Page 95 of Honor ’N’ Duty

The minivan rocked back and forth, worrying her that she’d bottom out and get stuck. Proceeding at barely a crawl, she had no idea how far she’d driven. Low scrub and towering pine trees lined the twisting road, preventing her from seeing too far ahead. It was around noon and the sun was high in the sky, but the trees were so tall and thick, they shaded the area, giving the illusion that dusk was only moments away.

She took her foot off the gas. The dangerous reality of her situation settled around her shoulders like a dark shroud.

This location was barely two hours from the largest city in the United States, but if things went wrong and her plan didn’t work, she’d be completely alone.

Whatever this place was, Fernando Colon had chosen it for a reason. The last house she’d passed had to have been over a mile before she’d turned off the road. Again she worried that she’d made a horrible mistake in thinking she could actually pull this off.

I can do this.

Still…it couldn’t hurt to hedge her bets.

Working quickly, she grabbed her cell phone from her bag, snapped in the battery, and powered up the phone. Not waiting for the phone to come fully back on line, she reached over and pulled up the passenger seat’s foot mat, then shoved the phone beneath it.

She stepped lightly on the gas, inching the minivan deeper into the thickly wooded forest. The vehicle rocked again, more forcefully this time, and some part of the undercarriage hit a rock. Sorry, Alvita.

Only now did she realize her thoughtlessness. She should have left a note for Alvita back at the duplex. If Laia didn’t come out of this alive, her friend could have her Ford Escape.

A minute later, a rustic, one-story split-log cabin came into view. Two gleaming black Cadillac Escalades were parked beside the cabin, a stark contrast to their rugged surroundings and the log cabin that looked like it had been built over a hundred years ago.

Five men outside the cabin started walking toward the minivan, intercepting her and preventing her from parking directly next to the cabin. Handguns stuck out from their waistbands. One even had a rifle slung over his shoulder. The one with the rifle held up his hand, ordering her to stop as he came alongside her window.

“Get out,” he said in an accented voice loud enough for her to hear through the closed window.

She did as he ordered. Compared to the hot, humid air of coastal New Jersey, the temperature here had to be at least ten degrees lower and with considerably less humidity.

He jerked her by the arm, pulling her away from the minivan while the other men opened all the doors and began searching the vehicle.

One of them took out the suitcase and her bogus ledger. Another dumped the contents of her shoulder bag onto the hood and began rifling through her belongings. Her sunglasses and wallet. A small folding mirror and zippered cosmetics bag.

“Put your hands on the car,” the one with the rifle said.

Again she did as ordered, planting her hands on the hood of the minivan. As he began running his hands down her back to her waist and buttocks, she tensed. She knew he was only searching her for weapons or a hidden microphone, but the humiliation and fear that this would lead somewhere else had her heart pumping madly.

Finally, his hands moved to her breasts. Instinctively, she rammed her elbow into his chest. “That’s enough! I’m not hiding a machine gun on me and I’m not wearing a microphone!”

He arched a dark eyebrow. “You’d better not be.” He jerked his head to one of the other men, who handed him a plastic wand. “Don’t move.” He ran the wand up and down her body. Only when he stepped back did her heart stop feeling as if it would climb right out of her throat.

The other four men had stopped to watch the show and were now smirking and laughing. When she’d first been informed that Colon had probably ordered the hit on Josh in jail, she’d had no trouble finding images of the man online. None of these men were him, which shouldn’t surprise her. Would a drug lord answer the door of his own house? Of course not, he’d have his butlers do it for him. Or in this case, armed thugs. She had no way of knowing if he was even here.

Mustering bravado she didn’t actually feel, she planted her fists on her hips. Inside, her belly was quivering like a leaf in a tornado. “I want to see my daughter. Now.”

Rifleman, as she’d dubbed him, pulled a small radio from behind his back, then clicked a button on the side of it. “She’s here, and we’re coming in.” He grabbed her upper arm, propelling her toward the cabin. One of the other goons had her ledger tucked under his arm and began dragging the suitcase across the dirt.

Laia nearly stumbled at the top step, held upright only by Rifleman’s big, beefy hand. The goon holding the ledger opened the door, and she was unceremoniously shoved inside the cabin.

The interior was musty, although fairly clean and with minimal wood furniture. Sitting at a large oak table in the center of the room were two more men. A man wearing glasses and another…

Fernando Colon.

The man whom every news outlet in the country had described as the driving force behind one of the largest and most powerful illegal drug operations in the country, a man suspected of either committing or ordering the murder of dozens of other people, was about five-foot-ten, average build, with dark brown hair and eyes, and what anyone who didn’t know better would describe as a pleasant enough face. Ironically, he was just plain ordinary looking.

But behind that ordinary looking facade was a man so deadly it made her gut clench.

Colon raised his brows at Rifleman. “She alone?”

“Si.”

“Send Juan down to the main road and tell him to stay there. If anyone else tries to drive up here, stop them and let me know.”