Badlands (7 page)

He hung up before Sandoval could reply. The men Shane worked for had financial and political motivations. They’d take Sandoval’s money, but they also wanted a different puppet in the White House. It didn’t matter to Shane. He couldn’t care less about politics. He’d been chosen for this job because of his connection to Owen.

Climbing behind the wheel, he continued a few more miles to a parking garage. He had a getaway vehicle stashed here. He’d kept it secret from the other guys. It was always good to have a solo escape plan. Although he’d recruited everyone on the crew except Roach, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t double-cross them.

Shane cleaned his prints off the cell phone and gave it to Gardener. “Take Brett to a hospital in Mexico. Before you cross the border, make a phone call. Dial a number from a billboard, any random number. Hang up when they answer. Then wipe the phone and ditch it in a trash can.”

Gardener stared at him in disbelief. There were three glossy, purplish knobs on his forehead. He reminded Shane of the dead fish on Salton Sea Beach. They washed up in stinking piles, their eyes foggy and jaws gaping open.

“You got that?”

Gardener nodded, accepting the phone. Shane made him repeat the instructions twice. “How long should we stay in Mexico?”

“Until you get word to come back.”

Dirk shook his head in protest. “Brett can’t get operated on by a border doctor, man. They’ll cut off his foot with a rusty knife.”

Shane doubted it, but he didn’t really care.

“We can find a hospital in Arizona and say he shot himself.”

Even in Arizona, people asked questions. Who were you with, what were you doing. All it took was one slip, and Brett wasn’t a practiced liar. Unlike him. “They’re going to Mexico. Boss’s orders.”

“How the hell are we getting back to camp?”

“I have a backup vehicle parked here.”

Dirk swore under his breath. He said a tearful goodbye to Brett while Shane gathered his belongings and got out. They stood and watched the SUV drive south, toward the border crossing in Calexico.

“This is fucked up,” Dirk said.

“Yes.”

“You should have sent me into the cave instead of him.”

That might have ended more violently. Dirk had no finesse with guns or women. “It was a simple task.”

“Yeah? You didn’t tell anyone your brother was a psycho.”

Shane had to admit he’d underestimated Owen. He’d always seen his little brother as skinny and weak. Gentle but ineffectual, like their mother. As a child, Owen had felt sorry for the dying fish on the shore, throwing them back in to the toxic sea. Once he’d tried to save an egret that got stuck in the mud.

He was...sensitive.

Shane had assumed that Owen landed the cushy security job because of his connection to the candidate’s daughter, not because he was a qualified badass.

“My mistake,” he said with a hint of admiration. “It never occurred to me that he’d fight back in these circumstances.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t think he had the balls.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

P
ENNY
KNEW
WHAT
Owen had done.

She’d held her hands over Cruz’s ears in anticipation of the gunshot blast, and had kept them there to muffle the screams.

She understood why he’d done it, too. A medical emergency was a serious diversion, affording them better opportunity to escape. These men would exact a bloody revenge on Owen if they got the chance, but she didn’t blame him for taking the risk. She knew he’d do anything to protect her and Cruz.

Owen seemed troubled by his actions, his brow furrowed and his mouth drawn. She longed to put her arms around him, but she doubted he’d take comfort in her embrace. He would hold himself at a distance, as always.

They fled the scene in a rush, traveling on a footpath that zigzagged across the mountain of dried mud. Owen kept his shoulders low, seeming to expect gunfire to erupt at any moment. The sun bore down on them like an oppressive force. It burned the top of her scalp and sucked the moisture from her lips. She could feel the heat of the earth through the soles of her stolen boots. The dry air singed her lungs, and it was only midmorning. She was walking in an oven. Cruz couldn’t keep up.

Owen carried him for about a mile. When they reached a shady spot in an adjacent canyon, he stopped, looking back the way they’d come.

“Do you think they’re following us?” Penny asked.

“I don’t see anyone.”

She sat down on a rock next to Cruz, offering him water. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes half-lidded. He gulped the drink, but his normal excitability was gone. As soon as his thirst was slaked, he slumped against her, drowsy. His forehead felt cool against her palm, which was a good sign. Cruz wasn’t used to this much strenuous activity, and he’d only slept six or seven hours the night before. He needed a nap.

“What now?” she said, passing the canteen to Owen.

He took a judicious sip. “We have to keep moving. There’s a spring near here. It might be a puddle this time of year, but I think it’s our best bet.”

“Why? The water won’t be safe to drink.”

“We can use it to cool down, though. Higher ground is easier to defend, and I can see someone coming from far away. The palm trees also give off plenty of shade. It’s a good place to rest until the sun sets.”

