Marshal on a Mission

by Ryshia Kennie

He slammed into the truck, forcing the driver to slow down, wrestling for control of his vehicle. He looked over and met the man’s hard eyes. His face was swarthy brown, his dark eyes pinpoints of hate. But the surprising thing was how young he was.

  Then the truck veered away and the face was gone. Trent had no choice but to turn his attention to the road, swerving to avoid the truck again. But there was only so much road and the truck slammed into them again.

  Tara’s head was down, both hands clinging to the seat.

  One hit caught the truck at an odd angle. It was going so fast that it shot past them, sending them into another spin. Trent fought for control and when the car finally came to a stop, they were again facing north, toward Tala. Trent put his foot on the gas.

  Tara twisted to look behind. “He’s losing control. Oh my...he hit the ditch. And, oh...” Her voice trembled. “He rolled over. We’ve got a chance to get away from him, if nothing else.”

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. The truck was in the ditch exactly as she said, flipped on its roof. One front wheel still spun.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. But a sheen of perspiration on her forehead seemed to say otherwise. It had been a crazy moment that could have had a very different outcome. The palms of his hands were still damp. They’d been lucky.

  “Tara?”

  “I’m all right,” she repeated. “Really, I am.” But her voice was just a whisper.

  Guilt ran through him. This was his job. He expected such things. But he knew it was a nightmare for someone not in this line of work. This should never have happened.

  “Damn it, Carlos!” He smacked the wheel. It was clear that this had been a setup. He didn’t believe in coincidence, he never had. He’d trusted the wrong man. He’d taken information from the wrong source. He’d screwed up. This was completely on him.

  They needed to get off this highway. His first thought was to head for the coast. From there, he had a number of options in their quest to go north.

  They needed a new plan and a safe place to get it together. He sped down the road, heading to the next intersection. There was no way they were continuing along this route any longer than they had to. There was no doubt that it was compromised. How or why that had happened was something to consider later.

  His first priority was to get off the route that Carlos had mapped.

  As he thought that, there was an odd sound, like a clunk. Then the accelerator became heavy, almost unresponsive.

  “What the hell?” he muttered. A feeling of dread snaked through him. He’d pushed it too hard and something had reached the breaking point.

  “What’s going on?” Tara asked.

  “I don’t know. It might be overheating. The engine could be crapping out. Possibly gunning it the way I did...”

  He didn’t have time to finish the sentence before the engine died. He was able to coast it to the side of the road. Five minutes later, he shut the hood. There was nothing he could do. The only fortunate thing was that they’d put twenty miles between them and the pickup. The bad news was that they were still on the same highway, still easily found and much more vulnerable with neither wheels nor weapons.

  He went to the trunk and grabbed a wrench. It wasn’t perfect but at least he had something if somehow the occupant of that truck or someone else, were to come after them. Compiled with everything else, he wasn’t going to take any chances. He tucked it into the back of his jeans and pulled his shirt over it.

  “We’ll get out of here, babe. No worries.”

  She stiffened. It was only then that he realized what he’d said.

  Crap, he thought. The last time he’d called her babe, they’d been a couple of kids. It had slipped out, but latent feelings were the last thing they needed to deal with.

  “Let’s get going,” he said, taking her arm as if he’d said nothing that might have offended her. “We’ve got to get off this road.”

  They had no means of communicating with anyone. They’d already dumped any electronics and he’d ditched the disposable phone he’d purchased earlier before leaving Chapala. The plan had been to get another one at the end of the day’s drive. Now that plan was dead.

  They had no map and no transport. The atlas had been left on the bus, forgotten. All they had was the route that Carlos had drafted for them. But that plan was compromised. And there was a good possibility that Carlos had set them up.

  Trent wasn’t sure what to believe. For now, he had to get Tara off this road and to safety. From here, he knew only the rough points, Guadalajara to the east, home to the north. West, that was the way they had to go. It was the only direction that hadn’t been mapped out.

  It was bad. A scenario like he’d never imagined.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Trent couldn’t believe this. They couldn’t be more isolated. There was no sign of life either on the road or in the dust-blown fields that bracketed it. Not even a plane overhead. This wasn’t worst-case scenario, but it was angling for a close second. In the distance the mountains rose into a telling blue sky. Ahead of them on the right was what seemed to be an endless field of blue agave. That told him that somewhere in this desolate stretch of road there was civilization. Somewhere.

  “Trent! Where are you? I’ve been talking and...”

  Not doing my job, he thought. “I’m sorry, my mind was elsewhere,” he said. But he knew that if he’d done things differently, trusted differently, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “What do we do now? I don’t know where we go from here and there hasn’t been so much as a sign. Never mind that the atlas never came off the bus.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed. I don’t know...”

  He put his arm over her shoulders. “Deep breath. We’ll get out of this and I’ll get you home. I promise. Although...”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head. There wasn’t a hope of a ride was what he thought. There was no traffic. They had no choice but to keep walking. “We keep heading along this highway.” He gestured to the pitted two-lane stretch of blacktop. “Until we come to an intersection that takes us west.”

