On Wings of Deliverance

by Elizabeth White

  Concern for Benny warred with guilt about snooping as she unzipped the suitcase and opened it. As expected, the cotton skirts and knit tops were packed in neat rolls for minimum creasing. But what grabbed Stacy’s immediate attention was the cell phone lying right on top.

  She picked up the phone. Cellular reception here was spotty. There was a regular landline phone in the village ten miles away, but after the hurricane, even that was unreliable.

  She sat there with her thumbnail in her mouth. Going through the numbers stored in Benny’s cell phone seemed presumptuous. How would she know who to call?

  Lord, what should I do?

  The sensible thing seemed to be to start with the missions agency. She and Wes were career missionaries here in Agrexco, while Benny was on short-term loan from the orphanage in Acuña. They all worked for the same agency that had arranged for Owen to bring their supplies.

  But what could she tell them, beyond the fact that Benny and Owen had left the village ahead of schedule? It would make Benny look bad, when there was probably a reasonable explanation for her behavior. Stacy frowned. If only she knew what that reasonable explanation was!

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she flipped open the phone and searched for received calls. The most recent call was from an unknown ID, but Stacy immediately recognized the area code. The same as her mother-in-law’s. One of the things that had instantly drawn her and Benny together had been a common familiarity with the southwest corner of Tennessee.

  But Benny had said she never went back there, hadn’t been back since her teens.

  Stacy pushed the call button. This was crazy, but she had to know what had happened to Benny. Maybe the last person she’d talked to could shed some light—

  “Hello?” It was a dark, smoky female voice. In just that one word, Stacy heard caution, maybe fear. “Bernadette, where are you?”

  “Hi, my name’s Stacy Garrett and I’m calling for Benny—Bernadette, I mean?” She had no idea what to say, making it up as she went along.

  “What? Why do you have her phone?” Now the slow voice was tight with suspicion.

  Afraid the woman might hang up, Stacy said hurriedly, “I’m her friend, a missionary to Mexico. It’s kind of a strange situation, but Benny’s disappeared and I thought you might know what happened to her.”

  “Disappeared? What do you mean?”

  “I’ll explain but—” Stacy swallowed “—first I have to know who you are. I’m worried about her.”

  “I’m Ladonna. Ladonna Sherman. Did she get away before he got to her?”

  “Who?” Stacy was afraid she’d gotten hold of a madwoman. “Was somebody trying to hurt Benny?”

  “You better believe it, lady. Now start over and tell me exactly what happened.”

  Chilled, Stacy clutched the phone until it hurt her hand. Deep breaths, Stace. You asked for this. Quickly she explained the events of the last few days. Unfortunately, what she knew was sketchy at best. “And I haven’t heard from her or Owen in two days,” she finished.

  “I was afraid of—” The rest of the woman’s sentence was drowned in static.

  “Ms. Sherman?” Dismayed, Stacy looked at the phone display. The call had failed. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “Poor Benny.”

  Owen’s tight-lipped attitude took Benny completely off guard. Not that he verbally raged—or, for that matter, behaved in any way other than with his usual sterling courtesy. But the sunshine had definitely gone behind a cloud. He accompanied her back to the Fronterases’ truck, where he locked up the backpack, retrieved his cell phone and handed it to her without a word. Then he turned on his heel and left her to her privacy.

  That was what she’d wanted. Wasn’t it?

  She climbed into the truck with the phone and sat on the broad passenger seat with her feet drawn up. Her sandals had rubbed painful blisters on both insteps, and Owen’s jeans had begun to wear at the knees. Not having had a bath in two days, she probably smelled like Fernanda’s cage, too. She was just a mess, physically and emotionally. It was a wonder Owen was willing to stay with her, much less not get upset when she wouldn’t talk to him.

  Putting her head down on her knees, she spent a few minutes in prayer. Thanked God for His protection so far. Asked for wisdom and help. Confessed her fear and anxiety.

