CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
IT TOOK TWO TRIPS TO MÉRIDA TO TRANSPORT PEOPLE, EQUIPMENT, and 6,052 solid gold bars, each weighing approximately 32 troy ounces. Two pounds. Market value $59,649 dollars per bar.
A little over $363,000,000 in total, according to Abby’s calculations.
“How can there be so many?” Abby asked. “It would have taken hundreds of trips from the mine.”
“Unless there was more than one mine,” Gage said.
“That’s right! There were rumors about a Peralta mine in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California.”
“Could be, I guess. We’ll probably never know.”
Not that it really mattered. Wherever the gold had come from, they were rich. Sixty percent would go to the Mexican government, of course, but forty percent would be theirs.
They were depositing the government’s portion into a private vault in Mérida, 3,632 bars worth $217,860,000. Two thousand, four hundred and twenty bars were going home with them, $145,000,000 in gold.
Less the mordida they would be sending Victor Alamán, $4,356,000 in cash, the bribe they’d promised to pay.
Abby thought of her grandfather with a bittersweet pang. King had been right about the gold from the start.
But then she had never really doubted him.
She couldn’t wait to get back to the States with the news—King Farrell had found the Devil’s Gold!
King’s good name would be restored, and all of them would be rich. It was a huge achievement, a once-in-a-lifetime thrill.
Her buoyant mood slowly faded. Once she was back in Denver, her time with Gage would be over.
Her throat ached. She could no longer stay in Gage’s apartment. By his silence, he had made his feelings clear. Abby loved Gage, the forever kind of love that only came once in a lifetime. She would never truly get over him, but she didn’t want a man who didn’t—couldn’t—love her in return.
“You ready?” Gage asked, clean-shaven again, so handsome in his yellow knit pullover and tan slacks her heart hurt just to look at him. His beautiful blue eyes touched her face, and she thought he seemed oddly troubled.
He still had a lot to worry about. They were shipping millions of dollars in gold. Until it was safely stored in Denver, neither of them could relax.
“I’m all packed,” she said, a fake smile on her lips. They were staying in a suite at the Fiesta Americana in Mérida, about a twenty-minute drive to the airport.
They had sent their gear ahead, all but a carry-on each. She flicked a last painful glance at the big king-sized bed. They had slept together last night, made frantic, almost desperate love, probably for the last time.
Gage seemed to know it, accept it. She ached to think of it, but so did she.
Gage grabbed the handle of her carry-on and wheeled it out of the bedroom. Mateo joined them in the lobby. Zuma and Carlos were also there, looking nervous and excited. Incredibly, Gage had arranged for both of them to return to the States.
Zuma had been instrumental in rescuing a kidnap victim, but her assistance had caused the death of a number of cartel members. Ramón Velásquez, a notorious cartel leader, and his brother, Arturo, posed a credible threat to her life.
And since Carlos was staying with Zuma, the boy could get caught in the crossfire. Or at least that was the case Gage had made.
Zuma had fallen in love with the little boy. They were going to Denver together, where she planned to raise Carlos as her son. Abby would be helping them find a place to live, and Gage planned to set up a trust fund for them.
Money was no longer an object for any of them. After expenses, Mateo, Edge, Trace, and Skye would be receiving a ten percent share. Over ten million apiece. The rest went to the partners, Gage Logan and Abigail Holland.
She was ludicrously rich.
And utterly miserable.
“I got an interesting phone call a couple of days ago.” Gage leaned back in the seat of the black SUV limo carrying them to the airport. Edge, Trace, and Skye had left ahead of them and were already there. Mateo, Zuma, and Carlos rode in another limo a few minutes behind.
“What’s going on?” Abby asked.
“Turns out, transporting five thousand pounds of gold bullion can be a little tricky. There’s no duty on bringing the gold into the country, but physically getting it there is another matter entirely.”
“I have no idea what that entails, but I assumed you’d be shipping it through regular channels.”
“Not exactly.”
The limo pulled up in front of the private jet terminal instead of going around to the International Departure Gate. The driver opened the door, and they got out of the car.
Setting a hand at Abby’s waist, Gage led her over to the glass front door, and they pushed through into the terminal; the limo driver wheeled the carry-ons into the building behind them.
Abby looked up to see a tall, lean, extremely handsome dark-haired man striding toward them, a big smile on his face.
Gage’s partner, Jack Foxx.
Gage stuck out a hand, and Foxx grabbed it, pulled him in for a bro-hug. “So I guess we don’t have to worry about paying the rent anymore.” Not that the man had any money problems. The international playboy was worth nearly a billion dollars.
Gage grinned. “Not for quite a while, at least.”
Foxx laughed. He turned to Abby. “I hear you saved this big bastard’s life. I liked you the first time I met you. I’m a little in love with you now.”
A flush crept into Abby’s cheeks. Gage frowned.
“I couldn’t very well let him drown,” she said, smiling. “We hadn’t found the treasure yet.”
Foxx grinned, digging dimples into his cheeks. “Speaking of treasure,” he said.
“One of his favorite subjects,” Gage drawled.
“Everything’s loaded on the plane and ready to go,” Jack said. “Edge and his security people are already aboard.” His attention shifted to Abby, and his expression turned serious. “Your grandfather’s casket has been loaded, Abby. I’m sorry for your loss.”
She swallowed. “Thank you.”
Foxx returned his attention to Gage. “Soon as the rest of your people arrive, the plane’s ready to leave.”
Gage took her arm and led her across the terminal to the plate-glass windows. A big jet airplane sat on the tarmac, its engines running.
“Boeing BBJ Max 7,” Jack said, walking up beside them. “Belongs to a friend of mine. My G-6 couldn’t carry the load.” He looked out the window, and his grin returned. “Costs about a hundred million, these days. I think you’re gonna like it.”
Abby couldn’t imagine knowing a friend who would loan you a hundred-million-dollar airplane. But the Gulfstream Foxx owned hadn’t come cheap.
Mateo showed up with Zuma and Carlos. Foxx had worked with Mateo, who seemed pleased to see him.
“Nice work, Mateo,” Foxx said, smiling.
“Good to see you, my friend.” The men shook hands.
“Jack, meet Zuma Delgado,” Gage said. “And this little guy is Carlos.” Gage set a hand on Carlos’s dark-haired head. The boy wore clean clothes and new shoes, which he was extremely proud of.
Carlos stuck his hand out to Jack. “It is nice to meet you, Señor Jack.”