Throwing her a cockeyed grin, he took his hand away. “Better?”
“Yes and no. But yes is the operative word. So…”
“So. Tell me, Nurse Chamberlain.”
As the scenery rushed past their windows, she recalled her first years in a hospital. “I did the women’s ward, saw a lot of abused wives and girlfriends who had no idea how to get out of their circumstances. That was about the time the medical profession began to pay attention to injuries that didn’t seem natural and we began to offer counseling for those we suspected were victims. Their stories were heartbreaking.”
“Is that a reason you came down here to research the Gonzaga family?”
“Yes. I’d read so much about how they treated their own women and how they pressed others into prostitution that I wanted to do one novel totally devoted to that kind of oppression. But all my interest in writing about crime really stems from a combination of those criminology courses and my years in the Emergency Room. You know, the sooner you get someone into a stable condition after a trauma, the faster they recover. So I trained in emergency procedures and transferred. I was in the ER for more than six years when I started to write. I knew I’d need a dynamite story to get published, so I joined a writers’ group and met a few editors and agents. The first agent I signed with really worked hard for me. And here we are, six novels later and I’m able to write full time.”
“And do research that puts you in harm’s way,” he added, his tone telling her he was none too happy about it.
“It brought me you,” she said with an awe and reverence that had him turning to her, finding her hand and squeezing it.
“I won’t complain,” he told her.
But there the conversation died. And Skye wasn’t quite sure why.
Then Rex said, “But if you and I continue together after this is over, I might.”
She wanted to hug him. Instead, she looked out her side window. “I’m not the only one with a dangerous job, here, Ranger, sir.”
“If you keep getting yourself on criminals’ hit list, you’ll have a tough time staying alive, Miz Chamberlain, author, ma’am.”
“There are things you don’t know about me, Rex,” she said in a more congenial voice, lowering the tension between them. She hoped. “I’ve walked rough streets and I—”
“Walking them does not mean you will survive them!”
She took his hand now and pressed it reassuringly as he stared at the road dead ahead. “What I should tell you is that I know how to protect myself.”
“Not from the Gonzagas who want to scoop you up off the streets and take you away to do, God knows what, rape you? Sell you to their compadres in Mexico? Shoot you up with—”
“Whoa! Whoa! Rex, listen to me. I told you weeks ago I know how to shoot a gun. Remember?”
“Sure. But in a fight? Can you pull the trigger, honey?”
“Why not?” she asked but inside she knew the stock answer to that one.
“If you’ve got one in your hand, you have to use it, or the other guy will grab it from you and use it on you.”
“I know. I’ve heard that, Rex. But I wouldn’t clutch. And I’m a damn good shot because I practice every month at a range outside Chicago. I own a Sig Sauer. So I’m not as green—”
“As a gringo?” He was smiling even though his expression said he was not totally happy with what he was hearing.
“Right. And there’s more.”
He cast her a look of tolerance. “Hurry up. Tell me before I spit wooden nickels here.”
“I’m learning karate. I do tai chi when I can and—”
“Fuck me.”
“Well, I do hope so, honey.” She laughed and crossed her arms, her breasts loving the movement, in lieu of having him lick them and nip them.
He reached over, sank his fingers in her hair and ruffled her curls wildly. “Hope these last few months haven’t atrophied your muscles.”
“I’ve done some work in my bedroom.”
“Yeah? You were awfully quiet about it. Why didn’t you come out and show me?”
“Didn’t want to give you any ideas.”
“Darlin’, I had ideas. I still have ’em. And no amount of gyrating that body of yours in any way shape or form would make me want you more.”
She inhaled mightily. “Oh goody.”
He snorted. “God help us both.
“Tell me more about the ER duty.”
As the miles went by, she told him about some of her most memorable patients. The young thirty-something window-washer who had fallen from his platform onto piles of garbage and miraculously broken only an arm and a leg. The gang member who had taken a bullet to the head and survived to stand trial for murder of one of his buddies. The teenage girl who suffered from a head injury incurred when her boyfriend pushed her from his speeding car. The thief who came in with multiple gunshot wounds given him by the man whose house he’d tried to rob.
