Where Danger Hides

by Terry Odell

  “Nance, wiggle your toes, baby. Come on,” Sanderson said.

  Both feet rotated in circles. Dalton let go of the breath he’d been holding. “Good.”

  Sanderson grabbed the flashlight. “God, is that blood?”

  Dalton noted the red-brown stains on her sweatshirt. “I’m not sure.” He touched one. Dry and hard. Pieces flaked off in his hand. “I think it’s mud.”

  “The clothes,” Sanderson said. “They’re not hers, except the shoes.”

  Dalton reached for the zipper, lowered it and found bare skin where he expected a shirt. Sanderson’s hand covered his.

  “I think I’d rather do that myself,” he said.

  Dalton backed off. “Okay. Check her for any cuts, blood, anything. Keep talking to her. While you do, I’m going to try to find out what happened.”

  Dalton sought the child, who cowered on the floor in the corner. He left Sanderson with Nancy and knelt at the child’s side.

  “Sugar, tell me what happened. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” She blinked her big, brown eyes but said nothing. He swore under his breath and repeated his question in Spanish.

  Her expression said she’d understood, but she remained silent. “Here you go, Sugar. Want a candy?” He offered a piece from his butterscotch stash. She grabbed it and gave him a shy smile. “It’s okay to talk to us.” He shoved his Glock into his waistband, raising his hands, palms outward. “I’m Dalton. A friend. Amigo. What’s your name? ¿Su nombre?”

  “Juanita,” she whispered. She pointed to the door. “Mi abuelo habla inglés.”

  And her grandfather probably knew what was going on. “Let’s talk to him, okay, Juanita?” He stood and extended his hand. Without taking it, she popped to her feet and opened the door.

  When the light streamed in, Dalton inspected his surroundings. The room was more than a kitchen and dining hall. He shone his light over the assemblage of equipment. Fuck. Another God damn meth lab. Remembering the waiting child, he swallowed the curse behind his lips. Her white teeth flashed the first smile he’d seen. He found one to return.

  The child darted through the doorway.

  “Oh, God, Nancy. Baby,” Sanderson said, his voice shaking. “Come back. Wake up.”

  “What?” Dalton rushed to them.

  “She passed out. She said something about an accident. In her car. God, do you think there are internal injuries? She’s got bruises on her torso.” He paled. “If she was . . . she could have lost . . .” He splayed his hand over her belly.

  “Hey, none of that.” He squeezed Sanderson’s shoulder. “We’re going to get her out of here and to a hospital. I’m sure the docs will fix her right up.”

  Sanderson’s lips narrowed. He wasn’t buying any of it.

  “ ’Scuse me, Señor.” Dalton jerked around at the voice.

  The old man shuffled in, glancing over his shoulder. “Someone comes.”

  Dalton gave Sanderson one more squeeze. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  He followed the man into the dorm. At first, he thought everyone had disappeared, until muffled stirrings drifted from the bath area. He motioned the old man to join the others hiding there and approached the entrance to the room. Although he heard nothing, hair bristled at the base of his neck. He gripped the Glock.

  He had one hand on the deadbolt when four quick raps sent his heart to his throat. He froze. Seconds later, two more knocks, not as rapid, vibrated through his hand.

  He twisted the thumbscrew and yanked the door open.

  Two heavily armed men stood there. “Don’t shoot, Cowboy,” the taller one said.

  “Damn you both to hell.” Dalton slapped Hotshot on the arm, then grabbed Harper in a bear hug. “It sure is good to see you.”

  Miri peeked around the wall of masculinity and gave him a finger wave. “Zeke sent them.” She pulled off a headset and dangled it from her hand. “I’m not in Kansas anymore, am I?”

  He wanted to kiss her. Hell, he’d kiss all three of them. “We’ve got a medical situation.” He slipped the headset on. “Who’s controlling?”

  “That would be me, mate,” squawked from the radio. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”

  “Fozzie, you son of a bitch—get us the hell out of here.”

  “Where’s Nancy?” Miri stepped into the room, searching the empty space. “Where’s everybody?”

  “Nancy’s next door.” He pointed to the rear. “Miri, go with Hotshot.”

