What's Done in Darkness (17 page)

“Damn it,” Shawde muttered, deflated. “You're no longer in touch?”

“We haven't spoken, but I have a number for her. And we're friends on social media.”

Hope filled Shawde's chest. “She's on social media? I couldn't find her anywhere.”

“That's because she changed her name.”

“She was so afraid of Katrina that she changed her name?” Shawde asked.

“No, she got married,” Monica explained.

“Ah. Of course.”

“But she keeps a low profile online—I mean very low. And she's not in touch with anyone from UB. Only me.”

“I really need to talk to her.”

Monica hesitated. “I can't give out her number.”

“But you can contact her for me, ask her to give me a call.”

Again Monica hesitated. “Sure. I can do that.”

“I'd really appreciate it, Monica. Before Shemar left for home, he told me that he had something serious to tell me about Katrina. He wanted to talk to me in person. He never made it. He was killed in a car with no brake fluid—when he would have definitely checked his car out the day before his drive. He was that kind of guy. What you just told me about Angelina makes me even more convinced that I'm right.”

“I'll get in touch with her and let her know that you'd like to talk to her. I'll give her your number. That's the best that I can do.”

“Thank you,” Shawde said. “My goal is to bring Katrina to justice. Perhaps what Angelina knows will help me do that.”

“Perhaps.”

Monica sounded wary, and Shawde understood. Clearly, Angelina had been terrified of Katrina. Perhaps she still was.

All the more reason to have the bitch put away once and for all.

Shawde ended the call, feeling truly hopeful about nailing Katrina for the first time in ages. She was so elated that she wanted to call Maurice and tell him about this promising new development.

But she didn't. Because she knew what he would say. If Shawde called him at any point before Katrina was behind bars, Maurice would be frustrated with her. Frustrated with her obsession.

No, she'd made her choice where Maurice was concerned and she knew where she stood.

She had chosen justice for Shemar.

But maybe once Katrina was finally apprehended, Shawde and Maurice could work things out.

And Shawde felt far closer to that goal today than she had ever before.

Excited to tell someone, Shawde called Gordon's number. For the second time today, his voice mail picked up. Where was he?

“Gordon, hi. It's Shawde again. I've got some news that I'm really excited about. And something else for you to look into. It's a bit late now. But call me in the morning. I can't wait to tell you what I've learned.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

On Monday, we left for Mexico. And even though I was happy about the idea of spending careless days on the beach and putting my stress behind me, my heart was heavy.

Brian hadn't confirmed one way or another if he would be joining me. I'd given him my flight and hotel details, and all he'd said was that he would try to make it.

I'd quickly agreed to go to Cancun with Katrina and Christian because I'd hoped Brian would join me there. Now I doubted that would happen.

My last two texts to him had gone unanswered, which made it pretty clear that he was avoiding me.

Avoiding me because he didn't want to have to tell me the truth.

Well, if he was playing me, so be it. I wasn't going to give him another thought.

*   *   *

We flew out of Key West at 2:00 p.m., with a short layover in Miami. And at four forty-five Monday evening, our plane touched down in Cancun.

I'd drifted off during the flight but awoke when the plane began to descend. I was in the window seat, and beside me Katrina and Christian were holding hands. And that glimpse of them, seemingly so happy together, made me feel a pang of sadness. I'd had Wesley in my life for so long, and now I knew there was no going back to him. It was an odd feeling to know that I was really alone.

But to numb those thoughts, I looked out the window and took in the view. It was spectacular. I could see white sand and the most stunning turquoise water. I had been impressed when I saw Key West from the sky when our plane took flight, but Cancun was even more beautiful.

“I'm thinking one day we can take a boat to Cozumel,” Katrina said. When I glanced at her, she continued. “It's an island off of Cancun. I'd love to see it.”

I shrugged. “Sure, if we can swing it.”

