Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(53)
Back in Mexico, the lavish dinner sat heavily in Yancy’s stomach, though she’d eaten lightly. Arturo had placed his Chechen guests in places of honor, one on his right and the other on his left. Because she was seated at the other end of the long table—fortuitously enough, next to Jesús—she had no idea what they were discussing, but she was certain it wasn’t the food or the flowers. The older one kept looking toward her, while the younger one had fixated so intently on Jennifer that even her daughter’s handicapped sense of awareness was on alert. She was trembling where she sat, and Yancy read her urge to flee. Just a little longer, baby. She tried to send her thoughts across the table, but Jennifer was practically shredding her linen napkin, oblivious to everything but her own panic and despair.
Yancy had little choice. It was midnight. Despite the rigid timetable they’d all agreed on, she had to move up the schedule or Jennifer would blow everything. Giving Jesús an infinitesimal nod agreeing to meet him at twelve thirty, a time she’d confirmed on a bathroom trip that had ended with her flushing the incriminating piece of paper down the toilet, Yancy stood and smiled brilliantly.
She clapped her hands. “Everyone, thank you for such lovely company on a lovely evening. I hope everything was delicious?” At the enthusiastic sís from every quarter, she smiled even more brightly, pretending not to notice that some people had to gulp down the last of their Mexican flan with dulce leche sauce, and that Arturo was frowning from his end of the table.
“If the ladies would please join me in the salon for after-dinner cocktails, I believe the gentlemen will have brandy and cigars in the study.” Yancy led the way out, followed by the somewhat bewildered ladies.
Arturo forced a smile for his two most important guests and also led the way to his study.
Yancy waited until the waiters had taken all the drink orders before she sat down on the sofa arm next to Jennifer, who had collapsed against the couch. She saw from the fixed look in her daughter’s eyes and mouth that she was fighting tears. As the drinks were being served, Yancy grabbed a strong margarita for Jennifer and offered it. Jennifer took it, her hand shaking so much it spilled slightly.
Yancy sliced her a look, trying to cover Jennifer’s nervousness by raising her own mojito. “Salud.” As the women sipped their cocktails, Yancy sliced a sideways gaze at her daughter. When Jennifer just sat there, shaking, Yancy leaned over her as if to whisper in her ear but used her body to shield the way she snapped the stretch bracelet against Jennifer’s wrist. Jennifer’s blue eyes sharpened a bit.
Leaning forward, she took a deep sip. Then, cradling her stomach with her free hand, she leaned forward, gagging. Yancy put her glass down on the table and grabbed up an ornate cloisonné bowl to hold it in front of Jennifer. She was not surprised when Jennifer’s pretense became real. She vomited into the bowl.
With moues of distaste, the women closest rose and got out of the way. Yancy accepted an older woman’s handkerchief and wiped her daughter’s mouth when she was done. “I’m so sorry, ladies. I need to get her to the bathroom and help clean her up. Forgive me.”
Yancy nodded sharply at a hovering waiter, who took the soiled bowl away.
Yancy put her arm about her daughter’s shaking shoulders and led her past the stairs toward the back of the house. They stayed in the guest bathroom for a good ten minutes, Yancy genuinely concerned as Jennifer vomited again into the toilet. “Did you take the pills I gave you?” she asked sharply.
Jennifer nodded. “I feel dizzy.”
Too many drugs, too much alcohol, too little food. At least that’s all she hoped it was. Jennifer was so scattered, Yancy wasn’t sure she trusted her when she said she’d taken the morning-after pills. Yancy tenderly wiped her daughter’s face with a wet hand towel. “Can you keep it together another hour or so? Then we’ll be out of here.”
Jennifer took a deep, shaky breath, both hands cupping her obviously still nauseated stomach, but she turned first for the door. “What now?”
“I’m taking you outside for some fresh air.” Which was exactly what Yancy told the hovering servants. As they passed, she eyed the closed study door, hearing raised male voices. Good; they were embroiled in tough negotiations. Or an argument; even better.
Yancy walked Jennifer down the back steps to the bench in the rose garden. She looked at the time on her cell phone. Her ally in the security kiosk had given her a five-minute window: 12:20 to 12:25. He was going to pretend a flicker in the power, long enough for her and Jennifer to climb the back fence where she’d scaled it before and meet Jesús and his driver as they exited the compound. The many security cameras fixed on the road and the wall would be dark just long enough. . . .
Five more minutes. Yancy kept wiping her daughter’s brow with the handkerchief. This wasn’t an act. Jennifer was both clammy and nauseated. Yancy hoped she’d be able to make it over the wall. A guard circling the grounds holding a submachine gun eyed them as he passed, but he recognized them, saw Jennifer’s distress, and walked on. Yancy heard the crackle of a radio as he receded around the corner, but she couldn’t hear what he said.
Time crawled. Never had four minutes taken so long. Yancy counted two more armed guards. The dogs were loose, but she’d befriended them and they knew her. One even trotted up to be petted. He sniffed Jennifer but seemed to sense her distress and that she was no threat. He wandered off.