by Robena Grant
“Let’s see. It’s probably only plywood.”
He continued to strip off the sheets of plastic, handing them down to her until he hit plywood. It had been screwed into place at each corner. Rachel grimaced. They didn’t have a screwdriver. “Hand me the bottle opener, and that knife. Oh, and the scissors,” Michael said.
He used the knife first, trying to unscrew the screws, but to no avail. The scissors were a little bit better. Then he got the bottle opener in under the corner of the wood and lifted the sheet of plywood a bit. It was slow going. He worked each corner of the wood, a heavy sheen of sweat forming on his face. A couple of minutes later, he peeled off the flannel shirt, tossed that to her, and went back to work. Rachel felt entirely useless, and she had to pee. Darn it. If only she hadn’t had that cup of coffee.
“Hold my legs tight, so I don’t fall,” Michael said. “I’m going to give the wood panel a wrench.”
“No problem.” She gripped him tight, forgetting all about her needs, and looked up.
He stuck his fingers in as far as he could behind the wood, and wrenching it, moved it a half inch on one corner. His arm muscles bulged, and his breath came hard. He gave off a nice manly scent and Rachel tried not to think about that.
“Good. That’s good. I’m going to work on the other side,” he said.
She let him move, and then gripped him around the thighs again. This job she liked. But she was determined to be on her best behavior, considering their circumstances. She’d keep her eyes averted and not think about taking a little bite of that gorgeous ass.
“Rip that sucker off, babe,” she said, and held him steady as the wood creaked and began to give way.
“Aw, shit. Okay, I’m coming down.” Michael jumped to the floor, and stepped around her to turn on the water faucet at the vanity.
“Your fingers are bleeding,” Rachel said, and reached for his hand.
He shook his head, and shoved his hand under the water. “It’s nothing. I tore the corner of a finger nail. No big deal. Nothing to worry about…a paper cut.”
“I’ve got a bandage, and some tissues, in my backpack,” she said. “You sit down.” She dug around in the backpack and finally found them. “The bandage has been in there for ages, but it’s still good.”
“Thanks.”
She took his hand and examined the finger. It was worse than he’d let on. “Keep it compressed for a few minutes, and then we’ll put the band aid on to stop the bleeding. I’ve only got one.”
He did as she said, and remained seated on the side of the tub.
Rachel picked up the bottle opener. “I’ll work on the lower screws.”
Without waiting for a reply, she pushed the opener underneath the edge of the panel. Her fingers, being smaller than Michael’s, she could almost fit her entire hand in behind the plywood. It felt good to be doing something.
“It’s coming loose,” she said, a few seconds later.
“Be careful. Don’t hurt yourself.” He stood behind her, holding her around the waist.
“I’m going to put both hands in under the edge and pull, okay?”
“I’ve got you,” he said.
She gave an almighty tug, and the entire corner creaked and cracked and lifted. She gave another tug and one side of the panel split off and fell, crashing into the tub. The effort caused her to slip and she felt her feet fly out from underneath her. Michael caught her tight, and steadied her, turning her to face him.
Then they both righted themselves and laughed, and continued to hold each other tight.
“Thank you, for catching me.” She gazed up into those pale blue eyes, as relief flooded her. And this time all of the coldness had gone and his eyes had a curious light within.
He dipped his head. She moved into him, her lips brushing his tentatively at first, and then he deepened the kiss. She tasted, searched, her breath coming hard—partly from the effort of ripping at the wood and partly from wanting him—and she kept kissing him until the room seemed to heat up and she felt like she was spinning.
Michael released her and stepped back, rubbing his lips together, his eyes gleaming. “We need to, you know—”
“Yeah,” she said, and bent down and ruffled Ralph’s hair. “Get to work.”
“Right.” He looked up at the job she’d done, and within seconds he’d turned back into super-serious Michael. “Where are the tissues?”
She got him another wad, and exchanged the old for the new, and pressed them tight to his hand. “The bleeding is stopping, I think.”
“How about that band aid? I think I can get the rest of the panel off with one good tug.”
“It won’t stick yet.” She rummaged in the backpack, and found a bandana. It was a little the worse for wear, but it would do the trick. Within five minutes he had the window open.
“Damn. It’s too small for me to slide through.” He looked down at her, his face anxious. Wiry as he was, his shoulder width was just that much too big.
“I’ll do it.”
“What if he’s still in the cabin?”
She swallowed hard. “We don’t have any other option. Besides, Ralph isn’t growling.”
She took the negatives, knowing they wouldn’t be able to use this room again without repairs, and carefully slid them into a folder and put them in her backpack. If she didn’t come back, she wanted Michael to have them. “Here, you’re in charge of these…and Ralph. They’re dry, but don’t handle them a lot. Kind of grip the top end of the folder.” She handed him the backpack and the dog, and then stood up on the side of the bath. “Darn. I’ll need a boost.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked.
“Positive.” She pocketed her keys, which also held the key to the padlock. “See you in two minutes.” The window would be a close fit, even for her. And it was awkward because she couldn’t go head first. “Can you like tip me upside down so I can go feet first?” she asked.
