by Brenda Novak
“What kind of problem?” she asked, trying to stem her sudden deluge of fear.
“The engine’s overheating.”
The engine had been running a little hot while she was driving, too, but she’d thought that was more or less normal. They were traveling through the desert, after all, relying heavily on air-conditioning, which tended to tax the system. She’d assumed the van would be okay, especially since Preston hadn’t seemed concerned when she’d mentioned it earlier.
Evidently, that had changed. “How bad is it?” she asked.
He frowned as he applied the brake. “The gauge is showing red. We have to pull over.”
The tires crunched as they parked on the gravel shoulder.
“We’re getting out?” Max said eagerly.
“For a few minutes,” Emma told him, and glanced at her watch. It was after six. Considering the amount of insulin she’d given him at their last stop, he’d be going low if she didn’t feed him soon. And they’d already eaten most of their snacks. “You don’t happen to be a mechanic, do you?”
“I know stocks and bonds,” Preston said. “Not cars.”
Stocks and bonds. Somehow that seemed too yuppyish for Preston Holman, but Emma’s worry about their situation curtailed her surprise. “What do you think could be causing the problem?”
He bent over to pull the lever that would release the hood. “I’m guessing it’s the water pump.”
“That’s not good. If it’s the water pump, the van will only overheat again once we get back on the road.”
“Exactly.” He looked behind his seat and located a gallon of water. “At this point, I’m just hoping we can make it to Ely.”
“Then what?”
He brought the water into the front and opened his door. “I’ll have to get it fixed.”
Emma frowned. “But if Ely’s anything like the towns we’ve passed, they might not have a garage.”
“Ely’s got nearly five thousand people. There’ll be a garage.” He sounded tense, impatient.
“It’s after six o’clock,” she said. “The repair place, if there is one, will probably be closed.”
“Then we’ll have to get a motel.”
Damn. A motel meant they wouldn’t be continuing on tonight, and she didn’t feel she’d gone nearly far enough from where she’d almost been picked up for grand larceny. Not to mention California and Manuel….
“You’ll take us with you when you go on, won’t you?” Emma hated to press her luck. She knew Preston wasn’t any happier about the delay than she was. For whatever reason, he was in a big hurry to reach Iowa. But she had to ask.
He stepped out, not answering.
“Preston?”
It was the first time she’d used his given name, and she knew he’d noticed when he replied, “What was that, Emma?”
“You heard me,” she said, refusing to pander to his dark mood.
His eyebrows gathered as he glanced at Max, who was already clambering out the other side. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take you as far as Wendover and put you on a bus.”
Sighing, Emma watched him go around front and open the hood. When he bothered to be nice, it was almost impossible not to like him. But Preston wasn’t nice very often.
He’s really been through the wringer….
Whatever happened to Preston Holman had definitely left a mark.
WHEN THEY LIMPED into Ely more than an hour later, Preston’s nerves were shot. They’d had to stop every few minutes to let the engine cool, which turned what should’ve been a short drive into something interminable. They were hot, irritable and hungry. Because he’d had to get under the hood so many times and didn’t want Emma or Max to see the gun he’d hidden there, he’d tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, where it was digging into him. And Max’s pleading to stop, to eat, to unfasten his seat belt or go home had become a litany. Preston couldn’t wait to be rid of his passengers. Fair or not—maybe because they were to blame for the other unsettling emotions he’d experienced today—he held them responsible for this recent trouble. He shouldn’t have let Emma and Max ride with him. He’d known they’d be a problem.
“There’s a garage,” Emma said, pointing helpfully as he stopped at one of the few traffic signals in town.
A blue corrugated metal building on the left boasted a red-lettered sign that read Mel’s Auto Repair. But the garage doors were down and the office looked empty.
“They’re closed.” Which wasn’t any wonder at nearly seven-thirty at night.
“Looks like it,” she said.
Swallowing a sigh, Preston headed back to the motel they’d just passed. He’d get a room, some dinner and some sleep, in that order. Then he’d deliver the van to the shop early in the morning and see about getting the hell out of this place. And Emma and Max…
He didn’t know what they’d do. If they were still around when the van was ready, he supposed he’d take them to Wendover as promised or maybe even Salt Lake. But he certainly wouldn’t be upset if they decided to find another ride in the meantime.
“I’m staying here,” he said as he gestured at the Starlight Motel and mini-casino. “Where do you want me to drop you and Max?”
Catching his not-so-subtle hint that they go elsewhere, she blinked at him as though momentarily lost, then lifted her chin. “Um…there was a smaller motel down the street. Maybe that’ll work.”
“That’s a dive,” he said. “Why not let me take you to the Hotel Nevada?”
She bit her bottom lip. “No, I think the other place will be less expensive.”
“It’ll probably be a difference of, what? Ten bucks?”
“The smaller motel will be fine.”
Preston bit back a curse. Was she that worried about ten bucks? He thought of the burn on her hand, and her words, I’ll do absolutely anything to make sure we never go back, and hated himself for dumping them. She was on the run with a kid and no car; she was desperate.
