by H. L. Wegley
The two rafts floated out of the canyon and were now only seventy-five yards upstream.
Drew reached into his pack and fished through one pocket until his hand clamped onto cool steel. He pulled out his Governor. He’d loaded this potent little handgun with Winchester PDX1 Defender shotgun shells, basically a mixture of slugs and ball bearings. This ammo was powerful, but most effective out to only ten yards, about the distance from their hiding place to the river.
“Any idea what guns these guys use?”
“AK-47s. The cartel’s weapon of choice.” Beth’s gaze locked onto his handgun. She gripped his wrist. “No, Drew. You try to take them on with that and we’re dead.”
“Sorry. I’ll have to disagree with you. You don’t understand what ‘that’ is.”
“It’s a revolver. A handgun. Drew, I’ve been with people who—”
It was the second time Beth had avoided revealing something about her past.
“Beth, I trusted you to identify them. You need to trust me to indemnify us.”
The wild-eyed look she gave him was short on trust and long on fear.
Drew wanted to hear about Beth’s past, especially the part she was reluctant to disclose. But he needed to focus on the source of danger, the two swarthy men each sitting in the back of a raft.
As if on cue, the two men grabbed paddles. They could have given Olympic synchronized swimmers a run for a medal as they paddled in synch toward the river bank. And they paddled toward the spot where Beth had been sitting a few moments ago, a spot ten yards away.
Drew sat on the ground behind the short bush, hunched over to stay out of sight. He leaned toward Beth. “These bushes won’t stop their bullets, so be still and—”
A soft rattle nearby turned to a loud buzz.
He turned his head and his gaze locked on the source of the noise. A rattlesnake, coiled and agitated, lay about six feet from his head. Maybe five feet from Beth’s.
Though Beth tried to cover her mouth, a sharp cry escaped.
Drew’s left hand held his gun, but his right hand had found a two-pound rock. He needed to make his choice before the snake lost all patience.
He couldn’t shoot the snake and then shoot two men at their current distance before the men in the boat could unleash their weapons.
Drew launched a short prayer, then he launched the rock. He threw as hard as he could from his sitting position.
The stone struck the snake’s neck and then drove into its coiled body, knocking it several feet away from them. The viper writhed on the ground for a few seconds, then slithered away toward some rocks.
When Drew looked back toward the river, the rafts bumped against the bank and both cartel men, with packs on their backs, held their AK-47s in a ready position. They had heard Beth and the snake. Now the gunmen were also at DEFCON 2.
The vexing question was, when does it become self-defense if you shoot someone? When you know they will shoot you if they see you? But what if they don’t see you and might shoot anyway?
One of the gunmen stepped into the shallow water beside his raft and raised his gun.
Drew’s answer about when to shoot came in a flash.
Right now.
He gripped his gun with both hands, sitting in firing position, and squeezed the trigger.
The man about to shoot fell backward onto the raft, nearly turning it over. The pop from the Governor’s two-and-a-half-inch shotgun shell echoed off the canyon walls leaving Drew’s ears ringing.
Beth’s hand on his ankle squeezed with surprising strength, but she kept her head out of his way.
The second gunman now stood on the bank. He fired a burst, mowing down bushes three feet to Drew’s left.
Drew pushed Beth’s head to the ground to protect her, then shot again.
The second man spun around and fell on the bank, half in and half out of the water. His pack landed on the shore.
Drew must have hit him in the shoulder.
One man floated in the water near the bank. Odds were he was dead.
The two immigrants began paddling their rafts for the opposite shore.
Drew let them escape.
He and Beth were in no danger now.
Beth’s hand, still gripping his ankle, was trembling.
“It’s okay, Beth. Both gunmen are down, and their guns are in the water. One’s likely dead. But I need to check out the wounded guy.”
“But how did—”
“Let’s just say they got on the wrong side of the Governor.” He popped open the cylinder and pulled out an empty shotgun shell.
Beth’s forehead creased with twin frown lines. “A shotgun?”
“Sort of.”
