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It bothered her to steal Victor’s dirty money, but survival didn’t care about her feelings or scruples. She would gladly give those up, along with her soul, not to hurt Trees. To save everyone she loved, she would pay any price.
Hurriedly, she stepped into her flip-flops, then grabbed Victor’s phone again and searched his texts. Messages about drug deals, information from cohorts once loyal to Emilo, even conversations with his late brother. Finally, she found the interaction between Victor and his informant inside Montilla’s inner circle. She read the string in its entirety. It was clear the double agent was merely toying with Victor, promising him information and telling him what he wanted to hear. Of course, Victor was too arrogant to see that.
Quickly, she wrote Montilla’s supposed spy with her heart pounding. Would you like to be a hero?
She didn’t expect an immediate reply, but she got one. You’ve got big cojones, contacting me after stealing Geraldo’s Ferrari. That is not what we agreed to.
This is not Victor.She snapped a picture of him sprawled across the yellowing sheets, tequila bottle nearby. But I can tell you where the Ferrari is if you would like to be a hero. I assume your boss wants it. Think of how he will reward you if you retrieve it…
What is your price?
He was willing to play? Laila glanced at Victor again. He still wasn’t stirring, so she excitedly tapped out another response. It is steep, and I do not have the patience to negotiate. I also assume your boss would like to know where to find Victor Ramos since he sent sicarios.
If you tell me where to find the car and the rat, I will be most generous.
And once Montilla had his hands on Victor, he would kill the bastard. Trees would be safe.
Hope built as Laila typed back. Montilla has a hostage, an American woman named Kimber. I want her location and the means into wherever she is being held.
She would pass the information on to EM Security. When they rescued Kimber, they would likely take Montilla down. Then her family would finally have a future—just like she might with Trees.
The informant’s reply was immediate. You ask me to betray a man who will kill me for such disloyalty.
But you will be in favor when you give him both the location of his precious car and his worst enemy. If you are smart, and you must be, he will not suspect you of betraying him, she argued.
Who are you?
No one you need to know. What is your answer?
Laila’s heart pounded as she waited a long moment for his reply. Why should I trust you?
She had to think about how to answer that. If I tell you where to find the car, you tell me where to find Kimber. Once I have verified that information, I will give you Victor’s location.
The reply was a long time coming. Laila bit a ragged nail and double-checked Victor’s still form.
Finally, a new message popped up. That is acceptable. The location of the Ferrari?
Laila clutched the phone, her mind racing. Finally, she rattled off the name of a small market she remembered thirty minutes up the road. It should take her informant at least that long to get there, right? Now where is Kimber?
Not so fast. Once I get the car, I will give you the location.
She wanted to argue since she hadn’t anticipated taking Victor’s phone with her, but she didn’t have a choice. Immediately, she turned off not only location services but cellular data, so neither Victor nor Trees could ping the device.
Fine. The car will be there. If you want Victor’s location, I will need Kimber’s.
She received no reply, so she pocketed Victor’s phone and looked back at him, wishing she had another zip tie or some way to secure him. But she didn’t and she didn’t dare waste time looking for one. She had to get the car to the drop-off point.
Laila let herself out of the motel room without a backward glance, driving north until she reached the little family-owned market just off the highway.
Since it was the middle of the night, the place was closed. Laila didn’t see a soul. She breathed a sigh of relief as she backed the classic sports car out of the truck and parked it behind the building, ensuring it wasn’t visible to traffic. Then she hid the keys before hopping in the truck again and steering it down a dirt road behind the market. She parked behind some overgrown brush, between some trees, and waited in the dark, fighting the demands of her overtired body for sleep.
She had nearly drifted off when a car with squeaking brakes stopped near the Ferrari. The sedan’s interior light came on as a man exited the passenger door and slammed it shut. Another man remained behind the wheel of the idling car.
Quickly, she dashed off a text. Keys are under the driver’s-side floor mat.
It took a few minutes before the man circling the classic car looked at his phone, then he bent for the keys. That told her that neither of the men sent to retrieve the Ferrari was the informant. That also told her he had some power and position in the organization since he had men of his own.
The lackey started the sports car, then dashed off a text to someone. Three minutes later, Victor’s phone lit up with Kimber’s location and a schematic of the compound, which the Edgingtons had been desperately seeking for nearly two weeks. Still, she had to be cautious.
