Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(50)
He nodded his satisfaction. “And your daughter? She is . . . ready?” He meant was she composed enough. Jennifer had been in tears more often than not lately, and Arturo knew this from his son, who was beginning to lose interest in her.
Yancy was well aware of his thoughts and said calmly, “The last time I saw her she was fine, but I should probably slip into her room and check before I go downstairs.” She touched up her lipstick again as he watched indulgently. She’d learned early on that the more valuable Arturo found her, the better he treated her and, by extension, her daughter. . . .
He used a Kleenex to wipe his reddened mouth. “Everything else is ready?”
“Yes. I checked with the kitchen and the housekeeper before I came up to dress, and they’re on schedule with the menu and the flowers. And the valets you’ve hired; will they be enough?”
“Sí. We may have to park some cars outside the compound, but I have men on guard.”
At the landing, they parted. He went downstairs and she turned toward Jennifer’s room. To her relief, the guard stood aside when she appeared and the door was unlocked.
Standing before her own mirror, struggling into a skintight royal blue silk gown that brought out her blue eyes, Jennifer still had the usual dazed look. Yancy’s concern mounted as she went to her daughter and softly kissed her cheek, careful not to muss her reapplied lipstick or Jennifer’s heavy rouge. “You remember tonight is the night, don’t you?” she whispered in her ear. “When the men go into the study for their cigars, we’re supposed to retire with the women for margaritas and mojitos in the salon, but I want you to act drunk and pretend to throw up so I have an excuse to take you to your room. I’ve paid someone to help us escape in the trunk of a limo—”
Jennifer nodded woodenly. “Yes, Mother. When do we get to go home? I’m bored here.”
Yancy whirled her daughter around and shook her slightly. “Listen to me, dammit! How many Xanax did that bastard give you? What else?”
Jennifer was so unsteady, even the slight shake almost made her fall. “Sleepy,” was all she said, yawning.
Tears added their brilliance to the diamantés in Yancy’s fake eyelashes. Jennifer had been either an emotional wreck or virtually comatose of late, and Yancy knew Tomás had upped her Xanax dosage. She suspected he was feeding her other drugs, anything to keep her quiet and quiescent. Obedient arm candy for this event.
Yancy bit her lip and then cursed herself; now she’d have to touch up her lipstick again. Her gaze lit on Jennifer’s jumbled dressing table and a stretch rhinestone bracelet that would look good with the small diamonds in which Tomás had bedecked Jennifer. Yancy grabbed it up and stretched it. It seemed pretty sturdy. Yancy slipped it on Jennifer’s bare arm and lifted her daughter’s chin to look deeply into her eyes. “Remember how I taught you to pop a rubber band against your wrist when you were sleepy or nervous or had to remember something?” She shook Jennifer again, once, hard. When that had little effect, Yancy pinched her, hard.
Jennifer’s head lolled back, then snapped erect, her eyes focused. “Yes, Mom.”
Yancy snapped the bracelet on Jennifer’s arm. “I want you to snap this every time you get the chance tonight. Every time it pinches your wrist I want you to remember, repeat after me, ‘Throw up with my first margarita in the salon after dinner.’ ” She made Jennifer say it six times until she was satisfied she would remember.
She relaxed a bit. “Okay, one other thing.” She had to swallow hard, but there was no way to dress this up. “Arturo and Tomás have new . . . business associates. Chechen scum, but it’s possible they may want to . . . spend the night with you. If it happens, just do whatever they say, no matter what. Hopefully, they won’t want to . . . retire until after cigars, but if they do, you have to keep them happy. We can’t have a scene right before we finally escape. Clear?”
Jennifer’s lips trembled and the glazed look was coming back, but she nodded briskly.
“Just keep it together tonight and I promise you, tomorrow we’ll wake up in the US Embassy and we’ll be home within a month.”
“Home,” Jennifer whispered. She popped the bracelet, and the glazed look faded a bit. She nodded more firmly.
“Go downstairs, then, and pretend to be happy.”
Jennifer walked downstairs with some of her usual grace, though she was still a bit unsteady.
After she touched up her lipstick, Yancy also walked downstairs, stepping carefully in her high heels. Arturo greeted her at the bottom and even offered his arm. She rested her fingertips on it and took a last satisfied look around, as if she were, indeed, chatelaine of this mansion. Soft instrumental Spanish music played from the expensive built-in speakers. Flowers cascaded down from the arched entry and were massed in crystal vases between burning candles on the entry tables.
A heavy antique silver salver gleamed in the middle of the huge dining table in the formal dining room, which seated twenty-four people. More crystal vases overflowing with flowers and glowing candles were interspersed with the silver. Yancy had arranged most of the vases herself, and she’d helped the chef draw up a menu that had gained Arturo’s final approval. Only one element spoiled the tableau: Armed men were everywhere, as usual, but tonight they were suited, and only a few openly carried machine guns. Most merely had bulges under their armpits.