“I want to rent a moped,” he said to Maria.
“What is that?”
“A small motorcycle, like a scooter.”
“Una moto,” she translated for the driver.
The man nodded his understanding and stepped on the gas. Ten minutes later, they were in front of a dusty bike shop off the main drag. It was perfect. There were several different types of mopeds. He asked for an older model that would hold both their weight.
The paperwork consisted of Ian writing his driver’s license number on a card. He put down a cash deposit. Helmets were available, so he grabbed two. On his way out, he spotted a case of sporting goods. He bought a pair of used binoculars that might come in handy.
The moped’s controls were basic. There was a brake and a gas pedal. He climbed on, gesturing for Maria to get behind him. She clung to him for dear life. Her fingernails dug into his ribs around every curve. Instead of leaving Hermosillo, he pulled over at an Internet café. There was a real café next door. Taking off his helmet, he studied Maria. “Why don’t you drive?”
She gave him a doubtful look.
“It’s easy to operate. If you’re in front, in control, you might feel more comfortable.”
“You think so?”
“Can’t hurt to try,” he said, searching his pockets. He had less than twenty dollars left. “Will you buy us some sandwiches? Get whatever you want. I have to check on something.”
She went into the café to buy sandwiches while he walked next door. He didn’t want to call the ICE offices and talk to Special Agent Bell again. Maybe there was a leak between ICE and the Mexican police. Maybe there wasn’t. Either way, he didn’t feel right about moving forward on his own. He’d been ordered to lay low, not continue pursuit. If he didn’t initiate some sort of communication, LaGuardia would think he’d gone off the rails. Again.
He sent a quick email about his plans and general whereabouts. Then he pulled up a satellite map of Benjamín Hill. It was a dusty desert town, like many others. A convenient back road would get them there in two hours. He examined every available photo and memorized the layout. Benjamín Hill seemed like a fitting place for a showdown. Ian pictured gunmen on rooftops, a hitching post, and tumbleweeds rolling down empty streets.
Maria returned with sandwiches and drinks. He tucked them away in the borrowed backpack. Then he gave her a quick driving lesson. He climbed on the bike behind her, resting his hands on her hips. She started off shaky but got the hang of it quickly.
Within minutes, they were zipping along at a steady pace. He could feel the soft warmth of her body as her anxiety dissipated. Although he usually preferred being in control as well, he enjoyed the ride. He relished her closeness, the sun on his back, the breeze rippling through his shirt. His pulse raced with excitement and the seat hummed beneath them. Her supple bottom, wedged between his thighs, added to the stimulation. Soon his thoughts wandered to nude beaches and sensual escapes. He imagined taking her on the sand, waves lapping over them, naked limbs entwined.
She swerved around a pothole, jostling him out of his reverie. He tried to reel himself in, but his arousal wouldn’t abate. It throbbed against her, persistent. She finally pulled over and killed the engine. “I can’t drive when you’re like that.”
He didn’t say he was sorry, because he wasn’t. He couldn’t prevent his body’s response to her ass jiggling on his lap.
She dismounted and took off her helmet, letting out a huff of breath. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes glittering. Maybe the vibrations had been getting to her too. If it felt good on his balls, it probably felt great on her clit.
Damn.
Now he was hard as a rock.
They were at least thirty miles away from Benjamín Hill, but they both needed a break. He removed his sweaty helmet and adjusted his fly. She gave him a disapproving stare, as if it was impolite for him to grab his crotch in Mexico. He glanced around for children or nuns, but he didn’t see a soul. They were alone on the side of a deserted road. There was a church across the street. Maybe there was a strict no-erections rule in front of houses of worship.
They retreated beneath the shade of a nearby tree for lunch. He devoured a ham-and-egg torta while she ate some kind of salad out of a plastic container. It had grilled corn, tomato, and avocado. When she didn’t finish it, he polished off the rest. Pretty tasty.
He drove the final hour to Benjamín Hill. She wasn’t as nervous about riding on the back now. Being in control of the bike had eased her anxiety. She slipped her arms around him, holding steady. He planned to pull over on the outskirts of town and scope out the scene. There might be drug cartel members or corrupt federales waiting at the cargo station. He didn’t want to drive into a dangerous situation with Maria.
He’d leave her behind if he had to. He’d tie her up if he had to. Maria’s brother was involved, and she was determined to find him.
Ian wasn’t the only one who never quit.
He stayed on the back roads, avoiding the main drag. There was a water tower at the edge of town that appeared to offer a good vantage point. He headed in that direction. When they got close, he pulled over behind a large prickly pear cactus.
“What are we doing?” Maria asked.
He killed the engine and removed the binoculars from his pack. “We’re doing recon. I don’t know the word in Spanish.”
“Reconocimiento.”
“Yeah. That.”
They approached the water tower, which resembled a rounded barrel on stilts. It was about fifty feet tall. In the United States, there would probably be a safety feature preventing access to the ladder. Here, there was nothing to stop them. Maria proved she wasn’t afraid of heights by going first and climbing quickly. He followed her up, ignoring the twinge in his thigh. That magic potion had taken the infection and swelling away, but the wound still ached.
