by Elle James
“I haven’t seen her yet, so maybe she wasn’t there or she got away.”
She hugged the baby closer, as if she could take some comfort from the doll. “Why do something so horrible?”
“I guess they weren’t useful to the operation anymore. They were a liability, so he got rid of them.”
Nausea rose in her throat. The man responsible for this was the same one who wanted Angelique. Thank God the baby was safe. “What are you going to do?”
He shouldered the pack. “We’re going to go after him,” he said. “We’re going to make him pay for this.”
“I have to meet with him,” she said. “If that’s the best way to draw him out, I have to do it.”
He grasped her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know,” he said. “I don’t like it, but I understand. I’m sorry I came on so strong before. It’s just... I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I’ll be okay.” She managed a brief smile. “I have a lot to live for.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the ravine. “I’d better get back down there.”
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
“Nothing right now. Stay up here. Out of the way.”
When he was gone, she felt even more useless and worried. The sun beat down with searing intensity. Still cradling her fake charge, she moved into the shade, the shouts of those below drifting up to her as they worked to save the injured and dying. She felt numb, the way she’d felt in Afghanistan after encountering tragedy, the horror of the events too much to take.
She leaned against the tree and closed her eyes, willing herself not to fall apart. This wasn’t about her. The others didn’t need anyone else to look after right now. She had to keep it together.
Something tugged at her arm and she jerked upright, eyes wide, mouth open to scream, but a hand clamped over her lips silenced her. “Don’t make any noise, senorita. While the others are busy, you will come with me.” She stared into Raul Meredes’s eyes, fighting panic, as he covered her face with a cloth and the world went black.
* * *
ABBY CAME TO in the backseat of a vehicle, wedged between the door and the body of a man who sat with a rifle resting across his knees. The vehicle hit a bump and her head knocked against the door. She grunted, the only sound she could make against the gag that all but choked her, and the man turned to look at her, then said something in Spanish to whoever was driving.
Her arms and shoulders ached from where one of her captors had tied her hands behind her back, and the bandanna in her mouth tasted of cotton and dust. Her captors hadn’t bothered covering her eyes, though all she could see from here was the back of the seat in front of her, and the profile of the man beside her. He wore fatigues and dusty boots, and the hands that cradled the rifle were dirty, the nails bitten.
This man wasn’t Meredes. She wondered if he was driving. Was there another guard in the front passenger seat? She and Michael had seen at least three other men with guns when they came to move the trailers, but for all she knew, Meredes had a dozen at his command.
She couldn’t see the baby. They would have figured out quickly that it was a fake. They must have been watching, and seen that the others were preoccupied with the goings-on in the canyon. Or maybe Prentice had called Meredes to warn him of the task force’s discovery. He couldn’t resist the opportunity to snatch the child. Was he furious at being frustrated in his efforts to obtain the baby? Would he take that frustration out on her? A man who would callously push imprisoned people to their death in a canyon wasn’t likely to have qualms about hurting a woman who had crossed him.
She wondered how long it would be before Michael and the others realized she was missing. They ought to be able to follow the trail of this vehicle over the rough terrain, but then what? If Meredes planned to use her as a hostage and bargain for the baby, she might have a chance to escape. But what if he wanted to send a different kind of message—by killing her and disposing of the body?
She shuddered and pushed the thought away. That kind of thinking would get her nowhere. In the army, she’d been trained to focus on escape and survival. If she could do the first, she knew how to do the second. She could find food and shelter in the wilderness. All she needed was an opportunity to slip away from Meredes and the man beside her.
The vehicle jerked to a stop, the brakes squealing. The guard got out, then came around to her side of the vehicle, opened the door and took hold of her bound arms and dragged her out of the car. A hot breeze buffeted her as she steadied herself, and she squinted at the surrounding landscape. They’d stopped at the edge of the canyon—Black Canyon, the one that gave the park its name. This must have been part of the gorge that wasn’t in the national park, away from tourists and traffic.
She’d correctly guessed that Meredes was driving. He walked around the vehicle and stood in front of her. Though not a big man, he was tall, and wiry. He wore his sideburns long, but was clean shaven, his white shirt stiff with starch, his jeans precisely creased. It seemed odd to find a dandy here in the middle of the wilderness.
He said something in Spanish and the guard pulled a large knife from his belt. Her terror must have shown on her face. He laughed and waved the knife in front of her nose, then bent and cut the restraints from her ankles.
The passenger door of the vehicle opened and Abby received another shock to her system as Mariposa stepped out. The other woman frowned at her. What was she thinking? Was she upset that Abby hadn’t brought the baby? Had she known about the plan to kill her coworkers by pushing the trailers into the ravine, or was she an unwilling pawn? What was her relationship to Meredes? Was he her lover? Her captor? Both?
The guard shoved Abby toward the edge of the canyon. Her heart hammered in her chest and she dug in her heels. Did they intend to throw her into the chasm and leave her to die, as they’d done with the workers in the trailers?
