“I have to go,” he said, ending the call.
Staying in the cargo station was not an option. He grabbed his pack and tugged the brim of his cap down. His height was a dead giveaway, so he ducked his head as he joined the herd of passengers. They were all breaking the law, eager to avoid arrest. They moved as one, rushing together like spooked cattle.
Instead of fighting for a turn on the ladder, Ian slipped between railcars and raced along the opposite side of the tracks, toward the front of the train. He wanted to be on the first railcar, where he could see what was coming. Passengers tended to ride facing forward, as well. He had a better chance of spotting Sarai from the front than the back.
The first railcar was packed, so he climbed aboard the second. The federal officers were striding along the causeway, watching passengers scramble for a spot in the middle section of the train. Ian ascended the ladder and army-crawled to a narrow space between two older men. His elbows bit into the hard surface and his injured leg dragged over the spiky grate. The other passengers ignored his strange behavior. He stayed flat on his belly, gripping the edge of the grate, until the train left the station.
Only then did he roll over and acknowledge his companions. They were mostly men, along with a few women and children. None matched the photo of Sarai Tomás. Two boys who looked about ten and twelve stared at him with tired, mildly curious brown eyes. Then they turned around to watch the world go by.
Ian did the same. He sent LaGuardia a quick text saying that he’d boarded safely and would call back later. Then he plugged his phone into a portable charger. He was committed to this assignment, even though it was sketchy as hell. He’d take sketchy over chickenshit any day. The fact that LaGuardia had trusted him with confidential information was somewhat comforting as well. Now that Ian knew Villarreal’s history with the Los Rojos cartel, he was more determined to find Sarai before they did.
But he needed to catch his breath first. His leg ached from the climb, and from the fall earlier. The stress of the past few hours, paired with the sleepless night, hit him hard. He was worn out. He wanted to just sit here for a minute, to reflect.
So he closed his eyes…and thought of Maria.
God.
What they’d done would haunt him forever. He would relive it in his private moments, over and over again. The way she’d felt in his arms. Her lips parting under his. Her scent, her taste, her little moans of pleasure.
Acábame.
He smothered a groan at the memory. Finish me. She had no idea what a plea like that did to a man. It had turned his body to stone and his mind into mush. He’d been tempted to finish her with a hard fuck against the wall, rather than a sedate stroke of his fingers. The urge to tear off her clothes and take her had been overwhelming, despite the public location. He’d only restrained himself because she was inexperienced, with a traumatic past.
Their interlude had been extremely inappropriate, regardless. The fact that he’d declined her offer to reciprocate didn’t wash his hands clean. On the contrary; they still smelled like her. He brought his fingertips to his nose and inhaled her sweet scent. If he’d been alone, he’d unbutton his pants and jerk off. He’d fantasize about the slick, hot clasp of her body. He’d savor the mental picture of those pretty tits, her ripe brown nipples puckering under his tongue.
But he wasn’t alone. He was on top of a train with twenty other people. So he dropped his hand to the metal grate, gritted his teeth, and tried to refocus. The only problem was her words haunted him as much as her touch, if not more.
I belong with you.
He didn’t know why she’d said that, after rejecting his proposal. Maybe she hadn’t believed he was serious about marrying her. It had been an impulsive suggestion, hastily made but not insincere. She’d needed his protection. He had strong feelings for her. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any other woman. Sleeping around didn’t appeal to him. It hadn’t appealed to him in years. He’d been living like a monk since they’d met. Why not settle down?
She did belong with him—and he’d never have her. They couldn’t run away together. There were too many obstacles between them. Ian blamed that thug, Armando Villarreal, for taking a hostage. This single, fucked-up move had devastating repercussions. Now Maria was an accessory after the fact. She might be on a watch-list, ineligible for U.S. citizenship—even if he married her. Contrary to popular belief, marriage wasn’t an immigration cure-all.