From the top, they had an excellent view of the cargo station, which seemed to be the lifeblood of the small town. It was right in the center of the main commercial area. There was a large metal footbridge that arched over the tracks. Small businesses lined both sides of the street.
“Someone is on the bridge,” Maria said.
Ian could see an indistinct, shadowy figure. He lifted the binoculars to his face for a closer look. There was a man in casual clothes and a brown cowboy hat, smoking a cigarillo. He could be a freight worker or a professional hit man. It was hard to tell.
He passed the binoculars to Maria. “What do you see?”
She squinted in concentration. “A man.”
“A local?”
Frowning, she examined him again. “I don’t know. His hat is norteño style, but it looks strange. Too new.”
Ian took the binoculars back, pleased with her assessment. In this dusty town, a pristine hat was suspicious. “Do men from the south wear cowboy hats?”
“Some do. In Mezcala they wear campesinos.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a traditional straw hat.”
While he surveyed the scene, two federal vehicles rumbled down the main drag. They stopped at the cargo station. Federal police piled out and stationed themselves along the tracks. The man in the cowboy hat glanced at them, still smoking.
“We can’t go down there,” Maria said.
“No.”
“What should we do?”
Ian weighed his options. He wasn’t keen on waltzing into an ambush, with or without Maria by his side. He had no idea if the federales were working with the cowboy or not. After a moment, the man pinched out his cigarillo and continued across the bridge. “Maybe we can find somewhere else to wait along the tracks. If you spot Sarai and your brother, you can warn them to jump off early.”
“That will be dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “I’m in.”
Of course she was. Although it was risky to ask two teenagers to leap from a moving train, it wasn’t as risky as greeting the welcoming committ
ee in Benjamín Hill. Those men weren’t here to help Sarai. They’d do anything to capture Armando Villarreal. If Ian didn’t act fast, Sarai would get intercepted by federal agents and probably end up in cartel hands.
And, as much as it pained him to admit, Ian needed Maria to execute his plan. Sarai and Hugo wouldn’t listen to him alone. Ian needed Maria for other reasons too. She was like the air he breathed, like cool water and sunshine. She was everything pure and good.
He studied her profile, memorizing every detail of her face. He loved the sleek lines and curves. The soft sweep of lashes. Her pretty nose and lush mouth. He even loved the slightly crooked tooth that hinted at her fierce nature when she smiled. She was part lamb, part lion.
He hoped he was making the right decision. If anything bad happened to her, he’d die.
Tearing his gaze away, he climbed down the ladder and returned to the bike. They headed south, away from town. The road didn’t run parallel to the tracks, so he had to zigzag around for a couple of miles before he found his way back. He followed a dirt path across a long stretch of flat, sandy terrain, dotted with green sagebrush and mesquite bushes. They came upon a hilly area that looked promising. There was a dry gulch beneath a cluster of bottlebrush trees. He parked behind the trees and they hunkered down in the shade to wait.
It had been warm all day, but pleasant. Over the past hour, the clouds had disappeared and the temperature had skyrocketed. He took off his pin-striped shirt and put on his shoulder holster. Maria removed a bottle of water from the backpack and shared some with him.
“I will wave my arms and tell them to jump,” she said. “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
She nibbled on her lower lip, seeming conflicted. “What if Sarai won’t jump?”
“You think she won’t?”
“The train goes by fast. She might not trust me.”
“Tell her Armando is here.”
Her mouth dropped open. “That’s a lie.”
“It’s a lie that could save her life.”
After a moment of contemplation, she got up and walked across the tracks. About ten feet away, there was a prickly pear cactus laden with ripe, dark pink fruit. She used a stick to knock off a piece of fruit. It was about the size of a kiwi, and covered with tiny needles. Stabbing it with her stick, she brought the fruit back to the gulch.
“You hungry?”
“No. I am going to make a sign.”
She spread out the map on the sand and tore the fruit in half. Its juice was a rich purple color, like natural ink. She plucked a leaf from the tree above them. Holding the fruit carefully with the leaf, she wrote four words on the map in big letters:
SARAI HUGO
BRINQUEN AQUÍ
Jump here.
With the remaining juice, she painted the outline of a butterfly. The message was easy to read, friendly, and hinted at her connection to Armando.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think you’re a fucking genius.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She flushed with pleasure. “What happens after they jump?”
“We find a house with a phone, and I make some calls.”
He stretched out on his back in the cool sand, and she curled up beside him. He offered his arm as a pillow. Although his undershirt was damp with sweat, she didn’t seem to mind.
“Do you want children?” she asked.
“What?”
“Children. Do you want them?”
He’d considered and dismissed the idea a long time ago. Some kids who’d been raised in dysfunctional families couldn’t wait for the chance to have their own children and raise them right. Ian wasn’t one of them. “I’m not the parent type.”
“Why not?”
“I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“You know what not to do, yes?”
He’d had an entire childhood of what not to do. “I wanted a family when I was a kid. I wanted Adam’s family.”
“What were they like?”