She had the airline magazine from the seat back in her lap and was rifling through it. “There's also a snorkeling excursion where you get to visit Isla Mujeres. Island of women.”

“Island of women,” Christian chimed in. “That sounds good.”

Katrina playfully whacked his arm. “I'll bet it does.”

But he grinned at her, and she at him, and the kiss that followed didn't surprise me. I was no longer surprised by their public displays of affection.

I turned back to the view. The moment the plane touched down, people began to cheer.

And I found myself smiling. I'd left Wesley and all of my baggage back in the States. I was in Mexico, and I was going to make the most of it.

*   *   *

“Why are we renting a car instead of just taking a taxi to the resort?” I posed the question to Katrina, although Christian was the one who'd decided we should rent a car.

Our luggage in hand, Katrina and I were walking a few feet behind Christian as he led the way to a rental car counter.

“He said he wants to be able to drive around and enjoy the real Mexico,” Katrina explained.

“I'm sure the hotel will offer all kinds of excursions,” I went on. “Renting a car … it might be a waste of money.”

We were behind Christian now, and he turned to face me. “I always prefer to rent a car wherever I go. That way, I can just get up and go. Besides, there are excursions we can get to ourselves. Trust me, the hotel will charge you an arm and a leg. Having a car will be far more efficient.”

I shrugged. Obviously, Christian had made up his mind. And what the heck? If he was going to be doing the driving, I guessed there was no reason to complain.

It took several minutes for Christian to do the required paperwork. Katrina and I sat on a nearby bench, mostly people watching while we waited. A man beckoned for us to go over to a counter where the sign read: EXPERIENCE MEXICO LIKE NEVER BEFORE! TOUR OUR LUXURY VILLAS.

Katrina waved a dismissive hand. Then she faced me. “Damn, I thought Key West was hot.”

“You're the one who wanted to go to Mexico in the summer.”

“You regretting that you came?” she asked.

I hesitated a moment. Then I said, “No.” And that was the truth. It had been two years since I'd been on a plane, and it was nice to get away. Even if I'd only exchanged one perfectly fine tropical paradise for another.

Christian came over to us, a huge grin on his face. “Okay, ladies. Our chariot awaits.”

“You're so goofy,” Katrina said, getting to her feet.

As we stepped outside, a blast of hot air hit us. Wow. It was a
lot
hotter than Key West had been.

Then I thought of the most recent winter in Buffalo. A ton of snow and brutally cold temperatures had had me wishing I could hibernate until spring.

Naw, I wasn't going to complain. I could handle the heat.

We followed Christian to the rental car area, where he stopped at a white Chevrolet Malibu. He popped the trunk, then opened the driver's door.

“Start that air-conditioning,” Katrina told him.

He did as instructed while Katrina and I worked on putting our luggage in the trunk. Christian joined us, lifting the larger suitcase.

We all piled into the car, me in the backseat. Christian handed Katrina a map. “Hold that, love.”

“You know how to get to the hotel?” Katrina asked.

“Yeah. They showed me on the map how to get there. It's not too far. I'm sure I'll find it easily enough.”

As Christian drove out of the airport, I looked around at the palm trees and the scenery. My anxiety began to ebb away. I was glad I'd agreed to come.

We were driving for about five minutes before I heard the whir of a siren. I craned my neck to look behind me. Sure enough, there was a cop car behind us, lights flashing, siren blaring.

“Why are we being pulled over?” I asked. “Were you going too fast?”

“No. I was driving under the limit.” Christian pulled the car over onto the side of the road and stopped. He wound the window down as the police officer approached.

“Can I see your driver's license, please?” the officer asked. He spoke English perfectly, but with a thick Spanish accent. He looked into the car, seeing Christian and Katrina, then gazed into the backseat where I sat.

“Officer, what's this about?” Katrina asked.

“You were going too fast.”

“But I wasn't, sir,” Christian protested. “I was driving sixty kilometers an hour.”

“But now it is a fifty zone. You were going too fast. Give me your license, please.”