“All that blood, all that destruction to a human body,” she concluded on a somber note, “makes you value more every breath you take. Makes you treasure every day that’s good. Makes you want to seize every good person who comes into your life and make it a bigger joy.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Sounds like you for me.”
At his endearment, she felt her heart expand and fill with all the sweet things she’d never sensed for any other man, never even considered saying to any other man. “And you for me.”
Chapter Six
“Wait here,” Rex pulled into the lot of a convenience store on the outskirts of Alpine. A gas station, the place was tiny, selling traps for javalinas and bobcats outside and fresh tacos inside. “Be right back.” He hit the remote to lock her in.
She sat, grinning like a Cheshire cat. How had she been so lucky to get Rex? She’d never lived with a man, never wanted to. But this one was perfect for her. And if she wanted to keep him, nurture the relationship, she knew it was she who would have to move from the big city to wild west Texas. No hardship there. What was scenery compared to the love of a good man? Her gaze took in the scorched high plains, the scrub that gasped for water to survive, the dust that covered everything with a fine mist. The blazing hot sun that baked the truck so that she tried to open the window and couldn’t because Rex had taken the key and the automatic windows didn’t work without it. Glancing around, she saw an old yellow Camaro pull into the slot next to her. But no one else was in the parking lot so she felt safe hitting the lock, and opening her door a crack. Inhaling, she felt the August heat seep into her lungs.
Rex came outside to frown at her as he climbed into the truck. “Not a good idea to open that, darlin’. My fault, I know. I should have left you the keys.” He dumped a brown paper bag in her lap.
She fished inside, happy as a clam. “Chocolate sauce?” She held up the container, a question in her eyes.
“No condoms in there.”
“You must be kidding me. Doesn’t anyone do it in south Texas?”
He chuckled, as he checked the rearview mirror and put the truck in gear. “Evidently, they do it so much in this part of town, the guy is sold out.”
She muttered her dismay.
“But I bought you that.” He cast her a devilish look. “For your chocolate fix.”
“Oh, yeah?” She wiggled in her seat, her pussy gushing in response to the image in her mind of how to use it. “Gonna let me try it on my favorite confection?”
His brows knit with horrified delight. “I rather thought you’d let me get a good taste of it on your nipples.”
“I might.” She nibbled on her lower lip. “Any place else appeal to you?”
He sent his smoldering gaze down her body. “Yeah. All over you. It’s gonna be messy good fun.”
“Damn, boy! You better buy a couple dozen boxes of those little foil babies.”
“Exactly my plan,” he promised, gunning the engine on the highway to Alpine.
Within five miles, he pulled
into a strip mall where an old pharmacy stood on the corner.
“Here.” He tossed her the keys. “Lock it up, sweetheart.”
She did as she was told, leaving the air-conditioner on and pressing her thighs together. The chocolate sauce in her hot little hands was an inspiring talisman to the future. When had she ever had a lover who gave in to her foibles? Never. She thanked her lucky stars for Rex. Someone was watching out for her. And the very idea that she could fall in love with a man so right for her…
Fall in love.
She closed her eyes. Repeated the phrase. The very idea made her tingle all over. But what else could it be?
Hot sex.
Sure. The hottest, craziest bed gymnastics she’d ever known. Ever even hoped for. But that wasn’t where they’d started this relationship. And that was a good thing. The best thing.
At thirty-two, she knew enough about men, her past relationships, and sex in general to feel comfortable concluding that the wild fucking they did was a result of how well they fit together. Yin and yang. Man and woman. Lawman and crime writer.
He exited the store, a shit-eating grin on his handsome face, jiggling a brown paper bag.
When he climbed in the truck, he pushed the package into her lap. She peeked inside. Boxes! “Four of them?”
