No Turning Back
Page 1
No Turning Back
H. L. Wegley
Romantic Suspense
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction, set in a real location. Any reference to historical figures, places, or events, whether fictional or actual, is a fictional representation. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Samantha Fury http://www.furycoverdesign.com/
Copyright © 2018 H.L. Wegley
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-732763609
ISBN-10: 1732763607
Also available in print publication
OTHER BOOKS BY H. L. WEGLEY
Against All Enemies Series
1 Voice in the Wilderness
2 Voice of Freedom
3 Chasing Freedom
Pure Genius Series
1 Hide and Seek
2 On the Pineapple Express
3 Moon over Maalaea Bay
4 Triple Threat
Witness Protection Series
1 No Safe Place
2 No True Justice
3 No Turning Back
H. L. Wegley’s Amazon Author Page
DEDICATION
This novel, No Turning Back, is dedicated to Dr. Caroline Savage who lost her fight with cancer as I began writing this story. She left behind her husband, three children and a legacy of serving God in discipleship ministry and through her writing. I had the privilege of having Caroline edit two of my books. Both became award-winning novels. Heaven is richer and we are poorer … but only for a little while.
CONTENTS
OTHER BOOKS BY H. L. WEGLEY
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Author’s Notes
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to my wife, Babe, for her many suggestions for making No Turning Back a better story and for listening to me read her the story three times to catch the awkward wording and logical errors.
Thank you again, Samantha Fury, for turning a stock photo into the Beth Sanchez I envisioned as I wrote my story. Thanks for designing another wonderful book cover.
Our Lord says the days of our life are threescore years and ten. If we are strong enough to reach fourscore years, we can expect labor and sorrow, and then we fly away.
I am well into that decade of labor and sorrow, but I am thankful that God has not made it too burdensome and has left me with words and wits enough to complete another novel.
Finally, I thank my Savior that, when I fly away, I know my destination, and that will certainly be some glad morning.
Do not seek vengeance, but leave it to God’s righteous anger, because the Lord says, “I will avenge. I will repay.”
Romans 12:19
(paraphrased)
Chapter 1
June 14th, Big Bend National Park, Texas, 6:00 a.m.
Elizabeth Alicia Sanchez stopped on the dusty trail lining the north side of the river.
The Rio Grande flowed out of the shadowy Santa Elena Canyon like a wedge, splitting the desert in two and separating her two worlds and her two lives.
Her group of hikers had moved down the trail toward the canyon, but Elizabeth took a moment to look across the river.
Her seven-year-old world across the river assaulted her with brutal images. Flames lighting the smoke-filled night, the foul air carrying the stench of death. Her stomach roiled and she looked away.
People crossed the turbid Rio Grande for many reasons. Some fled poverty for what they hoped would be a better life. Others crossed it with criminal intent, bringing drugs, horror, and depravity with them.
Elizabeth had crossed the river for amnesty and found it in the nation that had given her freedom, citizenship, an MBA, the opportunity to pursue her dreams.
“I love you, America.” She smiled.
“Yeah. Me too.” It was the twentysomething guy who had sat near her on the van ride to the trailhead.
How had she not noticed him standing only a few feet away, invading her pers—
“Ms. Sanchez? Elizabeth?”
“Just call me Beth.” She adjusted the daypack on her back.
“Alright, Beth. Are you okay? You looked sort of …” His frown wrinkled a forehead crowning a face that drew her gaze like a magnet.
Girl, it’s time to reverse polarity.
She chose not to reply to him. Right now, that was better than either lying or telling the truth. And she also chose to ignore the obnoxious voice in her head, because reversing polarity wasn’t something Beth wanted to do.
“Uh … our guide says if we want to make it to the end of the trail for lunch, we need to go.” He waited for her, thumbs hooked in his backpack straps.
What was the name that went with that face? Drew something … “I’m coming. It’s just that this is the first time I’ve seen the Rio Grande in seven years.”
Drew something waved her on and then waited until she came alongside him on this wide portion of the trail. He glanced her way. “Seven years?” His steel-blue eyes looked down from several inches above her head. “So, did you grow up in Texas?”
“No, I—” Her right foot slid on pebbles acting like ball bearings. She tried to shift weight to her other foot, but the sliding jerked to a stop. Her ankle rolled until the bone on the outside hit the ground.
A pulse of pain shot through her ankle and into her lower leg.
She fell forward, headed for a face plant on the trail.
The straps of Beth’s pack bit into her shoulders and pulled her upright onto her feet. That placed weight on her right foot and brought another sharp pain, sending the muscles of her lower leg spasming.
An arm slid under her right shoulder and took the weight off her foot.
Beth gritted her teeth but couldn’t suppress a small groan.
