The Girl with the Golden Gun

by Ann Major

  Finally he stomped back inside, looking as fit and cocky as ever. Miraculously he had a bucket of water and a rag.

  “Wash your hands.”

  When she’d cleaned off the blood, he tossed her several dark pieces of cloth.

  “Put those on.”

  Despite his gruff tone, she stood up and touched his forearm—just to make sure he was really okay. For a long moment, her hand refused to stop shaking as she clutched him.

  “I was scared you weren’t coming back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Just dress!”

  When she hesitated, he drew a quick, impatient breath. Flushing darkly, he jerked his arm away from her.

  As her hands began fumbling clumsily with the fabric, she felt a flare of fresh resentment. She turned the dark-colored garments over. “What—”

  “A skirt and a blouse and a shawl so you’ll blend in. I stole them off a clothesline. Damn it, hurry!”

  Aware of his eyes glittering in the dark as he watched her, she stripped to her bra and panties. Trying not to think about him, she hurriedly pulled on the black skirt and blouse.

  “Cover your hair,” he said, his voice harsher and raspier now.

  When she’d wrapped her hair in the shawl, he grabbed her and pulled her outside.

  “We’ve got to get to the river,” he muttered, still in that same furious tone that hurt her somehow.

  “Shanghai—”

  “Shh.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, “for jumping.”

  His dark face tensed.

  More than anything she longed to throw herself into his arms and feel his strength. She wanted to be cradled against his chest, to be made to feel safe. But his expression was so grim, she steeled herself and pretended she felt stronger than she did.

  “Feel like a swim?” he said.

  The Rio Grande River felt cold. The night was dark with a thin cover of clouds. Clutching the small inflated rubber ring Shanghai had given her, Mia swam slowly and was careful not to splash.

  Swimming wasn’t easy. The tube was barely enough to support her with her heavy clothes weighing her down. Then she heard shouts—whether from the U.S. or Mexico, she wasn’t sure. She stopped swimming, readying herself for spotlights or bullets.

  The shouts died, but a damp chill quickly settled in her lungs while they paused, treading water.

  “Don’t stop,” Shanghai muttered. “You’re not a free woman till you’re on the other side. If the Mexicans catch you now, they’ll throw you back in prison.”

  Then Tavio would send Chito again. He wouldn’t fail the next time.

  Her muscles ached. Her right leg cramped so painfully, she couldn’t kick with it. When the pain became excruciating, she fought against her panic.

  Swimming with one leg soon had her exhausted. Ignoring the razor-sharp cramps that practically paralyzed her entire right side, she kicked with her left leg.

  She had waited sixteen months for this. She couldn’t give up.

  A soft splash was followed by Shanghai’s low curse.

  “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I dropped my cell phone.”

  She remembered him trying to make several calls earlier that had failed.

  “Wouldn’t it be all wet anyway?”

  “I had it in a dry pack…in case something like this happened and we had to swim and walk out. I was going to call for a ride to the Golden Spurs as soon as we made it across the river. Cole and Wolf would have come back with the chopper. I’m afraid it’s going to be just you and me till daylight, darlin’…and whatever new friends we meet out here in the dark.”

  “Maybe we’ll find an American garbage truck….”

  “You have to admit it would damn sure beat walking.”

  Shanghai had flagged down a Mexican garbage truck after they’d left the shack and bribed the driver to take them out into the desert away from Ciudad Juarez to some remote spot where the river was narrow and shallow and easier to cross.

  “The federales are looking for a gringa who escaped from El Castillo,” the driver had told them as Mia had hunkered low in her seat beside Shanghai.

  Shanghai had tossed a one-hundred dollar bill on the dash. “My wife and I want to cross the river tonight. We’re homesick for our little girl.”

  The driver had snatched the bill. “I have no love for the federales. They steal my best truck. They fine me many times.”

