"'My name is Zachariah Taylor," he said crisply as soon as the other man identified himself. "I talked to you earlier about—"
"The pretty blonde," the bell captain said. "I remember."
"Yeah, well, the pretty blonde didn't come home with me. I thought at the time she must have called someone else for a ride, but nobody here has heard from her, either. You told me you saw her go outside. Did she by any chance ask you to call a cab for her first?"
"No, sir. She came out of the ladies' room and went straight outside. It's possible she called one herself from a cell phone, though. We got busy about then, so I couldn't say whether or not a taxi actually arrived during that time."
Zach thanked him for his cooperation and slowly replaced the receiver. He looked at Jessica. "I don't like this," he admitted. "The resort didn't call her a cab and it's not like she could have called one for herself, since she doesn't have a cell phone."
Jessica made a skeptical sound. " Everyone has a cell phone."
"Except Lily and me, apparently. It's one of the things we talked about at dinner—how we seem to be the last two techno-dinosaurs on earth." Then out of the blue, he got a flash of the call he'd been in the midst of making to Camp Pendleton regarding a certain South American when his sister and David had shown up. Swearing, he took off for the stairs at a dead run.
"What?" Jessica was right behind him. "What have you thought of?"
He didn't slow down as his longer stride outstripped hers, but he said over his shoulder, "Call the cab company, Jess, just to be sure. I'll be back in a minute to explain." Meanwhile, he'd hope to hell he was wrong and this had nothing to do with Miguel Escavez.
He checked Lily's room quickly, just in case she'd somehow slipped into the house without being seen. But nothing had been disturbed and she'd clearly not been back. He went next door, grabbed his address book, and headed back downstairs.
Glynnie, David, and Christopher were in the parlor with Jessica when he walked in, and they all turned worried eyes his way. "Jessica says Lily's missing?" his sister asked.
Shrugging aside her question with a dismissive wave of his hand, he snatched up the phone and punched in the number from his book. But as the phone rang and rang, he realized it was long past office hours. He disconnected and dialed information for Jake Magnusson's number. As the man in charge of the Colombians' training, he'd be the fastest source of information.
Jake's home phone also rang several times, and Zach, on the verge of disconnecting, was trying to think who to contact next when the phone at the other end of the line was abruptly picked up. A deep voice growled, "What?"
"Maggie? It's Zach. Look, I'm sorry to bother you at home, but—"
"Where the hell have you been, Midnight? You picked one helluva time to go on leave—I've been trying to get hold of you practically since you left. We've got a problem with one of the nationals you brought back with you from Colombia."
Ice crawled through Zach's gut. "Shit. Miguel Es-cavez?"
"That's the one, all right. The boy's gone AWOL on us."
Chapter 24
MIGUEL SHOT HIS CURVACEOUS PRISONER A triumphant glance as he drove slowly up Rosario Road toward the main highway. The sight of her bound wrists and the gratifying cautiousness with which she regarded him filled him with powerful satisfaction. He felt like dancing and singing, and it was all he could do to remain still in his seat.
"This is the third time I've seen you," she said when he glanced her way again and their gazes met. "Who are you, anyway?"
Intimidation was a potent weapon—the master sergeant had taught him that—and Miguel bestowed his iciest glare upon his enemy's woman and growled, "Your worst nightmare." Ha! He'd wanted to use that line ever since he'd heard it said on the television the night he'd played cards with the GIs.
Such a menacing statement deserved a respectful reaction—or at the very least something more deferential than the abrupt crack of bitter laughter that escaped his captive.
"Not tonight you aren't, pal," she said. "Ordinarily, maybe, since it's not every day I get abducted at gunpoint. But it's been a really lousy evening."
His wonderful threat was meant to instill terror, not disrespect. But not even the puta's refusal to give him his due could wreck his mood—he simply felt too good, was infused with too much power. He, Miguel Hector Javier Escavez, had accomplished his goal. And to think he'd almost given up!
He could only blame the low morale from which he'd suffered this afternoon on the sheer boredom of sitting around day after day after day , waiting for events that never happened. But that was of no consequence now. It had ceased to be important the minute the master sergeant and his woman had suddenly materialized, motoring out of the mansion driveway in the commander's black Jeep like a sign from Dios Himself.
Or not long after that, anyway. He had to admit that even then he had doubted the Divine One's intentions. But who could blame him? He'd found himself sorely disappointed on more than one occasion just when he'd thought his objective was in sight.
But he would never question his Savior again, for although he'd been afraid to depend on much in the way of results this time either, in the end his patience had been rewarded beyond his wildest expectations. He'd sat in his car and he'd paced the grounds, keeping an eye on Taylor's Jeep and the main door of the resort. But finally, just when he'd been sure his limbo would never end, who should exit the fancy white hotel all by herself but the master sergeant's woman?
Asign indeed. He hummed a snatch of a song that was popular back home.
His ebullient mood faltered, however, when he reached Horseshoe Highway and had to decide which way to turn. That's when it occurred to him that he didn't actually know what to do with the woman now that he had her. With an uneasy pang, he realized he'd never planned beyond the part where he took her away from the oh-so-high-and-mighty marine.
He turned on his left blinker, deciding to head straight for the ferry dock to catch the first boat off this island. Since the woman most likely hadn't even been missed yet, that would be the smart thing to do. But remembering how long the wait had been on the mainland dock the day they'd caught the ferry coming to the island, he hesitated. It would be the smart thing only if he could drive right on a boat and sail away from here. If he got hemmed in on a crowded dock, that would not be so smart, for the ferry terminal was the first place Taylor was likely to check.
He turned right toward Moran State Park instead. He needed to get off the main road and find a quiet place where he could think.
Lily couldn't repress the shudder that raised goose-bumps all over her body when her abductor pulled the car into a secluded campsite several minutes later. But her reaction had more to do with the memory of her last time in this park than the fear of the man who held her captive. Swiveling to face him, she wondered why she wasn't more frightened. To be calm seemed just plain foolish, for here she was, back in the middle of these darn woods, with the last of the light fading fast, in the power of a young man inclined to do only God knew what.
Yet for some odd reason, although she was certainly apprehensive, she wasn't terrified. Maybe because her captor struck her as little more than a boy, and she didn't get the impression he was bent on murder or rape. Or maybe it had to do with the nagging feeling she'd been snookered. Believing his claim that he had a gun, she'd let herself be bundled into this messy car with its backseat full of empty food wrappers and beverage containers, and its smell of sweaty young man. To compound her error, she'd allowed him to bind her wrists with a grubby length of cord. And all without ever having seen so much as a glimpse of an actual weapon.