“I wonder how they felt when the bullets hit them. Do you think they still thought it was worth it?”
Logan didn’t flinch. “Who the hell knows what’s important enough to die for? Do you want out, Castleton?”
Yes, he wanted out. The situation was becoming too deadly and complicated. He didn’t deal well with either, and he cursed the day he’d become involved in it. “Are you firing me?”
“No way. I need you. You know how things work down here. That’s why I hired you in the first place. But I’ll understand if you want out. I’ll pay you and let you walk away.”
“Let me?”
“I could find a way to keep you on the job,” Logan said wearily. “There’s always a way to do anything you want to do. You just have to decide how far you want to commit yourself. But you’ve done a good job for me and I’m not willing to force you to stay on. I’ll try to find someone else.”
“No one could force me to do anything I don’t want to do.”
“Have it your way.” Logan got into the jeep. “Take me back to the airport. I’ve got to get busy. Am I going to have trouble with the local police?”
“You know better than that. These hills are deep in drug country. It’s not safe to ask questions. The police just look the other way.” He smiled bitterly as he started the jeep. “Isn’t that why you built the facility here?”
“Yes.”
“And they won’t help you get Bassett away from Rudzak. He’s a dead man.”
“If he’s not dead now, I’ll get him back.”
“How? Money?”
“Whatever it takes.”
“It’s impossible. Even if you pay a ransom, Rudzak may kill him anyway. You can’t expect to—”
“I’ll get him back.” Logan’s voice suddenly vibrated with harshness. “Listen to me, Castleton. You may think I’m a son of a bitch, but I don’t shrug off my responsibilities. Those were my employees who died and I want the man who did it. And if you think I’m going to let him kill or use Bassett to get at me, you’re wrong. I’ll find him.”
“In the middle of the jungle?”
“In the middle of hell.” Logan’s voice was flint sharp. “Now you’ve been telling me how sorry you are and how guilty I should feel. Well, I don’t have time for guilt. I’ve always found it counterproductive. You do what you have to do, but don’t tell me anything’s impossible until you’ve tried and failed and tried again. I won’t buy it.”
“You don’t have to buy it. I’m not asking you to—” His gaze narrowed on Logan’s face. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”
“Am I?”
“You know damn well you are.”
“Smart man. You should have expected it. I’m just as ruthless as you think I am, and I told you I needed you.”
Castleton was silent for a moment. “Do you really think you have a chance of saving Bassett?”
“If he’s alive, I’ll bring him back. Will you help me?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“What you’ve been doing all along. Grease palms and take care of my people. By the way, I want them out of that hospital and on their way home as soon as possible. They’re too vulnerable here.”
“I was going to take care of that for you anyway.”
“And keep your ears open and your mouth shut. If I’m not in the area, Rudzak will probably contact you first.” He smiled crookedly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to put your neck on the block. You’re much too valuable to me in other ways.”
“I’m not a coward, Logan.”
“No, but this is out of your area of expertise. I always get the right person for the right job. I assure you I wouldn’t hesitate to rope you into it if I thought it necessary.”
Castleton believed him. He had never seen Logan like this. Most of the time he kept that streak of hard ruthlessness buried beneath a layer of easy charisma. He suddenly recalled the many stories about Logan’s shady associations in the early years he had spent in Asia. Gazing at Logan now, he could believe there was more truth than fiction in those wild tales of smuggling and violent power struggles with local gangs who had tried to sell him “protection.”
“Well?”
“Okay.” Castleton moistened his lips. “I’ll stay.”
“Good.”
“But not because of anything you’ve said. I just feel guilty as hell that I was in town and not here when it happened. Maybe I could have done something, anything to prevent—”
“Don’t be an idiot. You’d have been dead too. Now, do you know of any contact Rudzak might have that we can tap?”
“The talk is there’s a dealer named Ricardo Sanchez in Bogotá who’s been acting as a go-between for the Mendez cartel and Rudzak.”
“Find him. Do anything you have to do. I want to know where Rudzak’s camp is located.”
“I’m not a thug, Logan.”
“Then would it hurt your delicate sense of ethics to hire a thug?”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“No, I don’t,” he said wearily. “If I weren’t pressed for time, I’d go to Bogotá and pressure Sanchez myself. Never mind, I have a man who can find out what I need to know.”
“I hope you succeed.”
“So do I. But even if Sanchez proves useless, I’ll still find Bassett.”
Castleton shook his head. “No one around here is going to tell you where he is or go into that jungle to look for him.”
“Then I’ll find him on my own.”
“How?”
“I know someone who might be able to help me.”
“The right person for the right job?”
“Exactly.”
“Then God help him.”
“It’s not a man.” Logan glanced back over his shoulder at the ruins. “It’s a woman.”
Logan called Margaret Wilson, his personal assistant, the minute his jet was airborne out of Santo Camaro. “Pull the file on Sarah Patrick.”
“Patrick?” Logan could visualize Margaret mentally going over the files in her head. “Oh, the dog lady. I did that research on her about six months ago, didn’t I? I thought you’d gotten what you needed from her.”