But he wasn’t the man to help her. He had only one purpose left in life, to seek and destroy, not play the part of the Good Samaritan. Besides, Emma didn’t need him, not really. A woman who looked as fine as she did could probably take her pick of Good Samaritans—good male Samaritans, anyway.
Fleetingly, he realized she could hook up with someone more dangerous than the man she was running from, but he refused to acknowledge it.
“Whatever you say.” He wheeled the van around, but when they reached the small, dingy front office of the Feel Good Motel, Preston couldn’t bear to let Emma get out without giving her some money. At least she and Max would get a good dinner tonight. That was something, wasn’t it?
The fifty landed in her lap before she could climb out. She stared down at it, then closed her eyes and shook her head in obvious disgust. “I don’t want your money,” she said, throwing it back at him. “I was asking for a ride to somewhere you’re going anyway. But I can see now that we’re too much of an inconvenience. You can’t be bothered with a woman. Especially a woman who has a child, God forbid.”
Preston clenched his jaw as her words hit him where he was most vulnerable. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t take you to Salt Lake. I just thought—”
“I know what you thought. You’ve made it crystal clear that you don’t want us around,” she said, and got out. “Come on, Max. We’re done riding in this car.”
“Take the damn money and at least get a decent room,” Preston said.
“Damn,” Max repeated. “Can I say shit and damn when I get big?”
“No,” she snapped. “And you can’t do anything else like Mr. Holman, either. If I have my way, your heart will never be three sizes too small. Say goodbye to Mr. Scrooge.”
“Mr. Scrooge?” Max echoed.
Preston didn’t hear Emma’s response because she’d already slammed the door. He watched her grab her son’s hand and stomp into the office. She didn’t even have any luggage. She carried only a backpack and a purse, a purse with apparently little mo
ney.
Dropping his head into his hands, Preston massaged his temples. She’d alluded to The Grinch, not A Christmas Carol. She had her Christmas stories screwed up, after all. But it didn’t matter. His heart was three sizes too small.
He hesitated a moment longer but, ultimately, the gun pressing into his back reminded him that she’d be better off making other plans, plans that didn’t include him.
CHAPTER SIX
MAX GIGGLED at a Tom and Jerry cartoon while Emma lay down across from him on one of the beds in their moldy-smelling motel room. They’d already walked to Elmer’s Drive-In next door, where she’d bought her son a hamburger and fries and given him what she hoped would be his final injection for the day. Happy to be out of the car, he was momentarily entertained, which came as a much-needed relief to Emma.
But she was getting hungry. In order to save money, she’d nibbled on a few of Max’s fries instead of buying herself dinner. Preston had scoffed at a mere ten bucks, but to Emma, every dollar counted. She had only twenty-five hundred to her name. If she and Max didn’t want to be out on the street when they reached the midwest, they’d need first and last month’s rent and deposit, and enough money to support them until she could find a job.
Twenty-five hundred wasn’t much to begin a new life with, especially a life filled with so many unknowns. She’d never used her degree. Would she be able to find work as a teacher? If not, would there be something else? Would they even be able to make it to Iowa? And without a car, how would they get around after they settled down?
She knew Preston had been her best bet for immediate transportation, but she didn’t regret what she’d said to him. She couldn’t ride with him anymore. The stress of trying to keep Max quiet for miles on end was making her crazy. And she couldn’t tolerate feeling like such a burden. She’d tried to be nice. She’d helped Preston drive and offered him money for gas. He’d refused, but she couldn’t spare him any kind feelings for that. Nothing seemed to make a difference. He just didn’t want them around. Period.
So what was she going to do?
No brilliant ideas came to mind. Emma knew she and Max could languish in Ely for days, even weeks, if she couldn’t find someone else to give them a ride. They couldn’t take a bus, even if Ely had service. Manuel—and maybe the authorities, if they bothered to search for car thieves anymore—would be keeping too close an eye on such an obvious alternative.
She’d figure something out, she told herself. Later. First, she’d get some sleep so she wouldn’t have to feel the hunger pangs. In the morning, she’d think of an answer.
Please, God, let there be an answer.
“Mommy, can we go swimming?”
Emma realized her eyes had drifted shut and forced them open. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t go to sleep right now. After napping so long in the van, Max wouldn’t be tired for a while yet. She needed to bathe him and test his blood one last time. Then she had to set the motel’s alarm clock to get her up at three and test him again.
She rolled onto her side, dragging one of the pillows with her. “This motel doesn’t have a pool, sweetheart.”
“But I’m hot.”
So was she. The Feel Good Motel didn’t have any air-conditioning, either—at least of the effective variety. A window unit rattled and hummed and managed to stir the air, but certainly wasn’t pumping out anything cool. “It’ll get better after dark. We’ll open the windows.”
“Can’t we find a swimming pool?”
“I don’t know where to look.”
“Mr. Holman has one at his motel.”
Leave it to Max to notice. Emma had been too preoccupied with Preston himself. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I saw it. We could go over there.”
“No, honey. Mommy’s tired.”
“Please? Just for a little while?”
