Touch a Wild Heart

by Vella Munn

  Magadan didn’t get in touch with her during that time, but once, near the start of one of the soccer games, she knew she felt his eyes on her. She didn’t want to look around for him, didn’t want to give him that satisfaction, but her heart ruled. Chela shaded her eyes against the setting sun and swept her eyes over the boundaries of the city park. It might have been him under a tree near the parking lot, but Chela would never be sure.

  Chela was sleeping restlessly on Friday night. No matter how hard she drove herself during the day, she was unable to sleep through the night without reaching out for something, someone, next to her. When the 4:00 a.m. phone call came, she was almost grateful to be taken from her dream. She groped for the phone near her bed and propped herself up on one elbow.

  “You have a half hour to get here with the money,” the disembodied voice said. “If you want to see him, I’ll expect you at the city park, near the parking lot.”

  That was it. Kohl hung up before Chela could speak.

  She swung out of bed and snapped on the lamp next to the telephone. For an instant she stared at the phone. It was the middle of the night, and she was going to see Kohl—alone.

  She wasn’t sure why that should terrify her, that was how she’d envisioned it from the beginning. Chela shook her head angrily and quickly threw on an old shirt, an equally old pair of jeans, and slipped her feet into tennis shoes. She tied the laces carefully. If she had to run, she didn’t want them tripping her up. She pocketed the money Magadan had given her and stepped outside. It wasn’t until she’d reached her Jeep that she realized there was no sign of the car that had been parked on the road for the past few days. Wasn’t anyone going to follow her to the park where children played soccer by day and coyotes dealt in human lives by night?

  Chela ran back inside and dialed Magadan’s number. The phone rang hollowly at least ten times before she gave up. Where was he at this hour? Chela slammed the receiver back down. “Damn you, Magadan! I don’t need you!” she hissed at the instrument and hurried back outside.

  The night was cool for August, but Chela was sweating instead of shivering as she forced herself to drive within the speed limit. As she drove, she tried to rehearse what she was going to say. Ortez’s safety had to be the first consideration. She had to plan her words carefully, do or say nothing that would cause Kohl to be any more suspicious than he already was. It was Ortez’s testimony that would guarantee the success of the case. If Ortez had indeed been spirited here under cover of darkness, slipped across the border by Kohl, he would be exposed as a coyote. Nothing could go wrong now. She—and Magadan—had invested too much in this.

  Where were the police? True, the case could be built against Kohl at any time, but how much more solid the evidence would be if he was picked up tonight while the transaction was actually taking place. That was supposed to be Magadan’s department. Chela only had to play the role of a love-struck woman willing to hock her soul to have an illegal Mexican brought to her by Kohl.

  If she hadn’t been so tense, Chela would have laughed at the idea of her having to pretend great love for a man she’d never met. She could only hope Ortez was an accomplished actor.

  The park, which seemed friendly and filled with life when a soccer game was being played, had turned into a sinister, empty stretch of grass and trees. As she neared the parking lot, Chela could just make out the empty swings swaying under a dim fluorescent light. There were too many shadows and not enough light. The shopping center across the four-lane street, which was the only structure near the park, was empty, a hollow skeleton waiting for the new day to bring it back to life.

  Chela pulled into the parking lot and killed her engine. Maybe Kohl was already there. It was just like the coyote to use darkness to his advantage so he could observe her while keeping himself hidden. Because that was what she expected him to do, Chela took in a deep gulp of air and swung her body out of her Jeep. She allowed herself an instant to glance down at her tennis shoes. Given the state of her nerves, she didn’t think there was a man alive who could catch her should she decide to run.

  The knowledge gave her courage. The park had enough open spaces so she could stand in the middle of the grass playing field. No one could sneak up on her. She moved quickly to the grass and stood there until dew began to dampen her shoes. She started at the sound of a distant motor but dismissed it as she saw a lone street sweeper move into the shopping center parking lot. A moment later she glanced back at the street sweeper. Knowing that someone was working this early gave her a small sense of comfort. She wasn’t the only one in this part of the city.

