by Rebecca York
“I don’t know.” He stopped speaking abruptly as he negotiated the rocky surface, and she thought he wasn’t going to say anything more. Then he surprised her by adding, “Driving through here makes me feel like something’s going to happen.”
“Or something did happen,” she suggested.
He nodded tightly, but as they penetrated farther into the desolate landscape, she saw that Luke was carefully studying every outcropping of rock and small hill, as well as the road.
“Are you looking for a good place to stage an ambush?” she asked, keeping her voice as even as possible.
“Yeah.”
They came to a spot where another gravel road came out of nowhere and crossed their route. Luke stopped and consulted the map Diego had given him, his eyes narrowing.
“What’s wrong?” Hannah asked.
“I’d swear we’ve just taken the long way around.”
“I guess he doesn’t know this country as well as he thought,” Hannah said, as much to assuage her own feeling of uneasiness as anything else.
Her attention was diverted as they crested a hill. Below them on the other side, she could see a low area much greener than the dry hills.
“I guess there’s water down there,” she said, expecting a creek of some kind.
“That’s the floodplain along the Rio Grande.”
She stared, trying to spot the water. But from where they sat, it was completely hidden.
“Where’s the river? I mean, I expected something memorable.”
“It’s not very wide along here. But you can catch a glimpse of it if you watch.”
She focused her eyes on the greenery, then felt the SUV slow as they came around another curve.
Luke glanced up at a ruined adobe that commanded a rugged promontory above the road. The roof of the building was missing, along with large chunks of adobe blocks.
Then a glint of metal flashed at one of the windows. Slamming his foot on the brake, Luke threw the vehicle into Reverse just as the crack of a rifle sounded and a bullet glanced off the roof of the SUV.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Luke brought the truck to a bouncing halt behind an outcropping of rock. More bullets pinged around them, sending a shower of stone chips into the air.
Hannah couldn’t see who was shooting at them. But she knew where the shots were coming from—the adobe house high on the hill above them.
“Come on. We’ve got to get out of the truck.” Before the engine ground to a shuddering halt, Luke opened the driver’s door.
Hannah ripped off her seat belt, jouncing forward and catching herself against the dashboard as the vehicle bucked like a bronco with a burr under its saddle.
Luke’s hand was on her arm, steadying her. First he grabbed the gun and the spare clips he’d stuffed into the door pocket. Then he was guiding her across the seat as he eased out of the vehicle, taking her with him. Hot desert air slapped her in the face as she stumbled to the dusty ground. When something thorny dug through the knee of her jeans, she gave a little cry.
His head whipped toward her, and she saw the jolt of fear in his eyes. “I’m not hit. I just got a couple of cactus thorns in the knee,” she reassured him.
He clamped her arm, guiding her away from the truck. She didn’t waste any breath asking where they were going. This was Luke’s home ground. Even if he didn’t remember who he was, he’d proven over and over again that he knew the territory and knew what he was doing.
More shots rang out, echoing off the rocks and sending more chips into the air, too close for comfort.
Ducking, Hannah let Luke lead the way around another sandstone formation, putting a solid barrier between them and the shooter—or shooters. She was pretty sure it was more than one guy up in that adobe.
The assumption was confirmed as she heard more shots. Now that she wasn’t so focused on getting out of the line of fire, she could hear two distinct weapons.
The guys up there should be saving their ammunition, she thought with professional detachment.
“Do you think they’re coming down?” she asked Luke.
“Not if we convince them they’ll get blown away.” He glanced in the direction from which the gunfire had come. “I guess we know why Diego sent us the long way around—and why it took so long to get the vehicle in the first place. He wanted to give the guys up there time to set things up.”
“Or somebody else knows what he told us and hustled out here to take advantage of his directions.”
“That’s possible,” he conceded. “Either way, we’re in a tight spot again.” He was holding the pistol he’d taken from the door pocket. From his waistband, he pulled out an almost identical weapon and handed it to her along with two spare clips of ammunition.
“Where did you get that?”
“In town, when I went for more supplies.”
She accepted the gun and hefted the weight in her hand, conscious that she hadn’t fired a weapon since the night Sean Naylor had been killed.
LUKE WATCHED her face. She was scared, but she was handling it. The way she handled everything, including the abuse he’d heaped on her.
He’d known it was risky coming out here in the desert. But he’d come anyway—to find out the truth about himself, because it appeared that was the only way he was going to do it.
The decision made sense for him. But there hadn’t been any need to drag Hannah along—except for the rationalization that he couldn’t trust her out of his sight.
He cut off that thought. There wasn’t time for the luxury of self-recrimination. Instead, he said, “This is what we’re going to do. You’ll draw their fire. So while I circle around the back of their eagle’s nest and get into position behind them, fire off a few shots in their direction every so often.” As he spoke, he removed his own Stetson and placed it on her head. She had to push it back to keep it from falling over her eyes.
He could see from her expression that she didn’t want him to leave her out here in the desert with the sun beating down on her and two armed men on the hill above her.
