Dangerous Choice KO PL Read online

  He didn't answer right away, and she thought he was going to repeat what he'd said earlier, that it was too long of a story to get into.

  Finally, he said, "I was thirteen years old. It was a hot summer night. I remember that I couldn't get cool. I also couldn't sleep because my parents were arguing. They'd been fighting a lot for weeks. And I was afraid they were going to get a divorce. That would have been better than what actually happened."

  "Which was what?"

  "My father came into my bedroom. He was furious. His face was beet red, and he was sweating like crazy. He looked like a crazy person. There was a wild light in his eyes. He was an intimidating man even on his good days, but that night, I was scared. He was big and strong and out of control. I didn't know what was wrong. He tossed a duffel bag at me and told me to pack it—we were leaving. I kept asking him why, and where we were going. He just said we had to get the hell out of the house. I wanted to know when we would be back, and he couldn't tell me. I asked for my mom. He said she wasn't going to talk to me."

  "That's awful. Why wouldn't she talk to you?"

  "I don't know. She was in her bedroom. Maybe he locked her in. Maybe she didn't want to say good-bye. I have no idea. But when I left the house, I didn't see her." He paused. "I did see Mateo. He must have woken up when he heard all the yelling. He stood in the hallway in his Ninja Turtles pajamas, and he started to cry when my dad told me to say good-bye to him. I could barely get the word out before my dad shoved me out of the house. I didn't even have shoes on."

  "God, Diego. That's awful." Her heart tore at the images Diego's story had put into her head. How terrifying and sad for both him and his brother.

  Diego cleared his throat. "We drove away and went to a hotel. The only thing I could get out of my dad that night was that my mother was a liar and a cheater, and he was done with her. It took a couple of weeks to get the rest of the story."

  She knew what the story was. "That your mother had an affair and Mateo wasn’t his child?"

  He flashed her a look. "You got to that truth faster than I did."

  "Well, I'm not thirteen and in terrible pain. Please tell me you saw your mother at some point."

  He shook his head. "No. We returned to the house about a week after we had left, and she wasn't there, and neither was Mateo. Their things were gone. My father told me to forget about her. I kept asking him where she was. I asked everyone else in the family, too. My dad's stepfather was the only one who tried to help, but my dad immediately shut him down. I got nowhere with my grandmother, either. She wouldn't tell me a thing. My father had total control over her. I kept hoping my mother would get in touch with me, that she would find a way to see me when my dad wasn't around. Every day I came out of school, I thought she'd be on the other side of the fence waiting, ready to tell me how much she missed me. But she was never there. If she tried to see me, she must have been blocked by my dad."

  "I'm really sorry. I can't imagine going through any of that."

  "After a while, I got mad at my mom, too," Diego continued. "Why didn't she try to talk to me? Why didn't she find a way to get to me? If she really loved me, she would have done that. I became a really angry teenager. I got into fights. I drank. I took up smoking. I did everything I could to make my father realize he needed to bring my mother back. But instead, my dad shipped me off to a military prep school. Once there, I tried everything I could to get myself kicked out, but my father's power was once again too much for me. At some point, I stopped fighting, and to my surprise, I actually started to like the structure of the school. My life had been chaotic and unpredictable for so long, it felt good to know exactly what I had to do every hour of the day."

  "What happened after prep school?"

  "I went to West Point. I had turned myself around by then and I had a couple of teachers who helped me get recommendations, and I got in. After I graduated, I served for five years. It was during that time I started searching for my mother. But according to the date on her headstone, she was already dead by then. I waited too long."

  His voice was riddled with pain, and she felt an enormous wave of compassion for him. "You were dealt a bad hand, Diego. But there's still your brother. He wasn't buried in that grave."

  "I hope to God he wasn't buried somewhere else. I have to believe he's still alive."

  "You'll find him."

  "I don't know about that. Even with all my FBI resources, I couldn't find my mom until Tracy came up with this tip out of left field."