Emma thought of their suitcases sitting in the trunk of the Taurus, which had, no doubt, been impounded by the police. “We don’t have our swimsuits.”
“Yes, we do.” Max hopped up and dashed over to the backpack where she stored his diabetes supplies. The moment he touched it, Emma remembered stuffing their swimwear in a side pocket the night before they left. Exercise made a real difference with Max’s diabetes, and compared to a bat and ball, swimsuits took up no room at all.
Pulling out her black bikini, along with his red, white and blue swimming trunks, he grinned broadly as he waved them at her. “See?”
“The pool is for patrons,” she said.
“What’s a patron?”
“Someone who’s paid to stay at that particular motel.”
“Mr. Holman is paying for a room there. Can’t we ask him if he’ll let us swim in his pool?”
No! After the way they’d parted, Emma refused to ask Mr. Holman for anything. But how could it hurt to sneak in and take a quick dip? If they got caught, the Starlight Motel wouldn’t do anything worse than kick them out. And the exercise would be good for Max. She could probably use some herself.
“Okay,” she said. “As soon as I call Juanita’s sister, we’ll go over there and see if we can get in.”
“Can Juanita come, too?”
“She’s too far away.”
“Why are you calling her sister?”
“Just to check in, see how Juanita’s doing.” And to get a message to her. Emma wanted to find out where Manuel was right now, so she’d know if she and Max were safe for the moment. She also had to figure out the significance of that document Juanita had placed in the glove box of the Taurus.
Sitting up, she dragged the phone closer, dug Juanita’s slip of paper out of her purse and dialed Rosa’s number. She’d paid for the room with cash, but the motel manager had insisted she leave a credit card on file for incidentals, which meant telephone calls. In this motel, there wouldn’t be a minibar or workout room or any other amenities. Fortunately, she’d been able to use one of the prepaid cards Carlos had bought for her. A phone call to California wouldn’t cost much—and Manuel couldn’t trace the charge because this card was in her new name.
“Hola?” A high, thin voice answered on the first ring.
“Rosa.”
“Sí. Who is this?” came the hesitant response.
“I—I’m sorry to bother you. Juanita gave me this number and said I could call. My name is Emma.”
“Vanessa?”
Apparently Juanita had confided in her sister, or Rosa wouldn’t have connected her new name to her old one. “Yes.”
The other woman drew a shuddering breath and Emma realized she was sobbing. “She went to bed last night, as usual, but when I called her early this morning, she was gone. She didn’t go to work today. No one can tell me where she is. We’ve called the police, everyone. They say she probably went back to Mexico to visit Nanna. But she wouldn’t go without telling me. I’ve been to her house. She didn’t even pack a bag.”
Chills slipped down Emma’s spine like icy fingers. “Where’s Carlos?”
“Is he the gardener Juanita told me about?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to reach him, either.” Rosa released another tortured sob. “Something terrible has happened. I know it.”
Panic seemed to be crushing Emma’s chest. “Have you heard from Manuel?”
“That loco son of a bitch is the first person I called,” she said vehemently, forgetting her tears in a rush of anger. “He isn’t home. He’s already out looking for you.”
Emma had expected as much. But she hadn’t expected anything to happen to Juanita. Juanita had helped her, and now she was gone? Maybe Carlos, too?
What did it mean? Emma was afraid to even imagine, but she knew deep in her bones that Juanita hadn’t left on her own. Could Manuel really be that obsessed, that dangerous? If so, he was even worse than she’d guessed.
“Have you tried Manuel’s cell phone?”
The quaver in her voice drew Max’s attention. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”
She was too distraught to respond.
“He doesn’t answer,” Rosa said.
“What about the office?”
“One of his brothers, José, was there. He said maybe Carlos was picked up by Border Patrol.”
Emma cringed as she pictured Carlos’s kind eyes and sincere smile. He’d been so proud to be working in America, earning money to send to his family. He’d wanted to save up enough to build a house back in Mexico. And now he’d lost his paycheck.
Loathing nearly dripped from Emma’s pores. “Maybe? If I know Manuel, he called them.”
“José said Juanita was probably picked up, too. But she has her green card. They can’t take her back.”
“What does José have to say about Max and me? Anything?”
“He told me they think you’ve been abducted.”
Of course. Manuel could never admit that she might leave on her own. Saving face, even to his relatives, especially to his relatives, was too important to a man like him.
Emma struggled to combat the rage that left her shaking. “Did José seem nervous, upset?”
“No. He said they’d have you back within a day.”
Another tremor passed through Emma as she tried to keep the phone pressed to her ear. They knew something, knew where she was or where she was going…something.
Suddenly it felt as though he was like a hawk gliding high overhead. Any move she made would bring him swooping down on her.
“I got the impression he’s hired help. A lot of it,” Rosa added, sniffling.
The walls of the tiny motel room seemed to be closing in on Emma. She felt so helpless. She wanted to rush out and start hitchhiking, simply disappear. But from what she could tell, Ely didn’t have many hitchhikers. Standing thumb out at the side of the road would only make her more conspicuous, especially with a child in tow.
“What do you think I should do about Juanita?” Rosa asked.
