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“I’ll kill him, mi amor. You know I will.”
She remembered the craving she’d felt for Preston’s touch last night, a completely foreign emotion after being with Manuel for so long, and refused to believe he was in any kind of danger.
I’ll be with him for only two more days, just until we reach Iowa. Then we’ll part and never see each other again. Manuel will never find us. He’ll never know who helped me.
She held the phone against her shoulder and wiped her sweaty palms on her khaki shorts. “Stop trying to frighten me, Manuel. I have something to say you’re going to want to hear.”
“What is it?”
“I have proof.”
Silence.
“Mommy?” Max tapped her leg. “When will you be done? I want my sucker.”
Emma shook her head and gestured him back to his seat on the curb. The worst was still to come.
“You have proof?” Manuel finally repeated. “What are you talking about?”
A lump of fear sat heavy in her stomach. “I have information that can destroy you, your business, maybe even your family.”
Another stretch of silence, then, “You’re threatening me?”
She was shaking now. She felt like she’d just rattled the chain of a very big dog that was certain to come after her—a dog she’d never be able to outrun.
“Tell me what you’ve done with Juanita,” she said.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to tear your two-timing heart out with my bare hands, you stupid bitch!”
“You’ll never touch me again. Ever. Do you hear? I’ll send what I’ve got to the DEA if Juanita isn’t home, safe and sound, within twenty-four hours.”
“You don’t want to start this battle with me,” he warned. “You’ll be sorry. You won’t win.”
“This time maybe I will,” she said, and hung up.
VANESSA HAD CALLED him from a pay phone that didn’t accept incoming calls.
Manuel threw his cell phone across the car seat and heard it bang against the opposite door. “That damn bitch. I’ll kill her!”
Why was she doing this? Who did she think she was? And, even more worrisome, what the hell did she have that she could send to the DEA?
He exited the freeway, following the directions he’d received earlier from the Hilton’s concierge. As he drove, he considered the possibilities. He’d always been careful about the calls he accepted at home, was cautious enough to lock his office. He would’ve known if Vanessa had picked the lock and gone snooping. A camera hidden in the bookshelves recorded everything. He’d already had José watch the tape. There was nothing unusual on it.
So where had he gone wrong?
He’d never dreamed this could happen—that was how, he realized. He’d thought Vanessa would never really leave him because of Dominick.
You’re too damn arrogant, his mother always said. It makes you reckless.
His mother was a bitch, too. He hated her and Vanessa, and he hated Juanita, as well. Juanita was to blame for everything. She was the one who’d made it possible for Vanessa to slip away. Juanita and Vanessa’s new boyfriend.
He’d crush this man, he promised himself. He’d make Vanessa so sorry, she’d beg him to let her have a life half as good as the one she’d known before.
Picturing her naked body writhing on the bed beneath him, crying out in pain and degradation, made him drive even faster. He’d reached Salt Lake in an hour and twenty-eight minutes, but it was already after noon, and she’d called him from somewhere besides the hotel, which meant she might have checked out.
If she hadn’t, he’d need a way to get her room number.
After stopping at a flower shop, he whipped into the Hilton’s parking lot, grabbed the bouquet he’d bought and jogged into the lobby. Even if Vanessa was already gone, maybe he could glean some clue about where she might be going. He had to find her. The idea that she’d been secretly laughing at him all along, that she’d somehow achieved the upper hand when he thought he had control made him livid.
He headed straight to the front desk. A woman with long black hair gave him a smile that brightened when her eyes moved to the flowers. “Hello, sir, how can I help you?”
Manuel set the vase on the counter. “Today is my sister’s birthday. I was hoping to surprise her with these.”
“She’s a guest here?”
“Yes.”
She turned to a computer. “What’s her name?”
“Vanessa Beacon.” It was a long shot, but he had to try it.
“I’m sorry, there’s no one registered by that name.”
He recalled the name Hector told him Vanessa had used at the motel in Ely. “What about Emma Wright?”
The woman’s eyebrows went up, but when he didn’t explain, she checked her computer and shook her head. “There’s no Emma Wright, either.”
“Maybe the room’s registered in her husband’s name.” It galled him to say it, but at this point, he was ready to say anything.
She looked at him expectantly. “And his name is…”
“Let me see….” Manuel snapped his fingers as though struggling to remember. “It’s on the tip of my tongue. I just…can’t…grasp it. I’ve never actually met him,” he confided, “but they’re traveling with my nephew, a blond boy about five years old. Maybe you’ve seen them?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” she said.
Manuel kept his face as pleasant as possible. “Do you know any way I can find her?”
“Not without a name.”
“Right. Well…maybe I’ll wait here for a bit and hope they come through the lobby.”
“That would probably be best,” she said. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
So was Manuel. Taking the flowers, he moved into the lobby, searching the face of each person who passed through. But after about ten minutes, he decided he was wasting his time. The lobby was nearly empty. Like most of the Hilton’s patrons, Vanessa had probably checked out. Maybe she was leaving Salt Lake right now while he was standing here holding a stupid bouquet of flowers—
The bell of the elevator drew his attention and he turned just in time to see a man waiting there—a man with a face he recognized.
It was the guy he’d met in the restaurant in Ely. The one who’d said Vanessa was attractive. The one he hadn’t liked.
