Keep My Baby Safe Page 4

  He pushed the door to the offices open and stepped inside, a jangle of chimes sounding somewhere in the back to announce his presence. Sighing at this lack of security, he hoped Charles didn’t rely on the pitiful excuse for guards downstairs. He waited for Charles to appear, absorbing the scene before him.

  The room was large with desks crowded together in an open space. Apparently, only three people had enclosed offices: Charles, a man named Trevor Davis, and a third office didn’t have a name on the door. Tony briefly wondered who occupied the third or if it was used for a conference room when Charles’ door opened and he stepped out.

  “Tony,” he called, gesturing for him to join him. Tony grinned as he reached him, and they executed a handshake that turned into a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too, man,” Tony said as they stepped back.

  “I would rather be seeing you at a BBQ in my backyard, but…” Charles shrugged his large shoulders, his bald head gleaming in the overhead fluorescents.

  “You’ve got a problem,” Tony finished.

  “That’s an understatement, but yes. Come in to my office,” Charles replied, leading the way inside an office that was messy without being dirty. Tony would bet his next paycheck Charles could lay his hands on anything he was asked for in a moment.

  A man sat behind the large desk, his eyes trained on the computer screen. He was so focused, he didn’t look up, and Tony watched a parade of letters and numbers reflect in his frameless glasses. Tony glanced at Charles, who indicated they should give him another minute, which was really only thirty seconds. The man sat back with a sigh and rubbed his eyes wearily.

  “The information on the video is correct, as far as location,” the man announced as he leaned his elbows on the desk. “That video was uploaded somewhere near some shit hole called Pacamque. Literally in the middle of Mexico.”

  “Is that close to Matamoros?” Charles asked. Tony listened carefully, waiting patiently for them to finish. He’d need this information eventually.

  “Not really,” the man answered. He swiveled the chair and typed on the computer. “More than two hundred miles apart.”

  “Jesus,” Charles whispered, running his hand over his bald head in what looked like resignation. His eyes met Tony’s. “Tony, this is my assistant, George Martinez.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he commented as they shook hands, noting the Hispanic surname. The man had a dark complexion and brown hair, but his speech was accent free. “Tony Romano.”

  “You too,” George said, eyeing him. “You look like a guy who could pull this off.”

  “Um, thanks,” he replied. “Mind telling me what this is?”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Charles told him, pointing at a chair in an invitation to sit. He cleared his throat and began his story. “A few days ago, I sent my best reporter and photographer to Mexico. The photographer, Grace McIntyre, had proposed a story to me about what the cartels are doing to the small towns there. Trevor was on board, and even though I should have said no, I sent them.”

  Tony nodded, the main idea of his story already clear to him. “So your employees have been kidnapped by the cartel.”

  “Grace has, yes. Trevor is dead,” Charles stated, his voice revealing no emotion. His eyes, however, told the story of fear and sadness.

  “The video?”

  “Hard to watch,” he responded, looking briefly at George.

  “They’re torturing her,” George explained, paler than he had been. “They ask for a ransom for her.”

  “The email with the video also had pictures of Trevor’s body and what had been done to it,” Charles told him. “Posthumously. But if the ransom isn’t paid, Grace will be alive when they…” His voice trailed off.

  Tony had visions in his head of this woman being tortured and violated in a hundred different ways on this video, and he hoped his thoughts were far worse than what he was about to watch. “Let’s look at the pictures of Trevor.”

  George cleared his throat. “I’m going to turn the screen for you. I’d prefer not to see either again.”

  Tony nodded as Charles sat in the chair next to him. George handed the wireless mouse to him, and he navigated through the email and opened the first of three pictures. The body of a handsome man lay on a wooden floor, blood pooled around him. His shirt had been removed, and dozens of cuts ranged all over his chest, shoulders, and neck. His face was unmarred, though Tony imagined Grace’s would not be considering the torture he would view in the video. Hard to bruise a dead man, he mused internally.

