Page 33 of Shadow Games

“Yes, I speak English,” the woman said, her voice low and heavily accented. “Who is this?”

Rowan thought she sounded more than middle aged. Like a grandmother, or something. She had expected to talk to a man. “This is Rowan James, Ken Rockwell’s widow.”

“Ah, Mrs. James. You are a hard woman to pin down. We’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?” Rowan asked simply, holding Wyatt’s gaze.

The woman chuckled, her voice raspy. “I think you know why, Mrs. James. Your husband cost my family a very large amount of money.”

“That’s not my fault. I had no idea what he was into. What can I call you?”

“You may call me Abeula. That is allowed by me.”

Okay, the wording was a little odd, but… “Thank you, Abeula. And you may call me Rowan.”

“Gracias, Rowan. That is a unique name.”

“Thank you. How can we come to an understanding, Abeula?”

“Oh, that is easy, Chica. Return our property, undamaged. I send you condolences on the death of your husband, but he was, maybe, not so good.”

Rowan blinked and looked at Wyatt, her mouth dropping open comically. He blinked like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard either.

“Yes, he was a bad man, Abuela, and I’m having to clean up his messes.”

“I don’t know if I should tell you…” the woman paused. “It is dangerous to speak ill of the dead,” she murmured.

Rowan sighed. “You can tell me anything. I doubt it will shock me.”

“Eh, we’ll see,” she cackled. “Your husband proposed to my granddaughter.”

Rowan blinked, shock rolling through her in spite of what she’d told the woman. “I’m sorry, I lied. You did shock me. What?”

“Your husband asked for the hand of my granddaughter,” Abuela continued. “My son told him no, of course, but Mr. Rockwell was very persistent. So persistent that he convinced my granddaughter to elope with him. They left the compound in possession of a vital piece of our family history.”

“The necklace…” she murmured.

“Ah, so you do have it,” Abuela said, triumph in her voice. “That is good. Thank you for confirming that.”

“Yes, I have the necklace, but not your money or drugs.”

The older woman gave a snort. “I don’t care about any of that. Those can be replaced in a day’s time. The necklace can not. Let’s make a deal, Rowan, as they say on American TV.”

“What are your terms?”

“Your life for the necklace.”

Rowan had been lulled into thinking this woman was friendly, and level-headed and good. They’d been having a civil conversation. But those five words slammed into her, reminding her that she was probably talking to the mother of a cartel drug lord, used to having her way.

She must have paused too long, because Abuela called her name. “I will sweeten the deal,niña. I will give you Ken Rockwell’s possessions from the night he stole away with my granddaughter. There is a book I think you will find most interesting.”

Rowan gasped. “You have the logbook?”

“If that is what you are calling it. A black book. Every deal, every payoff. It’s all in here. With some carefully marked out information of ours, of course.”

“Hold on just a minute, Abuela.”

“Of course, dear.”

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