by Sharon Sala
He’d thought about going back down the mountain to the small town he’d passed through before going to the Blue Cat gallery, then decided against it. He didn’t want anyone remembering later that a Latino man had been asking about the woman, especially when she later turned up dead. He’d given himself permission to do a little investigating on his own, then worry about being recognized later.
He’d driven for what seemed like hours without seeing anything resembling that truck, and then he’d taken a corner in the two-lane dirt road a little too wide and found himself almost face to face with the truck and the driver he’d been looking for.
He swerved immediately to the side to avoid the head-on collision and shrugged and waved, hoping that it passed for enough of an apology that the bastard didn’t stop and start a fight. He was feeling okay, but he definitely did not want to take a blow to the face.
He saw the man nod and wave back, and breathed a quick sigh of relief. Noting the direction in which he was driving, he waited until the dust was almost settled, then followed. It didn’t take long to see the little road leading up the mountain that the Native American had taken. He stopped for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted to chance being seen again, or wait until dark.
But the area was new to him, and the mountain was heavily wooded. He didn’t want to play detective in the dark with a bunch of coyotes, so he took a chance and followed.
Within a couple of minutes, he realized this was a driveway, and not another main road. He parked and started walking, taking care to stay within the edge of the trees. Before long, he saw the roof of a house. After a couple more minutes of walking, he saw a house, then the pickup itself, although no one was in sight.
He was just about to go back to his car when he saw the man come out of the house and head toward the backside of the property. Miguel watched until he disappeared, then proceeded the rest of the way up the drive. If someone else was in the house when he knocked, he would pretend he was looking for Blue Cat’s gallery and got lost. And if no one else was there, it wouldn’t take him long to check out the place, just in case.
When he reached the front door and knocked, no one answered. He smiled to himself and reached for the doorknob, thinking he might force the door, only to find out that it turned beneath his touch. His smile widened. Rural people who still didn’t lock their doors. He couldn’t believe his luck.
He glanced quickly toward the direction that the Native American had gone, and then stepped inside. He knew within seconds of entering that there was no one there. It felt empty, as if the energy of the place had departed with the occupants.
Careful of the time, he made a quick sweep through the house to reassure himself that he was alone, then did a second run-through of the bedrooms. Only one bedroom seemed to be occupied, but there were things belonging to two people. As he looked out a back window, he saw the back end of a motorcycle sticking out of a shed. He looked closer, and when he saw the Arizona tag, smiled to himself.
He remembered she’d owned the Harley Buddy Allen had once had. So that’s how she got out of town.
He thought about hiding somewhere in the house and surprising them both when they came back, then decided against it. That Native American was big and Jordan was DEA. Neither one would be easy to take down. Besides that, he wanted the woman to suffer. She wasn’t going to get off so easy with a quick bullet through her head.
Having settled all of that in his mind, he hurried out of the house the same way he came in, pausing long enough to make sure there was no one in sight, then made a run for the trees.
He was breathing hard and sweating when he reached them, and could feel the beginnings of a headache. He was used to heat, but there was something different about this Oklahoma heat that sapped the strength right out of him. He wouldn’t have been interested in listening to someone speak about the humidity factor in the state, but if he had, it would have soon become apparent to him what the difference was. Oklahoma in the summer was a perpetual sauna.
He stopped for a few moments to rest, and as he was waiting, saw the man suddenly appear from below the crest of a hill, only this time, he wasn’t alone. He watched carefully, then started to smile.
He’d found Sonora Jordan.
CHAPTER 17
By sundown, what appeared to be a group of thunder clouds was gathering on the horizon. Another round of storms was evident—something they dealt with at this time of year. Adam stood out on the back porch, judging the possibility of its arrival before morning and figured it was likely.
Charlie was winding himself around Adam’s legs, begging for supper.
“Okay, okay, I hear you loud and clear,” Adam said, and headed toward a shelf on the back porch to get a can of cat food.
Charlie voiced his pleasure with a small, happy “mowrp” which made Adam grin.
Sonora was in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes that she’d insisted on doing, since Adam had cooked the meal. As she was hanging the dish towel up to dry, the telephone rang.
“Adam! Phone!” she called.
“Get it for me, will you?” he called back. “I’m feeding Charlie.”
Sonora took the wall phone off the receiver. “Adam Two Eagles residence.”
There was a single second of shock that someone other than Adam had answered, then someone started talking—fast and loud—and in Kiowa.
Sonora didn’t know what was going on, but she could tell something was wrong. “Adam! Come quick!”
He dropped the empty can into the trash as he hurried into the kitchen and took the phone she thrust into his hands. Within seconds of taking the phone, he began to talk, louder and firmer, and in the same language.
Within seconds, he’d obviously gotten the caller’s attention, because he began to ask questions and in English.
Finally, she heard Adam say, “I’ll be right there.”
Sonora could tell Adam was bothered when he hung up the phone, and when he turned around to face her, he was frowning.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“I have to go. A young man has been injured and he’s also in trouble.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sonora said.
