Pray for Death E-Book

James Hilton

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

A heart-pounding thriller for fans of Lee Child, Matt Hilton and James Hilton.EVEN PRAYER WON'T SAVE THEM NOWBrothers Danny and Clay Gunn were brought up an ocean apart. Both served in the military, and both know how to kill, taking work as private military contractors and freelance "fixers".Celine Chavez is the closest thing to a daughter that Clay Gunn has. But now she has disappeared while vacationing in Mexico. Clay and his brother Danny must venture into the ultra-violent criminal underworld to bring her home. From the bright lights of Cancún to a living nightmare in the wildest jungles of the Yucatán, the Gunn brothers face the direst of enemies yet.One thing is for sure: if they survive, the Gunn brothers will never be the same again.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

Cover

Available from James Hilton and Titan Books

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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Acknowledgements

About the Author

Available from James Hilton and Titan Books

Search and Destroy

Fight or Die

Pray for Death

Pray for Death

Print edition ISBN: 9781783294909

E-book edition ISBN: 9781783294916

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: October 2018

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

© 2018 James Hilton. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

This one is for my Wendy, as always

1

She passed him by without so much as a second glance.

Stuck-up bitch.

The corners of Frank Bradshaw’s mouth twitched into a smile of cruel anticipation. He had been watching Chrissie Haims for weeks, each day moving closer to this point. It was inevitable. She was his.

He had tried to be nice.

Yet where had that got him?

Nowhere.

She’d flashed him the briefest of smiles two days earlier as he held open the door to Starbucks, her face showing not the faintest glimmer of recognition. She had not even paused for a second in the flow of conversation, cell phone nestled on her shoulder. A slight nod of her head as she hurried past him, leaving the coffee shop with an extra-large skinny latte. She bought the same coffee from the same shop every day on her way to work. Walked the same route. Caught the same bus home. She never noticed him. But he noticed her, oh yes, and then some.

Chrissie Haims was beautiful—her skin the colour of milky coffee, her face a perfect oval, her body toned and tight from the hours of Pilates she taught at the gym. Frank was sure the skintight exercise suits she wore in the classes were for his benefit alone.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Teasing him, taunting him.

Look at what I’ve got…

You want it, don’t you?

Don’t you?

“Yes!” Frank’s voice was barely above a dry whisper.

She lived in a modest single-storey clapperboard house, just three blocks over from Frank’s own Coral Gables home. An easy journey. He had followed her home several times, always just out of the line of her haughty gaze. He’d watched her through the windows as she pottered around her house. The clothes she wore indoors were a stark contrast to her teasing Lycra bodysuits. Big and baggy sweats, shapeless and dull. Further proof to Frank that the revealing gym gear was all for show.

Look at me, I’m perfect. Too good for the likes of you!

Did she even know he existed?

Yes, she knew. She teased him, thrusting and gyrating her ass at him through the plate-glass windows of the gym every day. Frank knew exactly what she was doing. He knew exactly why she was doing it.

“You can look but you can’t touch.” Frank startled himself by voicing his thoughts out loud. A nervous giggle escaped his throat. He pulled his backpack open, slow and smooth. “But today I will touch.”

A shape moved past one of the side windows. There she was. Mooching around the apartment. Baggy grey sweats, auburn hair piled high on her head. Thick white face cream slathered over her features like some housewife from a vintage sitcom. She’s in for a real wake-up call.

Frank approached the front door. Fingers trembling, he pulled out a key. He had followed Chrissie Haims back to her home several times, each time growing bolder, each time getting a little closer. A week earlier he had watched her leave for work, then he’d found the spare key hidden under a stone by the door. It was a simple task to have it copied at the nearby strip mall, returning the original back to its supposed hiding place within the hour.

For a moment, he feared she had discovered his subterfuge and changed the locks. The breath caught in his throat as the key slid home. The door swung open on silent hinges. He moved inside, crouching like a sprinter on the blocks as he listened to the sounds of the house. The floor was cool to his touch through the disposable latex gloves he wore. His tongue flicked across his lips as he inhaled the aromas of the house. Coffee, flowers just a little past their best, a sweet perfume. He had been at the store when she had bought it.

As he moved through the house, staying low, an electric tingle rolled the length of his spine. The sound of the television greeted him as he pushed gently on the kitchen door, a jingle from a commercial.

