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“Not if I get out of town quick enough.”
“Damn it, Sonora, why do you do it?”
“Do what?” she asked.
“You know what. There are a hundred careers you could have picked besides the one that you chose, and none of them would have been dangerous.”
“Can you bring it over?” she asked. “I’d come get it, but I don’t want to advertise my presence any more than necessary.”
Buddy sighed. “Hell, yes, I’ll bring the Harley, serviced, gassed up and clean. When do you need it?” he asked.
“Yesterday.”
Buddy cursed and asked, “Do you need to leave before morning?”
“No. It can wait until then, but early…please.”
“Thanks for nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll be there before 7:00 a.m. Will you make me some coffee?”
“Yes.”
“And maybe some of your biscuits and gravy?”
“No.”
He sighed. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I’m not blaming you for anything,” she said. “Never have. Never will.”
“I know,” Buddy said, and knew that she was no longer talking about the bike. “See you in the morning.”
“Okay, Buddy, and thanks.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Buddy said, and hung up.
With that job over, Sonora walked to the closet, then grabbed her travel bag and quickly packed. She thought about where she might go and then went into the living room, found an atlas and carried it to the kitchen.
She opened the pages to the map of the U.S. and then just sat and stared. One line seemed to stand out from all the others. She fumbled in a drawer for a yellow highlighter, then popped the cap. Her fingers where shaking as she held it over the map. Something rattled behind her, like pebbles in a can. She ignored it and began to mark.
Without a thought in her head, she began drawing a line north out of Phoenix toward Flagstaff, then across the country until she came to Oklahoma. The line ended there.
She paused, frowned, then shook her head, certain she’d just lost her mind. Still, she left the atlas on the counter as she went into her bedroom.
She showered quickly, afraid that the vision would come back. Even after she crawled into bed and closed her eyes, she was reluctant to sleep. Finally, she rolled onto her side, bunched her pillow under her neck, then grabbed the extra one and hugged it to her. It was an old habit from childhood, and one she rarely indulged in anymore. The simple act made her feel childish and helpless and Sonora was neither of those.
Somehow she slept, and woke up just after six. Time enough for a quick shower.
True to his promise, Buddy showed up right before seven.
She met him at the door with a to-go cup of coffee.
“Good morning,” she said, eyeing his tousled hair and unshaven face. “Thanks for bringing the Harley.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, then dropped the keys in her hands, handed her the helmet and took the coffee, downing a good portion of it before he spoke again. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what’s going on?”
She shrugged. “Someone wants me dead.”
“Son of a bitch,” Buddy muttered.
“Yes, he is,” Sonora said. “A real bad one. I don’t think anyone knows about you and me, but just to be on the safe side, don’t mention my name to anyone.”
“There is no more you and me,” Buddy reminded her. “And don’t worry about me. I’m not the one with the death wish.”
Sonora frowned. “I don’t have a death wish. I just do my job and do it well.” Then she kissed him on the cheek, as much as a thank-you as for old times’ sake, as well as for bringing back her bike, then pointed at the cab in the street. “I suppose that’s your ride. Don’t keep him waiting.”
She watched him get into the cab before checking the area for someone who didn’t belong. All was well. When he looked back, she waved goodbye, then quickly closed the door.
She walked through her home one last time, making sure everything was as it should be, then shouldered her bag, picked up the helmet and turned off the lights. She opened the door, hesitating briefly to scan the neighborhood once more, and saw nothing amiss. The black and shiny Harley was at the curb.
She hurried outside, opened the storage compartment and dropped her handgun inside, then lowered the lid and tied her bag down on top. When she stuck the key in the ignition, she could tell Buddy had been good for his word. Not only was the bike clean, but the gas gauge registered full. She checked to make sure her toolbox was in place, then put on the helmet and slung her leg over the bike as if she was mounting a horse.
The engine roared to life, then settled down to a soft rumble as she released the kickstand and gave it the gas. As the rumble changed to a full-throttle blast, she put it in gear and rode away without looking back.
It wasn’t until she was on the highway that she remembered the path she’d highlighted on the atlas. There was no reason for her to have chosen that direction, and a couple of times she even considered turning around and heading for Las Vegas or points farther west. But something more than instinct was guiding her trip.