  Miri raced across the room, Hotshot at her heels. Once she was out of sight, he confronted Harper. “What the hell is going on that Blackie would send an ops team?”

  “Smuggling. Both the medicinal and human variety,” Harper said. “Border patrol requested assistance. Not to mention a Mr. Sanderson willing to pay big bucks for the return of his missing wife. So here we are.”

  “Sounds like Blackie bent some of his own rules, but what the hell.” Dalton adjusted the lip mic. “Hey, Fozzie. I’ve got an injured woman. Can you airlift her to the nearest hospital—belay that—the best hospital? Probably San Diego?”

  The silence following his question sent a cold, metallic taste to his mouth. “Fozzie? What haven’t you told me?” He glared at Harper.

  “Sorry, mate,” Fozzie said. “No can do. There’s another shipment on its way, about two klicks out.”

  “Shipment of what? Damn it, if I’m part of this team I need to be brought up to speed. And if I’m not, then I’m taking the woman to the hospital myself.”

  Harper reached forward and grabbed his arm. “The short version seems to be that the coyotes are doing more than bringing people across the border. They’re working with the drug smugglers. They promise the people jobs, only the jobs turn out to be cooking meth. And we’ve got another group on its way.”

  “Group of what? Smugglers or illegal aliens?”

  “Aliens? You make them sound like monsters from outer space.” Miri’s voice rang through the room. “They’re people, you know. Trying to improve their lives.”

  Behind her, Sanderson and Hotshot carried Nancy to the nearest cot and laid her down. Sanderson sat beside her, holding her hand. Miri knelt on the other side, smoothing Nancy’s hair. Hotshot shrugged out of his pack and set it on the floor.

  “How are we going to get her up that staircase?” Sanderson asked. “Won’t it be risky to move her that way?”

  Hotshot rested his hand on Sanderson’s shoulder. “Glenn McCade. I’m a medic,” he said. “They call me Hotshot. May I take a closer look?”

  Sanderson relinquished his spot, but not his hold on Nancy’s hand. “She said there was a car accident.”

  Hotshot pulled a field kit from his pack and set to examining Nancy. Dalton noted Sanderson didn’t have any problem with Hotshot opening Nancy’s sweatshirt.

  His headset crackled. “Topside, mates. Trouble coming.”

  Chapter 29

  In unison, the men’s faces went stone cold. Tentacles of dread slithered over Miri. Ryan tapped the headset at his ear and said something she didn’t catch. Dalton’s gaze, filled with uncertainty, met hers, and ice settled in her gut. He extended his arm, but it seemed to say, “Keep away,” not, “Come with me.”

  She rose from the floor beside Nancy. His arm dropped. He shook his head.

  Replies cascaded through her brain. Stay. Let them take care of it. Nancy needs you. I need you.

  “Go,” echoed in her ears, as if someone else spoke the words.

  Without another glance, Dalton whirled on his heels and followed Ryan out the door, leaving a hole in her heart, although she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t love him or anything like that.

  “Keep everyone quiet,” Hotshot said. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.” He got up and loped across the room after his teammates.

  It hadn’t been three seconds, and they were gone. An eerie silence descended over the room.

  “How could they leave?” Hunt said. “Nancy needs a doctor. A real doctor. Why have these peop
le been holding her prisoner here?”

  Miri blinked back hot tears. “Hotshot said he was a medic. He wouldn’t have left if he didn’t think she’d be all right for a while.” She didn’t sound convincing, even to herself. Who were those men? And why did Dalton fit in so easily? One thing was certain. The man was no private investigator.

  She shoved thoughts of him into the recesses of her mind, something to deal with later when Nancy was all right and she’d had some sleep.

  “Hunt?” Nancy’s voice, weak and shaky, snapped Miri’s attention to Nancy. Relief surged when she saw her sister’s eyes open.

  “I’m here, baby. Look what I found.” Hunt slipped the bracelet around Nancy’s wrist.

  She smiled, then winced. “My bracelet. Where?”

  “At the old center.”

  “Roberto.” She coughed. “Asleep inside. Tried to get him outside. Must have fallen off.”

  “How long were you in there, Nancy?” Miri asked.