The syringe that he drew from his bag felt comfortable in his hand. This wasn’t the first time he had used it. The generous mix of fentanyl and ketamine would drop her in seconds. She would be out cold until he injected her again with a powerful stimulant. That’s when the real fun would begin.

Frank listened. Her bare feet padded on the hardwood floor. She was in the living room.

Swish. Swishhh. The sound of curtains being drawn.

Too late, little piggy, the big bad wolf is already inside.

Frank crept along the hall, his hand brushing the wall with the faintest pressure. The living-room door was open, light from the television flickering an abstract pattern on the wall.

Readying himself for a quick dash into the room, Frank raised the hypodermic. She had her back to him. Tonight, she would pay dearly for her fleeting smiles and cruel teasing. He closed upon Chrissie Haims.

2

A tree branch whipped across the young man’s face, drawing blood and sending him stumbling to the ground. He landed in an untidy heap on the hard-packed dirt, losing his remaining shoe as he fell. A shock wave of pain ran up his spine.

The girl running ahead of him turned, a desperate sob catching in her throat. “Dean!”

The young man waved his hand frantically. “Keep going. I’m right behind you.”

Fear encompassed every inch of her face. She looked back and forth, searching the trees for the danger that was close behind. The leafy canopy overhead shielded most of the burning sun, but here and there daggers of bright light illuminated the dirt and dead foliage below with an almost theatrical intensity. Vines spread from tree to tree, intersecting at ground level like the veins of a colossal creature. Fiddlewood and mahogany trees stretched impassive, tall and proud like cyclopean gods.

Dean’s voice was a dry rasp. “Run!”

He knew Ellen could do it. She regularly ran track and was part of the school swim team. Despite that, her legs visibly shuddered with each faltering step. Bile rose in the back of his throat.

A chunk of tree bark pinwheeled as a bullet passed close to Ellen’s head. She ran.

Dean struggled to his feet and followed her as best he could. His bare legs were caked with dried blood and dirt. He was naked save for a pair of grubby boxer shorts. Two raised welts ran in diagonal lines across his shoulders, forming an oversized X.

Crack, crack, crack.

Another short rattle of bullets cut through the trees to either side of his path. He risked a backward glance. Indistinct shadows flitted from tree to tree, visible for a second, then gone again. Ellen was sprinting, head bent, arms and legs pumping like an automaton. Her ash-blond hair and pale skin gave her an almost ethereal look as she dodged between the trees.

Dean knew he was in no way as fit as he could have been. While the other guys from his school had readied themselves for spring break by hitting the gym, he had laughed it off as pointless vanity. He had been running for less than half a mile and already he had vomited his meagre breakfast. His legs felt like they were slowly turning to stone, his muscles seizing. His chest burned as he sucked in huge gulps of air. The pain in his side was horrendous. He hadn’t had a stitch since he was in junior high.

A new ripple of fear coursed through his body. He couldn’t see Ellen. Where the hell had she gone? Then a flash of pale skin caught his eye. She was moving at a clip. Had she changed direction?

A man stepped from behind the tree some thirty feet to his left. His face was marked by green and brown camouflage paint; his white hair, spiked into tufts, stood out in contrast. The man raised his crossbow and in one smooth action pulled the trigger.

Dean howled in shock as the bolt lodged deep in his shoulder. He forced himself to continue running despite the agony, but he was stumbling like a drunkard. Blood seeped between his fingers as he cupped his injured shoulder. The flights of the crossbow bolt were the colour of a raven’s feather. Behind him he could hear the shooter laughing.

“Hab dich! Hab dich! I got you!”

Dean staggered on. The German was one of the worst.

A new voice came to him. It took long seconds to realise it was his own.

“Don’t look back. Just keep running. Don’t look back. Just keep running.”

He repeated the mantra over and over as he lurched spasmodically from tree to tree. Cold sweat beaded over his face, stinging his eyes. Then he was on a path. A narrow path, but one that at least provided a clear line through the trees. “Don’t look back. Just keep running. Don’t look back. Just keep running.”

The new pain struck him like a punch from a karate master. He could not scream. His lungs would not let him. Another bolt must have struck him in his back. The blood bubbled from his mouth as he turned to look at his killer.

The German.

He didn’t even know the bastard’s name.

The camouflaged killer raised his stubby weapon high in the air and laughed aloud.

