“Look, why don’t you fly in the corporate jet with Lance? It’ll save you time and money.”
“I don’t know. I’m thinking I need to perform this mission undercover. I might get more answers that way.”
“Fair enough. But you’ll get there faster on the SOS plane than flying commercial. I can have Lance dropped at a different airport. He’ll meet up with you later. That way you arrive separately.”
“Agreed. As long as I’m in Cancun by tomorrow.”
“You will be.”
While Natalie packed for Cancun, she went through her text messages and photos from Melody, searching for clues. Her mind played through many scenarios for what might have happened to her sister, each one worse than the last.
When her cell phone rang she was so deep into her thoughts, she jumped.
“It’s not good, I’m afraid,” Royce said without a greeting.
Natalie’s heart plummeted into her belly. “What did you find?”
“In the past two days three young women under the age of twenty-five have disappeared from the Cancun resort area and Riviera Cancun.”
“Why hasn’t it been in the news?”
“All three were from different countries—Sweden, Australia and now the US. To each country, it was a solitary incident. The Mexican government isn’t advertising this as a serial event. Contacts in Cancun say they’re treating two of them as individual unfortunate incidents.”
Rage shot through Natalie. “Bull! Three women? Did they all disappear diving?”
“Two diving. The third? They claim the young woman wandered off and probably fell into an abandoned underground tunnel associated with the Mayan ruins located at Chichén Itzá, a little over an hour outside Cancun.”
Natalie couldn’t believe in this day and age any country would give up that soon. But then Mexico had its share of internal issues. The police force could be run by the local drug cartel. They might not have an interest in finding the women. “Did the authorities even try to find the women?”
“My contact said they gave it a perfunctory look and abandoned the search when it grew dark. If you go—”
“There’s no if,” Natalie said. “I’m going.”
“Of course.” Royce continued. “You have your extra passports, yes?”
“I do.”
“Pick one that’s foreign, but not Australia or Sweden. And stay blonde. The three women thus far were all blonde.”
“Nice to know.”
“I had Geek run a background check on their families. They were from rather small families who have little money to pay ransom, much less to pursue lengthy litigation or to hire private investigators to search for their daughters.”
Natalie’s jaw hardened. The women were targeted for their blond hair, youth and their family’s lack of financial backing.
“So what you’re telling me is that you don’t think they were snatched for ransom.”
“No.” Royce’s single word in that flat tone said it all.
If the women had been kidnapped, their captors weren’t going to bargain to give them back. They would be sold or drugged and forced into the sex trade.
Forcing the emotion out of her heart, Natalie said, “The sooner we find them the better off they’ll be.”
“Right.” Royce gave her the details about meeting Lance at the New Orleans airport the following morning.
Once she ended the call, she sat back, tapping her bare toe, while she sifted through her passports. Part of her old life as an agent, the passports were vital to getting around the world without raising suspicion. Though she’d given up her job as an agent, Natalie had been hesitant to destroy the passports. Now she was glad she hadn’t.
Picking the United Kingdom passport, she stared at the image inside. The likeness was still valid: blond hair, blue eyes. And the woman in the photo looked like her with shorter hair. Hell, it was her, three years ago when she’d been active as an agent, sent all over the US and other countries to do what the CIA, FBI or Interpol either couldn’t do or hadn’t successfully managed to accomplish.
The passport would serve its purpose to get her past authorities and establish her as a young, single woman of limited assets and family connections on vacation in Cancun.
With the backing of her old team, she made hotel reservations for the same resort where Melody and her friends had stayed, using her UK alias, Natalia Scranton, age twenty-three.
Sleep had been impossible, but she’d tried anyway, keeping her cell phone on the pillow beside her in case, by some miracle, Melody was able to text her.
The next day she’d met Lance at the airport and climbed aboard the SOS private plane. Once the plane took off, Lance came at her with a loaded syringe.
Natalie held up her hand. “Stop.”
“You need to be tagged with a tracking device. Should whoever took the other girls manage to snag you, we’ll need to follow you to wherever they’ve taken you and the others.”
“Yeah, but why the syringe? Can’t I keep a tag in my pocket?”
“That would be fine if you were wearing clothing with pockets at all times. I suspect, since we’ll be at a resort, you will be wearing a bathing suit.”
“I could sew the device into the suit.”
“Will you sew one into every item of clothing you could possibly wear?”
Natalie frowned. “Maybe. I’ve just never liked the idea of being tracked all the time, by anybody.”
“In this case, it’s for your protection.”
“Okay, but put it somewhere I can dig it out if I decide I don’t like it anymore.”
“Sure. Where would you like it?”
“Between my toes.” She lifted the hem of her sundress and held out her leg.
Lance injected the tracking microchip and sat back in his seat with a hand-held device. He hit the on switch and waited. “There.” He pointed to the dot on the screen. “There you are. Now, if you’re swimming, scuba diving or taking a shower naked, we’ll be able to find you.”
Natalie snorted. “Nice to know I’ll have company in the shower.”
Lance grinned and opened an aluminum suitcase. From it, he selected what appeared to be a tiny hearing aid and handed it to her. “You remember how these work?”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get to the good stuff.” She leaned toward the suitcase and plucked out an H&K .40-caliber pistol and several boxes of rounds. “I prefer the stopping power of a .45 caliber or 9 mm, but the smaller weapon will be easier to hide.”
“Exactly.” He handed her a set of throwing knives similar to the ones she had locked in her safe at home in New Orleans.
Natalie ran her hand over the handles, wishing she had time to practice throwing. These, too, she had given up when she’d decided to retire from SOS operations. How would she explain to Melody the need to have her own set of knives, especially when she was terrible in the kitchen?
Melody had no idea what Natalie had done before she’d returned home to New Orleans to be there for her after their parents died. Her sister thought she had given up the boring desk job in DC, the first job she’d taken when she’d finished college.
That seemed such a long time ago.
Loaded with all the equipment and weaponry she could