Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(67)

If Emm was jetting to Mexico with a man she thought was her friend, she’d find out too late that Curt Tupperman didn’t love Yancy. Despite what he said, he had zero motivation to help find her.

Curt Tupperman was probably the man who’d had her kidnapped.





Emm tipped the transport agent generously. “Your driver will be careful with my car?”

The agent looked offended. “Of course. And we are well insured.”

“Okay. My dad will be your contact in Baltimore. Please text me when it’s safely delivered.”

The agent nodded wearily. “Yes, ma’am, I assured you we would. Mr. Tupperman as well.”

Curt, hovering over her, winked at the agent. “Hers still has the new car smell. But mine is pretty damn special, too.” Emm was so busy reviewing the papers a final time that she didn’t notice Curt reaching for the outside pocket of her bag as he chatted amiably. Or that he dropped something into the trash can next to the desk.

With the assurances that both vehicles would be driven to their destinations by hired drivers who were trained to take extreme care, Emm and Curt got into the waiting taxi outside. Emm didn’t know how he’d done it so quickly, but Curt had convinced his charter service to send a jet from Dallas to pick them up at the private strip of a wealthy local rancher he knew. In an hour, they’d be on their way to Mexico City, on a flight too hard for the agencies to track. At least not in time to stop them. The jet service still had to file a flight plan, but they were going direct to Mexico City.

Curt had to sit in the front because half of the backseat was loaded with bags. Emm’s fit in the baggage compartment, and she was surprised to find Curt had brought so much stuff with him to Amarillo. For a moment she wondered if she was making a mistake going with him to Mexico City, but even if he was somehow involved with the cartel, surely he’d never really hurt her. He wasn’t the type.

Besides, in the war between caution and concern, concern for Yancy and Jennifer won hands down. If she hesitated, all she had to do was think about that photo and the two torn fragments of their evening gowns.

Whatever his intentions, Curt was her fastest way out of the country. And since the morning’s little chitchat with Elaine Gottlieb, Emm refused to dwell on Ross Sinclair’s reaction when he found her gone. Whether he reacted as a lover or a Texas Ranger, when he got her last-minute SOS, he’d take appropriate action.





The next morning, Ross ignored his family’s protests and drove into town to meet Abigail. She’d called him early to tell him she had bad news about Emm but they needed to discuss tactics in person. When he arrived at the DPS headquarters, he wasn’t surprised to see Chad’s car, even this early on a Sunday. But his twinge of unease about Emm became a kick to the gut.

Bracing himself, because he already had an idea of the news, he knocked on the large office they used as a conference room. When he entered, he saw it was full of high-level task force leads: the DEA, Border Patrol, Homeland Security, the FBI Agent in Charge he’d worked with before, a woman by the name of Rosemary. And, of course, the Texas Ranger head of the task force, Chad Foster.

After a brusque hello all around, Ross pulled up a chair and fell into it. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” he said.

Abby explained her exchange with the desk clerk at Emm’s hotel. “I didn’t call you yesterday because it was very late after I followed up on the logical leads. When I left, I immediately checked all the flights to Mexico City. She wasn’t on the manifest of any of them. However, I traced her car to a local transport agency when her license plate popped up as recent activity. She apparently hired them late yesterday to drive her car back to Baltimore.”

Now Ross’s unruly heart was a tom-tom in his ears. “So when she left, she didn’t intend to come back . . . How the hell is she getting to Mexico City? I can’t believe she’d go any way but by air. Do you think she used a false ID?”

Abby shook her head. “When I didn’t get any hits on her name, I went to the airport and surveilled the security backups. She wasn’t on the only two flights that could connect with Mexico City.”

“And Curt Tupperman? Have you brought him in yet?”

Abby looked at Chad.

Chad shook his head grimly. “He’s checked out of his hotel, and his car came up on the same database as Emm’s.”

Ross paled. “So you’re pretty sure she’s with him? Did you track her phone?”

Everyone else looked away, but Abby stared at him unwaveringly, nodding. “Yes, but unfortunately it was static. This morning we found it in the trash at the auto transport agency.” Abby nodded at the evidence bag on the table.

Clearing her throat at his expression, she offered Ross a short list of two names and two private airfields. “However, when we couldn’t find Ms. Rothschild on any of the commercial flights, I alerted the FAA to watch for any private flights heading to Mexico City, and late yesterday there were two originating in the Amarillo area. Do you know these men?” She recited the names on the list, glancing up at Ross. Both extremely wealthy oil and gas ranchers had private airstrips long enough for large private jets. He knew both men slightly. Amarillo’s moneyed interests were a small, intimate group in which he’d always been included, if sometimes reluctantly.

Ross dismissed the first one. “Raoul has many interests in Mexico and travels on a weekly basis between here and there. He’s as forthright and honest as they come. But Jimmy Patton . . . he was on one of my golf outings with Curt, and they were buddy-buddy.” He scowled blackly. “The sneaky bastard has Emm. . . .”