JUST WHEN THE stars became dots and began to gather before Justine’s eyes and she felt herself losing consciousness, she heard boots running. Jail guards with batons appeared behind Justine, clubbed her, and then clubbed Carla.
“She attacked me,” Justine coughed. “She tried to kill me.”
Her blouse was stained with blood. It dripped from her forearm.
“No way,” Carla spat back. “Bitch tried to kill me. Put a shiv in my back, so I came after her.” She looked over at Rosa, the smaller woman. “Ain’t that right?”
Rosa seemed not to know what to say. One guard said, “Don’t matter. She’s coming with us now.”
One set of guards grabbed Carla. The other two snapped handcuffs on Justine and roughly led her down the hallway past a row of other holding cells where women hung on the bars and looked at her like she was part of a sideshow, making kissy-kissing noises, or telling her what a bitch she was, or asking her to carry messages for them. Her legs were shaky from adrenaline, and she thought she might heave for the second time in less than twelve hours. And what was happening to Carla? Where were they taking the woman who’d tried to kill her?
After an elevator ride, Justine was led down another hallway that had an antiseptic smell. Commandant Gomez stood outside the jail clinic. If he felt surprise at her condition, he wasn’t showing it. Instead, he stared at her with an annoyed expression. “You and Private Investigations have powerful friends in Mexico City, Ms. Smith. You and Señor Cruz are to be freed and taken directly to your jet, where you will leave the country and not return.”
“A woman just tried to kill me in the cell,” Justine said in a shaky voice. “What the hell’s going on here, Commandant? Where are the Harlows? Do you know? Are you part of a conspiracy? Covering up Leona Casa Madre’s murder too? Trying to have me killed?”
Gomez turned nasty. “I am part of no conspiracy, señora, and I most certainly did not try to have you killed. The cells are the cells. We cannot control what happens in them. Leona Casa Madre, for your information, let notorious members of a drug cartel use her apartment from time to time. It’s the only reason she could afford the place, pigsty that it was, drunk that she was.
“And I have personally checked out these lies about the Harlows. Both supposed ‘witnesses’ told me they made their stories up, trying to get some US publication to pay them to describe things that did not happen. Now, you have a phone call waiting inside. And I will personally investigate this attack on you. I assure you.”
“I’ll bet you will,” Justine said. “Where is Carla? The woman who attacked me?”
“You have a phone call waiting inside, señora,” Gomez said again, stoic, gesturing toward the clinic, where Justine saw Arturo Fox coming in another door. A nurse was holding a cell phone toward her.
Justine felt disgusted, degraded. “What cartel?” she asked the commandant. “What drug cartel was Leona in with?”
Gomez hesitated, said, “De la Vega. Beyond that I have no answers.”
Justine glared at him, then held out her cuffs. The commandant thrust his chin at one of her guards, who unlocked them. She walked into the clinic, ignored the blood all over her, and snatched the cell phone from the nurse without another glance at Gomez.
“Justine,” she said.
Jack said, “You don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice.”
Given the weight of all that had happened to her in the last twenty minutes, Justine burst into tears. “Some crazy woman tried to kill me in here.”
Stunned silence. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
Justine could hear pain and guilt in Jack’s voice as plain as day, did not understand it, said, “I’m okay. Cut a few places and my jaw doesn’t feel right. But I’m okay. How did you find us?”
“Long story,” Jack said. “Took a few calls to our office in Mexico City. Calderón pulled some levers and we popped you.”
“We’re not backing off this, I hope you know,” she said.
“I’m not,” Jack said. “But I need you here ASAP.”
“No, Jack, this has gotten personal—”
Jack cut her off. “Last night Dave Sanders was contacted by the kidnappers. They say they’re letting the Harlow children go. I need you here to examine and evaluate them. We’ll be getting instructions in six hours.”
“I’ll be there in four, maybe five,” she promised. “Where are you?”
“UCLA Medical Center,” he said, the pain palpable now.
“What’s happened?” she demanded.
“It’s Rick, Justine,” Jack said. “He’s hurt real bad. Can’t feel his legs. He’s in surgery right now.”
Chapter 49