by Sharon Sala
“No … no, I’m okay,” Sonora said, as she got up, picked up her gun, then began brushing at the dust on her face and clothes.
“What happened?” he asked, as he shoved Garcia into the back of his car and slammed the door.
She didn’t know what to say. “I guess I tripped.” It was lame, but it was better than the truth.
He frowned. Sonora Jordan wasn’t the tripping kind. He reached for her shoulder, intent on brushing a streak of dirt from her face when movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned just as the other Garcia brother appeared.
“Look out!” he yelled, shoving Sonora aside as he reached for his gun.
Sonora reacted without thinking. Her gun was still in her hand and she was falling again. Only this time, she got off four shots. Two of them connected.
Juanito Garcia died before he hit the ground.
Enrique saw the whole thing from Wills’s car, and began to scream, cursing Sonora and Wills and the DEA in general.
Wills waved his arm at another agent and yelled, “Get him out of here!”
As he was being driven away, Enrique looked back at Sonora, mouthing the words, “You’re dead.”
It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, but it never failed to give her the creeps.
Wills eyed the muscle jerking in her jaw but shrugged it off. She was tough, no need getting bent out of shape on her behalf. Still, this bust hadn’t gone as they’d planned.
“They made you too early,” he said. “What happened?”
She spun, eyeing him angrily. “Oh hell, Wills, I hate to venture a guess, but it might have been your ugly mug showing up a good ten minutes too soon. I wasn’t through making my play when you came flying around the corner.”
Wills shrugged. “But we got ‘em.”
“No, we got two. Miguel Garcia is the boss man and he wasn’t here … yet.”
This time Wills frowned. “So, it’s not my fault he didn’t show. You said he would.”
“Yeah … at three-fifteen.”
“So, what time is it now?” Wills asked.
“Three-fifteen,” Sonora snapped, then strode to her car and got in, slamming the door behind her. When Wills still hadn’t moved, she leaned out the window and yelled. “You plan on buying a house down here?”
Wills glanced down at what was left of Juanito Garcia and then at the faces peering out at them from windows above the street.
“Hell no,” he said.
Within minutes, they were gone, leaving the aftermath and cleanup to others. There was a border to cross and reports to be written before anyone slept tonight.
* * *
Sonora typed the last word in her report and then hit print. She gathered up the pages with one eye on the clock and the other on the scowl her boss was wearing.
Gerald Mynton wasn’t any happier than she’d been about letting Miguel Garcia get away. Capturing two out of three wasn’t the kind of odds Mynton operated on. He was an all or nothing kind of man. Added to that, Sonora Jordan was no longer a viable agent in this case. He knew Wills was partly responsible for missing the last Garcia brother, but there was nothing they could do about it now except pick up where they left off—minus Jordan.
When he saw Sonora get up from her desk, he motioned for her to come in. She gathered up what was obviously her report, and strode across the floor.
Even though he was a happily married man and totally insulted by the thought of sexual harassment among his agents, he couldn’t ignore what a beautiful woman Sonora was. She was over five-feet-nine inches tall and could bench press double her weight. Her hair was long and dark and her features exotically beautiful. In all the years he’d known her, he’d only seen her smile a few times.
But it wasn’t her looks that made her a valuable agent. Besides her skill, there was an asset Sonora had that made her a perfect agent. She had no relatives and no boyfriends. She was as alone in this world as a person could be, which meant that her loyalties were one hundred percent with the job.
Unfortunately, killing Juanito Garcia had temporarily put an end to her usefulness, and until Miguel Garcia was brought to justice, she needed to lay low. Miguel was the kind of man who dealt in revenge.
Gerald Mynton hated to be in corners, but he was in one now. If he put Sonora back to work on anything new, Garcia could dog her until he got a chance to kill her. Mynton’s only option was for her to drop out of sight until Garcia was brought in and she could live to solve another case.
He squinted thoughtfully as Sonora entered his office. Now he had to convince her that it was in her best interest to hide, when he knew her instincts would be to confront and overcome.
“My report,” Sonora said, as she laid the file on his desk.
He nodded. “Close the door, then please sit down.”
Sonora stood her ground with the door wide open. “I’m not hiding.”
Mynton sighed. “Did I say you should?”
“Not yet, but you’re going to, aren’t you?”
“There’s a contract out on your life.”
Sonora’s chin jutted. “I heard.”
“So … do you have a death wish?”
“No, but—”
“Garcia won’t take what happened without payback. No matter what case I put you on, your presence could put everyone else in danger, not to mention yourself.”
Sonora’s shoulders slumped. “I hate this.”
“I’m not all that excited about it myself,” Mynton said.
Sonora nodded. She wasn’t the kind of person who let herself be down for long. If this was the way it was going to play out, then so be it.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do as you ask,” she said.
Mynton stood up and then walked around his desk until they were standing face to face.
“You don’t apologize,” he said shortly. “You don’t ever apologize for doing your job and doing it well. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there anyplace special you can go?”
She thought of the hallucination she’d had in Mexico—of the house surrounded by a forest of green and the wind chime hanging on the porch. It had seemed so perfect. If only it had been real, she’d already be there.
