by Dana Marton
She crept up to the window and peered in, keeping low. She could only see the kids, crying, and the four men she’d seen at the station, nobody new. She moved into the deepest shadows and she waited.
Dylan’s old pickup pulled up.
He shouldn’t be here, she thought in near panic. He had no idea what he was walking into. Keeping low, she rushed forward toward him as he got out.
He looked pretty startled to see her.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“I was just driving around. Saw cars at the cabin. Figured I’d see who they were.”
“Smugglers. With guns. I tried to call you.”
He glanced toward the cabin, but didn’t duck down like she had.
The men inside had to have heard his truck. They’d be coming in a second to investigate. “Dylan,” she whispered his name, trying to tug him down, into cover.
But he just looked at her. “Why don’t you go home? I’ll deal with this.”
Her instincts prickled.
She didn’t like this setup. She didn’t want to think that he could be involved. Not in something like this, dammit. But as she turned to step back from him, she caught sight of the front of his old pickup. Now that the headlights were turned off, she could see the front better.
She stared at the spot where the Chevy emblem should have been.
Last time she’d seen the truck he’d given to his sister when he bought his brand-new one, Molly had it parked toward the garage, so Grace hadn’t seen that end.
She tore her gaze from the vehicle, fighting to keep her face impassive as the little hairs stood up on the back of her neck. “Good idea. My foot is killing me, anyway. I hate this damn brace. I’m supposed to go to dinner to Maddie’s. I’m already running late.” She brought up the sheriff’s wife, insinuating that if
she were late, Shane would be looking for her.
She calculated how long it would take her to get the rifle off her shoulder. Too long. He’d tackle her at the first sign of her trying to make a move. And they were too close to each other for the weapon to be of much use, anyway. She began to move around him, exaggerating her limp, and was almost clear when he grabbed her.
“I can see you thinking.” He pulled a handgun from behind his back with his free hand. “You’re too damn smart, you know that? Wish you were the type to walk away from trouble, but you never do,” he said with regret. “I’m sorry, Gracie.”
“Don’t do this, Dylan.” She did go for the rifle then.
But he had the advantage, since he was already holding her other arm, and he stood steadier on his feet than she did at the moment. He knocked her against the logs and yanked the rifle away from her. “You shouldn’t have come here. Pull your phone from your pocket and toss it.”
She did as she was told. She’d already texted Ryder where she was going. The phone had done its job. It wasn’t worth getting shot over.
Not that she could even comprehend the fact that Dylan shooting her was an issue here. The sense of betrayal that swept through her threatened to drown her. “You’re better than this.”
“It’s too tough to make a living from ranching anymore.”
“But you have the survival training.”
“That don’t bring in nearly enough. We had a good run for a while, but now… Corporations are cutting back on all nonessential spending. Team-building vacations go first.”
“You have other businesses. How much stupid money do you need?”
He shrugged. “The dealership is about ready to go under. People hang on to their cars longer in a recession. Then there’s Molly and Logan.”
Okay, so fine, he helped out his sister and his nephew. She knew that. “But smuggling? Kidnapping kids? Are you kidding me? You know Molly would rather eat dirt than take money that came from something like this.”
He had the decency to look uncomfortable. “It’s not what it looks like. The kids are orphans.”
“You have a nephew, dammit. Think of him. What would Molly say?”
His face and his hold on her tightened. “Leave my family out of this.” Then he made a visible effort to relax. “These kids will be fine. I promise. Look, the parents sneaked them over the border. The adults didn’t make it—the kids did. Would you want them to be returned to poverty? They’ll have a better life here. I’m doing this to help everyone, Gracie.”
Except he wasn’t. Everything he said was a lie and he knew it. Paco had died with that Chevy emblem in his fist. Which meant Dylan had been there when Paco had been killed. Her brain could just barely process that.
She scanned the area for an avenue of escape, and came up empty. Dylan had both guns. No way could he afford to let her go at this stage. But since she had nothing to lose, she decided to try, anyway.
“Just drive away with your friends. I’ll take the children to the authorities. I’ll tell everyone that I found them wandering on my land. They’re too young. They have no idea what’s going on. They could never identify you. This could still turn out okay for everyone here.”
But he shook his head. “We both know you’re not the type to let something like this go, Gracie.”
“Maybe we don’t know each other as well as we thought we did. I thought you were different. Never in a million years could I have conceived that you’d do something like this. I’m standing here, and I still can’t believe it.”
He gave a sour laugh. “You thought I was what? Like your sainted brother? He risked his life for his country, never did anything wrong in his whole life, and look where it got him.”
He started out toward the house and dragged her with him. “I didn’t want you to be involved, I swear. You should have spread Tommy’s ashes then gone home. These kids would have been just fine without you. They’ll have all that good American life their parents dreamed up for them.”
“They have a mother. Her name is Esperanza and she’s worried to death. She would do anything to get them back.”
“She’ll have more brats. Those people have them by the bushel.”
