On Wings of Deliverance

by Elizabeth White

Trudging back inside the terminal, he ignored the woman in the ugly hat, who gave him a dirty look as he went by. He scanned the schedule posted above the ticket window. The bus was headed to Reynosa, at least he knew that much. He could drive hard and fast, get there first and nail both of them as they got off the bus.

  It was going to be a pleasure to take them out.

  “Okay, I’ve got to know what was in that bucket.”

  Benny leaned back against the seat, limp now that the adrenaline of running for the bus had drained away. They were on their way to Reynosa.

  She rolled her head to look at Owen. “What bucket?”

  “The lady you were talking to at the bus station. What did she have in that thing?”

  “Oh, just stuff. A coffee mug. A pair of slippers. A dress and a necklace. Everything she had in the world.”

  “Where was she going?”

  “To Rio Bravo to live with her daughter. Her husband just died.”

  “How do you do that? Get stuff out of people without even trying? You’d make a great Border Patrol agent.”

  “I don’t think so.” The very idea annoyed her. “I wouldn’t like sending people back to live in some of the places I’ve seen.”

  “Bernadette, I’ve seen those places, too. But I’ve also helicoptered people out of the desert—dehydrated, sick, broken bones, snakebitten.”

  “I know.” Contrite, she touched his wrist. “I wasn’t being critical of you or the Border Patrol. I understand your job, and I appreciate it. It’s just that people like that little woman make me so sad.”

  He turned his hand and caught hers before she could snatch it away. She instinctively tugged for a second, then gave in. How could she feel so torn about something as simple as touching hands? The connection, skin to skin, comforted and frightened her in nearly equal degrees. He laced his fingers through hers, spreading them to fit, until the roughness of his palm lay against hers.

  She made herself relax. “Aren’t you still angry with me?”

  “Nope.” She looked at him, but his eyes were closed, his big body relaxed into the frayed gray upholstery of the seat. “I wish you’d talk to me, but anger takes too much energy.”

  “You’ve got enough energy for three people.” But she couldn’t help smiling.

  “I saw you praying with that lady. Do you know we’ve never prayed together?”

  “Yes, we have. In church—”

  “Church doesn’t count. All those other people there—God bless the missionaries, help so-and-so in the hospital, et cetera. No. All our narrow escapes from death and destruction and we’ve never prayed, just you and me.”

  “Do you want to?”

  He turned his head, opened his eyes, and the sleepy, latent expression there made her brain swim. “I do. Can I lead?”

  She nodded. Even as she closed her eyes, the metaphor struck her hard. She’d been in charge of her own life for so long that letting go of it took an enormous step of faith. As she listened to Owen talk to God, very simply and directly, her resistance to him cracked another notch.

  He prayed for each one of the Mexican nationals they’d met on their journey so far: Mariela and Gustavo, Jorge at the car lot, the schoolteacher by the outhouse, the Fronteras family, even the federal who’d searched them for drugs. But when he started praying for the hit man, she froze.

  “Owen, don’t do that.”

  “Huh?” He opened his eyes. “Best thing that could happen is for this guy to have a change of heart.”

  “I know that but I can’t…” Ashamed, she stopped and swallowed. “Never mind, go ahead.”

  He squeezed her hand and clasped it between both of his. “I’m not asking you to. But I need to. Otherwise, I get too focused on getting back at him.”

  “I understand.” She waited and Owen bowed his head again.

  “Lord, please help me and Bernadette get home safe, and help me and the other law-enforcement guys catch the guy who’s after her. I pray You’ll stay in the middle of our thoughts and our feelings so that we always know Your mind and obey Your will. I pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.” He pressed her hand gently. It was her turn.

  Still overwhelmed at his unexpected maturity and at the intimacy of going with him into God’s presence—even on a smelly, noisy public bus—she could hardly speak. “Thank You for Your protection so far,” she finally managed to get out. “Thank You for teaching us to trust You. Please help me to learn Your mercy, and help me not to be afraid….” Her throat closed. “Amen,” she whispered.

  Owen nudged her shoulder. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep now? It’ll make the trip go faster.”

  “How long until we get to Reynosa?”

  “About three more hours. Here, lay your head on my shoulder.”

  She didn’t even try to argue. “Okay.”

  Making herself comfortable, she closed her eyes again and let her thoughts drift. Peculiar to feel so safe. Protected.

  Loved.

  Paul Grenville had been dwelling on Briggs’s last phone call all day. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he needed to take a stronger role in the situation.

  Which was what brought him to the Shelby County Public Library on a beautiful spring Saturday afternoon, when normally he’d be cleaning the gas grill on his patio, getting ready for his daughter’s family to arrive for their weekly barbecue. He always played Horse with his two grandsons while the burgers cooked and the ice-cream freezer did its thing in the kitchen sink.

  Grenville had worked hard, made many sacrifices in order to enjoy these private family times. Certainly, he had been somewhat selfish and stupid in his younger days and had come close to paying the price with his marriage. But he’d recovered by carefully covering his tracks, eliminating everybody who might tarnish his reputation.

  Well, almost everybody. There were still two left: Bernadette and Ladonna.

