High Flying

by Kaylin McFarren

  She didn’t move.

  “Enough of this! Dónde estás? Where are you?”

  Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She heard him on the other side of the crates, moving around. Then he was gone. Her ears strained against the silence for any sudden movement, but there was nothing. She sat still, waiting for a sign that it was safe to come out. She needed to get to a phone and call Dylan—to tell him what was happening and that he might be in danger too.

  She let out a small breath and closed her eyes.

  “There you are!” Julian grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her out of hiding. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from crying out. “I told you to stop. Why didn’t you listen to me?” He pulled her up until she was nearly off the floor.

  Skylar stared into his face as he caressed her cheek with the barrel of his gun. She didn’t break eye contact—didn’t dare move an inch.

  The second man finally arrived. “Nice,” he said. “She’s still alive.”

  Julian huffed. “These gabachas…they care only about the money they make from…how do you say it? Table dancing?”

  Skylar cringed as Julian brought the gun tight against her temple. From the corner of her eye, she could see his finger touch the trigger. “Such a waste,” he said. “We could’ve had fun with this one, mi amigo. But like I told you, The Chaplain hates witnesses.”

  Skylar squeezed her eyes shut. Bang! The gun went off. When she realized she was still standing, she opened her eyes and saw Julian sprawled out on the floor, his gun next to him.

  His partner had shot him in the head!

  “Miss, can you hear me? Miss? It’s okay now. You’re going to be all right.” The shooter stepped closer to her, talking to her like she was a child.

  So much blood. Not since stumbling onto her mother’s body lying in the street had she seen so much blood. Julian’s brains were splattered over the boxes behind them and the pool of blood was steadily growing.

  In a daze, Skylar was led outside. The back door of the Navigator opened and a third man climbed out. He was tall with a thick dark beard. “How do you want to handle this?” he asked the shooter.

  “Call homicide. Tell them there’s going to be a briefing on the case in one hour.”

  Skylar’s mouth sagged. Briefing? What the hell? Was this guy a police officer?

  He placed his hand on Skylar’s shoulder, causing her to jump. “You can relax now. You’re safe.”

  Relax? This cop, if that’s what he really was, had shot someone right in front of her. And now he was expecting her to forget all about it?

  “Alex Barillas. Detective for the Nevada State Police.” He stuck out his hand and waited for her compliance. Then he pointed at the last guy to get out of the Lincoln Navigator. “My partner over there is Danny Diaz. I met you at the park where Mateo Gonzalez was arrested.”

  Skylar shook her head, trying to make sense of it all.

  Apparently, Barillas was trying to make sense of it too. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you get involved in this mess?”

  “I don’t know what happened,” she said. “I was just driving through town, doing nothing.” She pointed at the wrecked sedan with the dead guy inside. “That car rolled into the intersection. Then Julian pulled up and shot him twice. He chased me into a building and you shot him in the head.” She said it all in one breath without stopping. “That’s all I know.”

  Barillas rubbed his jaw. “You might get called in for questioning. But I wouldn’t stress over it.”

  Skylar glanced around her. “What just happened here?”

  “Well, the narcotics department has been investigating the Los Vitas cartel for two years. All our leads have been dead ends until I hooked up with Julian Delacruz. But now, it looks like I’m back to square one.” He was talking fast, making it hard to keep up. “About two hours ago, my team found the remains of one of our suspects. An informant who we’ve been working with for quite a while. The dead guy in the sedan over there took him out against his boss’s orders. And Delacruz…well, he thought he’d do him a real favor by eliminating the shooter.”

  “His…his boss?” Skylar could hardly breathe.

  “The Chaplain. All we know about him is that he’s always behind the scenes. He has a money laundering operation and controls drug shipments from Mexico. If we find him, our case is closed.” Barillas shook his head and looked physically exhausted. “After working undercover for four months, I was counting on Delacruz to lead us to him. But after Gonzalez was arrested, all he cared about was getting even with the woman responsible for jailing his cousin. And that’s you.” Barillas let loose a single, humorless laugh. “Lucky for us, your timing was spot on.”

