Owen made a face. “Probably too dangerous. Or maybe he figured he’d have time to tell the authorities where to find them before the thieves could move them somewhere else. Those crates are too big for one man to carry. And look around you. There’s no communications equipment here. Surely that Doberman had some way of contacting the outside world. Clay must have taken the communications satellite or whatever with him, leaving this guy cut off—”
“You keep painting your brother as the good guy.”
“That’s because I know my brother.”
“If he’s really working for the government on this, why didn’t he say something before he let you come charging into the Big Bend?”
“Maybe he thought he had the situation under control.”
“If he is the thief, he’d hardly be likely to confess it to you,” Bay said pointedly.
“It’s entirely possible he got a lead about where the munitions were and followed it on his own,” Owen argued.
“Or maybe he figured that even if you caught him, you wouldn’t prosecute him, since you let your mother get off scot-free after she had my father killed.”
Owen swore under his breath. He busied himself setting up another chemical heater and dropped in the beef stew he’d chosen for himself. When he was done, he looked her right in the eye and said, “If I thought my brother was guilty, I’d arrest him just like any other criminal.”
“Easy to say when he’s not here,” Bay retorted.
Owen cocked a brow. “He’s the state attorney general. He won’t be too hard to find.”
Bay had to concede that was true. She also had to admit that she was having as much trouble as Owen obviously was coming up with a motive for Clay Blackthorne to be involved in the hijacking of a few crates of nerve gas mines, especially when there were mines here from all over the country.
They ate their meals sitting on benches across from one another at the table. Bay was too tired to make idle conversation, and they spent most of the meal in silence.
“You didn’t eat much,” Owen said, when she set down her fork. “Not as appetizing as it sounded?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You need to keep up your strength. We may have to walk out of here.”
“Won’t someone come looking for us when you don’t report in?”
“Probably,” Owen said. “But what are they going to find? Your horse is dead, so it won’t give off a heat signature, and by the time the turkey vultures are done, there won’t be much to pick up on a satellite photograph—assuming the view isn’t obstructed by the canyon walls.”
“What about your horse?” Bay asked.
“I’m guessing that once Mr. James Brophy was fully conscious he worked his hands and feet free and is, at this very moment, on his way home on my horse.”
“Won’t he come here?”
Owen dropped his spoon in his bowl. “He was awake enough when we left him to hear the explosion when the tunnel caved in. If he takes a look, he’ll figure the VX gas turned us into mush, and we’re buried under a ton of rock. It’s a good bet he has to go the long way around to get back to this camp. Which means it might be a couple of days before someone else shows up here in a helicopter.”
“If they think we’re dead,” Bay reasoned aloud, “and my brother’s been picked up, why would they bother coming back here at all?”
“The answer to that question depends on whether you think my brother rescued your brother or relocated him. If Clay rescued your brother, Brophy will think Luke got left here by himself. If Luke was left tied up in the tent, Brophy may assume he’ll die of thirst, in which case, there won’t be any reason to come back until they need the mines.”
“If Clay’s one of the bad guys,” Bay continued, picking up where he’d left off, “they’ll know there’s no one here, because he took Luke with him, and they believe we’re dead.”
“We’re wasting our time speculating,” Owen said. “We need to get our strength back and get out of here.”
“Which means, I suppose, that it’s time for bed.”
“At least we won’t have to sleep on the ground,” Owen said.
“Or together,” Bay added.
“Now that I’m sorry about,” Owen said, as he discarded the MRE packaging. He saved the boiled water from the chemical heaters, since it was likely to become precious.
“You said I squirm too much at night,” Bay said, as she grabbed the Coleman lantern and headed into the tent.
He stepped in after her and murmured in her ear, “I can handle it, Red.”
She stiffened. “I can’t, Owen.” She turned to face him, refusing to back up, refusing to move any closer. “I don’t want to get any more involved with you than I already am.”
“I’ve already figured out your secret, Red. The one you’re using as an excuse to keep your distance.”
Bay paled. “You couldn’t possibly—”
“You were attacked. Raped, probably. You’ve done a good job of recovering. I’d guess you had a good counselor. And you took a self-defense class to make sure it didn’t happen again. How am I doing?”
Bay swallowed over the knot in her throat. “Date rape, actually. I had a professor who took me under his wing and helped me get over the trauma. I fell head over heels in love with him. Of course, he never bothered to tell me he was married and had two kids. I got over that with some good counseling. And yes, I did take a self-defense class, so it won’t happen again.”
She’d told him almost everything. All but the most important thing. Which didn’t matter, because she wasn’t going to let herself care for him.
Owen pulled off his shirt, revealing a torso that could have been cast in bronze. “The girl I loved in college dumped me for the quarterback,” he said. “They’re married now and have two kids. I got over it with a six-pack of Lone Star. Then I took a women’s studies class, so it wouldn’t happen again.”
Bay laughed. “You made that up to make me feel better.”
He held up his hand, palm forward, and said, “I swear it’s all true.”
