One Wrong Step (Borderline Book 2)

by Laura Griffin

  Something howled in the distance, and it took her a second to realize it was a coyote. Of course. Because murdering henchmen and fractured bones and cactus needles and dehydration weren’t enough to worry about.

  Celie climbed to her feet, swiped away her tears, and got moving.

  The beam from John’s flashlight swept from side to side as he trudged across the field. He’d been out here for more than four hours and hadn’t seen any sign of Celie, not even a footprint.

  His watch beeped, and he stopped to reprogram it. For one solid minute, he called her name, then paused to listen for an answer. He’d been doing this for hours, and his voice was nearly gone, but it hadn’t helped worth shit. The only sound out here was the wind moving over the crappy thornbushes and the occasional coyote.

  “Fuck!”

  His strategy wasn’t working. When he’d first set out, he’d cut a direct line to the row of trees near the river. Because of the darkness and his ongoing flashlight sweeps, the journey had taken him more than an hour. As soon as he got close enough to hear the water running, he’d started using a grid system. He would parallel the river for five minutes, call Celie’s name for one, then turn west and walk ten minutes that direction, then call her name again. Then he’d reset his watch and walk five minutes south, call her name, then head back to the river again. It was tedious as shit, but this whole thing was a needle in a haystack, and this was the only method that made any sense. John refused to wander around out here like a dumbfuck when he knew from both his climbing and his scuba training that search-and-rescue efforts had almost no chance of success when people moved around haphazardly, missing big swaths of land and covering the same ground over and over.

  John looked up at the sky, where a half-moon had risen in the east. Unfortunately, it was cloudy tonight, and he’d been able to use it for guidance only sporadically.

  Something moved in front of him, and John swung the flashlight beam toward it.

  An armadillo. Rooting around at the base of a plant.

  John stopped, paused the timer on his watch, and took a second to catch his breath. The armadillo kept rooting, oblivious to his light.

  John mopped the sweat off his brow with his T-shirt. He needed a drink. And not the alcoholic kind—more like a tanker full of Gatorade. He bent over and touched his toes, trying to limber up his stiff muscles. His flashlight shined down on some pebbles on the ground. He selected a couple, dusted them off, and popped them in his mouth. He spat out some dirt and swished the rocks around, relieving his cotton mouth. What he really needed was water, but he didn’t want to take the time necessary to mine the juice out of a cactus ear.

  John reset his watch and resumed his course. In the distance, several miles to the northwest, he guessed, he heard the faint thrumming of chopper blades as another helicopter landed at Saledo’s. Half a dozen law enforcement agencies were probably taking the house apart by now, processing the scene and cataloguing evidence. They’d probably already dispatched a team of agents to search for Saledo’s nephew, too—probably put out an APB and stationed guys at the airport. Some murdering shithead gets loose, and law enforcement pulls out all the stops. Meanwhile, an innocent woman is lost in the wilderness, running for her life from the sick fuck, and she doesn’t even merit a canine unit. Just like back in Austin, all the authorities cared about was a high-profile arrest. No one gave a shit what happened to Celie.

  No one except him.

  Okay, Feenie and Marco, too. They cared, but not the way he did. Not to the extent that every step farther into the darkness was making his heart bleed.

  God damn it.

  John spit out the pebbles and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Why hadn’t he told her? He’d had years to do it, and he’d failed. He’d never let her know how he felt. He’d never told her that sometime between that day ten years ago, when he’d watched her swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…and then proceed to hold her head up and recount her worst nightmare in front of her attacker and a room full of strangers, sometime between then and yesterday, when she’d raced up to him in her purple jumpsuit and dragged him off to kiss him and tell him he was amazing, he’d fallen in love with her.

  Shit, he was stupid. He was a fucking idiot for not realizing how precious she was and holding on when he’d had the chance. He’d let her go, again and again, and now that he finally knew he loved her, she might be gone.

  John’s watch beeped, and he checked the time. One fifty-five. In less than four hours, Marco would be returning to Saledo’s airstrip, and John hadn’t found shit.

  He moved to reset the timer, and his flashlight beam reflected off something.

  A shoe. With a Nike swoosh. A shoe sitting by itself in the dirt.

  He swept the light around, trying to look everywhere at once. The flashlight beam landed on an arm, a leg, a body curled up on the ground.

  “Celie?”

  She bolted upright, and his world tilted. He trained the light on her face. She squinted, and then her eyes widened as he approached. She probably couldn’t see him past the glare.

  “It’s okay.” His voice shook. He knelt beside her and touched her arm. “It’s all right, baby, it’s me.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  She was hallucinating. She had to be.

  But he was right there, touching her arm.

  She put her hand over his just to make sure. A flashlight shined up from beside him, making his face look ghoulish, but it was him.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God, how did you find me?”

  He stared at her, wordless, and for a minute she thought she’d dreamed it.