“Not really. I’ll think of something, though.”
“Find a different mode of transportation. We don’t think Garcia is in Phoenix yet, but once here, it won’t take him long to find out where you live. I don’t want you to be there when he arrives. As for leaving Phoenix, you can be traced too easily by credit card. Also, I’d skip the airports and bus stations.”
“Well, damn it, sir, since my broom is also in the shop, what the hell else do you suggest?”
Mynton’s frown deepened. “Use your imagination.”
“This is a nightmare,” Sonora muttered. “Just do me one favor.”
“If I can,” Mynton said.
“Find Miguel Garcia,” she added.
“And you stay safe and keep in touch,” he added.
A few minutes later, she was gone.
By the time she got home, she was exhausted. However, there were plans to be made. Mynton wanted her to get lost. He didn’t know it, but she’d been lost all her life. Dumped on the doorstep of a Texas orphanage when she was only hours old, Sonora had grown up without a sense of who she was or where she was from. When she was young, she used to pretend that her mother would suddenly appear and whisk her away, but it had never happened. Life, for Sonora, was nothing but one kick in the teeth after another. She didn’t believe in luck, had never believed in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, and trusted no one. What had happened on their last case had been unexpected, but she could handle it. All she needed to do was get out of town.
Transportation was no problem. She knew exactly how she would travel. All she needed to do was call her old boyfriend, Buddy Allen, and have him bring back her Harley.
She stripped down to a bra and panties before she sat down on the side of the be
d. She rubbed the back of her neck with both hands, wishing she had time for a massage, but that was too public for someone who needed to lay low.
She picked up the phone and dialed Buddy’s number. Although it had been more than six months since they’d quit seeing each other, they were still on good terms. Sonora had been gone too much to commit herself to anyone, and Buddy wanted more than a once a month lay. The decision to quit trying had been mutual.
Still, as she waited for Buddy to pick up, she couldn’t help but wish she had a little back-up in her personal life.
Buddy answered on the third ring. “Heelloo, good lookin’.”
“Did you know it was me, or is that the way you always answer your phone?” Sonora said.
Buddy laughed. “Caller ID and yes.”
This time, it was Sonora who chuckled. “Some things never change … you being one of them,” she said.
Buddy sighed. “Did you call to chastize me for being male, or can I talk you into a round of good sex for old times sake?”
“No on both counts. I called because I need my bike.”
Buddy groaned. “Aw, man … not the Harley.”
“Sorry, but I need it,” Sonora said shortly.
The smile disappeared from Buddy’s voice. “Are you in trouble?”
“Not if I get out of town quick enough.”
“Damn it, Sonora, why do you do it?”
“Do what?” she asked.
“You know what. There are a hundred careers you could have picked besides the one that you chose and none of them would have been dangerous.”
“Can you bring it over?” she asked. “I’d come get it, but I don’t want to advertise my presence any more than necessary.”
Buddy sighed. “Hell yes, I’ll bring the Harley, serviced, gassed up and clean. When do you need it?” he asked. “Yesterday.”
Buddy cursed and asked, “Do you need to leave before morning?”
“No. It can wait until then, but early … please.”
“Thanks for nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll be there before 7:00 a.m. Will you make me some coffee?”
“Yes.”
“And maybe some of your biscuits and gravy?”
“No.”
He sighed. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I’m not blaming you for anything,” she said. “Never have. Never will.”
“I know,” Buddy said, and knew that she was no longer talking about the bike. “See you in the morning.”
“Okay, Buddy, and thanks.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Buddy said, and hung up.
With that job over, Sonora walked to the closet, then grabbed her travel bag and quickly packed. She thought about where she might go and then went into the living room, found an atlas and carried it to the kitchen.
She opened the pages to the map of the U.S. and then just sat and stared. One line seemed to stand out from all the others. She fumbled in a drawer for a yellow highlighter, then popped the cap. Her fingers where shaking as she held it over the map. Something rattled behind her, like pebbles in a can. She ignored it and began to mark.
Without a thought in her head, she began drawing a line north out of Phoenix toward Flagstaff, then across the country until she came to Oklahoma. The line ended there.
She paused, frowned, then shook her head, certain she’d just lost her mind. Still, she left the atlas on the counter as she went into her bedroom.
She showered quickly, afraid that the vision would come back. Even after she crawled into bed and closed her eyes, she was reluctant to sleep. Finally, she rolled onto her side, bunched her pillow under her neck, then grabbed the extra one and hugged it to her. It was an old habit from childhood, and one she rarely indulged in anymore. The simple act made her feel childish and helpless and Sonora was neither of those.
Somehow she slept, and woke up just after six. Time enough for a quick shower.
True to his promise, Buddy showed up right before seven.
She met him at the door with a to-go cup of coffee.
“Good morning,” she said, eyeing his tousled hair and unshaven face. “Thanks for bringing the Harley.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, dropped the keys in her hands, handed her the helmet, and took the coffee, downing a good portion of it before he spoke again. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what’s going on?”