In truth, it made his stomach clench to think about abandoning her. Because the plan he’d hatched could backfire on him if the shooters got cocky and thought they could come down here and take them.
But the alternative was crouching here in the broiling sun waiting for the shooters in the adobe to get tired of sitting tight. Or worse, for reinforcements to arrive.
“Can you handle that?”
“Yes,” she answered in a thin voice. Then, more strongly, “How long will it take you to get into position?”
He thought for a minute, wavering between an overly cautious appraisal or giving too long an estimate, which could take her by surprise. “I might make it in thirty minutes. But don’t worry if it takes longer.”
“Okay.”
He gave her a quick fierce hug, and she clung to him as though they might not see each other again. Before he could talk himself into a change of plans, he turned and crouched low, making a wide circle around the hill where the gunmen perched, thorns and prickly vegetation clawing at his pant legs as he moved through the underbrush.
HANNAH PRESSED into the shade, feeling as if her mind had gone into free fall. Taking off Luke’s hat, she cradled it in her arms, hugging it against her chest and rubbing her face against the crown as she stared at the sun-drenched desert spread before her. The sandy soil was studded with scrubby vegetation—yuccas, tumbleweed and the bushes Luke had called creosote. It looked like a location for an old John Wayne movie. Only this was no movie, and she was smack in the middle of the action. With a gun in her hand.
She held the hat for a few moments longer, then jammed it back on her head as she eased to the edge of the rock. Staying under cover, she fired off a couple of shots in the direction of the adobe, then ducked back around the rock.
The fire was rapidly returned. So she knew the guys were still up there, still thinking that Luke was pinned down and shooting at them.
A
surge of adrenaline hit her then. She’d taken a couple of shots at the bastards, and they’d fired back. She’d done it. After months of thinking she’d lost her nerve, she’d come through for Luke, given him the edge he needed. The bad guys would stay focused on the place where they thought he was hiding. They wouldn’t be watching their backs or scanning the landscape. They’d keep their attention here.
Despite the grim circumstances, she grinned, then squeezed off another few rounds, pressing her back against the rocks as the answering volley came and wishing there was more she could do to help Luke. But she was in an unfamiliar environment. So she stayed where she was, holding off before firing again.
IT TOOK TWENTY hot, sweaty minutes for Luke to reach the other side of the hill, during which he wished that he’d grabbed a water bottle from the car.
He raised his head toward the hill, trying to decide on the best way up, knowing that if either of the men got an inkling that he was in back of them, he’d be a sitting duck, because he couldn’t climb with a gun in his hand.
But there was no other way to get them out of their perch up there. Not unless the helicopter fairy came to his aid. In her soundless invisible helicopter.
So he began the ascent, carefully finding hand and footholds that he hoped wouldn’t cause a rock slide or turn out to be the hiding place of a sleeping rattler.
The necessity for caution made the climb long and slow. When more shots echoed off the canyon walls, he cursed as he almost lost his grip on a chunk of rock. He should have been prepared for the sound. He’d told Hannah to keep the bastards busy.
Hannah. Lord, she was brave. And loyal. How could he have doubted her loyalty?
Because he had so many doubts about himself. And he’d transferred some of them to her, he supposed.
The smartest thing she could have done was turn and run in the other direction from him. But she’d stuck like white on rice. And all he’d given her was grief.
He’d progressed another few feet when the sound of more shots from below pierced the air. They were returned by the guys at the top of the hill. Knowing Hannah was keeping the thugs busy, he scrambled farther upward, then paused just below the summit to wipe a trickle of sweat from his face. This was it—the most dangerous part of the whole deal because he could be looking right down a gun barrel.
Pushing the image aside, he raised up enough to peer cautiously over a ridge of rock. Twenty feet ahead, he could see the top wall of the adobe. Again he inched upward, giving himself a better view.
Through a gaping hole in the rear of the ruined building, he could see the backs of two men dressed in long-sleeved shirts, boots, jeans and cowboy hats. They were both facing forward, both resting their rifle barrels on the remnants of the window frames.
He hoisted himself over the edge, stood and pulled out his automatic.
“Drop your guns, then put your hands in the air,” he called out.
There was a moment of shocked silence.
“Drop your weapons, then turn around,” he growled. “Nice and easy.”
One of the men started to obey. The other whirled, raised his rifle and squeezed off a couple of shots.
Luke danced to the side, putting a boulder between himself and the shooter. He moved around to the other side in time to see that the gunman who had originally complied was scrambling through a hole in the front wall. As far as Luke could see, he’d taken a flying leap off the edge of the cliff.
Hannah must have seen him do it, because she started shooting from below, drawing the attention of the guy who was still inside.
Luke was able to put a bullet in the man’s shooting arm, and he screamed as he dropped his weapon. Sinking to the floor of the adobe, the gunman clutched his arm and began to moan.