Her guard said something in Spanish and Meredes addressed her. “Follow me,” he said, and indicated a narrow trail that led along the side of the canyon.
The barrel of the rifle pressed to her back told her she had no choice in the matter. She fell into step behind Mariposa, the guard behind her. Meredes led them along the canyon rim and then down into the canyon itself, the trail cut into the canyon wall. They descended about twenty feet, to a narrow ledge where someone had built a cabin. The stone-and-wood structure hugged the side of the gorge, blending perfectly with its surroundings. It would be invisible from anyone who didn’t already know it was there.
Inside, the cabin was furnished simply but comfortably, with a double bed, a sofa and a table with four chairs arranged around an iron woodstove. The guard knelt before the stove and began building a fire. Despite the heat on the canyon rim, the air here in the shadowed chasm held a chill. Meredes shoved Abby into a chair. Mariposa filled a kettle from a water barrel by the door and set it on the stove to heat.
Meredes faced Abby and removed the gag. “What have you done with Angelique?” he asked.
“She’s safe,” Abby said. She watched Mariposa as she spoke; the woman’s shoulders sagged with relief.
“You were stupid to think you could fool me,” Meredes said. “Do not make that mistake again.”
She said nothing, only glared at him. “Where is the child?” he asked.
“She’s somewhere safe,” Abby repeated. “She’s in a good home.” She hoped Mariposa knew enough English to understand the words.
“She belongs here.”
“Why? So you can make a slave of her the way you have these other people?”
He slapped her, a hard, stinging blow that snapped her head back and made her ears ring.
“That is not your concern.” He shoved her into a chair, then settled onto the sofa. Mariposa brought him a mug; Abby caught the aroma of coffee. He sipped the drink and sett
led back against the cushions, a man comfortable in his home.
“Why did you murder those people?” she asked.
His expression didn’t change. “What people are you accusing me of murdering?”
“The people who worked for you. The ones in the camp. You locked them in their trailers and pushed the trailers into the ravine.”
Crockery rattled, and they both turned to look at Mariposa, who quickly turned away. Had she not known about the fate of her fellow immigrants? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meredes said, though his eyes told a different story. The hatred she saw there made her shiver.
“Some of them survived,” she said. “The Rangers rescued them. They’ll be able to identify you as the one who held them prisoner, then tried to murder them.”
“They cannot identify someone who was not there,” he said.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter to me what you believe,” he said. “Once I have the baby, you will be no use to me anymore.”
“Do you think you’re going to trade me for the baby?” she asked.
“Trade?” He sipped his coffee. “That is what I will let the Rangers think, but I promise you, senorita, you will never leave here alive.”
* * *
MICHAEL HELPED LOAD the last stretcher into the waiting ambulance. The man strapped there had borne the rough ride up from the canyon floor in stoic silence, only occasional grunts betraying the pain from his broken leg and ribs. “You’re going to be okay,” Michael said in Spanish, and patted the man’s shoulder. The man stared back at him, one unspoken question in his eyes—why?
Michael had asked himself the same question a dozen times in the past two hours. Why would someone do this to innocent people who worked for him? “If Meredes had no use for them anymore, why didn’t he just turn them loose in the nearest town to make their own way back to the border or to find work elsewhere?” he asked Carmen as they headed back to his Cruiser. “Why go to so much trouble to harm them?”
“Maybe he wanted to make a point,” Simon said. “To let word get around about what happened to anyone who crossed him. Fear is power to a man like that.”
“Maybe he’s just a psycho who gets off on hurting people,” Randall said.
And this was the guy they were willingly going to let Abby face? Michael shuddered, and looked around for Abby. Just seeing her would make him feel better.
“Where’s Abby?” he asked.
The others looked around. “Is she in the car?” Carmen asked.
“She’s not here,” Simon said from beside his Cruiser.
Heart racing, Michael ran to the clump of trees where he’d seen Abby last. He stared at the scuff marks in the dirt, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. “Randall, get Lotte over here,” he said.
The young ranger looked up from adding a bottle of water to the dog’s dish. “What is it?” he asked.
“Just bring her over here. Now.”
“Lotte. Come.”
The dog obediently trotted along beside Randall, to where Michael crouched next to the scuff marks. “Abby’s gone,” he said. “I think this is where they took her. She struggled. I need Lotte to help us find her.” He struggled to keep his voice calm and dispassionate, though inside he wanted to scream.
“We don’t need a dog to follow this trail.” Simon pointed out across the desert. “The tire tracks are easy enough to see in this terrain.”
Michael stood and clamped Randall on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Maybe we have time to catch up with them.”
“Wait just a minute.” Graham’s command stopped them. He joined them in studying the tire tracks headed into the desert. “You can’t go tearing off without a plan.”
“Meredes probably isn’t alone,” Carmen said. “If you corner him, you put Abby in danger.”
“She’s already in danger,” Michael said. “The man’s a murderer.”
“He took her alive.” Graham pointed to the ground. “There’s no blood. He probably plans to use her to trade for the baby.”
“Which we can’t give him,” Carmen said.