Dean fell to his knees. Another five men materialised out of nowhere, like ghosts. A brief exchange of words ended with the German pointing in the direction that Ellen had taken. The other men set off again in rapid pursuit, their camouflage clothing and greasepaint blending with the jungle perfectly. They were lost from sight within a few seconds.

Dean’s vision was dimming, dark spots dancing before his eyes. He knew he was dying. Tears ran down his dirt-streaked face.

The German stood over him, crossbow loose in his grasp, laughing softly. He placed a boot on Dean’s belly, almost as if he was posing for a picture. Dean struggled to free himself from beneath the man’s boot, the last vestiges of his strength almost spent. The German increased the pressure slightly, pinning him down.

A short burst of automatic gunfire echoed through the trees. A woman’s choked scream rang out. Then a single shot.

“Ellen…” He couldn’t say more. The blood filled his mouth as he died.

3

Chrissie Haims had her back to him. Tonight, she would pay dearly for the weeks of fleeting smiles and her cruel teasing. Frank raised the hypodermic syringe level with his shoulder and stepped into the room. He had done this before… step in close, inject her with the sleepy juice. She would be out for at least an hour. More than enough time to get everything ready.

Frank held his breath as he reached for the back of her neck.

Then she did something that caught him completely off guard. In one smooth motion she pivoted, squatting almost to the floor, and raised both hands. The cylindrical pistol she held spat only once.

Frank staggered back, staring in surprise at the dart protruding from his chest.

Chrissie Haims stood up. Had she been that tall earlier?

The drug flooded his system. His own syringe was plucked unceremoniously from his rapidly numbing fingers. Chrissie pulled at her hair. The bushy auburn wig fell to the floor, now resembling roadkill.

“No!” Frank’s legs folded beneath him. He stared up at the woman… who wasn’t a woman at all! Under that cream mask was a thin, battle-hardened face.

“Hello, Frank!” The voice was cold and laced with a thick Scottish accent. “I bet you’re not exactly thrilled to be on the receiving end for a change.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Just think of me as a very concerned citizen.” The Scotsman’s smile was devoid of humour. “Neighbourhood Watch on steroids, that kind of thing.”

Frank tried to pull the dart from his chest, but his hands succeeded only in tracing lazy circles in front of his stomach. They seemed to weigh more than the rest of his body combined.

“But enough about me, Frankie-boy. Let’s talk about you. Francis Charles Bradshaw, single, works at Miami Parks and Recreation. Assaulted your first victim aged seventeen.”

“I… I was never charged.”

“Because the girl was too scared or too ashamed to press charges.” The Scotsman began to remove the thick layer of moisturising cream from his face, deception complete. “Attacked another four women in the last five years. You don’t get to do that anymore. You’re careful, I’ll give you that. You’ve never been arrested. Cautioned only once. What we call a ‘sneaky bastard’ back home. But not careful enough. All of you sickos are the same; you’re so intent on watching your victims you never notice if you are being watched.”

Frank was no coward. If he could keep this guy talking long enough for the paralytic to wear off, he might have a chance. “I wasn’t going to kill her.”

“What? Just drug and rape her? That’s okay, then, is it?”

“I love her. I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Frank. Let’s take a wee look-see in your goodie bag. Maybe that will shed some light on your noble and purely romantic intentions.” The man peered into the backpack. “Duct tape. Condoms. Rope. Hunting knife. And another syringe full of something bad. I know a murder kit when I see one.”

“So, what now, big shot? You some Batman wannabe? You gonna kill me in cold blood, or doesn’t your code of ethics allow that?” Frank’s vision had dimmed at the edges, his voice beginning to slur. Biting the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood, he fought against the effects of the sedative.

“I’m no hero, so you can forget that, and my code of ethics don’t extend to streaks of shite like you.”

“You’re full of crap. If you were gonna kill me, you would have just shot me.” Frank’s voice was getting louder with each word.

The Scotsman slowly shook his head. “Gunshot wounds leave a mess. Leave evidence. This way’s… neater. No one will ever know what became of you, and I don’t think you’ll be missed by many, either.”

Spittle flew as Frank tried to sit up. “Fucking do it, then, if you’ve got the balls! Or I’m gonna kill y—”

The Scotsman snapped out his right foot in a blur of motion, catching Frank full in the throat. As Frank fell back, choking, the Scotsman looked on with a cold detachment.

