“Carly spotted El Jefe at the Dallas Art Gala tonight. We need to look at what’s on the video cameras, figure out who the hell he is.”
“Great, we’re finally catching a break. I’ll talk to the hotel security people first thing in the morning, make up some story they might actually believe, see if I can get you in to take a look sometime tomorrow.”
“That’ll work. We’re staying in Dallas. We’ll wait to hear from you.” Linc ended the call and turned to Carly. “Ross is going to make arrangements for us to view the video recordings. We’ll find you in the images, locate El Jefe, see which chair was his, and find out his name.”
Carly sighed. She let her head fall back against the deep leather seat. “God, I’m sick of all the intrigue. One night without it wouldn’t have been too much to ask.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” He slid an arm around her waist and drew her closer. “On the other hand, if you hadn’t gone with me to the gala, you would have missed out on the linen closet.”
Carly laughed, the sound rolling over him, easing some of the adrenaline still running through his blood. When she’d told him El Jefe was there, it had been all he could do not to confront him, grab the man by his satin lapels, and beat him into submission. Without the proof they needed, it could have gotten Linc thrown back in jail or even worse—gotten Carly killed.
The limo drove into the underground garage and pulled to a stop in front of the elevator. After a brief ride up to his condo, they walked into the entry. Linc couldn’t miss the fatigue in Carly’s posture or the worry in her face.
“Come here,” he said softly, and she went into his arms. “We’re gonna find this guy and we’re going to stop him. We’re getting closer all the time.”
Her head moved against his chest. “I know.” She looked up at him, her eyes bluer than he had ever seen them. “Take me to bed, Linc. I want to think about something besides El Jefe.”
Linc softly kissed her. “That would be my pleasure, sweetheart.” Sweeping her up in his arms, he strode down the hall toward the bedroom, Carly’s head on his shoulder, her gown flowing over his arm, golden hair a whisper of silk against his cheek. He inhaled the soft fragrance of the perfume he had bought her, the only gift she would accept from him.
His heart beat oddly, telling him something he wasn’t ready to hear.
He forced himself to focus on the present, on what they had learned and what lay ahead. Tomorrow they would start again, renew their efforts. He had the drug lord in his sights.
Linc was about to pull the trigger.
Chapter Thirty
An overcast sky diffused the sun on that cool fourth of October Sunday morning as Carly walked next to Linc into the Adolphus Hotel. Ross Townsend stood in the lobby. Dressed in khaki slacks and a yellow pullover shirt, his cropped beard shaved to fashionable dark stubble, he waited impatiently for their arrival.
“Getting them to let us view the videos wasn’t much of a problem,” Ross said to Linc as they approached. “Turns out the head of security is former Dallas P.D. He knew your name, said something about the contributions you made to the widows’ and orphans’ fund. He’s got the whole thing set up and ready to go.”
“Good work,” Linc said.
Carly walked with the men into the security area, watched Linc shake hands with a brawny, red-haired man Ross introduced as Marty O’Toole. The security man greeted him effusively, said a polite “hello” to Carly, then left them to work through the videos.
“I went through all the footage they had and located anything you or Carly showed up in,” Ross said. “Most of it’s on one camera. Marty’s got the video set to run from the opening of the ballroom through the endof the evening.” Ross leaned down and clicked the mouse, setting the video in motion.
“This is going to take a while,” Linc said, pulling up a couple of chairs.
Carly sat down next to him and focused her attention on the screen. The encounter had happened early in the evening so it didn’t take long for her to spot the black-haired man who called himself El Jefe.
“There! That’s him right there!”
Linc hit the PAUSE button, pointed to the images on the screen. “There’s where you stopped walking.”
“That’s when I heard his voice. It sounded familiar but at first I couldn’t remember who it was. Then I recalled where I’d heard it.”
“He’s standing a few feet away.” Linc hit PLAY and the video resumed. “You glance down, then turn away, and start walking toward our table.”
“I looked down at his feet. It was all I’d seen of him before. Big feet that turn slightly inward, like he’s a little pigeon-toed. It was definitely him.”
They kept watching. Linc used the zoom to zero in on the man: thick, ink-black hair, olive skin, wide forehead, long nose slightly curved. He was wearing black on black: black tuxedo, black shirt, and black bowtie.
Carly remembered the night of the kidnapping, the way he had slapped her, threatened her, the pleasure he had clearly felt, and gooseflesh crept over her skin.
“Doesn’t look like he spotted you,” Linc said, his eyes still on the screen.
Carly prayed it was true. On the monitor, El Jefe sat down at table twenty-three next to a buxom blonde with big lips in a strapless black dress. As the meal was served, Linc moved the recording a little faster, slowed as the bidding started. El Jefe’s paddle never went up, but the man across from him bid on a couple of different pieces.