The train rattled down the tracks, leaving San Juan del Río. The hazy afternoon sun illuminated the faces of the passengers. It occurred to him that this was good lighting for photographs. He had a digital camera in his pack, but his phone worked just as well, and seemed a bit more incognito. He took it out and fiddled with the zoom feature. Then he took a series of stealth shots of the passengers on the railcars following his. Most were too far away for him to discern their features with the naked eye. With his phone, he could see more.
The task of studying dozens of individual faces on a small screen wasn’t easy. He scrolled through the shots with methodic precision, searching for Sarai. There were very few women. No women in disguise, as far as he could tell. Many of the passengers were indigenous men. He remembered Maria’s idea to disguise herself and got irritated all over again. She thought some baggy clothes would keep her safe? Yeah right. She looked about as masculine as—
Wait a minute.
He scrolled the opposite direction to study one of the photos again. There was a slender woman with braided hair, slightly mussed. Her arms were tucked around her body, head down. Although her face was turned away, he’d have known her anywhere.
Maria.
“Goddamn it,” he swore, startling the passenger next to him. “She got on the train.”
The man didn’t have a clue what he was saying. “Señor?”
Ian looked up from his screen to identify which railcar she was on, though he couldn’t make out the individual passengers. Number seven. He was on railcar two. There were five cars between them. Jumping from car to car was possible, even with the train moving, but it was incredibly dangerous. His injured leg might give out on him at an inopportune moment. He’d have to climb down, leap free, and board her railcar. Also risky. Impossible in some areas, where the tracks were surrounded by slopes of gravel. He studied the rushing ground below, his pulse racing. It looked solid, but there were short concrete pillars at regular intervals.
“What are those?” he asked in Spanish.
The man replied with a word Ian didn’t recognize. Then he said, “They are there to keep people away. So you can’t run along the tracks and hop on.”
Ian nodded his understanding. “How far do they go?”
The man shrugged, “No sé.”
He was stuck on this railcar. He’d have to just sit here, squinting into the distance and hoping Maria didn’t get attacked by the other passengers. He glanced at the photo again. She seemed okay, for now. If someone was going to make a move on her, they’d probably wait until nightfall. “Where is the next stop, do you know?”
“Guadalajara,” the man replied with a smile, flashing silver front teeth. “Five hours, nomás.”
Only five hours. That was a short trip. They’d arrive before the sun set. Ian thanked the man for the information and tried to relax. He couldn’t believe how stubborn Maria was. How bold and optimistic and fearless. She was so fucking helpful, he couldn’t stand it. The same qualities that drew him to her drove him crazy.
“Is there a problem?” the man asked.
“Women.”
He chuckled with sympathy. “One in particular?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t want you to take the train?”
It was the opposite, but Ian didn’t say that. He was too tired to speak Spanish, though listening required no extra effort.
“My wife told me not to go. Too dangerous. And we have a new baby at home. She thinks I won’t come back to her.”
Ian studied his smooth br
own face. He looked like a teenager, twenty at the most. “Will you?”
“Of course,” he said, smiling.
Stated simply, as if it was a given that he would survive this trip, cross the border successfully, make a pocketful of money, and return safe. Ian wanted to dismiss him as foolish and naive. Instead he felt a mild envy. Maria’s sunny attitude in the face of hardship bewildered him, but it was a hallmark of her culture. These people weren’t quitters. The worst life circumstances couldn’t bring them down. They just kept going. Resilience was in their blood.
Meanwhile, he was boohooing over a few career stumbles and one impossible relationship. He was young, white, educated, and healthy. He had more money than most Latin Americans collected in a lifetime. What did he have to mope about, besides Maria?
He wasn’t going to die if he didn’t have her. The world would keep on turning. Every guy fell for a beautiful girl who was off-limits or out of his league at some point. It was practically a rite of passage, and Maria was the type of woman who collected hearts like wildflowers. She gave a stranger a friendly look, just to be nice, and he was a goner.
