Swelter

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “I’m not leaving you guys here to face Reyes’s men alone.”

  “They ain’t going to bother us much when they find out you ain’t here.”

  “And where do you expect me to go?” August began saddling the bay despite her protest, while Teal retrieved the gelding’s bridle and swapped out his halter.

  “Caprock Canyon. It’s been a while, but you used to know those trails like the back of your hand. BJ’s calling that DEA guy, but you two gotta stay clear of those goons until the cavalry can get here.”

  “Wait, wait.” August held up her hands. “I thought we were saddling a fresh horse for me. Why should Teal have to go?”

  Pops gave her an incredulous look. “Girl, those pictures of y’all in town were on the television a minute ago, and it ain’t hard to see what’s between you two. You think they wouldn’t use her to pull you back in?” He limped into the barn’s small office.

  Teal raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. August, I’m so sorry.”

  August reached for her. “No. I’m sorry to mix you up in my crap.”

  “What’s done is done,” Pops said. He tossed a bedroll at August and began tying a second one behind the bay’s saddle. He nodded toward a backpack he’d dropped on the ground with two large water bottles attached to the sides. “Slide that on. You’ll have to be your own pack horse. That’s got your climbing equipment and enough freeze-dried meals and protein bars for a few days.”

  BJ strode into the barn and handed August’s holstered pistol to her, and she clipped it to her belt. “Extra bullets are in the backpack.” Then he handed over her hiking boots and tossed Teal’s boots to her. “These will serve you better in the canyons.”

  August stared at him. “You guys had this planned all along.”

  He shrugged. “Somebody told me you always need a Plan B, and maybe a Plan C.” He winked at Teal, then turned back to August. “You need to hold on to that one. She’s a pretty smart catch.” He glanced back toward the door. “It’s getting pretty dark, but stick to the fence line and go quiet until you’re far enough away. Leave Rio. Pops will send her to find you when the coast is clear.”

  They turned the horses toward the back of the huge barn and mounted up. Pops murmured a quiet “stay” command to Rio, and August looked down at BJ. “You be careful, old man. Don’t do anything crazy and get yourself hurt on my account.”

  BJ smiled and waved a dismissive hand in front of his face. Then he stepped back and peered up at her. “Listen to the wind and the earth. Be open to your spirit guide. The White Paw is with you.”

  “Always.”

  *

  They barely glimpsed the cloud of dust and the outline of a large SUV as it turned from the highway onto the ranch’s long gravel drive. August led them behind the equipment barn and bunkhouse, then along the outside of the large paddock’s board fence. The sky grew darker with each measured, quiet step their horses took, and the horses inside the paddock, expecting food, followed along to further conceal them from the ranch complex. When they reached the end of the fence, the night had fully enveloped them.

  August gestured for Teal to come alongside. “I know it’s dark, but we’re not safe until we get off this flat prairie and into the canyon. The bay should be able to keep up, so stick as close as you can.”

  Teal’s nod was confident. “Don’t worry about me. I’m right behind you.”

  They both started at the distant pop of gunfire, and August swore. She immediately wheeled the stallion to return to the ranch, but just as quickly, the big bay gelding blocked her path. The stallion jerked to a stop, dancing in place.

  “I’ve got to go back.” Her heart pounded and her mind raced with what could possibly be happening. BJ and Pops were closer than family to her. She was responsible, too, for Hawk, Manny, and Tommy. They were hers to protect. Thank the stars Brick was at home with his family. She tried to guide the stallion around the bay, but Teal grabbed one of the stallion’s reins and held on tight. “Let go!”

  “No, August. I won’t.” Teal’s eyes were fierce. “I won’t let go. God forgive me, but I won’t let them have you.”

  August settled the stallion, and they stared at each other.

  “You need to trust that BJ knows what he’s doing,” Teal said quietly. “Trust all of us, sweetheart.”

