Dangerous Choice KO PL Read online

  When they entered the hotel, there were guests huddled around a television in the lobby, watching the local news. There was no sign of Enrique. A middle-aged woman now stood behind the front desk, helping an elderly couple check out.

  "Let's take the stairs," Diego suggested. "What floor are you on?"

  "Three. What about you?"

  "Four. We'll stop at your room first."

  "Okay." They made it up to the third floor without running into anyone. She pulled out her key and inserted it into the lock.

  "I'll go first," Diego said, pushing the door open. He flipped on the light and then turned back to her. "Wait here."

  Despite his order, she stepped through the doorway, gasping when she saw the state of her room. It had been completely trashed. Her clothes were everywhere. The dresser drawers had been completely pulled out and tossed on the floor. Even the bed had been ripped apart, the mattress slashed with a knife. She shivered at that thought.

  Diego came out of the bathroom. "Whoever was here is gone," he said, pushing the hotel door shut and turning the bolt.

  "Isn't it a little late for a lock?" she asked, dazed by what had happened.

  "Get your things together, and then we'll go."

  "Go where?"

  "Away from this place."

  She wanted to leave. She wanted to run as fast as she could. "But…Bethany. She might be here in Cascada."

  "I know you want to find your friend, Tara, but we need to dig into her disappearance from another location. We can try from Medellin. It will be easier to hide in a bigger city."

  "That makes sense, but I still feel like I'm letting Bethany down. She could be close by. If I leave now, I might never find her."

  "If you don't leave now, you might not be alive to find her," he said bluntly.

  She sucked in a breath at his words. "That was harsh."

  "Sorry, but that's the truth." His glance swept the room. "What do you think they were looking for?"

  "Looking for?" she echoed.

  "This was a search, Tara. It wasn’t random vandalism."

  "I have no idea."

  "Did Bethany leave you something or send you something in the mail before she disappeared?"

  "No."

  "When you went to Medellin, where did you look for her?"

  "At the apartment that the tour group makes available for guides when they're in between tours."

  "Did you take anything from there?"

  "No. There was nothing to take. Bethany's things were gone. There was no trace of her."

  "Well, someone thinks you have something."

  His statement swirled around in her head. "Maybe I was the target at the cemetery."

  "Why don't you pack? I'm going to make a call." He took out his phone. "What's Bethany's last name and birthdate?"

  "Cooper. She was born April 25. It's almost her birthday. She's twenty-six years old."

  "Where was she born?"

  "Los Angeles. When we were growing up, we lived on Green Street in the Los Feliz area. Her mom's name was Joan." She knew she was rambling, but she wanted to be as helpful as possible.

  "Okay. And the tour company name is Allende?"

  "Yes. Their offices are in Newport Beach, California."

  "All right. I'm going to step into the hall. I'll be right outside the door. You pack."

  She wondered why he required privacy for his call, but now wasn't the time to ask. She needed to put her things together, so they could get out of here before anyone came back.

  Three

  Diego walked down the hall to the window. From his vantage point, he could see the square, where the vigil was in full swing. His mind was spinning with a dozen questions and theories.

  Was Tara the target of the shooter at the cemetery? Had her questions gotten Father Manuel killed? Or was there more than one thing going on?

  His mind returned to the cemetery, to his mother's grave, to the flowers that had been placed by the headstone. Who had put them there? Mateo?

  Someone in Cascada had known his mother, had cared about her. It would make sense that it was his brother. His mother had been dead a long time. Who would take the time to place flowers so many years after the fact? It had to be someone close to her, like her son. Although, it could be a husband. She'd clearly married someone else after his father. Had she had more children? Had she forgotten all about him?

  His father had told him she had done just that every time he asked about her. He'd always had the same answer: If she wanted to see you, she'd see you. She made her choice.

  He hadn't believed that. Even as a teenager, he'd wondered if his dad had kept his mother away from him. He'd accused him of that a number of times, especially in the first year after the split. His father had hit him in the face the last time he'd asked. He'd been fourteen. The next month, he'd been shipped off to military school.

  But now he wondered if his mother had ever tried to see him, or if she'd simply started over with Mateo and eventually a new family.

  He really wanted to stay in town and search for his brother. But he didn't know if the shooter had been after Tara or after him. Until that was clear, he needed to make smart decisions. To do that, he had to get more information, and he was going to start with the person who had sent him to Father Manuel.

  He punched in Tracy's number. As far as he knew, she was working out of Chicago, which put her one hour behind him, making it about seven thirty there.

  "Diego? What happened? Did you find your mother?" Tracy asked, her voice quick and sharp.

  "Yes," he said. "I did."

  "Oh, my God, really? I wasn't sure if it was a good lead or not."

  "Where did you get the tip?"

  "I told you before—I had a source. I put out feelers on your mom, and he pointed me in the direction of the priest. Did you meet your mother? Did you talk to her?"

  A rush of pain stabbed his heart once more, but he couldn't let himself get caught up in emotion now. "No. I didn't talk to my mother. She's dead. She's buried in the cemetery near the church."