Luke picked up the rifle and tossed it over the side of the cliff, then inspected the guy. His straight black hair was streaked with gray, and he looked to be in his mid-forties, with a lined, weathered face. On the back of the hand pressed over his wound was a tattoo of an ornate dagger.
“You a friend of Diego?” he asked.
“I’m not telling you anything,” the man answered in Spanish.
“Suit yourself,” Luke replied in the same language, then gestured with the gun. “We’re going down.”
“I can’t walk.”
“You don’t need your arm to walk. Now get up before I fix it so you’ll never walk again.”
“I’ll bleed to death.”
Luke hardened his voice. “Not if we hurry. Now get going.” He didn’t like leaving the arm untreated, but he could hardly put his weapon down to do anything about it.
With a grimace, the gunman pushed himself to his feet, clutching his arm.
“We’re coming down,” Luke called to Hannah, his voice echoing strangely as it bounced off the rocks. “Can you hear me?”
Her reply came with the same echo. “Luke? What happened up there? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. One of the guys took a bullet in the arm. The other got away.”
“I saw him.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“No.”
“Well, keep an eye out for him. And shoot if you see anything moving—except us, of course.”
“Okay.”
She sounded fine, but he called down, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
He breathed out a small sigh and thanked God for taking care of her. Then he ordered the wounded man to step toward the door of the crumbling adobe.
“What’s the best way down?” he asked as they moved toward the edge of the hill.
“Over there.” His captive gestured with his dagger hand toward a winding trail.
It was a much quicker climb down than up. Fifteen minutes later they reached the truck, then the rock where Hannah had been hiding.
The sun had traveled westward in the sky, providing a bit of shade from the shadows of the rock.
The wounded man was gray-faced. Pressing his back against the solid surface, he slid to a sitting position. Sweat beaded his forehead, and blood had soaked through the sleeve of his shirt.
Luke stared at him, thinking there were a number of ways to force him to talk, but not if he lost consciousness from lack of blood. “Can you keep him covered while I get the first-aid kit?”
Hannah nodded, and he started cautiously for the truck, watching to make sure that the guy’s partner—or some of their other friends—didn’t suddenly appear.
When he returned, the injured man was speaking haltingly to Hannah, this time in English. He stopped talking abruptly when Luke reappeared.
“He trying to con you into letting him go?”
“Yes. But he didn’t get very far.”
“You get any useful information?”
“I know they came out here this morning after we left town.”
The man glared at her as if she’d betrayed a confidence.
“So that was after we had our encounter with Diego,” Luke muttered. “Anything else?”
“He didn’t expect to be in this fix.”
“I’ll bet.” Squatting, Luke ripped away the man’s sleeve, then examined his arm. “You’ll live. It’s a flesh wound.” Working quickly, he wound a bandage around the arm, then sat back on his heels.
“Now you’re going to tell me who sent you out here to ambush us,” he said in a conversational tone.
“No.”
“You have a lot of loyalty. But it’s misplaced.”
“Please, Señor Somerville, I have to live around here. You can leave anytime you want. You did leave. You should never have come back.”
The use of his real name made Luke’s throat tighten. He wanted to ask the man point-blank if they’d met before. But he wasn’t willing to give that much away. Instead, he offered, “Maybe I can arrange transportation to somewhere else.”
The man eyed him with a spark of interest. “You would do that for me?”
“If you cooperate.”
“C
ooperating would be dangerous for me.”
Again, a question hovered on Luke’s lips, but he kept from speaking it as he looked down at their captive. He almost felt sorry for the poor bastard. Apparently he was caught between a rock and a hard place. But almost was the operative word. This man had been willing to kill him and Hannah.
“Tell me who sent you,” Luke demanded, hardening his voice.
The man pressed his lips together.
Feeling the touch of Hannah’s hand on his arm, Luke gave her a questioning look.
He turned his head so the guy couldn’t see his face and mouthed, “You’ve got an idea?”
She jerked her head to the side, and he followed her a little distance away, where they could talk without being overheard but where he could still keep his eye on the man.
“He’s scared,” she said.
“No kidding.”
“You had the right idea when you offered him transportation out of here.”
“He thinks he knows me. He thinks I’m lying when I say I don’t know who he works for.”
She opened her mouth to answer, when a shot from above rang out. The man on the ground gave a gurgling scream, and a circle of blood soaked the front of his shirt.
Reinforcements had arrived, or the other gunman, the one who had gotten away, was back. And he’d taken out his partner.
Keeping under cover, Luke returned the fire, but the man had already dodged around a corner of the trail and disappeared from sight once more.
“Stay here,” he shouted at Hannah as he gave chase.
HANNAH WATCHED Luke take off up the trail, then squatted beside the wounded man, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.
A few months ago she’d knelt beside a boy watching the life ebb out of him. Then it had been dark and cold. Now the sun was beating down on the man sprawled in front of her with blood spreading rapidly across his shirt.
When she pulled the placket open, she found a mangled mess of flesh. The bullet had missed his heart, because blood was still pumping from the wound, but not his lung, judging from the way he was gasping for breath.