  She’d trusted Christine. That’s what had landed her in this mess. She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. She was so torn she wanted to cry. She wanted to be a little girl again and run into the arms of the most honorable person she’d ever known, the one who’d never broken a promise, who’d dried all her tears, who’d always stood with her against her parents’ efforts to change her into someone she wasn’t. What would Gus do? An unexpected breeze brought the scent of bison and sun-warmed rock. She could almost hear the wind whistle between Caprock’s peaks like a native flute, and the large, dark shape of a half-wolf with one white paw formed in her mind. The wolf turned and loped toward the red mountains. The wranglers had each other for backup. Teal only had her. Gus would expect her to keep Teal safe.

  With the burst of gunfire still echoing in her ears, she made her decision grudgingly. She opened her eyes. Teal was watching her. “Okay.” She turned the stallion away from the ranch but hesitated one more time. “Teal, just in case—”

  “Don’t. We’ll get out of this. There’ll be time later when the media and drug dealers aren’t chasing us, when it’s just the two of us.”

  August nodded and kneed her stallion into a cautious lope, keeping a protective ear to the echoing hoofbeats at her back.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The black SUV idled in front of the ranch house, the outlines of the men behind the dark-tinted windows not moving.

  BJ lifted the radio to his mouth and spoke quietly. “Hold your positions. If things go sour, step out and show yourselves. We’re just trying to run them off. I don’t want any of you in court explaining why you shot some guy in an ambush.”

  Hawk, Manny, and Tommy were hidden in strategic positions with rifles trained on the SUV. The sheriff was on his way,

  and the fancy-pants DEA guy was coming from Dallas. Walker had asked about landing a helicopter at the ranch, so BJ figured all they needed to do was stall thirty or forty-five minutes for

  the sheriff.

  He’d grown up watching the old Western movies and television shows that romanticized showdowns. He allowed himself a grim smile. He was the Rifleman. He was John Wayne. He was Marshal Dillon. Okay, maybe he looked more like Robert Duvall in Lonesome Dove, but he was better than all those guys. His time in Vietnam as a young man had inspired him to combine Asian martial arts with the Native American mysticism that was his boyhood fascination. He was at peace with whatever was to come. Besides, he’d trained himself to be ambidextrous and could shoot accurately with both the rifle tucked under his left arm and the pistol holstered where his right hand rested at his hip. He stepped down from the porch.

  The glide of a window lowering broke the stillness. In spite of all his caution, all his training, he didn’t expect the gun that popped out without prelude and fired, knocking him to the ground. His shoulder burned and he struggled to breathe. His first gulp of air was filled with dust as tires crunched on gravel. His right hand wouldn’t work. The rifle. He groped in the dirt around him, but a heavy boot slammed into his ribs. Shouts in Spanish and English and gunfire were all around him. Someone grabbed his collar and dragged him to his feet. The security lights of the compound wavered. His vision darkened as pain shot down his arm, then crushed his chest when an arm roughly circled him to hold him upright. The cold metal of a gun barrel was pressed to his temple. The gunfire stopped.

  “How many?”

  “One on the roof over there. One in the barn loft. One from the side of that long building.”

  BJ struggled to focus. Who was talking? The men were shadowed figures in the dim light as they gathered around him and the man he was pinned against. Their Spanish
was Central American, not Mexican dialect. Manny had taught BJ the difference. Not good news. The Central American cartels made the Mexicans look like mere schoolyard bullies.

  “You, on the rooftops. I will not hesitate to finish him, and then my men will burn each of these buildings unless you throw down your weapons and come out.” The slender man, who stood with a bullet-proof boldness in front of the group, spoke in clipped, formal English. “I have come only for one person and something she stole from my employer. I have no interest in the rest of you. However, I also have little time and no patience. If you continue to delay me, I will kill every living thing in this compound and burn it to the ground.” His voice was as smooth as a sweet brandy, his reasonable tone a contrast to his cruel message. He raised his hand and flicked his fingers.

  The brute holding BJ shifted. The press of the gun barrel left his temple, and BJ gasped as blazing pain in his left calf instantly followed the gun’s loud report. He’d underestimated the man sent to hurt August, and he’d failed her. His head swam with pain as he called on the coyote, his spirit animal, to rouse The White Paw.