Frank’s eyes bulged as he strained to take another breath through his crushed windpipe. His heels rapped against the floor in a steady beat as he slowly asphyxiated, choking on his own blood.

4

Danny Gunn sat on the arm of the settee and looked around the room. The house was typical working-class Miami, neat and clean. He liked Coral Gables. The houses here were a mixed bag, some large and luxurious, others small and homely. Chrissie Haims’ abode was simple yet stylish. The walls were painted a pale shade of yellow; the furniture was all high quality. No dust bunnies to be found hiding beneath the couch in this house. Danny rubbed the chenille fabric of a throw pillow between his thumb and forefinger as Frank Bradshaw was racked by a final spasm.

A brief childhood memory of making snow angels flitted into Danny’s mind, dying at the same time as Frank’s final motions. Danny finished removing the cold cream from his face, then picked up his cell phone from the teak table.

Chrissie answered on the second ring. “Danny?”

“Aye, it’s me.”

“Did he come to the house like you said he would?” Her voice was quiet and conspiratorial, her words laced with a nervous tone.

“He did.”

Chrissie made a sharp intake of breath. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Chrissie. Don’t worry, he won’t bother you anymore.”

“I can’t believe it. I didn’t even realise he was stalking me until I met you at the gym, but once you pointed him out I saw him at least half a dozen times in the next two days.”

“Aye, and he was getting closer and closer. He had the shark eyes on. I knew what he was up to, knew what he was building up to. I’m just sad that I was right.”

“What did you do to him? Do I need to call the cops?”

“No! No cops. I told you that this was strictly off the books. Guys like him wriggle and squirm their way out of things. They make a deal, inform on someone else, shit like that. Then he would be back out on the streets.”

“Did he have a gun?”

“Chrissie, it’s best if you don’t know the details. Just sleep easy tonight knowing that he’ll never bother you again. He’s gone from Miami for good.”

“But what if he comes back, starts stalking me again?”

“He won’t. He’s taking a boat across the River Styx as we speak.”

“I don’t know where that is,” replied Chrissie.

The corners of Danny’s mouth twitched into the briefest of smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Just know he’s gone.”

“Can I come home now?”

Danny looked down at the vacant gaze of the corpse in front of him, then at the roll of thick plastic sheeting that sat ready behind the couch. “Give me another hour or so. I’ll call you again.”

“Okay. I don’t know how to thank you!”

“Well, I still need more work with those kettle bells.”

Danny smiled again as she gave a nervous laugh. He liked her laugh. Liked it a lot.

“I think I can help you with that.”

He looked down at the increased definition of his forearm muscles. “Gotta love those kettle bells. I’ll give you a call in a wee while, then you can come home.”

5

Clay Gunn’s closest neighbour lived a little short of three miles away and that suited him just fine. While by no means anti-social, he preferred his privacy on a day-to-day basis. The city of Austin was less than an hour away, an easy drive on a long straight road. More than enough people there if he sought conversation. But his house, standing at the centre of his modest patch of land, was his current destination. Home.

Clay guided his bike down the driveway, the light from the twin halogens illuminating his home in a blue-tinged splendour. The Harley-Davidson 1200 Custom was the latest addition to his collection. Another four bikes sat inside, one of his few perceptible indulgences. Clay embraced anything with an engine: bikes, cars, his oversized Winnebago and, more recently, jet-skis and powerboats.

Clay smiled at the sight of home. He had been on the road for over a month. The house was surrounded by an adobe-clad wall, framing the perimeter enough to provide comfortable areas of shade when the Texan sun was proving its most determined. The grounds were pristine and surprisingly green, albeit populated with the hardier plants that favoured the Texan climate. Sebastian Chavez worked tirelessly to keep what he called mini-ZilkerLand in good order. The genuine Zilker Botanical Gardens in the centre of Austin were a thing of true natural beauty, a place he knew Sebastian never tired of visiting.

The Harley announced his approach with the low-pitched rumble from its engine. Shadows from the trees and bushes within the garden danced and lengthened as they were briefly illuminated. Sebastian and Salma Chavez lived in the large house all year round, groundsman and housekeeper. They lived in their own section of the house, into which Clay seldom ventured, though while Clay was away on one of his many extended road trips they had the full run of the place. He hadn’t let them know of his return, but he hoped there’d be something on the stove. His mouth watered at the thought of one of Selma’s spicy pot stickers and herb-rich mashed potatoes.