  But then his hands were on her. Touching her face, her hair, her arms and legs. “Are you injured?”

  “I’m fine.” No she wasn’t. “I’m okay, I just hurt myself trying to get away.”

  He was turning her arm, examining the cut. He picked up the flashlight and shined it down on the gash. In the harsh light, it looked disgusting—dried blood, pus, dirt, and dead bugs stuck in the mire.

  “Fuck, what’s this?”

  “I cut it—ouch!”

  He’d bumped against her leg, jostling her ankle.

  “What? What’d I do?”

  “My ankle. I think it’s sprained.”

  The flashlight beam shifted to her ankle, all purple and swollen.

  “Holy fuck. Is it broken?”

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t even care anymore, not really. He was here. She was going to be okay.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Some,” she said. “I finally stopped to elevate it on a rock and took my shoe off to relieve the pressure. I guess I fell asleep.”

  “Hold this,” he said, handing her the flashlight.

  Celie shined the light on him. He pulled a strap over his head and unzipped something. He started shuffling through some kind of fanny pack or…

  “Is that a diaper bag?” She eyed the bunny rabbits all over it.

  His hands stilled. “Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t really notice. Marco threw all this shit in here—”

  “Marco Juarez ? He’s here?”

  “Him. And Rowe. And Stevenski. A whole chopper full of cops dropped down on Saledo’s tonight. Must’ve just missed you.”

  She felt numb. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you all came here.”

  McAllister stopped rummaging and stared at her for a long moment. It looked like he was about to say something, but then he looked down, shook his head.

  “What?”

  He didn’t answer. He just took her arm in his hands and carefully turned it over. “Aim the light there.”

  She did.

  He took out the first-aid kit and tore open an antiseptic towelette. She tried not to wince while he cleaned her wound, dislodging a sliver of glass with his thumbs and gently wiping the blood away, the whole time staring down and avoiding her gaze. He got the gash cleaned up, but still he kept his head bowed, looking down at it. Even
clean, it was pretty nasty. She probably should have had stitches, but by now it was too late.

  His shoulders shook.

  She dipped her head, trying to get a look at his face. She moved the flashlight beam, but he put his hand over hers and switched off the light.

  They sat there together in the pitch-dark. Soft, strangled sounds were coming from his throat.

  She wrapped her arms around him, and his big, wide shoulders quaked. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”

  His body tensed. He sniffled and pulled back. “Shit,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” She touched his face, running her fingertips over his wet cheeks. “I love you.”

  He pulled her against him and squeezed her so tightly, she could barely breathe. “I love you, too,” he said.

  She turned her head and kissed his chest. His body was warm and solid under his sweat-soaked shirt, and she realized how cold she’d been up to now.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  He snorted. He started laughing, his shoulders shaking now for an entirely different reason.

  “What?” she asked, pulling away from him.

  “Shit, Celie.” He pulled her back, still laughing, and kissed her forehead. “Sometimes you kill me.”

  McAllister had just finished digging the cactus needles out of her palm when the flashlight flickered and faded off. She pressed the button a few times and tapped it against the ground, but it was dead.

  He cursed the flashlight company, then the battery company, then the Mexican countryside.

  Celie smiled in the darkness. She was leaning against a boulder and sitting on top of a spread-out poncho with her ankle propped up. McAllister had scouted out this spot with the aid of the flashlight, and it was more comfortable than the patch of dirt where she had collapsed a few hours back.

  “Did Marco put any batteries in that bag?” he asked.

  While McAllister played doctor, Celie had inventoried everything. They had a dead cellular phone, one PowerBar, a first-aid kit, a tube of diaper cream, a pocket knife, Wet Wipes, and two sample packs of Enfamil. What they didn’t have were spare batteries.

  Or water.

  “No,” she reported.

  “Shit. There goes our chance of getting out of here tonight.”

  “I didn’t know we had one.”

  His face glowed green in the light of his watch as he checked the time. “In three hours, Marco will be looking for us on Saledo’s road. I was hoping we’d get moving back that direction soon.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think my ankle’s up for that hike.” She didn’t want to tell him how much it hurt, but it really did.

  “I was planning to carry you. You know, piggyback.”

  She bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions from spilling over. He’d already been subjected to one of her crying jags yesterday.

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t think that’s going to work without a flashlight.”

  “Yeah.” He heaved a sigh. “If the clouds dissipate, we can use the moon.”

  When the moon was visible, it cast enough light to travel by—barely. Problem was, it kept going into hiding for long stretches.

  “Why don’t we just rest?” Celie suggested. “When the sun comes up, we’ll get going. Maybe by then Marco will have rustled up some help.”

  John didn’t say anything, and Celie knew he wasn’t happy. He was worried about her injuries. Plus, they were both hungry and getting dehydrated.

  “Okay,” he said. “But I need you to eat that PowerBar.”

  He’d already offered it to her, but she’d said she didn’t want it.

