Spiders in the Grove (In the Company of Killers #7)(22)

“Sure,” she snaps back sarcastically, “I’m per-fect! I’m in Mexico, pretending to be someone who likes to buy slaves, surrounded by dozens of sick, twisted people who actually do like it, and I’m on the verge of losing my shit right there in front of everybody—I can’t go back tomorrow; I just can’t do it, Niklas. Besides, I…” She trails off.

“You what?”

I hear her sigh into the phone.

“Jackie?”

“I’m out of money,” she confesses.

“How can you be—?”

“I tried to buy them all,” she says, and my throat dries up listening to her, “but I could only buy thirteen.”

“Thir—thirteen?! Are you fucking kidding me? You bought thirteen girls?”

“Yes!” she snaps. “And don’t you talk to me like that, you sonofabitch!”

“You were only supposed to buy one or two,” I say, gritting my teeth. “And those were just for show—now you’re telling me you spent the entire one hundred fifty grand on the first night?” Jesus Christ, Jackie! Wait…thirteen girls, one hundred fifty grand—something doesn’t add up.

“No,” she says, “I spent your money, and my money, too.”

I blink and suck in sharply—What the fuck…

For a moment, my mouth is too goddamned dry to speak; I roll my sandpaper tongue against my cheek; my free hand is balled into a fist down at my side.

And then it dawns on me—she spent her own money, one million dollars, that she knows she’ll probably never see again in her lifetime, on those girls. I feel like the biggest piece of shit.

“Those poor girls,” she says with pain in her voice, “who’s going to save them and get them back to their families if I don’t, Niklas? I couldn’t just sit there and let that happen.”

“Where are they?” I ask quickly.

“Who?”

“The girls.”

“They’re here,” she says. “With me in my hotel room.”

My head falls back, and I let out a long, irritated sigh, closing my eyes and trying to get it together. I calm myself, and prepare to speak, knowing I can’t lose my temper anymore—this whole thing is too fragile, now more than ever.

“Jackie,” I say carefully, “you were supposed to wait until the third day, and take the girls with you then—what do you plan to do with them when you go back?”

She scoffs; I can picture one hand on a hip, and a sour look on her face. “I didn’t plan on going back at all,” she says. “That’s why I took them with me.”

Calm, Niklas, just stay calm.

“OK,” I say, “but did you see Izabel?”

I’m starting to assume she didn’t, or else she probably would’ve said something by now.

“Yes,” she answers, and my heart stops beating for a moment. “She’s there. And she’s fine. More than fine, actually”—(there’s a bite in her voice that confuses me)—“I’m a lot disappointed you sent me to that place for someone like her. I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s not one of the slave girls, Nik,” she says, as if she thinks I probably already knew this. “I think she’s one of the owners. She looked important. The man who runs the place, Joaquin Ruiz, I saw him with her and a blonde woman after the auction was over. Your Izabel had a slave girl sitting at her feet the whole night. It was disgusting.”

I can’t help but smile. Leave it to Izzy to find a way…

“All right, Jackie,” I say, “I need you to listen to me—”

“I’m not going back there,” she cuts me off.

“Do you want to buy more girls?”

Silence—I knew that would get her attention.

“If you can hold it together one more night,” I begin, “I’ll put enough money into the account for you to buy as many girls as you can.” Wait—oh, tell me she didn’t!

“Jackie, I’m going to ask you an important question.”

“OK.”

“The one million I gave you; I didn’t put that money into the account—it was put into your personal account. How in the hell did you pay them?”

“I told them I was…well, that I’d get them the money tomorrow.”

“How did you plan to do that—write a fuckin’ check with your real name and address at the top of it?”

“I don’t know! I just did and said what I had to! You figure it out!”

Don’t lose your head, Niklas, don’t lose your head, becomes my mantra.

“All right,” I say calmly, “I’m going to transfer that money into the other account—make sure you pay them tomorrow, exactly when you said you would, or they’ll kill you before you ever leave your hotel.”

“OK,” she says.

After a moment she asks, “How much?”

“How much what?”

“You said you were gonna put more money into the account so I can save more girls.”

She’s more than interested—hell, she’s out the door already; she’s in the damn limo; she’s at the mansion entrance banging on the glass to be let in!