  Skylar was at a loss for words. What was he expecting? An apology for living?

  A black car pulled up and another man, who looked like a detective, stepped out. Barillas snarled and yelled across the street, “Agent Brubeck, what makes you think you have any rights here? Last time our departments collaborated, it didn’t end well.” While he was walking over to them, Barillas turned to Skylar and whispered, “I hate that guy. His head is so far up his ass…”

  “I just got a call with news of a probable witness in regard to your current case,” Brubeck answered. “One of our informants placed him in the apartment complex on North Central.” Then he sarcastically added, “You know…penthouse…two guys…no eyes…”

  “As if I could forget,” Barillas replied. Then he looked at Skylar and shuddered dramatically.

  “I know,” Brubeck said. “Horrible way to go. Seems they were hoping to sell our witness to Alvarez because he was there when The Chaplain killed one of his men. But as luck would have it, the poor sap was hiding in the closet when it all went down.”

  “So who’s this witness?”

  He tapped his finger on the side of his head, as if trying to remember his name. “Edwards. Ethan Edwards…some airplane mechanic. He turned up in a flophouse this morning, beat up pretty bad. The guy with him was dead. We’re trying to ID him, but with his face burned off and no priors or fingerprints, he could be anyone.” Brubeck shrugged. “Anyway, Edwards is alive but still unconscious. We haven’t ruled him out as a suspect yet, but he doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “Hmm…sounds like I need to talk to your witness.”

  “He’s in the hospital. We’ve got a guard on him, not that it makes any difference. With his social network, Edwards hasn’t got long for this world.”

  Barillas snorted a laugh. “No surprise. Not with this twisted crew. Anyway, as soon as homicide gets here, I’m taking this gal to the hospital to get her checked out.” He nodded toward Skylar. “I’ll make sure she has a ride home, then I’ll give you a call.”

  Brubeck looked around. “What about this mess?”

  “My team should be arriving with the coroner any minute now. After they give the okay, the cars will be towed and locked up pending an investigation, of course.”

  “So, I guess you’re getting off scot-free again.”

  “I was protecting a witness, Brubeck. Just like you should have been. Which reminds me, isn’t there some place you need to be?”

  A door slammed, and Skylar flinched at the sudden noise.

  “You had quite a scare. Didn’t you, Miss…” Barillas waited for her to fill in her name.

  “Brennen,” she said quickly. “Skylar Brennen.”

  “Okay, Miss Brennen. We’re going get you out of here just as soon as possible.”

  She gnawed on the inside of her mouth, not knowing what to do or say. Then it occurred to her that Julian had called her by name. But how was that possible? “I never said who I was, so how did he know?”

  “Who’s that?” Barillas asked.

  “Julian. He knew my first name.”

  “He probably asked around…or heard someone say it.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. I don’t know anyone from around here. Only Dylan Haines and the cop who arrested Gonzalez know my
name.” Skylar turned to Barillas. “How well do you know him?” She nodded toward Diaz.

  “That cop?” The irritation in Barillas’ voice was apparent. “My partner and I have been working together for two years. We only broke cover on this case to save you, Miss Brennen. We’re not the bad guys here. But I can’t say the same thing about your friend Dylan. He’s up to his neck in it, and the only way he’s going to survive is by your willingness to cooperate with us.”

  Skylar just stared at him like it was some sort of sick joke. However, the look on the detective’s face confirmed it was true. Dylan was being watched by everyone. He was heading straight to prison, if he made it that far. And Ethan, well, he was half-dead and utterly useless. The work he needed to do on Dylan’s plane would never get done, which meant her father’s death would be imminent, if she didn’t agree.

  “You said…work together,” Skylar’s voice sounded hoarse in her ears.

