Wordlessly, he turned and headed for the office. I swallowed and started down the stairs. The floor of the warehouse was dimly lit by a single overhead lamp. At the bottom of the steps, I noticed several other guys stationed at key locations in the warehouse, armed with semiautomatic rifles. AR-15's by the look of them. As my gaze swept the upper catwalk, I counted six of them.

  I reached the bottom and walked forward until I was in the center of the arena.

  “Gerrold Smith. A.k.a. ‘Torch.’” Banger’s voice dripped venom, filling the void of the room as he moved toward me. “A.k.a. recently deceased, ‘cept now he’s not. You cost me a lot of money with that little stunt you pulled.”

  As he came into the light, I saw firsthand the damage that Brueger had inflicted on him. His nose was broken and held together by a thin strip of tape. The bruising around his eyes gave him a Raccoon-like appearance, and he appeared to be favoring his side, much as I did with my busted ribs. That raid must’ve saved his life.

  “And then what you did to Vic?” He blew out an expletive. “You must be some kinda crazy stupid, y’know?”

  “Where’s Mel?”

  “You’re late.”

  “And you’re not the one I talked to on the phone. I’m thinking that must be your boss. Maybe Vic’s boss, too?”

  “You must be talking about my business associate. Bosses? Employers, employees? That’s a thing of the past. We don’t play that way down here. My business associate—he’s got investments. He likes a good return. He invests in my fight club. Maybe he invests a little in Vic’s business.” He waggled a finger at me. “Then his money gets stolen. One of his rental properties gets burned to the ground. His investment with me goes belly up, and he’s sitting there, scratching his head, pondering the misfortune that’s been visited upon him in a single night. Like Job in the Bible. Imagine his surprise when he gets the story from Vic and me that the same guy is involved in causing all his calamity.”

  He nods his head and startles me with his next words. “You impressed him. Vic tells him your story. How you single-handedly took on a city like a one-man army. You killed a judge in her own court. Burned it to the ground and escaped. Held the city hostage to rescue your family. Faked your own death and busted outta prison to run away down here.

  “So he takes your girl and calls you on the phone—you hang up on him. Then you call him back and you threaten him. I must say, he is very anxious to meet you.”

  “Where. Is. Mel?”

  “Oh he’s got her. This? This was all just a little ruse. ‘Course, ah, I still got a bone to pick with you. And Vic? He’s got his own score to settle. So here’s the deal: Door number one, you get to meet him. Hear what he’s got to say. Maybe you and he can come to some sort of arrangement. In exchange, Vic and I both will forgive your infractions. And he will owe us each a favor. That’s worth something, lemme tell you. Or, you can choose door number two, and both Vic and I can settle accounts with you in our own way. And I gotta tell ya, I’m really hoping you’ll choose door number two. So is Hans.”

  I heaved a breath. “Which door gets me to Mel?”

  He smiled thinly and put his hands together. “I’m kinda thinking door number one.”

  “Then what kind of choice do I really have?”

  Banger shrugged. “He does kinda drive a hard bargain.”

  “All right. I’ll meet him.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that. Maybe some other day you and Hans can have that match. Come with me.”

  He took two steps and stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He waved his hand in the air. A second later, from the catwalk, an armed man dragged a pathetic-looking Hector forward, his arms tied behind his back. Banger grinned at me. “Does this belong to you?”

  I tilted my head noncommittally. “I was short on time. Had to try something.”

  He smirked. “Bring him,” he called.

  ***

  Banger put Hector and me into a Lincoln Town Car, with Brueger in the back seat along with us, taking up most of the room. I was reasonably certain they’d engaged the child-safety locks, which meant we couldn’t open the doors from inside.

  Not that it mattered. All I cared about was getting Mel back right now. Banger never said I had to do anything but meet his “business associate,” and I had no intention of doing anything more than just that.

