Obsession

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EMMA STARED at him in shock, unable to speak. When she finally found her voice, she wished she hadn’t. But it was too late; she couldn’t take back her astonished reply.

“Drugs? Here? Are you insane?”

His reaction wasn’t the one she expected. He smiled. “No, señorita, no estoy loco. But you may be by the time we finish.”

The men behind him snickered at his wit, but Emma went silent with astonishment. He stalked arrogantly past her, then lifted his hand and waved it toward her living room, tilting his head to the man directly behind him. “You go in there.” Pointing in other directions, he told the rest of them to scatter, as well.

“Stop!” Terrified and shaking, Emma made her voice a strident screech. She had to act angry; to show her fear to these men could be a fatal flaw.

“You can’t do this! You can’t come in here and start searching like this.”

Unbelievably, no one paid her any attention. She could have been speaking Farsi for all the notice her words garnered. As if she didn’t exist, the policeman did as he was instructed and stomped over Emma’s silk rug to disappear into the darkness of the front room. Immediately something shattered.

Emma whirled and glowered at the man who’d stayed behind, the one in charge. “What do you think you’re doing? This is crazy! Who told you there were drugs here?”

“Our informants are confidential. You don’t need to know.” He lifted his weapon toward the second floor. “What’s up there?”

From the back of the house, the kitchen it seemed, came another crash. Ignoring the man beside her, Emma took two steps in that direction, then felt herself yanked back. She looked down, her jaw dropping open again, at the policeman’s hand on her arm.

“I asked you a question,” he said, roughly shaking her. “What’s upstairs?”

For a second she was stunned, then she recovered…and recoiled, jerking her arm. He held on tightly, his fingers digging sharply into her flesh. “Tell me!”

“It’s my bedroom.” Her heart racing, she spoke furiously. “Now turn me loose or-”

Without another word, he spun her around and shoved her toward the stairs. “Let’s go,” he said. “Right now.”

From over her shoulder, Emma stared at him in a daze. His eyes were narrow and small, and his expression held only grim determination. “Go!”

Emma took the stairs as slowly as possible, buying herself time. She had to think! She had to have a plan! Nothing came except panic, and by the time they reached the second floor, she could hardly breathe her chest was so tight.

Another clatter from downstairs sounded as they entered her bedroom. Emma flinched at the noise, the smell of her perfume sickeningly sweet as it wafted into the bedroom from the bath she’d been filling when the police arrived. She turned to the man behind her, her stomach cramping in fear. “Look all you want. You’re not going to find a thing.”

He hesitated just a second-long enough to make her mouth go even drier-then he walked to her dresser and pulled out the first drawer. Dumping the contents-her T-shirts and shorts-onto the floor, he kicked them around with one booted foot, then went to the next drawer. In a matter of minutes, all of her clothing lay in a jumble on the carpet beneath his feet.

He bent down and ran his hand along the interior of the now-exposed piece of furniture. There was nothing there, and he straightened a moment later. In short order, he ripped through the rest of her bedroom, pulling the sheets from the mattress, turning it upside down, going through everything in her desk.

She stood by helplessly and watched, her heart threatening to leap from between her ribs, her hands clamped at her sides. Starting toward her bathroom, he stopped abruptly when a shout from downstairs could be heard.

“¡Jefe-baje! ¡Immediatamente!” Chief-come downstairs! Right now!

He sent her a look of pure satisfaction, using his gun to gesture toward the stair, and smirked. “Let’s go, señorita. To see what my men have not found.”

“There’s nothing down there.”

“Then you have nothing to fear. Pase, por favor.”

With a faint buzz in her ears, Emma headed for the stairs. The policeman was right behind her; she could smell him, onions and beer and unwashed clothing. Her agitation mingled with his odor, and her stomach threatened to erupt. At the very last minute, she managed to fight the nausea.