“Did you ever fall in love again?” Bay asked.
Owen shook his head as he crossed past her and settled on one of the cots. “Too busy doing my job. How ’bout you?”
“My job keeps me pretty busy, too.” Bay wasn’t sure whether she felt disappointed or relieved that their sleeping arrangements put them on opposite sides of the tent. Owen pulled off his boots and slid into his sleeping bag. She did the same, pulling the bag up to her neck to stay warm.
She turned on her side and watched as Owen crossed his arms behind his head and stared aimlessly at the ceiling. “You can turn out the lamp now,” she said.
Owen reached over and turned off the hissing Coleman lantern. It was dark in the tent, and Bay listened for the night sounds. And eventually heard an owl. And a locust. And Owen shifting restlessly on his cot.
She smiled and closed her eyes. She was almost asleep when Owen spoke again.
“There’s something else that keeps me busy.”
“What’s that?”
“I have a camp for kids with disabilities.”
Bay pushed herself up onto her elbow. “What? Where?”
“It’s in the Hill Country near Fredericksburg. I started it with the trust fund my grandmother—my father’s mother—left me. It’s called Sam’s Place. It was my way of trying to make up for what happened to your brother.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why didn’t you tell Sam?”
“I funded it anonymously. I just … wanted you to know.”
She shoved the sleeping bag out of her way, left the cot, and crossed to Owen in the dark. She sat beside him and caught his ears with her hands, so she’d know where his face was.
Then she kissed him. Gently. Lovingly. Thoroughly.
When he tried to kiss her back, she lifted her head. “No, Owen. That was just to say ‘Thank you.’ On behalf of the Creeds, your apology is accepted.”
“Good night, Red. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
“You would have to mention bugs,” she muttered.
Owen laughed.
Chapter 12
FIRST THING THE NEXT MORNING, OWEN MADE a foray into the crevice through which Clay and Luke had disappeared—and took one of the autoinjectors with him. Bay was waiting for him when he returned with an expression on her face that looked suspiciously like concern.
“Is it booby-trapped?” she asked.
“Nope.”
Bay frowned. “Why not? It seems logical they’d want to guard against anyone getting in here.”
“Maybe that other trap was set just for us,” Owen suggested. “After all, the hijackers knew we were coming down the Strawhouse Trail. They’d already left a warning for us to go back—which we ignored.”
“I don’t like these people,” Bay said. “They’re mean.”
“And determined to hurt a lot more people, judging from that stockpile of mines.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” Bay said. “Isn’t there any way we could get back to a road where someone could find us?”
Owen shook his head. “I’m familiar with the marked trails, but I don’t know where we’d end up if we left through that crevice. If we start wandering around in the Big Bend, we could end up good and lost. Besides, we need to give our bodies more time to recover from exposure to that VX gas.”
“My headache is gone,” Bay said. “And my stomach feels fine. How about you?”
“I’m good. Just not a hundred percent.”
“We’re going to die of boredom before those hijackers come back to kill us,” Bay said. “I need to be doing something. Sitting around isn’t my style.”
“Must be that Creed work ethic,” Owen said, as he headed back toward the center of the camp.
“It’s easy to work when you won’t have food on the table if you don’t,” Bay said as she fell into step beside him.
“Was it really that tough for you growing up?” Owen asked.
“I can’t eat macaroni and cheese without gagging.”
“You’re kidding,” Owen said, as he settled into one of the chairs at the table. “You raise some of the best Santa Gertrudis beef in the country at Three Oaks. Why eat macaroni and cheese?”
“We had to sell our beef to pay bills,” Bay said as she sat down across from him.
“Surely you could have butchered a steer now and then.”
Bay shook her head. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to be poor, because you’ve been rich all your life.”
“Three Oaks is a huge operation. Are you telling me your profit margin is so small—”
“I’m telling you it’s infinitesimal,” Bay said. “And it got worse when my father was murdered. The government took fifty-five percent of my dad’s estate for inheritance taxes before Mom got a penny. If your brother Trace hadn’t agreed to pay the taxes, we might have lost the ranch. Since he did, we’re back where we started—living hand-to-mouth and eating macaroni and cheese.”
“Why are you still living at home?” Owen asked.
Bay shrugged. “It made more sense than getting a place of my own, since I was going to work in the neighborhood. I can help Mom with chores when I’m not on call. Where do you live?”
“When I’m not out hunting down bad guys, I stay in one of the managers’ houses at Bitter Creek.”
Bay shot him a cheeky grin. “So you haven’t left home, either.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Where would you live, if you could choose anywhere in the world to settle down?” Bay asked.
“I could never leave Texas,” Owen said. “Because I’d have to give up being a Texas Ranger.”
“You could be a policeman somewhere else,” Bay said.
“It wouldn’t be the same. Texas Rangers are—”
“Mythic,” Bay interrupted. “Larger-than-life heroes swaggering around in hand-tooled boots and ten-gallon hats with six-shooters slung low on their hips.”
