Fatal Flashback

by Kellie VanHorn

  “The superintendent?” Jimenez laughed. “No, my nephew knew the moment he met you.”

  “Nephew?” She shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. “He’s only got one relative listed on his record, and it isn’t an uncle.”

  “His mother is my sister.” Jimenez smirked. “Naturally, I wouldn’t want his record tarnished by association. Easy enough to change, with the right influence.”

  She scrunched her eyebrows together. So hot out here. Her mouth already felt pasty dry. “But how did he recognize—” She stopped short.

  Of course. The variable she’d always known was possible but hadn’t expected. “Sam showed him my picture, didn’t he?” He must’ve been very close to Will. Maybe even wanted to set her up with him one day. She shook her head.

  “Yes. It was a coincidence he had the chance to kill you on your first night. Unfortunately he didn’t realize it was you until the next day, when he got a good look at your face. A shame he didn’t take a closer look the first time around. But, no matter, we will finish the job soon.” The cold glint in his eyes sent a shiver down Ashley’s spine.

  She had to stall, to give Logan time to find her. Ignoring the fear clawing at her heart, she took a steadying breath. “What about the map? How did you know I had it?”

  “The logical conclusion. After my careless nephew lost his copy, your brother found the mine. When you showed up, the best explanation was that he had sent the map to you.”

  Sam had found the mine. Her heart broke. Why had he gone searching alone? Impulsive, overconfident, energetic Sam. “And his death...?”

  “Not an accident. Very good, Agent Thompson. Shooting him would have been too obvious, so we left him to die of exposure.” He shrugged. No loss.

  Her insides burned. The man who had killed her brother stood three feet away and here she was, unable to do anything about it.

  Where was God’s perfect justice? How long, oh Lord, will You wait?

  “They’ll find you,” she snapped, “and you’ll spend a lifetime in jail for all the people you’ve hurt.”

  He laughed again. “I think not. In fact, before you join your brother, I wanted to show you something.” He raised a hand toward one of the vehicles and two men got out, one with his hands behind his back.

  Her stomach tightened. It was her contact from San Vicente.

  “Recognize him?” Jimenez asked softly. Dangerously. “He won’t be feeding tips to the FBI anymore.” He pulled a handgun from his belt as the guard forced the man to his knees on the hot, dusty road.

  The man on the ground wept, tears running down his wrinkled cheeks, but he kept his back straight. “Para mi Lena.”

  Jimenez placed the barrel of the gun against the man’s forehead. “This is your fault, Agent Thompson.”

  Ashley opened her mouth to object, or to beg—she wasn’t sure which—but before any sound came out, Jimenez pulled the trigger.

  Her eyes snapped shut as the man’s blood splattered across her face. Bile burned in her esophagus.

  It would be her turn next. She clenched her jaw, staring at Jimenez. Logan would catch him and bring him to justice. “They’ll find you.”

  “But they won’t find you,” he jeered. “Not alive, anyway.”

  Unshed tears burned in Ashley’s eyes as she waited to be forced to her knees. To feel the cold metal ring of the barrel dig into her skin.

  Instead, at a nod from Jimenez, Manuel and the other man dragged her toward the truck.

  “Goodbye, Agent Thompson,” Jimenez called after her. “Please give my best to your brother.”

  Her stomach dropped. They were going to dump her in the desert, right there on Dodson Trail, like they had done with Sam. And Logan would have no idea where to look.

  She didn’t know which hurt more—the thought of never seeing him again or knowing he would blame himself for her death.

  EIGHTEEN

  Logan crouched behind a rock formation at the trailhead of Juniper Canyon, watching the two parked vehicles fifty yards away on the dirt road that led south. He and the two agents had taken the narrow, rugged path—created by Jimenez—across the ridge from Pine Canyon Trail to Juniper Canyon, and then followed the steep descent through the canyon to the base of the mountains.