“Don’t move. Put your sort of shotgun down slowly. Comprende?” The raspy voice came from behind them, loud, authoritative, and threatening, hinting that the man would love for Drew to try something.
He wouldn’t. Not with Beth beside him.
“Comprende?” Impeccable Spanish. The guy could turn his accent on and off at will.
“Yes.” Drew laid his gun on the ground.
“Hands on your heads and turn around despacio, ever so slowly.”
Drew had only turned half way around when Beth gasped. “Suarez. He’ll kill me,” she whispered.
Suarez? Drew looked up into the barrel of an AK-47 held by a man who looked much like the two gunmen he’d shot. But this guy had the bearing of a leader, a guy who was used to giving commands.
Raspy voice scanned Beth then swore, part in English, part in Spanish. “Señorita Elizabeth Alicia Sanchez. Patience is one of my virtues. I have been waiting for this moment for seven years. What a pleasant surprise.”
“What’s he talking about, Beth?”
“Silence. No more talking, Señor. Be still and be quiet while I decide how you will die … and while I decide how to give Señorita Sanchez the fate she deserves.”
Drew glanced Beth’s way, and the look he saw on her drawn face was one he’d only seen on an actress’s face in some old horror flick right before the madman killed her. But Beth wasn’t acting.
“What is your name, Señor?” He pointed his gun at Drew’s head.
He tried not to flinch or to glare at the man. “Drew West.”
“No. Your name is Drew who-shot-my-baby-brother.”
Not good. Was his brother the dead guy or the wounded guy?
“It would be most appropriate for you to pray to your patron saint that Ricardo is not dead. If he is dead, you will die for two days. If he lives, maybe eight hours … or until I grow weary of your screaming.”
If Drew hadn’t fully understood the reason for Beth’s terror, he did now.
There were some mysteries to unravel here—how this man knew Beth, why he hated her. But Drew needed to study the end of that gun barrel pointed at him and find a second or two when it wasn’t pointed at either him or Beth.
In the meantime, Drew needed to appear frightened and subservient. The frightened part wasn’t difficult. Feigning subservience, when he wanted to kick the man’s head off … that was another matter.
“Señor and Señorita, keep your hands on your heads and stand up, slowly.”
“That’s a pretty good trick. Getting up slowly from a sitting position with our hands on our heads.”
“You do not listen well, Señor West.”
“What do you mean, Mr. uh …”
“Hector Suarez,” Beth said. “CEO of the Del Rio Cartel. The man who murdered my mother and father.”
The ugly picture came into focus, raising the stakes to the highest level. If Drew didn’t act quickly, they were dead.
“My two prisoners, they are deaf. Silence! The only reason I do not kill you now is I need you to tend to my little brother, Ricardo. See, he moves. Walk to him, slowly.”
Suarez jammed his gun barrel into Drew’s back, prodding him to walk toward Ricardo who lay moaning and holding his injured shoulder with his good hand.
Beth and Drew walked sid
e-by-side to the edge of the river where Ricardo lay. His eyes were closed now, and his jaw clenched as he panted out his pain.
Drew studied the man’s right shoulder. The Winchester PDX1 had damaged the outer third of his shoulder. He needed the bleeding stopped and then needed to see an orthopedic surgeon, or he’d never regain full use of his arm.
Ricardo’s rifle was nowhere in sight. He must have dropped it in the river. That meant Drew’s only available weapon was his body.
He needed to draw Suarez in close and disable him with one well-placed blow or kick. But he must make sure Suarez’s rifle was not pointed at Beth when Drew made his move.
“We’ve got to stop the bleeding.” Drew knelt then looked up at Hector Suarez.
Hector dipped his head and motioned Drew toward Ricardo with the barrel of his rifle. That motion moved the gun barrel upward until it pointed over Drew’s head and toward the river.
Drew’s right leg exploded into motion, driving a powerful kick into the side of Hector’s left knee.
He screamed as his knee bent sideways.
Beth had dropped to the ground to Hector’s right.
Drew gripped the barrel of the AK-47 and ripped it from Suarez’s hands. “Get away from him, Beth.”