“We need to take a look at that ankle. Looked to me like you rolled it about ninety degrees.”
Before she could protest, Drew scooped up her one hundred and twenty-five pounds, as if he were lifting a small child, then carried her to a waist-high boulder and set her on it.
“Hold it, Hunter!” Drew called out to their guide leading the procession of fifteen hikers. “We’ve got a sprained ankle here.” Drew unslung his pack and dropped to one knee at Beth’s feet.
He untied the laces on one of her cross trainers. “You know, if you’d been wearing hiking boots, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Of all the—“Who are you to be telling me how to dress?”
“I’m the person who’s telling you your sprained ankle is swelling. I’ve seen worse, but this is going to hobble you up for a few days, depending on …”
“Depending on what?” She managed to force out the words through her clenched teeth.
“Depending on how good of shape you’re in.” His gaze scanned her from her ankle to her waist, eventually reaching her face. He took his time.
“Are you through with your inventory, Mr. Know-It-All?”
“Yep. All done. And you’re in great shape. You’ll be hiking again in a few days, but not today.” He grinned until he saw the expression on her face.
She was mad because she hurt and even madder that Mr. Know-It-All had lectured her, grinned about it, then checked her out. “You are the most—”
“How bad is it?” Hunter stopped a few feet away, his gaze darting between Beth’s ankle and Drew’s face.
Drew had her sock off and was running his fingers around the outside of her ankle.
If a doctor had been doing that, it would have seemed appropriate. But a tall, twentysomething man, lean but well-muscled, one who was slightly on the rugged side of handsome, feeling her ankle and lower leg was highly—
“She can’t walk on it.”
“Would you two quit cutting me off.” She glared at both of them.
Hunter raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know we were, Ms. Sanchez.”
They had been, but it was her thoughts they were interrupting. What must Drew think after her outburst.
Why do you care?
“I don’t.” Had she said that out loud?
Drew looked at Hunter and shrugged. “She don’t. Hope I didn’t just cut her off.”
Beth blew out a sharp sigh that sounded more like a growl.
Drew glanced at her then focused on Hunter. “But one thing is certain, she can’t walk on that ankle. It’s barely six o’clock. You wanted to eat lunch with the group at the far end of the trail. Why don’t you take them and go on? I can stay with Ms. Sanch—uh, Beth, until you get back. Her day’s ruined anyway after—”
“You can say that again.” She looked down the trail toward the canyon. “Don’t I have any say about what happens to me?”
“As I was saying, Hunter. I can stay and make her completely miserable until you get back and there’s not a thing she can do about it. Then a couple of us guys can grab her arms and legs and drag her down the trail to the van.”
Beth stifled the urge to stick her tongue out at Mr. Know-It-All. But he’d already treated her like a child, so she wouldn’t justify it by doing something juvenile.
Hunter’s eyebrows pinched. “You’re staying with her? I’m responsible for the safety of everyone in this group. So I—”
“She’ll be safe, Hunter. You know that I’m probably the best person here to ensure that.”
Beth looked at Drew and raised her eyebrows. Mr. Know-It-All probably was the best person to stay with her. And he’s the one she would have picked, but Beth wasn’t about to tell him that.
Hunter dipped his head. “But I’m the one who’s sticking his neck out here, Drew. I’m counting on you, bro. I don’t want any of your drama or dramatics today. And no fights.”
“That depends on Ms. Sanchez.” One corner of Drew’s mouth turned upward.
She would not take whatever bait he was feeding her.
Hunter looked Beth’s way. “Sorry about your boring day, Ms. Sanchez. Guess we’ll have to give you a rain check.”
Drew chuckled. “Except that when it rains in canyon country, you don’t want to be here. See you about two o’clock.”
Hunter nodded and trotted down the trail toward the group of hikers standing fifty yards away on the bank of the river.
After Hunter left, Drew remained on one knee studying her ankle.
“You know, Mr. … uh … Drew—”
“It’s Drew West.”
“Mr. West. Staring at a woman’s bare ankle was scandalous behavior a few years ago. Do that to a lady and it could get you shot.”
“A few years ago? Try a hundred and twenty. Let’s keep things in perspective, Ms. Sanchez.”
“It’s Beth. And, yes, let’s keep things in perspective. This is going to be a long, boring, sweltering day.”
“So, I’m babysitting an optimist.”
She opened her mouth to protest.
Drew cut her off. “Sweltering is part of the problem. Your ankle is swelling. We don’t have any ice, but we do have the Rio Grande. Thirty minutes in the water then thirty minutes elevated. How about it? There’ll be less swelling, and you’ll heal faster.”