  Chela heard him. It was nothing more than a foot crushing a fallen twig, but her ignited senses recorded the sound and accepted it for what it was. Tense, she touched the envelope full of money in her back pocket. Where had the police gone?

  Kohl wasn’t in any hurry to reach her. He seemed to amble along, fascinated by the contours of the park, the size of a swing, the material used to make a backstop. He even took time to test his balance on the pitcher’s mound. When he finally came near enough for Chela to make out his features, she could see that he was grinning.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Where’s Ortez?” she asked, when he came into full view.

  “Not so fast, my wild one. I’m not fool enough to turn him over until I have my payment.”

  Chela acknowledged the wisdom of Kohl’s words, but she also remembered that she was supposed to be a woman in love. “Where do you have him?” she pressed. “If he’s been hurt—”

  “What would you do, Chela? What would you do if your precious Ortez was dead? He’s an illegal. You couldn’t run to the police with that story. You and I are the only ones who know he’s here. It would be your word against mine.”

  Chela spread her feet to balance herself and continued the sparring. “My father knows.”

  “Your father wouldn’t speak against me. I know too much about him.”

  Chela didn’t doubt that for a moment. “What do you want?”

  “Money.” Kohl stuck out long, skinny, tobacco-stained fingers. “Now.”

  Chela reached into her back pocket and placed the envelope in the outstretched hand. “Count it,” she challenged. “Then take me to Ortez.”

  Kohl handled the money as if it were a beloved child. “Not new money. You show wisdom, Chela, but”—he smiled his yellow-toothed smile again—“it isn’t enough.”

  Chela stiffened and clenched her fist, but inside she was calm. She’d expected that. “It’s all I have,” she said, throwing a slight quaver into her voice.

  “Then you won’t see Ortez.”

  “You can’t do that to me!” she begged with what she hoped was the right amount of desperation. “You—I already came up with everything I have.”

  “That was before your lover complicated things.” He sounded as if he was trying to explain a simple concept to a child. “The man did things I didn’t like. He didn’t show me the proper amount of respect.”

  “What did you do to him?” This time Chela’s concern was genuine.

  “Nothing that will make him unacceptable as a lover. He had the arrogance to think that because a sizable amount of money was involved, he could expect better treatment.”

  “What did you do to him?” Chela repeated.

  Kohl’s lips curled back again. “I taught him respect, just as I will teach you respect. It isn’t enough money.”

  “Wh—what do you want from me?” Chela stammered. Now she was no longer acting. She was fighting for the safety of a man she’d never met.

  “Payment for my added trouble.”

  “I don’t have any more.”

  Kohl took a menacing step toward her. “Get it.”

  “How?” Chela retreated and spread her hands in a helpless gesture. No matter what other thoughts were going through her mind, she had to remember her agreed-upon role. She had to make Kohl believe he had the upper hand. “There’s no way—”

  “You came up w
ith a thousand earlier. You can come up with another thousand.” His long fingers snaked out and captured Chela’s wrist. “You’ve been a lot of trouble to me for a long time; maybe I should make you pay for that, too.”

  Chela tried to jerk away, but Kohl’s fingers were like iron digging into her wrist. “Let me go!” she snapped, knowing how hollow her order was “How do I know Ortez is here? I need proof.”

  “Proof?” He jerked on Chela’s wrist until he’d pulled her next to him. “You don’t believe me? I’m crushed.” His lips were only inches away.

  Chela remembered his lips on hers earlier and fought down a gagging reflex. “Why should I?” she managed, despite the whirring sound that started in her head. Careful. She didn’t dare lose control now. She had to make him take the money, reveal where Ortez was, and only then when he’d let her go, she’d run to the police. “Why should I believe you?” she challenged in the mocking tone she knew he expected from her. “There’s never been any trust between us.”

  “You challenge me?” Kohl’s lips curled again but this time to reveal a snarl. “No one challenges me, Chela.”

