Flood Rising (A Jenna Flood Thriller) Page 7

  “Do you need some money?” he asked.

  That surprised her. “Money?”

  “Isn’t that why you came here?” A faint smile played across his lips.

  She shook her head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just need to get out of here.”

  I’m losing him, she thought. Get back on track. Control the scene. She glanced at the street, gauging the distance to the nearest well-lit storefront where she might be able to find refuge.

  His expression was becoming more confident. “Oh, sure baby. I can help you with that.”

  With an effort, she stilled her racing heart and met his gaze again, reminding herself to mimic his stance. “I shouldn’t have bothered you, Raul. I thought you might be able to drive me to Miami, but I have no right to ask.”

  There, she thought. The seed is planted. Without breaking her stare, she turned her body away from his, as if preparing to leave.

  “Hey baby, don’t run off. Of course I can take you to Miami. First thing in the morning. And you can crash here if you want. Or come back to my place.”

  “No. I have to go tonight. Right now, before he realizes I’m gone.” It’s not working, she realized. It was a stupid idea. Time to go.

  In the moment she looked away, preparing to step off the porch, she felt a hand close around her arm. The grip was firm, and it sent a throb of pain through the wound she’d sustained when Zack had shot through Mercy’s door. She jerked away.

  “Wait,” Raul implored, drawing his hand back and holding it up in a disarming gesture. “I can help you. I’ll take you.”

  Jenna studied his face again. He was doing his best to project sympathy, but his eyes could not hide a predatory gleam. You knew this might happen, she told herself. You knew you would be playing with fire. She took another deep breath and managed a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll go grab my keys. Meet me around back.”

  As she watched him leave, Jenna felt no sense of victory. The most dangerous part of the game, she knew, was yet to come.

  14

  10:01 p.m.

  Any sense of physical relief Jenna might have felt at sitting in the plush seats of Raul Villegas’s 2006 Corvette was squashed by the stress of maintaining her façade of innocent helplessness and hiding the sheer terror she felt. She was ignoring a sacrosanct command that had been drilled into her head by Noah, Mercy, her teachers and innumerable public service announcements: don’t ever get in a stranger’s car. But Raul Villegas wasn’t actually a stranger. With a stranger, there was the possibility that the ride was merely an altruistic gesture. She tried, with limited success, to comfort herself with the knowledge that there would be no surprises where Raul was concerned.

  When Raul had turned the key in the ignition of the red sports car, the upbeat rhythms of Caribbean music assaulted Jenna. He moved to turn the volume knob, but Jenna waved him off. “I love this music. Turn it up.”

  Any louder, and the stereo system would become a sonic weapon, but the strident music made casual conversation impossible. She endured the pulsing beat and managed to bob her aching head in time with the relentless rhythm of the congas. Raul stared at her sidelong and smiled, then put the car in gear.

  With Raul’s attention occupied by the drive, Jenna finally allowed herself to relax a little. She figured at some point Raul would try to make a move on her, but if she played him right, he would wait until they reached Miami, where she would find a way to give him the slip. She could not ignore the possibility that he might pull off on some deserted side road and try to take what he wanted by force. If it came to that, she would be ready to do whatever it took to stop him.

  What she was not prepared for was the snarled traffic on the Overseas Highway leading out of Stock Island. Jenna silently berated herself for not taking it into consideration. The only road to Miami led right past the place where the pickup had overturned. The emergency response was going to take time. She tried not to think of the incident in terms more specific than that, but it wasn’t easy.

  As the Corvette slowed and stopped, taking its place at the end of the long line of brake lights, Jenna considered jumping out and abandoning this dangerous game. But the traffic jam was a grim reminder that Raul was the least of her enemies. Noah’s last message—what she had come to think of as his ‘fire alarm’—had directed her to Homestead. She felt sure that reaching the coordinates he had left behind was the only way to end this ongoing threat. Or at least get answers.

  The music went silent. Jenna opened her eyes to see Raul staring at her, his expression more bemused than lascivious. “So what are you going to do in Miami?”

  She gave a careful shrug. “Whatever I have to.”

  He nodded. “What are you, nineteen?”

  It took all her willpower not to laugh aloud. He knew damn well that she was jail bait, and probably assumed she would be flattered at any suggestion otherwise. “Something like that,” she replied. The line advanced a couple of car lengths, then it ground to a halt again.

  “I thought so,” he continued in the same smooth voice. “I’ve got a friend who runs a modeling agency in South Beach. You’re going to need money to get started, am I right?”

  She considered the question carefully. What response would satisfy Raul, keep him on her side? “A modeling agency?” she said with a tone of awe. “That’s so cool. But I’m not pretty enough to be a model.”

  “Oh, baby, who told you that? Your old man, I bet. You made the right decision getting away from him. He’s muy loco, understand?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to conceal her emotions. It’s just a game, she told herself, and then a flash of inspiration hit her. “Hey, so, tell me something. Last week, just before he—my father—kicked you off the boat, he said something to you.”

  Raul’s eager expression darkened at the memory. He turned his eyes forward, staring into the red glare of brake lights. Jenna sensed a return to the smoldering anger that had initially greeted her. “What did he say?” she pressed.

