JET - Escape: (Volume 9) (32 page)

“You look gorgeous, as always,” Matt said approvingly.

“I’m glad I can still get your attention.”

Matt’s gaze drifted from her caramel skin to her sparkling jade eyes and smiled. “The most beautiful woman in the world has nothing to worry about.”

“That’s the kind of talk I can get used to.” She studied him for a moment. “You look very handsome.”

He fingered the lapel of the jacket they’d bought him, a lightweight linen outfit with matching crème pants. “I feel a little like a pimp in this getup.”

“It’s Havana. Go with it.”

“Something in the water?”

“Exactly.”

Jet locked the diamonds in the room safe, and they descended to the ground level. Hannah went running to where Gloria’s daughter, Jamie, stood beside her mother in the entry hallway. Jamie was a year older than Hannah, and they’d spent most of the day playing by the wading pool and were now new best friends. Jet smiled at Gloria as they approached. “Thanks for watching her. We shouldn’t be more than two hours. Just in time to put her to bed.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Gloria assured them.

“Don’t let her have too much sugar or her head will spin around,” Matt warned.

Gloria smiled. “I think I’ve got it under control.”

“Famous last words,” Matt said, and they all chuckled.

“Your taxi’s here,” Gloria said, tilting her chin at the front door.

Jet glanced at the entry. “Oh, good.”

The ride to the restaurant was mercifully brief, and when they pulled down the cobblestone drive past two stern-faced guards, Jet took Matt’s good hand and squeezed. “Wow. Tell me this isn’t nice,” she said as they neared the huge waterfront villa.

Matt nodded. “Carl doesn’t do things small, I’ll give him that.” He turned to her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You ready?”

“I’m starving.”

~ ~ ~

Ramón reached the restaurant with four minutes to spare. He tossed the cab a few pesos before climbing out and moving to the entrance. A beautiful young woman with a low-cut black evening gown stood with a clipboard, checking off names as diners arrived. Ramón approached and gave her his most charming smile.

“Good evening. I’m just in from out of town and heard about your place. Do you have a table for one?”

“Oh, no, sir, I’m sorry. We’re usually booked several nights in advance.”

He turned on the charisma. “Are you sure you can’t find something? Even in a quiet corner somewhere?” He let her see the twenty-dollar bill in his hand.

“If it were up to me, I’d do my best, but no, I’m afraid there’s nothing.”

“I hate to go home hungry.”

“I can recommend some other very good places.”

It was obvious to him she was a dead end. “No, that’s fine.”

He turned and almost collided with a mountain of a man wearing a lime green tropical-weight suit, replete with vest, hand-stitched shirt, and matching cravat. Ramón recognized Carl, his white mane unmistakable, but all he could do was step aside. Ramón would have to wait for him to finish dinner and then make his move – there was no way to do it in a crowd of diners.

Carl pushed past him and Ramón caught a glimpse of the Accord accelerating away, a valet behind the wheel, and watched as its taillights disappeared around a corner. Carl’s voice boomed behind him as Ramón stepped off the porch and made his way toward the street. “Andreina! You look positively edible tonight! Is my table ready?”

Ramón didn’t wait to hear any more, his attention drawn by a taxi in front of the restaurant whose doors were opening. Recognition surged through him like an electric jolt as a stunning woman emerged from the car, followed by a Caucasian man – with a cast on his hand.

It was them.

His fingers drifted to the pistol in his pocket as he calculated how he’d make his escape after gunning them down, but he was too slow, and before he could act, they were inside, leaving him gaping at them from a dozen yards away. He swore under his breath – doubling up on the pain medicine had slowed his reactions, and that had just cost him his opportunity.

Movement down the drive caught his eye. He turned to where four musicians in street clothes were tuning their instruments near a circular fountain in the center of the driveway. An idea formed as he ambled in their direction, and by the time he made it to where they stood, his confidence had returned.

“How are you fellows doing tonight?” he asked.

“Good,
Señor
. And you?”

“Excellent. It’s a special night for me, and I’m hoping you can help make it a success.”

“Would you like us to play you a song?” the leader asked, strumming his guitar.

“Not exactly.”

“Then…how can we help you?”