  He found a computer at an unoccupied table in the nonfiction stacks. Few people patronized this area of the library. And those who did wouldn’t know him, as this was a branch nearly twenty miles from his home in Germantown, east Memphis—and his face hadn’t yet started making the national news. The Web sites he pulled up would be nobody’s business but his.

  A quick Internet search brought up nothing on Bernadette McBride—not surprising, since he’d tried it at least twice. But typing in Bernadette Malone fetched a short article in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram about seminary students serving on various mission fields. He studied it for a while, fascinated by the idea of the little hooker who’d gotten away from Ladonna all those years ago—reformed enough to become a missionary.

  The mind positively boggled.

  It hadn’t been easy to locate her on the Yucatán. He’d had to rely on a couple of trusted sources, Briggs being one of them. Generally speaking, Briggs was dependable. That he had let the girl get away in three different locations made Grenville wonder if his faithful employee was being paid by somebody else.

  He shook his head. Briggs knew if he ever turned on Grenville, he’d be dead within twenty-four hours.

  The girl had gotten away by sheer luck. She was smart, but Grenville was smarter. For example, he knew that the pilot’s father had been killed in a shoot-out nearly three years ago and posthumously disgraced because of involvement in smuggling drugs and illegal aliens.

  He held this information in his hand like a particularly strong suit of cards. Royal flush, baby. Royal flush.

  Ten kilometers outside of Reynosa, Owen decided to awaken Bernadette. He’d been watching her sleep, nose buried in his shirtsleeve. Understandable—three or four different brands of obnoxious cologne had given him a nagging headache.

  Now he had to think about how to proceed once they got inside the States. No way was he going to let Bernadette go to Memphis—or anyplace else, for that matter—on her own. She didn’t have to tell him a thing, but he was going to follow her around until he found out on his own. And, mercy notwithstanding, he was goin
g to use every investigative tool in his power to put the guy after her behind bars.

  “Benny.” He touched her cheek and watched her eyes open. She sat up and blinked, scrubbing her hand over her mouth.

  “Huh? Where are we?”

  He smiled. His shoulder seam had pressed a neat curved crease across her forehead, just like a rainbow. “We’re coming into Reynosa. It’s gonna be tricky getting you in without your ID, so I want you to let me do the talking when we get to the Border Patrol checkpoint. Okay?”

  “Sure. Have I been asleep this whole time?”

  “Like a baby. Want to know what you said in your sleep?”

  Her eyes widened. “I don’t talk in my sleep!”

  “No.” He traced his finger along the rainbow on her forehead. “Unfortunately you don’t. And you don’t snore, either. I was just kiddin’.”

  She reached down for the backpack and took out his comb. Unplaiting her hair, she hid her face.

  He folded his arms and watched. “I would have called Eli by now, but I forgot to get the phone from you and didn’t want to wake you up. Did you ever get hold of Meg?”

  “Oh, sorry.” She dropped the comb and dug in her jeans pocket for the phone. “No, you yanked me out of Noé’s truck before I could call her. Then we started running and I forgot to try again. Here.” She handed it over and busied herself with the comb again.

  He glanced out the window, then opened the phone and searched through the phone numbers. Reynosa was a growing industrial city known for its maquiladoras, or bonded assembly plants. All kinds of American electronics corporations had concerns here. Labor was cheap, dependable and close to the border. Reynosa was also a major crossing point for illegal immigrants. He was going to have to do some fancy tap dancing to get Benny across.

  Eli answered on the first ring. “Where are you?” said his brother without preamble.

  “Fixin’ to get off a bus in Reynosa. Is there any way you can come get us? Benny’s documentation is a little sketchy.”

  “You should have called before now. I’m nearly four hours away.” Eli paused. “I’ll make some calls to the McAllen station and see if I can get you permission to bring her across. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

  “Thanks. Listen—” Owen hesitated, glancing at Benny. “What did you find out from the Torreses?”

  “Not much. They’re just as dumbfounded as we are that somebody’s taken to shooting at our girl. I guess you’re gonna have to get it out of her. But Jack did say that he’ll pull whatever strings he needs to for her protection. She should come straight to the police when she gets across the border, report what happened and let them handle it.”

  “Okay. If I can get her to listen to reason.” Intercepting Benny’s sudden frown, he grinned. “She’s an independent lady.”

  “Well, we’re talking felonies here. Attempted murder is no joke. She’ll have to get over the independence.”

  “You want to tell her that?”

  “No. I’ll let you handle it.” Owen could hear the smile in his brother’s voice. “Look, you two get off the bus and lay low somewhere until I can get you straightened out with immigration. I’ll call you back when I get on the road.”

  “Thanks, Eli.” Owen closed the phone and braced himself.

  Bernadette bent to tuck the comb into the backpack. “I’m not going to the police.”

  “Why not? You’re an American. People can’t shoot at you and get away with it, even in a foreign country.”

  “It’s my word against his. I’m not subjecting myself to an investigation.”

  “Wait a minute!” He stared at her in disbelief. “I was right there and I saw him aim at you and shoot. Two different times. I can’t identify him, but you can.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I have other people’s reputations to protect besides mine.”