The garage interior was pristine. Not so much as an oil spot on the floor. His other motorcycles were parked in a diagonal pattern, each road-ready and perfectly maintained. Two cars sat alongside the bikes. A Nissan Armada SUV used for everyday tasks stood next to a fully restored 1974 Dodge Charger. The SUV looked like an army utility vehicle next to the bright orange muscle car. The garage smelled of wax, the vehicles gleaming. Sebastian had been busy. Clay parked the Harley in its slot and, hefting his travel bag onto his back, went inside.

The familiar coolness was a balm to his sun-kissed skin. The house was quiet. He glanced at his watch, raising his eyebrows. Nearly eight in the evening. Strange there was no pot bubbling in the kitchen. Salma was a creature of habit.

He knocked on the door that separated Salma and Sebastian’s quarters from the main house. When the door opened, Sebastian had dark rings below his eyes, which told of more than one sleepless night.

“Hello, Clay. Welcome back.” Sebastian’s wan smile carried none of its usual enthusiasm. His hair looked unkempt, which was out of character, and even more telling was the thick growth of stubble that darkened his jaw.

Clay frowned. “Everything okay, buddy?”

Sebastian’s Adam’s apple bobbed before he answered. “No, my friend.”

“What’s going on? Is Salma okay?”

“It’s not Salma. It’s Celine.”

“Little Celine? What’s happened?”

Sebastian rubbed his palms on the front of his plain cotton shirt, as if not sure what else to do with his hands. “You’d better come through. Salma is on the phone to the police in Cancún.”

Clay walked behind his friend, a sense of dread growing in his stomach. Although Celine had turned eighteen a few months earlier, she was still a child to him. It seemed only yesterday she had been a kid in elementary school. One day it was braces and pigtails, now she was on her first spring break in Mexico.

Salma slammed the phone back into its cradle. Her cheeks were flushed red, her eyes puffy. The frustration in her voice cut across the room like a knife. She slumped onto the couch, a sob caught in her throat. “They tell me nothing. ‘Don’t worry. Don’t worry.’ How can they tell me not to worry? Celine should have been home over a week ago. The police down there are worse than useless.” Her voice took on a patronising tone. “‘Don’t worry. It’s not unusual for a young woman to choose to stay a bit longer than planned. Maybe she found a boyfriend.’”

“Have you heard anything from her at all?”

“The last we heard from her was on Monday. They were all going on a trip to see the pyramids.”

Clay pulled up a wooden stool and sat down. “We all know Celine would have called if she had met a guy, and would definitely have called if she had decided to stay an extra week.” The feeling of dread crept further into Clay’s stomach, a sense of dread he kept from his voice. “What about the people she went with? Have they come home?”

“No. She flew down with three others, two girls and a boy from school. None of them have returned. We should never have let her go. I knew something bad was going to happen to her. She’s still a little girl, my little girl.” Tears rolled unchecked down Salma’s face.

Sebastian lowered his head.

“Have the other parents had any word?” asked Clay.

“We didn’t even know where two of her friends lived. What kind of parents does that make us? She went all the way to Cancún with those kids and we didn’t even know their parents’ phone numbers.” Sebastian’s expression was frozen in misery. “We had to call Marco’s parents to find out.”

Anger flashed again across Salma’s face. “But that’s not the worst thing. We couldn’t even fly down there to look for her.”

“But I can,” Clay said. “I’ll fly down first thing in the morning. Do you know which hotel she was staying in?”

Salma handed him a sheet of paper, the ink near its edges smudged with thumbprints. The details on the page were written in Celine’s handwriting, smooth and uniform. The page contained the name and telephone number of the hotel: the Mayan Fiesta. Below were the names of her travel buddies. Their telephone numbers had been added in blocked numbers that held none of Celine’s delicate penmanship.

The telephone numbers of the hotel and the police station had been underscored with an angry hand.

6

Chrissie Haims smiled at Danny, a single bead of sweat tracing a slow path down her face. “Feel’s good inside, right?”

“Damn good. But I don’t know how long I can last, I haven’t done this for quite a while.”

Chrissie rolled her hips in slow concentric circles. Danny did his best to match her rhythm. His body shuddered and he let out a sign of resignation. He was done.

“Wimp,” teased Chrissie. She held the pose for another ten seconds then slowly stood up straight. She used the motion of a deep lunge to place the kettle bell on the floor.