  The next picture revealed the man’s back. A deep stab wound that had probably punctured his heart from behind oozed blood, and more cuts had been added, deep cuts that would have flayed muscle from the bone and caused extreme pain, had the man been alive. The third picture was the worst. The man had been stripped and castrated, his member laying in the center of his chest.

  Tony had seen a lot in his time, but the last picture was gruesome, though he did not reveal his disgust outwardly. A normal man would have shuddered, and he imagined poor George’s reaction to this photo, to all the photos. Charles hadn’t once looked at the screen as Tony viewed the pictures. Tony nodded at Charles, who closed the pictures and sighed.

  “He was a good man, didn’t deserve that undignified death,” Charles growled gruffly, his emotions trying to control him.

  “I can watch the video on my own, if you’d prefer,” Tony offered quietly.

  Charles straightened, pulling strength from inside. “No, it’s fine.”

  “You obviously care for these two people,” Tony observed.

  “I do. They are more than employees,” Charles explained. “Especially these two. They helped me build this magazine, make it what it is.”

  Tony nodded his understanding and looked at the screen again as Charles opened the video and pushed play. The video and sound were clear, though the angle was off until one of the men adjusted it. The woman in the chair was probably pretty when she wasn’t in a state of panic and with a bruise appearing on her left cheek. A large man’s hand covered her mouth while the first spoke.

  Charles paused it. “He’s telling us about the ransom and whatnot.” Tony remained fixated on the video, so Charles played it again.

  The man finished speaking and reached for the towel to cover the woman’s face. She began screaming, and Tony could see the blood on her lips where they’d been smashed against her teeth. The towel was laid over her face while the large man held her hand in place. The smaller man began pouring water onto the towel. Tony watched as the woman struggled and began to thrash as the feeling of drowning overcame her. After nearly a minute, but what probably felt like an eternity to her, they lifted the towel and allowed her to breathe. As the man placed the towel over her face again, Charles paused the video.

  “They waterboard her two more times, until she loses consciousness,” he muttered. “You can finish watching it, but I’d rather not.”

  Tony looked at George. “Can you forward that video to my email, please?” George nodded and turned the screen around, taking the mouse from Charles.

  “Can you save her?” Charles asked after Tony recited his email.

  He shrugged. “I’m assuming somewhere in that litany of Spanish they gave a location?”

  “Yes. I’m adding the transcript of the video to the email I’m sending you,” George responded. When Tony lifted an eyebrow, he explained. “I speak fluent Spanish and Italian.”

  “Gotcha,” Tony responded. He looked at Charles again. “Can you afford the amount they’re asking for?”

  He shook his head sadly. “It’s an outrageous amount, and I’d pay it in a second for Grace’s life. But I’d have to sell everything to raise it. This magazine doesn’t generate that kind of profit. But I can pay you.”

  “I understand,” Tony said, his mind inwardly remembering the woman’s face. Her eyes had been wide with terror, her hair a mess, her clothes dirty. He couldn’t get her eyes out of
his mind as he debated a course of action, and rage filled him. A defenseless woman in the hands of those animals… “Pay my expenses. That’s all I ask.”

  “No, no.” His pal immediately began to protest. “I’ll pay your fee as well.”

  “Charles, we’ve been friends for a long time,” Tony reminded him as he rose. “I won’t take your money. I’ll leave as soon as I’ve gathered what I need.” His mind whirring as he planned his strategy, he turned abruptly towards the door. He called over his shoulder, “I’ll be in touch when I get to Mexico.”

  Chapter 5

  Grace swung little Charlie up in her arms, and the toddler squealed her name as he giggled. Her sister, Elaine, called, “Quit swinging him so much! He’ll throw up!”

  “You won’t throw up on me, will you, Charlie?” Grace asked, and he shook his head rapidly and escaped her arms to chase after their little dog. Grace marched over to Elaine, who was heavily pregnant. “He loses interest quick, huh?”