  Last year, when one of her kids at the orphanage had been murdered by the same drug smuggler who’d kidnapped Isabel and Danilo and traumatized Mercedes, it had really shaken her faith. Which was ridiculous. She’d been in bad fixes before. Sometimes, when she was drifting off to sleep, her mind would replay the events that had brought her away from Beale Street. From nightmare to fantasy in just a few days.

  Owen thought she was such a snow maiden. If he knew the things she’d done, the battles she’d fought to escape it all, he wouldn’t be so persistent in pursuing her. That was why she couldn’t tell him. She admitted, just between her and the Lord, that Owen Carmichael’s regard meant more to her than safety.

  The Lord could protect her without Owen’s help. He’d promised to do so. Phrases from Psalm 18 passed through her mind on a flood of joy.

  I love you, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call to the Lord, who is worthy of praise, and I am saved from my enemies.

  Yes, she was going to be fine. One way or another. If the Lord took her home to Heaven early, what better place could she be? No reason to be afraid.

  Still, a tiny corner of her heart wished there was a way to connect with a helpmate. Being with Owen twenty-four hours a day had made that little desire grow larger by the hour.

  Lord, don’t make me long for things I can’t have. I beg You to remove this awful yearning for something other than You. I want to be completely set apart for You alone.

  That had to be the right thing to ask for.

  She looked at the phone clutched in her hand. Owen’s phone. He’d saved it for her use. Waited until she asked for it and given it up without question. She flipped it open and smiled at the photo on the screen. A close-up of his horse. At least, she assumed it was his—a beautiful roan with a cream-colored mane and blaze and intelligent dark eyes.

  She had just keyed in the number of her supervisor at the mission agency when the door beside her suddenly swung open.

  “Owen! What are you doing?”

  “Benny, we’re leaving!”

  “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “Your stalker found you. He’s out there by the road talking to Marta. She’ll keep him busy while we haul our buns outta here. Come on, I said!”

  Benny scrambled out of the truck, stuffing the phone into her pocket. She followed Owen’s example of ducking and dodging the RVs, pop-up campers and American family cars crammed into the big campground. She struggled to keep up with Owen’s long legs and he grabbed her hand.

  “Come on, babe, you can do it! Run!”

  Benny found herself being towed toward the opposite side of the lot, where a six-foot chain-link fence separated the campground from the street. “What’s he doing?” She was too frightened to look.

  “Oh, man, he’s got a gun out now!” Owen shunted around a Winnebago at the end of the row.

  “Maybe we should go back and—Ow!” Benny had bruised her hip on the RV’s bumper. “How are we going to get over the fence?”

  “Climb.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “I’ll help you. You want to get shot at again?”

  “I’d rather not.” The fence loomed. Benny made the mistake of looking back. Mr. Big Nose had spotted them. He was charging after them, a cell phone pressed to his ear. At least he couldn’t shoot them until he put down the phone.

  “You’d rather not climb the fence or you’d rather not get shot?” Without waiting for an answer, Owen bent and cupped his hands. “Up you go.”

  Sandals weren’t the ideal climbing shoe, bu
t bare feet would have been worse. Benny let Owen boost her halfway up the fence. She grabbed the top and heaved herself upward, cutting her hands on the sharp points. Feet scrabbling for toeholds, she climbed until she hung over the top rail. Dizzy with fear, she felt the fence jerk and clang as Owen climbed up beside her.

  “Come on, you can do it. Leg over.” He was already vaulting across. Landing on the other side, he reached up for her. “Bernadette, I’ll catch you.”

  She looked over her shoulder again. The hit man had put the phone away. The gun was at his shoulder.

  “Please, God, help!” Ignoring the pain in her hands and the cuts on her stomach, she slung her right leg over the top of the fence. Owen grabbed her foot.

  “Good girl. Now the other one. I won’t let you fall.”

  Closing her eyes, she put her weight into Owen’s palm and kicked the other leg across.

  Just as she dropped into his arms, a shot rang out. A bullet whizzed across the top of the fence. Benny screamed, throwing her arms around Owen’s neck.