  “Because the last thing you want to do is continue north.”

  “Exactly,” he replied. “Too obvious.”

  The arm on her shoulder was only meant to reassure her. And yet, there was something about touching her, feeling her warmth, that turned him inside out. He needed her against him, needed to feel that she was alive and warm in his arms.

  He pushed the thoughts away.

  There was no one in sight. They were on an empty stretch of road, abandoning a broken-down vehicle, and none of that mattered. It was disconcerting. He could almost feel her fear as she looked up at him with a half smile and a nervous laugh.

  “We’ll get there,” she said. “We always have before. We will now.”

  He wasn’t sure what she alluded to, but it was all the invitation he needed, even though it was no invitation at all. He leaned down and kissed her.

  Her lips were full and warm beneath his. She reached up, pulling herself closer to him. He could feel the warm pressure of her breasts against his chest, and feel the beat of her heart against his. He could taste the warmth and heat of her as his tongue danced against hers.

  Time stopped before his brain finally kicked in. A long, blissful minute passed and then his logical voice signaled that here and now wasn’t the place for a passionate embrace. He eased his hold on her, reluctant to let her go. His hands were on her shoulders, and the deep kiss ended. But he kissed her once again anyway. Not as passionately as before but more a celebration of being alive.

  For a minute, they both stood there—the silent, dusty land sprawled out on either side of them. The road, an empty blacktop and the car sitting several yards back, a useless lump of steel. H
e’d been wasting time—lured by an attraction that was timeless. But that wouldn’t solve their latest problem.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “Damn you, Trent, don’t you apologize,” she said.

  Except he had every need to apologize. What had happened shouldn’t have, not here and not now. He’d wasted time that they didn’t have. He’d felt safe in the fact that the truck couldn’t be flipped out of the ditch and put back on the road, not with one man. They’d put enough distance between them, that was true.

  But what was also true was that the driver more than likely had a phone and could call for a tow truck or more men. Men who would hunt them down.

  They needed to get off this road, head in another direction and cover their tracks.

  They walked for twenty minutes before they reached an intersection. The road was unpaved but, more important, it went west. There was no sign indicating what might be ahead. Cacti and dry desert stretched as far as he could see and all of it was cradled against a backdrop of distant mountains.

  “I don’t know where this goes but we need to get off this road,” Trent said. “We don’t have any choice but to take it.”

  And with that they turned west heading toward the unknown. Fifteen minutes later, they were tired and dusty and the small bottles of water that Tara had bought in Chapala were almost gone. There was nothing but chapped desert and desolation on either side of them.

  But finally, there was a sign for a town ten miles away.

  “Ten miles,” she said with a sigh.

  It seemed like forever and it would be hours till they got there.

  The exhaust trail of a plane had Tara looking up.

  “To think that we could be there, in luxury heading for home. Or at the least, economy class would feel like luxury,” she said. “Imagine—miles dropping away every minute and us sitting there letting it happen. Maybe we’d have a drink, watch a movie.” She looked at him with a smile. “I’d have a glass of red wine. How about you?”

  He smiled, liking the diversion. “Right now, a cold beer—any kind, doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re right. I’m changing my order.”

  It was telling that their situation was so tough that economy travel seemed inviting. But right now that was the reality. A plane’s cramped and perkless economy class would seem like luxury compared to this dusty road that had danger seeming to lurk at every corner.

  Despite the fact that it wasn’t as hot here as in other parts of the country, he was still sweating. They’d choked on dust and dread as the only car they saw sped by. That had been five minutes ago.

  “It’s quiet,” Tara said and there was a nervous edge to her voice.

  He took her hand. The gesture took him back. They’d held hands so often as teenagers. He’d left her in tears. He knew neither of them had forgotten but he wondered if she had ever forgiven him for what he’d said.

  “Trent!”

  Her shout had his attention. He turned, ready for action—to defend and protect. Her voice was high and shaken.

  “Look!” She tugged at his arm as she waved with her other hand.

  In the distance, a truck was just pulling onto the dusty road.

  “Let’s thumb a ride.”

  “What?”

  “Hitchhike.”

  “Let me see what this is about,” Trent said. “Don’t forget the pickup. He could be coming after us yet.”

  “No, it’s not like that.” She shook her head. “Look at it. That truck is old and there’s someone in the bed. Maybe two people or more, I can’t see for sure.”

  “Let’s not do anything rash,” he said. “Let me—”

  “And,” she cut him off as if what she had to say next would clinch her argument, “looks like tools sticking out. Workers, I’d say. They’re not out to get us. Besides, they turned off from the wrong direction. Nowhere near where we came from.”

  Her first point was valid; he wasn’t so sure about her second. But the distance was quickly vanishing between them and he had to make a decision soon. His thumb ran over his back where the wrench was tucked into his pants. The truck was almost on them. Dust was billowing out from all sides.

  It was now clear that she was right. It was more than likely a local farmer transporting goods or laborers from one place to the next.