  Raul grimaced. “Like I said, loco. He told Carlos that if he ever saw us again, if we ever tried to get some payback, he’d kill us both and then go after our family.”

  The threat was so unlike Noah that Jenna had to fight back the urge to accuse Raul of lying, and yet, if she had learned anything in the last few hours, it was that she really didn’t know anything about her father. It was the reason she had asked the question in the first place. “I thought you said your family is still in Cuba.”

  She winced even as she heard herself speak. It was the wrong thing to say, and if she wasn’t more careful, he would see right through her.

  Raul did not seem to notice, however. Anger had loosened his tongue. “He knew about them. Knew their names. He said if anything ever happened to him…” He glanced over, concern creasing his forehead. “Or to you, that he would have his people hunt them down and feed them to the sharks.”

  That definitely did not sound like her father. If true, it explained why Noah had not been more concerned about the possibility that the Villegas brothers might seek retribution for his insult.

  His people? What did that mean? What was Noah involved in that gave him ‘people’ who can go to Cuba and assassinate someone?

  Then another thought occurred to her. What if Noah’s fire alarm was nothing more than a kill order on the Villegas family?

  Her gut told her it had to be more than that. If Noah did indeed have ‘people,’ then the fire alarm was her best chance of finding them, and maybe turning the tables on whomever it was that wanted her dead.

  “Don’t worry,” she heard herself saying. “He’ll never figure out that I came to you.”

  “Hey, I ain’t afraid of that old man.”

  She decided silence was the best answer. Maybe fear of Noah’s reprisal would make him think twice about making any kind of move on her. The lapse in conversation lasted for nearly a mile. In the distance, Jenna could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles
at the very spot where Mercy’s truck had rolled. She wondered if Mercy was still there, still trapped in the truck or maybe wrapped around a tree on the roadside.

  She glanced at the clock on the radio display. It was late. She figured it had taken her an hour and a half to get to Raul’s club from Mercy’s trailer, and maybe another thirty minutes had passed since then. More than enough time for the firefighters to pull Mercy out of the truck and get her to a hospital. Mercy was alive, she had to be. The traffic snarl was just the cops doing what they did, measuring the skid marks and taking pictures. No doubt, someone had noticed the bullet holes in the truck. That would make it a crime scene.

  For the first time since starting back toward Key West, Jenna found herself wondering what had become of Zack and the other men in the sedan, and she settled a little lower into the Corvette’s passenger seat.

  Raul evidently noticed. “You worried the cops might see you?”

  “Is it that obvious?” she lied.

  “Just be cool,” Raul advised. “Don’t give them a reason to give you a second look.”

  She heard an undercurrent of anxiety in his voice, and she realized he was just as concerned as she was, albeit for very different reasons. This might well be her last chance to bail out and turn herself over to the authorities.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the last time she had seen flashing emergency lights, sheriff’s deputies and firefighters responding to the explosion at the marina. She remembered the two men claiming to be FBI agents who had gunned down the deputies…and Noah. Would they be here, too? The killers had the resources to insinuate themselves into the investigation. They might even now be searching for her.

  Somehow, being with Raul seemed a lot safer than trusting the authorities to protect her.

  “I can do cool,” she replied, giving him a reassuring nod.

  As they inched closer to the flashing lights, Jenna saw vehicles in the right lane merging into the left ahead of them, shunted aside by a line of guttering orange flares and hastily deployed traffic cones. Raul followed the lead of the car that pushed in front of him, veering to the extreme left edge of the highway. The Corvette was not made for such low speeds, and the delicate job of accelerating and clutching kept his attention fully occupied as they rolled past the crash scene. Jenna risked a casual glance off to the right. She saw the battered Ford pickup resting on the deck of a flatbed tow truck. It was surrounded by men in uniform. She looked back at Raul. Just like that, they were through. The road opened up to two lanes, and motorists charged ahead like racehorses out of the gate.

  “See?” Raul said cheerily, letting the Corvette do what it did best. “Stay cool, and there’s no problem.”

  “No problem,” echoed Jenna, wishing that she could believe it.

  15

  Sugarloaf Key, Florida, USA

  11:37 p.m.

  Jenna awoke with a start, dismayed that she had so easily surrendered to the seductive embrace of sleep. A person was never more vulnerable than when they were sleeping, and she had let her guard down with a potential enemy seated right next to her.

  She straightened and looked down to see if her clothes had been disturbed—there was no indication that they had—and then glanced over at Raul. He smiled back at her.

  She looked away from his unnerving gaze and out the window. The Corvette moved slowly, no longer on the highway. The constant rate of speed and the persistent thrum of the engine had lulled her to sleep. The change in speed as they exited the highway, had woken her.

  “Why did you turn off?” The question burst from her, revealing her trepidation.

  “Gotta gas up,” he replied, but she saw his eyes flicker ever so slightly.

  He’s lying. Jenna felt a chill pass through her, but forced a nod. “Maybe we could get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  He grunted and returned his attention to the road.