Ian couldn’t say he was cheered by these thoughts, but some of his anxiety eased. He was on a risky assignment, tangled up in a red-hot affair with a sexy foreigner. Some men would kill to be in his position. It wasn’t that bad, travel accommodations aside.
He settled in for the ride and pondered what LaGuardia had said about Villarreal. Ian didn’t give a damn who he’d worked for before he’d joined Moreno’s crew. Ian didn’t trust the PFM, or any other government agency in Mexico. The drug cartels were more powerful than the law here. They infiltrated every facet of law enforcement and influenced politicians.
The tracks stretched on toward Guadalajara, interminable. This trip was shorter than the previous one, but the landscape more precarious. There were trees to dodge and tunnels to pass through, so he had to stay alert. The boys on the railcar curled up to sleep while their mother kept watch. Some of the men tied themselves to the grate with rope or a belt and did the same. Ian worried about Maria drifting off and falling over the edge. He wished he was beside her, so she could sleep.
Finally they approached a sprawling city. Smog billowed into a brilliant orange sunset, ironically made more vibrant by the heavy pollution. Ian’s spirits lifted. He couldn’t wait to get the hell off the train. He needed a different strategy for finding Sarai. If she was here, she was laying low. He might ride all the way to Tijuana and never spot her.
As soon as the train stopped, he’d catch up with Maria and search the crowd for Sarai. Then he’d look for a hot meal, a shower, and a bed. He didn’t know what to do with Maria. She refused to listen to him. She refused to go home. Sooner or later, her presence was going to get him into serious trouble.
He couldn’t resist her much longer, either. Hell, he hadn’t been able to resist her so far. He’d barely been able to keep his dick in his pants. The next time he touched her, he might lose control, and escalating their affair would only make things worse. He needed to get his career back on track.
For the next thirty minutes, the train rolled through the outskirts of Guadalajara. It was the second largest city in Mexico, and about the size of Los Angeles, if memory served. It was dusk when they approached the cargo station, lights twinkling. Instead of slowing down, the train passed right on by. They left Guadalajara in the dust.
“Why aren’t we stopping?” he asked in Spanish.
The man next to him shrugged. “No sé, señor.”
Ian glanced back into the dark abyss. He couldn’t see railcar seven anymore. Taking a photo wouldn’t help. “Is there another station coming up?”
“Sí. El Limbo.”
El Limbo? That didn’t sound promising.
“It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“When will we get there?”
“Not for a long time.”
“Fuck!”
The man laughed, needing no translation for this word. “This section of track goes through the Sierra Madre, and it’s a rough ride. Many trees and tunnels.” He gestured to Ian’s tall head. “You will need to watch out.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Ian said. He studied the ground below. The sloping gravel along the tracks would make it very difficult for him to climb down and board again. Jumping from railcar to railcar at night was borderline suicidal. Before he could make up his mind, the train’s brakes engaged with an ear-splitting shriek, jostling the passengers. Smoke and the acrid smell of machinery filled the air. If anyone had been standing upright, they’d have been knocked down by the sudden halt.
Ian looked over the heads of the other passengers, squinting into the twilight. There was a shadowy shape blocking the tracks.
“It’s a couch,” he said, shocked. “Un sofá.”
His fellow passengers didn’t seem surprised.
“Will they clear the tracks?”
“Not until the bandits take our money.”
Ah. So this was a robbery, not an attempt to derail the train. “How much?”
“Whatever you’ve got.”
Ian had some small bills in his pocket. There was more money stashed in his gun holster. He didn’t care about the cash, but he couldn’t let anyone take his weapon. That was why he was carrying it incognito, hidden beneath his shirt. He tugged down the brim of his cap, his pulse racing. As a “rich American,” he had a target on his back.
Seconds later, four men with bandannas covering their faces emerged from the trees. Two boarded the fifth or sixth railcar, near the middle. The other two climbed onto Ian’s railcar. He stayed still and kept his gaze lowered, trying not to draw attention.
