He held the top of the stair railing and called after her. “What are you talking about?”
“Just leave me alone!” She stormed out of the house and headed down the street. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the local playground. She sat on a bench, jammed her hands into her coat pockets and stared at the children interacting with their parents—laughing and having fun. This would have been the life she would have known, if her father hadn’t left them. If he hadn’t chosen to make drug deliveries for the Mexican cartel. But instead, money came first and so did his ambition, leaving his wife and daughter to fend for themselves.
“Skylar!” Dylan jogged to the entrance of the park and called out. “There you are!”
Skylar growled, crossing her arms. “I told you not to follow me.”
A large black vehicle came to a screeching halt next to him. A man with a black hood jumped out and grabbed Dylan around the middle, dropping him to the ground. He was built like a football player and taller than Dylan by half a foot. His sweatshirt was non-descript and stretched over his broad shoulders, nearly ripping when he wrestled Dylan to the ground. A round silver medallion dangled from his neck as he leaned over, smiling. “Buenos dias, Señor. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Dylan pushed himself up with a grimace. He looked at Skylar with volatile anger written all over his face, making her take a step back. When his eyes meet his combatant’s, he practically snarled. “I called Pablo four days ago and he agreed. I’m not working for you anymore, Julian.”
“Really? Then I guess you don’t know. Pablo disappeared last night.”
What? What does that mean?” Dylan’s jaw slacked.
“He disobeyed The Chaplain,” Julian said. “And if you’ve wronged someone, you should pay for your crime. Don’t you agree?” Another man climbed out of the driver’s side of the black Lincoln Navigator and silently approached. “What about you, Mateo?” he asked him. “Don’t you agree?”
The second man smirked. “Absolutely.”
Dylan snorted and shook his head, “So you’re telling me I’ve got no choice?”
Julian’s scowl deepened. “This business is filled with dumb motherfuckers like you. Losers selling their souls for money. If you want us to collect, just say so. Mateo or any of my other men would be happy to accommodate you…just like The Chaplain would want us to.”
Dylan looked down, saying nothing.
Skylar considered arguing the point. But what would she say? This wasn’t her fight and going up against these big dudes could prove challenging, maybe even damaging.
Julian’s smile was back. “Good. We agree then. You work until I say you don’t. Until The Chaplain finds someone to replace you.”
“You know, I really don’t think that’s going to be possible,” Dylan said. “I’ve already agreed to work for Alvarez.”
The man standing next to Julian caught his breath quickly. “The devil’s brother?”
Julian frowned. “He makes The Chaplain look like a saint. Turns out you’re a bigger fool than we thought, Haines.”
“Why thank you. So I guess our business is finished here.” Dylan looked around for Skylar and appeared to be ready to leave. But then Julian shook his head.
“No, Señor. The only thing finished here is you.” He nodded his head toward Dylan and gave his cohort an abrupt order to attack. “¡Acabar con él!”
Mateo leaped on top of Dylan like a rabid dog, knocking him back to the ground. He kicked him hard and fast. When Mateo got close enough, Dylan landed a solid kick to his shin, then he delivered a full-power kick to his supporting leg at the knee, throwing his attacker off balance. He drove the heel of his other foot into his groin, making the man groan and double over.
Seeing his partner go down, Julian jumped into the action. He hit Dylan full force in the kidney, bending him over and leaving him gasping for air.
To Skylar’s amazement, Mateo leaped onto Dylan’s back. He squeezed his elbow tight around his neck, while Julian stood back, grinning from ear to ear. “What are you gonna say now, tough guy?” he asked.
“Go fuck yourself,” Dylan choked out.
Julian responded by punching him full force in the face. His head fell forward, slack, looking like he was knocked out. But as soon as Mateo relaxed his grip, Dylan threw back his head, hitting Mateo in the face, shattering his nose. He spun out of Mateo’s grasp and finished him off with a kick to his knee that left him sprawled on the ground, moaning and bleeding. Julian was having none of it—he’d come there to win. Standing in a boxer stance, he raised his fists, ready to fight.