  I didn’t care about the money. We had stolen it, and we’d used it to good effect—keeping us alive and getting us close enough to Rogan to not only wrest the information we wanted from him so we could bring down that sex trafficking ring, but even to enlist his support in the matter. That in itself was more than I could’ve hoped for, and it meant we were one step closer to putting all this behind us.

  So even if I had to pay back whatever they decided I owed them, I wasn’t worried about it.

  I was only worried about Mel.

  As it turned out, I didn’t need to. Not as much as I’d thought I did, at least.

  They drove us east and then south along Ponte Vedra Boulevard toward a large beach house overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and came to a stop before a wrought iron gate. The driver pressed a remote on the car’s visor and the gate silently swung open. It closed behind us once we swept through.

  Hector, who’d been sulking about his failure the whole ride over, gave me a wide-eyed Can you believe this? stare as we came to a stop in front of the mansion.

  As far as structures went, I’d seen bigger. But something told me this wasn’t this guy’s only house. Maybe just his summer retreat. Or something like that.

  Now that kind of wealth would’ve been genuinely impressive. With anything less I figured we’d have been dealing with the local thuggery. Either way, I wasn’t all that worried.

  Maybe just a little bit.

  The house itself had three floors, along with an attic peering out on the driveway and manicured lawn from dormered windows. Tall columns supported an arched portico, beneath which a heavy oak door beckoned. Pale stucco covered the walls, and the windows were trimmed in a dark wood that resembled chocolate. A fountain of satyrs and half-naked nymphs cavorting in a pool stood in the center of the lawn, while the driveway snaked around to the front and then off to a parking lot where a Bentley and a Ferrari waited side by side.

  The driver and Banger stepped out and opened the back doors. and Hans slipped out on either side. I took a breath, deliberately making Banger wait a moment before I followed. He gave me a cold glare, which I returned briefly, and then followed Brueger’s massive hulk toward the front door.

  It opened before we reached it, and I saw Candi, Vic’s girlfriend, standing there in a white bikini that left little to the imagination. Incongruously, she wore white pumps on her feet, making her look more like a prostitute than anything else. She gave us a bored expression. “He’s waiting.”

  As we passed into the house, she surprised me by taking my hand. “Vic’s gonna be real happy to see you again,” she purred.

  I felt her press something into my palm, and I gave her a questioning glance. Something in her eyes belied the bored expression. There was fear there, too. And a quiet confidence. I didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  She walked with me into the foyer, and my eyes took in the ornate parquet floors, the gaudy chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and the double open doors on the far side that led the way to a back yard with an in-ground swimming pool, a lengthy deck above a hedge of white rose bushes, and beyond it, the pale rush of the Atlantic ocean. The waft of sea-salt filled the room and stung my nostrils.

  Candi stopped and faced us, holding out her palm. “Beverages of your choice await to the right. He insists on meeting Mr. Smith alone.”

  Banger and Hans exchanged a glance, and then with mutual shrugs turned and went through a side door into a room that must’ve been a bar of some kind or another. Hector shuffled his feet, as if unsure he was meant as well. Candi gave him a smile and a nod. He cleared his throat, and followed.

  I glanced at my hand, and found a scrap of paper in it. I turned it over and read a two part message.

  She’s alive! I can help.

  My gaze flashed up, but Candi gave me a quick, subtle shake of her head. Then she spun on her heel and led me to the back porch.

  I walked through, and my eyes were drawn to the stretch of the ocean as it rushed endlessly toward the shore, only to withdraw back in on itself in a wash of white foam.

  “A man who cannot appreciate the sea is a man who has no heart.” The voice came from my right in a heavy Cuban accent. Not the voice of the man I’d spoken to on the phone, though. I turned to see a balding man in a white, button down shirt and chinos. He wore a gold Rolex on his left and carried an unlit cigar in his right hand.

  “Who said that?” I asked. It sounded like a quote.

  He smiled. “I did. You don’t know who I am, do you?”