  *

  Rio whined as Pops bent over the workbench in his garden shed, scribbling a quick note that he dropped into a small leather tobacco pouch. He wrapped the computer thumb drives in a soft cloth, then plastic, and sealed them in an empty snuff tin. He knelt and tied the tobacco pouch around Rio’s neck, then held the snuff tin out to her. “You know what to do, girl. Hide. Then go find August.”

  The dog licked his hand and whined again.

  “I’ll be fine. You just do what I said.” He shook the tin for emphasis. “Hide.” Then he touched the pouch tied around her neck. “Go find August.” He struggled to his feet. “Damn knees.” He took only a second to gain his balance, and then he opened the shed’s door a few inches. The long bunkhouse stood between the shed and the open compound where the others were. The shadows were still. He pushed the door outward and whispered his urgent command. “Go, girl. Go.”

  The black border collie shot out of the shed like a bullet and disappeared into the dark night.

  Pops studied the buildings a moment longer and then moved silently toward the back door of the bunkhouse.

  *

  Tank shook his head and slammed his fist against the side of his pickup. “Bunch of pussy-assed—”

  “Careful there, honey pot. I know you’re demeaning your own incompetent gender, but don’t use the sweet words of my sex as insults.” A muscular, tattooed woman swung down from the passenger side of the monster truck and came around to stand in the yellow gleam of the headlights.

  His shoulders slumped as he faced his wife, Bunny. “I’m sorry, Bun. You know my bad upbringing comes out when I’m under pressure.”

  “I would’a thought August had pounded all of that out of you when y’all were teens.”

  “My daddy had twice as long to beat it into me before I met August.” He gave her a beseeching look. “You know I’m not like that. I’m just so worried.”

  She tossed her ponytail behind her shoulder and rubbed her hand over his massive back. “I know, sugar. I’m worried, too. I’m not about to go back to my sister and tell her that drug dealers have harmed her boy Tommy. Take a minute and let’s think this through.”

  Sweat plastered his T-shirt to his back, and she pulled it free to fan it a little. Only Bunny would touch his sweaty shirt to let some cool air next to his skin, and he loved her for doing it. He had known she was the woman for him the first time he’d taken off his shirt and she didn’t recoil, but purred over his overly furry physique. Her touches helped him focus, and Tank studied the situation before them.

  It’d taken an eternity to convince the sheriff that he needed to pull resources from the town’s biggest event of the year. Most of their county’s meager law-enforcement personnel were committed to the long festival weekend, so the sheriff had been able to free only the four deputies who had been through SWAT training. They’d piled into the sheriff’s car and the SUV that carried the team’s gear and headed to The White Paw ranch with Tank and Bunny following. Halfway there, someone had put out law-enforcement stop-sticks that punctured the tires of the sheriff’s car and sent it into a spin. The deputy driving the SUV hadn’t been able to stop quickly enough and had plowed into the police cruiser from behind. The SUV had little damage, but the cruiser’s trunk had tangled into the SUV’s bumper, locking the two vehicles together.

  “I should have gone by the Lock & Load and rounded up a bunch of boys with shotguns,” Tank muttered.

  “Just put them deputies in our truck,” Bunny said.

  “Hey,” Tank yelled at the deputies. “Get in back.”

  The sheriff put his hands on his hips. “I can’t leave all this equipment out here unguarded.”

  “Then you stay. We’ll take the boys with us,” Bunny said. She pointed to the deputies. “Grab your gear quick and get in, or we’ll leave you behind.”

  Tank almost laughed as the deputies ignored the sheriff and scrambled for their gear.

  The sheriff wasn’t laughing. “Wait. I don’t know about this.” But the last man was already climbing up the rear bumper into the bed of the monster truck. “Well, okay. I’ll radio for assistance. Johnston, you’re in charge.”

  One deputy saluted. “Right, Sheriff.”

  “Don’t embarrass me,” the sheriff yelled at his men as Tank backed the monster truck and the big wheels churned up the desert sand when they went off-road to skirt around the two disabled vehicles.