Ramón stepped closer and withdrew his money clip fat with hundred-dollar bills.

“My friend’s having dinner in there and I want to surprise him. Do something special. I’m thinking a little deception would be perfect.”

“A deception?”

“Yes,” Ramón said, peeling off four hundred dollars. The musicians’ eyes widened at the sight of the bills as Ramón held them loosely in his hand. “Let me explain.”

Chapter 58

Carl rose from his seat at the tablecloth-draped table as Matt and Jet followed the hostess through the restaurant. A few of the other diners murmured appreciatively, and Carl held his arms out like he hadn’t seen them in years.

“You’re lucky I brought my heart medicine. Such a vision of loveliness takes my breath away,” he declared theatrically, and then nodded to Matt. “You clean up pretty good, too.”

Jet flashed a smile at him and offered a small hug, and Matt waited dutifully and shook his hand. Carl indicated two chairs. “Please, have a seat. What do you think of the joint?”

“It’s spectacular,” Jet answered honestly. The high ceilings accented the mansion’s colonial charm, the paint a creamy yellow with white accents, and the chandelier overhead glittered like a thousand diamonds.

“I like it. And the food’s not half bad,” Carl assured them. A waiter wearing black pants and vest over a crisp white dress shirt approached and cleared his throat discreetly.

“Ah, there you are, my good man! The young goddess will have…” Carl paused, eyeing Jet. “A…mojito. Am I right?”

Jet nodded. “That sounds wonderful.”

“And my friend and I would like a generous portion of your finest aged rum. Havana Club Añejo, of course.”

“Of course, sir. Would you like an appetizer while you wait?”

Carl leaned toward Jet like he was confiding in her. “They have brilliant sashimi. Fresh line-caught yellowfin tuna.” He turned his attention to the server. “The tuna is fresh today, is it not?”

The man nodded stiffly. “Yes, as always. Caught a few hours ago.”

Carl beamed at Matt and Jet. “Then you absolutely must try it. Bring us a platter to share.”

The waiter made a note and hurried to the ornate dark wood bar near the entrance as Carl waved a bear-paw-sized hand at the sea. “It’s the closest thing to paradise I’ve found. Except during storm season, when anyone sensible gets the hell off the island.”

“Where do you go?” Matt asked.

“I favor Tulum, on the Mexican Riviera. I have an interest in a little place there.”

Matt smirked. “Seems like the private life has treated you all right since you left the company.”

Carl returned the smile. “Well, there’s considerable power in knowing where the bodies are buried. You’d be surprised at how helpful the guilty can be when offered a proposition they can hardly refuse.”

“I’ll just bet,” Jet said.

“I didn’t invent the world. I’m merely trying to make my way in it, as are we all.” Carl patted his stomach, his vest buttons straining at the challenge of containing his girth.

“Some with more good fortune than others,” Matt observed wryly.

“What’s that old song? Something about a little help from my friends?” He stopped as a thought flashed across his face. “Speaking of which, Fuentes confirmed that he’ll have your passports tomorrow in the early afternoon. He’ll bring them by the inn. I already paid him the second chunk, anticipating that you’d do so once you had them in hand.”

“Of course. We can get together for cocktails in the early evening. Our treat,” Jet said.

Carl smoothed his hair and an emerald pinkie ring twinkled on his chubby hand. “Have you decided where you’re going to go after Cuba?”

“Not yet. We’re exploring our options,” Matt hedged.

“You could do worse than stick around here for a spell. I could use some honest help with some of my projects. It would be invaluable to have someone with your field background,” Carl said to Matt.

“I’ll definitely consider it.”

The server returned with their drinks and they toasted. “To a bright new future,” Carl said, and they clinked their glasses together.

The musicians moved into the dining room from the waterfront French doors, which were thrown wide to allow the ocean breeze to cool the large area. They wove their way between the tables, the leader bowing to a few regulars as they made their way toward the bar, and then the last member of the group broke away, lingering as the troupe passed Carl’s table.

A pistol appeared in Ramón’s hand and he pointed it at Jet’s head from only a few feet away, his eyes flat as pools of oil. A woman at an adjacent table screamed and another gasped, and then a stampede of the privileged ensued as the patrons scrambled for the entrance.

