Badlands (23 page)

“He’s fine. His cheek is bruised, but I don’t think he really understands what happened. He’s been asking for you, of course, and he had a nightmare last night. He told me stories about trains and trestles.”

“It was an adventure for him,” she said. “He didn’t see the killings.”

“That’s good.”

“Are the police coming?”

“I hope so,” he said, glancing up at the sky.

“They know you’re here?”

“On the sea, yes. Where on the sea, no. They were following me, and trying to keep a low profile.”

“What should we do?”

He inspected the boat for damage. “It will sink faster if we get in.”

Swimming next to her father, she peered inside the craft. Water was seeping through the holes in the bottom, filling the hull. “Can we swim to shore?”

“If we have to.”

She looked around, wondering which way to go. There was nothing but flat blue sea in every direction. And the water was so toxic. Saltier than the Pacific Ocean, saltier than Baja California’s Mar de Cortez.

“They picked up Owen’s mother at LAX.”

“Oh?”

“She was very cooperative.”

“You met her?”

“Yes. She said she’d voted for me in the primary.”

Penny could only imagine the disappointment her father felt at being forced to end his candidacy. Shane and his crew hadn’t just stolen his money and peace of mind. They’d taken away his lifetime dream. He’d been so close to the White House, he could taste it.

“Can you reenter the election?”

“No,” he said, staring across the sea. “I wouldn’t risk it anyway, but candidates aren’t allowed to drop out and reenter at any point. No one has ever withdrawn
after
receiving the party nomination. I made history.”

Not the way he’d planned. “I’m sorry.”

“Así es la vida,”
he said with a shrug.
That’s life
.

“Who will replace you?”

“Wendell,” he said, naming the GOP runner-up, rather than his VP pick.

“The Freedom Party favorite.”

“Yes.”

“Owen thinks they’re behind this.”

“The FBI might agree with him.”

Penny fell silent. She’d had mixed feelings about the campaign, but this fight wasn’t fair. If the Freedom Party had ties to the Aryan Brotherhood, the whole thing had ugly racial undertones. She hadn’t wanted her father to lose because his skin was brown, or because he’d refused to bow down to extremists.

Bastards.

A helicopter flew overhead, causing the water to ripple, and the sinking boat to sway. They both waved their arms at the pilot, who waved back. Penny almost expected a ladder to drop from the sky, but an air rescue wasn’t necessary. Within minutes, a boat from the San Diego Department of Fish and Wildlife came to collect them.

Penny asked about Owen as she climbed the ladder, but the men aboard didn’t have any information. It was a quick ride to the shore, where a team of security guards and law enforcement personnel waited.

As soon as she stepped on land, a pair of special agents introduced themselves. They separated Penny from Jorge and proceeded to interrogate her as if she’d masterminded her own kidnapping. Apparently, they’d found security camera footage of her kissing Owen backstage. Both agents seemed to have developed a negative opinion of him, based on his criminal history and family connections.

“Just tell me if he’s alive,” she said, exhausted by their questions. “Please.”

“He’s alive. He’s being treated at the hospital in El Centro.”

“For what?”

“A broken hand.”

She almost wept with relief. Owen was okay. As soon as they checked out her story, he’d be cleared of wrongdoing.

Wouldn’t he?

Before this experience, she’d had faith in the system. She’d believed in justice and fairness and the American Dream. But, if the bad guys could fix an election, they could also frame an innocent man.

Especially one who didn’t look so innocent, on record.

* * *

O
WEN
ASKED
ABOUT
P
ENNY
again on the way to the station, his tension rising.

Hours passed before he got an answer, a hot meal and a thorough medical exam. Penny and her father were fine. Owen had broken one of the bones in his right hand. When he made a fist, the outermost knuckle disappeared.

At El Centro Medical Center, a technician X-rayed his hand, confirming the break. A doctor reset the bone and taped the knuckle to its neighbor. Owen wouldn’t regain full use of his right hand for several weeks.

He considered himself lucky to have sustained only minor injuries. His knuckles throbbed, his jaw hurt like hell and his face was pulverized, but he’d be all right. Compared to Shane, he was in good shape. When Owen was finally allowed a phone call, he dialed his mother to deliver the bad news.

She’d wept silently on the other end, devastated. “Do you want me to come get you?”

“I don’t think I’m free to go, Mom.”

“Why not?”

Because there was a uniformed officer sitting in a chair outside, guarding the door of his hospital room. “They have some more questions to ask me,” he said. Promising to call her back in a few hours, he hung up.

Moments later, Jorge Sandoval paid him a visit. He was alone, wearing the wrinkled clothes he’d removed earlier. His face seemed to have aged four years in the past four days. Even before the kidnapping, stress from the campaign had worn him down.

