Page 88 of Her Mercenary
Keeping my head down, I crossed the street, cataloging everything around me. The blue sedan parked in front of the liquor store. The man loading grain into the back of his flatbed, the hound dog in the passenger seat. The overflowing trash can next to the lamppost.
I jogged up the steps of the small white church hidden behind the bar. When I pushed through the door, the scent immediately carried me back to my childhood when my mom had dragged me to Sunday school.
A large cross was nailed to the wall underneath the steeply pitched roof of the church. A lectern with a microphone was to the right of the cross, flowers to the left, lines of pews down the side of the room.
An old woman sat in the front row, alone.
When I strode down the center aisle, the woman turned, her eyes sparkling as she took me in. Her face was lined with age, and her hair was perfectly fluffed and as white as snow. She was Caucasian and wore a long white dress adorned with crocheted flowers, and brown sandals on her feet.
Something dipped in my stomach the moment our eyes met.
“Ma’am ...”
Though there was obvious urgency in my tone, I stopped at the end of the pew, careful to keep my distance and not scare her off. “Do you have a cell phone I could use?”
The woman regarded me closely for a minute, her gaze trailing over me in a way that reminded me of a mother assessing her child. Without a word, she reached into the small white clutch on her lap. Her hand trembled as she handed me an old cell phone.
“Thank you.” I turned my back, clicked it on, and dialed the number I knew by heart. When the line picked up and I heard the wary hello, I let out a breath of relief. “Ryder—”
“Roman, what the fuck?” Ryder’s voice crackled on the other end. “Where the fuck have you—”
“Ryder. Listen—I need help.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ve been tracking a human-trafficking group called the Cussane Network, the CUN. There’s this girl—Samantha Greene.” I didn’t need to tell him she was important to me, the crack in my voice said it all. “They’ve got her—took her from me. I need help, man. I need help—”
“Calm down. Where are you right now?”
“Mexico, in a small township called Tenedores. About fifteen miles from a small hangar used for private air travel. I need you here. Now. There’s a lodge out in the middle of the Sierra Madre Mountains about forty-seven miles from here, near a trail called Hombre Muerto. I’ll send you the exact coordinates. I need you to get there as soon as possible.”
I heard the rattle of keys in the background, and a few whispers as Ryder relayed the message to the team.
“Justin’s on a job,” he said, “but I’ll round up everyone else. What lodge are you talking about?”
“Mine.”
“What? You own a lodge in Mex—never mind. Okay. Give me the lowdown of what I’m looking at here.”
“The lodge is vacant aside from about four guards with guns. Over a dozen women and children, victims of human trafficking, are being held in the main basement and in various rooms. A man named Conor Cussane, the head of CUN, was supposed to arrive yesterday. I don’t know if he’s there, but it’s best to assume he’s got at least four men with him.”
“So, about eight tangos?”
“Give or take. I need three things: someone at the Puerto Vallarta airport, watching for Samantha Greene. If they see her, I need them to stop her, detain her. I also need someone blocking the way to the lodge. The guards are supposed to depart for Tampico tomorrow, to a fishing dock off De Santo point. I need someone stationed there. Do not let a single woman or child step foot on any boat. And I need you to meet me at the lodge as soon as fucking possible.”
I rattled off the coordinates.
Ryder’s voice shook as he broke out into a jog. “I’ll be on the next flight, but best guess, it will be tomorrow morning until I get there.”
“Fine. Just as fucking fast as you can.”
I heard doors slamming on the other end of the line.
“Does Astor know?” Ryder asked.
“About what, exactly?”
“This, and however the hell you’ve gotten yourself tied up in the Cussane Network.”