  The road out of town had been narrow and dark. He had to swerve several times to avoid horses or cows in the road. As he’d driven, he’d told them unnerving stories about people murdered and women raped along the river.

  “You be careful on the river, mano. Ees very dangerous place. Bad peoples there. Many bad peoples. Every day bodies float to the shore. Many people they all want one thing—to get out of Mexico, but they were murdered. You be careful on the river, mano.”

  Something slithered past her under water. A snake? A body?

  “Don’t stop,” Shanghai said in a terse, low tone. “Swim faster!”

  Even as pain shot up her paralyzed leg, she didn’t argue. When they finally made it to the opposite bank, Mia thought she heard whispers in the high reeds. Shanghai must have heard them, too, because he pulled out his pistol. With his other hand he helped her climb through a stand of Carrizo cane and then up a muddy bluff. When they stepped into a little clearing, he pressed a finger to his lips, warning her to stay low and to be quiet, for there was no telling who might be around to attack them or rob them.

  “Are you scared of the Border Patrol?”

  “We wish. This is a no man’s land. You heard our chauffeur. All sorts of thugs lie in wait for whoever swims across to steal whatever little money they have.”

  Mia remembered the garbage man had said most of the bodies found along the river were never identified.

  “We need to head north—fast,” he said.

  Shoving his pistol into his waistband, Shanghai grabbed her hand.

  Eleven

  As the ink-black night closed in all around them Mia clamped her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter. Staring ahead at the shadowy, seemingly endless moonscape, she almost wished they hadn’t left the glow of El Paso behind them.

  “I feel like we’ve walked forever,” Mia said, gasping slightly as she stumbled against a bush that was sharp and prickly.

  He ignored her.

  “Ouch!” She rubbed her arms. “And I’m still cold from the swim, too.”

  When he kept trudging silently onward, she persisted in trying to get his attention. “Stop a second, so I can dig a rock out of my shoe and get this burning thorn out of my ankle.”

  “Burning is it?” he asked in a smart-ass tone. But he knelt beside her and asked which ankle. Once told, his hand was warm and firm and very thorough. Before she knew what had happened, he was standing up again with the thorn in his hand. “Okay, no more burning thorns. No more excuses.”

  In the dark, his gaze was intense as he loomed tall and handsome above her. Just as she had as a teenager, she found him extremely sexy.

  Oh, why can’t I just grow up and tune this attraction out?

  “Thank you,” she replied, feeling angry at him suddenly as she knelt to shake the rock out of her shoe. “Where are we anyway?”

  “South Texas. The middle of nowhere.”

  “I know that already,” she snapped, still mad that she found him attractive.

  “Then why’d you ask?”

  She stood up and dusted her hands on her skirt. “Sorry to be such a bother.”

  “We’ll get along better if you just keep moving.”

  Easy for him to say as he surged past her on his long, lean legs, clueless as well as careless of her feelings. Not wanting to be left behind, she quickened her steps. Soon she was panting in an effort to keep up.

  They hadn’t gone far when she heard the engine of a car right behind them. In the next moment Shanghai grabbed her hand and yanked her into a ditch hidden
by a stand of prickly pear and yucca. Within seconds a pickup truck without headlights lurched past them off-road.

  “Friends of yours,” Shanghai said, his tone caustic.

  “What?”

  “Drug runners. We’re lucky the sharks didn’t run over us in the dark.”

  She sucked in a breath. His sudden anger was so unnerving, she fumed silently as she sat beside him for the next twenty minutes before he finally decided it was safe to proceed again. Once they began walking Mia’s sulkiness toward him eased, and she was simply thankful she’d gotten to rest. They passed a bailout car, its doors still ajar from the fateful moment when the Border Patrol had caught up to it and its occupants had fled on foot.

  “So many come from so far and fail to make it,” she said in a forlorn tone.