Owen chuckled. “If the boot fits … I like working alone, hunting down criminals with only my wits and my reflexes to save me in a pinch.”
“You’re forgetting that great big gun you carry.”
“That, too,” he said with a smile. “I like knowing that what I do makes a difference.”
“I can understand that,” Bay said, lifting her hair off her sweaty neck to try to catch the breeze. “I feel that way whenever I save an animal that would die without my help.”
Owen knew she was totally unconscious of the picture she presented. With her arms up, her breasts were jutting against the soft cotton T-shirt, and he couldn’t help remembering how nicely they’d fit into his palms.
“I need something to do,” Bay complained.
“I can think of something to keep us busy, but I’m not sure you’ll want to do it.”
“Name it,” she said.
Owen knew what he wanted to do. It started with slipping that T-shirt off over her head and ended with him inside her. Considering everything, he decided that wasn’t such a good idea right now. “We can do an inventory of these boxes and see what’s inside them,” he said. “Maybe we can figure out where they all came from.”
“Wonderful idea!” A moment later, Bay was headed for the stack of munitions boxes.
“You’ve sure got a lot of energy.”
“I told you. I’m going crazy doing nothing.” She turned when she reached the boxes and said, “What about something to write on? Have you seen a paper or pen?”
Owen shook his head. “Neither one. Which leads me to believe they don’t hang around here much.”
“They drop off the stolen goods and run, huh?”
“Yeah,” Owen said thoughtfully. “Whoever stuck all these mines here doesn’t live a long way off, not if they have to get here often. Since this is about the most remote place you can be in Texas, it figures that even if the mines were stolen from stockpiles all over the United States, the thief—or thieves—live in Texas.”
“What makes you think the mines were stolen from a lot of different places?” Bay said. “Is there something on the boxes to tell you—”
“If this many mines had been stolen in Texas, the Texas Rangers would’ve known about it. Which means they came from out of state. The army probably investigated on its own—if it noticed the thefts—but they might also have involved the FBI or the ATF.”
“Hard to believe someone could steal this much truly dangerous stuff and not get caught.”
“Part of the problem might be that the army—and whichever federal law enforcement agencies are helping them out—is keeping the whole thing under wraps, so they don’t frighten the public.”
“I see what you mean. I’d hate to worry about another Oklahoma City bombing happening in my hometown.”
“While the local police have been kept in the dark, the government might very well have told the Texas state attorney general what was going on. Knowing Clay, when those VX mines got stolen right from under his nose, he threw himself into the thick of things.”
“I hope you’re right.” Bay sighed. “How are we going to keep track of what’s what without pen and paper?”
“You can carve notches in one of those crates with your knife,” Owen said.
Bay grinned. “I have to say that appeals to my sense of adventure. It’s like we’re marooned on a desert island somewhere. Just the two of us. We could be here for years and years.”
“I hope not,” Owen said. “We’ve only got about a week’s worth of food.”
Bay stared at him. “That’s not much at all. Are you sure that’s all we have?”
“Did I mention there’s less than two weeks’ worth of water?”
“When did you figure all this out?” Bay asked irritably.
“What happened to your spirit o
f adventure? The two of us alone on a desert island?”
“My island has water,” she said flatly.
“I don’t think we’re going to be alone here very long.”
Bay looked transfixed. “Who is it you think will be coming here?”
“The bad guys, of course.”
“We don’t have anything to defend ourselves with. Just my knife and your pistol.”
“Sure we do.” Owen pointed to the stack of boxes. “We just have to figure out how to use them to our advantage.”
Owen was far less sanguine about their chances of surviving than he’d led Bay to believe. But there was no sense scaring her. Better to let her play Survivor and hope for the best.
They spent the next five days doing an inventory of the weapons, deciding which mines to set and how to lay them so no innocent person would be hurt by accident. They spent the nights sitting near a wood fire they made using broken-up mine crates, telling stories and singing silly camp songs.
As the week wore on, instead of feeling better, Owen felt worse. He started to wonder if maybe he’d gotten a larger dose of VX gas than he’d thought. His back and his legs ached. He felt feverish and lost his appetite.
He hid his condition from Bay, hoping he would get better. On the morning of the sixth day, Owen couldn’t rise from his cot.
When Bay returned from her morning trip to the bushes, smiled at him and said, “Rise and shine, lazybones,” he opened his eyes and croaked, “Can’t do it, Red. Too sick.”
• • •
BAY WAS BENDING OVER OWEN A MOMENT LATER, A PALM on his forehead. “You’re burning up with fever! How long have you been sick?”
“Few days,” he muttered.
“How many days?” she insisted. “Where does it hurt?”
“My back. My legs. All over.”
“Men!” she said in disgust. “You’re such stupid creatures. Why couldn’t you have told me you weren’t feeling well? Why do you have to put on this macho act until you’re so sick you can’t move?”
“No sense worrying you,” he said. “If it’s the gas, there’s nothing you can do to save me.”
The Texan Page 18