  “Yes,” Barillas answered. “We’re fully aware of the situation and why Dylan Haines is involved. If you’re willing to help us identify The Chaplain, then we might be able to dismiss the drug smuggling charges against both of you.”

  “Both of us?”

  “That’s right.”

  Skylar was consumed with indignant anger. “But I’m not involved—”

  “Nothing gets missed or overlooked by my men. Especially when we’re dealing with the same people.” An ambulance and two black unmarked cars drove up. Within minutes, there were nearly a dozen police officers and medical personnel on the street and sidewalk, roping off the area and surveying the scene.

  “Okay, looks like we can go now,” Barillas said. “It doesn’t look like you suffered any physical trauma. If you prefer to go straight home…”

  Skylar hesitated before saying, “Home?”

  “Of course. One of my team members came here in his car. I’ll follow you in it to make sure you arrive safely.” He reached into his pocket for a pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Just in case you feel the need to call.” He handed her a phone number, obviously his own. “I’m sure you’ll be relieved to have Dylan’s car back in the garage…minus any scratches of course.”

  “Scratches?”

  Barillas smiled again. “That’s right. We’ve got ears everywhere and you might as well know it. Like I said, nothing gets missed or overlooked by my men.”

  What a pompous ass, she thought.

  “Oh, and just so you’re aware,” he added, “there’s going to be a van parked outside Dylan’s place for the next few days. Just keeping an eye on things. In the meantime, you might want to take a look at this story. It should give you a good idea of what you’re up against, if you’re looking to make a quick buck like your friend.”

  Skylar unfolded the news clipping and read:

  The dismembered body of Hugo Hernandez was found on the streets of Los Mochis as a chilling threat to members of the Juarez drug cartel. A note read: “Happy New Year.” On the front steps of the City Hall, officials discovered a bag containing Hernandez’s face that had been peeled off and stitched onto a soccer ball. His torso and random body parts were found in containers in a nearby alley.

  Thousands of people continue to die as the result of the Mexican drug war. Nobody is safe. Not mayors, police officers, members of the military, women or even their children.

  There was no reason to read further. The point was well taken. Skylar handed the clipping back to Barillas. “You can keep it.”

  “You sure you don’t want to share it with Dylan? It might help smarten him up.”

  She thought the criticism was unfair, but she bit her lip and said nothing.

  “Look, Miss, I don’t want anything bad to happen to you or your friends. You just need to realize that the people Dylan has been associating with are pretty shady, to say the least. I’d hate to see you end up like Hernandez…with your head rolling around on the streets of Mexico.”

  Her head?

  Barillas wasn’t the first person to use scare tactics to intimidate Skylar and would be far from the last, with the way things were going.

  10

  Detriment

  “Heroes never shoot first, hit a smaller man or take unfair advantage.”

  — ANONYMOUS

  Skylar walked into the house and laid down on the couch, feeling ineffective and useless. Everything was racing out of control, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Of all people, she couldn’t imagine why she was thrown back in time. There was nothing remarkable about her—nothing that made her heroic or labeled her a force to be reckoned with. So, why in the hell was she here?

  I can’t fix anything or save anyone, least of all my father. What kind of cruel joke is this?

  Before long, Skylar fell into a deep, troubled sleep. She woke up shaking, strands of hair quivering with droplets of sweat on her brow. Pushing them away, she concentrated on slowing her racing breaths—the aftermath of another disturbing dream. In it, Adrian had miraculously come back to life, warning her about the dangers waiting in store for her. She tried to run after him, but her feet were stuck fast, making it impossible to move. Then bullets started flying, leaving her cowering under a table, peeking out long enough to see Roxy’s head roll across the floor. The scream she belted out echoed in her ears even now, leaving her wondering if the neighbors had considered calling the police again.

  The guilt Skylar carried would always be there, waiting for the chance to destroy her.

  Damn it, Barillas! If he hadn’t shared his newspaper clipping, she might have had a decent night’s rest. Although somehow, she doubted it.

