“We think she jumped off, sir.”
There was a flurry of exchanges and theories, interrupted by a notification that an officer had been attacked. The general barked out orders to search the entire area. They would start on the north side of town and comb their way south.
Armando staggered away from the boulder, leaving a bloody handprint on the surface.
This wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 23
Ian watched the train rush by without Hugo or Sarai.
“¡Ya saltaron!” one of the passengers shouted.
They’d already jumped.
“When?” Maria asked. “Where?”
The same passenger pointed into the distance, but his response couldn’t be heard over the sound of the wheels clacking. Wind rippled through Ian’s damp undershirt and short hair as the last railcar passed by them. Then the air stilled, and the train was gone. Maria lowered the sign she was holding. Her brow was furrowed in dismay.
Now what?
Ian looked in the opposite direction. There was no convenient road alongside the tracks. They’d have to leave the bike here and search for the missing teens on foot. He didn’t like that option. This was a remote, unfamiliar location. They were completely isolated. Maybe he should have communicated his specific plans to LaGuardia. Maybe he should have bought a cellphone in Hermosillo. Maybe he should have left Maria behind when he’d had the chance.
Too late now.
Maria folded the map and put it in his backpack. They headed south. Every step filled him with foreboding. The rocky outcroppings on the west side of the track concerned him. They graduated into low hills, perfect to hide behind. There could be an army of men in the vicinity and Ian wouldn’t know it. They were too exposed here, too vulnerable to ambush.
He wondered if Sarai and Hugo had gone into the hills, rather than staying near the tracks. Ian kept a careful eye on their surroundings, but he didn’t suggest a detour. He had no idea where Hugo and Sarai had jumped off the train. It was better to follow the tracks and look for clues. After about a mile, he noticed a bright flash of color on the ground.
Maria spotted the same thing. “It’s an orange peel.”
When they got closer, he picked it up. “This is fresh,” he said, touching the pulp. In this harsh environment, nothing stayed moist.
“They were here.”
Before he could glance around for more evidence of their presence, gunshots rang out, spurring him into action. He pulled Maria to the ground and shielded her with his body. It sounded like rifle fire. Not aimed at them, but too close for comfort. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
He rolled away from her, his heart pounding. The shots had come from the dusty hills to the west. He’d have to climb up the slope to get a view of the other side. She insisted on following him, and he didn’t argue. He didn’t want her out in the open by herself.
He crept up the hill and glanced over the edge while she stayed behind him, out of sight. There were two vehicles in the canyon below. Ian grabbed the binoculars for a better view.
Sarai and Hugo were down there, surrounded by three men. One had a rifle strap over his shoulder, slung incorrectly. Another was strutting around with a handgun. The lower halves of their faces were covered by black bandannas, like bank robbers. The third man was the cowboy they’d seen on the bridge earlier. He looked older and wiser than his cohorts.
While Ian watched, the young man with the rifle shoved Sarai. Hugo shoved him back and got clocked in the face for his efforts. He went sprawling in the dirt and stayed there. His left arm was hanging at his side, limp and bloody. Sarai knelt beside him protectively.
Ian moved his binoculars from the canyon to the surrounding hilltops and found a fourth man. This was their lookout. His attention was turned north, toward the town. He was older, like the cowboy. He wore a Panama-style hat with a red cloth band.
“What do you see?” Maria asked in a hoarse whisper. When he told her, she made the sign of the cross and started praying in Spanish.
“I’m going to try to disarm the guard. Maybe I can trade him for Sarai and Hugo.”
She turned pale, but didn’t argue.
“Stay here and keep out of sight. Hugo is injured. He’ll need your help.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Be careful.”
He crushed his mouth to hers. It was a desperate kiss, brief and fierce and full of emotion. When he broke the contact, she touched her lips as if they were on fire. Tears spilled down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb, wishing he didn’t have to leave her. But he knew she wanted him to go. Her brother’s life was in danger.
