by Sandra Brown
"She didn't know. Or wouldn't say. Linda had to twist her arm to get that much from her. She didn't want to betray Sabra's confidence. But the one thing she did say is that Ronnie's dad-his real dad; his mom's remarried-is sympathetic to their predicament. Awhile back he offered his help if they ever needed it. Now, you're gonna feel really bad about yelling at me when I tell you where he hangs his hat."
"Hera."
"Satisfied?"
She should have apologized, but she didn't. Gully understood.
"Who else knows about this?"
"Nobody. But they will. It works to our advantage that Hera is a one-horse town, not on any beaten path."
"Tell me about it," she muttered.
"When word gets out, it'll take everybody a while to get there, even by helicopter. You've got a definite head start."
"Gully, I love you!" she said excitedly. "Direct me out of here."
The elderly lady emerged from the ladies' room and rejoined her husband. She admonished him for fiddling with the camcorder and ordered him to put it back in the tote bag before he broke it.
"Like you're an expert with video cameras," the old man retorted.
"I took the time to read the instruction book. You didn't."
Tiel poked her finger in her ear so she could hear Gully better. "What's the dad's name? Davison, I presume."
"I've got an address and phone number."
Tiel wrote down the information as fast as he reeled it off. "Do I have an appointment with him?"
"Working on it. He might not agree to go on camera."
"I'll get him to agree," she said confidently.
"I'm dispatching a chopper with a photographer."
"Kip if he's available."
"Yall can meet in Hera. You'll do the interview tomorrow as soon as it's arranged with Davison. Then you can continue on your merry way."
"Unless there's more story there."
"Uh-uh. That's the condition, Tiel." She envisioned him stubbornly shaking his head. "You do this bit, then you're off to Angel Fire. Period. End of discussion."
"Whatever you say." She could easily agree now, then argue about it later if events warranted.
"Okay, let's see. Outta Rojo Flats…" The map must have been right there on his desk, because within seconds he was giving her further directions. "Shouldn't take you long to get there. You're not sleepy, are you?"
She was never more wide awake than when pursuing a story. Her problem was shutting her mind off and going to sleep. "I'll buy something caffeinated to take along."
"Check in with me as soon as you get there. I've got you a room reserved at the only motel. You can't miss it. I'm told it's at the blinking traffic light-the one and only.
They'll wait up for you to give you a room key." Changing subjects, he asked, "Is the new boyfriend going to be pissed?"
"For the last time, Gully, there is no new boyfriend."
She hung up and placed another call-to her new boyfriend.
Joseph Marcus was as much a workaholic as she was. He was scheduled to fly out early the next day, so she predicted he would be working late at his desk, putting things in order prior to his being away for several days. She was right. He answered his office phone on the second ring.
"Do you get paid overtime?" she teased.
"Tiel? Hi. I'm glad you called."
"It's after hours. I was afraid you wouldn't answer."
"Reflex. Where are you?"
"The end of nowhere."
"Everything okay? You haven't had car trouble or anything?"
"No, everything's great. I called for a couple of reasons.
First, because I miss you."
This was the tack to take. Establish that the trip was still on. Establish that it was being delayed, not derailed. Assure him that everything was cool, then inform him of the slight wrinkle in their plans for a romantic getaway.
"You saw me just last night."
"But only briefly, and it's been a long day. Secondly, I called to remind you to throw a swimsuit into your suitcase.
The hot tub at the condo complex is public."
After a pause, he said, "Actually, Tiel, it's good that you called. I needed to talk to you."
Something in the tone of his voice prevented her from prattling on. She stopped talking and waited for him to fill the silence that yawned between them.
"I could have called you on your cell phone today, but this isn't the sort of thing… The fact is… And I'm sorry as hell about this. You can't begin to know how sorry I am."
Tiel stared at the countless perforations in the metal surrounding the telephone. She stared so long without blinking that the tiny holes ran together. Absently she wondered what purpose they served.
"I'm afraid I can't get away tomorrow."
She'd been holding her breath. Now she released it, relieved.
His change of plans alleviated her guilt over having to change them herself.
However, before she could speak, he continued. "I know how much you'd looked forward to this trip. And so had I," he rushed to add.
"Let me make this easier on you, Joseph." Meekly she confessed. "The truth is, I was calling to say that I need another couple days before I can get to Angel Fire. So I'm fine with a short postponement. Would your schedule allow us to meet on, say, Tuesday instead of tomorrow?"
"You don't understand what I'm saying, Tiel. I can't meet you at all."
The perforations ran together again. "Oh. I see. That is disappointing. Well-"
"It's been very tense around here. My wife found my airline ticket and-"
"Excuse me?"
"I said my wife found-"
"You're married?"
"Well… yeah. I thought you knew."
"No." Her facial muscles felt stiff and inflexible. "You have failed to mention a Mrs. Marcus."
"Because my marriage has nothing to do with you, with us. It hasn't been a real marriage for a long time. Once
I've explained my situation at home to you, you'll understand."
"You're married." This time it was a statement, not a question.
