Where Evil Waits (17 page)

He couldn’t have scripted it better. Just as she asked, the one person in the restaurant who might recognize her as Kara Chandler got up from a far table. Luke sat back, tipped a salute to him from across the room, and watched the man toss his napkin on the table and start toward them. Kara noticed, turned to see to whom Luke had waved, and sucked in a gasp.

“
He
did,” Luke said.

K
ARA’S BREATH CAUGHT. A
man approached their table, his eyes on Varón.

It was Gene Montiel.

Gene Montiel?
Her thoughts scattered, like a dozen birds trying to find a place to light. Dear God, she’d met him. He could recognize her. But then another, even scarier thought kicked in.

Who sponsored you?

He
did.

She swiveled her gaze back to Varón as Gene Montiel headed their way. Varón looked utterly impassive, but for a well-worn patina of arrogance. “Relax, lover. He’ll expect me to introduce you.”

She stared, feeling as if her heartbeat were slogging through mud.
You don’t work for the new cartel. You’re trying to take it over from Collado.

Ben Archer was right: Luke Varón
was
in cahoots with Gene Montiel.

TMI, Counselor.

Varón stood, extending a hand. “Gene,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

Montiel smiled and they shook. Kara took a sip of her water just to keep from looking at him straight on.
Krista Carter, from Lexington, Kentucky.
Remember how you looked in the mirror—nothing like Kara Chandler. And remember where you are: The Parthenon. Not a place Kara Chandler would have ever visited. Montiel would never expect to see her here.

Andrew, of course, was a different story. Dear God, he and Montiel had probably discussed Andrew’s contract with HomeAid right here in this very room, over seared duck.

Montiel nodded at Kara. Varón was quick to introduce her. “This is Krista Carter. Krista, Gene Montiel. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

Kara set down her glass and shot Montiel a fatuous smile. “Sure,” she said. “Wow. Nice to meet you.” She wished she had some chewing gum to snap, but had to settle for twisting a short spike of her hair.

It didn’t matter. Montiel gave her a barely courteous nod and went back to Varón.

“I thought you might be here last night,” he said.

Varón slid his gaze to Kara. “I got waylaid last night.” He gave Kara a look that left no room for further questions. She blushed and took interest in a hangnail, assessing Montiel from beneath her lashes. He was just past sixty years old, a little under six feet tall, and slightly soft around the middle. For as long as Kara could remember, he’d been wearing a neatly trimmed beard that was salt-and-pepper like his hair, and he wore round wire-frame glasses that reminded her of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Despite his obscene wealth, he generally dressed in suits from JCPenney, but tonight he wore a button-down shirt and dress slacks.

The look of a drug lord? The prosecutor in her wanted to scream.

“I want this finished,” he said to Varón, his voice low.

“Off-shore tomorrow; distribution starts Monday.”

Jesus. They were talking about cocaine. Not in specific enough terms that the conversation could hold water in a court of law, but clear enough, nonetheless. As if it could be lumber or textiles or fruit.

As if an Assistant District Attorney weren’t listening in.

Montiel wrung his hands. “What about Andrew Chandler’s wife and son? I called one of your people and he wouldn’t talk about it. He basically told me to stay out of it.”

“I’ve got my finger on that.”

“So I’m told,” Montiel said, but he wasn’t happy. A lack of faith in his
security officer
? Kara strained her ears, but Varón put his hand on Montiel’s arm and the two men took several steps away from the table. Varón was making sure she didn’t hear any more.

She tried to process it: Gene Montiel and Luke Varón in an exclusive club together, managing an international drug delivery. Ben Archer was right: The Rojàs cartel was germinating new headquarters in Atlanta. A man named Collado was the apparent head, working through Montiel, whose chief security officer was Luke Varón.

And on top of it all, Luke Varón was planning a takeover.

The conversation was over as quickly as it started. Varón and Montiel came back—Montiel looking barely mollified, although he managed a smile to Kara.

“Glad to have met you, Miss Carter,” he said, and Kara said, “Yeah, you too.”

And he was gone.

Varón settled his big frame back into the chair, his gaze as dark as coffee beans. A smirk lingered behind his eyes. “Congratulations, Counselor. You just snowed Gene Montiel.”

Kara met his gaze dead on. “Congratulations, Mr. Varón. So did you.”

His smile faded to half. “Be careful. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

Without Montiel’s eyes on her, Kara’s mind was free to put the pieces together. “Is there anyone else you’re ‘working’ for? I mean, besides both Collado and Montiel.”

Varón’s gaze darkened, making him appear precisely as dangerous as he was. “You already know I’m not really partners with Collado.”

“Which means you’re planning what? To kill him the second he comes to shore?”

