Right. I washed my hands and brought the toothbrush and toothpaste out to him. He put them in his duffel and then motioned for me to get behind him. Gun drawn, he slowly opened the door. Did he really think people would be waiting to get us, there in the middle of nowhere?
No one was. We got into our SUV and he started driving again, exactly like yesterday. At the rate he was going, this couldn’t last too long. We were headed west and eventually we’d hit the Pacific Ocean. Then maybe he’d have to stop and explain things to me.
Yesterday he’d pulled over and made a phone call. I didn’t know to who. He’d stood outside the car and talked where I couldn’t hear a word. It looked like he’d made another call after that, and then he’d thrown out the phone, right into a dumpster at the next gas station. He’d thrown it out like in a movie with drug dealers. And, of course, he hadn’t said a word to me about any of it.
Two could play that game. I wasn’t going to keep butting my head against a concrete wall. I could tell Dom wasn’t going to talk, not until he was good and ready. He’d taken away my phone and apparently thrown away his, so there was nothing to do but drive or sleep. Since the sun had yet to rise, sleep seemed like a good choice.
Eight and a half hours of dozing and pit stops and long stretches of road and silence later, we reached the border of Arizona. Four hours after that Dom finally punched an address into the GPS. About ten miles away, it looked like we’d finally be getting to our destination right outside Phoenix. The sun had set again already. Late December, we were in some of the darkest days of the year.
We pulled up at a gate and Dom entered a code. Large black iron doors swung open into a driveway leading to another set of gates at a manned gatehouse. Dom removed the key from the ignition and stepped out of the car to talk to him. Again, I couldn’t hear a thing, but after a couple of minutes he climbed back in, the second set of gates opened and we drove farther down a driveway lined by high concrete walls.
When we rounded a curve, I was surprised to see a large, adobe-style private home. From the security and the length of the approach, I’d assumed we’d be headed to an office building, maybe some kind of top-secret military operations. It sounded crazy, but Dom had told me he was in the army now and he was certainly acting like he was in a spy movie. But before me, palm trees and cacti framed the entrance of what looked like a private residence. A really nice one.
“All right. We’re here.” He parked in front of a huge garage. Stepping out, my legs ached. I’d been sitting in the same position for about 35 of the past 40 hours.
The side door was unlocked. We entered into a mudroom and then the kitchen. It was gorgeous, all whites and creams with arched doorways and exposed wooden beams. Decorative, colorful tiles and plates brightened up the room. The interior designer in me danced with joy. But mostly I felt tired, sore, and in desperate need of a hot shower and a decent meal.
“Where are we?” I knew it was outside Phoenix, but whose house were we in?
“This is a safe house.”
“A safe house? Like where the government puts someone if they’re testifying against the mafia? Or going into witness protection?” I’d seen that in movies. The bad guys always seemed to find them anyway. But I hoped that was just in the movies.
“Yes, sometimes. Or the other way around.” He strode through the kitchen and I followed him through a dining area with modern, minimalist furniture. He stopped in the front entry, a lofted ceiling above and polished cream stone on the floor below.
“The other way around?” I didn’t understand what he meant.
“A safe house can be where bad guys hide when they’re on the run.”
“Oh.” His tone implied I was a kid who needed things spelled out for me. But really, how was I supposed to know that this house was where a bad guy had lived? Maybe even a bunch of them, on the run from the law? And if this was a house for bad guys, why were we in it? Were we on the run from the law?
“I can see you have a bunch of questions, Gigi. And I will answer them. But right now I need to go talk to the team outside.”
“Team?” I hadn’t seen anyone but the guy at the gate.
“Why don’t you go explore the house? Take a shower. There’s supposed to be clothes in the master closet. You can change into something clean. And there should be food in the kitchen.”
He left out the front door, closing it firmly behind him. The man was a mystery wrapped in an enigma sealed in a riddle. Trying to get more information out of him would be an exercise in futility, so I looked around the house.
It was a big step up from the Nightmare Motel last night. I couldn’t believe I had actually fallen asleep on that bed. The lack of bedbugs was a minor miracle. This place looked spotless and new, like it might have been built within the last five years.
