Angie took a step back and bumped into Alejandro. “Who is that?”
“That, my friend, is Tio’s little brother, Pepe.”
“Are there more like that where they come from?”
“Dozens.” He took her by the elbow with care. “It’s okay, his bite is worse than his bark. Time for you to meet the boss lady. You’re gonna love her.”
Angie straightened her shoulders and shook her arm out of his clasp. “I’m a bad ass girl, too. Don’t you ever forget that.”
“How could I? Even in handcuffs it was obvious you were putting the hurt on that jerk. I have no desire to tangle with you.” Except in bed, he added to himself. Stop that. No sex with the women on the job.
As if hearing his thoughts, she quirked an eyebrow at him and shook her head. “Let’s go see my new BFF, shall we?”
Pepe shouted in Spanish.
“What’d he say?”
“He said, ‘Get your asses in here.’ Such a class act, that guy.” Alejandro swept his baseball hat off and bowed. “You first, milady.”
She spun on her heel and marched ahead of him. As if to add icing on the delectable confection named after angels, her luscious behind swayed hypnotically before him, begging for his attention. He sighed and enjoyed the view. Thank all the gods by whatever names they go by, the baby would be here soon, safe in his mother’s arms. Then she’d be on her way. The tingling he felt from head to toe told him if he spent too much time with her, the combination of her physical beauty, grit, and passion could damage more than his heart. The last time he’d felt this way about a woman, she’d blown his cover. The thought of that debacle cooled his libidinous thoughts.
He crossed into the cool hallway and smacked Pepe on the back of his head. “Cállate! Shut your mouth. Your balls are falling off your tongue.”
Pepe roared with laughter, picked Alejandro up in a bear hug and squeezed him until he was breathless. Garrulous and profane when excited, the big man rattled on in Spanish, “Tio called and told me about your adventure. Now I wish I’d gone with you to meet the senorita instead of my brother. He has all the fun.”
“When he gets here with Raul, I bet you’ll have some fun, too.”
“How did that asshole get to her first?”
“She arrived half a day early. Must have driven all night and day.” Alejandro nodded at Angie who stood nearby and tapped her fingers on her crossed arms. “Angelita wants her baby back and she wants him now.”
Pepe’s smile faltered. “Couldn’t find a trace of him in any of the missions, towns or villages in the entire State of Chihuahua.” He gave Alejandro the details of the network’s inquiries and ended with a sigh. “No crazy cults, no white babies.”
Alejandro’s stomach dropped. Who was going to have to tell her the bad news?
Isabel’s commanding voice cut through the air. “Pepe, I need you. Where are you?”
The big man shrugged. “We’ve got company.” He pointed at Angie and spoke in English, “Taking you to meet the boss lady.”
A flash of hope lit her green eyes. “Is my son with her?”
“Sorry. No. We’re still searching for him.”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her scratched cheeks.
Alejandro put his arm around her slumped shoulders. “It’s a large state, a lot of territory.”
She looked into his eyes, her gaze imploring. “Tell me the truth.”
He nodded. “Pepe said they’ve searched all the populated places in Chihuahua. No cults, no white babies.”
“Everywhere? Are you sure?”
“They’ve checked the villages along the railroad and the highway. Nothing.”
“What about the Sierra Madre? My father specifically prophesied about a fortress in the mountains.”
Pepe man shook his head. “You’d have to be a goat or a madman to get in those places.”
“My father’s a psychopath. He can do things you would never think possible.” She headed down the hall. “If you can’t figure out a way to search those mountains and canyons, I will. I’m taking this up with your boss.”
Alejandro ran after Angie, Pepe lumbering behind him. They all screeched to a halt in the living room. Alejandro gagged. Something smelled like hairy armpits mixed with a porta-pottie on a sweltering day. Fists on her hips, Isabel stood behind a large wicker sofa. “About time you got in here,” Isabel directed her comment at Pepe. “Angie, I’m Izzy.” Her wild black curls danced around her head as she spoke with jerky, wild gestures. “I went for a ride on my favorite horse, Nightrider. This—this thing—jumped out of the bushes on the side of the path, waving a machete and looking like something from a bad parade for Día de los Muertos—Day of the Dead. He terrified Nightrider. The poor animal reared up and almost threw me off his back. If Pepe hadn’t shot this lunatic, I don’t know what would have happened next.”