  “No idea.”

  He gave a half-laugh. “You can’t imagine how refreshing that is.”

  “Actually, I think I can.”

  “Yes. I suppose you are right. Having achieved a degree of infamy, to be unknown by someone is a blessing. It means the relationship is rife with possibilities.”

  I wanted to tell him what he could do with his relationship, but thought better of it. All I cared about was getting Mel back.

  “Would you care for a drink?” He turned and wandered over to a minibar, where he poured a glass of Scotch.

  “No thanks.”

  “You are not a drinking man?”

  “I’d rather know with whom and to what I’m drinking.”

  He put the glass down. “But of course. I am Carlos Santiago.”

  I shrugged. The name held no meaning for me.

  He grinned, genuinely pleased. “Delightful. Truly.”

  “I’m told you’ve got your fingers in some pies,” I offered. “An illegal fight club. Drugs. And probably several other questionable enterprises. But let me guess: you’re just a businessman.”

  He wagged a finger at me. “No, señor. What I am is a counter-revolutionary. My parents crossed this very sea when I was but a boy, fleeing not only the terror of the Cuban revolution, but also dodging the Coast Guard cutters of the United States. The very country that offered them a beacon of hope also cut them off at their knees when it was almost within their grasp. Castro might have taught me fear, but it was your country that taught me cruelty. My father stayed in the boat and kept the officers busy while my mother pushed her way to shore. Once our feet touched land, we knew we’d be safe. Sanctuary. But only if we could reach the shore.

  “Since that day—since I grew up—I have made it my business to amass a fortune, to prepare against the day when that bastardo finally dies, and we can return to reclaim our home. Until then, I sponsor enterprises to undermine his government, and arrange passage for those wishing to escape whenever I can.”

  “So that’s your justification?”

  He gave me a cold glare. “I do not need to justify myself to you. I know what I am.”

  “Do you? ‘Cause it sure looks like all your talk of being a counter-revolutionary is just a poor cover for enriching yourself through the suffering of others.”

  His eyes widened as a flare of anger washed over him, and for a moment, I thought he’d make a move to attack me. Then he wrestled it down. “Strong words coming from a man who once bombed a school and a shopping mall. There are different kinds of wealth, no? Money is but one of them. Family is another. You have a selective moral code, Señor Smith. You take extreme measures that break the law to enrich yourself, by protecting yourself and your family, and then you upbraid me for doing the same. Why? Because I choose a different currency? Or do you suppose that none of the fires you set ever caused another to suffer?”

  He reached behind himself. His fingers found the glass he’d poured, and he brought it to his lips, washing the liquid down his throat in a single swallow.

  I heaved a breath. I had to get back on his good side. For Mel’s sake. “I suppose you have a point.”

  He lowered the empty glass and regarded me a moment. The sky had turned dark as the sun descended behind the house, and a chilly breeze blew up from the ocean.

  “You are not interested in money,” he said.

  “Not particularly.”

  “And yet you stole almost a hundred thousand dollars from me.”

  “You got it back.”

  “Most of it. Why take it?”

  “I needed it.”

  “Again I ask: why?”

  I shifted my weight. “I had tools I needed. Some of them kinda pricey. Look, I’m not exactly in a line of work that generates an income. We spent most of our cash just trying to get down here while avoiding detection.”

  “Not very effectively.”

  “No,” I agreed. “If you want the rest of it, I’m sure I can find a way to repay—”

  “No.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Do I look like I’m going to miss a few thousand dollars? I have millions. I paid more for that bottle of Scotch you rudely turned down than what you cost me these past few days. True, the theft was a disruption, but a minor one. No. What I want from you is something much more valuable.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your cooperation.”

  “In what?”

  He cleared his throat. I sensed we were getting to the heart of it. “I have made certain enemies in my line of work. Some of them are rivals. Some are within my own organization. I cannot rid myself of them without exposing my hand.”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Pal. I’m no mercenary, and I’m no assassin.”