“I did. Something else has come up.”
“The same lever won’t do?”
“Maybe. But this situation has complications. I need to review the file because I’ll probably have to use everything we know about her. Not just how to make her jump when I whistle.”
“I don’t think Sarah Patrick is going to jump when anyone whistles,” Margaret said coolly. “And I’d like to be around when you pucker your lips, John. I have an idea that you got lucky the last time. Serve you right if you go around—”
“Lay off me, Margaret,” he said with a sigh. “I’m not up to defending myself right now.”
“Why not?” She paused. “Is Bassett dead?”
“No, I don’t think so. He was alive when they took him.”
“Shit.”
“I need that file, Margaret.”
“Five minutes. Do you want a fax or should I give you the information over the phone?”
“Call me back.” Logan hung up, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
Sarah Patrick.
Her image was there before him: short dark hair streaked by sunlight, high cheekbones, olive skin, and a lean, athletic body. Features more interesting than pretty and a wit as sharp as her tongue.
That sharpness had stung him innumerable times during the time in Phoenix. Sarah was not one to forgive and forget. But the sharpness had been for him only. She had become good friends with Eve Duncan and Joe Quinn after Logan pressured Sarah into working with Eve. The three were still good friends, according to Eve. She had called him last month and told him that Sarah had visited them in Atlanta and had—
His phone rang.
“Sarah Elizabeth Patrick,” Margaret said. “Twenty-eight. Half Apache Indian, half Irish. Grew up in Chicago, except the summers
she spent with her father on the reservation. Mother and father both deceased. The father died when Sarah was a child, her mother five years ago. High IQ. She studied veterinary medicine at Arizona State University. Inherited a small ranch from her grandfather in the foothills of the mountains outside Phoenix at about the same time the mother died. She still lives there. Oh, you know that. You visited her ranch. She’s something of a loner but got along well with students and professors. After school, she started working with the K9 training unit of ATF. She can do anything with animals. She’s affiliated with a volunteer search and rescue group based in Tucson, and evidently ATF has given her permission to work with them on both man-made and natural disasters. She and her dog, Monty, have also been lent out to several police departments to find cadavers and also to detect explosives. Monty is something of a wonder dog.”
“I know.”
“That’s right, he found that body in Phoenix.” She hesitated. “You know, I think I’d like her, John. Those search and rescue people are pretty wonderful. When I was watching the television coverage of the Oklahoma City bombing, I wanted to give every one of those guys a medal. Or my firstborn child.”
“You don’t have a child.”
“Whatever.” She paused. “She doesn’t deserve to be pulled into this thing with Bassett.”
“Bassett didn’t deserve what happened to him either.”
“He made a commitment and a choice.”
“She can always tell me no.”
“You won’t let her. It means too much to you.”
“Then why are you trying to argue me out of it?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I do. Did I mention that Sarah Patrick was one of those rescue workers at Oklahoma City? Maybe this is my try at giving her my firstborn child.”
“She doesn’t need it. She has her dog.”
“And you’re not going to listen to me.”
“I’m listening. I wouldn’t dare do anything else.”
“Bull. I’m not asking you to give her a medal. Just give her an out.”
“Where is she now?”
“On her way home from Barat. She’s been there five days. Earthquake.”
“I’ve not been totally in my own world, Margaret. I heard about the earthquake before I left Monterey.”
“But it didn’t rock you like the news about Bassett. So what do I do? Do you want me to phone her? Set up a meeting?”
“She’d tell you to go to hell. Since I’m a true gentleman and want to spare you that indignity, I’ll take care of it myself.”
“You’re afraid I’ll bond with her and we’d gang up on you.”
“You guessed it.”
“Okay, then where can I reach you? Are you flying direct to Phoenix?”
“No, I’m going to Atlanta.”
Silence. “Eve?”
“Who else?”
“Oh.”
“I believe I have you speechless. What an accomplishment. I’ll take pity on you. No, I’m not going in sentimental pursuit of a lost love. Eve and I are friends now.”
“Heaven forbid anyone would mistake you for being sentimental. You don’t have to explain to me about—”
“No, but you’d die of curiosity and then I’d have to break in a new personal assistant. Such a bore.”
“I’m not nosy. Anyone would be curious,” she said tartly. “After all, you spent a year with her. I thought you might—”
“You can reach me in Atlanta at the Ritz Carlton in Buckhead.”
“If you’re not going directly to see Sarah Patrick, I’ll keep tabs on her.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll see her in Atlanta.”
“No, she’s booked back to Phoenix.”
“She’ll change her plans. By the way, I’m calling Sean Galen after I hang up. If he needs funds, give him—”
“Carte blanche,” Margaret finished for him. “As usual. I thought you’d pull him into any rescue attempt. Is he to go directly to Santo Camaro?”
“No, I’m sending him to Bogotá on a fact-finding mission.”
Margaret made a distinctly skeptical sound. “Pretty words. Who’s he going to beat up?”
