After saying goodbye to his employees, he headed home. Gramps lived in an older neighborhood not too far from Silverstone Towing. He’d met most of his neighbors. They were hardworking people, some with children, some older couples whose kids were grown and had long since moved away. It was also a diverse area, which Gramps loved. In El Paso, his Hispanic heritage hadn’t been anything unusual, but up here in Indiana, he’d definitely experienced his share of discrimination. He’d been told, “Go back to where you came from!” more than once, and he knew they hadn’t meant Texas.
His mother was full-blooded Mexican, and his father was white. They’d met when he’d been stationed at Fort Bliss in El Paso. He’d loved her enough to get out of the Army and move permanently to Texas. Gramps supposed they had been happy at one time, but now they mostly argued and avoided spending any real time together. It was the main reason Gramps hadn’t been back to El Paso to visit in a very long time. After both his grandparents had died, there just hadn’t seemed to be much of a point.
Of course, now he wondered . . . if he’d visited more, might things between himself and Cassidy have changed? Maybe she wouldn’t have married that asshole. Maybe she wouldn’t have moved to Jamaica. And maybe she wouldn’t be in the situation she’d found herself in.
But he couldn’t change the past. All he could do was forge ahead. And tomorrow he’d be going to Jamaica. He didn’t know what awaited him, didn’t know if Cassidy would recognize him. If she’d do or say something that would blow his cover. But no matter what, he’d do whatever it took to get her and her son home safely.
Chapter Two
Cassidy sat in a chair by the window and stared out into the Jamaican night. There wasn’t much to look at, as her room was at the back of the huge mansion and overlooked nothing but shacks as far as the eye could see. At the moment, she could make out the dozens and dozens of small fires people had lit in their yards. Some were probably used for cooking food, others were light sources. She didn’t know what the locals did at night . . . but she knew she’d be safer out there on the streets fending for herself, and Mario, than she was locked inside this opulent home.
When she’d first arrived in Jamaica, everything had been exciting and new. She had been offered a job as a live-in teacher and nanny and had been thrilled she’d gotten so lucky to have found something so quickly. But in the weeks and months after she’d been hired, she’d realized things weren’t as rosy as they’d first seemed.
She’d first noticed her and Mario’s passports were missing. They weren’t in the drawer she remembered putting them in. When she’d gone to her boss, Michael Coke, to express concern about the cleaning staff possibly taking them, he’d told her that he’d put them away for safekeeping. She’d been surprised, but hadn’t wanted to make a fuss so early in her employment. She’d let it go. She regretted that now.
Then she’d been told she wasn’t allowed to leave the mansion grounds without an escort.
Shortly thereafter, she’d been informed if she did leave the grounds, she wasn’t allowed to take her son with her . . . for their safety, of course.
Little by little, Cassidy had realized she was essentially a prisoner in the grand house.
She’d been so naive when she’d first arrived in the small country. All she’d wanted was to get out of El Paso for a while. Everyone in the neighborhood had known her and her ex-husband, and everywhere she’d gone, people had told her that she’d been an idiot to divorce him. That he was the best thing that could happen to someone like her . . . a kid whose parents had immigrated to the States from Mexico.
Which was stupid. Her parents were awesome. They worked their asses off, and Cassidy was proud of her heritage. What she should’ve done was find a nice, humble blue-collar man to marry instead of being dazzled by Alfred and all the money he liked to throw around to impress her.
She’d often been told she was pretty. She was fairly tall, and while not super skinny, she wasn’t overweight either. In her opinion, her best feature was her hair. It was long and wavy, and she adored the rich dark-brown color.
Despite that, she hadn’t thought she was pretty enough for the man she’d truly longed for.
So she’d settled. Settled for marriage to a man she’d convinced herself she loved, but in retrospect, he had made her feel even worse about herself. She’d married Alfred because friends had convinced her that he was a great catch, that she couldn’t do better. They were sure he’d take care of her, and her life would be easy.
What she’d gotten was belittlement. And emotional abuse. A day hadn’t gone by when Alfred hadn’t told her how lucky she was to be with him. When he hadn’t yelled at her for being a terrible mother.
But that wasn’t what had pushed her over the edge. She was used to people looking down on her because of where her parents came from. The last straw was when Alfred had turned on Mario. When he’d told their four-year-old that playing with dolls was for sissies. That not wanting to play flag football was embarrassing for Alfred, and Mario needed to man up.
Cassidy wasn’t sorry she’d divorced the small-minded asshole, she was only sorry she’d stooped to marrying him in the first place, and that she’d waited so long to kick him to the curb. She’d changed back to her maiden name, not wanting Alfred’s last name, Pepper, any longer than she had to have it.
And afterward, when she couldn’t even go to the grocery store without someone telling her she’d made a mistake in dumping Alfred, Cassidy’d had enough. It hadn’t helped when her parents also seemed disappointed over her decision to leave him. They loved her, wanted the best for her, but the fact that they couldn’t understand how he was tearing her apart day by day hurt. A lot.
She’d said goodbye to her parents and headed to Jamaica with the high hopes of using her teaching degree in a new place, where she could both “find herself” and provide an atmosphere in which her son wouldn’t constantly be disparaged.
She’d needed some breathing room. So Cassidy had traveled to the tropical paradise to regroup before figuring out where she truly wanted to settle with Mario.
When she’d almost immediately been offered the nanny/homeschool teaching job, she’d jumped at the chance. Naively giving up her freedoms one by one. And now, five years later, she and Mario were still there. As trapped as they’d been in El Paso living in Alfred’s house. Except now things were much more dire.
Michael Coke was a drug dealer. The highest man on the totem pole. He had dozens of lieutenants ready and willing to do whatever he commanded. And the number of bodyguards was insane. Michael was rarely ever alone.
But there was a good reason for all the security. People either loved or hated the man. Loved him because he was a well-paying employer. And in a country like Jamaica, where the unemployment rate was around ten percent and poverty was a huge issue, being employed meant everything.
But behind his benevolent appearance was a ruthless man who didn’t care about anything but money. All his actions were done with making more money in mind. Yes, he paid well, but he demanded unwavering loyalty from his employees, and if anyone stepped out of line even a little bit, Michael had them killed. Or he threatened the person’s family. And the money he so generously gave to those in his community came with strings. He expected everyone to look the other way about the illegal things going on in their neighborhoods.