  He snatched her close for a second, then set her on her feet. “Come on!”

  They were on the street between the campground and the Ciudad Victoria bus station, which squatted in front of a blue-and-white water tower. Dashing across the street, they ran for the cinderblock wall around the bus station. Benny looked back. The hit man was nowhere in sight; apparently, he’d been stopped by the fence.

  The perimeter of the wall was lackadaisically landscaped with a few skinny cottonwood trees, which they dodged as they ran. They reached the first corner without seeing an opening. A hundred yards or so farther down, they skidded around another corner.

  Benny nearly sobbed in relief when she saw the bus station’s green entrance awning. “Will we be safe in here?”

  Owen didn’t slow down. “I’m guessing he won’t expect us to head indoors.” He suddenly stopped under the awning, swinging her against his chest. “By the way—” he was breathing normally, though Benny was gasping for air “—you were right about big cities. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the Mexican police?”

  “I don’t trust anybody here.”

  Owen nodded. “Okay then. We’ll catch a bus to the border and we should be home free.” He shoved open the glass door and pulled her into the bus station.

  Taking a shot at the girl in broad daylight, in a campground full of tourists and fruit vendors, had been a dumb, impulsive move. Now Ray was going to have to pay for it.

  The old lady had started yelling for the police and he’d had to make a run for it.

  It was the judge’s fault for calling to check in with him in the middle of the interrogation. He’d been so startled by the sight of his quarry right there in plain sight, he’d completely lost his head. Cutting the judge off in midsentence, he’d taken aim and fired.

  Now here he was, driving like a lunatic through the streets of Ciudad Victoria, trying to guess where an American border cop and a missionary ex-hooker would go in a foreign country. They were headed back to the States, of course, but how would they get there?

  TEN

  Standing in line at the ticket counter, Owen looked over his shoulder at Benny. She sat on a wooden bench in a corner, next to a tiny Native American woman who clutched a galvanized bucket to her chest. Naturally, they were carrying on an animated discussion. Benny smiled her megawatt smile and peered into the bucket, admiring some undisclosed item. She was something else.

  He would have given anything to have back the money he had spent on that little blue car. Benny had been right about almost everything since they’d started this odyssey.

  Stay out of big cities.

  Don’t spend all the cash.

  Using the credit card had been a big mistake, too. How else had the guy found them, except by tracing them to the restaurant in Poza Rica?

  At least he was finally heeding her advice about taking a bus to the border. He just hoped they could get on it in time to avoid their pursuer.

  When his turn came at last, he stepped up to the counter. “Two tickets to Reynosa,” he said in Spanish.

  “That bus left ten minutes ago, señor. I’m sorry. The next one is at six this afternoon.”

  He slapped down his Visa card. Didn’t matter if they used the credit card now. By the time the guy traced this expenditure, he and Benny would be safely across the border. “It hasn’t left yet. It’s sitting right out there and I’m getting on it. Give me the tickets.” He smiled. “Please hurry.”

  “Señor, the bus is full—”

  “We’ll stand in the aisle if we have to. Charge me double fare! I don’t care. Just hurry!”

  The clerk, who looked like he’d been up for twenty-four hours at least, glanced pointedly at the line of people behind Owen. “The next bus to Reynosa is at six,” he repeated.

  Owen leaned in. “You see that young lady over there in the corner?”

  The clerk stood on his tiptoes and peered over Owen’s shoulder. “Sí.”

  “That’s my new wife. We’re on our honeymoon, and we just got word she has to get home for a funeral tomorrow morning.” And it was probably going to be his funeral if she found out he’d made up such a whopper.

  Lord, it’s an emergency, he excused himself, when his conscience jabbed him. And she did say she had to get to a funeral.

  The ticket agent’s expression softened as Bernadette took one of the old woman’s arthritic hands and held it to her own blooming cheek. She kissed the knobby fingers and closed her eyes, murmuring in obvious prayer.

  With a sigh, the agent took Owen’s Visa card and ran it through the credit machine. “Don’t blame me if you miss it.”

