Family Money(52)

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just . . . I’m an emotional mess right now.”

I tried to hide my relief. “I know. Me, too.”

Thirty minutes later, I had them all packed up in Taylor’s Lexus SUV. I hugged and kissed the girls and my mother-in-law. Then I leaned into the driver’s window to give Taylor one more kiss.

“I’ll try to wrap this up quickly,” I reassured her.

Then I watched them drive away. I had somehow managed to keep myself steady since receiving the text from Greta, but I could now feel a surge of adrenaline overtaking me. I checked my watch. In one hour, I would finally be face-to-face with a woman I was convinced held the answers to this entire thing.





THIRTY-FIVE


I parked in the nearest spot I could find a couple of blocks away from the Driskill Hotel, which sat on one end of Sixth Street, Austin’s famous downtown party strip. Because it was Saturday night, live music of all types blared from five blocks’ worth of bars, pubs, and hot spots. The closed-off street was packed with a mix of mostly college students and young professionals. I had to weave in and out of the crowd to make my way over to the hotel. Taylor and I had spent quite a few nights out here during our college days, but it had been a while.

Taylor had texted me a few minutes before, telling me they had arrived at the lake house. The girls were already in the hot tub on the back porch. Having them away made me breathe a little easier. If the text from Joe was real and they were truly in danger, I wanted to get them out of town until I could resolve all this.

I still could not wrap my head around the text from Mexico City. Let me go. If it was real, did my father-in-law really expect me to drop this whole thing and just let him disappear? And why just the one text? Why no other explanation? I felt really confused. He kept saying he was sorry—first while inside the minivan with his captors, then again in the text—which led me to believe he felt he’d brought this whole thing on himself and his family. Had Joe actually stolen $50 million thirty-five years ago? If so, why would he do that? Was that what led to his father and some mystery stranger being killed in the plane crash? I again hoped that Greta Malone could give me some legitimate answers in a few minutes. I wondered why she’d finally stopped running from me and wanted to meet. This was a conversation we could have had several days ago when I’d first called her on the damn phone.

The crowd on the street around me seemed to be growing thicker by the moment. I kept getting bumped because some of them were already wildly drunk. When I came up to the front steps of the historic Driskill Hotel, I paused and checked my watch. I wanted to knock on Greta’s hotel room door at exactly eight. I didn’t want to do anything that might mess up this opportunity. She had clearly been skittish up to this point. I didn’t want her running again. For reasons I still had not yet confirmed, she had a skill set to easily evade my pursuit. I again thought about the old photo of her standing inside the CIA building. Was Greta a CIA agent? Hopefully, I was about to find out.

But before I could take another step forward, I felt something hard suddenly push up against my back, followed by the voice of someone in my ear who now stood uncomfortably close behind me.

“Stay very still, Alex, or I will shoot you on the sidewalk.”

I stiffened, felt a surge of panic race up my spine. The man had a slight Mexican accent. Antonio Perez? The CNI agent? I didn’t move. I believed he would shoot me dead right there. Could no one else see the gun? We were surrounded by people on all sides of the sidewalk and street. But no one was paying attention.

“What do you want?” I asked over my shoulder.

“We’ll get to that. Walk slowly forward, and turn right at this next crosswalk.”

I took a few steps forward, gave a quick glance back. It was indeed Perez. My mind started churning. Had Greta set me up? Was she somehow involved with Perez and Joe’s abduction? Or was the text telling me to meet at the hotel tonight a fake? Had Perez really sent it? I had no way of knowing at this point. But I certainly didn’t like the idea of letting this man take me somewhere outside of this crowded party strip. I had to do something, and quick. I turned right, as instructed. Then I spotted two police officers across the street. I wondered if I could somehow grab their attention. As if sensing my hesitation, I felt the gun jab me even harder from behind.

“Keep moving, Alex. Don’t be stupid.”

“Like Ethan Tucker.”

“That was unfortunate. But yes, he was stupid.”

“Does the CNI know what you’re doing?”

“Stop talking and just walk.”

The crowd was beginning to thin out as we made our way up the sidewalk away from Sixth Street. I was growing more concerned. If I was going to make a move to get away from this guy, I had to do it soon. Once we were all by ourselves, I would have no chance of escaping. I felt my pulse racing. Ahead of us, I noticed a group of five college-age girls, most of whom were already stumbling around, coming down the sidewalk toward us. One girl wearing a black leather jacket, jeans, and heels looked like she was going to be sick and maybe vomit right there on the sidewalk a few feet in front of me. It was the best opening I would probably get right now. Instead of passing by the group without any acknowledgment, I paused and turned to her.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked.

She was now bent all the way over.