  “Few minutes. Drugs. Had to get Roberto out.”

  “That’s my baby.” Hunt caressed Nancy’s forehead.

  “Ow,” she said.

  “Hey, Sis.” Miri’s smile came more easily as worries of long-term exposure to meth chemicals dissipated. “That’s some goose egg. How are you feeling?”

  “Been better.”

  Movement caught Miri’s eye. She turned as an old man came out of the bathroom area, stopping at the foot of the bed. A young girl followed, shyly peeking from behind. The man glanced around, as if searching for Dalton and his men.

  Hunter stormed toward the man and grabbed him by the collar. “Why didn’t someone get in touch with me?” The fury in his voice gave Miri goosebumps.

  “Please, Señor.” The man bowed his head. “We did not know. She had no bag. No cards. No one has phones.”

  “When?” Hunt said to the man. “When did this happen?”

  “Miércoles. Wednesday night, very late.”

  “That was days ago! Someone should have found me. Told me.”

  “Hunt. No. It’s not their fault,” Nancy said. She struggled to sit up, but Miri pressed her down. “The coyote took everything. He threatened to kill them. And their families at home. Please. They’ve tried to take care of me.”

  Hunter’s gaze alternated between Nancy and the old man. Breathing heavily, he stared at the man who stood wide-eyed and motionless. Finally, Hunter sighed and released his grip. “I’m sorry. Thank you for looking after her.”

  “Dalton said they’d be back,” Miri said. “And that we should be quiet.” She stroked Nancy’s hand but fixed her gaze on the man. “I’m Miri. Do you know what happened to my sister?”

  “I am Paco,” the man said. “Your sister, she help when the coyote try to . . .” He drew the child closer to him. The child buried her face in the man’s chest.

  “He didn’t . . .” Miri said.

  “No.” Paco gave his head a violent shake. “But if Señora Nancy had not arrived . . . She is brave woman.”

  “What were you trying to do, Nancy?” Hunt asked. “You could have been killed.” The words didn’t match his tone or the tenderness in his eyes.

  “It wasn’t in the plan.” Nancy sighed. “These people need help. Paco is trying, but it’s a vicious cycle.” She coughed and grimaced.

  “Don’t talk,” Miri said.

  Nancy shook her head. “They come for freedom. The coyotes keep them locked up here, cooking meth. Until they get too sick to work. Then they let them go and bring in another group.” She closed her eyes.

  “She’s always helping, isn’t she?” Miri said.

  “Yes, but it’s usually at the fund raising level,” Hunt said. “Donating clothes to Dress for Success.”

  “I’m here, you know,” Nancy said, her eyes closed. “You don’t have to talk about me as if—” A paroxysm of coughing cut her off. Miri and Hunt exchanged alarmed glances.

  “Don’t talk, baby,” Hunt said. “Save your strength.” To Paco, he said, “Can you tell me more about how Nancy got hurt? How long has she been here?”

  “Si. Por favor, but first, can we not be hiding? It is not comfortable in the back.”

  “Of course,” Hunt said.

  The man whispered something to the girl, and she scooted behind the wall. Seconds later, a line of people snaked in, heading for beds, eyes downcast. Miri counted twelve. Two men, four women and six children who seemed between six and pre-teen. The women encouraged younger ones to lie down, but most perched on the edges of the mattresses, staring at the floor. Their fear was tangible.

  Nancy’s eyes snapped open. “Hunt . . . I don’t feel so good,” she whispered.

  “Sick? Pain? What?” he said. He gripped her hand in both of his.

  “Something . . . feels . . . wrong. Inside.”

  Miri clenched the bed frame, its cool metal growing warm under her grip. “We need to get her to the hospital. I’ll go see what’s going on. We’ve got an hour or two before it gets light. It’ll be safer if I go now.” She kissed Nancy’s forehead, alarmed at the heat beneath her lips. Hunt’s protest was halfhearted.

  “Señorita?”

  Miri peered into Paco’s face, concern adding even more wrinkles to his leathery skin.

  “Is another way out,” he said.

  “Not upstairs, through the house?” An easier way to get Nancy out?

  He shook his head. “I will show you.”

