Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(69)
He knew from bitter experience that planning only carried so far. And even if Curt was by some miracle just an investigative reporter, Emm’s life was in extreme danger.
As the taxi drove them into the hills above Mexico City to investigate their first target, Emm searched frantically in her handbag for her cell phone.
Curt looked concerned when she leaned down and felt beneath the seat. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find my phone. I didn’t have time to activate it for international reception before we left, but I know they can track it, just in case we need the cavalry.”
“Don’t worry about it; mine’s activated,” Curt assured her. “I come to the City pretty often.”
She’d seen him use it only once and thought it looked pretty antiquated. It was probably a burner phone he’d purchased with cash. Someone at his income level didn’t need to do that unless he was worried about being tracked.
Emm’s heart began hammering in her chest and they hadn’t even reached the compound yet. Dread and fear grew with every hairpin turn. She was very careful with her cell phone, and at the end of the flight she’d checked for it so she could activate it once they reached Mexican airspace. Curt had been up front talking to the crew, so he hadn’t seen the suspicious, despairing look she’d sent his way as she realized her phone was gone. She hadn’t seen him take it, but the exterior pocket on her purse fit the phone exactly, and she had to tug to remove it. No way it just fell out.
Now, as she’d tested his reaction, he’d responded exactly the way a guilty man trying to keep her on a leash would respond—reassuring her that she didn’t need it, rather than wanting her to have her own backup. As they rounded yet another curve, going higher in the hills, Emm only hoped that her last-minute cry for help had been received.
Because it looked like she would need it.
Still, as she spied a hulking red-brick compound on the hillside above, she pretended surprise and rolled down her window. “That’s it! How lucky we found it first . . .” Lucky my ass, Emm thought . . . yet another block on the towering pile of evidence that indicated Curt Tupperman was on the take from one of the world’s most powerful drug lords.
Curt nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, we agree on the script?”
“Yes; you want to do a human interest story on some of the surprisingly positive side effects of the drug trade in Mexico, such as funding village schools and lifting many people out of poverty. I’m your girlfriend, an expert on historic buildings, and I’m cataloguing all the European-style mansions built in the City since the turn of the century. I just wonder if I might have a quick tour.” When he nodded enthusiastically, Emm wanted to slap that mendacious grin off his face. To hide her disgust, she rummaged in her purse and touched up her makeup and lipstick, thinking frantically.
She did have a plan, such as it was. If she succeeded in getting a tour of the mansion, she’d watch for any personal items that might belong to Yancy or Jennifer. If she confirmed their presence, she intended to come clean to Arturo Cervantes and offer a huge ransom for both women. Kidnapping was a lucrative side business for many of the cartels after all, so she’d be speaking his language. And when he saw her card and realized she was a Rothschild, he wouldn’t doubt her ability to raise the funds, even though she knew it was a lie. But first, she’d demand proof of life . . . and by the time they actually took her to Yancy and Jennifer, she hoped Ross and the cavalry would arrive.
If they didn’t get the message in time, well, she’d have to improvise. And she and Yancy would finally see the true Curt Tupperman based on whose side he took.
She was jolted back to the present when the taxi stopped. Curt leaned forward to pay the driver and asked him to wait.
Emm took advantage of the moment. As she put her makeup back, she unzipped a small pocket inside her purse and activated the tiny GPS tracking device she’d purchased, just in case, from Amarillo’s only advanced electronics store, prior to her luncheon with Curt.
Then, as Curt opened her door and she got out, the mansion loomed above them, blocking the early morning sun. Suddenly it didn’t seem beautiful anymore. Emm wished she’d taken time for one more purchase—a gun—even if logically it could only increase the danger to her since she didn’t know how to shoot and didn’t have a prayer of winning a gunfight.
The truth was, it would have given her great comfort as that big wrought-iron gate rolled open like the gates of hell.
Back in Amarillo, the task force members were in the process of boarding a big DEA jet saved for complex tactical operations when Abby’s phone pinged with a message. She was boarding last, burdened with three laptops, each for a different purpose, and she hadn’t heard it ring in the roar of the jet engines.
She struggled up the ramp, glad when a young FBI agent with an improbably cherubic face took the laptops from her as she boarded. His name was Al, as she recalled. He nodded shyly at her thanks, giving her the opportunity to listen to the voice mail she’d just received. Her eyes widened, and she was so excited that she didn’t realize everyone else was belted in and ready for takeoff.
Ross called out at her expression, “What is it?”
“When she checked out, Emm left a message for us,” she said, going to a different function on her phone. “They didn’t find it until this morning, after the janitor cleaned last night. It had fallen beneath the desk.” She brought up the scanned attachment to the e-mail and showed it to Ross. The big smile that stretched her angular face, making it almost pretty, was the happiest expression Ross had ever seen her wear.