  Jenna stared through the windshield looking for some hint of where they were, but the road ahead was featureless. They could be anywhere, but she was pretty sure there wouldn’t be a gas station on this remote tree-lined stretch of asphalt.

  She glanced down at the door lever. The Corvette was barely crawling forward, maybe twenty miles an hour. A leap from the car would cost her only a few more bruises, but what then? Run?

  Running was looking like a pretty good option.

  She forced herself to relax as she mentally rehearsed her escape. She would have to release the catch on her seatbelt. She might be able to do that without Raul noticing, but the dashboard indicator would give her away. The door had electronic locks. She recalled that they had automatically engaged when the car had gotten up to speed earlier. If she tried the handle first and the door didn’t open, that too would reveal her intentions and give Raul time to take action.

  She would have to synchronize her actions perfectly. Seatbelt with my left hand, the lock with my right.

  The engine revved suddenly, but only because Raul had depressed the clutch and shifted to neutral. The abruptness of the move caused Jenna to falter and miss the perfect moment to initiate her plan. But her curiosity overrode her urge to flee. She looked forward and saw a metal fence on either side of the roadway. A man swung a gate open to admit them.

  Jenna glimpsed the man’s face in the headlights.

  It was Carlos Villegas.

  She reacted instantly, stabbing a finger at the lock button, but even as she grazed it, something slammed into her chest, driving the wind from her lungs and knocking her back into the seat. As she gasped for air, she felt Raul’s hand at her waist, groping for the seat belt, sliding along its length to find the catch so he could hold it secure.

  “Nice try, baby,” he said, his voice a smooth and dangerous croon.

  “What…?” She couldn’t find the breath to finish the question.

  “Good news, chica. You know that job I told you about? It’s all yours. You’re going to love it.” He swung his gaze around to the figure that now stood just outside the window.

  Carlos looked in and gave Jenna a cursory glance. “Well, well. The captain’s daughter. Nicely done, hermanito.”

  “I thought you’d like. She just walked right up and gave herself to me. Couldn’t believe it.”

  “You’re sure this isn’t a setup?”

  “Look at her, hermano. She’s all beat up. Her old man did that, like I told you. She’s for real.”

  In some distant recess of her mind, Jenna heard the deep sense of satisfaction in Raul’s voice as he savored his older brother’s praise. That was about the only thing that made sense to her.

  How did I miss this?

  “Take her out to the plane,” Carlos continued. “I’ll get the gate.”

  As the elder Villegas brother stepped back, Raul turned to Jenna. “I don’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours, but if you so much as breathe wrong, I’ll knock your teeth down your throat. Got it?”

  She nodded, and he let go of the seatbelt.

  She spoke, “Raul, what—”

  He held up his hand, fingers curled into a fist, and shook it in front of her face. “Shut up.”

  She nodded again. He lowered his hand to the gearshift lever, and worked it into position. The Corvette rolled forward again. Jenna saw a long stretch of pavement cutting across their path. A runway lined with small civilian aircraft.

  She forced herself to go limp. Maybe if she appeared compliant, the brothers would relax their vigilance just enough for her to break away.

  She had misjudged Raul, underestimated him. Somehow, he had gotten word to his brother. A phone call or text message, probably sent when he had gone inside the club for his keys. She didn’t see another car. Carlos must have leapfrogged them, flying from Key West while they were stuck in traffic. While she had been congratulating herself on her ability to manipulate Raul, she had let the Villegas brothers draw her deeper into their web.

  Lesson learned, she told herself. Don’t underestimate them again.

 
; Her first mistake had been believing that Raul wanted her for himself. There was something more going on here. She recalled his earlier line about a modeling agency, and his quip about having a ‘job’ for her. I don’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours, he had said.

  She shuddered as the picture resolved.

  Noah had misjudged the Villegas brothers as well. They weren’t drug dealers, or if they were, it was just one of the criminal enterprises they were running out of The Conch Club. Jenna understood now why the little old lady behind the counter had urged her to get away while she could. She wondered how many girls her own age were imprisoned behind the doors of that unassuming house. Of course the brothers wouldn’t dare put her to work there. She might be recognized. No, they would take her somewhere else. Somewhere out of the country. Then they could sell her, like livestock.

  Raul stopped in front of a twin-engine plane at the end of the line. It was a relatively small craft with low slung wings protruding from the bottom of the fuselage. Jenna didn’t know the make or model, but it looked like the kind of aircraft used by island-hopper charter companies.

  And smugglers.

  “Stay put,” Raul warned, thrusting a finger under her nose for emphasis.

  Jenna put on her best deer-in-the-headlights look, and to all appearances, she cowered in the seat. Raul stared at her a moment longer, then seemingly satisfied that he had broken her spirit, he opened his door and got out. Jenna watched through hooded eyes as he circled around the front end of the Corvette. He approached her door and used the remote on his key fob to disengage the lock. Then he reached for the handle.

  Jenna’s movements were swift but sure. In the instant that her door started to open, she dropped a hand to the seat-belt buckle and depressed the button. Then, with the same smooth motion, she pivoted and planted both feet on the door panel, thrusting out as if trying to jump sideways across the interior of the car.