Adam’s frown deepened. “It’s better if you don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m pretty sure that the injuries he’s suffered are from making meth. You’re DEA. You don’t want to be in the middle of this.”
“Oh crap,” she muttered, immediately getting the message as to what her life would be like married to Adam if she became legally involved with the people he’d come home to help.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It sounds like he needs an ambulance and to be taken to a burn unit, but they won’t do a thing until I tell them it’s all right.”
“Why are some of your … our … people so distrustful of whites?”
He sighed, then held out his hands. “Let’s just say that if you’d been raised Indian, you would probably understand.”
She flinched as if she’d been slapped. “Prejudice? In this day and age?”
“Lazy. Blanket-ass. Living on tribal money and not working. I could go on and on, despite the fact that every bit of it is lies.”
“Good Lord,” she muttered, then waved him on. “Go. Go. Whatever has happened, they need help, but not mine. At least, not yet.”
Adam hugged her quickly, thanking her in the only way he knew how, then grabbed his bag, his car keys, and headed out the door.
“Lock the door behind me!” he yelled, as he bounded off the porch.
“Wait! You forgot your phone,” Sonora said, and carried it out to the truck.
He tossed it in the seat beside him as he was starting the engine. By the time Sonora got back into the house and locked the door, he was already gone.
* * *
Miguel was coming up the mountain from the town below when a pickup truck appeared at the crest of a hill and quickly sped past. He had a quick glimpse of a dark truck and then not
hing. He cursed softly, hoping that he hadn’t waited too long and that upon his return to the house, Sonora Jordan would be gone.
Still, he retraced the path that he’d taken earlier in the day and almost missed the turn in the dark. He stopped, backed up, then started up the dirt road that led to the big Native American’s house. When he was almost there, he turned out his lights and drove the rest of the way in the dark, guided only by a faint bit of moonlight.
He saw the lights before he saw the house, and when he saw a light suddenly go off in the back part of the house, his spirits lifted. Someone was home, most likely her. When he drove up to the house and realized the pickup was gone, he smiled.
That had been the Native American he’d met coming up.
She was home alone.
He grabbed his handgun from the glove box, then got out. As he stood there, the moonlight suddenly disappeared. He looked up. The stars were disappearing, as well. When a couple of raindrops suddenly splattered on his face, he realized a fast-moving storm was moving into the area.
He smiled.
Even better.
She wouldn’t hear him coming in the wind and the rain.
He hurried up onto the porch, then did a quick check through the curtains at the windows. He couldn’t see details, but he could tell there was someone inside moving around.
A loud clap of thunder suddenly slammed down upon the roof, followed by a swift flash of lightning. Miguel ducked in reflex, then swiped a shaky hand across his face. That had been close—too close.
He moved toward the front door, then gripped the knob, expecting it to turn as easily as it had earlier and was surprised that it was locked. Cursing softly beneath his breath, he started to draw back and kick down the door when it suddenly opened.
He froze momentarily at the shock of suddenly seeing Sonora Jordan only inches away.
Sonora gasped. In the half-light and despite the bald head, she saw the family resemblance. Miguel Garcia had found her.
Lightning flashed again.
The lights went out!
Dark was the impetus Sonora needed to move. She pivoted sharply and darted toward the bedroom where she kept her gun. Before she’d gone two steps, she was hit from behind in a flying tackle. The impact of Garcia’s weight against the place where the bone marrow had been taken left her screaming in pain and her legs almost too numb to move.
“I will kill you, bitch! Just like I killed your friend in Phoenix. Just like you killed my little brother.”
It was the mention of Buddy having been beaten to death that gave her the will she needed. Still on her belly, she bucked her body violently, as if trying to unseat a rider, then kicked out with both bare feet. She knew she’d connected to something vital when she heard the pitch of the man’s scream.
She didn’t know that she’d just broken his nose, or that, for the time being, he was blind with pain. All she knew was that when she got up to run, no one was stopping her.
Thunder rocked the house as the squall line hit. Sonora heard the tinkle of breaking glass and guessed that the fiercely blowing winds had probably blown something through a window. She thought of the storm shelter only a few yards away from the house. She probably needed to be down there, but she wasn’t going without her gun. The last place she wanted to be was cornered and helpless.
She reached Adam’s bedroom in seconds. The dense blackness in the room was unnerving, but the fear of the man behind her was worse. She felt along the walls until she came to the closet, then yanked it open and dropped to her knees. Her bag was down here somewhere, and inside it was her gun.
She heard running footsteps now, and the wild, frantic screams and curses of a man in pain. Her fingers were shaking so badly that she couldn’t even find the bag, then when she finally did, couldn’t get a grip on the zipper.
The door to Adam’s room hit the wall with a bang just as she found the zipper tab. She pulled frantically, then thrust her hand inside the opening. Within seconds, she had the gun. She felt along the bottom of the bag until she found the small magazine of bullets as well, and shoved it up into the grip. Under the cover of thunder, she jacked the barrel and loaded the first bullet into the chamber.