He grabbed her by the waist and turned her easily. She pressed her hands on his shoulders, and walked her feet up to the opening in a spider fashion, until they touched the edge of the window.
“Almost there,” he said.
Her face moved closer to his, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. She swallowed hard. There’d be time for kissing later. She hoped. She felt for the space and lowered one leg over the window ledge, and then the other. Then with half her body hanging into the darkroom, she let go off Michael’s shoulders and eased her legs down until her feet touched the toilet cistern. She gripped the ledge of the window with one hand, not sure if the cistern would take her full weight.
“Hope whoever used the john last remembered to put the seat down,” she whispered.
He grinned at her as her head disappeared through the opening, and she felt for the seat with her feet. She stood on the toilet, and popped her head back through the window.
“You okay? Michael asked.
“Perfect.”
He passed his gun to her. “Take this,” he said.
Rachel knew that was a big deal. That he trusted her. But she trusted him too. She’d given him Ralph. She gave a wistful look at the commode and figured time for that later. She cracked open the toilet door and listened. Easing her way along the verandah, she unlocked the back door and hesitated for one moment. Would the guy be sitting on the couch?
She wasn’t sure which scared her more, meeting the bad guy, or keeping the gun raised with the intent to fire.
Chapter Six
Michael breathed a sigh of relief when Rachel opened the door to the darkroom a minute or two later. All in all they’d been confined for less than twenty minutes. It had felt so much longer. He handed an eager Ralph to her, and the dog proceeded to whimper and lick her face like she’d been gone for two weeks.
“No sign of anyone?”
She shook her head. “Nothing is out of place. The back door was locked. It’s like the guy had Grandpa’s keys and waltzed in here behind us, and—”
/>
“Wait. What?” Michael made circles with his hand. “Go back a bit. What did you say?”
Rachel cocked her head to one side. “I said nothing is out of place.”
“No. Something about your grandpa’s keys.” A look crossed her face, and he knew she’d gotten what he meant.
“Yes,” she said on a long exhalation. “I bet he did have the keys. And I think now, more than ever, that Grandpa is alive and being held hostage somewhere, and these guys—”
“Hold it. Hold it,” Michael said, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He walked over and flipped the double bolt on the back door, checked the lock on the front door, and all of the windows. Rachel followed close behind him, and Ralph followed her.
“Let’s not get too excited. We need to think this through,” he said, once they were back in the kitchen. “Give me a few minutes to check out the grounds.”
Rachel did a little dance and pressed her thighs tight. “Can I, um use the toilet first?”
Michael laughed. “Sure. Then you go straight back into the kitchen. Okay?”
Rachel nodded and made a run for the loo.
Minutes later, he came back inside the cabin, satisfied nobody lingered in the yard, pulled out a chair at the table and rested his gun on the tabletop. He’d chosen the seat that backed up to the fridge and faced the entryway to the front door, and had full view of the back door. “No sign of anyone. But, that’s what we thought when we entered the cabin before. This guy is slick, and there are a lot of dense trees out front.”
“I know.” Rachel sat across the table from him, watching Ralph poke around the floor.
“Here’s the thing,” Michael said. “I’ve been undercover down here, searching for links to a drug ring.”
She nodded.
He couldn’t tell her everything, at least not about the remaining drug cartel members who were out for revenge. But this information should buy him some time, and Rachel’s trust. More than ever, he sensed that Henry Copeland was the key to finding these guys. He needed Rachel on his side.
“It’s either photographs of a drug deal in progress, or someone in hiding, or a murder captured in those photos. But the guy doesn’t know you’ve found your grandpa’s roll of film.”
Rachel nodded again and looked serious.
“Now he’s become suspicious of your involvement and your photos. It’s just that the guy doesn’t know which film, or from which camera your shots were taken.”
“Okay. I agree with all of that,” Rachel said. “And maybe he thought I’d done the same thing yesterday that Grandpa had done.”
That surprised him for a moment. He liked her quickness of thought. “I need to be brief. We’ll talk more later on. Right now I’m deliberately stalling in here for five minutes, in case anyone saw me outside. If they did they’ll be on us in seconds.” He checked his watch, and pulled the gun closer. Then he tried his cell phone again.
“Damn. Now I’ve got a connection,” he said, and then gave a rapid rundown of where they were located. And his next plan of action. “We’re heading back to Indio in five.”
She knew he’d connected to a PD. “Ralph will bark if anyone gets too close,” Rachel said softly as Michael closed the cell phone.
He nodded. “Yeah, I know. I also think there’s someone in Almagro, or Indio, who is connected to these guys. Someone had to be up there yesterday, following us from the PD in Indio, to the car repair shop, to the diner.” He shrugged. “Maybe even back here to the cabin.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been followed. I’m really aware,” she said, and shrugged. “I have to be, because of my job. And especially after the kidnapping last year.”
“Hold that thought,” Michael said. He raised his hand, and listened. Then he squinted. “Did you tell anyone anything about what happened yesterday?”
“Oh,” Rachel’s eyes went wide.
“What?”
“I called my best friend, Debbie, and her husband when you were chasing me.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and I called Manuel, at his apartment. I didn’t speak to him, but I left a message.”