I started up the stairs, running my hand along the curving bannister. The earth-tones, tile, and sloping arches dividing each room had a distinctively southwest feel. I’d never spent much time in the area, just a couple of long weekend stays in resorts. It wasn’t too long a flight from Nashville to Tucson, especially if your friend’s father had a private plane to take you direct. But the feel of the home was new to me, airy yet sturdy and built to withstand desert heat. It was gigantic, with maybe five or six bedrooms. I headed toward the only upstairs room with two double doors, assuming it was the master suite.
I flicked on the light and found I was right. The master bedroom was a large room with little in it save a dresser and an absolutely enormous bed. It was a giant bed, a bed big enough for a man like Dom. And there’d still be room to share it with me.
I shoved that thought out of my head and walked over toward the master bath. Marble on marble, it had towels and all the toiletries I could want. I guessed they’d stocked up, for us or for some bad guy and his entourage I didn’t know. Maybe it was like a hotel for hiding people. I was new to this.
The shower felt heavenly. I took my time, then wrapped in a robe and padded barefoot over to the closet. Dom had said there would be clothes. Inside, I found that, technically, he was right.
Hanging in the closet there were about five skimpy, sexy dresses that cut low and ended high. A few pairs of stripper heels glittered from a shoe rack below. There had to be something slightly less Vegas showgirl I could wear around the house. These were the types of clothes a woman might wear for a wild night of clubbing if she definitely wanted to get lucky. Or, I guessed, what she might wear lounging around a safe house if she were the girlfriend of a bad guy.
I closed the closet door quickly. I couldn’t imagine walking downstairs in one of those dresses. Dom would think I was insane, or making a crazy pass at him. Turning to the dresser, I investigated. In the top drawer I found some skimpy bikinis. Down side: not a clothing option. Up side: the house must have a pool. The bottom drawer had a few bras and panties, the type that didn’t cover much at all. Apparently the last people who’d lived there had enjoyed themselves. They might have had to stay inside, but they’d kept the action going behind closed doors.
I closed the drawers and decided to put back on my sweater and jeans. I needed to talk to Dom and learn what was going on, not make him think I was trying to seduce him. Then maybe tomorrow I could buy some new clothes.
He did a double take when I walked into the kitchen, still in the same outfit. “You didn’t change?” He was standing at the stove frying some eggs. It smelled divine. Bread popped up in a toaster in the corner. I took out two plates.
“Nothing fit.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Nothing fit the mood or circumstance, that was absolutely true.
“We’ll find you something.” He beckoned me over and served the eggs with a spatula onto both plates. “Nothing fancy, but it’ll do.”
We sat at the kitchen island, both eating quickly. I rose and poured us glasses of water. He finished, then sat and watched me do the same.
“OK, Dom.” I pushed my plate away and crossed my arms over my chest. “Thank you for the food. Now tell me what the hell is going on?”
“It’s Kavanaugh Investors,” he explained. “How well did you know your father’s old COO?”
“Leonard?” I knew him well, and I’d never liked him. His eyes never warmed up and he was always scheming. “He stayed on for the first couple years after my father died. Then Colt fired him, I think last spring.”
“He did. But not before Leonard had worked out a few deals with some Columbian friends.” Dom told me what he knew, admitting there were some holes in his knowledge, too. Apparently Leonard had approached Colt a few times about getting involved in coffee exports. Colt had refused, but that hadn’t stopped him. He’d made the deals he’d wanted to anyway.
“I never liked Leonard,” I admitted. “I have no trouble believing he did that. I never understood why Colt kept him on as COO.”
“Your father asked him to.”
I nodded. That explained a lot. Each of us had felt a strong obligation to our father who’d done so much for us, especially Colt. He’d followed directly in our father’s footsteps, inheriting all the spoils of CEO after his passing. Apparently he’d inherited the problems as well.
“Your family’s company has been backing the expansion of a large coffee plantation and it’s upset one of the main families in Columbia, one of the most powerful cartels.”
“A cartel?” Weren’t cartels like gangs, only more powerful?
“Colt didn’t have time to give me all the details, but it sounds like there’s a boundary dispute, and some new construction on the coffee plantation drew unwanted attention to the area. One of the cartel’s top guys got gunned down. They’re blaming it on Kavanaugh Investors. They see your family’s company as having slowed their productivity, cut into profits, and made them lose one of their main guys.”