolproof, even if it couldn’t be turned off. All cameras had blind spots, and Kele knew where the ones for these were.