  “Let’s split it,” she said now.

  While she unwrapped it and broke it in half, he got up and wandered a few yards away. She thought he was relieving himself, but then he came back and set something down on the ground.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Have you ever eaten prickly pear?”

  “No.”

  “You’re in for a treat,” he said. “I’ll pluck the needles out of these, carve up the meat inside. You just chew it and get all the juice out.”

  “Hmm…Can you make me a margarita, too?”

  He chuckled and sat down beside her. He went to work on the cactus with the knife, and a few minutes later, she’d washed down half of the PowerBar with a dozen mouthfuls of slightly sweet liquid.

  “Yum,” she said.

  “Told you.”

  She felt him stand up beside her. “What now?”

  “We need to get you more comfortable.” He eased himself down between her and the rock while taking care not to jar her injuries. He nestled her bottom between his legs and gently pulled her back so that her head fit against his chest.

  “Thanks,” she said. “This is much better.”

  For a few minutes they were still and quiet, and the breeze was the only sound.

  “Are you really okay?” he asked softly. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “I would have told you.”

  She felt his chest rise and fall, his relief tangible.

  “Good.” He stroked her hair away from her face.

  “I think he was going to.” She told him about her interchange with Saledo during the skeet shooting. She felt better telling someone, especially now that Saledo was good and dead.

  “What do you think happened to his nephew?”

  “I don’t know,” McAllister said. “Since we haven’t seen any choppers or signs of a search party, the cops must have reason to believe he’s out of the area. Or maybe they’ve apprehended him.”

  “You think they got him?”

  He hesitated a moment. “In all honesty? No. My guess is, he hightailed it way the hell away from here. He’s probably in hiding.”

  “You think he’ll stay there?”

  “Maybe. I doubt it, though. There’s a power vacuum now, and someone’s got to fill it.”

  Not a great prospect. Celie wondered if Special Agent Rowe ever felt discouraged by the endless nature of it all. The minute they caught one criminal, another popped up to take his place.

  “I’m worried now,” McAllister said, his voice low. “He could come after you someday.”

  Celie had been thinking about that earlier tonight. “I don’t think he will.”

  “What, you spend the afternoon with the guy and suddenly you can predict his behavior?”

  “No, it’s just…” She had nothing concrete, only a feeling. “I think he likes me. I know that sounds strange, but I think he admires that I took something from his uncle. I don’t think he respected the man very much.”

  Celie nestled her head against John’s chest. They sat that way for a while, just breathing together in the blackness, and then she spoke up.

  “I can’t believe Marco came down here.”

  “Feenie sent him.”

  “I can’t believe Feenie sent him.”

  “She loves you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Same as me.”

  She smiled in the dark and felt his warm hands glide over her thighs. Her legs were still bare, but he was keeping the chill away.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “If you want to keep trying to get pregnant, I could help out with that.”

  A few seconds ticked by. “I thought you didn’t believe in having babies out of wedlock?”

  “I don’t.”

  She absorbed that for a moment, feeling torn. She needed to tell him something, but just thinking about it made her ache.

  “When I first started spending time with you,” she said, “I had this notion that you could work some kind of miracle on me.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’re just so, I don’t know, manly, I guess. It doesn’t make any sense, but I thought all that testosterone might kick my body into gear or something.”

  His hands stroked her skin in a way that was a little bit sexual and a lot comforting.
“That doesn’t sound very scientific,” he said finally.

  “It isn’t.” She swallowed. “You know, odds are, I’ll never be able to have a baby. I don’t know if that matters to you or not, but you need to know.”

  “I know.” He took her hands in his and gently settled them in her lap, making sure not to bump her bandaged arm. “Have you ever thought about adoption?”

  “I wanted to exhaust the other possibilities first.”

  “You know what I think?” His breath felt warm against her ear. “I think you’re going to be a mother someday. And wherever your child comes from, you’re going to love it, and nurture it, and take good care of it, just like you do every kid who gets the privilege of knowing you.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “You gave all that money to the Bluebonnet House, didn’t you?”

  She took a deep breath, blew it out. “Not all of it. But a lot. Did Marco tell you?”

  “I put it together after something Feenie said.”

  “Oh.”

  “It was a gutsy, generous thing to do,” he said. “But please don’t do it again.”

  “I don’t see what’s so generous about it. It was never really my money in the first place.”

  “Still,” he said. “Promise me that’s the last time you do something like that. If we’re going to make this work, I need to know you’re not out pissing off dangerous people and getting yourself in life-threatening situations all the time.”

  “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like us. I have a few questions.”

  He folded his arms over her chest and pulled her closer. “Okay, let’s hear ’em.”

  She swallowed. Chewed her lip. Wondered whether this was crazy. Maybe she should stop giving in to her impulses.

  “What you said a minute ago.” She turned to look at him. “Did you mean you want to get married?”