Chapter 3
Miguel Garcia was in Juarez, trying to figure out how to get over the border. The Mexican police had staked out his hotel and would have already had him in custody if it hadn’t been for Jorge Diaz, one of his dealers, who’d sent his own child into the restaurant where Miguel was having breakfast to warn him.
Now he was in a dingy room over what must be the oldest cantina in the city, without his clothes, and without access to his bank. Even though he hadn’t been born to it, Miguel had been in the drug business long enough that he’d become accustomed to fine dining, elegant surroundings. Being forced to hide in a room like this was like a slap in the face—a degradation that only added to the grief of losing his brothers.
Enrique was incarcerated somewhere in the States, and Juanito was on a slab in a Tijuana morgue. He’d promised his mother on her deathbed that he would take care of Juanito. He was the baby of their family, the last of eight children, but now, because of that DEA bitch, Juanito was dead.
Before he’d gone into hiding, Miguel had made a promise at his mother’s grave that he would avenge Juanito’s death. He’d also let it be known that he would pay big money for the name and location of the agent who’d killed his brother, with the warning to leave her alone. He wanted to end her life—personally.
And so he waited. And waited. A day passed in this hell, then a second, then a third before everything changed.
* * *
The puta Miguel had just paid for a blow job was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when someone knocked on his door. He reached for his gun, grabbed the woman who was just coming out of the bathroom and put his finger to his mouth to indicate she be quiet. His grip on her arm was so painful that she stifled a screech and covered her mouth with both hands. Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t move.
Once he was satisfied that she understood what he meant, he whispered in her ear, “Ask who is there.”
She nodded, then called out as he told her.
There was a long stretch of silence, then a man spoke. “I have news for Miguel.”
Miguel recognized the voice of Jorge, the dealer who’d helped him escape. He pulled the woman away from the door, opened it enough to make sure Jorge was alone and then shoved her out.
“Get lost,” he said.
She scurried away, glad to be leaving in one piece.
“Come in,” Miguel said.
Jorge nodded quickly, looked over his shoulder, then stepped inside. He didn’t waste time or words. “You wanted the name of the agent who killed your brother.”
Miguel’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”
“Her name is Sonora Jordan. She lives in Phoenix, Arizona.”
Miguel stifled the urge to clap his hands. This was the best news he’d had in days. “You are sure.”
“Sí, Patron.”
Miguel put a hand on Jorge’s shoulder to explain why he couldn’t pay him yet. “They are watching my home and my bank.”
Jorge nodded again. No further explanation was needed. “I know,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a roll of hundred dollar bills, which he handed to Miguel. “For you, Patron, and if you’re ready, I can get you across the border tonight.”
Miguel was not only surprised, he was shocked. He had greatly underestimated this man’s loyalty. “When this is over, you will be greatly rewarded.”
Jorge shrugged. “I expect nothing, Patron. It is my honor to help. At eleven o’clock, there will be one knock on your door. The man who comes will take you to a hacienda outside of Juarez where a private plane will be waiting. The pilot has already gotten clearance for his trip, but it does not include landing in Juarez, so the timing will be crucial. You must not be late because he will not wait. Once across the border, he will touch down briefly at a small airstrip outside of Houston. More money and a car will be waiting for you there. The man who brought it has been instructed to stay until he sees that you’re safely on the ground.”
Miguel threw his arms around Jorge. “Gracias, Jorge…gracias. I will never forget this.”
Jorge nodded and smiled. “Vaya con Dios, Patron.” And then he was gone.
Miguel glanced at his watch. It was just after nine. Within two hours, he would be gone from this place and on his way to fulfilling the promise he’d made at his mother’s grave.
As soon as Jorge reached the street, he took out his cell phone and made a call. “Tony, this is Jorge Diaz. I need you to do something for me.”
Tony Freely was one of Jorge’s mules. He traveled back and forth regularly from his ranch outside of Houston to Juarez, doing his part to make sure that the drug market continued to thrive and being nicely reimbursed for his troubles.
“Yeah, sure, Jorge. Just name it.”
“You remember the old runway where I had you pick up a load about three months back?”
“Yeah, but I thought you didn’t want to use it anymore.”