He scrambled down the hill, drawing his weapon. He had to circle around the canyon and climb up the opposite side without being spotted.
Luckily, the guard didn’t glance in Ian’s direction. His gaze stayed north, for the most part. He glanced down into the canyon a few times, and across the hills. There was a strong wind blowing toward the west, which helped mask the sound of Ian’s approach. Pebbles crunched under his boots as he got closer. The guard heard the last step, but it was too late. Ian pressed the barrel of his Sig against the nape of his neck.
“No te muevas.”
He didn’t move.
Ian told him to put down his rifle, which he did. The man in the cowboy hat caught this movement. He stared up at them from the canyon below. Sarai was sitting next to Hugo with her hands tied behind her back. Hugo had a bloody lip, in addition to a bloody arm.
“Déjenlos ir,” Ian called out.
Let them go.
The two young men started waving their guns around, threatening to shoot him.
“I can’t give you the girl,” the cowboy said in a calm voice. “I’ll release the boy if you come down here with my friend.”
That was a bad deal. If Ian went into the canyon, he’d have to surrender his weapon or engage in a close-range shootout with four men. If he stayed on the hillside, he could fire from a safer distance, but the odds were still stacked against him.
“Make your move, gringo chulo,” the cowboy said.
“Let the boy go first,” Ian said.
The cowboy snapped his fingers. The young man with the rifle yanked Hugo to his feet and gave him a hard shove. Hugo clearly didn’t want to leave Sarai, but he had no choice. He walked out of the canyon, holding his injured arm.
Ian stepped forward to guide the guard down the slope. The second young man had his Smith & Wesson trained on Ian. As soon as they reached the dry creek bed, the cowboy ordered Ian to drop his weapon and get down. Ian removed the barrel from the guard’s neck and set it on the ground. Then he lowered himself to his stomach. The guard wrenched his arms behind his back. Ian gritted his teeth as his wrists were bound with coarse rope.
The kid with the handgun crouched next to him. He was wearing a backward baseball cap, and brimming with aggression. He shoved the barrel of his gun against Ian’s neck, just to fuck with him. “How do you like it, puto?”
The cowboy told the kid to cut it out. He sounded like a father admonishing his child.
Before the kid rose to his feet, he hit Ian across the temple, splitting his eyebrow. Blood trickled into his eye, hot and bright. He blinked it away and turned his head to the side. Sarai stared at him in quiet defiance. She looked nothing like Armando, just as Maria had said. And yet, there was a similarity between them. She had his stillness.
Ian wondered if he’d made the wrong decision in coming down here. He’d saved Hugo, but at what cost? It would be no triumph to die with Sarai. He moved his gaze past Sarai, toward the hill where he’d left Maria. He hoped she wouldn’t do anything stupid, like join the fray.
“Who is this gringo?” the cowboy asked.
Sarai ignored the question. She probably didn’t know who Ian was. The young man with the rifle gave her a rude nudge. He wasn’t any older than she was. He had light brown hair and the lanky build of a teenager. She showed no reaction to his abuse.
“I’ll make her talk,” the other kid said, cupping his crotch.
The cowboy in charge told him to shut the fuck up and ordered the guard to search Ian for identification. He patted Ian down but didn’t find anything. Ian’s badge was inside his empty shoulder holster, trapped underneath his arm.
“Get back to your station,” the cowboy growled, seeming irritated.
The guard started up the slope. Halfway there, he hesitated. Ian scanned the hillside and noticed that the guard’s rifle was gone. Someone must have taken it, but who?
Ian’s stomach dropped as he glanced at Sarai.
“Mariposa,” she whispered, for his ears only.
—
Maria had planned to follow Ian’s orders.
She held the binoculars in a death grip while she watched him trade his life for Hugo’s. He walked down the hill and surrendered his weapon. Hugo got up and stumbled away from the scene, cradling his right arm. Maria was torn between going to help her brother and staying on the hill to watch Ian. His wrists were wrenched behind his back. She gasped in shock as the boy in a baseball cap hit him over the head.