This thing is getting serious.
Mateo was back on his feet, loaded for bear, and Skylar realized she couldn’t stand by, doing nothing. Slipping off her jacket, she pushed up her sleeves and picked up the closest rock she could find. She pitched it with all her might, hitting Mateo square in the back.
Mateo spun around, facing Skylar. “So, you want to fight too, huh?” He rushed toward her and swung a vicious back hand.
Skylar sidestepped easily, and Mateo stumbled off balance. “What’s the matter, asshole?” she taunted. “I’m right here.”
He moved in fast. Skylar met his rush with a lucky left jab that smashed his already broken nose. In a blind fury, he closed in again. This time he swung wildly and caught her alongside her temple, sending her staggering backwards. She didn’t even see the next punch coming, but it made contact with her jaw, sending a spray of fireworks across her field of vision.
Skylar managed to right herself and evade another punch, more by luck than skill. And then she saw Dylan curled up on the ground. Anger filled her senses and she closed in on Mateo, pounding away at his body with both fists. She threw a left to his mouth again and followed it with a right to his chest. Mateo stumbled back, then he rushed at her, grabbing for her throat. She lost her balance and somehow managed to yank him with her. Using her momentum, she used both feet and kicked him in the gut, pitching him head first into the ground.
Mateo was hurt and was barely able to stand. Perhaps in that moment, he realized he’d been beaten by a woman and living it down would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. He flipped open his switchblade and grabbed her left arm. With an elbow jammed in her side, he stared down at her faded scars. “Shit! You’re sicker than I am.”
Skylar snatched her arm away and stepped back. She maintained a rocking rhythm on the balls of her feet. When she saw an opening, she kicked the weapon from Mateo’s hand with her short ankle boots and dropped down, snagging it from the ground. He rushed at her again, and she delivered a side-snap kick, sending him flying eight feet. But the man was relentless. He charged again, and she felt the knife go home.
He grabbed his side and looked down at the blood covering his hand. With his nostrils still flaring, he yelled, “You’re dead, bitch! Do you hear me? ¡Estás muerto!” He flew at her like a demon, but Skylar was quick on her feet, sweeping him to his knees. She stood behind him and drew the knife back against the side of his neck, producing a thin line of blood. The man yelped and rolled away from her. He climbed back onto his feet and stared at her for a few seconds, watching her bounce from one foot to the other with a cool, steady rhythm. Then the villain pawed the ground and attempted another attack with the velocity of a raging bull. He was so fast, in fact, that Skylar only had time to jump back and barely escaped being hit. But when he charged the fourth time, she delivered a roundhouse kick, striking Mateo in the stomach.
He folded in half like an accordion, groaning and clutching his middle. She moved behind him and pressed the knife against the side of his throat. “Try it again, and I’ll take your ear off,” she growled.
In the meantime, Dylan was back on his feet, feigning left hooks. “Come on, Julian! Let’s see what you can do when my back isn’t turned.”
The man flew at him, and Dylan’s fists connected with Julian’s midsection, dropping him to one knee. With obvious effort, he stood again, clearly eighty pound
s heavier than Dylan. He was preparing to return the blows that toppled him, when a police siren sounded, halting his angry advance.
“Do the job you were paid to do, Haines,” he snarled. “If you don’t, you’ll be joining Pablo.” Then he ran toward his black car, calling out at Mateo, “Hablar y estás muerto!” His tires squealed, as he drove off, leaving his cursing accomplice behind.
Two squad cars arrived with their sirens still blaring, blocking the exits in the park. A cop jumped out and ran after Mateo, tackling him to the ground. While his partner interviewed Dylan, Skylar pushed her shirt sleeves back down and picked up her jacket. As it turned out, according to the arresting officer, Mateo Gonzalez was a known assailant with an outstanding warrant. His knife was confiscated, and he was thrown into the back seat of one of the squad cars, cursing at Skylar the whole time.