“How are you?” he asked Owen, his dark eyes watchful.

“How’s Penny?”

“Alive, thanks to you. She went home to Cruz.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Owen nodded, already uneasy with this sentiment. Sandoval made him uncomfortable. Penny’s father had never treated him like an equal. Why should he? Owen was a convicted felon with an unfortunate history and an uncertain future. There was no need to pretend they were on the same level. But the way Sandoval looked at him now was different. He seemed to respect Owen as a significant threat.

“The police are investigating to see if your story checks out.”

“I told the truth, so it should.”

“We still have a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“The details of the case will be kept confidential, for your protection. But the media will publish some of your personal information, including your mug shot.”

Owen should have figured as much. He didn’t think he had to worry about the Aryan Brotherhood coming after him, though. Even if someone recognized his name and photo, he wasn’t going to be working for Sandoval anymore.

The campaign was over.

“The story is too big to bury. There will be widespread speculation about you and Penny, especially if you’re seen in public together. They’ll say she has Stockholm syndrome.”

Owen clenched his jaw. “I’m not a kidnapper.”

“You have a criminal record.”

“You knew that when you hired me.”

Mouth twisting, Sandoval continued, “It’s no secret that my daughter has become fond of you. You’re a hero to her, climbing out of the rubble after the San Diego earthquake, rescuing her and Cruz from...scum. You’re either very brave, or very stupid.”

Although Owen had said the same thing to Janelle earlier today, he didn’t like hearing it as an insult.

“It would be foolish to read too much into anything Penny has done or said over the course of this ordeal. She’s a victim, having a natural response to a terrifying situation. Her emotions are running high.”

Owen didn’t bother to dispute him.

“Do you really think you’re the best she can do?”

“It’s
her
decision.”

“And she needs time to sort things out. Keep your distance and I’ll give you that letter of recommendation you asked for.”

“The letter you already promised?”

“It was conditional. I’m assuming you violated the physical-contact stipulation, but I’m willing to let that slide.”

Owen resented Sandoval’s attempts to keep him and Penny apart. Before the kidnapping, he hadn’t felt worthy of her. Now he was willing to fight anyone for her—even her father. He’d rather walk away without the letter of recommendation than walk away from her. He didn’t need Sandoval’s approval; he only wanted Penny’s heart.

“In return for your discretion, I’ll sing your praises to the authorities,” Sandoval said. “I’ll make sure they treat you and your mother well.”

“My mother?”

“She’s an accessory to the kidnapping. Instead of calling the police, she put my grandson in a taxicab.”

He flushed with anger. “My brother was responsible for that, not her.”

“I don’t think it will be necessary to press charges.”

“As long as I cooperate,” Owen said flatly.

“Shall we shake on it?”

He hesitated before extending his left hand. “How long do I have to stay away from her?”

“A month.”

“After that, if she’s still interested, you’ll back off?”

“Of course.”

Damned snake-oil salesman. Owen shook his hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

One week later

“D
ROP
US
OFF
down the block, will you?”

Keshawn murmured an affirmative, circling around the funeral parlor in Brawley rather than parking out front. He’d apologized profusely for “failing Penny” during the kidnapping. She’d squeezed his shoulder and waved off his concerns. Owen hadn’t been able to prevent the attack, either.

The perpetrators were dead. It was done.

Although the investigation was ongoing, suspicions against Owen had eased. Law enforcement officers had found the two surviving crew members, Jerome Gardener and Brett Peters, in Mexico. Both men had corroborated Owen’s story. Brett’s gunshot wound was convincing evidence to Owen’s lack of cooperation with the kidnappers. Penny’s statements, as well as those from Shane’s ex-girlfriend, had helped exonerate him.

Her father’s money hadn’t been recovered. The man who’d killed Shane had disappeared without a trace. Police had lifted a partial set of fingerprints from the handgun he’d left behind, but they were unable to find a match. The burnt-out vehicle offered few clues, having been registered under a fake name.

The FBI was still looking into connections between the Aryan Brotherhood and the Freedom Party. The current GOP candidate, Wendell, had been exonerated, but he was falling way behind in the polls.

Thanks to leaked information about the case, the American public was more fascinated with the Sandoval family than ever. Owen’s mug shot had been widely circulated. The media had painted him as an unlikely hero, a reformed criminal who’d changed his ways.

Her father came out smelling like a rose, as well. His forced withdrawal was labeled a Grand Injustice, the antithesis of the American Dream. Even Democrats were outraged, and as quick as always to suspect racism within the Republican Party. Her father’s supporters had been chanting his name at Wendell’s rallies. The new candidate had called last night and invited her father to be his running mate.