  "What?" Tracy asked in shock. "I—I'm so sorry, Diego. I had no idea."

  "I need the name of your source and a way to contact him or her."

  "I understand that you're upset, but I can't give you his name. And I don't see the point. Why do you need to know? It sounds like your search is sadly over."

  "Not exactly," he said, not wanting to bring up Mateo. He didn't think he'd ever told her about his brother, but the night they'd spent together was hazy in his mind.

  "What do you mean?" she pressed.

  "I went to see the priest, but we didn't have a chance to talk before the Mass. I was in the service with a few hundred other people, when a shooter in the choir loft took Father Manuel out."

  "Wait. What? The priest is dead?"

  "Yes. I think there may be other casualties as well."

  "That's really shocking. I thought I was sending you on a simple trip to talk to a priest. I had no idea you'd end up in a shooting. Do you think it was tied to you? Were you the target?"

  "Not sure. After I got out of the church, I ran through the cemetery. I was at my mother's grave when the same shooter or someone else shot at me again. That's why I need to know who told you to send me to Father Manuel. Because there's a chance someone set me up."

  "There's no way this was a setup, Diego. I'm sure the priest had other enemies, or it was a random attack on Holy Thursday. Who knows? There could be any number of reasons why the shooting occurred," Tracy argued.

  "In the church, yes, but not so many in the cemetery." He didn't bring up Tara, because he didn't want to distract Tracy.

  "Look, Diego, I'm sorry. But my informant did me a favor, and I promised to keep his name confidential. I can't go back on my word. You know what it means to protect a source. You've done it yourself."

  He blew out a frustrated breath, knowing she was right, but not liking it.

  "Diego—are you there?" she asked.

&nbs
p; "I'm here."

  "I really am sorry that you couldn't speak to your mom. When did she die?"

  "Apparently, a very long time ago."

  "Do you need help getting out of Colombia? I assume you're coming back to the States. I can meet you somewhere."

  "I don't know what I'm doing yet. I'd like to find out if anyone in this town remembers my mother."

  "That makes sense, but considering the situation, it sounds dangerous. Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do? I was hoping that this lead would make things less awkward between us. I know that I didn't have the best reaction when you said you didn't want to continue on with anything, and I feel badly about that. I'd like to think we could be friends. Go back to what we were before that night last year."

  He didn't think they'd really been friends before that night. They'd known each other at Quantico, but they'd been mostly rivals back then. "I have to admit I was wondering why you'd decided to help me."

  "It was a peace offering. I care about you, Diego. The story you told me about your mother stayed in my head for a long time. I wanted to help you, so I started asking around."

  "It's just strange that you came up with this tip, when I've been making inquiries for years without any luck."

  "I obviously had different sources," she said lightly. "At least let me call our legal attaché in Bogota."

  "I'll call Lucas myself," he said, having worked with Lucas before.

  "I'm sorry I can't give you my source. Please call me if there's anything else I can do."

  "I will." As he ended the call, he frowned. He didn't know what to make of her reluctance to put him in contact with her source. They weren't working a case. This wasn't a criminal matter. But obviously he was missing something. That bothered him.

  Had he been set up? Was he supposed to die in the church? Is that why someone had come looking for him in the cemetery? But why would anyone lure him to the remote village where his mother had been buried just to take a shot at him?

  It didn't make sense.

  Lifting his phone again, he punched in the number for Lucas Marengo. As the FBI's legal attaché at the US embassy in Bogota, Lucas was responsible for coordinating communication between law enforcement in both countries. He'd worked with Lucas before—when they were both stationed in Argentina for a time, and he knew Lucas had the ability to cut through bureaucratic red tape faster than anyone else.

  "Buenos noches," a man answered.

  "Lucas—it's Diego."

  "Oh, man, it's been awhile," Lucas said. "How are you?"

  "I need some help."

  "What's going on?"

  "Two things. An American woman by the name of Bethany Cooper has disappeared. She was last seen eight days ago, getting on a bus in Medellin bound for the village of Cascada. Her phone is dead. She hasn't been online, and her friend is very worried about her."

  "I can see what I can find out. I know a police officer in Medellin. Are they looking for the woman?"

  "Not according to her friend. Apparently, Ms. Cooper works for a tour company and informed the owner she was going on vacation. There's no evidence of foul play, but the friend is convinced that something happened to her, and based on what I know, I'm concerned as well. However, I'm not in Colombia on official business. And I'd rather not run this through my chain of command. It will bring forth questions I don't care to answer."

  "Got it. What else can you tell me?"

  He rattled off the rest of the details that Tara had given him in regard to Bethany.

  "Do you have a photo?" Lucas asked.

  "I can get one. I'll text it to you."

  "I'll see what I can find out. You said there were two things. What's the second?"

  "There was a shooting in Cascada tonight. A priest was killed in the church. I need to know if there are any suspects, any known motives."

  "Why? Were you there?"

  "Yes, I was. I don't know if I was the target, but I'm laying low at the moment. It's possible that the shooting could be tied to the missing Ms. Cooper as well. Her worried friend talked to the priest at the church right before he was killed."