“Those people? Seriously? Do you even hear the way you’re talking? Don’t do this, Dylan.”
He wouldn’t look at her. “The stakes are too high. It’s not the kind of business a person can get involved in then walk away when they no longer like it. I couldn’t walk away if I wanted to, Gracie.” His jaw tightened. “It’s not my fault that you put yourself in the middle of this.”
Then they reached the door and he shoved her inside, letting her go at last.
Four men looked at her with surprise on their swarthy faces. The children huddled in the far corner, looking scared.
If she was the sole captive, she would have chosen that moment to make her last stand, gone for one of their weapons and tried to take out as many of them as possible. But initiating a gunfight was out of the question with the children in the room, so she remained passive for the time being, waiting for a better opportunity.
“Tie her up,” Dylan ordered the men, who got moving rapidly.
“Hey!” he yelled at the one who grabbed her too hard, as if on reflex. Then he caught himself, and turned away from her, walked outside.
They tied her hands then shoved her—a little less roughly—to the corner where the kids were sitting on a horse blanket. One of the men pushed her down next to the children with a stupid smirk on his face.
She flashed the twins an encouraging smile as she looked them over. They were frightened and dirty, but didn’t appear starved or hurt. “It’s okay,” she whispered, not sure how much English they understood. So she added, “Bueno. Todos Buenos,” before turning to Dylan, who was coming back in, carrying a duffel bag.
“We can still fix this.”
He held her gaze in the dim cabin for a few seconds before he shook his head. “No, we can’t.” He tossed her the duffel bag. “Clean them up and get them dressed.”
She rifled through the contents awkwardly with her tied-up hands, hoping for something she cou
ld use as a weapon, but found nothing save wet wipes, a comb and clean clothes for each child. The shorts and tops were nothing fancy, straight off the sales rack at Walmart.
“I could do this easier if my hands weren’t tied.”
Dylan turned back from the far corner where he was talking rapidly under his breath with the men. “You’ll manage.” He turned his back to her again.
She glanced at the door. Sure, she could run. But he would catch up with her long before she reached her pickup. And even if, by some miracle, he didn’t, bottom line was—no way could she leave the children behind now that she’d found them.
Rosita was hiding behind Miguel.
Grace held up the clothes to the boy and reached for him first. “It’s okay. Bueno.”
He hesitated, but apparently understood enough to know that neither of them had a choice, so after a few seconds he moved toward Grace.
She used a wet wipe to clean the boy’s hands, then his face, which he resisted, but was too scared to completely pull away. “Bueno,” she said again, then helped him out of his clothes, yanked the tags off the new outfit and helped him put it on.
Since Rosita saw that nothing bad had happened to her brother, she let Grace clean and dress her without much fuss. Seeing the kids scared plain stiff was just too sad, kindling new anger inside Grace.
She made a point to give the little girl a big smile. “Muy bonita.”
Rosita threw herself into her arms, and she held the child as best as she could with her hands tied. When the little girl pulled away, Grace flashed her another reassuring smile and picked up the comb. “We’re going to fix your hair, all right? I promise to make it pretty.”
Undoing the messed-up braid, combing all that hair and rebraiding it would have been a lot easier if her hands weren’t bound. But she did manage a semidecent job.
Miguel took the comb on his own and fixed himself.
Dylan strode over. “Vamos.” He barked the single word at the kids and reached for them.
They scampered behind Grace.
To hell with finding a weapon, her body was a weapon. She lurched to her feet and blocked Dylan. “No.”
He shoved her aside.
She kicked at him, swaying precariously on her feet.
“Dammit, Grace.” He jerked his head at the others, who rushed over and grabbed her, dragging her out of the way.
She swore at Dylan, but he ignored her as he reached for the crying kids, who did their best to twist their hands out of his. Miguel even bit him.
Dylan shook the kid. “Enough,” he thundered, then dragged them outside.
Grace fought with everything she had, not letting her aches and bruises stop her. “Dylan!” She lost her balance and ended up on the horse blanket, under the men.
The pickup’s motor roared to life outside.
She pressed her fists together and brought them up as one, smacked one of the men holding her, snapping his head back hard enough so that he rolled off her.
The next one got a well-aimed kick between his legs, her knee jamming up hard into his most sensitive parts. He went white as he groaned, his hands falling away from her.
She struggled to stand, but only made it to her knees when another one came for her. “Dylan!”
Gravel crunched under tires as the pickup pulled away.
The last of the four men joined the fray, and between him and his buddy they knocked her on her back again. She wasn’t sure whether they wanted simply to subdue her or something a lot worse, but she wasn’t about to stop fighting so she could find out. She kicked, bit, scratched, using every bit of training she’d learned in the army, calling on every instinct she had.
A fast hook to her jaw left her seeing stars. She tasted blood. And the two men she’d temporarily disabled were reviving. Oh, God. She gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to die here. Not like this.
She cast a desperate glance at the ground around her, looking for something to defend herself with. Nothing but the comb and the empty duffel bag.