  With one last squeeze of Nancy’s hand, Miri followed Paco through the room where they’d found Nancy. His feet dragged across the floor, but his back was straight, his head erect. He approached a cheap kitchen hutch housing a microwave. Clutching the corners, he rolled it out on its casters. Miri hurried to help. No longer surprised by anything in this house, she noted the pocket door behind the hutch and slid it open. Cool air smelling of earth drifted in on a night breeze. Her small flashlight did little to illuminate the space beyond the room. Paco moved around her and bent over. When he straightened, he held an electric lantern.

  Miri squinted into the darkness, trying to see what lay beyond the range of the light. “A cave? Some kind of a tunnel?”

  “Si. Tunnel. There are many of them through here. First, for people to cross the border. Now the drug cartels have made many more.” He stepped forward, holding the lantern aloft. Miri followed.

  Most of her concentration was on her footing, avoiding stones and uneven spots on the path. Instinctively, she crouched, although the ceiling was several feet above her head. The walls seemed to grow closer, the ceiling lower. The silence wrapped itself around her and her mouth felt as dry as the dirt that surrounded them.

  “How long have you been here, Paco?” she said, to ease her growing tension more than needing an answer.

  “In U.S., four years. I work the fields, saving money to bring my family from Mexico. I make a foolish mistake, agree to work for the evil men to get money faster.”

  “Evil men?”

  His pace quickened. “They tell me to help meet others who have crossed the border. I do, but they make us cook the meth and will tell the police and Immigration if we do not. Finally, I have enough to send for my granddaughter and her uncle. Juanita, she arrives three days ago. But Matteo—” his voice thickened.

  Sadness clawed at Miri’s heart. “Oh, Paco, I’m so sorry.”

  “Is a rough journey.” His shoulders slumped. “Many do not survive.”

  “How did you meet Nancy?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “I meet the new arrivals and bring them the last distance. Miss Nancy found us, although I do not know how. It does not matter. She drives up. She sees the coyote who is touching Juanita. The car hits the tree. She runs from the car, she yells, pulls Juanita away. The coyote hits her. She fights back. ‘Run’, she tells us.” He averted his gaze. “There are women and children. We take them to safety.”

  It’d been a long time since Nancy needed street skills, but Miri almost smiled knowing how her sister would defend herself. �
�You had to think of the children.”

  “Si. And our families back home. We cannot go against a coyote.”

  He sounded so forlorn, Miri’s heart went out to him. “I understand. You can’t blame yourself.”

  Paco stretched his arm out. “Here.” He raised the lantern in a sweeping motion.

  Miri looked where he indicated but saw nothing but rocks and brush. Paco pulled branches aside, then slid between a gap in two boulders. “Out here.”

  Miri followed him to the tunnel’s end. Or its beginning, thinking of the people running from a life imprisoned by poverty, then imprisoned again instead of enjoying a life of freedom and opportunity.

  The legality of what these people were doing flitted across her mind, and she swatted it away like a pesky fly. They were human beings, with goals and dreams like everyone else. There had to be a solution. She allowed herself a quick internal smile, knowing Nancy obviously felt the same way.

  She stepped out of the cave and into the night. From above somewhere in the distance, a helicopter whirred. She shaded her eyes and scanned the sky but saw nothing. Was Dalton up there?

  Twenty yards away, the rear end of Nancy’s car protruded, half hidden by trees and rocks. She rushed forward, stopping cold when she saw the accordion-pleated hood. She didn’t need to get any closer. They weren’t going anywhere.

  * * * * *

  Dalton crouched behind a rock outcropping about fifty meters from the house, where chaparral thinned and desert terrain gently merged with the rugged foothills.

  “I’m on point,” Hotshot said. He jogged into the darkness.

  “Manny is waiting. Half a klick northwest,” Fozzie said.

  “Roger that,” Hotshot said.

  From his headset, Dalton listened to the exchange, visualizing everyone’s positions. He checked his weapon once more as Ryan lay on his belly beside him, setting up. Dalton lost Hotshot after ten seconds. The moon had dipped behind the mountains, cutting visibility in the pre-dawn darkness to the hand-in-front-of-your-face variety.