  "It sounds like you've landed yourself in a hornet's nest," Lucas drawled.

  "It does feel that way."

  "Is this number good for you?"

  "I'll probably switch out when I leave Cascada. I know it's late in the day, but—"

  "But I'll get right on it," Lucas said. "Call me back in a few hours."

  "I will." He'd no sooner hung up with Lucas when the door to Tara's room opened. He walked down the hall as she rolled out her overnight bag, her large purse still slung over her shoulder.

  "I'm ready," she said.

  "Let's stop at my room, and then we can go."

  They walked upstairs to the fourth floor. As he inserted his card key and opened the door, he was happy to see that his room was untouched. It was in exactly the same condition as it had been when he'd left. His carry-on was still packed and sitting by the bathroom door. He'd only dropped his case and used the restroom before he'd gone to the church.

  "This confirms they were after me, not you," Tara said heavily.

  "Whoever searched your room was definitely interested in you, but we don't know if it's tied to the shooting. By the way, I need a photo of Bethany. Do you have one on your phone?"

  "Of course." She opened her phone and clicked on the camera roll. She flipped through several photos. "This one is from Christmas."

  He took the phone to look at the pretty brunette with laughing green eyes. She was holding up an ugly Christmas sweater.

  "I gave her that sweater. It's a tradition in our family," Tara said, a sad note in her voice. "Bethany felt like she was one of us when we included her in the ugly sweater contest every year."

  "This will work." He texted himself the photo, then handed her back the phone. Then he sent the photo to Lucas.

  "Who did you send that to?"

  "Lucas Marengo—the FBI legal attaché at the US embassy in Bogota. He has connections with law enforcement. Hopefully, he can get some information for us."

  "That sounds positive. Do you think I'll be able to find her, Diego?"

  He really wanted to answer the plea in her voice with a positive statement, but missing women in this part of the world were rarely found in good condition.

  "I guess your hesitation is my answer," Tara said, a worried gleam in her blue eyes.

  "I'm going to do everything I can to help you."

  "Why?" she asked abruptly. "You don't know me. We're not friends. You came here to find your mother. Why would you want to get involved in this?"

  "Because you asked for my help. Because we got shot at together. That's a bonding moment. Maybe we're not friends yet, but we're definitely not strangers."

  She gave him a faint smile. "You got shot at because of me. You'd be safer with some distance between us."

  "And you'll be safer if we stick together, so we'll do that, at least for now."

  "You're a natural-born protector, aren't you?"

  The question hit him hard. "I wish that were true, but I haven't been able to protect a lot of people."

  Her gaze met his. "You're referring to your mother."

  He nodded. "And a few others."

  "Don't you want to talk to someone about your mom before we leave town? If she's buried here, someone probably knew her."

  "I don't think it's safe for us to walk around the village right now. And I don't want to leave you alone."

  "I appreciate that, but you're helping me, and I want to help you. It's too bad Enrique isn't working tonight. He'd probably point us in the right direction. You'd need to find someone who has been in town since before your mom died. Maybe the older woman behind the desk downstairs would know something."

  "Maybe." He hesitated, then said, "My mom wasn't the only one to disappear out of my life. She took my little brother with her. Mateo is five years younger than I am. The last time I saw him he was eight. He'd be twenty-s
ix now."

  "And you think he's here, too?" she asked.

  "It seems like a good possibility."

  "We definitely need to find Enrique. He's about twenty-five, close to your brother's age. He told me yesterday that there's a popular bar called Ventana's about a block from here. He goes there after work a lot. I'm not sure if he'd be there tonight, but we could try it. If he's not there, maybe one of the bartenders would know your brother. If he lives in this town, he has probably been there."

  "It's risky," he said slowly. "I need to get you out of Cascada. I can always come back and look for Mateo another time."

  "You're here now. The bar is close by. It's worth a try. And hopefully the shooter from earlier isn't in there tossing back shots. He'd be hiding out somewhere, right?"

  "I would think so, but I don't know, Tara. It's one thing to risk my life. I don't want to risk yours."

  "If you don't want to take me, go by yourself. I'll wait here."

  He liked that idea even less. "No, we should stick together. Let's put our bags in my car, then we'll go to the bar. We'll ask a few questions and then hit the road."

  "Okay. That sounds like a plan."

  It did. He just wasn't sure it was a good plan.

  * * *

  Ventana's was packed with tourists and locals, but the atmosphere was still on the somber side. There was a soccer match playing on the television screens over the bar and some intense games of pool going on in an adjacent room, but there was no music, no laughter, just a lot of quiet conversations.

  Diego spotted Enrique almost immediately. The good-looking young male was sitting at the bar, speaking to a female bartender. There was an empty stool next to him.

  "There he is," he said, taking Tara's hand.

  "I see him," she said, tugging her hand out of his. "I don't think we should act like we're together. It will seem odd. I checked in alone. Why don't I take the barstool, and you stand on the other side, like you're ordering a drink? Enrique flirted with me when I checked in. He might tell me more than he'd tell you, especially if he tries to hit on me."