  Here they were in the Sierra Quemada, the burnt lands, where the only cover came in the form of rocks and barrel cactuses. Moments before, when a gunshot catapulted his heart into his throat, Logan had crept as close as he could without risking being seen. The other two agents had split to either side.

  The truck engine roared to life. They couldn’t afford to wait, not if Ashley was in one of those vehicles. The way the SUV was parked blocked his view of the people, but there were at least two, maybe three, sets of boots visible beneath the vehicle. And what looked like the victim of the gunshot.

  He couldn’t stop to consider the possibilities.

  He dashed forward, keeping low to the ground, moving from barrel cactus to cactus, until he finally reached the back right bumper of the SUV. Doors slammed, and the truck sped away, kicking up a cloud of dust on the dirt road.

  Voices came from the far side of the SUV, speaking rapidly in Spanish. Logan crouched low, peered beneath the vehicle and watched as a pair of hands hoisted a body.

  Not Ashley. Relief threatened to make his legs go weak.

  As the man with the body headed for the SUV, Logan slipped along the far side. A faint pulsing reached his ears from across the desert to the west—the helicopter.

  He edged around to the front of the SUV as the latch clicked to open the rear tailgate.

  The other man had stopped beside the driver’s-side door.

  Leading with his gun, Logan swiveled around the bumper and aimed his gun at a well-dressed man who could only be Jimenez. “National Park Service. Drop your weapon.”

  Jimenez’s eyes widened for a second before his face contorted into a smile.

  “Drop it,” Logan repeated. “Or I will shoot.”

  Jimenez held up his handgun, dropping it onto the sand. “No, you won’t. You Americans are all the same. So worried about protecting everyone’s rights. Trials and justice and law.”

  “Instead of the anarchy you want?”

  “It’s not anarchy.” He smirked. “I’m merely helping the government. Offering employment. And justice.”

  The other man appeared from behind the vehicle—Manuel, from San Vicente—his gun pointed at Logan. Not more than ten feet away. Hard to miss at that range.

  Logan didn’t flinch, even though every nerve in his body begged for self-preservation. “Drop the weapon, Manuel.”

  Manuel ignored him, taking a step forward.

  “Last chance, Manuel,” Logan said through gritted teeth. “FBI agents are in position. You’re not getting out of here.”

  Manuel’s gaze darted back and forth, his knuckles white around the gun. But Jimenez’s eyes narrowed, his lips parting to give the order to fire.

  Before any sound came out, the two agents stepped up behind Manuel. “Freeze.”

  Manuel’s eyes went wide, nostrils flaring.

  Logan sensed his panic, the way his finger hovered over the trigger despite the agents behind him. Instinct told him to move and he flung himself sideways, rolling across the hard dirt as bullets from Manuel’s gun raked the sand where he’d been standing a split second before.

  Another shot fired and Manuel crumpled to the ground.

  Jimenez’s face paled, but he clenched his teeth together. “I’ll repay you for this.”

  “I don’t think so.” Logan climbed to his feet, pulling out his handcuffs. “Not where you’re going.”

  While the agents secured the two suspects, Logan radioed in their position. Precious minutes had passed since the truck had driven away. Had Ashley been inside it? Or had they taken her somewhere
else entirely?

  Questioning Jimenez was useless.

  Logan would need that chopper, a dark speck growing larger on the horizon.

  Ed’s voice crackled over the radio. “Sykes will be at your position in five minutes to help search.”

  * * *

  Ashley sank to the ground beside a barrel cactus, narrowly avoiding the giant spines. Everything around her was brown, brittle, dry. Or spikey. Dead, crunchy grasses. Brown brush that wouldn’t sprout leaves until the next rain. Leathery succulents hoarding their toxic alkaloid water beneath a thousand spikes.

  The Chisos loomed to the north, Emory Peak visible against the bright blue sky. To the southwest lay the smaller outlying mountains. Somewhere in between ran Dodson Trail, the one tiny thread of hope she had, because at the end of its twelve-mile length lay a paved parking lot and a water cache.

