Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
So many pieces to this puzzle. Not one of them seems to fit together.
Mario Bianchi.
Diego Vega.
Giacomo Puzo.
Jacinto Agudelo.
Brick Latham.
The old woman in the photo.
And Austin Bellamy.
And whoever the hell is buried under the Bellamy barn.
Then my jaw drops.
The EPA. My contact there. How when I called her, she was already working on keeping the Bellamys from excavating that particular parcel of property.
Oh my God.
Bellamy never had any intention of excavating that property. Because he knows. He knows what’s under there.
What if he is the one who started the process at the EPA?
But if that’s the case… Why would he tell his boys that he was getting ready to excavate that area of his land?
If he knows what’s there, he knows that would freak them out.
Is that what he wants? His sons in a state of panic?
His sons having no choice but to come to me for help?
None of this makes any sense at all.
I’d like to talk to Elmo, but he’s my bodyguard and my translator. He’s not my friend. Not even my colleague.
But he knows everything that I know for this trip at least. He has to, in order to interpret.
When we return to the Agudelo mansion, our driver hands us each a pamphlet on points of interest in Bogotá.
“For when Agudelo asks you what we did on our sightseeing tour,” Elmo says.
I nod. “Of course.”
When we get into the mansion, Morehouse greets us. “Mr. Agudelo had to make a quick overnight trip,” he says, “but he’ll be back for your lunch meeting tomorrow.”
An overnight trip? Where? And why?
I know better than to pose these questions to Morehouse. He won’t betray his employer.
“Good enough,” I say.
“Dinner will be served for you at eight p.m.,” Morehouse says. “In the dining room.”
I nod. “That will be fine. Thank you.”
“We will have another dinner guest as well,” he says. “Señor Agudelo’s daughter, Daniela.”
“All right.”
Daniela. Right, Agudelo has a daughter. I learned that when I researched him in preparation for this trip. She’s eleven. The same age as Belinda McAllister.
Fuck. Belinda.
She reached out to Raven and to me. Her nanny is trying to help her, but she has limited resources. And she probably needs her job.
The thought of what Declan McAllister is doing to his daughter…
I can’t go there.
I will rescue Belinda, somehow. At least I know her life isn’t in danger. McAllister may hurt her, but he would never take her life. She’s a pawn. Chattel. And she’s already been promised to me.
I hate the fact that she has to live for another couple of weeks in those horrid circumstances, but I can’t help her right now. I have to finish this current project.
I check my watch. It’s four thirty. A little over three hours until dinner is served and I meet Agudelo’s young daughter.
I sigh and walk up to my suite.
The room has been fully serviced.
All new towels, and a box of chocolates on my pillow.
I didn’t sleep last night, and I’m exhausted.
Without changing my clothes, I lie down.
And blackness falls.
11
RAVEN
Ihave to hand it to my brother.
This safe house is invisible. Hidden in plain sight.
It’s on a property adjacent to a ranch, made to look like an abandoned dwelling for ranch hands. Seven other houses encompass the small neighborhood, all abandoned. It’s slightly set apart from the other residences, but not so much so that anyone would take notice.
“Access is completely restricted and protected by multiple layers of security,” Falcon says, showing me the front door. “This entrance is reinforced, the locks are electronic, and”—he points to a subtly-placed camera overhead—“video surveillance shows every point of entry to the home. Entry requires a thumbprint.”
“So can you add my thumbprint so I can—”
Falcon holds up a hand. “No, Ray. You need to stay here. We’ll add Jared’s thumbprint.”
He’s got to be kidding.
But I’m too tired to argue about it.
When we arrive, instead of a foyer, there’s a security room where someone can monitor every surveillance camera and control access to the house.
“Jared will be able to communicate with anyone outside the house through satellite technology. The room is equipped with a secure landline and encrypted communication,” Falcon says.
Impressive. I’ll be totally imprisoned.
We leave the security room and we enter a comfortable-looking living area.
“Hawk and I wanted this place to feel like as much of a home as possible. There’s a living room, dining room and kitchen. The living room is furnished with leather recliners and a leather sectional.” He gestures to a huge flatscreen TV. “If you’re bored, there’s this. And a bookshelf.”
“Great,” I say. “I can catch up on all my soaps while under lock and key.”
Falcon doesn’t react to my sarcasm, and leads me into the kitchen. “I took the liberty of stocking the fridge for you. Bread, fruits, vegetables, lots of meat. Use those up first. If you end up staying here longer, there’s plenty of nonperishable cans in the pantry.”