The dissonance of the men’s voices led them to Emma’s kitchen. As she stepped through the doorway, she gasped, her gaze taking in the havoc they’d created in their search. One man, standing in the middle of it all, caught her attention. His voice was gleeful.

“¡Mire, Jefe! See what I found!”

Shock stole Emma’s breath. She told herself to breathe, told herself to stay calm. But any chance she had at composure was hijacked by cold, stark horror as, with a triumphant grin, the policeman held up a plastic bag.

It was full of something white and powdery.

THERE WERE NO LIGHTS ON inside the house; it probably didn’t have electricity, Raul surmised. Sitting outside the hovel belonging to the man who’d planted the bug in Emma’s bag, Raul took a chance and lit his small cigar, cupping his hand around the flame to hide it from sight. He had planned on stopping by the barrio one way or the other, but this had worked out just fine. It made no sense to go home; he had too much on his mind to sleep.

With Emma’s scent still on his hands and her voice lingering in his mind, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate. The smoke from the cigar drifted up in a wisp before his face, as he thought about what that signified.

It’d been a long time since a woman had meant anything to him, such a long time he wasn’t sure that was what he was experiencing. The weekend had been a revelation to him, though. Emma Toussaint was a special person, and she had all the qualities he would have looked for in a woman in his other life. Intelligence. Honesty. Passion. He could actually love her, he realized with a start, if that was what he was looking for.

The first time they’d made love it’d been purely physical. This time something else had happened, something he hadn’t wanted. He’d felt himself drawn to Emma in an emotional way. He cared what happened to her, cared if she got her children back, cared if she got tangled up in Kelman’s web.

His eyes on the house before him, Raul pulled deeply on the cigar, the smoke filling his lungs with a sharp bite. He’d give it another five minutes, then he’d go inside.

Maybe by then, he’d have Emma out of his mind and back in the place where she belonged. He wasn’t sure where that was-but it could not be his heart.

THE HANDCUFFS cut into her wrists with a cold metallic bite. Emma squirmed against their clasp and told herself it didn’t matter, but she failed. Their pinch did hurt, and she was terrified. Sitting in the back of a Bolivian police car was the last place she had ever imagined being, and the drug search they’d conducted to get her there was too stunning even to consider. The enormity of it all had barely begun to sink in, and she knew why: denial was her only hope, at this point. Otherwise, she’d collapse.

There was only one problem. Her refusal to accept the situation wasn’t working.

The car swerved to miss a speeding taxi, then they took the next corner on two wheels, heading off the nearest ring and straight for downtown. She’d never seen the police station in Santa Cruz and had no idea what to expect. On the other hand, she’d never been arrested in the United States, either. All bets were off, that much she knew. A phone call, a plea for help, any chance she’d get some assistance depended purely on the whims of the men in the front seat. Bolivia was a republic, but that didn’t mean democracy ruled.

Before they’d left her house, she’d tried to call Raul. Sneaking the portable phone into the closet with her, she’d dialed his number as she’d grabbed a pair of jeans and shirt. The effort had produced only near heart failure when the officer in charge had come in unexpectedly. Yelling at her to hurry up, he’d failed to notice the phone she’d thrown into a pile of clothing already on the floor. She had no idea where Raul might have gone after he’d left her house, but he hadn’t been home.

Now they were slowing down and she still had no plan.

The car stopped in front of what she assumed was the cuartelillo de policia. It looked like the rest of the official buildings she’d seen in town; a grim two-story stuccoed block with a severe brick front and a few dirty windows facing the street. The two officers in the front seat climbed out of the vehicle, their coarse laughter echoing in the humid night air. They moved slowly; only when they got behind the wheel were South Americans in a hurry. Finally one of the men opened the rear door of the police car, grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly from the back seat. Emma’s shoulder screamed in protest, but fear-absolute, blood-thinning, heart-stopping fear-kept her from speaking.