  Shanghai didn’t comment, but the car must have served as a warning to him because he picked up his pace again. The desert land was so rocky and eroded, and his strides so lengthy, it was difficult for her to keep up, therefore she had to run every few steps. For half an hour or more they climbed the gradual slope of a big hill at his relentless pace, although he did pause, if impatiently, when twice she begged him to let her rest.

  The stops did little good. Soon she was so tired, she felt like she was sleepwalking. Still, Shanghai trudged on with her lagging even farther behind. When they finally reached the crest of the hill, a sliver of moon was visible through the thick clouds. All she could see for miles toward the north was more of the same rugged terrain.

  “It looks like pretty empty country,” he said, “but it’s illusory. There’s no telling how many illegal immigrants are furtively walking northward under cover of the night just as we are. Or how many drug runners or terrorists.”

  She shivered.

  “Or criminals seeking to escape Mexico,” he added, staring at her for a long moment.

  “I’m not a criminal.”

  Without further comment, he turned and began walking faster again.

  “I can’t go any farther,” she finally yelled after him between gulps of air. Then she stopped and dug another rock out of her shoe. “I’m hungry, cold, tired, wet and confused.”

  “Shh.” Instead of listening to her, he was peering through a small pair of binoculars into the darkness ahead. Then he slid the binoculars into his back pocket. “You got that rock out of your shoe yet?”

  “Can’t we just stay here?”

  He turned to her and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry you’re tired. But don’t give up on me now, darlin’. If we get lucky, I don’t think it’ll be too much longer.” Gently he pulled her along, this time at a slower pace.

  Soon she was shivering convulsively again. “Where are we going now? Why can’t we just sit down until the sun comes up?”

  “Because I have a better idea.”

  “What?”

  “Over there.” He pointed ahead.

  She squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Trust me.”

  “That’s not so easy.”

  His glittering gaze locked on her face. “Tell me about it.”

  She looked away, struggling to conceal her feelings.

  When they began walking again, the landscape soon broke into endless ripples of eroded gullies that were difficult even for Shanghai, who was wearing boots instead of flimsy shoes to navigate. Another half hour passed before they finally came to the edge of the thick clump of scraggly bushes he’d pointed out to her.

  “Good—I thought so. We’ve found a deserted cabin.”

  “I don’t see anything but salt cedar.”

  “Over there. In the trees. Probably it’s a hunting camp,” he said.

  When they got nearer, she made out a flat-roofed structure. The tiny dwelling seemed blacker than the darkness of the desert and equally uninviting. But at least she could stop walking. Then she realized they’d have to spend the night together alone in that tiny cabin.

  “I don’t like it,” she said as they got nearer.

  “Well, it’s not the Ritz, I’ll give you that. It’s not your clean and tidy bedroom at the Golden Spurs, either. But you’ve been pestering me pretty steady to stop, so you should be happy.”

  She was about to make a smart retort, when he put his finger to his lips. Then he pulled his gun out of his waistband. Warning her to hide behind a salt cedar, he snuck up to the cabin and tapped lightly on the door. When nobody answered, he knocked louder. Then he twisted the knob. When the hinges groaned and the door swung open easily, she heard him chuckle. A match flared, and the cabin windows began to glow like faint beacons.

  Not wanting to be left alone outside for another second, she raced onto the porch so fast the boards groaned noisily. She stopped before carefully crossing the threshold to join him in the moldy-smelling cabin. For a long time they were both still, listening to the quiet. She, of course, had an ear out for rats, and much to her relief, instead of the scurrying of little feet or squeaky cries, all she heard were her own frightened heartbeats.

  A single candle glowed in the center of a small table. In the dim light, she made out a small bed, a couple of old quilts, several folding chairs stacked against the wall, and, of course, the table.

  “Home sweet home,” he said, grinning at her.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Well, I for one hope the three bears don’t come back anytime soon,” Shanghai said. “Because I’m dog-tired.”

  “Finally. I thought you were going to walk forever.”

  He laughed.

