Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

and that she would do anything to help bring Olivia home safely—Valerie as well. Ben stiffened. Ana stood back and waited for him to speak.

“It’s all clear now. I was the one. They originally wanted to abduct me to be the bargaining chip.” He looked at Ana and continued. “We wondered why the attacks happened. It’s just too fucking easy these days for people to learn all about you—sorry for the language, Mum. All this technology is a mixed blessing—like doing research on our family from top to bottom. Mum, you must be very necessary to whatever they’re up to.”

Paris spoke in a near whisper. “I’ll do whatever they ask—anything. My poor baby girl… I can’t stand the thought of her being so frightened.”

Ana turned to Ben, a confused expression on her face. “You said attacks—plural. Why didn’t you tell me there’d been another one? What happened and where and how did you get free?”

“You’d had enough of my problems. I would have told you eventually, but I just wanted to get you out of town—get us both out of town. It wasn’t a lie, just a sin of omission.”

Ana shook her head and walked back around the desk to sit down. She knew that this wasn’t the time to face off about details or not being told.

* * *

Gareth left the café and headed in the direction of his hotel. He was greatly troubled by his actions and questioned if he should have been stronger, called their bluff about the risk to his brother. He pulled out his mobile phone and called the number he had been given. He now knew that the threatening voice giving him orders over the phone had been Lenny all along. Once he confirmed the email had been sent, his time was his own until the morning. A block or so from the Gestión he detoured down the street to his left and began to look for somewhere to eat. He entered the first café he came upon and took a small table by the window. A diminutive old woman with a craggy face shuffled over to take his order. He knew nothing about Spanish food, so pointed to a couple of dishes listed on the menu.

She nodded then pointed to a wall covered in wine bottles and beers before asking, “¿Lo que para beber?” He asked for a beer, and she walked away as she had come.

While waiting for the food he became more and more consumed by the events and imagining their possible conclusions. He looked up at the old woman as she set his meal on the table, and in that instant Gareth realized what he must do. After washing down the last of his tortilla and roasted tomatoes with the last swallow of beer, he went to the counter to pay for his meal. Pausing on the sidewalk he contemplated his next move. He needed an Internet café, but not the same one he had used. His long legs quickly carried him the two blocks to a main street, where he hailed a taxi and asked for another Internet café in another neighborhood. The driver understood the key words in his request and nodded as he pulled away from the curb. They must have gone a mile before the taxi stopped opposite just the right kind of place. He thanked the driver for his help by way of a generous tip. The plan was still formulating in his mind, and he hesitated for a few moments before entering.

As he pushed through the swinging door he noticed that most of the computers were occupied. He scanned the room, saw one free station along the left wall, and hurried to claim it. Once seated, he accessed the Internet and went to Google, where he established an additional email account using his alias. Maybe Olivia had mentioned him to her family. Probably not, but maybe they would recognize the name. He still had the recipient’s email address—the one used for his previous task—and this email would go to the same address, directly, and without fear of it being traced. It would be short—just a few words— and he hoped they would quickly figure out Olivia’s location and find a way to help her.

He began to type: Olivia and friend—Pamplona Spain—captives—much danger. He didn’t sign it. They would see who sent it. His greatest fear was that no one would take it seriously. Yet the right people could trace it quickly—he was counting on that. As he clicked ‘send,’ a shot of adrenaline coursed through him, followed by the brief feeling of contentment that comes from doing the right thing. He got up, paid for his time on the computer, and decided to walk off some of his anxiety. After being lost briefly, he arrived at his lodgings and welcomed the chance to lie down again. Scenarios ran through his head as he imagined the varied and unpredictable reactions his second email could be causing at that exact moment.

* * *

Paris McKinnon folded her arms on the desk, put her head down and closed her eyes. She was exhausted from the waiting and the eventual bad news they had received. Now there was more waiting—for the phone call that would define what was required of her. Ben and Ana had gone out to wait in the hallway, hoping to give her a rest from talking and a chance to calm down. The news of her daughter’s plight had sucked away her strength. She felt like a rag doll unable to sit upright. Her body wanted to fold in on itself in an effort to escape the stress. She made the effort to take deep measured breaths and control the horrid thoughts that continued to pop into her mind. That minor ritual for survival was interrupted by the computer’s familiar sound, informing of another message. She sat up abruptly and accessed the inbox. She didn’t recognize the sender’s name, but considering the situation, she opened