The Latina turned and pointed at the floor.
“Can you tell us who the hell this is?”
Pinioned with ropes at the wrists and ankles, the man’s head lay at an awkward angle, a hefty blue tattoo exposed on the side of his neck. A large blue cross inside a circle matched the pendant lying on his scrawny chest. Alejandro circled the prisoner and pulled his shirt over his nose in a futile attempt to avoid the stench of sweat and urine drenching the air around the filthy man. Bones tenting beneath his pale skin, Alejandro could not only count the man’s ribs, but his vertebrae. Covered with red peeling skin, bug bites, and scabbed over wounds, the man’s back gave mute testimony to a litany of abuses, the least of which was severe sunburn.
His stomach knotted when he realized what the stripes meant. Flogging. Alejandro crossed his arms and stroked his beard, puzzling out the possibilities. That left either penance or punishment at someone else’s hands. Who would have done that to him? His gaze travelled down his back to the knotted, blood-stained rope tied around the man’s waist as a belt for his shredded denim shorts. He shuddered. Those wounds were self-inflicted. But fresher ones, bruises and abrasions dotted his arms, legs and ribs.
The red haired woman gasped and her eyes widened. “That’s one of my father’s followers.”
"Glad you know who he is. I couldn’t get a thing out of him, even with my favorite steel toed boots.”
“Is he alive?” Angie touched the poor wretch’s arm.
The man shrieked. “Nononononononono.”
“Still breathing.” Izzy grinned. “He thinks you’re going to kick him.”
A reasonable fear, Alejandro thought.
Angie glared at Izzy. “What’d you do to him?”
“He’s been on a time out.” Isabel smirked. “In a hot box.”
“He’s useless to us if he dies.” Angie sat on the floor and lifted the scrawny man onto her lap.
How could Angie stand the stench of the man? Alejandro gagged every time the fumes wafted toward him.
She pointed at Pepe. “You. Water. Agua. Now.”
While Pepe raced out of the room, she worked at the ropes without success. The redhead looked up at Alejandro with an exasperated expression.
Without a word, he knelt down, pulled out his pocketknife and sawed at the ties until the man’s hands and legs fell loose.
Pepe returned with a case of water and handed her an open bottle.
Lifting the man’s head, Angie began to pour small amounts into his mouth. At last, he began to swallow, first in tiny sips, then great gulps.
“Okay,” she spoke in soft voice, “easy, Brother.”
His eyes flew open. Confusion washed over his dirt-encrusted face. He stiffened and croaked, “I work for great and glorious Almighty, the Messiah of End Days, the Chosen One—and our Father!”
Angie flipped copper strands of hair out of her eyes, and gave the poor wretch a gentle smile. Alejandro felt as if he was watching La Pietà come to life.
“Father sent me to rescue you,” Angie whispered.
The man sighed, “Father.”
“Do you know who
I am?”
A smile cracked his parched lips. “Mother. Chosen One.”
“Yes, exactly.” She gave him some more water.
His brows furrowed. “Apostate.”
“I repented. Come to take care of my son.”
His eyes lit up. “Father happy?”
“Yes, Father is so very happy. And so is Mother Miriam.”
“Ahhhh,” he sighed and closed his eyes. “Good.”
She waved Pepe over. “Get me a wet towel.”
Pepe flew out of the room and returned with a basin of water and a pile of towels.
Alejandro glanced at Isabel. She hadn’t said a word since Angie sank down on the floor and began giving orders. Arms crossed over her ample cleavage, the Boss Lady’s stance gave little away. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He shuddered at the idea of crawling around in her mind. On second thought, never mind.
The mother of the Chosen One dabbed at the pathetic man’s face. The towel grew dark red with a mixture of dust and blood. She tossed one filthy cloth after another onto the red tile floor until the man’s head and neck turned from dark red brown to pink scrubbed flesh.