“Damn, you’re good. I’ve been doing martial arts since I was a kid and I still can’t match you.”

“Different skill set, that’s all. You know I do cardio kickboxing twice a week, but I couldn’t step into the ring with a real fighter. I’d get my ass handed to me in a minute.”

“That doesn’t help my ego. I’m glad my brother isn’t around to see this. I’d never live it down.”

Chrissie clasped her hands to her chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d lost a brother.”

Danny rolled into a sitting position, laughing. “Oh no, he’s not dead. It’s worse than that. He’s in Texas.” Danny crunched out twenty tight sit-ups and thrust his chin at Chrissie as he completed the set. “There!”

“Ah, the natural balance is restored in the macho universe.”

“I think so too.” Danny winked at his training partner. Chrissie had made good on her promise. She had worked with him relentlessly in the week since he had resolved the problem of her stalker. He had supplied no further details, other than that she had nothing more to worry about. “I feel fitter and stronger than I ever have.”

Chrissie punched him lightly on his shoulder. “Don’t look so bad now either.”

“Does that mean I looked shoddy before?”

“Just take a compliment when it’s offered.” She moved towards Danny, taking his hand in hers. “Seriously, though, thank you for getting that guy off my back.”

Danny brushed an errant strand of hair from her face. The kiss they shared was light, unhurried. The moment was interrupted by the ringtone of Danny’s phone. “I need to get this. It’s my un-dead Texan sibling.”

Chrissie smiled and waved her hand at the phone. She poured them both a glass of organic orange juice. The call lasted less than two minutes.

“You’re leaving?”

Danny nodded. “Aye. A friend of the family has gone missing. We need to go and look for her.”

Chrissie closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “When’re you leaving?”

“As soon as possible. Can I use your laptop to book a flight?”

A tear blossomed at the corner of Chrissie’s eye as she waved him toward her computer. Her shoulders slumped.

“Hey, this isn’t goodbye. I’ll come back and see you when this is done.”

“Yeah?” Her chin dimpled momentarily. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Danny again moved that defiant lock of hair. He pulled her close.

7

Cancún International Airport was bustling. Squawking tourists dragged overstuffed cases towards the motor coaches and shuttles ready to spirit them away to one of the countless hotels that dotted the famous beach resort. Clay shifted from foot to foot impatiently, glancing at the arrivals board again—Danny’s flight had already landed.

Clay had arrived two hours earlier, and had used the down time to study maps of Cancún, then the wider Yucatán peninsula, on his smartphone. Thousands of square miles of green with very few interconnecting roads. There was a lot of wild ground to get lost in.

A familiar voice sounded from behind him. “Time was I would never have been able to sneak up on you. You’re losing your edge, big brother.”

Clay shrugged and gave a mock grimace. “I once got bit on my ass by a horse tick. Didn’t see that coming either.”

“Ah, stop bellyachin’. That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten the drop on you.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better. What’s next? Should I buy a pipe and slippers?”

Danny thumped the side of his fist into the thickness of Clay’s chest. “Be quiet, ya big dope. Besides, I don’t think they make slippers to fit feet that big.”

The Gunn brothers grinned at each other like kids and shared a hug.

“How was Miami?” asked Clay, as he led Danny towards the nearest exit.

“Miami was great. I caught up with my reading and topped up my tan.”

“Told you you’d enjoy it. I’ll come with you next time. The Cuban sandwiches at Guido’s on South Beach are great.” Clay smacked his lips. “You hungry?”

“I guess I could eat something. The food on the plane amounted to a mini-pack of pretzels and a munchkin-sized orange juice.”

Clay grinned in delight. “There’s a Margaritaville over there. I hear they do a decent plate of nachos.”

As Clay devoured his nacho platter, Danny opted for the grilled vegetable sandwich. Clay eyed his brother’s choice with suspicion. “You still on your health kick?”

“Just trying to keep the cobwebs off.”

“Not my idea of fun but I have to admit it seems to be working for you. You look good, little brother.”

Danny nodded in agreement. “Feeling good.”

Clay scooped up cheese and sour cream with a fan-shaped wedge of nacho chips. “Thanks for coming down at short notice.”

“No problemo. Sebastian and Salma must be worried sick.”

“They’ve been turning in circles since she went missing. They couldn’t even come down here themselves. If they found Celine, they wouldn’t be able to bring her home.”

