Fields' Guide to Abduction - - (best sales books of all time txt) 📗
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Dinner wasn’t so bad. The maître d’ led us to an intimate table for four on a fairy-lit veranda. We shared a fabulous (ruinously expensive) bottle of wine then ordered. When it came, the food was phenomenal. Best of all, I was with three people who could carry a conversation without me. I said not a word.
Until Mike turned to me and asked, “What happened last night? Did you ever find Jake?”
“Jake?” Mia’s perfect eyebrows rose into perfect arches.
I shrugged. “I saw someone who looked just like him.”
“You mean he’s not here?” Mike lifted the salted rim of a margarita glass to his lips. “Too bad. I wanted to meet him.”
Mia’s mouth tightened and I shifted my gaze to my lap. Loneliness was back and he’d brought his friend Sadness.
Mike reached out and squeezed my arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s just—” it wasn’t Mike’s fault that people around me were dropping like flies. “I’m not—”
“They broke up.” Mia nodded “It was ugly. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Wait.” A fearsome expression settled onto Mike’s face. “Is he stalking you? Is that why you thought you saw him?”
“No. He’s not stalking me.”
Mia picked up her glass. “Seriously, let’s talk about something else.”
Mike donned a what’s-a-guy-supposed-to-do expression and shifted his attention to André. “Did you hear someone was murdered in the hotel?
As topics went, that one wasn’t any better.
“We heard,” said André. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I saw you in Singapore Sling. You were awesome.”
André was a genius. There was nothing actors liked better than hearing how marvelous they’d been in their most recent project. Mike had played an American drug dealer who got killed before the halfway mark.
“It was a good project.” Mike nodded sagely. “Good director.”
“So, what’s next for you?”
“I’m not sure acting is my thing.”
Of all of us (and we all had famous parents), Mike was the only one who’d chosen to follow in his parent’s footsteps. Mia didn’t sing, I didn’t act, and André broke out in hives at the mere mention of producing a movie.
“Oh?” Even Mia, who knew Mike best, sounded surprised.
“I’m thinking investing might be more my style.” He sipped his margarita. “When we were shooting in Asia, I met a group of investors who are looking for opportunities.”
“Like the tequila company,” I ventured.
“Exactly.”
“What have you decided about that?” I lifted a glass of mineral water to my lips.
“I’m not sure investing in companies in Mexico is the smartest move right now.”
“Oh?” Mia tilted her head like a curious robin.
“Too much unrest. Too much violence.”
I wasn’t about to argue.
“So what are you thinking?” she asked.
Mike answered her with a cagey smile. “Still looking for the right opportunity.” His gaze slid from Mia to me. “You have an admirer.”
“I do?”
“That guy over there. He’s been staring at you all night.”
As one, our heads swiveled and Mike muttered, “Subtle.”
I didn’t care about subtlety. Not when Javier Diaz was staring at me like I was the most delicious thing on the menu.
“Who is that?” Mike jerked his chin toward the man staring at me.
According to the detective who’d taken my passport, Javier Diaz was a leader in the Sinaloa Cartel. Bit if that was true, why hadn’t he been arrested? Why was he lounging on the patio looking as if he owned the place? “Nobody.”
“He doesn’t look like a nobody.”
Mike was right. Even in a loose linen shirt, khakis, and a pair of espadrilles, Javier Diaz looked like someone who usually wore bespoke suits. And that was if one didn’t notice the Vacheron Constantin Tour de l’Ile on his wrist. The watch cost more than a million dollars and was a status symbol for the super-rich. I’d only seen three before tonight. One on the wrist of a Saudi prince. One had belonged to André’s father (before the flop and the lawsuits). And one was James Ballester’s pride and joy.
“Nice watch.” André recognized it too.
“Who is he?” Mike insisted.
“His name is Javier Diaz.”
“But who is he?” Translation—what did Javier do to afford a watch like that.
I leaned forward and pitched my voice low. “He’s a leader in the Sinaloa Cartel.”
“Well, that explains the watch.”
“You mean like cartel cartel? Headless people in Juarez cartel?” Mike’s cheeks had paled.
“Exactly. He’s dangerous. Stop staring at him.”
As one, we swiveled our gazes away.
“Like I said—” Mike shook his head “—subtlety isn’t your thing.”
“What I don’t understand is how he can just wander around a resort.” Mia whispered so quietly we all leaned in to hear her. “Can’t the police arrest him?”
“I think they need proof.” I was pretty sure if Detective Gonzales could prove Javier was a drug lord, he’d be in jail. That or Javier had paid off all the right people.
Mike snuck another look at Javier. “He seems really into you, Poppy.”
I shuddered. People who got mixed up with drug cartels ended up dead in unpleasant ways. An image of Irene’s battered face flashed in front of my eyes. “Not in a million years.”
“Just ignore him,” said Mia “He’ll get the idea.”
I sincerely doubted that.
A waiter cleared our plates.
“Does anyone want another drink?” Mike glanced at his Rolex (very mundane when compared to the timepiece on Javier’s wrist). “The club doesn’t open until ten.”
“You guys go ahead,” I said. “I’m heading back. It’s been a rough day.”
Mia’s lower lip extended in a pout. “We’re going dancing. It won’t be as much fun without you.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m not sure it’s such a good idea that you be alone.”
“Maybe tomorrow tonight.” Assuming my passport wasn’t returned. If—when—
I reclaimed that blessed blue-clad document, I’d be out of Mexico within minutes. “Right now, I feel as if I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“I’ll go back to the villa with you,” offered André. “All that parasailing wore me out.”
“It’s early,” Mia argued. “You should come out for a little while. It will cheer you up.”
Cheer me up? Not likely. “It’s been a long day.” The understatement of all understatements. “Besides, you and Mike will do just fine without us.” If she thought I’d missed them rubbing their knees together under the tables, she was wrong.
I stood.
So did André.
So did Mike, who dropped a good-night kiss on my cheek.
André closed his hand on my elbow and together we wound our way through the tables. We stopped at the edge of the patio and admired the starlit water.
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” he said. “It was my idea for you to come here.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I convinced you to come.”
“I didn’t need much convincing. Besides, this trouble is nothing a good lawyer and a private plane can’t fix. I have both.”
“You have a private plane?”
“If I need one, James will send me his Gulfstream in a heartbeat.”
We stepped onto the pathway that led to the private villas.
“Are you okay in those shoes?”
I wore the same Louboutin stilettos I’d worn last night. “I’m fine.”
“Sure? It’s at least half a mile walk.”
“I’m fine. Just don’t make me run.”
We strolled.
“So, what’s up with you and Cody?” I asked.
André shook his head. “Let’s not go there.”
“You know all my drama.”
“He…” André paused and looked out at the ocean, his face suddenly sad. “We want different things.”
I took his hand in mine. “You’ll meet the right man someday.”
“So will you.”
“Until then we’ve got each other.” I pulled on his arm. “Come on, I want to get out of these clothes.”
“You are looking very chic for a beach resort.”
I snorted. “Let’s go.”
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