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

Where did I hide a list of account numbers and passwords that could get me killed? Javier knew I was up to something. If he had my room searched, they’d look in all the obvious places—between the mattress and box springs, under a corner of the carpet, in my lingerie drawer.

With the paper clenched in my hand, I wandered into the closet and found the answer.

Chances were excellent neither Javier nor his men knew about the secret compartments in Baker Street bags. I was fashion savvy and I hadn’t known.

I lifted the amethyst clutch off the shelf and pushed and poked and turned until the compartment opened. The paper, rolled and folded, just fit.

I returned the bag to the shelf and donned one of the flowing day dresses Javier had provided. I loaded up an arm with Ippolita bracelets, put a two-carat diamond in each ear lobe, draped a gold necklace around my throat, and fastened the clasp. I even perused the array of sandals and found a pair that didn’t hurt the still-healing skin on my feet.

Next—hair and make-up (I knew all Chariss’ tricks and used them). After a few minutes’ consideration, I didn’t cover the Z on my cheek.

If I wowed Ignacio Quintero with my beauty and charm, or if I gained his sympathy with my terrifying Zeta experience, the lions would have to find something else to eat. And, maybe—maybe—he’d let me go home.

As ready as I’d ever be, I sat down and waited with Consuela.

Tap, tap.

“Come in.”

Manuel opened the door. “I’m here to escort you to lunch.”

Lunch. There was no way I’d be able to eat a single bite. My stomach lurched at the thought. I set Consuela down on the floor, stood, and grabbed the chair for balance. I who had zero acting skills, was about to put on a life-altering performance.

Stage fright didn’t cover the butterflies street-fighting in my stomach.

If I flubbed my lines, the consequences could be much worse than a bad review.

I peeled my fingers off the back of the chair, followed Manuel to the dining room and paused in the doorway to steal a glance at Chariss’ portrait.

Ignacio Quintero rose from his seat at the head of the table. “Mi amiga, I am honored to meet you.”

Deer caught in headlights had more mobility than I did.

Ignacio Quintero, the most powerful Narco in the world, stepped out from behind his table, approached me, and brushed gentle kisses against each of my frozen cheeks.

Yip. Yip, yip, yip. Consuela demanded his attention.

He bent, picked her up, and cuddled her in his arms. “I am told you two are great friends.”

“She is a very sweet dog.” My face felt as if it might crack into a million pieces but at least my voice worked.

“Yes.” He dropped a kiss on Consuela’s head. “Mi querida.” He reached out for my hand. “Come. Sit next to me.”

Ignacio had thick, dark hair threaded with silver, brown eyes, and a strong chin. The arms that held Consuela were corded with muscle. His torso had thickened with middle age and wrinkles radiated from his eyes. His hand was warm and dry.

He’s old enough to be my father.

What would I do if he joined me in my suite?

I didn’t have an answer.

Ignacio let go of my hand and pulled out the chair next to his. “Please, sit.”

I sat. And looked around the table.

There was Javier. He wore a simmering-rage expression and glared at Consuela.

And there was a man I didn’t know seated across from me.

I’d met men like him before—pouty lips, cold eyes—spoiled sons of sultans, pampered princes of eastern realms. Men who prayed to Allah during the day and filled their luxury suites with high-end call girls at night. They had so much money there was nothing they couldn’t buy. All that privilege and power corroded their souls.

“Abdul, may I present Poppy Fields.” Ignacio tilted his chin my direction. “Mi amiga, this is Abdul Kabir.”

So the plan to import Afghani heroin proceeded.

“Pleased to meet you.” Thank God my voice still worked because the smile I wore was as brittle and breakable as old twigs.

“Likewise.” Abdul Kabir’s glance said he had my number—Hollywood slut. “Señor Quintero—”

“Ah, ah!” Señor Quintero wagged his finger.

“Ignacio—” Abdul corrected “—was kind enough to share a few of your mother’s films with me as we traveled back here.” No sarcasm. Not a hint.

The brittle smile remained in place. “I hope you enjoyed them.”

“She is a beautiful woman. You look just like her.”

“Thank you.” No sarcasm. Not a hint.

Ignacio, with Consuela on his lap, beamed at his guests.

Abdul turned toward our host. “We have much to discuss.”

“Later.”

Abdul blinked. “But—”

“We will not talk business with a beautiful woman at the table.”

Abdul’s pout became more pronounced. “I am due in Venezuela tomorrow. When shall we talk business? Not on the plane while Chariss Carlton’s films are playing. Not in the car where your driver might listen. Not now with your woman at the table.”

If Abdul said something I shouldn’t know, I’d never get out of here. I pushed my chair away from the table. “I am feeling a bit tired.”

“Do not move.” Ignacio grabbed my wrist and held fast. “Sit. You will eat with us.” Then he turned his gaze on Abdul.

The Afghani man paled. And he didn’t even know about the lions and their nutritional needs. “When? When will we discuss business?” Either the man was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Possibly both.

“Later.”

Abdul sat straight in his chair. “I am not a Sinaloan peasant to be put off.”

Consuela shot me a keep-your-mouth-closed-and-don’t-move look.

Sound advice.

I didn’t move. Not a muscle.

The little dog turned toward Abdul, pulled her lips back from her teeth until she resembled a vampire, and made a zombie sound deep in her throat.

Wisely, Abdul fell silent.

Thankfully, two men entered with our lunches—grilled fish, rice, and slaw plated on the first Señora Quintero’s china.

They served us and left. Quickly.

We picked up heavy silver forks and poked at our meals. I poked. The men ate.

Ignacio shifted his attention to me—to my cheek. “The men who hurt you will pay, mi amiga.”

I touched the scab and smiled bravely.

Javier snorted softly.

Ignacio shifted his attention again. “This happened on your watch.” The glare he gave his CFO was enough to melt the paint from the walls.

I ventured a second brave smile. “Javier has been a most accommodating host in your absence.”

Yip.

“This afternoon, I will show you around my home.”

Abdul made a low sound in his throat. Not quite Consuela’s zombie sound but close.

“You must see my horses. I raise Aztecas.

“She stole two.”

Yip.

“The Zeta who took her stole two and if you’d been doing your job, that wouldn’t have happened.”

Javier remained defiantly unconvinced that a Zeta had abducted me. His lip curled.

“Who else would come for her but the Zetas?”

“How did they know she was here?”

“How would anyone know she was here?”

Javier didn’t have an answer for that.

“Are the Zetas organized enough to plot against you?” Abdul’s dark brows lowered. “You said they were but a shadow of what they had been.”

“That is true.”

“It better be. We’ve got a lot riding on this.”

Yip.

I kept quiet, staring down at the fish I couldn’t bring myself to eat.

“My word is good. We will have Nuevo Laredo within six months.”

There. That was one of the things I shouldn’t know. The butterflies in my stomach stopped their senseless fighting and tied knots. Lots and lots of knots. I put down my fork.

“You don’t like your lunch?

“I’m not very hungry.”

“We will fix you something else.”

“It’s not that. I’m—” I searched my plate for