“Time to pay the conductor,” one of the bandits said.
Ian snuck a glance at the criminal. He looked like a young gang member, with tattoos on his neck and hands. He held a cheap-shit 9mm that wouldn’t be accurate from a distance, but was perfectly capable of blowing someone’s brains out at close range.
While the gunman stood guard at the end of the railcar, his cohort came around with a bag that looked like a potato sack. This bandit was even younger, no more than fourteen. He stopped in front of every passenger to collect the fee.
Ian watched as the passenger across from him tossed in a handful of coins. The man next to Ian choked up a few bills. Ian added fifty pesos to the bag.
“What’s this?” the boy said, pushing the hat off Ian’s head. “¡Un norteamericano!”
Shit.
The gunman strode forward and pointed his jank 9mm at Ian. “What the fuck are you doing here, gringo?”
“I’m a photographer,” he said.
“¿Un reportero?”
“No.”
“Fucking liar,” he said, kicking Ian in the side. “Get up.”
He inhaled a sharp breath, because the blow hurt like hell. But he rose to his feet, compliant. He wasn’t going to draw his weapon in this crowd. He was surrounded by innocent bystanders, including a mother and children. He wanted to help Maria, not trade shots with a couple of punk kids.
“Take everything he has,” the gunman said.
“Empty your pockets,” the boy said in a high-pitched whisper. He was robbing trains, and his balls probably hadn’t even dropped yet.
Ian gave him the crumpled bills from his pocket. It was about five hundred pesos total. He held his palms up, indicating that he was cleaned out.
“Your phone,” the boy said.
When Ian hesitated, the gunman swung his 9mm toward the mother and children. She cowered, covering their heads. Ian could disarm this little motherfucker and throw him off the train, but not without risking a wild shot. He fished his phone out of his pocket. His information was password-protected, so it didn’t matter. They’d just wipe it and sell it.
Whatever. He had more important things to worry about.
The boy added his phone to the loot and took Ian’s backpack. Before they moved on, the gunman punched Ian in the stomach. He fell to his knees on the
metal grate, startled by the blow. Then the bandits took off, jumping to the next railcar.
Assholes.
He waited a few seconds to catch his breath. Then a female scream rang out in the distance, and his blood ran cold.
Maria.
“Don’t go,” the man next to him said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll kill you.”
“That’s my woman,” Ian said, shaking him off. He made his way toward the ladder and scrambled down to the ground. Two rail workers were pushing the couch off the tracks. The train was going to start moving again with the robbery in progress. He didn’t have much time. He ran toward the seventh railcar and climbed up, his heart in his throat.
One of the bandits stood guard at the top. He didn’t hear Ian over the noise of the engine. He probably wasn’t expecting anyone to come up, and he was too busy watching his partner terrorize Maria to notice anything else.
Ian tapped him on the shoulder. When he whirled around, Ian introduced himself with a simple uppercut. The bandit crumpled on the grate, unconscious. The gun fell from his limp hand and tumbled over the edge of the railcar, onto the tracks below.
One down.
An easy one, to be fair. Another teenager.
The man on top of Maria noticed Ian’s approach. He had a stocky build and a tattooed face. His bandanna was pulled down around his neck. He didn’t appear intimidated, despite Ian’s quick dispatch of his partner. He was holding a knife to her throat.
Maria stared up at Ian with wide eyes. She stayed very still, her chest rising and falling with panicked breaths. Her clothes were intact. The gang member pulled the knife away slowly and rose to his feet. Ian considered drawing his gun. He’d feel no remorse whatsoever about using lethal force on this asshole. But then the train jolted forward, and his window of opportunity closed. It wasn’t a good idea to stand on top of a moving train, let alone fire a weapon from one.
“¿La quieres?” the man asked, letting his blade glint in the dark. Do you want this?
Off the Rails Page 10