“Then what?”

“There’s an old railroad a few miles south. It leads to the 8 Freeway.”

“The 8 Freeway,” she repeated, cracking a smile. He had a history with the 8. After escaping the earthquake rubble, he’d ridden a BMX along that route until he’d found some National Guardsmen.

He didn’t smile back at her. “If we walk all night, we might get there. If not, we’ll rest during the day and try again.”

“We’ll run out of water today,” she said, lifting the half-empty canteen.

“Maybe not. There are water stations every ten miles or so.”

“Water stations?”

“This is a popular border crossing area.”

She’d heard of people traveling from Mexico through the desert on foot. Now she could better imagine the difficulty. Before setting out again, they made some gear adjustments. She took off her boots to rewrap her feet. The scraps of fabric kept getting bunched up, and several blisters were starting to form. When she winced at the tender spots on her heels, Owen removed his socks and gave them to her.

“Won’t your feet hurt?”

“Not as much as yours.”

His basic black oxfords looked well-worn and comfortable, so she accepted his socks. The combination of soft cotton and stuffed toes felt much better. She applied ChapStick to her lips and face, doing the same for Cruz.

“Want some?” she asked Owen. “It has SPF 15.”

He put it on like war paint, two slashes across his cheeks and one on his nose.

They needed more protection from the sun, so she examined the fishing vest, deciding it could be made into hats. At her request, Owen cut the sturdy, sand-colored fabric into two sections. Penny put one of the squares on Cruz’s head and secured it with a strip from her skirt. Then she gave the other section to Owen.

“What about you?”

“I’ve got something else.”

Taking the knife from him, she cut away another layer of her skirt, making a veil that covered her head and bare shoulders. Owen used his belt as a hatband. Soon they were all outfitted desert-sheikh style.

“You look like a shepherd,” Cruz said to Owen.

Owen smiled, picking up a long stick to use as a staff. “So do you. Let’s herd your mother up this hill.”

Cruz grabbed his own stick, enjoying the game. She allowed herself to be “herded” for a few minutes before letting Owen take the lead. The hike was strenuous, and the temperature seemed to climb with the altitude. Cruz soldiered on. He walked behind Owen, mimicking his gait and matching his stride.

About an hour later, his strength was sapped. So was hers. They’d eaten nothing today, after a grueling trek last night. It was blazing hot, well over one hundred degrees, and dry as a bone. When Cruz dropped his stick out of fatigue, she lifted him into her arms. Black spots danced behind her eyes, and the world tilted.

She set him down quickly, fearing a fall.

Owen turned to study her with concern. His gaze traveled across the landscape before returning to her. “Okay now?”

Her vision cleared, but she didn’t know how long it would last. “Yes.”

“You want a horsey ride, Cruz?”

He nodded, climbing on Owen’s back. Penny took the lead again, after drinking a few more sips of water. She trudged forward, putting one foot in front of the other. Owen encouraged her to move at her own pace. He kept saying they were almost there.

Almost there.

Almost there.

And then they were. She saw the circle of palm trees in the distance, the fresh green fronds and shady allure. It smelled like wet leaves and mud. If she wasn’t so dehydrated, she might have wept at the sight.

The “oasis” was no fantasy paradise. It was a shallow, rocky pool about six feet wide, surrounded by towering palms. Palm fans littered the ground, their stems arched and spiky, like dinosaur backbones.

Owen let Cruz down, groaning as if his muscles ached. He took the fabric off his head and raked a hand through his short hair. Cruz did the same.

She approached the edge of the pool with Cruz. “You can’t drink it.”

“Why not?”

“It might have bugs.”

He flopped down on his belly and stuck his arms in the water, which was murky and moss-green. Making a frog noise, he hopped his hand along the surface, retreating into the safety of his imagination. He needed both rest and playtime, like all children.

Penny sat down next to him, her muscles aching. She removed her scarf and swished it around in the pool. When the cloth was soaked, she wrapped it around her head. Cool water streamed down her face and neck.

Heaven.

Owen investigated a wooden barrel that was stuck between two tree trunks. “Sometimes people put extra supplies here.” As he opened the cask, his eyes widened with delight. He took out a sack containing three small water bottles, a can of apple juice, three boxes of raisins, and six dried sausage sticks. “Thank you, Boy Scouts of America.”

“How do you know it was them?”

“They signed the notebook.”

Penny accepted the goodies, her stomach growling. She tore open the sausage packet for Cruz and handed it to him. Then she bit into hers. “Oh, my God,” she said, chewing rapturously. “This is so good.”

Owen grinned, watching her eat with pleasure. The three of them wolfed down the sausage sticks and moved on to the raisins.

