“That’s me.”
“You’ve been missing.”
Tears flooded her eyes. She hadn’t been sure she was going to make it out of Mexico until this very moment. “I’m back.”
He instructed her to pull forward into the secondary inspection area. Then she was escorted to an interrogation room. She had to pee really bad, but they wouldn’t let her go until a female officer appeared to search her. Caitlyn endured the indignity, squirming with discomfort.
After she used the restroom, she was given a tray of terrible food that she suspected was for detainees. Another hour passed. Finally two men entered the interrogation room. One was tall and lean, with a mustache and a bandage on his eyebrow. The other had dark eyes and silver-threaded hair. They were both handsome, but not in a way that put her at ease.
“Ms. Weiss? I’m Special Agent in Charge Mark LaGuardia and this is Special Agent Foster.”
She nodded hello.
“We just flew in from Nogales. We’ve been looking for you.”
“Here I am.”
“You were taken hostage by Armando Villarreal and forced to drive across the border.”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell us what happened?”
She told them about arriving at the house in Tijuana and being held against her will for over a week. When she mentioned Carlos and his extensive burn injuries, Special Agent Foster exchanged a glance with LaGuardia.
“The man told you his name was Carlos Moreno?” Foster asked.
“He introduced himself as Carlos.”
“Go on.”
She continued her story, concluding with this morning’s surprise release. They stared at her with inscrutable expressions. “You don’t believe me?”
“That’s not it,” LaGuardia said. “It’s just that Carlos Moreno had already been declared dead. I investigated the scene of the fire myself. Reliable witnesses saw him go inside the house before it blew up. The conditions weren’t survivable.”
“I see,” she said, reconsidering. “So the more plausible explanation is that a strange man set himself on fire to impersonate a drug lord?”
Foster arched a brow at LaGuardia. “That does seem far-fetched.”
“We’ll look into it,” LaGuardia said. “What else can you tell us about his condition?”
“He was improving, which surprised me.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’m a veterinarian, first of all. I have very little experience with burns and gunshot wounds, so I didn’t expect any miracle cures. He wasn’t a very good patient, either. He refused morphine and couldn’t sleep. He was in constant pain.”
“Did he have a head injury?”
“He might have. Smoke inhalation can prevent oxygen from getting to the brain. But he seemed sharp mentally. He said he wanted to die in the fire, so I don’t think it caused his depression. He continued to get better every day, sort of despite himself.”
LaGuardia leaned back in his chair, absorbing this information. “We found Armando Villarreal’s body in the Sonoran Desert yesterday.”
Caitlyn drew in a sharp breath. “What killed him?”
“Two bullets to the chest.”
She wasn’t sure he would have recovered from the previous gunshot wound. Which was ironic, because he had more will to live in his little finger than Carlos Moreno had in his entire body. “Did he save his daughter, by chance?”