"Tiel, listen-"
"No, no, I'm not going to listen, Joseph. What I'm going to do is hang up on you, you son of a bitch."
The telephone receiver she had been so reluctant even to touch ten minutes earlier she now clung to long after replacing it on the hook. She leaned against the pay phone, her forehead pressing hard against the perforated metal while her hands maintained their grip on the greasy receiver.
Married. He had seemed too good to be true, and he was. Good-looking, charming, friendly, witty, athletic, successful, and financially secure Joseph Marcus was married.
If not for an airline ticket she would have had an affair with a married man.
She swallowed a surge of nausea and took another moment to compose herself. Later she would lick her wounded ego, berate herself for being such a Pollyanna, and curse him to hell and back. But right now she had work to do.
Joseph's revelation had left her reeling with disbelief.
She was furious beyond measure. She was terribly hurt, but more than anything she was embarrassed by her gullibility.
All the more reason she was not about to let the bastard affect her work performance.
Work was her panacea, her life support. When she was happy, she worked. Sad, she worked. Sick, she worked.
Work was the cure for all her ills. Work was the remedy for everything… even heartbreak so profound you thought you'd die.
She knew that firsthand.
She gathered up her pride, along with her notes on the Dendy story and Gully's directions to Hera, Texas, and ordered herself to mobilize.
Compared to the dimness of the hallway, the fluorescent lighting in the store seemed inordinately bright. The cowboy had left. The elderly couple were browsing through the array of magazines. The two Spanish-speaking men were eating their burritos and talking quietly together.
Tiel sensed their smoldering ga
zes as she went past them on her way to the refrigerated cabinets. One said something to the other that caused him to snicker. It was easy to guess the nature of the comment. Thankfully, her Spanish was rusty.
She slid open the door to the refrigerator and selected a six-pack of high-voltage cola for the road. From a rack of snack food she chose a package of sunflower seeds. During college she had discovered that cracking open the salty seeds in order to get to the kernel inside was a good manual exercise to keep one awake while studying. Hopefully it would translate to night driving as well.
She debated whether or not to buy a bag of chocolate-covered caramels. Just because a man she had been dating for weeks had turned out to be a married shit-heel didn't mean she should use that as an excuse to binge. On the other hand, if ever she deserved a treat- The security camera in the corner of the ceiling virtually exploded, sending pieces of glass and metal flying.
Instinctively Tiel recoiled from the deafening noise.
But the camera hadn't exploded on its own. A young man had entered the store and fired a pistol at it. The gunman then aimed his weapon at the cashier, who screeched a high note before the sound seemed to freeze inside her throat.
"This is a holdup," he said melodramatically, and somewhat needlessly, since it was apparent what it was.
To the young woman who had accompanied him into the store, he said, "Sabra, watch the others. If anyone moves, warn me."
"Okay, Ronnie."
Well, I might die, Tiel thought. But at least I'll get my story.
And she wouldn't be going to Hera to get it. It had come to her.
chapter 2
You!" ronnie davison pointed the pistol at Tiel.
"Come over here. Lie down on the floor." Incapable of moving, she only gaped at him. "Now!"
Dropping her package of sunflower seeds and the six-pack of sodas, she scrambled over to the indicated spot and lay facedown as instructed. Now that her initial shock had worn off, she bit her tongue to keep from asking him why he was compounding a kidnaping with an armed robbery.
But she doubted that at this moment the young man would be receptive to questions. Besides, until she knew what he had planned for her and the other eyewitnesses, perhaps she shouldn't reveal that she was a reporter and knew his and his accomplice's identities.
"Get over here and lie down," he ordered the elderly couple. "You two." He pointed the gun at the Mexican men. "Now! Move it!"
The old people complied without argument. The Mexican men remained where they were. "I'll shoot you if you don't get over here!" Ronnie shouted.
Keeping her head down and addressing her words to the floor, Tiel said, "They don't speak English."
"Shut up!"
Ronnie Davison broke the language barrier and made himself understood by motioning with the pistol. Moving slowly, reluctantly, the men joined Tiel and the elderly couple on the floor.
"Put your hands behind your head."
Tiel and the others did as he asked.
Over the years, Tiel had covered dozens of news stories wherein innocent bystanders, who had become eyewitnesses to a crime, were all too often found at the scene, lying facedown, dead, one gunshot to the back of the head, executed for no other reason except that they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Was this to be how her life ended?
Strangely, she wasn't so much afraid as angry. She hadn't done everything she wanted to do! Snowboarding looked like a real kick, but she hadn't had time to try it.
Correction: She hadn't taken time to try it. She'd never toured the Napa Valley. She wanted to see Paris again, not as a high school student under strict supervision, but on her own, free to meander the boulevards at will.
There were goals she had yet to reach. Think of the stories she would miss covering if her life ended now. Nine Live would go to Linda Harper by default, and that was so unfair.
And not all her dreams were career-oriented. She and other single friends joked about their biological clocks, but in private she anguished over its incessant tick. If she died tonight, having a child would be just one of many dreams left unfulfilled.