“A total waste,” Dylan said. “That guy will be out in less than two hours. The attorneys in this town are as corrupt as the men they represent.”
A man with wiry black hair and dark glasses stepped forward, identifying himself as Officer Barillas. He was smoking roll-ups and nursing a cup of black coffee, attempting to look tougher than he appeared. After handing his cup to his partner, he took another statement from Dylan, while Skylar stood by watching with the four families that had gathered in the park.
“So, why did they come after you?” he asked Dylan. “It wouldn’t by chance have anything to do with that plane you’ve been flying, would it?”
“Haven’t got a clue. Must have been mistaken identity or something. Good thing you were following me today, Officer Barillas.”
The police officer snorted. “Yeah, right. Just think what would’ve happened if they really knew you, Haines.” He shook his head and turned to Skylar. “You should be careful who your friends are, Miss.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He crushed his cigarette under his heel and walked back to his car where his partner was waiting. As they drove by, Barillas glared at them from the passenger seat like a character out of a mafia movie.
Skylar shook her head. “Those guys were ready to kill you. What’s going on? And who the hell is Alvarez?”
Dylan wiped blood away from his lip and looked down at his swollen wrist. Ignoring her question, he said, “I’ve never seen a girl fight like that before…and with a knife yet. You must have had professional training of some kind.”
“Uh-huh. And what about you?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. If you hadn’t been here, I would’ve taken a real beating. You know, I don’t think many guys would be willing to admit that.” There was an amused glimmer to his eyes, as if he was laughing at a private joke.
“Yeah, well, I would’ve done the same for any friend. It’s how I grew up.” Skylar noticed a group of children at the far end of the park, staring at them. She looked away, feeling more exposed than necessary.
“How you grew up?”
“On the streets, for the most part.”
“Tell me more.” Dylan lowered himself onto an empty park bench. He patted the seat next him, and Skylar hesitated before joining him.
“When I was sixteen, a Ukrainian circus performer taught me how to fight. He was living with some friends I met…hiding from ICE.”
“Hiding from what?”
“Immigration officers. He stayed in Vegas after his parents were deported, but he’s been gone for almost three years now. Hardly seems possible.”
“Oh, I see. Did he go back home?”
Skylar wrapped her arms around herself. “No. He overdosed on heroin. I should’ve been there, but instead I was at a funeral for a stripper. My mother’s friend who looked after me when I was young.”
Dylan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A stripper, huh?”
“She was sort of mother figure at the time.”
“Geez. Sounds like you had a tough life. I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Just felt like I should say it.”
“You told that cop you didn’t know those guys, but you obviously did. I just can’t believe Barillas bought your crap.”
Anger was simmering in the depths of Dylan’s eyes. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”
“Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”
“It’s not something you need to worry about…Skylar.”
“Really? What if Julian and Mateo come back and bring guns next time?”
“I’ll be ready. Target practice just happens to be one of my hobbies.” There was a long, awkward silence between them. Skylar knew that expressing any optimism at this point would be childish and stupid, as they both realized a dire situation was brewing.
Dylan tapped her arm lightly. “So should we try to find that house you were looking for?”
“No. I can manage on my own.” She had been quick to answer. Too quick. Now she was left wondering, What the hell am I going to do?
“Wrong,” he said. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone. Not after risking your life for me. What kind of jerk would that make me?”
Skylar looked down, kicking at the gravel with her boots. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re no bother at all. Let’s go back to my house and have that lunch we talked about. Then we’ll figure out how to get you back home…safe and sound.”
Back home? Safe and sound? Skylar thought of Jake, sitting in the cockpit of his plane, whispering, “I love you.” She felt a rush of anguish at the idea of never seeing him again and wished this place would fade away like a horrible dream.
“Unless you prefer staying here…” Dylan rose to his feet and smiled down at her. It was unlike the half-smile of other people, warming her heart when it shouldn’t have.