  The other option was to go back. They’d blindfolded her before dumping her out here, but the dirt road where she’d seen Jimenez was probably only a few miles away. No water that way, though, unless rangers were searching the area.

  She turned over one of her feet, prodding gently at the red, bubbling blisters and pulling out a sharp spine. At least they’d had the decency to cut her hands free.

  Sweat dripped down her back, down her neck, down over her eyebrows. Soaking even her sweat-wicking workout gear. She’d laugh if it wasn’t so much effort.

  Logan had taught her all about desert survival and the signs of heat stroke. Muscle cramps would start soon. Her arms and face were already red, both from her internal heat and from sun exposure. But the real danger wouldn’t begin until she stopped sweating. When her body ran out of moisture reserves and her internal temperature would rise unchecked.

  Ashley shuddered. Better to think about survival than death.

  First rule of desert survival: don’t panic. Check. FBI training had taught her to stay calm in any situation.

  Second rule: find cover. Shade wasn’t an option. She’d considered ripping off part of her shirt to make a hat of sorts but decided stretchy black fabric over one’s head probably wouldn’t make a big dent on things.

  Third rule: conserve water. Breathing with her mouth shut was about the extent of things. Logan had cleared up the cactus misconception on the first day. Those big, old barrel cactuses weren’t full of water, they were full of alkaloid toxins that would send the unwary backpacker into a downward spiral of gut-emptying vomiting and diarrhea. A few varieties, like the prickly pear, were edible, but how exactly did one get into a cactus with nothing but bare hands? A sharp rock might do the job...if it came to that.

  She’d keep an eye out for any young prickly pear pads, or nopales, as she walked. Or a tinaja. Maybe there’d be a bit of collected water left from the rainfall earlier in the week.

  Her limbs felt like lead weights as she hauled herself to her feet. Maybe it was better to sit still in the hot sun than to walk in it, but surely there was shade somewhere out here. Surely, if she pressed on a little bit longer, she’d find the trail. Maybe with hikers.

  Sam had thought the same thing, hadn’t he? He’d almost made it to the trail. A half mile away, Logan had said.

  Was Sam’s skin this red already?

  Did his tongue cling to the roof of his mouth the way Ashley’s did? Like a cotton ball ready to choke her.

  Why did the good people have to die, while the bad guys drove away in their air-conditioned trucks with bags full of gold?

  Didn’t God care?

  Useless anger tore at her insides. The same question had plagued her since Sam’s death. Her brother had loved God. Trusted Him.

  She had loved and trusted Him, too. And what had He done for them?

  She stopped short as a picture forced its way into her mind, into her heart, so abruptly her breath caught.

  Jesus, a crown of thorns on his head. Nails in his hands. A spear thrust into his side. Crying out as he bore the sins of the world, taking the punishment each one of them deserved. God made flesh.

  God had done that for her and Sam.

  And all she could do was complain. She sank to her knees on the hot, rocky ground, hardly able to breathe, and pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.

  I’m sorry. Her esophagus burned, but no tears came. No water to spare. I’m so, so sorry for doubting You.

  Her anger melted away like snow in the face of His love and, finally, His peace—the peace that passed all understanding—flowed into the brittle hole she had guarded for so long inside her chest.

  A little tinaja filled with living water.

  But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst.

  She smiled. Sam had that water. He was with Jesus now. Waiting for her.

  The thought reverberated in her chest as she struggled to her feet. She’d get to see him soon, and she could tell him she finally understood about Jimenez and the map and what had happened. She could even understand why he loved this place. Vast, dangerous, wild...but free. The constraints of the city, the noise of everyday life that prevented her from really thinking and feeling—they were all gone. Out here, in air so fresh it was like no one else had ever breathed it, nothing stood between her and the things that mattered. Like knowing her Savior.

  And acknowledging all those feelings she’d tried so hard to avoid. Grief for Sam. Anger at God. Love for...

