Inwardly, she sighed, surprised she hadn’t thought of that herself. “It makes sense, but surely there’s something I can do to help.”
“If the deal goes down, we can head for Mérida. I’m already packed. I’ll text you as soon as I know what’s going on. If it’s good news, you can call the airlines and change our flight.”
“All right, I’ll take care of it.”
“And stay in the room. If you’re hungry, order room service. If they know about the treasure, whoever was following us might come after you for information. I don’t want to take any chances.”
Her stomach did a roll. Kidnapping was a constant problem in third-world countries, even a developing country like Mexico.
She walked over and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “Good luck with Alamán.”
Gage hauled her into his arms and kissed her the way she’d been wanting him to do since she’d seen him standing in the living room.
“Be careful,” he said a little gruffly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Gage headed off to his meeting, while Abby changed into a pair of jeans and a white scoop-neck top for traveling, hopeful they would be heading to Mérida that afternoon. Better to stay one step ahead of your enemies. She had learned that in the Superstitions.
While she waited for Gage’s text, she went in and packed her carry-on and set it beside the door next to his. The rest of their luggage had been sent directly to Mérida to be picked up by Edge or Mateo.
By the time she finished, her stomach was growling. She checked her phone. No text from Gage. Figuring on a long day, Abby ordered huevos rancheros and chorizo, though as her nervousness grew, she wasn’t sure how much she could eat.
She checked her messages while she waited for the food. Still no text from Gage.
* * *
“So we have a deal,” Gage said from his seat across the table from Victor Luego Alamán. “Your department will provide the necessary permits, and in return, the Mexican government will receive sixty percent of anything we might find of value during our expedition.” There was no question of a fifty-fifty split. The government held all the aces.
He and Alamán were dining on the roof terrace of the Balcón del Zócalo on Avenida Cinco de Mayo, just a few blocks from the hotel. The open-air restaurant overlooking the city was the perfect spot for a clandestine meeting. Like hiding in plain sight.
A small man with sallow skin and longer-on-top, short-on-the-sides, coal-black hair, Alamán wiped his mouth with a white linen napkin. “And . . . ?” he prompted.
“And in gratitude for your assistance, you will personally receive a gift in the amount of ten thousand US dollars, as well as three percent of our share of the bounty, should our endeavor be successful.”
Alamán’s thin lips curved into a wolfish smile as Gage reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain white envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. A second envelope held more cash, but the greedy, eager look in Alamán’s black eyes said it wouldn’t be needed.
Gage passed the envelope across the table.
Alamán’s slender hand reached for the cash. He slid the envelope into his inside coat pocket without counting the bills and rose from the table. “The permits will arrive at your hotel within the hour.” His thin smile returned. “Gracias para la comida.” Thanks for lunch.
“DE nada,” Gage said.
As soon as Alamán disappeared out the door, Gage texted Abby.
MEETING SUCCESSFUL. PERMITS ARRIVE WITHIN THE HOUR. ON MY WAY BACK NOW.
* * *
Abby checked her phone and saw Gage’s text just as the doorbell rang. Her room service order had taken longer than she expected, but with Gage’s success, at least her appetite had returned.
Sliding the chain off the lock, she pulled open the door and stepped back to allow the white-coated waiter to wheel in a linen-draped food trolley. He lifted off a tray loaded with silver domes, and the room filled with delicious aromas.
“Where would you like this, señorita?” He was in his thirties, with smooth dark skin, a neatly trimmed mustache, and sideburns.
“Over on the coffee table is fine.” The waiter set the tray down and started back the way he had come, but instead of leaving, he opened the door, and a second waiter, bigger, more solidly built, with stick-straight black hair, walked into the room.
Abby’s heart began to pound. “What are you doing? I don’t need anything else. Please leave.”
The two men rapidly closed the distance, and Abby bolted, dodging, trying to get past them to the door. She managed to dart past the first waiter, but the bigger man with the straight black hair grabbed her around the waist, jerked her back into the room, and slammed the door.
Abby tried to scream, but the mustached waiter shoved a white rag in her face. The first breath she took left her woozy. She managed to turn her head away and start fighting the waiter who held her, kicking and scratching, raking her short nails down the side of his face, drawing blood.
“Puta!” Doubling up his fist, he punched her in the jaw so hard her head spun and her knees buckled. Abby grabbed onto a side table and managed to pull herself up, but a long-fingered hand pressed the cloth over her mouth again.
Abby swayed, her muscles going limp as she was lifted off the floor and carried toward the food trolley, which was actually a laundry cart, and dumped inside.
Her head was still spinning. Vaguely, she heard the rattle of the lock turning, the door opening, then Gage’s foul curse.
The sound of breaking glass followed, and the solid thud of fists pounding into flesh. She shook her head to rouse herself, managed to shove up from the bottom of the cart in time to see Gage’s muscled shoulder barrel into the midsection of the mustached waiter, carrying him across the room and slamming him into a wall.
As the man staggered to his feet, Gage spun toward the bigger, straight-haired man and threw a hard punch that knocked him several feet back before the guy swung a blow that Gage managed to duck.
Still dizzy, Abby climbed out of the cart. A painted vase sat on the side table. Grabbing the vase, she crashed it over the mustached waiter’s head.
“Mierda!” he swore, stumbling backward into the wall again. He looked over at his friend, who was still going fist to fist with Gage. “Vamos, hombre! Ahora!”
He opened the door and raced out, quickly followed by the bigger man, whose nose was bleeding, leaving a trail of red down the front of his short white waiter’s jacket.
Shaking all over, Abby leaned against the table for support. Then Gage was there, pulling her into his arms, holding her tight against him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his muscles still vibrating with tension. “Did they hurt you?”
Abby swallowed. “I-I’m okay. You got here just in time.”
Gage nodded with relief, but a muscle knotted in his jaw.
The warmth of his body erased the last of her fear. Her eyes were still a little glassy, and her jaw ached, a dark bruise forming where the man had hit her.
She looked up at Gage. “You know, this treasure hunting business can be a real pain.”
Gage’s worried blue eyes shot to her battered face. Abby blew out a breath that fluttered the fringe of bangs on her forehead. She grinned.