Michael took a deep breath, struggling to control his emotions. “So we follow him, but we don’t make any rash moves. We find out where he’s taking Abby and scope out the situation. Then we formulate a plan to rescue her.”
“All right.” Graham nodded. “Carmen, you go with them. Keep me posted about whatever you find.”
Michael pulled out his keys. “Come on,” he said.
They piled into the Cruiser, Carmen in the front with Michael, Randall and Lotte in the back. Carmen rolled down her window and leaned out. “It should be pretty easy to follow the tracks through here,” she said.
“He must have some kind of hideout,” Randall said. “Either that, or he knows a shortcut back to the main road.”
“Get the map from the console and tell me if you see any likely hiding places,” Michael said. He hunched over the steering wheel, following the faint depressions made by the vehicle’s tires across the prairie. He wanted to tear out across the empty expanse, but the rocky ground forced him to reduce his speed to scarcely above a crawl.
The stiff paper of the map crackled as Randall spread it out. “There’s half a dozen side canyons branching off from the main gorge in this direction,” he said. “Careful you don’t drive us into one.”
“Do you see any place that would make a good hideout?” Michael asked.
“Dozens of places,” Randall said. “There’s the canyons, old buildings left from the days when this was a ranch. And he could pull a trailer in anywhere. No roads, though, so he’s probably not headed to town.”
“Just keep following the tracks,” Carmen said. She leaned forward, squinting out the windshield. “And keep your speed down, so you don’t kick up dust. We don’t want him to know we’re tailing him.”
“He’s far enough ahead he can’t see our dust,” Michael said, but he forced himself to ease off the accelerator.
He guided the Cruiser along a dry creek bed, around an outcropping of rock. The remains of an old corral appeared on their left, ancient fence posts sticking up from the eroded land like broken teeth. “The map indicates some old ranch buildings around here,” Randall said. “Keep an eye out for vehicles.”
“I see something.” Carmen grabbed his wrist and he braked to a halt. She pointed to the ruins of an old log cabin. “There’s a car parked there.”
He peered closer and could make out the front bumper and headlights of a vehicle. “Looks like an older Jeep,” Randall said.
“Let’s get out and take a look.” He backed up and parked the Cruiser in the shadow of the outcropping they’d just passed, out of sight of the old Jeep. Michael looked through the gap between the boulders out on what must have been an old bunkhouse or line shack, the roof caved in, glassless windows showing grass and piñons growing up from the dirt floor. The vehicle, an older Jeep Cherokee, had been parked against the remains of a log wall, partially hidden from view.
He settled into position behind the right-hand boulder and took a pair of binoculars from the pack.
“See anything?” Randall asked.
“Just the Jeep. It wasn’t one of the vehicles Abby and I saw at the camp. Maybe it’s been parked there awhile. It doesn’t look as though anything but coyotes have been out here for years.”
“The maps designate the ruins as a historical structure,” Randall said. “Part of the ranch that operated here before the park.”
“Doesn’t the park date back to the thirties?” Carmen asked.
“Something like that,” Randall said. “Amazing how long things last in this dry air.” He snapped the leash on Lotte. “She’ll tell us if anyone’s been here recently, and where they’ve gone.”
Moving quickly and quietly, they shouldered day packs, and Michael picked up the assault rifle he’d removed from the gun safe at headquarters that morning. The memory of that first day Abby had walked into headquarters, when they’d been pinned down by that sniper, still burned fresh. He could still recall the feel of her body beneath his, and the fierce protectiveness he’d felt for her even then. Multiply that anxiety by twenty now.
They approached the Jeep from an angle, spreading out and putting Lotte in front. The dog remained relaxed, tail up, ears erect, nose alert. “She’d tell us if anyone was around,” Randall said. “Whoever parked there is long gone.”
“Not too long.” Michael pressed his palm against the hood of the vehicle and felt the heat of the engine.
Carmen dropped to one knee at the front of the Jeep. “The pattern on the tires looks the same as the ones we’ve been following,” she said.
He scrutinized the landscape around them, alert for any sign that someone was near. But he didn’t have the sense that anyone was watching. A hot wind buffeted them, bringing the scents of sage and piñon. The only sounds were the scrape of their boots on rock and the occasional creak of a pack strap or the clink of the rifle stock against the pack. Whoever had driven this Jeep seemed to have disappeared.
He pulled a pair of thin latex gloves from his pocket and slipped them on, then carefully opened the driver’s door. The brown cloth seats were worn, a rip in the back repaired with duct tape. The cup holder was empty, as was the center console and the glove box. No dust collected on the dash. “It looks like they wiped it clean,” he said. “But we’ll get someone to check for prints anyway.”
He moved to the backseat. More of the same. He might have been looking at a used car for sale on a dealer’s lot. He started to close the door when the glint of something on the floorboard caught his attention. He bent to get a closer look and his heart stopped beating for a moment. Carefully, he reached down and picked up the little ceramic figure of a brown-and-white rabbit.
“What have you got there?” Carmen came to stand beside him.