Fields' Guide to Abduction - - (best sales books of all time txt) 📗

Silva nodded with enthusiasm. Me with a passport was me out of his resort (he should have thought about that before he opened his trap about the flash drives in the gift shop).

Gonzales didn’t nod. He remained stone-face. “Like I said, it will only take a few days—”

“It appears we have nothing more to discuss.” I stood. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. I strode out of the office with my back straight and my head held high.

I strode right into the light, airy lobby and stopped a few feet in front of the concierge’s desk. That desk. Not as big as Señor Silva’s but three times nicer. It had patina. It belonged in a patrón’s office on a hacienda.

The woman behind the desk spoke into the phone. Rapid Spanish. I understood not a word.

The tanned, blonde, glamorous, probably-shilled-on-Instagram-for-a-living couple seated at her desk looked on expectantly.

I looked at the ceiling and fingered the locket at my neck. The poor woman didn’t need three people watching her talk.

“Gracias.” She hung up the phone and smiled at the couple.

“You got the table?” asked the Ken-doll man.

“Yes.”

“The one we wanted? The VIP section with the best view of the stage?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I just want to make sure because I—”

I sighed.

Barbie looked over her shoulder, saw me, and poked Ken in the ribs.

Ken turned and looked at me. “Hey, aren’t you Chariss—”

“I’m her daughter.”

“You’re Poppy Fields,” said Barbie. “I follow you on Twitter. I’m so excited to meet you.” She dug in her pool bag, pulled out a book, and held it up. “I always read your recommendations.”

Oh. Wow. “I loved that one.”

“Me, too. I can’t wait to see how it ends but I also want it to go on forever. Do you ever feel that way about a book?”

“All the time.” I’d wronged this woman. Her name wasn’t Barbie.

Ken stood and pulled on not-Barbie’s elbow. “We’re due for our couple’s massage.”

Not-Barbie stood. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m Barbara—” she glanced at her left hand where an enormous diamond ring sparkled “—Barbara Brown. This is my husband, Ken.”

Seriously? “It was nice meeting you, too.”

“Do you think we could grab a picture?” Already Barbie-not-Barbie was handing her phone to the concierge.

We smiled for the camera then Barbie-not-Barbie and Ken headed off to their massage without leaving the woman who’d secured their table a tip.

“May I help you?” The concierge sounded tired—as if sitting behind a desk fielding unreasonable demands from guests who didn’t tip wasn’t the best job in the world.

“I need a car to the airport, please.”

“At what time?”

“Immediately. The plane is waiting.”

The concierge tapped a few keys. “We have a shuttle leaving in thirty minutes.”

“I’d prefer a car.”

She drew her brows together and tapped at more keys. “An hour. I can get you a car in an hour.”

“Perfect.” I gave her my villa number and deposited a thousand peso note on the desk. “Thank you.”

Her gaze swept over the bill. “We hope you’ll come again soon.”

Not in a million years. I rose from the chair, turned, and bumped into Brett.

“Poppy!” His hands closed briefly on my shoulders.

“I’m sorry Brett. I didn’t see you standing there. Are you waiting for the concierge?”

“No. I saw you from across the lobby.”

Oh goody. How much had he heard? I reviewed my conversation with the helpful woman behind the desk. All I’d done was request a car.

“You’re leaving the resort?”

He’d heard me.

“I am.”

“Where are you off to?”

None of his business. “I’m off to finish packing. This lovely young woman has arranged for a car for me.” I stepped away from him.

He stopped me with an uninvited hand on my arm. “I meant, where are you going?”

None of his damn business. “I’m due in Paris at the end of the week.”

The corner of his mouth ticked as if I’d annoyed him.

“I really do need to go.” I tugged against his grasp.

Brett held tight. “Seriously, where are you going?”

“There you are!” Mike draped an arm around my shoulders. “I’ve been looking for you. You promised me a drink.”

I pulled free of Brett’s grasp on my arm and smiled up at Mike, who smelled like beer and sunscreen, an unlikely combination for a hero.

Brett’s face turned the color of old bricks and tic at the corner of his mouth did the merengue.

“Mike, do you know Brett Cannon? Brett, this is my friend Mike Wilde.”

They eyed each other. Nodded with tight jerks of their chins. There was a story there.

“Mike, will you walk me back to the villa? We can have that drink while I pack.”

“Of course.” Mike smiled as if walking me to the villa was the absolute best offer he’d ever had.

“Nice seeing you again,” I said to Brett. “Good-bye.”

Brett smoothed the annoyance off his features. At least, he tried—there was nothing he could do about that tic. “Nice seeing you, too.”

Mike and I stepped outside onto the sun-drenched veranda. “You looked like you needed saving.” He shook his blond head. “Plus, that guy’s bad news.”

I tilted my head and looked up at him. “How do you know Brett?”

Mike’s expression turned grim. “Long story. Believe me when I tell you, he’s bad news.”

“Well, thanks for being my white knight.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

I shook my head. “I need to pack.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to La Paz to see James.”

“Ballester? Why?”

If told Mike the whole story—my dead ex-boyfriend showed up in the middle of the night and told me I was in danger, I’d already sent Mia and André back to Los Angeles, I was stuck in Mexico, and I was scared—I wouldn’t have time to pack. I didn’t have time to recount even half that story. Plus—trust no one. “He needs me for a bit part in his movie.”

“Don’t!”

Heads turned.

I pulled on his arm. “Let’s walk.”

“I mean it, Poppy. Don’t. Do anything but what Chariss does. Believe me—” the bitterness in his voice could curdle milk “—the comparisons will never end.”

“Maybe you’re right.” It wasn’t as if I had any interest in being in a movie. “I might just hang out with James.”

His face cleared. Slightly.

“Trust me on this one.”

I did. We walked the rest of the way to the villa in silence.

At the door, I rose up on my tiptoes and kissed Mike’s cheek. “Thanks again for saving me.”

“Is Mia here?”

“She and André took off for parts unknown.” Almost true.

Mike sighed as if he wished he’d gone with them. “Well, have Mia call me.”

“Will do.”

When I got inside, I called Gardner, Wilson and Bray. “Ruth Gardner, please.”

“Ms. Gardner is in a meeting. May I take a message?”

Of course she was in a meeting. Ruth was always in a meeting. “Would you please tell her Poppy Fields called. James Ballester is sending his plane. I’ll be leaving Cabo in an hour.”

“Anything else, Ms. Fields?”

“Tell her I still don’t have a passport.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I hung up the phone and packed. Candles, a cashmere throw, framed pictures in one suitcase. Shoes and handbags, all carefully wrapped in chamois bags, in another. A make-up case for make-up, lotions, and potions. Two large bags for my clothes. Then my laptop, a clean pair of underwear, and a small notebook in my messenger bag.

I finished just as a black Escalade parked outside.

“Señorita Fields,” said a man in a polo shirt embroidered with the resort’s logo, “I am Juan. I will take you to the airport.”

“Thank you.”

I climbed into the back seat with my messenger bag. Juan loaded the suitcases into the back. Together, we were on our way.

“Did you enjoy your stay?” he asked.

“It’s a lovely property.”

Juan and his Escalade whisked me through crowded streets then entered the near empty toll road.

Ding.

I glanced at my phone.

You okay?

I texted Mia back. On my way to the airport. Still no passport. Oh, call Mike. I didn’t tell him you left…