“Mmm,” she said, gobbling them up. “I don’t even like raisins.”

“I don’t, either.”

They laughed as if raisins were hilarious as well as delicious. Even Cruz ate a handful. Penny let him drink all of the juice, figuring that he could use the electrolytes. She wasn’t full afterward, but she felt better.

Cruz took off his shoes and waded into the water. Penny followed suit, removing her boots and socks with a wince. She sank her aching feet into the sandy mud at the bottom, wiggling her toes. “You might have to carry me tonight.”

“Whatever it takes,” Owen said. Instead of joining them, he went to the edge of the trees to keep watch.

Cruz splashed around until his clothes were soaked. The pool wasn’t deep enough to submerge fully, so he stretched out on his back and tried to float. Penny dipped her scarf into the water and used it like a washcloth, sponging her arms. The air was so hot and dry, even in the shade. The cool trickle was a revelation against her dusty skin. She didn’t protest when Cruz used a palm stem to ladle water over her head.

Owen made a bed of loose palm fronds, snapping off the sharp stems and tossing them aside. Refreshed, Cruz started helping him. He dragged a half-dozen more fronds over to Owen. Soon they’d built a soft place to rest.

“Try it out, Mommy.”

She stood, wringing the excess water from her hair. When Owen averted his gaze from her body, she looked down. Her dress was almost indecent. The wet fabric clung to her like tissue paper, revealing everything. But it wasn’t as if she was naked underneath. Her bra and panties covered as much as a bikini.

Crawling on to the pile of leaves, she declared it comfortable. “We should take a nap.”

Cruz settled in next to Penny and closed his eyes. Too warm to snuggle, she simply stroked his damp hair, smoothing it away from his forehead until he drifted off. He was a quick, deep sleeper. She waited beside him for a few minutes to make sure he stayed down. While they rested, Owen kicked off his shoes and climbed into the pool. She watched with interest as he knelt in the water and removed his shirt, keeping his back to her. He still had the clover tattoo, among others. His shoulders looked wider, his muscles harder. His ink-sleeved arms flexed as he dunked the shirt in the pool, soaking the fabric.

To her disappointment, he didn’t linger. He put his shirt back on and stood, dripping. Rolling his pant legs up to his knees, he returned to his guard post.

Penny looked up at the swaying trees, filled with a mixture of peace and dread. They were alive. For now, they were safe. But they had a long way to go before this was over. She didn’t know if they’d make it.

She reminded herself that she’d survived a worse situation during the San Diego earthquake. But what were the odds that she’d get lucky again? How many chances did people have in life? How many hours before time ran out?

Inching away from Cruz, she sat up and studied his precious face. It satisfied her soul to see him sleeping comfortably, lost in dreamland. Maybe because she’d spent so many nights rocking him as an infant, taking care of his illnesses, singing him lullabies. Heart aching, she leaned in to kiss his cheek. It was still baby-soft.

She rose and tiptoed away to find Owen. He was nearby, sitting under a tree with his back to a flat rock. He had a pair of binoculars.

“Where’d you get those?”

“In the barrel. A bird-watcher probably lost them.”

She examined the trail they’d ascended. It had taken them all morning to hike up here, and she could see far into the distance, even without binoculars.

“You should lie down,” he said, not looking at her.

“So should you.”

“I can’t.”

She sank down beside him and turned her face to the breeze. Although warm, it felt pleasant now that she was wet. “Where did you shoot him?”

“In the foot.”

“Will he die?”

“Not from the wound.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted him to elaborate. “What about the man I hit over the head?”

“What about him?”

“Is he okay?”

His blue eyes slid to hers. “Did he touch you?”

“No.”

He let the binoculars drop, resting his arm on a bent knee. “He’s fine.”

There was a faint reddish band around his neck—strangulation marks, in addition to the old tattoo scar. She thought back to the disturbing scene by the campfire. The leader seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. It occurred to her that he looked like Owen. “Who are they?”

He didn’t answer.

“You know them, don’t you?”

“I only know one.”

“Which one?”

“My brother. Shane.”

“He’s the man who choked you?”

He inclined his head.

Penny recoiled in shock. Owen hadn’t told her much about his family. She was aware that he’d grown up near here. His brother was a convicted killer. Their sibling relationship added weight to all of the decisions he’d made so far. Owen had chosen Penny and Cruz over Shane. “When did he get out of jail?”

“Prison,” he corrected. “Last month.”

“Did you see him?”

“No.” He kicked at the dirt, making a sound of frustration. “I never suspected he’d do anything like this.”

“Why would you? It’s not your fault.”