Again, that chilly curl of his lips. “ ‘The second he comes to shore’ would be too soon. The cargo needs to move to the secondary locations first; I’ll want access to that part of the network as well. Actually, I have your husband to thank for putting those routes in place. Along with Macy’s, of course.”

His words were like a shot of cold water to the face. “Is Macy’s still alive?”

“Yes. Not to put too fine a point on it, but things would have been considerably easier for me over the past year if your husband were, too. I wouldn’t have killed him, you know, even though I was ordered to.”

“By Collado?”

He nodded. “He didn’t trust your husband’s loyalties.”

She could relate to that. “And what about Montiel? Are you really working for him or are you going to kill him in the end, too?”

This time he broke into a full-fledged smile. “I could tell you that, dear, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Kara wasn’t amused. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he was ten shades darker than she’d believed even when she’d spent weeks building a murder case against him and thought she knew every detail. There were so many layers to his character that she felt as if she never knew who she was talking to. For God’s sake, he’d sold his allegiance to Frank Collado who—Kara was certain—would never live to see the rewards of his work. Varón had every intention of killing him and taking over the drug ring himself.

And Montiel? He was hovering near the deadly flame that was Luke Varón, and while Montiel was no innocent, Kara had no doubt that he may not know just how hot that flame was.

Kara swallowed. Jesus God, did she? She, too, existed in his shadow these days, and the only difference was that for now, Varón’s heat was keeping her safe. The moment she stepped away from him, someone else would be waiting.

TRUTH… Look what you’ve done.

A tremor racked her body. Wasn’t there a saying about going from the frying pan into the fire?

“Excuse me,” she said, standing. Her knees wobbled, but she nonetheless summoned her sarcasm. “I need to go be sick now.”

Varón’s gaze narrowed, but he stood. “Restrooms are right over there,” he said.

Kara tried to walk with reserve, but inside she wanted to sprint. She had to get away from him. She had to think. She had to call Aidan and make sure he was all right. She had to call Ben. No, she couldn’t do that. What would she
tell him?
Ben, don’t ask any questions, but while I was faking my death to get my son away from the
real
killer of my husband, I found out that there’s a shipment of cocaine coming in this week and Montiel knows… And by the way, Ben, now that I’ve told you, you need to watch your back and your wife’s and your kids’…

She sank back against the marble countertop in the restroom and forced herself to breathe. She pulled out her phone. For the first time, she wondered about it.
You can contact each other. Don’t use them to call anyone else.

Was this phone tapped?

She cursed, feeling like a fool. Of course it was.

She dialed anyway. Aidan answered on the second ring.

“Mom?”

A blanket of warmth wrapped around her. “Yes, honey. I just had to hear your voice.”

“I’m okay. I’m in this crazy-big condo with Madelena and this other dude. Vince had to leave for a little while.”

Vince.

“Mom?” he asked, and he lowered his voice. “I was thinking after we split up… Maybe we should have a code or something, a way to let each other know we’re in trouble. You know? I mean, I get that Varón wants to find Dad’s killer and that he needs you to help, but I still don’t trust him.”

Oh, Aidan, if you only knew
. She closed her eyes. Aidan had been her greatest source of comfort after Andrew died, but she’d never seen this protective streak in him. Of course, she’d never been stalked by a serial killer or gone on the run with a hit man, either.

A secret code. The thought brought a sad smile to her lips and she wondered what Aidan thought he could do to
help her if she ever used the code, or vice versa. But she didn’t have the heart to say it.

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “What should it be?”

“I was thinking about that,” he answered. “How about
Guapa
? Remember her?”

Guapa.
Kara’s favorite horse while growing up had been an Appaloosa mare named
Guapa.
The word meant ‘beautiful.’ When Aidan was little, she told him stories in which Guapa was the star.

Aidan had it all figured out. “If either of us ever says her name, then we know there’s trouble.” He paused. “I’m not sure what we do then, but… Geesh, Mom, I just want to be sure when I talk to you that I can believe you’re okay.”

“Me, too, honey.
Guapa
it is. God willing, neither one of us will ever have to say it.” She bit back the threat of tears. “I need to go, Aidan. Varón is waiting for me.”

“Okay, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

L
UKE MADE HIS WAY
across the restaurant and to Lacy.

“Go away,” she said as he came up behind her at the bar, never looking up. “You’re bad for business.”

“Business is bad? Somehow I doubt it.”

She spun on the stool and looked up at him. She had thick waves of hair dyed a classic shade of red and eyes that were a touch too blue for nature. She was built like Marilyn Monroe, only better.

“You’re deterring the paying customers, Varón.”