“How’s that work?” asked Danny.

“Sebastian and Salma are illegal. They hopped the border twenty-five years ago.”

“I didn’t realise. So, Celine’s legal?”

“Yeah, a born-and-raised American.”

“Bad news when a father can’t bring his daughter home safe. That must have sat sour with Sebastian.”

Clay cleaned his plate. “You got that right. They’re both grey with worry. They’ve been at each other’s throats all week.”

“Stress’ll do that, even to good people.” Danny wiped his hands clean with a napkin. “So how much do we know about Celine’s movements?”

“She came down here for spring break with three of her friends. They were staying at a place called the Mayan Fiesta. I’ve booked us in there too.”

“Good place to start. What about her friends?”

“Two other young women and one man. They’re missing too. Marco Kenner, Gillian Cole and Laura Troutman. They all go to the same school. The last thing Sebastian and Salma heard, they were going out to visit some Mayan ruins—you know, the pyramids and stuff. As far as we can tell, they never came back.”

“And what have the local authorities got to say? They been much help?”

“I think they must have read the Idiot’s Guide. ‘Nothing to worry about, kids do this sort of thing all the time, I’m sure they’ll show up when their money runs out.’” Clay clenched his teeth. “Lazy-assed police work if you ask me.”

“I hear that. There must be some good cops down here, though, they can’t all be polishing seats with their arses.”

Clay shrugged, scooping up the last of the sour cream as he answered. “No comment.”

* * *

“Looks like the party is still a-happening down here.” The faces that passed their rental car were young, smiling, carefree. “I was here twenty-odd years ago. Damn, that makes me sound old. Great party town. Looks like it’s grown a bit since I was last here.”

Clay didn’t answer.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find her,” said Danny.

“Yeah, but what kind of state will she be in? Cancún’s like most party towns: great on the main strip, but step two streets off it and you can end up deep in Crapsville.”

“Yeah, I hear that, big bro. What’re the chances of her being shacked up with a college jock? I know she’s a bright kid, but she wouldn’t be the first to lose her way to the love bug.”

“She would have called home. Besides, her three friends haven’t come home either. No way they all took the cupid potion.”

Danny rubbed his thumb under his nose. “What about another kind of potion?”

“Nah, Celine is part of the school anti-drug programme. She wouldn’t touch that shit, no way.”

“You sure?”

“I’m very sure.”

“Okay. That’s the common-sense stuff out of the way. You think they fell foul of one of the gangs down here?”

“I thought that it might be a kidnap job. But there’s been no ransom call, no demands.”

Danny took a deep breath. “That still leaves a few options.”

“Yeah, none of them good.”

“Aye, I hear that. Clay, I know Celine’s like family to you. This might not have a happy ending.”

A low growl rumbled in Clay’s chest. “She’s the closest thing I’ve got to a daughter. I’m gonna find her and bring her home.”

“I’m with you every step of the way. We might just have to go a bit easier than normal. The outfits down here are the real deal.”

“I’ll kill every last one of them if they’ve hurt her.”

“That’s the thing, Clay, we need to find out who they are first.”

A group of tourists, dressed in board shorts and baggy T-shirts, jumped as Clay sounded the horn. They scuttled to the side of the road. The closest of them began to flip the bird. Clay glowered back at him. The bird retreated into its nest.

“I forgot what a sunny disposition you have when you’re travelling,” Danny deadpanned.

“Bunch of assholes. They don’t even know how to cross a road properly.”

Danny rubbed the back of his hand across his face. “They’re just kids on holiday, Clay. They’re not the ones we’re here to sort out.”

Clay grunted in agreement, but gave the young men another sour look in the rear-view mirror before turning his attention back to the road ahead.

“We’ll drop our stuff at the hotel and then start asking questions. A quick shit, shower and shave and I’ll be ready,” said Danny.

“Shit, shower and shave? Who said that, Socrates?”

“Aristotle Onassis.”

Danny rolled down the window, enjoying the sensation as the warm air hit his face. His skin was tanned dark from his time in Miami. He lowered his sunglasses as a woman dressed in a bright orange thong bikini strutted past the car. She too was tanned to a golden hue, and had curves in all the right places. She returned Danny’s gaze for a moment then looked away, evidently uninterested.

“She loves me, she loves me not,” laughed Danny.

“The fact that she’s twenty years younger than you might have something to do with it,” added Clay.