Smug, he was so pleased with himself. “I won’t have to ask Jose for them.”
Squealing, she couldn’t help herself, she threw her arms around him and gave him the biggest smacker of a kiss.
“Hey, woman. Let me drive us home, will you?”
She nibbled his ear, kissed his neck. “What if I can’t wait?”
“Your new signature line, is it?”
“Oh, yeah.” She wrinkled her nose at him, then sat back. “Maybe I could persuade you to stop on the side of the road.”
“You. Can. Not.” He smiled, but shook his head as he turned the truck toward their little house.
“Okay.” She threw up her hands. “Okay. Just saying, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Hope we don’t run out of gas,” she offered, eyes on the two-lane road home.
He laughed and shoved his hand back down between her thighs. “I’d fly us there is I had wings. Never been like this with a woman.”
She locked her legs together, the feel of his fingers grazing her damp jeans killing her patience. “I think we have something rare.”
When he faced her once more, his expression was dear and sweet, melting her insides to mush. “We’re gonna talk about that. Soon.”
She nodded, her gaze admiring the passion written all over his face. “Today.”
“I’m gonna use at least one of those first,” he told her, his voice rough as gravel.
“Can’t talk while you make love?”
He roared, clutching her thigh tighter. “Can’t think while I’m making love to you.”
She preened. “Such a good thing. You won’t get any complaints from me. I can’t seem to get enough of you.”
“We have two more weeks until the trial, darlin’.”
She made goo-goo eyes at him. “We might have to go shopping again before that.”
On Rex’s side, a car pulled alongside them on the double lane.
“What the hell?” he murmured, putting his other hand on the steering wheel as he decelerated…and so did the car.
A yellow one.
Skye stretched up to see it more clearly. “Camaro?”
“Yeah,” Rex said cryptically, checking his mirrors.
“He was in the gas station lot,” she added, her chest tightening.
“He was.” Rex fell completely back to let the guy take the road, but the yellow vehicle hung back, too, parallel with their pickup. “Did you get a look at him?”
“No,” she was ashamed to say. “He didn’t get out.”
“Right.” Rex was examining the car, looking down to the inside. “He’s got a buddy in there. Talking on the phone.”
She gulped. This was not good. “Is there a way to escape them?”
“A crossroads up here,” he answered, his gaze all over the road and their surroundings. Bounded by rock-strewn berms, the country road offered no exits. Straight ahead was the only way to go, and she could bet that their pickup was not agile enough to have a wheel radius that could turn them easily in such a narrow space. And in the few minutes necessary to beat the Camaro to a one-eighty reverse. “Hang on, honey.”
Rex gunned the pickup. A newer model than the Camaro, the pickup sped ahead, leaving the driver of the Camaro to step on the gas. The older car must have had a new, souped-up engine because within two minutes, they were once more even on the road.
Another vehicle, straightaway about three or more miles ahead of them, barreled toward them in the on-coming lane.
“He’ll have to drop back,” Skye said like a prayer.
“I will,” Rex told her, his jaw tense. “Rather have our Camaro boys dead than us.”
“Or them,” she indicated the other truck.
But at that moment, the other truck switched lanes, heading dead on for their pickup.
If Rex cursed, if she screamed, she didn’t know. But the horror of the coming impact, made her brace herself.
The next thing she heard was the screech of their own truck’s tires.
A huge jolt. A crunch of metal. The shattering of glass.
Voices. Loud. Crazy. Spanish. English.
Her own voice, saying, “No, no. Don’t touch me. I’m fine.” But not feeling it. “I’m fine.” Wanting to vomit. Stumbling from the truck. Retching into a ditch. Warm hands to her arms. Rough hands on her arms.
She turned, her gaze going to the man who held her. “Rex?”
She heard a man grunt, shout her name.
“Get her in the car, Marco.”
She was being yanked away.