  “Reputations? Benny, we’re talking about your life!”

  “And yours.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

  “So what do you propose to do, since you object to the smart thing?”

  “What I intended to do all along. Go to my friend in Memphis.”

  Owen tried to remember what she’d said about this person in Memphis—if anything. She? He? One of the old boyfriends? One of the men who had known Benny before she was his?

  His? In three days she had gone from a woman he was attracted to and intrigued and challenged by to the other half of himself.

  Mine. Maybe in this case it was okay to be selfish.

  “All right, then. I’m coming with you.”

  “Owen…” she groaned, sliding her hands across the top of her head.

  “If you can be stubborn, so can I. Just try leaving me behind.”

  ELEVEN

  The Border Patrol station in McAllen, Texas, was nothing to write home about, in terms of amenities for civilian visitors. But coming home from a long stay in a developing nation, Benny felt as if she’d just moved into the Waldorf-Astoria.

  While Owen made phone calls and filled out reports, she made herself at home in the break room. She had access to a coffeepot, a wide selection of abandoned mugs and a small television set with a fifteen-inch screen. Filling a mug that said I Left My Heart in San Francisco with surprisingly fresh coffee, she settled on a metal folding chair to watch the late news.

  It seemed like a hundred years since she’d caught up on the American political scene. She flipped through the channels, trying to find a report that wasn’t vulgar, violent or antireligious. The ho-hum nature of infidelity, drug addiction and insider trading seemed a little freakish when she’d just returned from a place where the very basics—food, water and shelter—defined everyday life.

  She was just about to turn the set off when a familiar face on a cable news program caught her attention.

  “—here in the White House, where sources say the President has begun to compile a short list of nominees for the recently vacated attorney general Cabinet post.

  “One of the top names for the position is Tennessee Supreme Court Chief Justice Paul Grenville. Grenville is a moderate judge with Southern roots and a tough record for dealing with drug traffickers. Having been friends with this extremely popular president since their law-school days, he is likely to sail through Senate hearings toward confirmation this summer….”

  Benny’s weary body and overloaded brain would hold no more information. Numbly, she pressed the power button on the TV remote. Grenville’s hateful face blinked off.

  She wished she could just as easily erase her memory.

  “Miss Malone, would you like another cup of coffee?” The deferential young agent who had been assigned to keep Benny company poked his head into the break room for the third time in an hour.

  She shook her head. “Haven’t finished this one yet. But thanks.”

  Agent Kevin Padilla rapped his knuckles on the door frame and grinned. “Okay, ma’am, but you just let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable. Carmichael says—”

  Padilla abruptly disappeared and Owen leaned in the doorway. “Carmichael says we can go now. Eli finally got you cleared.”

  Benny stood up, deliberately blanking out the images uploaded into her brain by the news report. “Oh, I’m so relieved.”

  “Eli will be here in just over an hour. He’s gonna take us to San Antonio. We can spend the night there with him and Isabel.”

  “That would be wonderful.” A real bed with clean sheets. Thank You, Lord. She owed a lot to Owen, too. He had to be worn out, but he’d taken care of her first. “I think everything’s squared away with my job. I called my supervisor and the substitute can stay one more week. That’ll give me time to…”

  Time to blow up everything she’d built over the last thirteen years? No wonder Ladonna had insisted she come to Memphis. Had she known Grenville had aspirations to this powerful office?

  The White House Cabinet.

  If he went thro
ugh those kinds of hearings, every person who had ever known him would be interviewed. If some reporter, or even some political rival, ever dug up her old name, she would be dragged through the mud again—this time on the national news.

  Grenville had to know this, too. That was why he had killed Celine, Tamika and Daisy—her three companions from Ladonna’s house—and why he’d sent that hit man to the Yucatán.

  She took a breath. “I’ll have time to replace all those clothes I left behind in Agrexco.”

  Briggs’s cell phone rang as he waited in line to go through the American checkpoint on the Reynosa-Hidalgo-McAllen International Bridge. He plugged in his earpiece and thumbed the talk button. “Yeah, boss.”

  “Briggs, where are you?”

  “Just about to go through customs on the bridge. I told you I missed them in Reynosa because of that flat tire—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. Look, there’s been a change of plans. Since you didn’t get her in Mexico, where it would have been a whole lot easier—”

  Grenville paused, and Briggs started to apologize again.

  But the judge didn’t give him a chance. “Now we’ve waited too long. Did you see the news tonight?”

  “When have I had a chance to watch the news?” Briggs tried not to sound too sarcastic. The judge expected a certain amount of respect.

  “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, some enterprising print reporter dug up the president’s list and stuck it in The Commercial Appeal up here. The wire services will have it by morning, and it may even be on the evening news tonight. If we don’t get to this girl fast, she’s going to realize what kind of power she has.”

  Briggs felt lead settle in his gut. In so many words, the judge had just given him an ultimatum. “Boss, I’ve been trying—”

  “I know you have. I know you, and you’ve never let me down yet. Which makes me think somebody may have warned the girl before you got there.”

  “Warned her? Like who?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what you’ve got to find out.”

  “But don’t you want me to keep after her?”