Page 95 of Billion-Dollar Ransom

CASSANDRA BART’S SPANISH was just good enough for her to translate the words of an underling (she assumed he was an underling, based on his cautious tone) to his boss: “Ellos pagaron el dinero.”

They paid the money.

Oh, thank God, she thought. Maybe this would all be over soon. She couldn’t wait to be back home in her apartment, where she would shower for two days straight and then call her manager and instruct him never to say the name Tyler Schraeder to her ever again.

Or maybe she wouldn’t spend another night in LA.

Her sleepy Texas hometown sounded pretty great right now.

If someone had told her that the road to Hollywood involved forcible detention, torture, gunfire, and mass explosions, she would have happily stayed in the bed of that truck watching the stars in the sky.

“What did they say?” she heard Tyler whisper. She couldn’t see him because they’d blindfolded her again. “Cass?”

“I don’t know,” she lied.

“They paid the ransom, right? I heard the word dinero .”

“Shh,” she replied. “Let me listen.”

“I knew my father wouldn’t leave me dangling,” Tyler said, relief in his voice. “I mean, I’m never going to hear the end of it, but whatever. The important thing is that we’re going to be back home and safe very soon.”

Their captors were chattering even more excitedly now; something was happening. Cass tried hard to tune out Tyler’s nervous patter so she could focus on their words, but she was able to pick up only snatches of conversation. Sounded as if their captors were arguing.

No, I want to do it. It should be me. You promised this to me.

I promised you part of the money. Not this.

I’m better at this. What if you screw it up?

You can see to the girl.

Oh, I like the girl.

Or something along those lines. Why on earth would they be arguing if they’d just received their share of ransom? Their cut, it seemed, was something like a million dinero .

“Stay with me, Cass,” Tyler said. “This will all be over s—”

Then came the thundering explosions that nearly knocked Cass out of her chair.

Blam!

Blam!

Blam!

She could smell smoke and pennies. She couldn’t see a thing because of the blindfold, and now her hearing was gone too, thanks to the three explosions.

Deep down, she knew why Tyler had just stopped talking.

But Cass refused to accept it. This was not how it went in the movies, and movies reflected real life, or were supposed to. Hence, this could not be happening.

But Tyler did not say another word.

Nor would he, ever.

Cass stayed in this dark cocoon of denial for a long time, even as they untied her wrists and ankles and carried her to another chair, which turned out to be the passenger seat of a vehicle.

A safety belt crossed her chest and clicked down near her hip.

The blindfold was removed, but Cass didn’t dare open her eyes even when the vehicle began to move and she felt fresh air on her cheeks.

Eventually, someone began speaking to her in English.

“Miss Bart, please open your eyes,” a man’s voice said. “We are almost there.”

No, thank you. Opening her eyes meant accepting what had just happened, and she was not ready for that yet.

“I assure you, Miss Bart, you are in no danger,” the man continued. His accent was heavy. “I am just a driver. I am here to take you home.”

Home . That was the magic word that unlocked her paralysis. Did she have a prayer of seeing home again?

Cass opened her eyes and saw dawn beginning to creep over the horizon. She was on a Mexican highway, approaching the Cross Border Xpress pedestrian bridge. Her driver hadn’t been lying—on the other side was home. Or San Diego, anyway.

“I have all of your papers right here,” the driver said. “Your passport and entry permit from the Instituto Nacional de Migración. It has been already filled out, for your convenience.”

Cass remembered this border crossing. In happier, more carefree times, she loved to come down with fellow actors to Rosarito Beach, where nobody recognized them (or were polite enough to pretend they didn’t) and they could drink salted margaritas, act as stupid as they wanted, and make fun of the other tourists doing the same thing.

“I am sorry I cannot escort you across,” the driver said. “I would very much have liked to spend time with you, maybe ride the trolley up to the city. Today is going to be a beautiful day and… well, this is embarrassing to admit, but I’m a very huge fan.”