Slowly she stood, with the gun in her hand, waiting for that flash of lightning to tell her where her enemy stood. Within seconds it came. She saw Garcia at the same time he saw her. Then the room was once again dark.
Sonora fired a shot in the direction of where he’d been standing, and then kicked the door hard. There was a loud cry of pain as she dove out of the closet and onto the bedroom floor. A half second later, a shot went over her head.
She felt the edge of the bedspread against her cheek and without thinking, slid under the bed, then out the other side, bringing her closer to the door. When lightning flashed again, she saw Garcia’s boots facing an opposite wall. The moment the light was gone, she jumped up and ran.
Within seconds, he was once again in pursuit. Her legs were cramping and there was a spreading pain going down the back of her hip from where he’d landed on her. Sensing that he was only a step or two behind her, she spun, firing off two shots as she did, then fell backwards into the kitchen as he ran past. With only seconds to spare, she rolled to her feet, made a dash for the kitchen door, then ran out into the storm.
* * *
Adam was within a mile of the family’s residence when something moved in front of the headlights. He swerved to keep from hitting it as he slammed on the brakes. By the time he came to an abrupt halt, he was shaking.
At first, he thought it was a deer, but it had gotten away. As he started to take his foot off the brake, something began to materialize just beyond the lights. He watched in disbelief as a rider on horseback came out of the dark, then grunted, as if he’d been punched. Both rider and horse were transparent.
Nothing was said, but he heard the meaning just the same.
Go home. Go home.
Then one last word surfaced.
Hurry.
The hair rose on the back of his neck. Sonora!
He grabbed his cell phone as he turned the truck around, calling his own number. To his dismay, there was no answer, and when he began the trip home, realized he was driving into a storm.
He thought of the young man who awaited him, who was possibly dying of burns. There was nothing to do but get help. He dialed one more number—to the local fire and ambulance service.
The dispatcher answered on the first ring. “Fire and rescue, what is your emergency?”
“Travis, this is Adam Two Eagles. I got a call from the Wapkinah family up on county road 114. Their oldest boy got burned. They called me first, but I’m calling you. I can’t get there and I don’t want that boy to die.”
Travis Younger immediately understood. “Thanks, Adam,” Travis said. “We’ll get ‘em some help.”
“Thanks,” Adam said. “Talk to you later,” tossed the phone into the seat beside him, then stomped on the gas.
* * *
Miguel was blind with pain and choking on his own blood. She’d broken his nose for sure—once with her foot and the second time with the closet door. He kept trying to remember the layout of the rooms he’d seen earlier in the day, but with the pain and the dark, it was confusing.
The next time the lightning flashed, he realized he was in the room all alone. It occurred to him then that he might be in trouble. He pivoted abruptly and began to retrace his steps. After the second sweep through the house, he knew she was gone.
Cursing in both English and Spanish, he stumbled through the kitchen, wiped the blood off his face with a small towel, then shoved it up against his nose, hoping to stop the flow.
He moved out onto the porch just as another flash of lightning came and went. It was then he saw his car was missing. With a scream of rage, he ran out into the storm. It took another flash of lightning and the rain in his face to realize he wasn’t at the front porch, but the back.
He looked toward the shed and saw th
e faint outline of the Harley. She had to be somewhere nearby.
“Hear me, bitch!” he screamed. “Hear me, good. I will make you wish you’d never been born before you die.”
He heard the shot too late to duck. It was nothing but luck that he was still standing when the bullet hit the porch post right behind him. He hit the ground, belly first, splattering water and mud in his mouth and up his still bleeding nose.
The roar of his rage was so loud that Sonora heard it over the storm. If the storm didn’t pass too quickly, and if Adam came back in time, she might have a chance of staying alive.
She’d already been in his car and tried to hot-wire it, but the new models and safeguards that were in place made that impossible. She had an added advantage of knowing the property far better than he did and thought about hiding out in the woods. He’d never find her, but there was a part of her that feared he would give up and leave, which meant she would be facing him again sometime, and the odds might not be in her favor.
She didn’t know where he was until another strike of lightning came and went and she saw him moving toward the cellar. At that point, she was glad she wasn’t in it, and ran to the front of the house.
It didn’t take long for her to break the valve stems off the tires. She could hear the hiss of escaping air as she stood. Then she saw him, less than five yards away, with his gun pointed right at her face.
“Drop it!” he yelled, waving his gun in her face.
“Or what?” she screamed back and took aim with her own. “You’re going to shoot me anyway. I’d rather take you with me.”
They both fired.
Sonora was falling backwards as the first bullet came out of her gun. It hit Garcia in the shoulder, spinning him around. The gun fell out of his hand into the mud while the bullet he’d fired plunged into the ground just beside Sonora’s head. Mud and water flew into her eyes, momentarily blinding her.