“I didn't see any sign indicating a lower speed limit,” Christian said.

“You were not paying enough attention,” the man said simply. “Please, I need your driver's license.”

Sighing, Christian eased up his lower body from the seat so that he could reach into his jeans pocket. “If the speed is just going to change randomly, how is that fair to tourists?”

Saying nothing, the officer took the license, and I glanced over my shoulder again. I saw that there was another officer, one who was standing outside of the cruiser, and I wondered why he was just standing there. Perhaps to make sure none of us caused any problems?

The cop strode back to the other officer, and the two of them conferred for a few minutes. Minutes in which we talked among ourselves, wondering why Christian had been stopped.

“I wasn't speeding,” Christian said. “If the limit had changed, why weren't there new signs?”

“It's bullshit,” Katrina said. “What—is this what they do? Harass tourists?”

“Maybe he'll let us go with a warning,” I commented.

When the officer came back to the car, he looked at each of us in turn before speaking. “Speeding is very dangerous. Many people are killed each year in Cancun because they drive carelessly. The fine for speeding is very high. It will require a court date, and until then, I will have to take your license.”

“Take his license?” Katrina exclaimed.

“Señora, you need to be quiet, please. You are not helping the situation.”

“It's a simple misunderstanding,” Christian said. “If I'd seen another sign with a lower speed limit, I would have of course driven slower.”

“That is no excuse, señor.”

“Surely you can give him a warning,” Katrina said.

“Señora, you are trying my patience. All of you, exit the car.”

“No, wait.” Christian held up a hand, then faced Katrina. “Kat, let me handle this.” He turned back to the officer. “Please, is there anything I can do? As I said, I didn't realize the speed limit had changed. Obviously I agree that speeding is a very serious thing.”

“What do you have in mind, señor?” the officer asked. “Because I'm sure it will be a very big inconvenience for to have to go to court. And of course, for me to take your license and this car until the matter is settled.”

“Is that seriously how it's done here?” Christian asked.

“Many people come to Mexico, drive like maniacs. When they get a ticket, you know what they do? They go back home and never come back. So, señor, we have become wise. Keeping your license until the matter is settled is the way it's done.”

“How much is the fine?” Christian asked.

“The fine, because you're a tourist, is five thousand dollars.”

“What?” Katrina and Christian exclaimed at the same time.

“As I said, we take speeding very seriously in Mexico.”

“This is insane,” Katrina muttered.

“Señora.” The officer leveled a hard stare in her direction. “Please do not try my patience.”

“Hon,” Christian said to her, “just chill.”

I stayed silent in the backseat, watching with a knot in my stomach.

Christian finally said, “I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was speeding. If you let me off with a warning, I promise I'll be more careful. It's my first time in Mexico, and I didn't realize.”

I watched the cop as he pursed his lips, the seconds passing. He looked in the car at each of us again and then said, “Perhaps we can come to some arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?” Christian asked.

“What do you have in mind?” the cop asked.

It was the second time he'd said that, and I quickly caught on. And so did Christian.

“Maybe I can give you a little bit of money. For the fine. Because I can't pay it all.”

“How much money?” the cop asked.

“Jesus,” Katrina muttered. “This is ridiculous.”

The expression on the cop's face darkened. He looked into the car, facing Katrina with steely eyes. “Señora, you are being very disrespectful. Do you know that I can arrest you for interfering with an investigation?”

“No, no, please. That's not necessary.” Christian raised a hand, showing his acquiescence. “I have some money.” Christian opened his wallet. “Three hundred dollars. American. That's all I can pay.”

The officer contemplated Christian's suggestion. Then he looked at Katrina. “What about her? How much does she have?”

This was a shakedown. I'd heard vaguely about corruption in the police force in Mexico. But I'd never dreamed we would experience it. And certainly not so soon after arriving here.

Christian faced Katrina saying, “Babe, how much you have?”