“They were happy. They loved each other. Whenever I was hungry, they fed me. I stayed with them an entire month when I was fifteen.”
“Why?”
“My mom got arrested for drug possession, and a social worker came to visit. She said I needed adult supervision, so Adam’s parents agreed to take me in while my mom was locked up. But they didn’t want to adopt me or anything.”
“Why not?”
“Lots of reasons.” He’d heard Adam’s parents arguing about it one night. “They didn’t have the room. His little sister had a crush on me.”
Her lips twitched at this. “How old was she?”
“Thirteen. And incredibly annoying.”
She laughed, squeezing his arm.
As a teenager, he’d resented Raquel for her girlish infatuation. It had caused problems between Ian and Adam’s father, who hadn’t trusted Ian not to touch her. Ian had avoided Raquel like the plague—until she’d grown up. In college, they’d had a short, meaningless fling, but he didn’t tell Maria that.
“My mother had me when she was eighteen,” Maria said.
“No wonder she looks so young.”
“I want to have kids later, when I’m thirty and already old.”
He’d be thirty in two years, and he didn’t feel old. Maybe he’d change his mind about being a parent. Some of his friends had done that after falling in love and getting married. Raquel was a mother now. Pregnancy looked good on her, actually. He pictured Maria with a rounded belly and felt a strange twist in his chest. Half panic, half longing.
The sound of an approaching train had him scrambling to his feet. She grabbed the sign she’d made and climbed out of the gulch.
It was go time.
Chapter 22
Sarai held Hugo’s hand and watched the sun come up over the bay.
The train left Empalme and headed away from the coast, into the Sonoran Desert. By noon it was too hot to wear her sweatshirt. She removed it and put the fabric under her bottom, which didn’t have enough padding to protect her from the hard metal grate. Neither did his, so she shared half. He gave her his wolf-pup smile, seeming content just to sit next to her.
They’d been traveling together for two days. He hadn’t left her side since they’d met in Mazatlán. Although she definitely felt safer with him, her boy-disguise had been compromised. Boys didn’t kiss other boys on the riverbank, or hold hands in public. They didn’t do it without attracting negative attention, anyway.
Now that the other passengers knew she was a girl, there were more eyes on her. There were more eyes on Hugo too, assessing his strength. Women were rare on La Bestia. Young women traveled with a male relative, or not at all. She worried that someone would challenge Hugo for her company. Multiple someones might decide to throw him off the train.
Her phone chirped in her pocket, indicating that it was done charging. She’d bought a wireless charger at the last stop. She was reluctant to check her messages in front of the other passengers, however. No one else had a phone. They were a more precious commodity than women. Using it openly would be like waving a red flag in a bullpen.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said.
“I’ll come with you.”
They moved across the surface of the railcar with caution, staying low. Then she climbed down the ladder with him. There was another metal grate at the bottom where she could squat to pee without exposing herself to the other passengers.
Hugo stood with his back to her, not looking. It was embarrassing and dangerous. She held the ladder with one hand and watched the railroad ties rush by underneath the grate. After she finished, he took his turn. He unbuttoned his pants and directed his stream toward the tracks, where it hissed on impact.
Boys.
She checked her phone and found a new voicemail from an unknown number. She listened to it, her heart racing.
“M’ija. It’s your papá. I just wanted to say that I got your
last message. I love you too. But we should talk in person, not on Facebook. Call me back at this number.”
I love you too? She hadn’t said that on Facebook or anywhere else. With a frown, she attempted to dial the number, but she didn’t have good enough reception. She might have better luck on the surface of the railcar, or in another area.
Curious, she checked Facebook. There was a series of messages from him:
I was unconscious for a few days, but I’m okay now…
Her vision blurred with tears as she continued reading.
I asked Tía M to deliver the letter, not to follow you. Is she alone? If you see a man with her, describe him to me.
And this, from yesterday:
Where are you? I can meet you in Benjamín Hill, where the tracks fork. Get off the train and wait for me at the station. I love you. Don’t worry.
She stared at those words, swallowing past the lump in her throat. It wasn’t like him to get sentimental, but the strangest part was the last bit. He’d trained her to stay on high alert. Guarded was his default setting. Telling her not to worry wasn’t his style. At all.
His voicemail had sounded strained, also. Something was off. She scrolled through her IMs to make sure she hadn’t said anything mushy in her last communication. There were no “I love yous” in their exchanges. Their never had been. What she did find was an indication of a deleted text. It had been sent the night she’d been hiding in that rotten trash shoot.
“No way,” she breathed.
“What’s up?” Hugo asked.
“Hang on,” she said, glancing at her father’s page. His status said “on vacation,” with a bunch of stupid emojis. “This is not right.”
The train went over a bumpy section of track, jostling her against Hugo. The phone almost slipped out of her sweaty hand. She stuck it back into her pocket without replying. Then she followed him up the ladder. When they were seated on the surface again, she tucked her knees to her chest and clutched the edge of the metal grate. She didn’t know what to do.
Her father wanted to talk in person, not on Facebook. Was that a warning? Was his status update another clue?
“Was it bad news?” Hugo asked.
Off the Rails Page 20