  "Well, you know more now. You can start with the Salazars. If your mother married into the family, her son went with her."

  "Which makes me wonder who he is now."

  She couldn't answer that question. "Whoever he is, he's still your brother." She thought about his story for a moment. "Did you tell your father you were coming down here?"

  "God, no. I barely speak to the man."

  "I can see why. I'd like to strangle him for what he did to you."

  He gave her a sad smile. "Join the club. It's a very popular one."

  "It's one thing for him to divorce your mother and even to disavow your brother, but he had no right to rip you away from them. They were your blood, too."

  "I agree."

  "I'm going to help you find Mateo."

  "You have enough on your plate, Tara."

  "We can do both. We'll find Bethany, and then we'll find Mateo. Who knows, maybe their paths crossed."

  "Who knows?" he echoed. "I will find Mateo. I won't stop until I do."

  "I feel the same way about Bethany."

  "We could both die trying."

  "I know," she said. "But let's try not to."

  * * *

  It was after eight when they arrived in Medellin, and the tall buildings and city lights made Tara feel as if she'd finally made her way back to civilization. Medellin was known as the City of Eternal Spring because of its year-round moderate climate. It was also known for its booming coffee, textiles, and orchid industries. With two universities, there were plenty of young people and a vibrant nightlife, which made Tara wonder why Bethany would have wanted to leave and spend time in the quiet, sleepy village of Cascada. There was far more to do here.

  "I feel better," she said, as Diego drove toward the downtown area, the bustling traffic slowing their progress. "With more than two million people in this city, we should be able to disappear."

  "Agreed. We need to find a hotel."

  "The most popular area for tourists is El Poblado. That's where the tour groups go, plenty of restaurants, bars, and hotels. I actually stayed there when I arrived last Monday. We could go to that same hotel."

  "We definitely don't want to stay where you stayed before."

  "Okay, well there were plenty of other choices."

  "Why didn't you stay at the tour apartment."

  "I'm not officially an employee. I have all the codes and access to the rental schedule for the apartment, but it felt weird to stay there, so I didn't." She opened up the internet on her phone. "I can look now. I have a signal."

  "No. Shut it down. Turn off your phone," he said abruptly. "I should have told you to do that hours ago. I wasn't thinking."

  His crisp words brought back the fear she'd spent the last hour trying to get rid of. "You think someone is tracking my phone?"

  "It's a possibility. We need to stay under the radar. But I do like your neighborhood suggestion. Do you remember how to get there?"

  "I think so," she said, giving him what she hoped were good directions. In preparation for her tour, she'd spent a lot of time researching areas in Medellin and figuring out how to get around and where to go.

  Eventually, they made it to El Poblado. At the sight of a six-story, name-brand hotel, Diego turned in to the parking garage. He stopped at the gate to get a ticket and then drove down two levels before pulling into a spot by the elevator.

  They grabbed their bags and took the elevator to the lobby level. While Diego checked in, she looked around the lobb
y. There was a bar and grill off in one corner, and her stomach rumbled at the thought of some food, but she wasn't sure she was ready to sit in a public restaurant after what had happened when they'd left the bar in Cascada.

  "I got us a room," Diego said, returning to her side.

  "One room?" she questioned.

  "We need to stay together. You can trust me."

  "Good, because I've been trusting you for the last few hours."

  "And you can keep on doing that."

  She followed him over to the bank of elevators where a security official was checking keycards, and she was happy to see that layer of security. Their room was on the fifth floor. It appeared to have been recently remodeled and offered two full beds, a dresser beneath a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall, and a small table with two chairs by the window.

  While Diego checked the bathroom and closet, she walked over to the window. The hotel was surrounded by restaurants, bars, and retail shops. There were plenty of people walking the streets and she could hear the faint beat of music coming from a nearby nightclub. Come tomorrow, the area would be even busier, especially with so many people getting ready for the upcoming Easter celebrations.