“I’m a paying customer.” He opened his jacket casually and gave her a glimpse of green. She narrowed her eyes.

“What do you want?”

“I want to know who Andrew Chandler might have talked about in his last weeks. There’s a certain acquaintance of his I need to find.”

Her mouth fell open. “Him again? He was ages ago.”

“Then I hope you have a good memory. It’s important. Anyone whose name you’d never heard before, anyone he might have been afraid of. Anyone—” He stopped. Kara came toward him, her chin jutted out. She looked as if she’d had enough of The Parthenon’s subservience.

“I’d like to leave now,” she said. She barely gave Lacy a glance.

“Of course, darling,” he said, then reached for a ball point pen from a glass on the bar. “Lacy and I were just saying good-bye, anyway.” He lifted her hand and scrawled his number across her palm. “Call me.”

Lacy frowned, wiping her hand with a napkin. “What for? Jesus, Varón, we went through all this a year ago. You think I kept something from you? You were a madman; I wouldn’t have dared. And I don’t know any more now than I did then. Andrew stood me up for dinner that night in order to meet the dead woman—Elisa Whatever. That’s all I knew then and it’s all I know now. Andrew and I didn’t spend a lot of our time together talking, if you know what I mean.”

Luke ground his jaw. Kara looked as if she’d been slapped in the face. Goddamn it. He had to get her out of here.

He started to take her arm, then remembered Evelyn Camp. He still hadn’t asked about her. “Hold on, I forgot something,” he said, getting out his cell phone. He found Knutson’s text and showed Camp’s picture to Lacy. “Have you ever seen this woman before? Her name is Evelyn Camp.”

Lacy shook her head; Kara looked completely distracted and he tipped the picture to her, too, as if just being polite and including her in the conversation. The name didn’t seem to ring any bells for her. She glanced at the photo but didn’t even blink.

“Evelyn Camp,” he said again. “From Charleston.”

“Sorry,” Lacy said, and Luke pocketed the phone. So Kara didn’t know her. Unless she was seeing red too much right now to recognize much of anything.

“Okay. Thanks.”

He took Kara’s arm and guided her out of the restaurant,
her nerves crackling beneath his fingers like live wires. Christ, he wished Lacy hadn’t used Andrew’s name in front of her. He knew the man’s affairs were no secret, but it was one thing for a wife to know about them and another for her to come face to face with one of them. Luke would have spared her that.

He kept his hand on her arm and they headed for the SUV. Kara was silent, but he knew she was ready to explode.

When they got to the Escalade, she tried the door handle before Luke hit the key fob and found it locked. She growled and pounded at the door and Luke waited it out, ready to snag her hands if she started breaking any bones, but mostly wishing she would turn into his arms, let him pull her against his chest, and allow him to soothe her.

She didn’t. She smacked the window one last time, then spun on him, a plethora of emotions stirring behind the cold green eyes. Anger, hurt, shock, confusion, helplessness. And underlying it all, fear.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he said, and meant it.

“He was here. He stood up
that woman
in order to be with the woman who was with him when he died.” She nearly vibrated with emotion, and Luke forced his hands to be still at his sides. Touching her right now would be a fool’s move.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She flinched at the sound of his voice. She shook her head, as if her mind were clearing a little. “That woman—Lacy—she said you were a madman when you talked to her last year. Why?”

“I told you: John Wolff never seemed right to me for killing your husband.”

She hit him with a hearty dose of sarcasm. “Oh, so you were just
passionate
about finding Andrew’s killer?”

Luke didn’t want to have this conversation. He lifted his hand, stroked the curve of her jaw with his thumb. “I’m a passionate man.”

“Bullshit.” She pulled back. “Who was Elisa Moran? Your lover?”

He punched the key fob and the lock clicked open. He started to go around the car but Kara grabbed his arm.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said, her pupils darting back and forth between Luke’s eyes. “This isn’t about finding Andrew’s killer, is it? It’s about finding Elisa Moran’s.”

Luke looked at her, feeling the darkness well up inside. “It’s both,” he said. It wasn’t quite a lie, but wasn’t the full truth, either. And for some reason he couldn’t explain, he felt she deserved more. “Elisa was important to me, yes. But she wasn’t my lover.”

“Elisa.” She looked shocked that she was right, as if she’d taken a stab at something in the dark and hit it dead center. Or maybe she was just shocked at the idea that Luke Varón might have cared about someone once. “Did you love her?”

Luke took a deep breath. “No. I owed her something, that’s all. Now get in the car.”

He reached past her and pulled the door open, but she didn’t get in. “What did you owe her?” she asked. “Damn it, I want the truth.”

The truth. It gnawed at Luke’s soul. “I owed her my life.”