“What time?”
“Um…after I arrived at the Indio PD. Then I updated him twice after that, with work issues.”
“Yes, I remember those calls.” He frowned. “How well do you know the guy?”
“He’s been with me for a little more than a year.”
“Before that drug related murder in Almagro, last year?”
“Yes. I suppose so. I’d have to look at the records to make sure. He’s a good worker, quiet and polite. He’s built like a bouncer and takes no flak from anyone in the bar, well, you know that. He served you yesterday. He makes sure that I get into the car and buckle up before he leaves at night.”
Michael listened his heart pounding, his palms going damp. “What’s his last name?”
“Ortega.”
Not Suarez. He blew out a huge gust of air. But the name could be an alias. He ran a hand over his head. There had to be a connection. “Here’s the plan. We’ll both leave by the backdoor. You’ll lock it, then stay at the other end of the verandah and listen for me to start up my car.”
“Okay.”
“If anyone shoots at me, you run for the boat and get the hell on out of here. Do not hesitate. Do not come to find me. Do you hear?”
“Yes.”
“Promise me.” Michael kept his facial expressions serious. “Even if you think I’m injured. You take the boat across to the north shore, there’s a fire station there. Get help.”
“Okay. I promise.”
He leaned forward and grazed her lips with his. And then he headed for the back door. “If you hear me start the car’s engine that will mean it’s all clear. Then you and Ralph get to your car as fast as you can. Okay? I’ll drive out first, you follow close.”
Rachel nodded and rubbed her lips together, and then she picked up Ralph.
“I’m going to want you to show up for work today, like nothing has happened.” He opened the door and looked up and down the shore. “Is there anything significant about today? Anything you must do?”
“It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?” she asked, and then frowned.
“Yeah. What happens today?”
“Tonight,” she said with emphasis. “Tonight, I teach some boot scootin’.”
“Boot whatin?” he asked, turning to give her a brief glance.
“It’s Two Step Tuesday out at the Rabbit Ranch, in Indio. I’m the teacher. If I don’t show up there’ll be a lot of questions asked, and a helluva a lot of disappointed customers.”
“Okay.” Michael raised his eyebrows.
A country western dance teacher, who’d have guessed?
He stepped out onto the verandah and stood still, giving anyone who might shoot a chance to pop a round. He pulled in a deep breath. No dancing. The one thing he shouldn’t do is hold her. That kiss they’d shared already had him revving his engines. He checked out both ends of the verandah and both side yards. All clear.
He returned to the door. He’d never been country western dancing and wondered how much holding was involved.
Focus. Keep your focus. “So, I’ll show up tonight.”
“You won’t have a partner. You won’t have to…put your arms around some stranger.”
How did she do that? How did she read his mind so well? He cleared his throat. “Ready?”
Rachel nodded and held Ralph close. He indicated she should come out onto the verandah, and watched her lock the door.
“Let’s go…on three.”
****
Pedro scanned the area again. The hombres wouldn’t escape from the darkroom. How he’d tell his brother about this, he didn’t know. Maybe he wouldn’t. A closed mouth was often the best way to handle Ricardo and his temper.
How would he explain his absence? Food! He would bring supplies. His brother did not do well taking care of the old man. He detested being give
n that task and felt it beneath his station in life; even though he was now a fugitive. But food and television appeased him. They had no TV.
Anyway, at least if he had the negatives in hand, there’d be more cause for celebration than questions. This film they were developing had to be the lost one. Why had the woman not given it to the cops? He shrugged. He didn’t care. With those photos Pedro was sure his cousin could identify the agent and their job would be almost over. Then he and Ricardo would make a move. They’d make the bastard suffer for wiping out their family, their livelihood.
He screwed up his mouth until his forehead hurt. He tried to relax his features, attempted a smile. Maybe he’d rough the old man up again tonight. That should please his brother. Ricardo loved the sport. The old man was cunning like the wolf, or the coyote. He watched everything, and seemed to be waiting, biding his time. He’d accept the torture.
Pedro had the woman’s jacket in his car, along with her digital camera. He could taunt the old guy. Tell him he held the granddaughter hostage. Maybe the old guy would snap then and tell them who the agent is and where he lives. They knew he knew him. He shifted his position on the branch, reached into his pocket and jingled the old man’s keys, and felt the cool latex of his disposable gloves through the packaging.
That film had to be the missing one from the old man’s camera. The other two camera’s had yielded nothing. The cunning old guy had said he’d accidentally exposed the film to light, so had tossed it into the sea. Pedro’s heart pounded in anticipation. There were too many rolls of film for his overtired brain to deal with. Too many cameras. They’d have to get out of the Salton Sea area after he took care of the two locked in the darkroom.
He wouldn’t leave evidence. No fingerprints. No gunshots. No bullets. No blood to trickle from beneath the door. The two would eventually suffocate, or die of panic, or starvation, locked in that darkroom. He could torch the place. But that would bring on a full blown search and then they might not have time to get out of the area.
He’d have to be on guard when he opened the door. They could rush him. Disarm him.
They were two people and a dog, against one person. But he was armed.