  "Everything looks normal," she said, as Diego came up next to her. "It almost feels like the last several hours were a dream—make that a nightmare."

  "I wish they were. But you can't let down your guard, not even for a minute."

  "I was just trying to cheer myself up."

  "I get it, but lying to yourself won't be helpful."

  "You don't like to sugarcoat things, do you?" she asked.

  "All the sugar in the world doesn't turn bad into good."

  As she met his gaze, the purple and black swelling around his eye made her realize that he was probably in some physical pain as well as emotional pain from finding out about his mother. "Maybe sugar won't help, but how about some ice for your shiner?"

  He shrugged off her concern. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it. Are you hungry?"

  "Starving. The steaks sizzling on the grill downstairs smelled like heaven."

  A faint smile creased his lips. "I thought so, too. Why don't I go down and get a to-go order?"

  "We could order room service."

  "I'd rather not have anyone coming to the room."

  "All right." There was a menu on the table next to them. As she perused it, Diego read over her shoulder.

  She felt a little too aware of his presence, of the fact that they were going to share a room tonight. She'd met him a few hours ago. And here she was trusting him with her life. Was she being a fool? On the other hand, she probably wouldn't be alive right now if it wasn't for him.

  "See anything you like?" he asked.

  She could have answered that question in a couple of different ways, but she forced herself to focus on the menu. "The carne asada looks good."

  "You can't go wrong with marinated grilled beef. I'll get the same. Anything else?"

  "Avocado corn ensalada."

  "Got it. Some wine?"

  "I'll stick to water."

  "I'll go downstairs and put in our order."

  "You don't want to use the phone?"

  "I'm going to see if I can find a store to pick up a prepaid phone," he said. "Bolt the door after I leave and don't open it up for anyone. If someone tries to get in, call the front desk immediately. I'll knock three times when I come back, so you'll know it's me."

  His words sent more uneasy feelings through her body, but she told herself he was being extra cautious. After he left, she turned the dead bolt. Then she put her suitcase on the bed closest to the window and unzipped it. After kicking off her sandals, she pulled out a pair of leggings, a soft, comfy sweater, and thick socks that would cushion the blisters on her feet. Then she went into the bathroom to change.

  As she stared at herself in the mirror, she saw brutal evidence of the day she'd had. Her face was very pale, her eyes still dazed and shocked by everything she'd experienced, her hair a tangled mess of waves, and she'd bit off the lip gloss she'd put on before going to the church. There was also a bruise on her neck from where the man outside the bar had grabbed her. But she was alive. And that was all that mattered.

  That thought was immediately followed by worry for Bethany.

  But she didn't have enough energy to get herself all worked up again. It was too much. Too overwhelming. Too terrifying. She just had to keep taking steps to try to find Bethany and not think of what condition Bethany might be in when she found her.

  Although that resolve seemed almost ridiculously stupid.

  Was she really going to keep asking questions after everything that had happened? But if she gave up, who would look for Bethany?

  She clearly needed a more strategic approach. Hopefully, Diego's associate would be able to come up with information that could help them get to the truth.

  She wondered how long Diego would work with her. He had his own search to conduct. His story about his father ripping him out of his bed and tearing him away from his mother and brother was horrific. She couldn't imagine her own dad doing such a thing. Nor could she imagine her mother not trying to get in touch, not finding a way to see her.

  Diego had been looking for closure for a long time, but the closure had come with knowledge of his mother's death, and she didn't think he'd really had a chance to process that.

  He still had his brother to find. Hopefully, Mateo would be alive.

  But who was Mateo now? Was he part of the Salazar family? Was he a criminal? How was his FBI brother going to handle that?

  Shaking her head at the relentless pressure of questions that could not be answered, she changed her clothes, and returned to the room.

  She couldn't get on her phone, and she should probably check with Diego before turning on the laptop computer in her bag, which left the television for a distraction.