  *

  “What in blue blazes?” Pops hunched his shoulders and shuffled into the common area of the bunkhouse, grumbling as he stared at BJ, unconscious and bleeding all over his clean floor. “I told August not to let you idiots carry guns. Which one of you fools shot BJ?” He glared at each of the wranglers in turn, then squinted and moved closer when his eyes rested on the Hispanic man holding an AK-47 across his chest. “Who the hell are you?”

  “We are here to see August Reese. But I’m afraid your colleague was not very welcoming.”

  Pops turned from the gunman to squint at the slender man with dark, hard eyes—a study in black from his slicked-back hair to his expensive boots. The visual screamed danger, but his voice was smoothly hypnotic. Pops ignored him and shuffled into the kitchen. The gunman and another man standing near the door pointed their guns at him when he began jerking open drawers. “I just cleaned that floor, damn it, and he’s bleeding all over it.” He pretended not to notice the guns leveled at him as he gathered a stack of dish towels and the kitchen shears before shuffling back to BJ. He tossed the items down next to BJ and pointed to Hawk. “I can’t get down on the floor, so you cut those jeans and tie a bandage around that leg.”

  Hawk held out his hands and knelt cautiously when their guests didn’t object, then began to staunch the bleeding. BJ moaned as Hawk tightened the bandage, but the bleeding had slowed.

  “Get that shoulder, too,” Pops said, keeping an eye on the ringleader. Why were they letting him stall? Surely they knew reinforcements were on the way.

  The slender man stepped forward. “No need.” He gestured to the gunman, and the nose of the AK-47 was immediately pressed to BJ’s forehead. “You will tell us where August Reese is hiding or you will die one by one, beginning with this man.” He tugged his sleeve up and checked his watch. “You have thirty seconds.”

  Pops made a show of turning to look at the gun pressed to BJ’s head, then back to the ringleader. “Why didn’t you ask before? August has gone camping.”

  “Camping?”

  Tommy looked horrified. “Pops!”

  Pops stepped closer to the hard-eyed man, peering into his eyes as if he could see his dark soul. “Don’t believe I caught your name.”

  The man’s lips slid into an oily smile. “Cobra, but some know me as The Snake.” His breath hissed through a gap between his front teeth when he said “snake.”

  Pops sucked on his own front teeth, then pointed to them. �
��I know a dentist who could fix that for you, Mr. Worm.” He pointed to the floor. “Be sure you get up all that blood, Hawk. I ain’t mopping this floor again already.” He turned back to Cobra. “A snake is just an oversized worm in my book.” He limped back toward the kitchen. “I like worms, though. They break up the ground, and worm poop makes good fertilizer.” He leaned over the bar that separated the main room from the kitchen. “They make good bait, too, when you’re going after a big fish. And from where I’m standing, you’re just a worm working for the big fish everybody is trying to catch.”

  Cobra snatched the handgun from another of his henchmen standing nearby and pointed it at Pops. “The only worm, old man, is that she-man you putas follow, and the big fish has sent me to gobble her up. Now, tell me where she is or I’ll start with you, then your friend on the floor, then the rest until the boy—” he swung his Glock toward Tommy—“pisses his pants and tells me anyway.”

  “Won’t work.”

  “No? I guess you won’t be around to find out.” He rotated to again aim at Pops.

  “I’m the only one who knows where she went.”

  Cobra stood as still as a statue.

  Pops continued as though Cobra hadn’t nearly squeezed the trigger that would’ve ended his life. “Well, me and BJ, who you’ve incapacitated and can’t talk.”

  “That’s not true.” Hawk spoke quietly. “I know, too. I overheard you talking to August.”

  “Me, too.” Manny, who had been completely still and silent, spoke up.

  Tommy looked at the two of them. “Me, too.”

  Pops shook his head. “You’re all lyin’ and you know it.” He shuffled around the bar and looked down at BJ, then up at the man who still had the muzzle of his weapon pressed against BJ’s forehead. “I don’t think he’s going to jump up and run.” He put his hands on his hips as he faced Cobra. “Caprock. They’re headed for the canyons.”