  “Just wait. He’ll love you again in five minutes.” Elaine laughed, resting her hands on her distended belly.

  Grace and Elaine sat in companionable silence, watching Charlie chase the dog, a schnauzer, around the backyard. Elaine’s husband, Ethan, was grilling burgers and dogs for dinner, and he waved a hand covered in an oven mitt when Grace caught his eye. She lifted a hand, smiling nostalgically. She missed her family and wished she saw them more.

  “Is Mom coming?”

  “Not this weekend,” Elaine answered, looking at her. “Are you not driving down before you go back to New York?”

  “I can’t. Don’t have time,” she replied, staring wistfully at the home Elaine shared with Ethan. “I was hoping she’d meet me here.”

  Elaine hummed a response, rubbing her belly as the baby kicked hard. She laughed and asked, “Do you think you’ll be home when this one arrives?”

  “I don’t know,” Grace admitted guiltily. She missed a lot because of her job, a regret she didn’t focus on often. “Trevor and I are supposed to leave for an assignment soon.”

  “Well, that’s okay,” Elaine answered with a smile. “We’ll be waiting here for you when you get back.”

  Grace sighed sadly, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. “Yes…”

  Grace woke slowly from the dream, trying to force her mind to stay focused on the sweet moment. A memory as much as a dream, she had relived her last conversation with her sister. The tear she’d cried in her dream was real; her arm, which she used as a pillow, was wet. And as she forced herself to open her eyes and face the reality she was in, she let out the sob that pushed at her tightly pressed lips.

  She hadn’t allowed herself many tears over the two days she’d been trapped in the hellhole. Grateful they had only waterboarded her the one time, she missed the luxury of regular meals. Besides the beans and rice her torturers had left for her to find when she regained consciousness, she’d had only two tortillas covered in butter. Someone had refilled the water pitcher they’d used to ‘drown’ her, but she drank it sparingly, afraid they wouldn’t replenish it before she succumbed to thirst.

  The facts were these: she was somewhere in Mexico in the basement cell of a cartel. They had asked for a ransom, but she had no idea if there’d been an answer from Charles. Her face hurt where the rat man had hit her, and every time she drank, she opened a cut on her upper lip where the stocky man had held her mouth. She sat up gently, moaning at the quiet aches and pains caused from coughing up water and sleeping on a concrete bed. There is a positive, she reminded herself with a small smirk. They haven’t tortured me again.

  In fact, no one had spoken to her since the two men with the towel. The man who brought her the tortillas the day before had remained silent as he slid the container through the bars, glaring at her as if she were an offensive animal. The glare turned to lustful gaze when she’d risen from the table to take the food, and for the first time, she realized the buttons of her shirt had been ripped off. She wore a tank top underneath, so she wasn’t completely exposed, but the man’s eyes had stared at her bosom until she jerked her shirt together and glared imperiously at him. The man had snorted and dropped the container of tortillas on the floor, spilling them. She’d rushed to pick them up, thankful they had landed dry side down.

  Twenty-four hours, she surmised, was how long she’d been without food and without seeing another person. The camera, which was still in her possession, had a clock to record time, but she had to force herself to stop looking. What felt like an hour was only fifteen minutes, and her mind would crack if she continued to count.

  She stared at the bucket in the corner, nausea turning her stomach. They’d left her toilet paper, an amenity she concluded not many received in the cell, but they hadn’t emptied it since she’d been here. Hours before, she had folded the extra chair and laid it across the top to hinder the odor, but now she had to go again. With a grimace of revulsion, she moved the chair and quickly dispatched her urine, gagging and nearly crying again.

  With the chair returned to its spot, she circled the table and sat facing the door to her cell. At some point, she hoped, someone would return with food. She had half a pitcher of water left, and though she’d been waiting for Montezuma’s revenge to attack her insides, no sickness had plagued her. She stared impatiently at the door, fighting the urge to pace the room like a caged tiger. The lack of stimulation was destroying her brain cells.