  “Because you only deal with desperate, frightened people,” she spat back. “I’m not afraid of you, and I’m not desperate.”

  “Then you’re a fool. You were a fool to come here in the middle of the night to meet me.”

  Maybe he was right, Chela acknowledged. She had always been able to control her life’s direction. Maybe it had lulled her into false security. But she wasn’t going to let Kohl know what effect his words had on her. “I don’t think so,” she challenged again. “Do you really think I’d come here without telling anyone what I was doing? I’ve left word.”

  He wrinkled his brow and his fingers dug even deeper into Chela’s throbbing wrist. “Who?”

  “Do you think I’d tell you that?” Chela sensed the crack in his armor and zeroed in on it. “If I’m not back home by daylight, they’ll come looking for you.”

  “You’re lying,” Kohl yanked her off balance. “Tell me you’re lying!”

  “I’m not lying,” she gritted, despite having been thrown against him. She used her free hand to push against his chest and regained her balance. “Are you willing to take that chance?”

  Before she had time to react, he was dragging her toward his car. She tried to struggle, but her wrist was throbbing, her fingers numb from lack of circulation. It was easier to go with him than to fight. She didn’t dig in her heels until he’d reached the car parked in the trees on a bike path where it couldn’t be seen from the park. “Where are we going?”

  “To take you to your precious Ortez. You can see him, have your tender reunion, and then”—Kohl yanked open the passenger door and shoved her inside—“if you don’t want me to make good on my promise to reveal your father’s identity, you’ll come up with that extra money.”

  Every instinct Chela possessed aimed at survival was screaming at her to leap from the car and run, but she swallowed the impulse and sat, rubbing her aching wrist while Kohl came around and got in next to her. Her safety wasn’t the only thing she had to consider. There was Ortez. What would happen to him if she fled now?

  Damn Magadan! Where was he?

  As Kohl backed down the bike path, Chela concentrated on breathing. The closed-up car reeked of sweat and stale tobacco and some vile odor that clung to him no matter what new outfit he dressed himself in. She thought about her Jeep in the parking lot. If she never returned, how long would it be before it was identified as hers and before Magadan started to wonder what had become of her?

  While Kohl drove through the dark, familiar streets, Chela rubbed her already bruised wrist and glared at him from under cover of her long lashes. She was afraid; there was no denying that. But Chela was also so angry that she could taste the emotion rising in her throat. Whether her anger was directed more at Kohl or Magadan didn’t matter. It was enough that she had to fight her fury.

  He drove through the downtown area and turned onto the southbound highway that led past used-car lots, second-hand stores, and several run-down trailer parks. After a couple of miles, he turned right and bumped over railroad tracks, ending up on a dirt road that angled behind a large warehouse used by one of the fruit-packing companies during the harvest season. He stopped at the rear of a metal, windowless building in the middle of an unimproved parking lot surrounded by an open field with several boxcars and automobiles rusting in it. “My office,” he snickered.

  Chela waited for Kohl to turn off the engine and then got out. There was a distant rumble coming from well down the railroad track, but other than that, the area was bathed in silence. Chela felt heat coming from the packed-earth parking lot and acknowledged the swirling wind that blew dust into her face. Above she could see the star-stenciled night. Behind her was the eerie outline of silent storage buildings. She had been born and raised in this valley, but this was the first time she’d come to this lonely, lifeless place.

  “You like it?” Kohl taunted. “Go ahead. Scream. No one will hear.”

  “I’m not going to scream,” Chela taunted back, “but I am surprised. I thought a snake lived in the grass, not an abandoned building.”

  His eyes blazed their hatred, but although his hands had curled into a fist, he didn’t strike her. Chela clamped her lips shut. Her outburst showed a dangerous lack of wisdom; she wouldn’t let it happen again. “Ortez is here?”

  “This is what I call my distribution point,” Kohl said almost conversationally. “The workers come here first. From here they’re dispersed to wherever they can find work.”