He smiled up at his rescuer. “Thank you.”
“Father says thank you for your love, faith, and loyalty…” She paused.
The man watched her with an open mouth, clearly in awe.
Who wouldn’t be? Alejandro thought. Not only had she saved his life and freed him from his bonds, but she looked like—well, an angel.
Angie began to stroke the disciple’s brow. “Father told me to come here and save you, said you’d lead us home.”
The mesmerized man nodded assent.
“There’s just one thing.” Angie paused. “You must tell me so these people will let us go.”
“Any—anything for Father and the Chosen One,” the man rasped.
She held his chin in her hand and forced him to look her in the eye. “Where’s the gold?”
Chapter Four
Zeke sat on his raised chair in the middle of the great hall and smiled down at his congregation. He felt right at home. The women had placed bright colored, native, woven tapestries on the walls and festooned the tables with corn stalks and pumpkins. Hanging on the wall at his eye level was an enormous blue and white replica of the tattoo each man and woman wore as evidence of their blood oaths to him. Zeke had told Aaron a normal stage with a microphone and podium would do, but the admiring engineer had insisted on setting a more regal tone, saying it befitted a man with the wisdom of Solomon. Decorated with repeating patterns of the congregation’s five pointed star within a circle tattoo in blue and white, the throne towered eight feet tall and four feet wide, sufficient space to accommodate seating another person at Zeke’s side. A bright blue cushion filled with scented stuffing protected his bony derriere from any discomfort. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and basked in his followers’ adulation.
It was good to be Zeke Edmonds, formerly Carl Logan, fugitive-at-large from the Texas Rangers. If only that young woman hadn’t resisted his pastoral attentions after the Sunday School picnic, she’d still be alive today. Stupid bitch. It was her own fault. She flirted with him like a brazen hussy, even let him know her parents were going out that night, that she’d be all alone. Then she’d acted as if she was a nun when he visited her at her home that evening. He’d been the wronged party, not her. Good thing he’d been wearing gloves that night years ago. The authorities had never connected the man in Baltimore’s inner city prison to the one the Rangers sought. No worries now. Here in the Sierra Madre, he was safe from snoops and prying eyes.
If his parents could see him now, they’d be stunned. Doubters. After their untimely deaths, not only was he able to purchase a car, but also establish a hefty bank account. When his troubles with the law occurred, he’d closed the account, and taken a bus cross-country, thousands of miles out of the reach of the Rangers, into the bowels of Baltimore.
At the inner city bus station, in her modest Amish dress and kapp, Miriam had appeared to be a creature from his religious visions. But when the cloud of diesel smoke cleared and she stumbled on the step, he realized she was meant to be his. She was his angel, made flesh and blood. A little bird, lost and lonely, fallen down from the heavens into his hands. That night, he’d performed the marriage ceremony himself. After spending time in the Baltimore City Library researching the area, he had decided to establish himself in a small town on the sleepy Eastern Shore of Maryland. Chicken farming and religion were the main businesses of the town, and with Miriam as his strong helpmate, he quickly became a captain of both industries.
He sighed. Life was good. He opened his eyes. When would he have his virgins? This space was perfect for the ceremonies. Aaron had created a pleasing environment for dining, worship, and initiation rites. Here, high in the isolated mountains, Zeke was king, high priest, and the god of fertility. He stroked his thigh and fantasized about the ripe young women. He motioned to a female congregant placing sheaves of corn around the base of the throne.
“Yes, Father?”
He smiled and spoke in a low voice. “I need to speak with you in private. I need some assistance with an urgent problem.” Zeke stared deep into her eyes. “Can you help me?”
The middle-aged blonde-haired woman with freckles and wide blue eyes, blushed. “It would be my honor.”
He stood. “Meet me in my quarters in ten minutes.” Zeke tingled with anticipation. She probably wasn’t a virgin, but she’d do for now.
