Navy SEAL Security. Carol EricsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
colonel swore again. “You’re going to have to go back to that beach and figure out why it’s important to the Velasquez crew.”
“Any more news about Jack?” Riley held his breath.
“The CIA is calling him a traitor. They’re convinced he’s working for the other side.”
Riley choked on his bitter rage. “That’s not possible. You know it and I know it.”
“I know Jack Coburn’s name came up in chatter between the Velasquez Drug Cartel and an arms dealer in Colorado. Find out the link between those two, Riley, and we might be on the first step to finding Jack and proving his innocence.”
“I’m on it. I owe Jack.”
“We all do. I have another name to give you— Castillo. My CIA contact slipped it to me. He’s connected to the Velasquez boys. And one more thing, I’m giving you a new number for me.”
As the colonel rattled off the number, Riley lunged for the glove compartment. He groped in the dark recess, and his fingers tripped across a pen and a scrap of paper as other papers floated to the floor of the car. He jotted down the colonel’s new number and ended the call.
Glancing at the cell phone in his hand, he realized he couldn’t leave the phone in Carlos’s car for the police to find. Not that the colonel had an even remotely traceable phone number, but just like the fingerprints in Amy’s house, he wanted to err on the side of caution. That included the fingerprints in this car. He’d wipe it clean before abandoning it.
Then he’d get back to his safe house, claim his own car and skulk outside Amy’s house after the cops left just to make sure she got off to her friends’ house okay.
He pressed his knuckle against the switch for the dome light and bent forward to retrieve the papers from the car mat. A few receipts. A scribbled address. Registration.
Pinching the corner of the registration between two fingers, Riley raised it to the light. He read the name aloud. “Carlos Castillo.”
Castillo.
The name slammed against his brain, and bright spots danced in front of his eyes. Amy’s ex hadn’t been the victim of bad luck. Carlos had chosen Amy for a reason. The Velasquez cartel had chosen that beach for a reason. Someone killed Carlos Castillo for a reason.
And now they might have a reason to kill Amy.
AMY GULPED IN A LUNGFUL of the damp evening air as she squared off with the San Diego Sheriff’s deputy. She pointed a shaky finger toward her house. “His body was on my kitchen floor. He was dead.”
“Ms. Prescott, can you explain to us how, not one, but two dead bodies can disappear in one night?” Deputy Sampson crossed his arms over his chest.
He and another sheriff’s deputy had accompanied her to the beach, and just as Riley had predicted, someone had collected the body of the diver and Riley’s diving gear. In the meantime, the sheriff’s department had sent another car to Amy’s house to check on the dead body of Carlos Castillo. Amy hadn’t expected that one to disappear, too.
Why? Why would this drug cartel remove Carlos’s body?
She closed her eyes. Maybe she had dreamed the entire episode. She licked her lips, still salty from Riley’s kiss, and knew she’d been wide awake.
“Call Carlos’s wife. I’m sure she’ll verify that he’s missing.”
Deputy Sampson slipped a phone out of his pocket. “What’s the number?”
“I—I don’t know his home number, just his cell.”
“What’s that then?”
“I don’t know that either. I can’t remember it, and I deleted it from my contacts.”
The deputy rolled his eyes, and Amy clenched her jaw to keep from screaming. She ground out between clenched teeth, “Why would I lie about a couple of dead bodies and a mysterious spy?”
“Look, Ms. Prescott. I’m not saying you’re lying, but there’s not much we can do right now with no bodies to back up your story and your, uh, spy nowhere to be found.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Maybe Mr. Castillo wasn’t dead, and he got up and walked away.”
“He was dead.” She clenched her hands in front of her, recalling that she wouldn’t let Riley touch Carlos’s body. “H-he looked dead.”
“Maybe you did stumble on some kind of drug deal. God knows, this close to the Mexican border we’ve seen plenty of crap going down. We’ll send someone out to the beach again tomorrow. The body just might wash up on shore. And obviously if we get a call from Mrs. Castillo reporting a missing husband, we’ll be back.”
Another deputy jogged down her front steps. “If someone did snatch the body, whoever it was did a great cleanup job.”
“And what about the wet suit?” Amy shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Not that she wanted to put the cops on Riley’s trail, but a little bit of evidence might show she hadn’t been delusional.
“Did you find the wet suit on the living room floor?” Deputy Sampson jerked his chin toward the other deputy.
“No. There’s some sand around, but isn’t she a lifeguard who just got off work?”
Amy stamped her foot, feeling about two years old. “I’m not making this up. A man saved my life on the beach and came home with me. He’s the one who dropped me off at the station.”
“Did you have a bad breakup with this ex-boyfriend of yours, Ms. Prescott? You found out he was married, you went a little crazy?” He held up his hands. “Hey, I don’t blame you. Maybe you changed your mind and you wanted him back. He’d rush to your rescue or something, leave his wife.”
Amy’s jaw dropped. “That is so not me, Deputy Sampson.”
He lifted his shoulders as the other two deputies ambled toward their squad cars parked at the curb, their red lights still casting a glow over the few neighbors who’d remained outside during the excitement.
Amy rubbed her arms. This was it. They were leaving. They didn’t believe her, or they strongly doubted her. Thought she was some love-obsessed loon.
“I’ll tell you what.” Deputy Sampson shoved his useless little notebook in his pocket. “Like I said, we’ll send someone to check out the beach tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll look into the whereabouts of Carlos Castillo. If he’s missing, we’ll be back.”
“I probably won’t be here.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m not going to stick around to see if they bring the body back. You don’t plan to stick around—do you?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Prescott. We’re not in the bodyguard business, but I’ll make sure a patrol car takes a couple of turns around your neighborhood tonight.”
Yeah, that makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Amy gripped her upper arms. It didn’t matter. These sheriff’s deputies with their rolling eyes and tight-lipped suspicions didn’t make her feel safe anyway. Only one man could make her feel safe right now—Riley, her phantom spy.
She pointed to Deputy Sampson’s notebook, now tucked away in his pocket. “You have my cell phone number. I’ll probably be spending a few days with some friends.”
“Good idea.”
With their so-called investigation wrapped up, the cops scrambled for their squad cars and started their engines. Amy turned her back on her neighbors’ curious stares and slammed the front door of her rental house. She couldn’t bring herself to go into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
How could there be no evidence of a dead body? Professionals. Riley had warned her about these drug dealers. But Carlos’s wife would miss him and contact the police. Then they’d come running back here with the smirks wiped off their officious