“Maybe no one. I just need him to find someone and ask a few questions.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“If Castleton calls, I want to hear from him immediately. He has my digital phone number, but he’s too cautious for my taste. He may try to reach me on it only in case of emergencies. But as far as I’m concerned, everything is an emergency at this point.”
“No problem.”
“Wrong. I see nothing but problems looming. I’ll keep in touch.” He hung up.
He should have known Margaret would champion Sarah Patrick. Margaret was an ardent feminist who admired tough, smart women who boldly ran their own lives and careers. She had liked Eve Duncan for that same reason. Eve was a top forensic sculptor who had overcome tremendous odds in both her personal and professional life. A very special woman . . .
He hadn’t seen her in almost six months. Had he made the transition from lover to friend as he’d told Margaret? Who knew? He had felt something for Eve he’d never felt for any other woman, and he’d tried to analyze it in these last months. Respect, pity, passion . . . Hell, maybe all those emotions had been present. She had certainly caught his imagination from the moment he had met her.
No, he wasn’t being honest. He had loved Eve. What was love but respect, pity, passion, and a hundred other emotions? Joe Quinn had said Logan didn’t love her enough and deserved to lose her. Well, he had lost her, so maybe the bastard was right. Maybe he’d never make a total commitment to a woman. Totality was for the young and the daring.
Christ, that sounded like a soap opera.
Okay, forget personal problems. Eve was going to marry Joe Quinn, a fact that he’d accepted months ago. His commitment now was to Bassett, and he had to concentrate all his efforts on bringing him back.
That’s where Sarah Patrick came in.
He could force her to help him as he’d done the last time, but he’d prefer not to do that. Was there anything else in her background he could use to manipulate her?
He had time to think about it. He should have at least a day to decide what to say to her.
It might take every minute of that time, he thought ruefully. Sarah was tough as nails and Margaret was probably right. This time when he tried to get her to jump when he whistled, there was every chance the situation would explode.
And the situation was explosive enough without Sarah. He had been uneasy ever since he had left Santo Camaro. His instincts told him that something was not as it should be, and he trusted his instincts. What the hell was bothering him?
He was filled with anger and sadness and the usual adrenaline-charged eagerness to jump into the fray— emotions that were getting in the way. So put those emotions on hold. He had to clear his head and analyze Rudzak’s opening move. Why had Rudzak taken Bassett? Ransom or revenge was the obvious answer, but Rudzak was seldom obvious.
He pulled the scarab from his pocket, the one Rudzak had sent him via Castleton. His thumb rubbed its carved surface. The scarab was from such a long time ago, a time of pain and torment and regret. . . . Rudzak had meant to send a message with it, but what did the message have to do with Bassett?
He leaned back in his chair. Think. Play the scenario out. Put everything together before you call Galen.
The shrill howl echoed eerily in the night.
Sarah stopped at the top of the hill, her breathing labored from the hard uphill run.
Another howl, more mournful than the first.
A wolf, Sarah thought. Probably one of the Mexican gray wolves that had been recently released in western Arizona. There had been stories of a few migrating to this area, much to the anger of the local ranchers. That howl had sounded very close. She stared at the crags spiking the mountain behind her.
Nothing. The night was clear and still and the wolf was probably farther away than he sou
nded.
Beautiful. Monty was staring at the mountain.
“You wouldn’t think so if you ran across one of those wolves, Monty. They have no manners. Ask the ranchers around here.”
Another howl echoed through the night.
Monty’s head lifted. Beautiful. Free.
Dogs were supposed to be descended from wolves, but she had never noticed any savage qualities in Monty. No animal could be more gentle or loving. Yet was he feeling some buried instinct as he listened to that wolf? The idea made her uneasy, and she dismissed it immediately. “I think it’s time we went back to the cabin. You’re getting moonstruck.” She started at a run down the path toward the cabin in the valley below.
Clean wind.
Clean air.
Firm earth.
Silence that had nothing to do with death or sorrow.
God, it was good to be home.
Good.
“You bet. Beat you to the cabin.”
She didn’t, of course. Monty had already jumped through his dog door and was lapping at the water in his dish when she threw open the front door. “You’re supposed to be tired from that job in Barat. Give me a break.”
Monty gave her a scornful look and then leisurely walked over to his rug in front of the fireplace.
“Okay, don’t give me a break. But remember who pays for the groceries.”
Monty yawned and stretched out.
The fire was welcoming and her easy chair beckoned. She would like to stretch out herself.
She reluctantly glanced at the blinking red light on her answering machine. She had ignored it when she’d arrived at the cabin two hours before and was tempted to do the same thing now.
Retrieve the messages or take a shower and then curl up in front of the fire? She knew what she wanted to do. Close the world out and go back to the routine with Monty that soothed and sustained them during these off periods. Even the telephone was an intrusion when all she needed was rest, exercise, and no more mental stress than was involved in reading a good book.
But that red light wouldn’t stop blinking. She might as well get it over with.
She crossed the room. Two messages.