Skylar laid her coat over her arm and slowly stood up. “You should know that I’m not gonna stop asking questions…even if you want me to.”
“I would expect as much,” he said, walking away. He glanced back. “You coming or am I eating alone?”
After retrieving his car, he drove Skylar to his house. she followed him up the steps and across the wide porch, waiting as he unlocked the door. What else could she do? The life she’d been living was in the twenty-first century, twenty-one years from now.
6
Fearless
“A strong woman stands up for herself. A stronger woman stands up for everyone else.”
— ANONYMOUS
Skylar sat at the kitchen table, studying the calendar on the wall, wondering why destiny had brought her here. September of 1997 featured a snapshot of bright yellow sunflowers on a hillside. When her eyes dropped to the days below, she saw that Friday the 26th was circled in red, and her stomach dropped. To anyone else living in Nevada, it wasn’t a remarkable date, just another warm autumn day with bicycles, sprinklers, and kids with backpacks walking to and from school. But for Skylar this was no ordinary day. For as long as she could remember, she knew that September 26, 1997 was the day her father died. According to her mother, it was also the day everything in her life fell apart, only six short days from now.
Skylar turned her attention to Dylan. She had always thought of him as an older man—a grownup like everyone else’s father. Even though he was gone before she was born, she pictured him like a dad on a television show or commercial—enjoying sports, drinking beer, celebrating wins with his buddies. Not a young, irresponsible guy like this—only four years older than her.
What made the situation even more bizarre was not knowing anything about him. When she was a child, her mother had shared so little, leading her to believe he never existed. Yet somehow, in this odd place and time, they had found each other, and the reasons why remained a mystery.
Skylar rested her chin in her cupped hand and peered up at Dylan. “So tell me the truth. Why did those guys attack you?”
“My God, you’re persistent. Just like my girlfriend, Lily—” He stopped himself mid-sentence and corrected himself. “Well, she used t
o be my girlfriend.”
“What do mean? You broke up?” Oh, no! If they weren’t together, she might never be born.
“Not exactly.” Dylan picked up their empty sandwich plates and moved them to the sink. “I guess all good things must come to an end.” He sat down across from Skylar with a curious smirk and picked up his half-filled coffee mug. “The biggest mistake was probably when I bought her a ring. She was crazy enough to accept it. Anyway, she ceased being my girlfriend last Sunday when we got engaged.” He laughed at his own joke. “Which means in a few months, we shall be dutifully and legally married, despite her parents’ objections. They honestly hate my guts and threatened to disown her if she married me. But that hasn’t changed her mind at all.”
He pulled a photo out his wallet and handed it to her. “Lily’s a real beauty. She’s gentle and kind, but when the mood strikes her, she can be stubborn and hotheaded too.”
It was surreal to hear her father talking about her mother like this. The beautiful girl in the photo was young and full of promise, with her whole life ahead of her. She was positively glowing. The woman she knew as a mother had been hardened—damaged by drugs, disappointment, and rejection. If she didn’t know the truth, Skylar would never have believed she was the same person.
“So, tell me,” she said, “when did you two first meet?”
“Actually, we met through friends at a college party…about two years ago. They thought we’d make a good couple, but to be honest, we’re about as opposite as they come. I like pancakes and she loves pickles. I’m into surfing, she reads books. I love flying and she’s into long, quiet walks. But we both enjoy music. I know it sounds silly, but after a few weeks, we kind of grew on each other. Sometimes we would take long drives in the desert, just to watch the sun set. Or we’d sit on a porch swing in the backyard singing John Denver songs. Other times, we’d go to the drive-in and just talk for hours…about everything under the sun.” Dylan wiped a smudge from the table. “Next thing I knew, we’re announcing that we’re an official couple. No one was happy about it, especially her folks. And my dad…well, he’s never been fond of anyone I dated.”
High Flying Page 6
