Retribution Road by Jon Coon (best books to read for women txt) 📗

THAT NIGHT, MARIA MET TOM in the hotel bar for drinks and dinner. The mood was light and the conversation full of laughter. At a bit past ten they went for a walk on the beach, and the conversation became serious.

“I don’t think we can do anything for the Benson girls until Paul is safe,” Tom began. “If we go after the girls now, the cartel will most certainly kill Paul. I think that’s what cutting off the girl’s finger was about. It was a warning.”

“A girl’s body was found this afternoon on the breakwater. She was missing a finger,” Maria said.

“I was afraid of that. They couldn’t torture her and then let her live to talk about it. Damn, I feel bad about that. If I hadn’t started asking questions, she would still be alive.”

They walked for a while in silence before he spoke again. “What have you heard? Anything since last night?”

“We’ve gotten a lead on a jungle village near Coba. It’s isolated enough to be well protected. Coba once was a huge town of over fifty thousand, but that was hundreds of years ago and it’s mostly a big archaeological site and a ghost town now. We’re sending a recon team to check it out. Nothing yet on the girls.”

“How about the boss, El Patrón? Are you getting any closer there?”

“He doesn’t let me get close. When we meet it’s always somewhere neutral and always a new place. No names, no phone or any way to get photos, always a guard or two watching me like snakes on a rabbit. Nothing that could lead us to him. He’s smart, Tom. Deadly and smart.”

“Do you think he suspects you?”

“If he did, I’d be dead.” She looked into his eyes with a sad smile.

“Then what does he want from you, sex?”

“Do you mean do I sleep with him? No, he’s never approached me or acted like he wants to. He wears a wedding ring. Maybe he takes that seriously.”

“What else?”

“He wants to know everything about you and your team, about the Senator. I only give him what you’ve given me. He pays me well and I don’t think he suspects us. If he did . . .”

“I understand. I know we’ve talked about it before, but is there any chance you could get us pictures? We haven’t a clue what he looks like.”

“Like I said, I’m never allowed to have my phone, and they search me often. If I ever got caught with a camera they would kill me on the spot. Like I told you, he’s smart. Smart and paranoid.”

“Well, don’t push it. Stay safe.”

“I can tell you this: There’s something going on. I have no idea what it is, but he’s always busy and the men around him are nervous. Also, there were military guys, the Zapatistas. They were very respectful. I didn’t hear anything, I just saw them waiting to talk to him, and they looked nervous too. I’ll keep listening. But I’m sure they don’t trust me. They don’t trust anyone.”

“But you got your foot in the door. That’s more than anyone else has ever done. You’re the best. Just hang in there.”

He took her hand and they walked on in silence. The smell of sea and sound of the waves were intoxicating. They came to an overturned boat and sat on the hull looking up at the star-filled sky and leaning against each other. “When this is over,” he began.

“Stop,” she said. “This is what we both live for, and there’s only one way it will ever be over, so don’t make promises you can’t keep. I know what’s in your heart, and I’m there with you. That’s enough for now. Let the future be. The future will unfold as it will.”

“I suppose you’re right, but we’ve been pushing our luck for a lot of years, and there are times …”

“Remember, men make plans, and what does God do?”

“I remember. God laughs. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have dreams. You and me on the ranch, spoiling the grandkids.”

“Keep dreaming, Grandpa. How about you and me in the islands with a lot of boat drinks busting bad guys? That’s the way I want to retire. You keep talking about rocking chairs on the front porch and I’m going to start wondering if you’re getting old?”

Tom chuckled. “Not too old to keep you happy.”

She hugged his arm. “And don’t I know it.”

Paul waited until everything was quiet in the hall. Then he quietly slipped from his bed, dropped to the stone floor, and did push-ups. He got to fifteen and was in agony. He lay on the floor panting. He rested and then started again. Another fifteen and he collapsed. He rolled on his back and tried a leg lift. He cried out in pain, then heard someone coming to his door.

The girl came in, turned on the light, and quickly closed the door behind her. She put her finger to her lips, cautioning him to remain silent, knelt beside him, and examined the dressings on his wounds.

His abdominal dressing was spotted with blood. She went to a supply cabinet by the bed, got fresh gauze pads, and after washing the wound with disinfectant, taped on new pads.

“You must be careful not to fall again,” she said. She put a finger to her lips, then pointed to the small microphone in the ceiling above the door. “You could pull out your stitches. You’re not healed yet.”

“Can you give me something for the pain? It hurts like crazy.”

“Si, I will bring you something. Just be more careful. Do you want me to help you?” She put her arm around him and helped him up. She moved slowly and close as he regained his balance.

He leaned against her as they walked to the bathroom. When they got to the door, she smiled, then gave him a small piece of paper that he opened and read. It said simply, “Angelica.”

She took his hand and squeezed it