  With one hand on the edge of the sofa, she swung her feet to the floor and paused as the world swam in front of her eyes. It slowly came to a standstill, allowing her to determine that nothing had changed. The walnut bureau piled high with newspapers was where she’d last seen it, on the right side of the fireplace. The overhead fan was slowly turning, although failing to generate the slightest breeze in the sparsely decorated room. She straightened the spindly glass coffee table in front of the sofa and picked up her clothes from the high-back lounge chair. After laying them next to the bathroom sink, she freshened up and found her way into the kitchen.

  It felt strange milling around in Dylan’s house without him being there. Yet her uneasiness didn’t come so much from being alone, as it did in being lonely. It was a forgotten, troubling feeling for her.

  When she was ten years old, Skylar’s therapist told her in order to experience loneliness, you have to have a vested interest. It was one of the reasons why she couldn’t get rid of some of her things—that pair of jeans she used to wear before she grew taller. That card game she used to play. The closet she could never clean out.

  “To be lonely is the ultimate form of losing something you put care into,” Dr. Passant Saleh told her. “Except, instead of only giving, you receive. Skylar, you don’t put dedication into anything, so you don’t get attached to the outcome. To experience a good relationship, you need to make yourself vulnerable to joy, sorrow, love, and hate. To be in a good relationship is to be vulnerable with someone you can trust. And losing that relationship forces us to face loneliness.” The doctor’s analytical speech was forever embedded in her brain. But it never made sense until now.

  Skylar reached into the oak cabinet next to the sink where dishes were stored. She turned toward the round kitchen table before realizing she was holding two mugs. Ice crept into her veins and she didn’t bother to fight it. The numbness it brought was the closest thing she could feel to contentment anymore. Roxy was long gone and Dylan was destined to follow, along with her mother in due time.

  Skylar stood there for a moment, inhaling deep breaths before pouring coffee into her cup. The hot liquid splashed over her left hand with a liveliness uncharacteristic to her recent mornings. Even more surprising, according to the clock on the wall, it was now 4 P.M. and the idea of eating hadn’t occurred to her.

  Maybe I should spi
ll my coffee more often, she thought. Maybe I’m going crazy. Probably, since I’ve reached the point where I’m answering my own thoughts. Damn. Skylar was more messed up than she thought. She scraped the chair across the floor to make room for herself at the table but didn’t bother to sit down. It was all so tiring, this process of living. Of waking up in this strange place and anticipating the future.

  Only four days remained on the calendar until “D” day. The Chaplain who everyone was after seemed to be the key to everything—Dylan’s freedom, his life, his happiness, maybe even her escape from this godawful place. She had to figure out the identity of this villain, and the only person who could help her do that was Ethan. However, going to the hospital to visit him would look suspicious to the guys parked in the van outside. There was every reason to believe they would follow her there, making it impossible to get the information she needed.

  Skylar’s rumbling stomach reminded her that she had barely eaten the night before.

  She found a loaf of bread on the counter and dropped a slice into the toaster. After taking a jar of blackberry jam from the refrigerator, she opened what she thought was the silverware drawer and stood motionless, staring down. A collection of stainless steel knives was neatly arranged inside, ranging in various widths and lengths. Picking up a large one, she turned it over in her hand. The distorted image on its blade tempted her to use it—to return to the dark place in her life. One stroke across her arm and the hopelessness she felt would end. The sight of red streaming onto the floor would calm the anxiety threatening to overtake her. Maybe even make the loneliness go away.

  Thra-gooooom! Gluglugluglug. The coffee pot’s abrupt noise, jarred the knife from her hand, causing her to instinctively jump. She heard the sound of a soft thud just inches away from her feet and slowly released a closely-held breath.

  Years earlier, her Ukrainian friend had shared his superstitious belief in regard to knives falling. “If the blade lies flat,” he told her, “good fortune is coming. But if the blade tip is stuck in the floor, bad things will happen.”