She rose and backed away.
Suarez stood on his right leg swearing in Spanish and glaring at Drew.
“Shut up and don’t move!” Drew pointed the gun at Hector’s mid-section.
Suarez sneered. “No green-behind-the-ears gringo tells Hector Suarez what to do.”
“It’s wet behind the ears. And anyone who gives up his gun so easily has no right say that to the man who took his gun away. Now down on your stomach and hands behind your back, or I’ll shoot your other knee, then maybe a shoulder like I did for Ricardo.”
Beth stuck a thumb out toward the Rio Grande. “Drew, the two, uh, immigrants paddled across the river.”
“Let them go. They’re probably going home. Maybe they’ve realized illegal entry isn’t such a good idea, especially when you go on a Del Rio Cartel cruise.”
Hector fell when he tried to lie down using only his one good knee. He stretched out on the ground on the bank where Beth had dangled her foot in the water.
“Don’t move, Suarez … Beth how’s that ankle feeling?”
“I can walk on it a little. It doesn’t hurt as much.”
“Good. I need you to go to the bushes and bring my gun and my pack. We need to make sure the Del Rio CEO sticks around for the next board meeting in District Court.”
Beth laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Drew, be careful. You don’t know what he’s capable of.” She limped away from the river toward the bushes.
“Right now, he needs to know what I’m capable of.” Drew worked the firing mechanism of the AK-47 to produce a metallic click.
Suarez’s body stiffened at the sound.
“Drew, Elizabeth! Are you okay?” The voice came from up river and was now accompanied by the sound of running feet.
Drew looked toward the canyon.
Hunter ran down the trail toward them. He came to a sliding stop fifty yards away when he saw the gun and the carnage. “We heard the shots and came back to—”
A splash came from the river.
Drew glanced down.
Hector Suarez was gone.
Drew jumped to the edge of the river and scanned the murky water.
Nothing.
He let his gaze rove over the Rio Grande, mostly downstream.
With a blown knee, Suarez wouldn’t be a strong swimmer. Regardless, he would have to come up for air soon.
“You’ll never catch him, gringo.” The pain-filled voice grunted out the words. Ricardo’s eyes were open now.
Beth returned and stopped beside Drew. “He’s probably right. Some call him Hector Houdini Suarez. He’s escaped from some impossible situations.”
Hunter approached them. “Does somebody want to tell me what’s going on here? I see a dead man and a wounded man and—what happened to the guy on the ground?”
“Hector Suarez got away,” Beth said.
“What the—Suarez? The Del Rio Cartel? You sure?”
“I’m sure. He wants to kill me and would have if Drew hadn’t stopped him.” She put her hand on his shoulder.
That was the first thing he could remember Beth doing that wasn’t done in opposition or as an argument. Maybe Suarez’s pain was Drew’s gain.
He glanced at Beth then looked down at Ricardo. “Suarez hasn’t gotten away yet. I’m going down the river to see if I can spot where he comes up.”
Beth’s hand slipped down to his arm and gripped it with more strength than a woman should have. “Don’t go, Drew. There were two AK-47s in that water where he went in.”
“Beth, I blew out the guy’s knee. He’s not going far, and he couldn’t afford to stop and look for a gun in muddy water. We need to tie up Ricardo’s free hand and then get some pressure on that shoulder wound to stop the bleeding. Here.” He handed Beth his Governor. “Hold this on him and let Hunter do the binding. Ricardo may be hurting, but he’s still dangerous. If he tries anything, shoot him. Those three slugs and the ball bearings in the shotgun shells will put an end to anything he tries.”
Beth took the gun, looked at Hunter, then back at Drew. Her eyes softened to an expression warmer than any she had shown him since they met this morning.
Maybe she liked guns.
Maybe she likes you, dude.
He doubted that just like he doubted he would find Hector Suarez in this jaunt down the river.
Chapter 2
Beth pointed the Governor at the chest of Ricardo.
Hunter had bound the man securely and then had tied a wadded-up T-shirt over Ricardo’s shoulder wound. The crude bandage had stopped most of the bleeding.
