“I have my gun, too. I’ll be fine.”
Clay opened the door of his truck for her. “Are you going to try to talk to Adam tomorrow?”
“Yes.” She pulled the door from him and slammed it. Clay hadn’t asked if that conversation was going to take place face-to-face—and she wasn’t telling. She’d take that two-hour drive up to Phoenix and meet Adam’s plane. Then she’d present him with her proposition.
Clay aimed his truck out of town, back toward her house. The wine and the meal had a somnolent effect on her, and her eyelids drooped as she leaned her head against the window.
Clay turned down the music on the country station playing on the radio and hummed off-key to the song.
April’s lips curved into a smile. Clay had always been a lousy singer, but that never stopped him.
A loud noise reverberated in the truck, and April’s head banged against the window as Clay jerked the steering wheel.
Another crack came out of the night. The back window shattered, raining glass down on her head. She squeezed her eyes closed and screamed.
The truck squealed and the back wheels fishtailed on the road.
“What happened? What did you hit?” She peeled one eye open and focused on Clay’s profile.
His jaw tensed. “I didn’t hit a damned thing. Someone’s shooting at us...and he just got my tire.”
Chapter Fifteen
Clay wrestled with the steering wheel. It took all the strength he had to keep the truck on the asphalt—and he had to keep the truck on the asphalt.
If he swerved onto the shoulder, the truck could flip or skid out to a stop. They couldn’t stop. Whoever shot at them wanted to disable the vehicle. Wanted them to be stranded in the desert.
Through his teeth, he ground out, “Call 911 now. We just passed mile marker 11, just before the pecan grove.”
He heard April scramble for her phone as the truck rattled down the road, lurching to one side as the air escaped from his tire.
She spoke breathlessly into the phone, giving the details of their location, vehicle and situation.
Clay shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror and swore.
April ended the 911 call and cupped the phone between her hands. “What? What now?”
“I see lights behind us. The bastards are coming after us and our crippled truck.”
“Go faster, Clay.” April’s fingernails dug into his thigh through the denim of his jeans.
“I’m afraid to go too much faster on that bum tire. We’re riding on the rim now. The whole wheel could come off.”
“If they catch up to us, they’ll shoot out the other tire.” She twisted around in her seat. “I can’t see any lights, but then I think we went around a curve in the road.”
“How fast will the highway patrol be here?”
“The 911 operator said they were on their way. Out here, who knows how fast that is?” She snapped her fingers. “Your weapon. Give me your weapon.”
“You can’t go shooting into the dark.” He reached under his seat for his gun and pulled out the holster. “Be careful with that thing. It’s a little heavier than yours.”
The truck jumped and wobbled.
“The better to shoot someone with.” April grabbed the gun with two hands. “Loaded?”
“What would be the point otherwise?” He pushed the barrel of the gun toward the windshield. “Only take a shot if the car comes up beside us.”
“He may not have to come up beside us.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “If he comes up behind us and shoots out the other tire...or the driver, we’re in trouble.”
The truck bucked against his control and he smelled burning rubber. “C’mon, baby. Keep going.”
“Only a few miles to your place, Clay.” She smacked the dashboard. “We can make it.”
“There has to be more than one person ambushing us. They gotta know I’ll be armed, and they’re prepared to take me on.”
“Us. They’re taking us on.”
The truck protested, rattling and weaving the remaining miles to his house, but they made it and he hadn’t seen a return of the headlights in the rearview. Of course, their attackers could’ve killed their lights and be rolling toward them right now under the cover of the velvety blackness of the desert.
He turned into his driveway in a hail of dust, grit and smoke. He held out his hand. “Give me the gun, gunslinger.”
April turned the butt toward him. “Are we going to stay here and wait for them?”
“Are you nuts?” He snapped his door handle. “I’ll come out first and cover you into the house. We lock the door, and wait for them behind it. Get down.”
He slammed the door as April’s head disappeared. Squinting down the road, he circled the car and opened the passenger door.
“Let’s go.” He took April’s arm as she slid from the truck. He pushed her forward in a crouch and protected her body with his like a shell, curving over her, one arm extended behind him, his hand clutching his gun.
They stumbled up the porch, passing the spot where the pink hatbox had rested only a few days ago, and a hot rage thumped against Clay’s temples. He’d kill any man who came for April.
When they reached the front door, red and blue lights bathed the house and a highway patrol car squealed into his driveway behind the lopsided truck.
Clay shoved his weapon into the back of his waistband and raised his hand, blinking into the lights.
An officer eased out of the driver’s seat, his flashlight already playing across the truck’s rim. “You the ones who called 911?”
“We are.” Clay pressed his keys into April’s hands. “Open the door and turn on the floodlights for the driveway.”
April pushed through the front door and flicked on the lights.
With the scene lit up, Clay took a step down the porch. “Someone back there at mile marker 11 shot out my back window and my left rear tire. I kept the truck on the road and made it home.”