They dragged her up the sidewalk and into the building, passing through a lobby even bleaker than the exterior, an empty, echoing chamber with nothing but a desk and a single chair behind it. She heard the distant sound of phones ringing and laughter, but no one else was in sight as the two men herded her toward the rear of the building. Reaching the last door, they pushed it open.

Blinking, she saw what appeared to be a sort of reception area, dirty and crowded with other men in uniforms. They were all talking, their voices as loud and rough as the two men beside her. A numbing disbelief swelled inside her as she swung her head from one side to the other and looked at the room and the men who filled it. Terror, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, rose inside her, as well. One or two of them turned and briefly stared at her, then they went back to what they were doing, her presence so insignificant it didn’t even warrant a second glance.

Later, she realized she should have known at that point. But she was too numb and too frightened to understand. Only afterward did she figure it out.

By then, it was too late.

RAUL EASED THE TRUCK door open and climbed out, shutting it behind him with a soft click. The moon had disappeared completely. Crossing the yard in front of the hut, he thanked God for the darkness and the poverty. The people who lived here didn’t look outside when their dogs barked. They didn’t dare.

He made his way toward the tiny house, then slipped through the inky darkness to the backyard, the smell of charred beef-someone’s dinner-hanging in the air. He moved slowly, stealthily, until he reached the rear door. It was propped open with a pile of handmade bricks, the night air welcomed for its breeze, its humidity ignored.

Pausing by the entry, he allowed his eyes to adjust as he stared inside. The house had a single room, one corner the kitchen, the other a bedroom, a small cot tucked against the wall. The man had no family. Raul had watched him for several days after he’d followed Emma, and no one else had come in or gone out of the hut. The man slept soundly on the bed, his raucous snores competing with the howls of a neighborhood dog. Raul could have driven his truck straight into the room, and the guy would never have heard him. An empty liter bottle of beer rested at a crazy angle by his feet.

Raul shook his head in disgust, then he walked into the hovel and knocked over the stack of bricks, slamming the door shut behind him.

As the sound reached his ears, the man struggled up from his stupor, his confusion evident. “¿Qué-?”

He had no time to say anything else. Raul’s kick landed exactly where he’d planned-on the man’s hand as he reached under his mattress. He screamed a curse, his voice filled with pain, and jerked back his hand.

Raul reached under the stained and dirty bed and pulled out the.38 the drunk had been trying to get. The fetid smell of beer wafted up between them as Raul pressed the muzzle of the pistol into the man’s cheek. Above the dull black metal, his eyes rounded.

“I want to know about your friend, amigo. The one who hired you to follow the blonde.” Raul’s voice was calm and cool, his Spanish perfect.

“Talk to me, por favor.”

THE NARROW WALKWAY smelled even worse than the two men pressing in behind Emma. It was dark, too. A single, bare bulb, hanging from two wires, offered the only illumination. She stumbled slightly, then straightened and yanked herself away from the policeman who reached toward her. A second later, they stopped her in front of a scratched and dirty door. It had a window too high to see into and more locks on the outside than she had time to count. Within seconds, one of the men had them all undone, and they opened the door and pushed her inside.

Before Emma could get her bearings, she stumbled again and immediately hit her shin on something sharp, losing her balance completely in the dimness. Crying out, she fell to the floor, turning at the very last second to land on her shoulder, instead of her face. The maneuver didn’t help; the concrete was hard and cold when it rose up to meet her with a sickening jolt.

Stunned, Emma lay motionless until the smell beneath her registered. She gagged and quickly rolled over, scrambling to her feet, her wrists still handcuffed behind her.

The room was minuscule-not even as big as her closet-and filthy, an open drain in the center of it, the source of the gut-wrenching odor. A scarred, wooden table and two broken-down metal chairs listed near the doorway. One of the chairs lay on its side-she’d obviously run into it-a leg now dangling by a single screw. The only light came from the square of glass set in the door at her back, yet it was enough to see the walls. They were scratched and nasty, the paint too old to tell the color beneath the jumble of desperate messages the room’s former occupants had managed to scrawl.

