“Who’s got Maria?” Bayne asked again.
“The bad guy. I don’t have time to explain. Here’s the plan. You two go on ahead, and I’ll catch up with you at the safe house . . . Friday night, latest.” Was he making a mistake sending them off without him? They were experienced soldiers, but this was their first K2 mission. Yet, if someone didn’t show up to meet their contact, the dude might get spooked. He pulled two twenties out of his pocket and handed them to Bayne.
“Pay the tab. We’ll wait for you at the gate.” Time was wasting and he needed to get to Maria. What was the fastest way?
“Listen,” he said when he had Stewart alone. “Bayne’s a little jumpy. Do what you can to settle him down. I’ll be there no later than Friday night, probably sooner. Assure Har-Shaf that everything’s proceeding as planned. Don’t even think of leaving the safe house and venturing into Egypt on your own. Spend the time going over the plan. It’ll give you both something to do.”
“And if you’re not?”
“Then you’ll come back home, but I’ll get there.” As soon as he rescued Maria and could see for himself she was safe. “I’ll keep in touch and let you know when to expect me. By the way, Har-Shaf means terrible face, but it would be a mistake to ask him about his nose. He’s rather touchy on the subject. One reason he likes us is we don’t make fun of him like his countrymen.”
“What happened to it?” Stewart asked.
“Rats ate it off when he was a baby.”
“Jesus.”
“Stewart’s got the lead until I arrive,” Jake said when Bayne caught up with them.
“Go kick ass,” Stewart said.
“That’s the plan.” As he strode down the concourse, Jake dialed his friend, Bob Michaels, who not only owned a Lear based at a nearby private airport but was in possession of a few things he’d need. If his flight had left on time, he wouldn’t have known Maria was now a hostage until he’d changed planes in Miami. Thanking whatever fates were at work, he caught a cab to take him the short distance to Executive Airport and the jet that would take him to her.
The only advantage he had was the tracking device he’d taped under the lining of her purse, and he hoped to hell she hadn’t changed purses. When he’d made a detour to K2 Sunday morning before taking her home, she’d questioned the necessity of his precaution now that Fortunada was in jail. He couldn’t explain his unease and attributed it to knowing he’d be out of the country and out of reach.
“The bastard’s blaming you for all his problems. He’s come after you once, and he’ll do it again given half a chance. If nothing else, knowing we can track you should something happen makes me feel better, all right?”
She’d looked at him then, brown eyes damp with unshed tears, and said, “Can I put one on you so I’ll feel better too?”
Because he couldn’t make sense of what was going on with his heart, he’d simply answered her with a kiss.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Maria glanced at the fuel gauge. “If you’re planning on us going very far, we’ll need gas. The gauge is on empty.” Did he even know where he wanted to go?
“You got money?”
“Just a few dollars.” If she steered the car off the road, could she manage hitting a tree and killing Fortunada without killing herself?
When she’d knocked on the door, it had opened and she’d walked in, never expecting to see Carol and Angie bound and gagged. The door had slammed behind her before she could turn and run. Now, she was driving Carol’s Taurus to God-knows-where with a man—who might or might not be her father—who was in possession of a gun, one pointed at her. At least he’d left Carol and Angie behind, and by now they’d surely found a way to get untied and call the cops.
“We need a different car and some money,” he said, looking at her as if she could snap her fingers and make that happen.
The last thing she wanted was a different car. The cops would be looking for this one, something that had obviously occurred to him. Knowing her car would be easy to spot, she’d suggested they take her Mustang, but he’d given her a suspicious glare and ordered her into the Taurus. Lesson learned. Next time she wanted him to do something, suggest the exact opposite.
“How much money’s in your account?”
As if she’d tell him there was enough for him to easily disappear into Mexico and live comfortably for a long time. The lie came easily. “About five hundred dollars.”