****
Miriam trudged after Sister Anne, wondering how many more miles they had to go to reach the orphanage. Anne had said it wasn’t far from the village on the next ridge. What she hadn’t said was that the village was miles up and down steep inclines of the interwoven mountains and canyons. Miriam wasn’t afraid of hard work. Her hands were as large as a man’s, and God knew she had the stamina of a bull, but this terrain demanded the feet of a goat. She laughed out loud at the mental image.
Sister Anne stopped and looked at her with an expression of concern. “Mother, are you okay?”
“I could use a rest, if you don’t mind. How about there?” She pointed at a small cabin nestled in a field below them. Wisps of smoke rose from the chimney, and goats grazed in a nearby corral. “The sun is setting. Let’s go see if they’ll take us in for the night.”
The other woman frowned and shook her head. “No, you can’t do that here. We wait to be invited in. They say ‘only ghosts knock at doors’. Let’s sit over here, on this pile of wood. I have some pinole we can eat while we wait.”
Miriam took a cup of the ground corn mixed with water, sipped, and grimaced. “This could use some milk and sugar.”
“You’ll get used to it. Sugar is only available at the trading post. We have little money for luxuries here.” She smiled. “That’s okay. We are rich in our own way.”
“It’s not as if we need to worry about keeping up with the Joneses. When we came through the train stop, women and children lined the streets, selling baskets and little dolls to the tourists. Where do they get those layers and layers of colorful clothes?”
“They trade for the fabrics. Have you seen the men in their loincloths?”
Miriam shook her head. “You mean like Tarzan?”
Sister Anne giggled. “No, not that kind. Sort of like a skirt tied in front, with a shirt and huaraches—sandals. The haircuts—well, let’s just say the men look like someone put a bowl on their heads and used it as a guide.”
The door to the cabin opened and light outlined a small figure “Hola!”
“Hola!” Sister Anne called out in Spanish.
“May we sleep in your cabin tonight?”
Time had left its indelible stamp on the old woman’s wrinkled features. She nodded at Sister Anne, stopped in front of Miriam, and looked her up and down. “Es su Madre Menonita? Is your mother a Mennonite?”
Sister Anne shook her head. “No, no es Menonita. Not Mennonite. Recreationist. Over the rid
ge.” She pointed in the direction from which they’d come and flailed her arms. “Windmills?”
“Ahh. Si, si.” She patted her chest. “Mi nombre es Maria.” The old woman motioned for them to follow her.
Miriam whispered to Sister Anne, “How does she know about Mennonites?”
“They came from Canada in the early 1900’s,” the other woman responded in normal voice. “Looking for religious freedom, just like us. Keep to themselves, except to sell their dairy products.”
Nostalgia for Pennsylvania’s green pastures and milking cows washed over her. She wondered what had become of her best friend, Leah. Had she married a good Amish man? Did she still go to quiltings and singings? Was Leah happy?
Once Miriam married Zeke, he’d allowed her only one letter home to her parents, telling them she was married and would not be returning to the Church. The letter might as well have been her suicide note and obituary rolled into one. For the sake of their souls, and for her own good, if she had returned home, she would have been shunned.
The old woman pointed to a pile of blankets in a corner of the smoky room. Miriam rested her aching joints and worn out bones on the rough floor of the hovel, listened to the wind sweep over the roof, and looked back at herself as a young woman in Lancaster. Little did she know then that she’d someday sorely miss her good bed and warm quilts. She dashed an errant tear away, lest the other woman notice.
“This is an extraordinary place, Sister Anne,” she whispered. “Just as Father foretold, we’re among friends in a land of peaceful living. Everything is going according to his plan.”
****
Sister Ellen, the freckle-faced blonde, was suitably impressed with Father’s large living quarters. He showed her the shower and bathroom, and attempted to hustle the woman past the nursery to his bedroom.
“Is this the Chosen One’s room?” She paused in the doorway. A mobile with birds and butterflies dangled over a blue and white crib.
“Yes, but as you can see, he’s sleeping.” He pulled at her arm. After shooing Sister Rose away, he’d rushed to prepare for the younger woman’s visit. It had been months since he’d felt this virile. Truly it was a sign from above.
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