He’d accepted.

Penny didn’t know if her father’s involvement would make a difference in the long run, but she’d be glad to see his name on the ticket.

She climbed out of the limo with Cruz, holding his hand. It had been a long drive, and he was restless. Maybe he was too young to understand death or attend the ceremony, but he’d begged to come along. He hadn’t seen Owen since the kidnapping.

Neither had Penny.

She also couldn’t bear to part with Cruz for the entire day. When she’d returned from the Salton Sea, she’d hugged him close, weeping. He’d started kindergarten last week. She was feeling a touch of separation anxiety.

Keshawn stayed with the car while Penny walked down the sidewalk, her heels clicking with each step. She’d taken pains with her appearance despite the weather. She hoped her silk blouse and linen skirt wouldn’t wilt in the heat.

A woman drove by in a car with what appeared to be a garbage bag taped over the window. She glanced at Penny and the limo before turning into the funeral home parking lot. So much for her incognito entrance. None of the other attendees lived a life of luxury, and Penny hadn’t wanted to rub her wealth in their faces. She’d have driven herself, but her father had insisted that someone accompany her for safety reasons. It was either Keshawn or a bodyguard. She’d picked Keshawn.

The woman with the broken window entered the funeral home at the same time as Penny and Cruz. She had a lanky, sullen boy with her. He had a mop of brown hair and familiar blue eyes. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, ill-fitting trousers and a crooked tie. His mother was only a few inches taller than him.

“You must be Jamie,” Penny said.

The boy looked from her to Cruz. “Who are you?”

“I’m Penny and this is Cruz.”

“Janelle,” his mother said, extending her slim hand. She was pretty and petite, with dark hair and freckles. Big sunglasses hid half her face.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Penny said.

With a curt nod, Janelle ushered Jamie inside. Her black minidress and wedge sandals showed off a slender figure. There was a tattoo on her left ankle.

Penny followed her inside, where she waited to sign the guest book. Owen was standing with his mother nearby, greeting people. He was wearing a gray suit with a striped tie. There was a faded bruise on his jaw, and his right hand was taped.

Cruz wiggled away from Penny and went running to Owen. It was rude, but Owen didn’t seem to mind. He lifted Cruz up and hugged him.

“Do you want to sign?” Janelle asked her son.

Jamie tore his gaze away from Owen and Cruz. While he scrawled his name, Penny stepped out of line to retrieve Cruz.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay.”

“My father sends his regards.”

Owen set Cruz back down without comment, his eyes traveling up her body. He looked tall and stoic and breathtakingly handsome. They’d spoken on the phone a few times this week, but their stilted conversations had left her feeling melancholy. He’d been staying at his mother’s house, handling the funeral arrangements. She was torn between wanting to comfort him and giving him time to grieve.

This wasn’t the place to discuss their relationship, so she kissed his taut cheek, murmured hello to his mother and tugged Cruz into the main parlor.

To her relief, the casket was closed. A childhood photograph of Owen and Shane had been blown up and put on display. The boys were about six and nine, grinning at the camera. They were both suntanned and towheaded, wearing shorts on the Salton Sea beach. Shane held up a large fish on a line.

Penny studied it for a moment, not recognizing this boy in the troubled man who’d pushed her off a boat.

The ceremony was brief, full of vague praise and empty platitudes. Like the photograph, it didn’t fit. She sympathized with Owen’s mother, wondering if she held the opposite perspective. Perhaps she was mourning the smiling boy on the beach, not the hardened criminal her son had become.

After the service, they went to the cemetery for the burial. Penny offered Sally and Owen a ride in her limo. When they accepted, she extended the invitation to Janelle. It seemed appropriate to include her and Jamie.

At Brawley Cemetery, they stood by the plot to watch the casket get lowered. Owen’s mother put some flowers on top. Owen added a shovelful of dirt. Janelle used her hand, letting the soft dirt fall through her fingertips. Then she dusted off her palms in an unconscious “good riddance” gesture.

For his turn, Jamie picked up a hard clod and pitched it at the casket like a baseball. The angry, frustrated action brought tears to Penny’s eyes. Jamie looked around with a rebellious expression, as if expecting to be chastised.

No one said a word.

The crowd milled about the cemetery for another thirty minutes while Owen’s mother accepted condolences. Cruz ran around, climbing trees and letting off steam. He seemed to want to play with Jamie, who ignored him.

Penny walked toward a family vault, sensing a human presence. Janelle was crouched down behind it, cigarette in hand.

“Who are you hiding from?”

“The law.”

“I think it’s still legal to smoke outdoors in California.”