¡Dios mío! She had to do something. They were going to kill him.
The rifle was sitting on the opposite hillside, barrel glinting in the afternoon sun. She didn’t know how to use it, but maybe she could cause a diversion. Scrambling down the hill, she hurried toward the edge of the canyon. When she reached it, she didn’t see her brother.
Her stomach dropped as she realized that he’d gone to fetch the rifle.
He was as crazy as she was!
She continued past the canyon and crept around the back of the hill. Hugo was there. He didn’t have the rifle yet, but he was heading toward it. His eyes lit up when he saw her. She ran forward and hugged him tight, overwhelmed with emotion. He made a sound of pain, so she let go and studied his arm. It looked broken. Blood streaked down his hand and dripped from his fingertips.
“Did they shoot you?”
“I’m okay,” he said, spitting in the dirt. He had a bloody lip too.
She urged him to sit down. He was pale and shaky, despite his assertion that he was okay. She was afraid he might pass out. She glanced at the rifle on the hilltop, conflicted. Should she try to help Ian and Sarai? Or save herself and her brother?
“Get the rifle,” Hugo said, following her gaze.
“I can’t shoot it.”
“I can.”
“Your arm is broken.”
He stared at his right hand, as if willing it to work. The best he could do was bend his fingers. They were swollen and stiff. “I’ll use my left.”
She dismissed this idea as teen-boy foolishness and looked around for a miracle. To her astonishment, she found one. There was a man standing underneath a gnarled smoke tree about fifty yards away. He was wearing jeans and a suit jacket with no shirt. Though his face was in shadow, she’d recognize it anywhere.
Armando Villarreal.
She’d bet her last peso that he could shoot the tail off a lizard with that rifle. It was lying on the hilltop, easy to grab.
“Wait here,” she told Hugo, and went for it.
She dashed up the hill, her heart pounding with adrenaline. She didn’t like guns. She’d rather pick up a rattlesnake than a rifle. But she grabbed it all the same. Her head and shoulders were exposed for a split second before she ducked down again. As she navigated the rocky slope, descending quickly, she heard the telltale sound of rocks shifting behind her.
Uh-oh.
Hugo shouted a warning. She didn’t turn to see who was coming after her. She just started running down the hill. She almost lost her footing at the edge of the slope. Catching herself, she hit the flat ground and headed right, toward the smoke tree and away from Hugo. Armando ducked behind the tree trunk, vanishing as if he’d never been there. She felt the ground thunder as her pursuer closed in. The tree wavered like a mirage on the horizon.
She wasn’t going to make it.
¡Chingado! She shouldn’t have gone for the rifle. She should have listened to Ian. She should have stayed with Hugo.
Before she reached the tree, she got caught by the hair and yanked off her feet. Her head snapped backward and her arms flew out. She couldn’t hang on to the rifle. It slipped from her hands as she hit the ground. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs.
Crack!
The man chasing her went down too. He released his grip on her hair as he fell. She sat up, gasping for breath.
Armando loomed over her with a grapefruit-sized rock. He tossed the blunt weapon aside casually. She stared at him with a mixture of gratitude and fear. He stared back at her in his usual fashion. No emotion, no expression.
She’d described him once to Kari as cara de cuero, or leather face. This was not a flattering comment, but it fit. He was weathered and unmoving.
“Where’s my daughter?”
She gestured over the hill with a shaking hand.
“Is she hurt?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Who’s that?” Armando asked, glancing at Hugo. He was walking toward them slowly. He stopped to rest, wincing in pain.
“My brother.”
“How many men are guarding Sarai?”
“Three.”
“Armed?”
“Yes.”
“¿Y tu novio? The lawman?”
She nodded, moistening her lips. She was still rattled from the close call. She couldn’t stop trembling. “He’s with her.”