“I’m hardly an old man.”

“You’re probably the same age as her father.”

Danny gave a wry smirk. “Shut up, Clay. Since when did you become the voice of reason?”

Clay bared his teeth, which elicited another brief chuckle from Danny. He pointed to an ornate road sign. “Heads up, that’s us. Mayan Fiesta dead ahead.”

The towering building was a shrine to steel and smoked glass, stepped like the famous pyramids that dotted the Yucatán landscape. Manicured palm trees lined the entrance. A circular fountain sprayed water high, each droplet reflecting the sun in an undulating rainbow.

Danny looked around the grounds and gave a brief nod of approval. The sparkling waters of the Caribbean Sea lay to the east while the more sheltered Nichupté Lagoon separated the hotel zone from the mainland proper. Speedboats and catamarans vied for space in the lagoon harbour. The sound of carefree laughter drifted on the air. “Well, this is shiny.”

As Clay stopped the vehicle in front of the main lobby area, a uniformed valet opened the driver’s door.

“Welcome to the Mayan Fiesta Resort and Spa.” The young man flashed a genuine smile, his white teeth contrasting with his mocha skin and coal-black hair. “Do you require any assistance with your luggage?”

Clay towered over him as he got out of the car. “No thanks, we’re travelling light.”

Danny received a quizzical look from the valet. “Just one bag apiece. I think we’ll manage.”

“Sí señors, I understand. Travelling light.” He rolled the words around on his tongue as if trying them for the first time.

“Don’t park it too far away, we’ll be heading back out in a short while.”

He gave Clay a short salute. “I’ll keep it close by and ready for you, señor.”

Clay handed the young man a twenty. “You can stop with the señor thing. My name’s Clay. This is my brother Danny. I hope dollars are okay?”

The valet glanced between the two brothers and nodded. “My name is Giorgio and US dollars are very okay. If you need anything, anything at all, just give me a call. I know all the best bars, the best beaches.”

Danny liked the kid. He was bright and enthusiastic. “I think we might take you up on that.”

Giorgio slipped into the driver’s seat. “You know where I’ll be.”

* * *

Danny opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the balcony while he waited for Clay to finish showering. Sounds of music and laughter drifted up. Good sounds. Happy sounds. The pool deck below was populated by a multitude: holidaymakers lay stretched on sunloungers, while others splashed around in the water. A game of water polo was in full swing. Beyond the pool lay the ocean, the shade of blue a thing of true beauty.

There were two taps on the door. Danny answered promptly. The woman outside was short and wide with distinctive oval eyes. She wore a pale green uniform with the Mayan Fiesta logo embroidered on the upper left breast.

“Hola, señor. Is everything satisfactory with your room?”

Glancing at her name badge, Danny answered, “Yeah, everything looks great. Thanks, Geri.”

“I’ll be looking after your room for your stay. If you need any extra towels or anything like that, just call housekeeping.”

Danny thanked her again. Geri turned and moved back to the utility trolley stacked with soaps, towels and toilet rolls.

“Hey, Geri.”

She paused. “Sí, señor?”

“Did you hear anything about those college kids who went missing last week? Kinda crazy, wouldn’t you say?”

Geri looked up and down the hallway before answering. She stepped close to Danny, her lips contorting into an irregular pout. “Those kids are not the first to go missing. Between you and me, they won’t be the last.”

“Where’d they go?”

“I’m not sure. There are a few rumours going around.” She shrugged her rounded shoulders.

“Gangs?”

“Not the kind you mean.”

“So not cartels or street hustlers?”

“No, but they both cause a lot of trouble of their own.” Geri shook her head and puffed out her cheeks. “But no, this is something… different. But like I say, it’s only rumours.”

Dropping his voice and adding a little of his Scottish brogue, Danny said, “Well now, you’ve got me on a hook. What kind of rumours?”

“The hotel doesn’t like us talking about it, none of the hotels do. Bad for business…”

Danny inched closer. “I guess kids from the States going missing isn’t the kind of thing they would put in their brochures.”

“You got that right. All of the staff know about the missing kids; we hear the stories. But we have to work here, so…”

“I get it, Geri, but you can tell me. I love a good mystery.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Most of the ones that disappear go out into the jungle on day trips and don’t come back.”

“And what do you think happens to them? Kidnapped?”

Geri crossed herself before she answered. “El Diablo takes them.”