“So you’ve got my whole boring day planned for me. What do they call men like you? Alpha or beta something-or-others?”
“Not me. I’m just somebody who wants to help and who would jump at the chance to spend a little time with you.”
The direct approach. At least he was honest. “And why, pray tell, would you want to spend time with me?”
He cleared his throat. “Besides the obvious reasons …” His eyes studied her face then stopped on her eyes. “… I’m a writer, and from the little bit you’ve told me, I think you have a story.”
An icy chill shook her shoulders despite the warm early morning sun. She had a story. One no one must know, because then no one could tell the wrong person.
The danger hadn’t disappeared. It remained a few hundred miles and a border crossing away. Beth needed to make sure it stayed that way.
“My foot is swelling and starting to throb. Can you help me to the river?” She looked away from his intense, penetrating gaze.
He knew she was changing the subject. But would he drop the subject? If not, this would be an unpleasant day with too many nightmares and too many ghosts. And, at the end of it, he would classify her as rude.
Or psycho.
She squelched the irritating voice inside that had turned even more obnoxious.
“Stand on your good foot. We’ll go arms-around-shoulders like two buddies.”
“You need to understand something. Girls don’t have buddies.”
“Okay. You can be my buddy, but I won’t be yours. I’ll just be your crutch while we walk to the river.” He paused while she stood. “Too bad we can’t sit you in the water, so your leg can be elevated while we’re cooling it.”
“No way am I sitting in that muddy river. It’s probably full of little parasites, parasites that do terrible things to bodily functions.” She stood and put her right arm on a shoulder that felt like a rock.
Drew shook his head. “We wouldn’t want that out here, would we. Speaking of bodily functions … the outhouse at the trailhead is a quarter of a—I guess we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Beth blew out a blast of air to empty her frustration. No facilities was another reason this day would be a disaster. She shook her head and took a step with her left foot.
Drew moved with her and his left arm, like a bar of steel, bore her weight when she raised her left foot.
Thanks to Drew’s strength, they walked in tandem to the river at near normal walking speed.
He led her to a flat spot on the bank, where the murky water swirled about a foot below her. He bent down to help her sit.
She lowered her injured ankle into the chilly water and grimaced when it felt like ice on the hot, sensitized skin stretched tight around her puffy ankle.
Drew stood. “Be right back. Watch out for those parasites. I wouldn’t want to have to pack you back to the trailhead.”
How long would he keep up his string of irritating comments?
Drew ran back and grabbed his pack where he had dropped it beside the boulder.
While her ankle cooled, Beth scanned the wilderness around her. At only a little after 6:00 a.m. in the middle of the Big Bend National Park, this was an isolated area with no one around but the hikers. They were probably a half mile down the trail by now. There had been no other vehicles at the trailhead.
She was alone with Mr. Know-It-All, Drew West. If it wasn’t for her throbbing, swollen ankle, she might have enjoyed getting to know him better … provided he didn’t start probing into her past.
The canyon was narrow and magnificent with its towering vertical walls. Morni
ng shadows darkened the depths of the canyon. It would be cool in the canyon all morning. But the heat of the early morning sun provided a precursor to what mid-day would bring, the scorching, West-Texas sun.
Drew returned with his pack and dropped it beside a bush.
Beth studied the vegetation around them. Nothing big enough to be called a tree. “It’s too bad we don’t have any shade trees.”
“These scrubby bushes—we’d have to lie down under them to get any shade.”
She shot him a sharp glance. “I hope you’re not proposing—”
“No. But you really are paranoid, you know.” The look Drew gave her wasn’t angry, just weird.
Maybe she was being paranoid, or pessimistic. But trust of other people, especially men, was not her strong suit.
“Beth, I’ve got a small plastic tarp in my pack. Maybe I can use it to give us some shade.”
Beth looked up the river into the shadows of the canyon. “Too bad we can’t go in there to get—”
She drew a sharp breath when two rubber rafts emerged from the darkness deep inside the canyon and floated into the light at the east end.
Two people in each boat. The bearing and dress of the men in the back of each raft had a familiar, ominous look.
Her heart rate accelerated until she had a driving percussion solo playing in her chest.
Cartel drug runners.
She pulled her foot from the water. “Drew, we need to hide, now.”
* * *
Drew saw terror in Beth’s wide eyes and his defenses went to high alert, DEFCON 2.
He pushed her pack behind some bushes then scooped up both Beth and his pack and scurried back into the thickest bushes lining the river.
Beth clung to him even after he set her down, out of sight of anyone in the rafts.
“Who are they?”
“Two of the men are cartel drug runners. They also traffic people in several ways. The other two men have no idea what’s waiting for them at the end of their trip. But nine times out of ten, it’s not good.”