“Did they come after you?” The officer shoved his flashlight into the equipment belt hanging low on his hips.
The other patrol officer crouched next to the back wheel and whistled. “Looks like you made it just in time. This rim is destroyed.”
Clay took another step forward. “Officer, I’m Clay Archer, Border Patrol. I have a weapon in my waistband.”
The officer studying the wheel popped up. “I know you. Female mule’s head was left on your porch. This porch.”
“That’s right.” Clay felt April behind him, breathing heavily. “You didn’t see another car on the road?”
“We didn’t, but it could’ve been hiding in the grove. We radioed for another car. They’re doing a search now.”
“Do you want to come inside to take a statement?” Clay tipped his head at the open door, April in the frame.
Denali had come to the door to investigate the commotion. He sniffed at the officers’ heels when they came into the house and then sat beside April, who rested her hand on his head.
Apparently, the dog was a better protector than he was. He’d allowed them to get too close to April. Had they been hoping to take him out and kidnap her to force her deadbeat brother to turn over the flash drive?
Did they ever have the wrong guy. Clay had no doubt in his mind that Adam wouldn’t turn over the drive to save his sister or anyone else—but they didn’t know that.
Clay cleared his throat and answered the officers’ questions, indicating that this latest incident had roots in the drug trade and the two dead mules.
He avoided talking about the flash drive because pointing the finger at Adam and getting the police involved wasn’t going to help April.
He didn’t give a damn about Adam at this point.
He and April took the authorities through the chain of events on the road a
nd Clay allowed them in his truck to look for the bullet that had crashed through his back windshield.
They found it lodged in the dashboard, and the anger and stress gripped Clay by the back of the neck. That bullet could’ve found its way into April’s head.
When the officers left and he and April stepped back into the house, Clay shut the door and wedged a hand against it. “I’m not letting you go home to stay there by yourself. You’re going to stay here tonight.”
“Gladly.” She entwined her arms around his neck. “But I hope you have some beers in the fridge because I need something to take this edge off.”
“I’m with you there.” He made a detour to his laptop. “I’m going to check the security footage just to see if anyone’s been creeping around my house.”
“I’ll get the beers.” She disappeared into the kitchen and said, “There’s one road to and from your house. They didn’t even have to know where we were to wait for us.”
“You’re right, and everything looks quiet on the security cam.”
She emerged from the kitchen, a bottle of beer in each hand. She thrust one at him. “Here you go. I don’t like to drink alone.”
He clinked the neck of his bottle with hers. “Here’s to surviving close calls.”
She pressed the bottle against her lips and tilted her head back. “That was some driving you did. If I’d been at the wheel, I’m sure I would’ve flipped the truck.”
“We should’ve been more careful. I should’ve predicted they’d try something.”
“Why would you?” She tugged at his sleeve. “Let’s sit.”
“Why would I? Because that dude threatened you in broad daylight in public.”
“That’s just it. He approached me like we had a business meeting or something. Gave me a proposition to think over. If he’d wanted to abduct me, he could’ve come into that restaurant and stuck a gun in my ribs. I would’ve gone with him without hesitation.”
He sank beside her on the couch and propped up one foot on the coffee table. “So what are you saying? This ambush wasn’t initiated by the big guy with Las Moscas?”
“I don’t know.” Sighing, she placed her bottle on the table next to his foot. “Turn around. You’re hunching your shoulders.”
He twisted around, presenting his back to her. He couldn’t deny that his shoulders ached with tension.
“You know what?” She snatched up her bottle and rose to her feet. “Bring your beer into the bedroom, and I’ll give you a proper massage.”
He jerked his eyebrows up and down. “I was hoping for an improper massage.”
“That could be arranged.” She batted her eyelashes. “Everything locked up?”
“Locked up, secured, surveilled, Denali on duty, cops patrolling and my weapon by my side.”
She blew out a breath. “I might just be able to get a few hours of shut-eye.”
“Not before my improper massage.”
“Of course not.”
He staggered to his feet and listed to the side. “Whoa. That beer hit me hard. Must be the contrast between the adrenaline rush and a depressant.”
“Good. We both need to relax.” She took his hand and led him into his bedroom.
He should resist the temptation of her invitation. She’d lied to him about that note from last night. He shouldn’t get in any deeper with her until he got some straight answers from her.
She nudged him down to the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. She slipped it from his shoulders and pressed a kiss against the flesh of his upper arm.
She grabbed the beer he’d placed on the nightstand, and held it out to him. “Finish this and lie down on your stomach. I’ll release those knots.”
He downed the rest of the beer and stretched out on the bed, his lids so heavy he couldn’t keep them open.
April kissed the back of his neck and trailed a hand along his spine. Then she dug her fingers into the bunched-up muscles at the base of his neck.
He reached around to stroke her thigh as she crouched beside him, but moving his arm took too much effort. His heavy limbs seemed to sink into the bed.