“You killed the wrong man, bitch,” Ramón hissed, the gun steady. He pulled his iPhone from his pocket and held it up to film so Mosises could watch the execution in real time. He sneered in triumph as his finger tightened on the trigger, and then a pop only slightly louder than a champagne cork rang through the restaurant, and the crowd shrieked at the sound.

Puzzlement flashed across Ramón’s face and his eyes dropped to his chest, where a tiny hole had burned through his shirt, crimson spreading around it like spilled ink. He looked up at Carl, who was holding a small derringer. Carl fired again, the.22-caliber round punching beneath the first, and anger flushed Ramón’s face as he shifted the gun toward Carl.

“You…you shot me,” Ramón growled, and pulled the trigger, blowing a hole in Carl’s forehead, the shot as loud as a cannon in the high-ceilinged salon. Carl fell back in the chair and crashed against the ground.

Jet sprang toward Ramón, a sterling silver steak knife in her hand.

Ramón swung the gun back toward her, but he was a split second too late. His eyes widened in shock as Jet, a blur with the knife, drove the point up through his jaw and into his brain with all her strength. He convulsed and the gun fired again, the slug drilling into the ancient polished wood floor, and then he collapsed in a heap, his appendages trembling as life drained from his body.

“Everybody freeze!” a male voice screamed from the entry. Jet and Matt slowly raised their hands over their heads and turned to where three suited guards approached, guns trained unwaveringly on them, their stares hard.

Jet’s gaze flitted to Matt and a silent message passed between them. They couldn’t take all three of the guards, especially not with them armed and maintaining a safe distance. The men moved like professionals, probably ex-military, and to make a try would be suicide.

She cleared her throat and spoke in an even tone. “This man attacked us. He has a gun. It’s on the floor beside him. He shot our friend in the head.”

The lead guard held up a hand and stopped his companions from getting any closer. “That’s for the police to figure out. Just everybody stay calm and keep your hands up.”

“But we didn’t do anything except defend ourselves,” Matt protested.

“Then you have nothing to worry about. The police should be here any minute. For now, just keep quiet and no sudden moves, or I’ll be forced to shoot.”

Jet nodded, the crash of surf on the rocks outside a rhythmic accompaniment to the singsong of distant sirens that were growing louder with each passing second.

Chapter 59

Jet sat in the holding cell with three prostitutes suspected of mugging their johns in collusion with their pimps, a woman accused of trying to kill her husband, and two middle-aged women who had been caught breaking into a house. The mood was largely civil, everyone’s problems large enough that creating more drama in jail wasn’t on their agendas.

At one point during the night one of the prostitutes, whose dilated pupils and fixed expression told Jet she was high on something powerful, tried to pick a fight with her, but a few carefully chosen words of warning from Jet threatening to break her arms settled the matter, and peace reigned for the rest of the evening.

When the police had arrived at the restaurant, they’d studied the scene, begun taking statements from witnesses, and held Matt and Jet while the forensics crew and the coroner went about their business. Eventually Matt was released, having been guilty of nothing but sitting at the table, but Jet wasn’t so fortunate. An apologetic detective had placed her under arrest pending further investigation, assuring her that it was purely a formality.

Jet’s biggest concern was with immigration, because she didn’t appear on any entry documents, which could trigger alarms. Her explanation would be that she had no idea why the clerk at the airport hadn’t stamped her passport – she couldn’t be held responsible for the lack of competence of Cuban personnel, after all. It wasn’t a bad stance to take, but it was decidedly adversarial, and she wasn’t looking forward to having the discussion.

The detective was treating it as a robbery gone wrong, but she’d heard him muttering to an associate about Carl having attracted the wrong kind of attention, of making himself a target, perhaps by business competitors, or jealous lovers, or envious miscreants who wished him dead. Jet was sure that his reputation as dabbling in less than aboveboard activities was also known, or if it wasn’t, soon would be, providing more motives.

The still of the morning was broken as a door creaked open somewhere out of Jet’s field of vision. Two guards approached along the concrete corridor and called her alias and, when she stepped forward, warned the other prisoners to back off. They unlocked the door and led her to an interview room, the same one where she’d spent several hours of her night answering questions over and over.