what he’d said and what he hadn’t.
“He’s coming around.”
The words were spoken in Spanish, but not by the ones who had beaten him earlier. The second string must have been sent in. Someone shook him, reeling his senses. Maybe if they thought he had other information, he could bargain. Stiffening his backbone, Joel raised his head, sending pain through his arms bound behind him. He struggled to look the men in the eye, but his left eyelid refused to budge. He cracked the right one even though it was almost swollen shut. It appeared they were in a warehouse of some kind.
“The woman and child?”
He bared his teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Talking cost him strength. Strength he had to save for thinking. And for trying to get untied. He wiggled his hands, feeling the rope that bound him give.
“Your niece. And the woman with her. Where are they?”
A shred of relief spread through him. If they didn’t have Maria, she and the necklace were safely on their way to the States. Now all he had to do was stay alive long enough to get to her. “How would I know? The last time I saw them was at the restaurant.”
The man questioning him swore. Joel closed his eye and braced for another blow to his head. When it didn’t come, he risked another look. The man stood, his arms folded.
“They went to the airport. What’s their destination?”
He wasn’t stupid. If he gave up the information, he would be of no further use to them. “Why do you—”
“No questions. You owe—”
A door burst open, and a flash of light followed by an explosion rocked his head.
“Police! Put your guns down!”
Gunfire rang out. Joel rocked the chair, managing to tip himself over, and crashed onto the floor. He lay unmoving until the shooting stopped. Then someone lifted him, and rough hands jerked the ropes loose. He inched his stiff arms forward, and a wave of pain tore through him. He groaned.
“Are you all right?”
“Do I look all right?” Joel eyed the wiry Mexican who knelt beside him.
“Sorry. I’m Sergeant Quinten Chavez—with the PFM. And you are?”
Police of the Federal Ministry. The big guns. “Joel McDermott. I work for Montoya Cerámica.” He worked his shoulders, and circulation returned to his arms. “How did you know—”
“Lucky for you, someone saw them bring you into the warehouse and reported it. We knew this was a Calatrava operations building, and we jumped on it.”
“So it was the Calatrava?” But why? It hadn’t been the cartel he’d lost money to.
“ Was is correct . ”The inspector jerked his head toward twobodies on the floor. “At least for these two. They won’t be hurting anyone else. Do you know why the drug cartel took you?”
Joel rubbed his arms. There was not a muscle in his body that didn’t hurt. “No.”
Chavez lifted his eyebrows.
“If I knew, I would tell you.”
A beep on the sergeant’s phone interrupted whatever he intended to say. Chavez read the message. “Your niece. Where is she?”
Joel’s heart stilled. Chavez already knew about Maria? “On her way to the States with her teacher.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What do you mean?”
“According to the message I just received, Bailey Adams and Maria Montoya were no-shows on the plane.”
Joel’s heart sank. This could not be happening. “The cartel doesn’t have them. That was the information they wanted from me—their whereabouts. If they’re not on the plane, then I don’t have a clue.”
“What would the Calatrava drug cartel want with your niece, Mr. McDermott?”
“You have to ask? How about ransom? Her great-uncle Edward Montoya is quite wealthy, and it’s common knowledge wealthy people in Mexico carry insurance.”
Chavez nodded. “And you yourself have such insurance.”
“Yeah. So?” He leveled his gaze at the detective. “You seem to know a lot about me.”
Chavez ignored his inference. “Can you call Miss Adams?”
He felt for his
“He’s coming around.”
The words were spoken in Spanish, but not by the ones who had beaten him earlier. The second string must have been sent in. Someone shook him, reeling his senses. Maybe if they thought he had other information, he could bargain. Stiffening his backbone, Joel raised his head, sending pain through his arms bound behind him. He struggled to look the men in the eye, but his left eyelid refused to budge. He cracked the right one even though it was almost swollen shut. It appeared they were in a warehouse of some kind.
“The woman and child?”
He bared his teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Talking cost him strength. Strength he had to save for thinking. And for trying to get untied. He wiggled his hands, feeling the rope that bound him give.
“Your niece. And the woman with her. Where are they?”
A shred of relief spread through him. If they didn’t have Maria, she and the necklace were safely on their way to the States. Now all he had to do was stay alive long enough to get to her. “How would I know? The last time I saw them was at the restaurant.”
The man questioning him swore. Joel closed his eye and braced for another blow to his head. When it didn’t come, he risked another look. The man stood, his arms folded.
“They went to the airport. What’s their destination?”
He wasn’t stupid. If he gave up the information, he would be of no further use to them. “Why do you—”
“No questions. You owe—”
A door burst open, and a flash of light followed by an explosion rocked his head.
“Police! Put your guns down!”
Gunfire rang out. Joel rocked the chair, managing to tip himself over, and crashed onto the floor. He lay unmoving until the shooting stopped. Then someone lifted him, and rough hands jerked the ropes loose. He inched his stiff arms forward, and a wave of pain tore through him. He groaned.
“Are you all right?”
“Do I look all right?” Joel eyed the wiry Mexican who knelt beside him.
“Sorry. I’m Sergeant Quinten Chavez—with the PFM. And you are?”
Police of the Federal Ministry. The big guns. “Joel McDermott. I work for Montoya Cerámica.” He worked his shoulders, and circulation returned to his arms. “How did you know—”
“Lucky for you, someone saw them bring you into the warehouse and reported it. We knew this was a Calatrava operations building, and we jumped on it.”
“So it was the Calatrava?” But why? It hadn’t been the cartel he’d lost money to.
“ Was is correct . ”The inspector jerked his head toward twobodies on the floor. “At least for these two. They won’t be hurting anyone else. Do you know why the drug cartel took you?”
Joel rubbed his arms. There was not a muscle in his body that didn’t hurt. “No.”
Chavez lifted his eyebrows.
“If I knew, I would tell you.”
A beep on the sergeant’s phone interrupted whatever he intended to say. Chavez read the message. “Your niece. Where is she?”
Joel’s heart stilled. Chavez already knew about Maria? “On her way to the States with her teacher.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What do you mean?”
“According to the message I just received, Bailey Adams and Maria Montoya were no-shows on the plane.”
Joel’s heart sank. This could not be happening. “The cartel doesn’t have them. That was the information they wanted from me—their whereabouts. If they’re not on the plane, then I don’t have a clue.”
“What would the Calatrava drug cartel want with your niece, Mr. McDermott?”
“You have to ask? How about ransom? Her great-uncle Edward Montoya is quite wealthy, and it’s common knowledge wealthy people in Mexico carry insurance.”
Chavez nodded. “And you yourself have such insurance.”
“Yeah. So?” He leveled his gaze at the detective. “You seem to know a lot about me.”
Chavez ignored his inference. “Can you call Miss Adams?”
He felt for his
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