  After staring for what felt like a decade, she heard the outer door of the basement open. She jumped up from the chair but didn’t move closer to her cell door. A well-dressed man appeared, as did a lovely woman in a maid’s costume carrying a tray from which the delectable odor of food emanated. Grace watched as the man opened the cell door and allowed the woman to precede him. She smiled at Grace, her red lips full and her teeth white. She set the tray on the table and walked to the bucket. She removed the chair and lifted the bucket, hurrying out of the cell with it.

  Grace’s eyes had stopped following her when she moved to the bucket because the man remained near the door. This was the person she needed to pay attention to, the person she could possibly barter with for her freedom. His clothes were expensive and tailored to fit a slim, well-muscled body. His wiry frame wore the clothes like a male model, and his face was angelic, resplendent in its perfection. His skin looked soft, his eyes almond-shaped and the same shade.

  “You are studying me,” he observed in English so perfect he must have studied at school, though his accent was thick like Antonio Banderas’. “What do you see?”

  Feed his ego, or be a bitch, she debated internally as she continued to stare at him. His shoes alone were worth as much as her car payment. When she reached his eyes again, they smiled at her, kindly, as if they were old friends. Don’t be deceived by this angel.

  “I see a man who knows he is beautiful,” she said quietly. The smells from the covered tray reached her nose, and her stomach rumbled loudly. “May I eat? I haven’t had anything since yesterday.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but he stepped forward hurriedly as if he were hosting a dinner and she was his guest. “Of course! My apologies, Ms. McIntyre.”

  Grace watched him warily. “How do you know my name?”

  He smiled at her as if she were simple, bowing his head and looking at her from the tops of his eyes. “Your bag contained your identification. We did not take it, merely borrowed it.”

  “Who is we?” she blurted, still standing with the table between them.

  His smile broadened, and he gestured to the table with his hand. “Please, eat your meal. We can talk while you eat.”

  Every instinct screamed at Grace to refuse the food this wolf offered, but the smells were making her lightheaded. She’d never be able to think clearly if her belly was empty. Without taking her eyes off him, she sat in the chair and uncovered the food. A pile of beef steak covered in a red sauce with rice and beans on the side. She’d never seen a meal so appetizing. She picked up the fork a
nd speared a piece, slipping it delicately into her mouth. Flavors burst over her tongue, and before she could stop herself, she made yummy noises as she chewed.

  The man chuckled. “I’m so sorry for your hunger. May I get the other chair and sit?”

  Grace watched him as he moved behind her to retrieve the chair without waiting for her answer. She continued eating as he opened the chair and sat down across from her. Half the meat and most of the beans were gone before she spoke again.

  “Why are you keeping me here?”

  “Ah, well,” he said, lifting his hands in a helpless manner, “your American boss has not replied to our demands.”

  “My boss?” she asked, frowning at his words. “Charles doesn’t have money for a ransom.”

  “Mr. Hudson owns a successful magazine. You’re his finest photographer,” the man replied, smiling as if he’d complimented her.

  Grace stared at him, her food forgotten for the moment. She recovered her senses, suspicious of his intentions, and asked, “Who are you?”

  “You didn’t do your research, or you would recognize me.” He tsked, wagging his finger at her playfully. “I am Tomas de Velazquez.” He said his name so proudly, as if his legendary villainy increased his popularity and acclaim in Mexico and the United States.

  But he is proud of his villainy, Grace thought as she decided to pretend to be unaffected by him. She picked up her fork and continued eating, not simply to irritate him but because she didn’t know when she’d get to eat again.

  “I didn’t know what you looked like,” she said with a mouthful of rice, “but I have heard of you.”

  His smile was wolfish, his eyes no longer as kind. “Of course. Rumors abound, I’m told.”

  “Rumors, or truth?”

  “Hmm, a little of both, I’m sure.” He watched her lift her fork, she hoped nonchalantly, and said, “I’ll make sure you are fed more often.”