  Picking up the remote, she sat down on the edge of the bed and flipped through the channels, grateful she was fluent in Spanish, so she could follow along.

  She paused on a local news channel that was showing a photograph of the church in Cascada. The reporter was giving details of the shooting. The only fatality was Father Manuel. But six other individuals had been wounded. Two were in serious condition. The others were in good condition. All were expected to survive. There was no one in custody and no suspects.

  How could that be?

  How could no one have seen the shooter?

  Or maybe it wasn't about not having seen him; perhaps it was about not wanting to identify him.

  Five

  Diego put in an order for food at the hotel grill, then was lucky enough to find a phone store still open two blocks away. He picked up two prepaid phones and paid cash for them. Then he returned to the hotel. When he entered the lobby, he opened the packaging for one of the phones and started it up. Then he punched in Lucas's number.

  "It's Diego," he said, when Lucas answered. "I picked up a burner phone."

  "Good idea. Where are you now?"

  "Medellin. Tara and I got jumped outside of a bar in Cascada. We had to make a quick exit from the village."

  "Damn. Are either of you hurt?"

  "No. We're fine. But I'm obviously concerned."

  "As you should be."

  "What do you have for me?"

  "Let's start with the church shooting. One theory is that the Pedroza organization wanted to send a message to the Salazars, that they could get to anyone they cared about at any time, and the priest was the symbol of that. Others speculate that there is infighting among the Salazars and that the priest sided with the wrong individuals."

  "I heard similar rumors in Cascada. What can you tell me about the cartel?"

  "They've been a player for decades in Colombia. They have a strong distribution network in the US. It's believed they work with another criminal enterprise out of New York."

  "New York," he muttered, wondering if his friend, Wyatt Tanner, who had worked undercover in the Venturi
organization, might know about the Salazar operation in that area.

  "Yes—they're also in Chicago and Los Angeles. At the head of the Salazar organization is Caleb Salazar. His younger brothers Juan Felipe and Santoro are also involved in the family business, as well as multiple cousins, nephews, nieces—it's a big family. We did hear that the fifteen-year-old daughter of Franco Salazar and his wife Louisa was injured in the shooting. Franco is a doctor and not believed to be involved in the criminal side of the family, but you never know."

  "Will she be all right?"

  "It appears so. The other victims included an elderly couple by the last name of Valdez, both in their late eighties, a thirteen-year-old altar boy by the name of Joseph Bettencourt, and a twenty-nine-year-old male Adam Moldano, who is believed to be employed by the Salazars to provide security for the family."

  "Did you hear any mention of a Mateo Salazar or a Camilla Salazar?"

  Lucas thought for a moment. "No. Those names don't ring a bell. But as I said, there are a lot of Salazars. Caleb is in his sixties and has had three wives, all of whom produced children for him. Both of his brothers, Juan Felipe and Santoro, are married with children. There are also many cousins, including Franco, James, Tomas, Louise, and Irina, who may or may not be married and/or have children. I don't know all the members of the Salazar family."

  He hoped his mother and Mateo were part of the family that wasn't directly involved in the drug business. "Okay. What about the woman I asked you to look into?"

  "My contact in the police department in Medellin confirmed that they are not looking for Bethany Cooper. There's a record of a missing person report filed by Tara Powell. But nothing further has been done as there's no evidence of a crime. The tour company that Ms. Cooper works for stated that she's on vacation, and they have no idea why her friend is so worried about her."

  That went with what Tara had told him.

  "I also did some research on Ms. Cooper. She appears to have one checking and one savings account, neither of which has more than a couple of thousand dollars in it. The last time her credit card was used was at the Medellin bus station where she purchased a ticket for Cascada. There's no hotel check-in, no bank withdrawal, no evidence of her existence after that date. I pulled security footage from the bus station and saw the image that the police showed your friend. Unfortunately, she wasn't seen leaving the bus in Cascada, because they don't have any security cameras where the bus lets off."