Armando’s eyes traveled down the length of her body. She sensed that he saw her as a desirable woman, just as Ian had suggested. She hadn’t noticed this before, but now it seemed obvious. Maybe Ian was right about Armando’s feelings for her. It didn’t really matter, because Ian was wrong about his motivations. Armando hadn’t saved Maria’s life to gain her favor. He’d done it because he had protective instincts.
Armando turned his gaze toward the hillside. “We’re not friends, him and I.”
“I know.”
“You won’t interfere?”
She shook her head, tears filling her eyes.
The man who’d been chasing her groaned. He might regain consciousness, but he probably wouldn’t feel well enough to fight. Armando didn’t look well, either. His skin had a dusty, grayish cast. There was a bloodstained bandage under his jacket.
He touched her cheek with scratchy fingertips. “Thank you for delivering the letter,” he said. Then he gathered the rifle and climbed up the hill.
She didn’t tell him to go with God. It was too late for that.
—
Armando didn’t expect to stumble upon his enemies.
He figured he’d get picked up by the federal police and hand-delivered to them. Either that or die of exposure. Every step in the blazing desert sun brought him closer to hell. Then he’d heard gunshots, and his heart had stalled in his chest.
Sarai.
She was a skinny girl, fine-boned, but she’d been a fat baby. Alma had been so proud of her. She’d dressed her in cute little outfits and made adoring exclamations. “¡Qué gordita eres!” she’d say. “Look at these chubby legs!”
Armando hadn’t thought about that in years.
He’d jogged toward the sound of gunshots until the ache in his gut made it impossible. Then he’d walked fast. As soon as he saw Maria, he’d felt a resurgence of energy. She was part guardian angel, part good-luck charm. She reminded him of Alma, in the days before Sarai came along. They’d met when she was nineteen and he was twenty-two. She was the most spirited, most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She’d been engaged at the time, to a wealthy Spaniard, but he hadn’t been man enough for her. He hadn’t defied her parents, or lifted her skirts and taken her against the wall in the garden.
Armando had.
As he reached the hilltop, he cleared his mind of everything but the present situation. Here and now. The rifle in his left hand. Beretta 9mm in his right.
This was it.
Three men stood in the canyon below. He recognized Tito Maldives, the brother of Memo Maldives. Armando had killed Memo for his involvement in Alma’s murder. The other two were young men. They had bandannas covering the lower halves of their faces. One was Tito’s son, Benito. The second had light hair. He looked familiar, but Armando couldn’t place him.
Sarai was sitting on the ground next to Agent Foster with her hands bound behind her back. She appeared unharmed. Though small and delicate looking, like Alma, she wore a fierce expression. His chest constricted at the sight of her, all grown up.
“Our guest of honor,” Tito said to Armando. “How nice of you to finally arrive.”
“I brought some friends,” he replied, indicating his weapons.
Tito laughed a big, fake laugh.
“Your brother laughed like that,” Armando said.
Tito went quiet with anger, but the more telling reaction came from the light-haired boy. His entire body tensed. He squinted at Armando with hate-filled eyes. With a start, Armando realized he was Memo’s son. They’d called him Güero. He’d been ten or eleven when Armando killed his father. Now he was a teenager, like Sarai.
“My brother will see you in hell,” Tito said.
“I want to end this peacefully,” Armando replied, laying down his weapons.
“I decide how we end this. Not you.”
Armando had no interest in firing at two boys while Sarai’s life hung in the balance. “Let my daughter go, and I won’t fight you. We can conclude our business however you like.”
“No,” she screamed, struggling to free her wrists.
Memo’s son backhanded her for the outburst. She went quiet, seeming shocked by the blow. Armando felt as if he’d been struck instead of her. He struggled against the urge to pick up the rifle and shoot the kid out of his fucking shoes.
Sarai spat at the boy like a wildcat. When Güero drew back his arm to repeat the action, Agent Foster head-butted him in the stomach. Güero went down on his ass, taking Foster with him. They rolled across the dirt together in a dusty tumble.
Off the Rails Page 22