  On the table she saw a sheet of white paper beside the candle. Leaning down, she softly read the owner’s brief note aloud, first in Spanish and then in English.

  “Welcome. My house is your house. Take what you need. Clean up after yourself. There’s a cattle pond right behind the house if you need water. Just leave things as you find them, and leave the note to welcome my next guest. Jimmy Morgan.”

  She replaced the paper.

  “Sounds like Jimmy’s real tired of being broken into by illegal immigrants crossing the border,” Shanghai said. He moved across the cabin and kicked several empty tin cans that were piled in a corner. “See, he’s had recent visitors. I see why he just leaves the doors unlocked.”

  “I hope we don’t get any company tonight.”

  “What? Not in the mood to entertain?”

  Two strides carried Shanghai to the crude, built-in cabinets sagging from their nails on the far wall. He opened them and pulled out several cans and pots and pans and a bar of soap.

  “Pork and beans? Ravioli? Spaghetti? Fruit cocktail? Soft drinks? What’ll you have tonight, darlin’?”

  “We can’t just eat his food.”

  “A while back you said you were hungry. Be grateful we don’t have to live off mesquite beans and prickly pear apples. I’m not in much of a mood to shoot and clean a rabbit, either.”

  She was studying the narrow bed. It was just big enough for two—if they snuggled up really close.

  “How can you think about food?” she whispered, suddenly feeling nervous of him in the dark.

  He stared at the bed, too. “You got a better idea?”

  Something in his voice made her cheeks heat, and that irritated her. Did he assume she found him so attractive she would be easy to seduce the instant it suited him?

  “No. I just didn’t think I should steal his food.”

  “I guess that means you’re not going to help me gather wood so I can build a fire and cook it.”

  When she didn’t answer, he smiled. “Okay. While I’m gathering the firewood alone, why don’t you see if you can find a can opener?”

  Shanghai stomped outside. After she found an opener, she heard branches and twigs snapping outside. Picking up the opener, she carried it and the cans out to him. She also brought cans of soda she’d found. After giving him a can of soda, she began breaking up the limbs he tossed her into kindling-size pieces. As always, doing something with him soon became fun.

  In no time th
ey had a fire blazing inside a circle of rocks where other fires had been lit before at a safe distance from the house. He poured the beans she’d opened into one pot, and spaghetti into another.

  For a few minutes they sat together watching the orange fire dance as the branches crackled. “You’ve been saying you were cold all night. Move closer so it will warm you,” he said.

  She did, and clasping her knees to her chest like a small child, she stared into the flames and found them hypnotic.

  “Think you can watch the pots so they don’t scorch on the bottom while I bathe?”

  The instant he said he was leaving she felt stricken, but she squared her shoulders and nodded bravely.

  “Good girl.” He handed her his gun. “You used to be a crack shot. Shoot first. Ask questions later.”

  “Right.” She nodded.

  When he left her and went inside again and got soap, a metal bucket, and one of the blankets, she set the gun beside her.

  Five minutes later, she heard boots crashing through the scrub behind her. Since she wasn’t expecting him back so fast, she whirled and aimed the gun at the sounds in the darkness.

  “It’s only me, darlin’. But I’m glad to see you’re so alert.”

  Smiling despite herself because he was back, she lowered the gun. She tried to ignore her pleasure in his company. She tried not to notice how his black hair was damp and slicked back, too. Or how he’d wrapped the blanket around his lean waist and wasn’t wearing anything else.

  When he set the bucket in the coals her eyebrows arched questioningly. “What’s that for?”

  “Warm water…for you…in case you decide you want to freshen up inside the cabin before or after we eat.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered, more touched by his thoughtfulness than she wanted to be.

  He walked over to the porch and hung his wet clothes on the porch railing. Something must not have been right because after staring at them, he picked them up, one by one, and started over.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to hang them so they won’t wrinkle up so bad.”

  She laughed.

  “I don’t iron too much on the road.”