by Rebecca York
He raised his eyes to her. For a terrible moment, she saw Sean Naylor’s face. “Help me.”
The Mexican accent snapped her back to the here and now.
“I’ll do what I can,” she answered, wadding up the bottom of his shirt and pressing it against the wound, pressed hard. But she felt as if she was holding back a flood with a sponge.
“I’m dying,” he whispered.
She didn’t bother lying to him. “Tell me what you have against Luke.”
“Lucas.” He was silent for several moments after uttering the name, and she thought he wasn’t going to say any more.
“You’ll feel easier in your mind if you tell.”
His lips moved. “He’s a bad hombre. He brings the others here. Now the boss…is angry with him…”
“No!” Hannah felt the hairs on the back of her neck stir. This man’s dying statement confirmed what Luke had been telling her all along. That he was a criminal.
“Who is angry with him?” she asked urgently.
“The big man…the boss. Bad…” His voice trailed off. He was gone, his sightless eyes staring into the distance.
She was still kneeling beside him when a flash of movement made her scramble for the gun she’d laid in the dust. Then Luke’s face and form registered in her bruised brain. He was breathing hard. His shirt was damp with perspiration and his shoulders were sagging.
Standing, she moved away from the dead man, answering Luke’s questioning look with a nod.
He looked from her to the body. “I’ve put you in a position where you got to repeat the worst experience of your life.”
A denial leaped to her lips. “No, this was a lot different. He wasn’t some scared kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. He and his partner came out here for the purpose of ambushing us. We turned the tables on them. Then his friend finished him off.”
He nodded tightly.
She kept her gaze fixed on him as she stood. “Luke, what happened here wasn’t all bad. I proved something important to myself.” Swallowing, she continued. “I was afraid that the next time I was under fire, I’d freeze up. But I did okay. More than okay. That means more to me than you know.”
He crossed to her, clasped her hand, and she knit her fingers with his. After a moment he said, “The bad news is that I didn’t catch up with the other guy.”
“That’s not your fault.”
His eyes went to the dead man. “Did he give you any information, say anything I ought to know about?”
Hannah stared at Luke, her mouth gone suddenly dry as the desert sand under her boots. God, now what? Should she lie and say nothing, or tell the truth and confirm Luke’s worst fears—that he was a criminal?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Once she’d called him the Outlaw. Now Hannah knew deep in her heart it wasn’t true. Making a split-second decision, she said, “No. He was too far gone to say anything useful.”
By strict interpretation, she wasn’t lying, she told herself. All she was doing was making the decision that knowing what the man had said wouldn’t be of any help to Luke.
He studied her for several heartbeats, and she held her breath, waiting for another question that she might have to answer with an evasion. Instead, he gave a tight nod. Then the look on his face changed to relief.
She assumed he was responding to her assurance until he said, “Thank God you’re all right.”
He reached for her, and she came into his arms, holding tight. Closing her eyes, she let his strength envelop her. It was a shock to feel him trembling almost as badly as she.
“I couldn’t have gotten to those guys without you. You were magnificent,” he said, his hands stroking over her shoulders and down her back, gathering her closer.
She laid her head against his shoulder, then raised it again when he muttered, “I’m sorry.”
“For what? You saved our lives.”
“For dragging you out here with me.”
“You didn’t drag me. You hired me.”
He laughed. “Is that how you see it?”
“How do you see it?”
“That I don’t seem to be able to turn you loose. For the past few days I’ve been telling myself that I had to keep you close so I could keep an eye on you. That’s hardly an adequate explanation of what I’ve been feeling.”
“What have you been feeling?” she asked in a breathy voice.
“Too much.”
She longed to hear him elaborate. Instead, he eased away. “We can’t stay here. We’re standing targets.”
Looking up, she blinked into the sunlight, aware of her surroundings for the first time since he’d taken her in his arms.
“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and led her toward the truck. But despite his earlier warning, he didn’t leave immediately. After they’d climbed into the vehicle, he reached behind the seat and pulled out two bottles of water.
Unscrewing the top on one, she gulped the warm liquid, thinking how wonderful it tasted.
When they’d both emptied a bottle, he jerked his head toward the body they’d left lying on the ground. “As a former police detective, you know we have to report this guy’s death to the authorities.”
“Yes. But we can’t do it now. The last time I tried, my phone wasn’t working.”
“We could drive straight back into town and notify the sheriff’s office.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“No. I want to find out what’s farther up this road, because I know that somewhere down that godforsaken track, I’m going to run smack into my past.” He stopped, swallowed. “But this time you have a vote.”
“I vote for finding out what’s farther up the road.”
“All right.”
“Just like that?”
“We came here to find out who you are.”
He looked as if he was about to say something more. Instead, he put the SUV into gear and started off with a lurch.