She shrugged. “Someone wants me dead.”
“Sonofabitch,” Buddy muttered.
“Yes, he is,” Sonora said. “A real bad one. I don’t think anyone knows about you and me, but just to be on the safe side, don’t mention my name to anyone.”
“There is no more you and me,” Buddy reminded her. “And don’t worry about me. I’m not the one with the death wish.”
Sonora frowned. “I don’t have a death wish. I just do my job and do it well.” Then she kissed him on the cheek, as much as a thank-you as for old times sake, as well as for bringing back her bike, then pointed at the cab in the street. “I suppose that’s your ride. Don’t keep him waiting.”
She watched him get into the cab before checking the area for someone who didn’t belong. All was well. When he looked back, she waved goodbye, then quickly closed the door.
She walked through her home one last time, making sure everything was as it should be, then shouldered her bag, picked up the helmet, and turned off the lights. She opened the door, hesitating briefly to scan the neighborhood once more, and saw nothing amiss. The black and shiny Harley was at the curb.
She hurried outside, opened the storage compartment and dropped her handgun inside, then lowered the lid and tied her bag down on top. When she stuck the key in the ignition, she could tell Buddy had been good for his word. Not only was the bike clean, but the gas gauge registered full. She checked to make sure her toolbox was in place, then put on the helmet and slung her leg over the bike as if she was mounting a horse.
The engine roared to life, then settled down to a soft rumble as she released the kickstand and gave it the gas. As the rumble changed to a full-throttle blast, she put it in gear and rode away without looking back.
It wasn’t until she was on the highway that she remembered the path she’d highlighted on the atlas. There was no reason for her to have chosen that direction, and a couple of times she even considered turning around and heading for Las Vegas or points farther west. But something more than instinct was guiding her trip.
CHAPTER 3
Miguel Garcia was in Juarez, trying to figure out how to get over the border. The Mexican police had staked out his hotel and would have already had him in custody if it hadn’t been for Jorge Diaz, one of his dealers, who’d sent his own child into the restaurant where Miguel was having breakfast to warn him.
Now he was in a dingy room over what must be the oldest cantina in the city, without his clothes, and without access to his bank. Even though he hadn’t been born to it, Miguel had been in the drug business long enough that he’d become accustomed to fine dining, elegant surroundings. Being forced to hide in a room like this was like a slap in the face—a degradation that only added to the grief of losing his brothers.
Enrique was incarcerated somewhere in the States, and Juanito was on a slab in a Tijuana morgue. He’d promised his mother on her deathbed that he would take care of Juanito. He was the baby of their family, the last of eight children, but now, because of that DEA bitch, Juanito was dead.
Before he’d gone into hiding, Miguel had made a promise at his mother’s grave that he would avenge Juanito’s death. He’d also let it be known that he would pay big money for the name and location of the agent who’d killed his brother, with the warning to leave her alone. He wanted to end her life—personally.
And so he waited. And waited. A day passed in this hell, then a second, then a third before everything changed.
* * *
The puta Miguel had just paid for a blow job was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when someone knocked on his door. He
reached for his gun, grabbed the woman who was just coming out of the bathroom, and put his finger to his mouth to indicate she be quiet. His grip on her arm was so painful that she stifled a screech and covered her mouth with both hands. Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t move.
Once he was satisfied that she understood what he meant, he whispered in her ear. “Ask who is there.”
She nodded, then called out as he told her.
There was a long stretch of silence, then a man spoke, “I have news for Miguel.”
Miguel recognized the voice of Jorge, the dealer who’d helped him escape. He pulled the woman away from the door, opened it enough to make sure Jorge was alone, and then shoved her out.
“Get lost,” he said.
She scurried away, glad to be leaving in one piece.
“Come in,” Miguel said.
Jorge nodded quickly, looked over his shoulder, then stepped inside. He didn’t waste time or words. “You wanted the name of the agent who killed your brother.”
Miguel’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”
“Her name is Sonora Jordan. She lives in Phoenix, Arizona.”
Miguel stifled the urge to clap his hands. This was the best news he’d had in days. “You are sure.”
“Sí, Patron.”
Miguel put a hand on Jorge’s shoulder to explain why he couldn’t pay him yet. “They are watching my home and my bank.”
Jorge nodded again. No further explanation was needed. “I know,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a roll of hundred dollar bills which he handed to Miguel. “For you, Patron, and if you’re ready, I can get you across the border tonight.”
Miguel was not only surprised, he was shocked. He had greatly underestimated this man’s loyalty. “When this is over, you will be greatly rewarded.”
Jorge shrugged. “I expect nothing, Patron. It is my honor to help. At eleven o’clock, there will be one knock on your door. The man who comes will take you to a hacienda outside of Juarez where a private plane will be waiting. The pilot has already gotten clearance for his trip, but it does not include landing in Juarez, so the timing will be crucial. You must not be late because he will not wait. Once across the border, he will touch down briefly at a small airstrip outside of Houston. More money and a car will be waiting for you there. The man who brought it has been instructed to stay until he sees that you’re safely on the ground.”