She surged up, was knocked down again.
Then the door banged open and Dylan stood there, his eyes flashing with some dark emotion. “Alto!” he yelled at the men and brought up his gun. He hesitated before he shot the first one, but with the others after that, he didn’t even blink.
Shock sliced through her as she stared at him, wiping blood off her face. Knowing he’d turned villain was one thing. Seeing him shoot people like that, even if in her defense, was…mind-boggling.
“Thank you.” She desperately wanted to build some sort of connection so she hid her revulsion. “I knew you wouldn’t go through with this. We have to take those kids to safety. I can help.”
But he strode to her without his dark expression softening and yanked her to her feet.
“You and I, we’ve been through things, right?” She was mad at him, but incredibly sad, too, grieving for the man she’d believed him to be. He’d been one of the good guys once. A good friend. Molly’s brother. Oh, God.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to. Didn’t have to drag her after him, either. She followed him because she wanted to be with the kids.
She got into the pickup on her own. The children immediately burrowed against her, scared and quiet. Dylan stepped on the gas and drove into the darkness.
“Where are we going?”
He pressed his lips into a thin, angry line.
Fear sliced through her as she suddenly understood. They weren’t going anywhere. He meant to take care of her somewhere along the way. She’d seen too much. No way he could let her live. He hadn’t decided to save her. He was simply giving her an easier death.
A shot to the head and a shove out the door, most likely.
She felt the shakes coming on as that image bounced around in her head. But she fought the darkness back. She wasn’t going to go easily. She had some fight left in her still. She was the only hope these children had left.
Her hands had been tied together with a leather strip that looked as if it might have been cut from old horse tackle.
On the downside, the strip was strong, too tough to be ripped. On the upside, leather was a natural material and flexible, so it did give a little if she pulled hard enough. If she could stretch the loop out even half an inch, she might be able to slip her hands through.
She watched Dylan while she worked on that, praying that she succeeded before he found the right spot to get rid of her.
A grim expression sat on his face, his fingers gripping the wheel hard. He kept his attention on the rocky road. Then he suddenly looked at the rearview mirror and swore up a blue streak.
“What is it?”
He stepped on the gas.
She checked the side mirror. Two small dots of light shone in the distance, another car somewhere pretty far behind them.
A slim chance, but it gave her hope, anyway.
She worked on the leather and watched as the car gained on them. She knew who it was, knew it in her heart—Ryder. Even if that made no sense. He knew to come to the old cabin, but he would have no way of knowing where Dylan took her from there. Maybe he was following Dylan’s tracks.
She yanked hard on the leather. She had to stay alive long enough for him to reach them.
“Who the hell is that?”
“Probably Border Patrol. I did tell people where I was going,” she lied, hoping he would give up.
Dylan swore again then yanked the steering wheel aside and drove off the road. He headed straight south. And they were only maybe five miles from the border.
She yanked at the leather harder, not caring now if he noticed. He was heading into Mexico where Ryder couldn’t follow them. He had no jurisdiction there. He was part of some secret commando group. Third-generation military, he’d told her once. And an armed American soldier crossing over into another sovereign nation would be a huge problem.
Something like that could be considered an act of war if some local Mexican politici
an decided to make a big deal of it to improve his ratings. There was too much friction between the two countries these days over illegal immigration. An incident like this could set off a chain reaction that could damage international relations for years.
Dear God, please let Ryder catch up with us before we cross the border. Dylan must have a boat hidden, or some other way planned to get across the Rio Grande. He wasn’t driving like a madman in that direction by accident.
She kept her eyes on the mirror while she whispered encouragement to the children in mixed Spanish and English. Rosita didn’t like the bumpy road and was crying again.
The river glistened darkly ahead of them in the moonlight. They were rapidly nearing the border, and Ryder was still too far behind. No way could he close that distance in time.
She cast a frenetic glance at Dylan. A triumphant smile spread on his face, even as her heart sank.
Chapter Twelve
Ryder could see the border on his GPS unit. No matter how hard he pushed on the gas, he couldn’t catch up with the pickup in front of him.
His team was on their way, but this fight he would have to fight alone and now. He had no doubt what Grace’s captor intended to do with her. The bodies he’d found in the log cabin told him that the bastard wasn’t squeamish. The man had passed the point of no return and he knew it. He wouldn’t hesitate at anything at this stage.
The pickup was just a half mile in front of him and slowing suddenly. It stopped. And then disappeared.
Ryder squinted hard, driving full speed ahead. He didn’t step on the brake until he reached the area where the pickup had vanished. He drove around in a circle, using his headlights as well as the floodlight attached to his SUV. He noticed a shallow dent in the ground. Just didn’t look right, prickling his instincts.
He got out and pulled his gun as he walked over. A perfectly camouflaged trapdoor, he realized after a moment, a rough circle about a dozen feet in diameter. He’d never seen anything like this before, but he wasn’t about to waste time on admiring it. He searched for an opening mechanism.