ADDISON JENNINGS spent every morning reading reports on various Peregrine Connection operations. At any given time, he had men and women working in various parts of the U.S. and in countries as far away as Chile and Albania. They were all on clandestine and sensitive assignments that the U.S. government was funding but would disavow if the secret police of a foreign government or a bloodhound reporter in the United States got wind of a particular operation.
Every man and woman who worked for him knew the risks involved. Every one of them was a patriot willing to take extraordinary chances for the country’s national security.
And every one of them had undergone a thorough background investigation—more thorough than if he’d applied for top-secret clearance. Until two days ago, he would have vouched for any of his agents in the Oval Office or to a closed-door congressional committee.
Now he was faced with the painful truth that even a man as experienced as his predecessor could make an error in judgment.
Once again he opened the folder that had been sitting in the middle of his desk blotter. Flipping it open, he stared at the background information, the neatly filled-out forms, the secret reports, the psychological evaluation. The dossier belonged to one of his best operatives. A man who had started out as a raw recruit named Lucas Somerville and had changed aliases many times over the years as circumstances had dictated.
Until last night he’d thought Lucas was dead, killed by a son of a bitch named Vincent Reese.
He’d mourned Lucas. Mourned the loss to the agency. And mourned the loss of the man on a very personal level.
He’d had agents out beating the bushes for Reese ever since, wanting at least the satisfaction of knowing what had happened.
Then he’d gotten the report from a search of the town house in Baltimore. It had been rented in the name of Luke Pritchard.
The man had cleared out in a hurry. Two steps ahead of an assault team. That much was on record. The rest was speculation pieced together from observing what the occupant of the town house had left behind
. A man might change his name. He might do a lot to change his appearance. But he didn’t change his habits—his methods, the little things that revealed his personality. Like whether he bought four pairs of identical socks or four different colors. Or what foods he stored in his refrigerator.
The Peregrine agents who had searched the house had been pretty sure the man living there was Lucas Somerville.
Lucas Somerville, one of his best men. Gone bad.
Because what other explanation could there be for Somerville’s behavior?
He had plenty of money, presumably the money Addison had assumed Reese had stolen. He’d done his utmost to hide his trail—from Dallas Sedgwick’s organization and from the Peregrine Connection. Maybe he was even working with Reese, and the two of them had planned this whole thing together.
Addison could only speculate about that. But one thing he did know: Lucas Somerville was on the loose again—one step ahead of Sedgwick’s men, and going God knows where and intending to do God knows what.
Addison took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. He’d never ordered that one of his agents be taken dead or alive. Now…
He knew that this one had to be brought to ground. And when Lucas was found, either he had a very good explanation for what he’d been doing or he’d pay the price for his defection.
THE GRAVEL TRACK wound downward among mesquite and scrubby desert oaks.
As they pulled around a stand of river cane, Luke braked. Directly ahead of them was a narrow strip of rounded stones. Beyond the stones, bisecting the road, was the famous river that separated the U.S. from Mexico, the Rio Grande.
It was only about thirty feet wide, as near as Hannah could tell, shallow-looking and full of grayish-beige silt.
They were at an international boundary, where she expected to see a border-patrol outpost, manned by stern-faced troops in their stark green uniforms and their guns in black leather holsters.
But as far as she could tell, there was nobody around besides her and Luke and whatever animals were hiding in the foliage.
“Now what?” she asked.
“We cross.”
“Is that legal?”
He shrugged. “Probably not. But it doesn’t look like anybody’s going to stop us.”
Luke got out, and walked to the river. Hannah joined him. They startled a deer who bolted away in the other direction.
She stared after the animal, then turned her attention back to Luke, who stood looking at the water. Reaching for his hand, she knit her fingers with his. It was peaceful here, the quiet pierced only by the occasional call of a bird. Yet the tranquillity was deceptive, she knew. A few miles behind them, men had been waiting in ambush, and she sensed something more ahead.
Still, Luke seemed relaxed as he stared at the flowing water, more at peace with himself than at any other time since she’d met him. To their left was a relatively deep area, where she judged the water might be up to her waist or higher. To the right of the road was a place where the current was faster, flowing rapidly over a stretch of the rounded stones. It looked shallow enough to wade across, certainly shallow enough for the truck to manage.
“Is it always this low?” she asked.
“No. These are drought conditions.” He pointed upriver to the rocky stretch. “We’ll ford up there.”
Hannah followed him back to the SUV, the sound of the door closing behind her echoing in the stillness.
Luke steered the truck to the right, then cautiously entered the water, driving slowly as they forded the river. Hannah held her breath as they crossed the international border, then climbed a low ridge on the other side, where Luke stopped several times, testing the brakes.
They were in Mexico. It looked no different from the Texas landscape they’d just left behind. But it felt different. More dangerous. Certainly to American citizens who were traveling with false identification.
“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” she asked.
He pointed to a high plateau that stretched as far as she could see. “Up there.”