With a hopeless moan, she closed her eyes and began to sob.

IT DIDN’T TAKE too long.

Within a matter of minutes, Raul had the man talking, but he certainly didn’t like what he had to say.

“Señor Kelman hired me, sí, sí. I went into her house once just to check it out, and I…I put the bug in the lady’s purse, but that’s it. Nothing else.” His eyes were too wide and frightened for him to be telling anything but the truth, and Raul let his fingers open slightly. The man’s breathing was rapid and shallow as he clawed at his collar, still tight against his neck.

“What else were you supposed to do?” Raul shook him slightly. “C’mon. There’s got to be more.”

“No! I swear!” Beads of sweat broke out on the man’s greasy face, dotting his skin with marks of fear. “Nothing more. That’s it.”

Raul put his thumb on the hammer of the pistol and pulled it back. The sound was loud in the tiny room, and the threat produced instant results.

“I gave him the name of some friends!” he cried. His voice shook, rising and falling in panic.

“He needed more men. I told him who to call.”

“Why did he need them?”

“I don’t know!”

Tightening his hold on the drunk’s collar, Raul pressed the muzzle of the pistol into the man’s cheek; the pointed sight at the tip disappeared into the folds of his whiskered skin. “Don’t make me repeat myself a third time. Why did he need more men?”

“I…I don’t know, señor, truly!” The man was so full of dread he was quivering. “He didn’t tell me.”

“What kind of friends are these?”

The drunk blinked rapidly, then, obviously reading something in Raul’s eyes, he spoke again, this time without any prompting. “Th-they’re in the Army,” he stuttered. “They have cars…and guns. He didn’t tell me why he wanted them. He just said he needed some men who could get things done. I took him to their club and then I left. I swear.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last night.”

Raul nodded, then he pushed the man toward the door. He stumbled against the nearest wall, reached out and grabbed a cloudy mirror in a useless attempt to steady himself. It crashed to the floor, but neither of them looked. In the dark, tiny room, Raul could smell the man’s fear, and he smiled in satisfaction. He’d use it, just like he used everything.

“We’re going for a ride, and you’re going to introduce me to your friends.” Raul waved the gun toward the door. The man needed no more prompting.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up outside a building downtown. It looked dark and unoccupied, but as they waited, parked across the street in the SUV, Raul saw men coming and going through a door in the back corner, the only part of the building that seemed in use. Almost all of them wore uniforms and the standard look of arrogance and boredom South American officials favored, as they entered the private choperia, a club where the men could go and get their beer on tap, and on credit, too. The places were on every corner in Santa Cruz, but this one was obviously the sole domain of the men inside. He’d be crazy to try to enter it-and probably dead before his foot was in the door.

The drunk began to squirm, and Raul knew he had to do something with him. He couldn’t turn him loose-he’d head straight for Kelman or his buddies inside the choperia-but Raul didn’t want to kill him, either. As if he could sense Raul’s dilemma, the man looked across the cab at his captor. Above the tape Raul had placed over his mouth, his bloodshot eyes were terrified.

Raul leaned over. “The men you introduced to Kelman-you sure they’re here?”

The drunk nodded frantically.

“If you aren’t sure, tell me now and save us both some grief.”

The man couldn’t talk, but he didn’t need to. His eyes and his panicked nodding told Raul what he needed to know.

“All right,” Raul answered. “We’re going to sit here until they come out. Then you’re going to tell me which one the jefe is. We’re going to follow him and he’s going to talk to me. Then you’ll forget you ever saw me.” He narrowed his gaze and patted the pistol he’d stuck in the waistband of his jeans. “If you lie to me, you’ll regret it-but you won’t care for too long. ¿Comprende?” He waited for his words to soak into the man’s pickled brain, then the nodding started again.

They settled in to wait.