The Wrong Hostage Read Online Free PDF

the firm and ask for Ted?”
    Why lean on me and make me afraid for my son?
    But she didn’t say that aloud. Her Kazakh grandmother had been very clear on that point—never show fear.
    “Oh, I’ve tried many times,” Calderón said with a rueful smile.
    Thick blue smoke swirled around the interior of the vehicle.
    Grace put on her courtroom face, the one that wouldn’t notice the smell of sewage if it was shoved up her nose.
    Calderón glanced over toward a group of men who stood beyond his bodyguards. He took another deep puff on the cigar. The tip glowed hot and red.
    She realized that he was nervous.
    Not good. Not at all good. She didn’t want to know what it took to frighten a man of Calderón’s wealth and power.
    “You called me down here to talk about Lane,” she said. “Ted isn’t necessary for that.”
    Then she snapped on the ignition switch and ran down every window in the SUV. Cigar smoke had made her hurl when she was pregnant. She didn’t like it much better now.
    Calderón drew hard on the cigar and blew a plume of smoke toward the windshield. “I’m sorry. I didn’t make myself clear. There are some aspects of your son’s welfare that only Ted can address.”
    Grace’s heart hammered hard beneath her ribs. “Then speak clearly now. Why is one of Ted’s oldest friends and his most important businessassociate threatening me?”
    Calderón looked at her, surprised. “Threatening?”
    She gestured toward the armed men. “Telling me to come here among all the men with guns. They weren’t here before.”
    “The guards? They’re just a precaution. Some very wealthy people send their sons to All Saints. Unfortunately, in Mexico there are kidnapping and other security issues that rarely trouble American parents.”
    “Interesting, I’m sure,” she said evenly, “but what does that have to do with Ted?”
    And Lane .
    “Since Ted is the parent who signed Lane into All Saints,” Calderón said, “the people who run the school asked me to contact Ted.”
    “I’m as much a custodial parent as Ted is. Either of us can speak for Lane’s welfare.”
    “Custodial. Such a nice term, a legal term, one that sounds good in your American courtroom. But the legal system isn’t quite the same here in Mexico. Other, more realistic considerations hold here.”
    “Are you saying that I can’t speak for my son’s interests in Mexico?”
    Calderón blew smoke. “At this moment, no. Only Ted may do so.”
    “In that case I’m taking Lane out of All Saints right now. When you find Ted, you can have a long talk with him about custodial parents.”
    “Taking Lane with you isn’t possible,” Calderón said, refusing to meet her glance. “Because Ted signed the papers admitting Lane, only Ted can remove him.” Calderón threw her a quick, nervous smile. “So now you understand the importance of bringing Ted here, yes?”
    Sweat gathered along Grace’s spine. She’d seen that kind of anxious smile before, in the barrio, when young vatos curried favor with gang leaders. At that instant she understood that Carlos Calderón, a very, very powerful man in Baja California and all of Mexico, was acting as someone else’s messenger boy.
    Someone violent enough to make Calderón nervous.
    Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Will I never get free of the gutter? Grace asked silently.
    She’d spent her adult life forgetting the gutter, ignoring it, not looking back, climbing high and fast to a place where the air was clean and the nights were safe and women didn’t have to be arm candy to be allowedinto the halls of power.
    “Carlos.” Grace’s voice was quiet and calm, that of a judge presiding over her court. “Are you telling me that Lane is a prisoner here and only Ted can set him free?”
    Calderón looked out at the field, where the referee had just blown the whistle, stopping play. Then he looked toward Grace without meeting her eyes.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t the way I would prefer to