Fields' Guide to Abduction, - [famous ebook reader TXT] 📗

cost as much as small cars. Neither looked happy to see me. Then again, they didn’t look happy in general. Probably that Venti argument I’d overheard.

Ignacio pulled out my chair and waited while I sat.

When I was properly situated, he claimed his own chair at the head of the table.

Outside the light turned from lavender to violet.

Inside candles warmed the room with a soft glow.

Wine was poured—a Chilean red.

Ignacio lifted his glass. “Salud!”

Even Abdul drank.

“Tonight,” said Ignacio. “I would like to hear stories of you and your mother.”

Really? Give a girl a little warning. I searched my memory for something sweet, or uplifting, or even an example of Chariss being a decent parent. Nothing. But Ignacio loved Chariss. He wanted feel-good stories.

“Being an actress is hard work.”

Ignacio nodded.

Javier stared out the French doors.

Abdul yawned.

“She always told me she wanted a better, more stable life for me.”

Ignacio smiled as if entranced.

Javier glanced at his ridiculously expensive watch.

Abdul sneered at me and emptied the contents of his wine glass.

“She sent me to public high school.” I was boring myself.

Ignacio leaned toward me.

Javier stood. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

Abdul refilled his wine glass.

Outside, night was falling.

Inside, I was failing at recounting charming childhood memories of Chariss. “She was wonderful when I was asked to dances. We’d go shopping for dresses and jewelry.” I touched the pearls at my neck and missed my father’s locket. “There was one dance when we couldn’t find the right dress and she called Karl Lagerfeld. He flew to L.A. and designed a dress especially for me.”

Were the only good memories I had of Chariss linked to shopping?

Chariss had shared generously of her pocketbook and her make-up people and the stylist who could work miracles with my hair. What she hadn’t shared was herself.

I blinked back a tear.

“You miss your lovely mother?” Ignacio patted my hand. “You will see her soon. I promise.”

Abdul finished another glass of wine.

I glanced out at the night. I needed a better story. An actual story.

What was that? There were shadows. Running. I squinted. Something was happening outside.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

A scream pierced the window.

Ignacio pushed away from the table, knocking his chair over. “Run.”

I stood. Which way was the room where I’d seen the guns? If Ignacio’s hacienda was under attack by Zetas, I needed a weapon. If it was Jake attacking, I wouldn’t use the gun.

Ignacio disappeared through the nearest door.

Something flared outside and I threw myself on the floor.

For an instant, the world was reduced to a deafening roar and flame. And weight. Heavy weight.

The table had collapsed on top of me.

I waited for the ringing in my ears to stop then crawled out from under the table’s singed expanse.

Abdul hadn’t been as lucky as me. His body was burned. Badly. He wasn’t moving.

I stared at him for a moment. Frozen. Then the desire to stay alive kicked in.

I turned and tripped on the little bag I’d carried to dinner. It lay amongst the rubble, unscathed. I picked it up and ran.

Smoke. Smoke everywhere.

My eyes watered. I coughed. I ran to the place most likely to keep me breathing.

In Ignacio’s arsenal, the weapons were untouched. I ignored the assault rifles (I’d never used one), grabbed a Glock and a magazine, and racked the slide. I stuffed a few extra magazines into the pockets of my dress. Now what?

There was no higher ground where I might defend myself.

I had no allies.

I had no transportation.

The sound of gunfire was constant.

I grabbed an assault rifle. How hard could it be to use?

I peeked out into the empty hallway and thought. Hard. If I could make it to the woods, I could hide until the battle was over.

I slipped into the hallway and, keeping my back pressed against the wall, side-stepped away from the front of the house.

Voices.

I couldn’t go that way.

My feet took me one of the few places they knew—the theater.

I leapt onto the stage and hid behind the curtain.

The voices grew louder. And I recognized one of them.

I peeked out from behind the curtain. Ignacio had his hands up and a man with an automatic rifle, similar to the one slung over my shoulder, looked as if he might shoot at any second.

“Dónde está?”

Ignacio shook his head. Either he didn’t know the answer to the man’s question or he was willing to die to keep a secret.

For all his talk of loving Chariss and being my friend, he’d left me in that dining room. Not the kind of man willing to die for a secret. My guess was he didn’t know the answer.

What he did know was how to get out of the house and off the mountain.

Still hidden, I pointed the Glock at the man with the rifle. My hand slicked with sweat. My trigger finger shook. Shooting at a target was one thing. Shooting at a living, breathing human was something else entirely.

Noise erupted in the hallway and two more men burst into the theater. A man I’d never seen before pressed a gun against Manuel’s head.

“Dónde está?” repeated the man with the rifle.

Ignacio held up his hands in surrender and shook his head. “No sé.”

“Voy a disparar!” The man holding Manuel had a face filled with rage—or maybe blood lust. Either way, it was terrifying.

Tears ran down Manuel’s soot-stained face.

Ignacio shook his head.

The man holding Manuel shrugged and—

I stepped out from behind the curtain and pulled the trigger. I shot the man with the gun pressed to Manuel’s head. Shot the man with the rifle. Shot too late.

Manuel fell to the floor with the dead Zetas.

Horror washed over me.

“We have to get out of here.” Ignacio held out his hand.

But I couldn’t move. The bodies on the floor of the theater—I’d done that. I’d killed them and I hadn’t saved Manuel.

More gunfire erupted in the hall.

“We have to go!” Ignacio bent and pulled the blood slick rifle out of the dead man’s hands. He straightened. “Now!”

Ignacio was my best chance for getting out of the house alive. I forced my feet forward and jumped off the stage. “How?”

“This way.” He ran toward his Chariss room. A room with no windows and one door. A trap.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a tunnel.”

Of course there was.

He opened the door and dashed inside.

Consuela stood in the middle of the room, growling.

Ignacio ignored her, grabbed the photo off the desk, and ran to the far wall. He pushed a photo of Chariss aside, pressed something, and a hidden door opened.

Without looking back at me or Consuela, he ran through it.

Yip?

The gunfire was louder. Closer.

Tat-ta-tat-tat-tat-tat.

“Let’s go.”

Consuela didn’t move.

I scooped her up, ran through the door, and stopped. I couldn’t leave the door open. The Zetas would follow. I leaned my shoulder against its weight and pushed.

Click.

I took a breath and looked around.

I stood in a dimly lit vestibule the size of a coat closet. A set of stairs descended into the darkness.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

I took another breath—one that tasted like death—and inched my way down the stairs.

At the bottom, the tunnel turned at a right angle. The light was dim but the air smelled fresh.

Above me someone pounded on the door.

Friend or foe?

Tat-ta-tat-tat-tat-tat.

I ran.

And ran. My lungs burned. The tunnel felt endless. With each step, a rifle banged against one hip, a handbag with sharp edges banged against the other, and the dog in my arms wriggled wildly.

I stopped and put Consuela down. “Keep up.”

Yip. She ran ahead of me.

I followed her.

The little dog ran faster than I did. Then again, she hadn’t been nearly blown up or killed someone.