  Chela almost laughed. What did he think he was, a businessman providing a product for other businessmen? Why not? That was what her father had come to him for. And maybe that’s how Magadan used him. “I want to see Ortez.”

  “In a hurry, Chela? He must be quite the lover to be worth all this trouble. Wait.” As she started to move closer to the windowless building, Chela felt Kohl grab her shoulder. “Are you sure you understand the rules? Ortez is yours, but if I don’t get my money, I tell him and the rest of the valley about your dear loving father. You know the price of my silence, don’t you?”

  Chela nodded. A thousand dollars? She’d be a fool if she thought this was all he would want. How many times would the coyote reach out his greedy hand? But that wasn’t going to be a problem, not if Magadan made good on his promise. Tonight Kohl was exposing his evil world. The trap was in place. A few more steps and he would be snared.

  And if he shrieked the truth about Chela’s father?

  She had no choice but to live with that. Chela had struck a bargain with Magadan. It was too late to back out now.

  Kohl pulled a key out of his hip pocket and freed the lock on the heavy sliding door that made up one side of the storage shed. He leaned his shoulder into the door and pushed it back just far enough to let him and Chela in. She recoiled from the feel of Kohl’s hand on her upper arm but had no alternative but to follow his lead. He made his way past boxes and fencing material and tractor parts and reached up. A naked light bulb hanging from a spiderweb-coated cord blinked into feeble life. It was several seconds before Chela could make out the figure propped up against a mound of burlap bags.

  The figure stirred, stretched, and came to its feet. “Dónde es Chela?”

  Chela stared at the man Kohl believed to be her lover. Ortez was tall, a broad-shouldered man with a thick shock of black hair, but in the dim light she could make out little of his features. She felt Kohl’s eyes on her and held out her hands. “Ortez. Es bien? Me amante!”

  To Chela’s relief she was swallowed by strong arms. “Me amante,” Ortez Varela echoed. “For dios.”

  “Calla! Be quiet!” Kohl snapped. “Enough. Have you seen enough, Chela? Do you believe me now?”

  Chela strangled an insane impulse to laugh. She was being smothered in kisses by a man she’d never seen and in turn was cooing over him as if he were her long lost lover. At least Magadan had been right a
bout that. Ortez knew his role well. “Are you all right?” she asked Ortez in Spanish and relaxed a little when he nodded his head. She didn’t put anything past Kohl.

  “I want to leave, now—with Ortez,” she told him from the depths of the Mexican’s chest.

  “How?” Kohl taunted. “Are you going to walk?”

  “If we have to. You have your money. What else do you need?”

  “Not so fast, my wild one.” He planted himself in front of the embracing couple. “You’ve forgotten something.”

  “I’ve forgotten nothing,” Chela replied. “I know what you want.”

  “In three days. I’ll expect you back here in three days. Otherwise the world knows.”

  If Ortez was curious about what was taking place, he at least had the wisdom not to ask. He wrapped his arm protectively around Chela and turned her in the direction of the heavy sliding door. “Don’t stop us now,” he warned Kohl in Spanish.

  “I have no intention of stopping you,” he returned. He patted the envelope in his back pocket. “I have what I want. Just remember: One word about anything that’s happened, and you’re back across the border so fast you won’t have time to breathe. Or maybe I can arrange to have you thrown into jail. You wouldn’t like our American jails.”

  Chela flushed under the pointed jab, but Ortez was steering her toward the door. He was safe; for the moment they were both safe. All she could handle was one step at a time. “Calla,” Ortez whispered. “Al momento.”

  Ortez let her go through the heavy door first. He stood beside her in the dark. “You didn’t bring a car?” he asked in English.

  Chela shook her head. “That’s Kohl’s,” she whispered, although there was no longer any need. For some reason her legs were shaking. She wondered if she really felt that much relief now that everything was over—or was it over? Where were the police, Magadan? “Are you all right?” she asked “He didn’t hurt you?’”