As he drifted off, he felt April’s hair brush his face. Her lips caressed his ear as she whispered, “I love you.”
A smile tugged at his lips, but he knew he was dreaming.
* * *
CLAY ROLLED OVER and ran his tongue around his dry mouth. He rubbed his eyes, and then flung out an arm to reach for April, his fingers skimming over her coarse hair.
Jerking his hand back, he shifted onto his side and peered at Denali next to him in the bed.
“You’re not April.”
Without even opening his eyes, Denali flicked his tail twice and burrowed farther into the covers.
Clay dragged himself up against the headboard and massaged his temples. What the hell happened last night? He’d been melting under April’s soothing hands one minute and comatose the next. He didn’t even remember her crawling into bed next to him—he was sure he’d remember that.
He called out. “April?”
Denali whimpered beside him, but the rest of the house remained silent.
Clay rolled up in bed, disappointed that he was still wearing his jeans. Maybe that was a good thing. He’d sure hate like hell to have made love to April and not remember. Impossible.
He called her name again, and as the fog began to clear from his brain, his senses amped up and his nostrils flared. Did someone sneak in here and snatch her?
The sudden thought had his limbs jerking and he kicked aside the covers as he stormed out of the bedroom, Denali at his heels. His head cranked back and forth looking for April’s purse, signs of a break-in...blood.
Instead of all those things, a single sheet of paper on the kitchen counter beckoned to him. He crossed the room and snatched it up, his eyes skimming the note April had left him.
She’d left early, didn’t want to disturb him, had a lot to do today, blah, blah, blah. He crumpled the note in his fist.
She’d left to do something she didn’t want him to know about. He slammed the balled-up paper on the counter and lunged for the beer bottle on the sink. He tipped the almost-full bottle back and forth and then emptied it into the sink.
He’d drained his own bottle. She’d made sure of that. He cranked on the faucet and slurped some water from his cupped hand. He swooshed it around his arid mouth and spit it into the sink.
He flung open a cupboard door and snatched a small bottle of sleep aid he used sometimes when the job got to be too much and he couldn’t turn off the horror. He shook it, as if that could tell him if it were missing one or two tablets.
He didn’t need to verify missing tablets to know what April had done. She’d had every intention of making her escape to God knows where with God knows who this morning, but had run into a detour last night with the shooting. So, she did the next best thing—slipped him a mickey so she could sneak out this morning without questions.
She knew there’d be no way he would allow her to go off on her own after the events of last night.
But what she hadn’t counted on? He pulled his phone from the charger and brought up a GPS app. He could find out exactly where she was going—ever since he’d put that GPS tracking device on her car yesterday morning.
Chapter Sixteen
April glanced in her rearview mirror for the hundredth time since leaving Paradiso. With her gun resting on the seat beside her, she felt safe enough but she wanted to be ready in case someone came at her like last night. Because she didn’t know who had ambushed her and Clay.
It could’ve been the big man from yesterday, making his move to kidnap her and force Adam to give up the flash drive. She snorted. As if that would ever happen.
Or it could’ve been her silent tormenter who’d seen her out with Clay and wanted to give her a little reminde
r of what would happen to Clay if she didn’t stay away from him. Just like the reminder she’d gotten loud and clear two years ago when she’d called off the wedding to him.
Meeting Adam in Phoenix could kill two birds with one stone—she could get Las Moscas off her back by getting Adam to give them the flash drive and she could convince Adam to do that by helping him look for their father—and if he were this Gringo Viejo character, maybe she could get to the bottom of this plan to keep her away from Clay. It all had to be connected in some way.
She loosened her death grip on the steering wheel. She’d hated tricking Clay, drugging him, but he’d never have allowed her to leave on her own. He’d understand someday.
She’d make him understand. Her explanation would go a lot further if she could also hand Clay that flash drive with the locations of Las Moscas’ tunnels.
She’d left Tucson behind her about forty minutes ago, and barring any traffic jams going into the Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, she should be there with time to spare before Adam’s plane landed.
If Adam believed El Gringo Viejo could set him up in business, he might be willing to give up that flash drive. He didn’t have the personnel to take over business from Las Moscas, like Jimmy did, even with a map to all their tunnels. He had to understand the foolishness of that plan.
She wished she could make Adam see the foolishness in all of it—using drugs, dealing drugs, being hooked into that whole lifestyle—but she’d never been able to talk any sense to Adam. Her brother hadn’t been a bad kid, but he never viewed the world through the same lens of right and wrong as everyone else did.
Sometimes she felt as if she were the only person standing between him and total destruction. If she let go, like Clay had wanted her to so many times, where would Adam be now? Prison? Dead?
She flexed her fingers. She couldn’t allow that. He was the only family she had left. She owed him that. She’d tried to be the parent Adam had never had. For some reason, her parents never could seem to love Adam the same way they loved her. She never understood it, but when she tried to ask Mom about it, her mother had shut her down.
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