“Is it?” She squinted one eye as she lit up. “I can’t keep track.”

Penny could see Cruz playing with one of his action figures in the shade of an oak tree. About ten feet away, Jamie picked up an old bouquet from a grave site and drop-kicked it. The arrangement flew high into the air.

“Your son is very...athletic.”

Janelle followed her gaze. “He’s angry with me. He didn’t know Shane had been released from prison. I’d refused to let him visit.”

“Seems like that was a good decision.”

“Yeah, well. He doesn’t agree.”

“I’m sorry.”

Janelle shrugged, taking another drag of her cigarette.

Penny wanted to ask her how she was coping, not just with her son’s feelings, but with her own response to the traumatic experience. The topic seemed too intrusive for complete strangers, however.

“Where’s your entourage?” Janelle asked.

“Entourage?”

“Paparazzi, bodyguards...”

“I have Keshawn,” Penny said, gesturing toward the limo driver. “Photographers don’t usually follow me around. They just show up for big public events. This is a private ceremony, and it’s a long drive from L.A.”

Janelle blew out a puff of smoke. “Are you and Owen dating?”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No.”

“We’re sort of on hold,” Penny admitted.

“What are you waiting for?”

“He lost his brother. He’s distraught.”

“So, comfort him.”

Penny glanced across the grounds, where Owen was standing with his mother. After the kidnapping, she’d made a vow to start living for herself. To tell Owen how she felt. But the idea of taking the next step scared her, even after everything they’d been through. He was so guarded. If she declared her love to him, he might bolt.

“Seduce him,” Janelle said, being more specific.

Penny perked up at this suggestion. She could do that. “Okay.”

Janelle laughed, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Nothing. You two are cute. Clueless, but cute.”

Her cheeks heated at the mild criticism. Penny might be sheltered and inexperienced, but she wasn’t a complete innocent. She knew Owen wanted her as much as she wanted him. His desire would be easy to stoke. They didn’t have to
talk
.

Janelle stubbed out her cigarette. “Just don’t let him get away. Guys like Owen are one in a million. Believe me, I know.”

* * *

O
WEN
WATCHED
P
ENNY
APPROACH
, his heart racing.

He’d known her for years, but he was still knocked out by her beauty. Surprised by it, as if she didn’t always look good. Today she looked especially good, with her pinned-up hair and body-hugging skirt.

He couldn’t help staring, even at his brother’s funeral. His mother noticed and squeezed his arm before she walked away.

Penny flashed a nervous smile, her eyes wandering across the breadth of his shoulders. “You clean up nice.”

He smoothed his tie, self-conscious. “So do you.”

“How’s your hand?”

“Better,” he said, glancing at his taped knuckles. For the first few days, he couldn’t even close his fist.

“When are you coming back to L.A.?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Can I see you?”

An image of their bodies entwined in the shower sprang to mind. “Sure,” he said, her father’s warning buried under a barrage of hot memories. He couldn’t say no to Penny. With a flutter of her eyelashes or a nervous lip-nibble, she turned him into mush.

“I’ll come over to your place,” she said. “Unless you want to meet somewhere.”

Meet somewhere, for the love of God, or you’ll be on top of her the second she walks through the door
. “My place is fine.”

“Great,” she said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We can talk.”

Talking was a good idea. He should probably tell her about her father’s latest scheme. Now that a week had gone by, he wasn’t as worried about the arrest threats. He still needed the letter of recommendation, but not if it meant giving up Penny.

One of his weird uncles interrupted them, so she said goodbye and walked away. When Owen unglued his eyes from the back of her skirt, he caught sight of Janelle in the distance. She gave him a suggestive okay sign, indicating that Penny was prime stuff. Neck warming, he tried to focus on his uncle’s condolences.

“Thanks for coming,” Owen said, patting the man’s shoulder.

He’d promised Janelle he would talk to Jamie, so he headed in the boy’s direction. Cruz was playing under a tree while Jamie threw rocks at grave markers. He had a damned good arm. When Cruz saw Owen, he ran toward him, his shirttails flapping.

Smiling, Owen ruffled the little boy’s hair.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Cruz said.

“Thanks, bud.”

“Are you sad?”

“Yes.”

“Like when your dad died?”

Owen nodded, although this situation was far more difficult. His father’s death had been a relief in many ways. His brother’s was not. Shane had only been twenty-nine, and he’d left behind a son who deserved better.

Jamie continued to throw rocks, his mouth tense.

Cruz followed his gaze. “Is that boy sad?”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Was your brother a good dad?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

Cruz turned back to Owen, solemn.

“How’s kindergarten?”

“I like it.”

“Is your teacher nice?”