“You remember that? Specifically?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Not exactly. I don’t have any conscious memories. But going up there feels like what I should do.”
“And you’re going with your feelings?”
He gave her a quick look, then shifted his gaze away. “I guess I’ve decided it’s a waste of time to fight them.”
She wanted to ask if he was simply talking about uncovering his past or if he meant more by that comment. But she elected to let the moment pass.
The sun was low in the west as they silently climbed back into the truck.
While the road had been gravel on the U.S. side, here it was fine dirt that sent light-colored dust billowing up on either side of the vehicle.
They reached the edge of the floodplain and the vegetation changed abruptly again as they started climbing along a narrow road that hugged the side of a cliff.
Under any circumstances the drop would have made Hannah nervous. But the narrow road and the lack of a guard-rail had her stomach knotting.
They came around a curve, and the whole valley was spread below—too far below as far as she was concerned. When the road angled down again into another valley, she breathed out a little sigh of relief. It ended in a gasp when she felt the tires skid.
Her anxious gaze snapped to Luke as he hit the brake. The truck reduced its speed, but not as much as she would have expected.
“Slow down.”
“I’m trying,” he answered, his features tight with concentration as he pumped the pedal.
Instead of cooperating, the vehicle was picking up speed.
Luke cursed as they hit a curve going much too fast. All she could do was grab the armrest and hold on tight.
She wanted to close her eyes to block out the rocks rushing past on one side and the drop-off on the other, but she was incapable of looking away as the SUV careened toward the valley below.
Luke reached for the parking brake, slowing them a little, but they were still accelerating dangerously on the narrow, twisting road.
They skidded around another curve, the wheels on the right kicking up stones as they came perilously close to the edge. Thrown to the side, Hannah clenched her teeth, wondering how they were going to make it to the bottom of the hill without flying over the side and sailing into space.
As they came around another curve, she found herself literally staring into blue sky. Jerking the wheel to the right, Luke overcompensated and sideswiped the cliff on the driver’s side, sparks flying as metal scraped against stone with a terrible rending noise.
But at least the speed slowed—a little.
Beside her, she could hear the harsh sound of Luke’s breathing as he struggled to keep the vehicle under control.
Hannah clung to the seat as they rounded a series of tight curves. Finally they reached the bottom of the long grade, and shot out onto a straightaway.
Jouncing along, Luke hunched forward over the wheel, steering toward the side of the road where sand dragged at the wheels and slowed them down. Foot by foot, she felt the vehicle losing momentum, until they finally came to a halt.
Luke cut the engine and leaned over the wheel, his breath thundering in the sudden silence.
“You are one hell of a driver,” she gasped, hardly able to believe they were still in one piece.
“Well, I thought we were gonna go airborne,” he admitted in a hoarse voice. Swinging toward her, he held out his arms, and she came into them, clinging with all her strength.
“Are you all right?” he asked, pressing his cheek to hers.
“Yes. What happened?”
He considered the question for a moment. “There are a couple of possibilities. Either the brake line was nicked when they were shooting at us. Or the guy who lent us this SUV was paid to make sure we didn’t come back.”
She looked around at the utter desolation, remembering what she’d first thought when they turned of
f the main road. Getting stuck out here could be a death sentence. “Either way we’re in trouble,” she murmured.
“Yeah.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Give me a minute.” Luke got out and inspected the side of the truck. Hannah joined him, stepping carefully to avoid descending into the prickly clutches of some purple cactus.
The damage to the vehicle was strictly bodywork. But there was still the problem with the brakes.
“Well, so much for my trip down the road,” he muttered as he looked from the truck to the barren landscape and back again.
Walking to the front of the vehicle, he kept going and disappeared through a gap in the rocks ahead. Hannah followed him to a spot where a deep overhang shaded the ground.
“That looks like a pretty safe place to hide the SUV. If I push, can you steer it in there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
They returned to the vehicle, and Hannah climbed into the driver’s seat. Luke positioned himself at the rear and started to push. Once they were rolling, it appeared he didn’t have too much difficulty moving the truck. And the gap between the boulders was wide enough so that she could pull into the space along the wall.
Luke wiped his hands on his jeans as he surveyed the area. Then, picking up a piece of tumbleweed that had lodged between two rocks, he returned to the road and began brushing away the tire tracks as well as the footprints they’d made.
Hannah found another piece of brush and helped him obliterate the evidence of their passage.
“Are we going to stay here for the night?” she asked, looking up at the sun, which was low in the western sky. Probably they had only an hour or so of daylight left.
He followed the direction of her gaze before bringing his eyes back to her.
“That sounds like our best bet. Sorry, I seem to be treating you to another night of roughing it. At least I don’t have to sweep the SUV for black widow spiders. We’ll be secure in there.”
That took care of tonight. What about tomorrow? She kicked at a small rock and sent it skittering across the ground. “Can we walk out of here? And if we have to, which direction do we go?” she asked.