She glanced at Drew walking down the river with one of the cartel’s AK-47s in his hands. He reminded Beth of her father carrying his gun, patrolling their property. He was her hero and she had loved her father dearly, but not his dreadful decision. That decision had cost her family everything.
The picture of Drew also brought back the vivid memories of the death and destruction, of the loss of everything and everyone.
Her breathing turned to panting. Beth willed it to slow.
When the flashbacks came, she no longer flipped out in a full-fledged panic attack. Thankfully, Beth’s faith had helped her overcome the attacks, but not yet the nightmares.
Why did she have such a strong emotional reaction to Drew searching for Hector Suarez? This wasn’t the normal concern she would feel for anyone in danger. It was palm-sweating, heart-thumping worry. Did the worry come from Drew’s similarities to her father?
Part of her concern might have come from realizing that she hadn’t been nice to Drew, the man who helped her when she sprained her ankle, saved her from a deadly rattlesnake bite on her face, and then, like some superhero, had stopped three cartel thugs from killing her.
When Drew took down Suarez, he had accomplished feats not even her father could have done. And Rafael Sanchez had performed some incredible exploits.
Hunter walked her way. “I finished the calls on my satphone. The Border Patrol will be here in about thirty-five minutes. Would you like me to take over covering our friend, Ricardo?” Hunter pointed at Drew’s Smith and Wesson in her hand.
“No. But thanks anyway. I’m holding the gun on the brother of the man who murdered my family. So, if Suarez shows himself, he knows I’ll have no qualms about killing his little brother.”
“I’m so sorry, Beth. I didn’t realize all you’d been through. But what are the odds that you’d run into that snake out here in Big Bend National Park?”
“Odds don’t matter when God is involved.” Beth kicked Ricardo’s boot and shook her head when he looked up after trying to slide toward the water.
If he was that stupid, maybe she should have let Ricardo go. If he rolled into the river, he would drown, not escape li
ke his big brother.
Hunter cleared his throat. “How do you know it was God?”
She met Hunter’s gaze. “He sent me Drew West. If he hadn’t, I’d be dead … or worse.”
Hunter nodded and grinned. “Can I tell Drew what you just said?”
“You do that, Hunter, and the Governor might decide to fill your rear end full of buckshot.”
“I see. Wouldn’t want my rear looking like his shoulder. Okay. I can keep a secret. But, you know, I’ve known Drew since were kids in Oregon. Just to let you know, he’s a little dense when it comes to anything relational or romantic. You’ve got to spell things out for him if you want him to know.”
“Who said anything about romance?” Hunter could be a shortcut to getting to know Drew with minimal risk. And minimizing risk was a way of life for Beth. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. “If he’s that relationally challenged, he probably hasn’t had any serious relationships.”
The corner of Hunter’s mouth turned up, then turned into a full-fledged grin. “So nobody said anything about romance, huh. There have been serious relationships … on the part of some women. But not Drew. He’s left a trail of frustrated, broken-hearted women.”
Drew sounded toxic. Maybe she’d played her cards right by not encouraging him.
Hunter continued. “But I’ve never seen him react like he has around you.”
“Me? Why do you say that?”
“When Drew wants something, he goes after it, whole-hog, relentlessly.” Hunter cleared his throat again. “May I speak frankly?”
“Of course. I’m not a school girl, Hunter.”
“Uh, yeah. I’ve noticed. And so has Drew. But it’s more than how you … look. Drew looks deeper than that until he finds what he wants or thinks he needs. I think he’s found—”
“Come on. We’ve only known each other for a few hours. How can you, or even Drew, know—”
“Mark my word. You’ll see, Beth. Be prepared, because he’s good at storming the castle and taking it.”
Beth glanced down river.
Drew sauntered up the river toward them, carrying the rifle in one hand. His eyes laser-focused on her.
Decision time. Was she going to raise the drawbridge or leave it down? If Hunter was right, it might not matter. If Drew thought he wanted her, he might storm Beth’s castle to get her.