  “I have need of neither. What I require is a wrecking ball, not a hit man. If that was what I wanted, I could hire it done yesterday, but like I said, that would expose me to certain liabilities which I cannot afford. You, however, are not motivated by money, so I will offer you none. We may consider the money you stole a retainer for now, if it aids your decision. Thus, my hands are clean.”

  “Aside from the fact that you’re holding my girlfriend for ransom and are threatening to unleash Banger, Brueger and Vic on me if I fail to cooperate, what’s in it for me?”

  A guilty grin escaped his lips. “I can assist you in your work. I know about the list. Your girlfriend, Señorita Cooper, has already explained to me why you are here and what you hope to accomplish. I laud your noble efforts, and will grant you my protection and support in any way I can. In return, you will carry out certain endeavors on my behalf. That is my offer.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I gave my word that I only required you to hear me out. There is no threat. There is no ransom I hold over your head. You are free to refuse and leave if you wish on the morrow, but I urge you to consider it carefully tonight. It is not an offer I will repeat.”

  “So I’m stuck here. Your prisoner.”

  “My guest. Please, I insist. You will be provided a change of clothes, a meal and a hot shower—as well as a good night’s rest. If you don’t mind my saying so, it appears you could use all four.”

  I swallowed hard. “I need to see Mel. I won’t make a move without her.”

  “Such an American,” he smirked. “She is upstairs, resting comfortably.”

  “And then there is the matter of her bruises.”

  “Ah. That is regrettable. An unfortunate action on the part of one of my associates. He let his enthusiasm get the better of his judgment. He did what he thought would please me.” His eyes met mine, letting me know he meant every word. “He was mistaken.”

  “All the same, I owe him a beating.”

  “You could do so if you wished, but I do not think he would notice. He’s beyond that now.”

  Did he kill him because of what he did to Mel? Or because he was afraid of what I’d do if he didn’t?

  I wondered if it mattered. “All right, then.”

  “Come,” he motioned with a tilt of his head. “Candi will show you upstairs. I must extend regrets to my associates. Vic, Banger, and his men.”

  “One of those men is with me.”

  “Ah. He is welcome to stay as long as you do.”

  “Thank you.”

  With that, he led me back inside.

  Chapter 31

  Candi met me on the other side of the door and led me through the hall to a set of stairs. As I followed her up I muttered, “Care to explain what you meant?”

  “Not here,” she whispered back. “Carlos is fanatical about his security.”

  When she didn’t answer further, I took the hint. It meant we were being watched. And probably listened to.

  She led me down a hall lined with Salvador Dalí prints—until I realized they weren’t prints at all, but reconstructions carefully rendered to look like the originals. I wondered if one of Carlos’s sidelines involved forgeries. At the end of the hall, she turned before a locked door and inserted a slender key in the knob before opening it.

  As I passed into the room she whispered in my ear, “Take a walk on the beach in the morning at sunrise. I will find you.”

  Then she was gone.

  I shut the door behind her and turned the dead bolt, followed by the chain lock. Anything to see that we wouldn’t be disturbed.

  A four-poster double bed stood in the center of the room, with a computer desk on one side, sans computer, and an end table on the other. Beside the wall another low table sat with a basket of fruit on it. On the other side a door stood partly ajar. I heard a shower running in the next room.

  I picked an orange from the fruit basket and dug my fingers into the rind, peeling it back until the juicy center was revealed. After shoving a wedge into my mouth, I nudged the door open.

  The shower stall did not have a bath. It was a standing unit with a semi-opaque door. Behind it, partially obscured by the steam, a naked form gently buffed her skin with a cloth.

  I stood there a full minute, taking in the view. Then she let out a yelp and tried vainly to cover herself when she saw me. I dropped the remains of the orange into the sink and moved forward. I opened the door.