  “Thanks.” Shifting with impatience, Owen kept an eye on the bus through the open terminal door. He heard the engine grumble to life as the clerk gave him a receipt to sign. After turning it upside down to scrawl his name, he snatched the tickets and ran. “Benny! Come on, let’s go!” The bus driver was shutting the door.

  Benny looked up. “You mean right now?”

  “Yes, right now.”

  She dropped the elderly woman’s hand and rose with a respectful smile. “Adiós, abuela. Vaya con Dios.”

  Owen danced with impatience. “We’re gonna miss the bus! Come on!” He grabbed Benny’s elbow and pulled her out the door. They pelted toward the bus, where Owen banged on the door with the flat of his hand. “Open up!” He held up the tickets. “Let us in!”

  The driver peered through the window in the door for an agonizing moment, then reluctantly opened it. “No cabe nadie más, señor.” We are full.

  “Tenemos los boletos,” Owen said, boosting Benny up the steps. We have tickets.

  “Lo siento, señor, pero—”

  Suddenly, a commotion ensued from the back of the bus—noisy squawks accompanied by flapping wings. Everyone on the bus turned to look.

  A red-faced Anglo couple stood up and stumbled down the aisle, lugging a huge birdcage between them. It contained a pair of brilliantly colored parrots, evidently the source of the uproar. “Sorry, sorry, con per-miso, perdón,” the man muttered as he and his companion banged into people sitting along the aisle. They stopped to address the driver. “Just realized we left the bird’s papers at the hotel. They won’t let us across the border without them.”

  When the driver looked blank, Owen interpreted.

  “Van a tomarles los asientos,” growled the driver. You’ll lose your seats.

  Owen could hardly contain a victory dance. He met Benny’s twinkling eyes. “Guess we get a ride after all, huh?”

  Briggs screeched into the bus station parking lot on two badly damaged wheels. He’d hit a monster-size pothole on the way from the campground and heard a sickening pop and hiss.

  He couldn’t have said when it occurred to him that the bus station was the obvious place to look for them; it was just a finely tuned intuition. But he was going to have to hurry. He’d fired a gun in a public campground and he could already hear sirens in the bac
kground. If they caught up to him, he’d have to jump through all kinds of hoops to excuse his outrageous behavior. If the judge had to get involved, he was not going to be a happy camper.

  But “sufficient to the day is the evil thereof” was what his grandma used to say when she was telling him not to borrow trouble. Whatever that meant.

  Anyway, one problem at a time.

  He abandoned the Crown Victoria—interesting coincidence that his car and the town had the same name—and raced inside the station. Wildly, he looked around but didn’t see hide nor hair of his quarry. He chugged past the line of people waiting for tickets, shoved aside a fat-lady tourist wearing the ugliest hat he’d ever seen and slapped a hand on the counter.

  “¡Americanos! Have you seen two of them?” He held up two fingers.

  The ticket agent copied his move. “Peace. Es nece-sario esperar, señor.” Wait.

  “No! Not peace! Two! Dos Americans!” He didn’t have time to dig out his phrase book, so he raised his voice and spoke slowly. “A man and a woman dressed like a little boy. Did they buy tickets just now?”

  The lady he’d pushed aside tapped him on the shoulder. “There were two Americans in here a little while ago, but they just got on that bus.” She jerked a thumb toward the open doorway, where he saw a bus huffing and steaming. It began to move, spewing exhaust. “Now would you get to the end of the line where you belong, you jerk? It’s my turn.”

  Briggs stepped on her toe hard as he tore outside. But he was too late. The bus pulled away before he reached the curb. Boiling with frustration, he ran behind it, breathing exhaust fumes for half a block before his asthma kicked in. Wheezing, he slowed, then stopped in the middle of the street, doubled over. A motorcycle roared past, then another bus, honking at him.

  He’d let them get away again. One minute earlier and he’d have had them. He was going to be shaking hands with Frank Carter in Hades if he didn’t get this thing in gear soon.