  “Trent!” Her voice had a command that dared him to refuse. She stuck out her thumb.

  The truck pulled over. Hoes, shovels and rakes and an assortment of other tools were tied to the truck bed, where two teenage boys rode. There were three men in the front. All of it—men, boys and tools—was covered in dust.

  “Hola,” the man in the passenger seat shouted.

  “Hola,” Trent and Tara replied together.

  The driver had sun-kissed, weathered skin and a friendly smile. The man in the middle mirrored the driver’s smile. Neither of them looked threatening.

  Trent relaxed slightly. There was no danger here.

  “Ride?” asked the passenger nearest the window. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail. And his round face was dusty as if he’d already spent hours in a field.

  “English?” Trent asked. He was keeping it simple. He couldn’t be too careful and the last thing he needed was for them to realize that he was fluent in Spanish. Safe or not, people talked. And he didn’t know where they were from or who they knew. His knowledge of Spanish, their appearance, every detail was information that could tag their identity. Most tourists weren’t fluent in Spanish. Most weren’t out here in rural Mexico. “Where are you going?”

  A lanky kid in the back hung over the wooden slats. “To San Marie Antoine,” he said in English that was only slightly less fractured than the passenger’s.

  Whether that was the next town or their final destination it was impossible to tell without reverting to Spanish and revealing what he could not. It didn’t matter, the truck would get them farther than their feet would.

  “Is there a bus from there?” Tara whispered to Trent.

  His mind went over what he knew of the area from the old atlas and what he’d read later on the internet using the inn’s computer. While this road hadn’t been on the maps he’d looked at, the place the boy mentioned had.

  “Yes,” he said with a nod. He squeezed her hand and smiled at the look of relief on her face. If only it were all that simple, he thought. But they still had a long way to go to reach the border.

  “Gracias,” he said to the men in the truck. Those words were safe. Everyone knew them. He led Tara to the back of the truck and gave her a boost to help her up into the back. One of the boys gave Tara a hand, and with a jump and a pull, she was in. Trent followed.

  It was another thirty miles to San Marie Antoine and the truck stopped five more times, picking up a total of six other people. Time dragged. But they were heading west and away from Guadalajara and the ill-fated town of Tala. And more important, away from the road that Carlos had them on.

  Forty hot, dusty minutes later they hopped off the truck at the edge of San Marie Antoine. There was a gas station and, more important, a bus stop. He glanced at Tara. Her face was flushed and dusty. She looked tired.

  “Okay?” he asked her as the truck drove off with a honk of its horn.

  She waved before turning to him. On their left was the gas station and restaurant that also served as the bus station. They needed to go no farther. Everything was here, food and transportation.

  “Hasn’t been my best day,” she said with a smile.

  He was impressed with her resiliency. She’d been through hell the last twenty-four hours.

  “You saved my life,” she said. “Again.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  He returned the squeeze. “I’ll get you home, you can count on it.”

  “I
know that now,” she said.

  Five minutes later, he had a sense that everything was falling into place. Just a few minutes ago, even the bus schedule had been promising. It was posted on the door of the small dusty building. The next bus would take them to the coast and was due in less than thirty minutes. Not only that but a connection would take them to a place he’d been before on another case. A known place was always a benefit, for it gave him a bit of an advantage. It was a bit of luck that he couldn’t ignore. He looked at his watch.

  “Let’s get something to eat while we can,” he said.

  “That’s an idea,” Tara agreed. She reached for his hand and smiled as he looked at her with surprise. “A couple is much less suspicious than what we really are, don’t you think?”

  He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  “Trent? I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just—” she paused “—such a tough situation. We were something to each other way back as kids. But we’ve been living our adult lives apart. It’s strange to be with you now.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “That aside, I wouldn’t want anyone but you protecting me, Trent. Just so you know,” she said with a tremble in her voice. “Let’s take this home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I never thought I’d crave a hamburger and fries in Mexico,” Tara said with a small smile.

  “I never thought it would be our only option,” Trent replied. “Or that I’d ride in the back of a dusty truck with a bunch of Mexican farm workers.”

  Her smile widened. As she pushed her plate away.

  The last bus had left an hour and a half ago and there was another arriving shortly. It would take them the first leg of their way to the coast. After that, they’d have a transfer and get to their destination, San Patricio, around dusk. The choice had been more chance than anything. They needed to go west and this was the first transport available.

  With time to spare, they’d grabbed lunch in the tiny café that shared the space with a convenience-slash-souvenir store. The owner also sold bus tickets. A sign with the word café and an arrow pointed beyond a space crowded with chip racks, chocolate bars and magazines, a cooler with dairy and quick snacks, and a few rows of prepackaged foods, bread and cereal. Then there was an assortment of Mexican-themed souvenirs including T-shirts and caps. At the back of the store was what might be generously called a café. The only thing that separated the two spaces was a rack of pocketbooks on one side and a counter that held a dusty collection of ornaments and dolls. The break between the two displays formed a makeshift doorway. Beyond that was five small tables in a space that functioned as the café.