Her knees gave out, as she saw three men beating Rex. Outnumbered, he still managed to get in punches of his own. To one man’s head, another’s ribs. A third, his groin.
But she was hustled off, lifted, carried.
“No! No!” She kicked at one man. He was small, thin, evil looking. A mustache. She twisted away from the one who held her arms. But he held on, cursing at her in Spanish and calling for help. But there were no more men. Were there?
She writhed and twisted.
Grappling with the two guys who carried her, she writhed. They let her drop. The air gushed out of her, but she scrambled away. Getting no farther than a few feet, she cut her hands. The two grabbed her up again. She fought for calm, reason.
Where was Rex?
Where were these guys taking her?
She had to get into a position so that she could hit them to the jugular or the balls.
Next thing she felt was one man’s hand on her head, stuffing her into the backseat of a car. She choked on the smell of old fast food wrappers, empty beer cans and an old bottle of tequila.
“Tie her up,” she heard one of her captors yell to the other. “Don’t let her back there alone!”
“Si, si,” the other man yelled and rattled off a spate of Spanish as he climbed in beside her.
“Put a gag on her,” one ordered.
No need. Who am I going to yell out to?
“Hey, hey, Ricardo, the lady wears no bra,” the one guy rubbed his dirty hands over the points of her breasts. “See?”
He laughed as he lifted her t-shirt and she twisted away. Him, she would kill. Soon.
The other two ran their bleary-eyed gaze over her bare breasts and what they said in Spanish, Skye did not want to know. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed the guy in the backseat with her had better more life-preserving things to do than molest her. Or rape her.
She pivoted in the seat, glimpsing Rex, one foot on the throat of one of his assailants, while the other guy took out a handgun and pointed it at Rex.
“Nooooooo!”
“Shut her up!”
She whirled away, but the guy next to her
forced her head around and pressed her to the foul-smelling seat. He made a fist and in one blow, hit her in the jaw.
When she came to, the sun was going down in a red-hot blaze. Fierce mountains, black as midnight and odd rocky formations formed the horizon. Where the hell am I?
Remembering her predicament, she shut her eyes. And went lax.
Listening for movement in the car, she heard none. Yet she felt the warmth of the man in the seat next to her. Smelled him, too. Rancid little fart, reeking of whiskey and tobacco. His legs were draped over her lap as insurance, she supposed, that she not move while he slept. Figuring that the driver would not see her open her eyes from his rearview mirror, she took a quick peek at the scenery again. No clue where I am.
And where are you, Rex?
What happened back there?
She wanted to scream out her pain that someone of these thugs had shot the finest man she’d ever known. Because he was protecting me.
No. I will think of that later. The guilt. The anguish. Christ. Just let me get out of here. I’ll testify, by God. I’ll put them so far away, they’ll think hell has light.
Noting the horizon once more with her head banging against the window rim, Skye saw they were headed west. But she closed her eyes again, not wishing to invite any more attentions from her captors with her moves. Slowly, she took stock of where she was, what was happening. She swallowed quietly as could be, her throat as dry as dust. Her jaw hurt like hell where the asshole had slugged her, and she had to pee something fierce. Her illustrious companions were quiet, the driver the only one moving. The air-conditioning was crap and Skye felt herself sweating like a pig. Her hands were cut, stiff, tender, from scrambling away from them. But she had her shoes on and her jeans. That was a plus.
They haven’t raped you yet. Or killed you.
Why not?
She thought about that and the answer came to her much too readily.
They’re taking you to their leader. She forced back a groan of terror. And that means, they’re headed across the border.
But where was there a crossing they could do that without attracting law enforcement interest?
They couldn’t drive over one of the International Checkpoints. Ever since Homeland Security beefed up inspections after 9/11, those bridges were guarded like the gates to hell. She had no passport—and since last year, anyone crossing needed that. And these dudes? They were lucky if they had an idea what their real names were, let alone official documents to get them across an international border.
StrongArmsoftheLaw Page 5