Then there was the other thing. The big thing. The powerful guilt that fueled her ambition. She hadn't done enough yet to make up for that. She hadn't yet atoned for harsh words spoken angrily and flippantly, which, tragically, had been prophetic. She must live to make restitution for that.
She held her breath, waiting for death.
But Davison's attention was on something else. "You, in the corner," the young man shouted. "Now! Or I'll kill the old folks. It's up to you."
Tiel raised her head only high enough to glance into the fish-eye mirror mounted in the corner at the ceiling.
Her assumption had been wrong. The cowboy hadn't left.
In the mirror, she watched him calmly replace a paperback novel in its slot on the revolving rack. As he sauntered down the aisle, he removed his hat and set it on top of a shelf. Tiel experienced a flurry of recognition, but she attributed it to having seen him before when he came into the store.
The eyes he kept trained on Ronnie Davison had a tracery of fine lines at the corners. Unsmiling lips. The face said Don't mess with me, and Ronnie Davison read it well.
Nervously he shifted the pistol from one hand to the other until the cowboy was stretched out alongside one of the Mexican men, his hands clasped on the back of his head.
While all this was going on, the cashier had been emptying the cash drawer into a plastic grocery bag. Apparently this out-of-the-way store wasn't equipped with an after-dark safe into which cash automatically went. From what Tiel could discern, there was an appreciable amount of money in the sack Sabra Dendy took from the cashier.
"I've got the money, Ronnie," said the daughter of one of Fort Worth's richest men.
"Okay then." He hesitated as though unsure about what to do next. "You," he said, addressing the terrified cashier.
"Lie down with the rest of them."
She might have weighed ninety pounds sopping wet and was a stranger to sunscreen. The skin hanging loosely from her bony arms looked like leather, Tiel noticed as the tiny woman lay down beside her. Little hiccups of terror erupted from her spasmodically.
Everyone had his own unique way of reacting to fear.
The elderly couple had disobeyed Ronnie's orders to keep both hands behind their heads. The man's right hand was tightly clasping his wife's left.
This is it, Tiel thought. He'll kill us now.
She closed her eyes and tried to pray, but it had been a while and she was out of practice. The poetic language of the King James Bible eluded her. She wanted this appeal to be eloquent and stirring, persuasive and impressive, compelling enough to distract God from all the other prayers coming His way at this particular moment.
But God probably wouldn't approve of her purely selfish reasons for wanting to live anyhow, so all she could think to say was, "Heavenly Father, please don't let me die."
When the scream rent the silence, Tiel thought for certain it had originated from the cashier. She glanced quickly at the woman beside her, to see what unspeakable torture had been inflicted. But the woman was still blubbering, not screaming.
It was Sabra Dendy who had screamed, and that first startling sound was followed by, "Oh, my God! Ronnie.1"
The boy rushed over to her. "Sabra? What's the matter?
What's happening?"
"I think it's… Oh, Lord."
Tiel couldn't help herself. She raised her head to see what was going on. The girl was whimpering and staring aghast at the puddle of fluid between her feet.
"Her water broke."
Ronnie whipped his head around and glared at Tiel.
"What?"
"Her water broke." She repeated the statement with more composure than she felt. Actually her heart was hammering.
This might be the spark that set him off and caused him to bring things to a swift conclusion, such as shooting them all and then dealing with his girlfriend's cr
isis.
"That's right, young man." Unafraid, the elderly woman sat up and addressed him with the temerity she had demonstrated when lecturing her husband about fiddling with the home video camera. "Her baby's coming."
"Ronnie? Ronnie?" Sabra crammed the skirt of her sundress up between her thighs, as though to impede the course of nature. On bended knees, she lowered herself to the floor until she was sitting back on her heels. "What are we going to do?"
Clearly the girl was frightened. Neither she nor Ronnie seemed adept at armed robbery. Or at childbirth, for that matter. Taking courage from the older lady, Tiel also sat up. "I suggest-"
"You shut up," Ronnie shouted. "Everybody just shut
I)» up!
He kept his pistol aimed at them as he knelt down beside Sabra. "Are they right? This means the baby's coming?"
"I think so." She nodded, shaking loose tears and sending them rolling down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. How much time… How long before it's born?"
"I don't know. It varies, I think."
"Does it hurt?"
A fresh batch of tears formed in her eyes. "It's been hurting for a couple of hours."
"A couple of hours!" he cried in alarm.
"But only a little. Not bad."
"How long since it started? Why didn't you tell me?"
"If she's been in labor-"
"I told you to shut up!" he yelled at Tiel.
"If she's been in labor for a while," she said persistently, keeping her eyes steadfastly on his, "you'd better get medical attention. Immediately."
"No," Sabra said hastily. "Don't listen to her, Ronnie."
She grabbed his sleeve. "I'm okay. I'm-"
A pain seized her. Her face contorted. She gasped for breath.
"Oh, God. Oh, Jesus." Ronnie studied Sabra's face, raking his teeth across his lower lip. His gun hand wavered.
One of the Mexican men-the shorter of the two- surged to his feet and lunged toward the couple.
"No!"Tiel shouted.
The cowboy made a grab for the Mexican's leg, but missed.
