Jessie looked into the window of the motel office and saw the light of a TV cutting the shadows in a room behind the counter. Someone was up. Her hiking boots crunched gravel until she hit the wooden boardwalk in front of the motel. When she stepped inside the front door, a doorbell tinkled overhead. The cramped space was filled to the rafters with knickknacks for sale, small-sized containers of toiletries, gum, and breath mints, and plenty of snacks even Harper would endorse.
“You come off the last ferry?” The motel clerk stepped out from the room where she’d seen the TV.
Jessie spied the clerk’s name posted on a wall plaque behind the counter. Byron McGivens.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did. You got a room, Byron?”
“Sure do.” He worked the keyboard of his computer and kept talking. “If you came off that ferry, did you drive from somewhere or just walk on?”
“I drove up from Chicago.” She was tired enough to let Byron’s prying get to her. “What’s with the twenty questions?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” He shrugged and had a hard time looking her in the eye. “Living in a small town, you get curious, that’s all.”
Jessie hadn’t noticed before, but the guy got a little antsy when she pushed back on his questions. She’d probably overreacted.
“Sorry. Guess I’m a little tired.”
After an awkward moment, the guy broke the ice.
“Okay, I’ve got another question, but this one’s business. How long you stayin’?”
“Not sure.” Jessie narrowed her eyes. “Can I tell you later?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
The guy had on a royal blue T-shirt with the name Madeline Island printed in white across his chest. He looked to be in his thirties, with dark thinning hair and a day’s worth of scruffy growth. After she handed him her credit card, the clerk had another request.
“I’m gonna need to see some ID.”
“Sure.” She fished for her driver’s license and handed it to him.
“You can never be too careful these days,” he said after he’d taken a good look at her ID and handed it back. “I’ve got you in number 12. Less road noise there. You can park around back.”
“Thanks.”
Jessie took her room key and headed to her car. She drove around back and carried in her one bag. The motel room was basic. Near the front door was a window with an air conditioner below it. One table was tightly squeezed next to the queen bed, with the bathroom toward the back and plenty of shag carpet in between. The room smelled moldy, like every other low-rent place she’d ever stayed in.
“Just like home.”
Before she unpacked, Jessie reached for her cell phone and hit her speed dial, making a call to the one guy who could make her feel better.
Harper.
“Hey,” she said quietly, finding solace in the sound of his sleepy voice. “It’s me.”
Shoreview Motel
After midnight
“You told me to call. A woman checked in just now.”
Byron McGivens spoke low. Even though no one was within earshot at this hour, it seemed like the thing to do. He didn’t expect the rapid-fire questions that came at him before he had a chance to think. This time of night, his brain wasn’t working on all cylinders.
“Yeah, I checked. Her name’s Jessica Beckett. And I verified that by her driver’s license. She drove up from Chicago.”
The motel clerk stepped out from behind the counter and walked toward the window, looking down Main Street.
“You need me to do anything else?”
Before he even got his question out, he was left listening to nothing but dial tone, with not so much as a good-bye. He would have been irritated with the rude way he’d been treated, but with the cash he’d been given, he overlooked it. Spying on a guest was easy money. And he hoped he hadn’t seen the last of his newfound good fortune.
If his services were needed again, he’d be ready.
The Pérez Compound
Outside Guadalajara, Mexico
Estella had stayed as long as she dared, but after seeing bright light erupting from the makeshift jail cell and hearing the screams of a man in pain, she knew they were torturing the American, and she ran.
She tore down the stone corridor, back the way she’d come. There was nothing she could do for the man, not now. Tears clouded her eyes, and she had never felt so alone. When she hit the night air, she sucked it into her lungs, fighting back the sadness that threatened to choke her.
After Estella closed the door behind her, she leaned against it before she collapsed. Trembling, she made the sign of the cross and slid to the ground, clutching her arms around her. How did she end up here? And what would become of her? A small part of her had hoped the prisoner would be strong enough to escape and save her, but now she knew that would never be.
If her mother had known this, would she still have sold her to Guerrero?
Estella knew the answer to that question, and it made her sick. Her own mother had betrayed her. And she would’ve done it again if it meant more money for her next fix. When she had the strength to walk, Estella stood and headed for her room in a building next to the main house. She crept through an adjacent patio garden and stuck to the shadows, which would hide her from the guards patrolling the grounds. When she’d made it to the hallway—and knew her room was at the end of the hall—she breathed a sigh of relief. No one was waiting for her outside.
Her room was next to the maid’s quarters, not much more than a closet, with only a bed and one lamp on a small wooden table. There was no lock on her door. Even if she wanted to hide, she couldn’t do it.
She slowly turned the knob of her door and peeked inside. When she saw that the room was dark, she slipped in with hands outstretched as she fumbled for the lamp.
When she touched the chest of a man, standing in front of her, she screamed. An arm tightened around her neck, cutting off her air.
“No, please . . . d-don’t hurt m-me,” she begged in Spanish, not recognizing her own voice.
“You should have thought about that before.”
When the man whispered in her ear, she recognized his voice. And his smell had haunted her nightmares. Ramon Guerrero had her by the throat. She couldn’t breathe. In the dark, she never saw his face, but Estella knew Ramon took pleasure in her fear.
Chapter 5
The Pérez Compound
Before dawn
Ramon Guerrero had found a new way to get the attention of Manolo Quintanilla Pérez, head of his cartel. And the psychopathic tendencies of his number two man, Miguel Rosas, would aid him in doing so.
He had wanted to surprise Estella Calderone in her room, but when she wasn’t there, Guerrero had waited. Every minute that ticked by made him angrier. With her disobedience, she’d forced him to punish her. He had no choice if he wanted to retain his reputation.
“Open the cell of the American,” he ordered as he hauled the girl down the corridor, by her hair.
A guard did as he was told and stood back as Guerrero shoved the girl to the stone floor inside. When she hit the ground, she cried out in pain. And as he expected, Miguel Rosas was waiting in the corridor.
“String her up,” Guerrero demanded, but when the jailer hesitated, he yelled, “Now!”
After the man reached for the chains, Guerrero waved his hand.
“Use that rope, over there.” He pointed. “Her wrists are too small for the chains.”