  Ashley tried to stop his name from forming in her mind, but she was too weary to fight anymore. The words rolled around in her head and in her heart, unwilling to be contained any longer. She was in love with Logan. It didn’t make sense—she’d known him such a short time, and she’d never see him again—but there it was. She loved him.

  There were so many things she would have liked to tell him.

  * * *

  The trail of footprints was fading away as the wind shifted. Logan jogged after them, ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead. Ignoring the way his heart hammered in his chest each time he passed another plant to look behind.

  Exactly as it had been when he’d searched for Sam, only that time it had been too late. Vultures had circled overhead then; their dark shapes blotted the blue sky now. He could hardly breathe as he imagined what might be beneath them. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if he found her like that. Especially not when there was so much bound up in his heart he hadn’t told her. Ashley needed to know how he felt about her... How much he cared about her—no, loved her—despite all his efforts not to.

  Please, Lord, please...

  He scarcely noticed the pack rubbing against his back, holding two precious containers of water. Will was coming right behind him with the radio. They would call her location in to the chopper as soon as they found her. Airlift her to safety.

  How much farther could she have gone? He and Will had followed the pickup’s tracks and Ashley’s prints as far into the desert as they could. When they’d had to stop driving, Logan had tumbled out to continue on foot, Will only a few minutes behind as he called in their location and gathered more supplies from the NPS truck.

  The thought squirmed in the back of his mind that maybe he had missed her. Walked right on past. Ashley was strong, but nobody was strong enough to walk for miles in this heat without water. At some point, she’d have to stop, even without shade.

  He called her name again, as he had done every minute for the past fifteen. Always willing her to answer, always hearing nothing but the wind and the sound of his own footsteps.

  This time, though, he heard something else. He stopped, heart lodging in his throat, listening.

  “Ashley!” he called again.

  Rustling nearby.

  He spun toward a waist-high prickly pear cactus a short distance to his left. And then he saw it. A pile of brown hair, dark against the sand. Ashley. He covered the space between them in a heartbeat, throwing himself to his knees beside h
er, his breath—no, his life—on hold as he slipped his fingers against her burning red throat to feel for a pulse.

  Alive. Praise God, she was alive. He wasn’t too late.

  NINETEEN

  Somewhere through her haze of utter exhaustion, Ashley felt a hand slide under the back of her head. Cold wetness ran along her bloody, chapped lips and down her chin. A little trickle made it into her mouth—sweet like sugar—and she opened her mouth wider, desperate for more.

  “Easy. Just a little at a time or you’ll throw it back up.”

  Logan. She pried her eyelids open, taking in his tanned face, defined jaw and the way his hair ruffled in the wind. Had to be her imagination. Maybe she was delirious, sucking down sand. But the strong arm under her—she didn’t think her mind could come up with that, too.

  “Chopper’ll be here soon. Hang in there for me, okay?” The tender, aching tone to his words tore at Ashley’s heart. He glanced away. “Over here, Will! I found her!”

  Wait. Fear pulsed through her veins. No, not Will. Logan didn’t know. She wanted to shake her head but her muscles wouldn’t work.

  Logan smiled. “It’s okay. We’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

  Why didn’t he understand? She moved her lips but her desiccated brick of a tongue refused to move. Logan gave her more of the precious water, stroking her hair with his hand, not knowing whom he had called over.

  She groaned, struggling to lift her head. May as well be a cannonball attached to her shoulders.

  “Easy.” Logan glanced over his shoulder.

  “Will...” she rasped.

  “He’ll be here in a minute.” His brows drew together. “What is it?”

  Too late. A man stepped into view behind Logan, his dark hair and tanned face immediately recognizable in the blinding sunlight. One hand dangled at his side, the other was behind his back.

  “Did you find her?” Will’s voice was choked with anxiety. “Is she alive?”

  “Yeah.” Logan grinned. “She’ll make it, but we need to call in a medevac now.”