“I don’t. It’s something else,” Jorge said. “What I want you to do is go to that runway at an hour before midnight tonight and wait for a small plane to land there. A man will get off. You let him see you. Let him see your face, but don’t talk to him. Just get in your car and drive away.”
Tony frowned. This didn’t sound right, but he knew better than to question Jorge.
“Sure. No problem.”
“Thank you,” Jorge said. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Tony’s frown disappeared. Money talked loud and clear to him. “Consider it done,” he said, and hung up the phone.
Jorge did the same, smiling as he disconnected. Before he was through, the Garcia brothers’ reign of power would be over and he would be the one in charge.
* * *
As promised, Miguel’s ride appeared on time. He didn’t recognize the short, fat man who came to get him, and the man didn’t offer a name. They got to the airstrip without incident. Soon the lights of Juarez were swiftly disappearing below them. Miguel was already making plans as to how to find Sonora Jordan and make her pay for the death of his brother.
In about an hour, the plane began to lose altitude and Miguel’s heartbeat accelerated. He leaned over and peered out the window to the sea of lights that was Houston.
The pilot banked suddenly to the west and began descending. Minutes later, the small plane landed, taking a couple of hard bounces before rolling to an easy stop.
Miguel saw a small hangar and a man standing beneath a single light mounted above the door. In the shadows nearby, he could see the outline of a car.
He owed Jorge big-time.
“You get out now,” the pilot said shortly.
Miguel frowned. It was the most the man had said to him since they took off. Still, he grabbed his bag and jumped out of the plane. Even as he was walking away, the plane turned around and took off the same way it had landed.
Caught in the back draft, Miguel ducked his head and closed his eyes while dust and grit swirled around him. When he opened his eyes, the plane was off the ground and the man he’d seen under the lights was gone.
The unexpected solitude and quiet made him a little uneasy, and when a chorus of coyotes suddenly tuned up from somewhere beyond the hangar, he headed for the car in a run.
Only after he was inside with the doors locked and his hand on the keys dangling from the ignition did he relax. He started the engine and checked the gauges. The car was full of gas, and two maps were on the seat beside him—one of Texas and one of Arizona. After a quick check of the briefcase in the passenger seat, he knew he would have plenty of money to do what had to be done. He backed away from the hangar and followed the dirt road until he hit blacktop. Gauging his directions by the digital compass on the rearview mirror, he turned north and drove until daylight. The first town he came to, he stopped and ate breakfast, then got a room at the local motel. It was ten minutes after nine in the morning when he crawled between the sheets. Within seconds, he was out.
* * *
Even though Sonora had started out with an indefinite direction in mind, the farther she went, the more certain she became that, whatever her future held, she would find it somewhere east.
Near the Arizona border, it started to rain. Sonora stopped and took a room at a chain motel. She tossed her bag onto the bed before heading to the restaurant on-site.
Once she finished her meal, she started back to her room on the second floor. She was halfway up the stairs when she pulled an Alice and, once again, fell down the rabbit hole.
* * *
It was raining. The kind of rain that some people called a toad strangler—a hard, pounding downpour with little to no wind. She’d never stood in the rain and not been wet before. It was an eerie sensation. And it was night again. Why did insanity keep yanking her around in the dark? It was bad enough she was hallucinating.
She didn’t have to look twice to know that she was back at the Native American man’s house. Water was running off the roof and down between her feet, following the slope of the ground. All of a sudden, lightning struck with a loud, frightening crack. She flinched, then relaxed. There was no need to panic. She wasn’t really here. This was just a dream.
She looked toward the house, then felt herself moving closer, although she knew for a fact that her feet never shifted. Now she was standing beneath the porch and looking into the window. At first, she saw nothing. Then she saw the Native American man lying on the floor near a doorway.
She gasped and started toward the door when she realized that, again, she had no power here. She was nothing but a witness. Dread hit her belly high. Why was she seeing this if she could do nothing about it?
Then, as she was watching through the window, she realized there was a light in the window that hadn’t been there before. It took a few moments before she could tell it was a reflection from a vehicle coming down the driveway behind her.
She turned, wanting to call out—willing herself to scream out “please hurry,” but as before, she was nothing but an observer.
* * *
Adam Two Eagles drove recklessly through the storm. The phone call he’d gotten a short time ago from Franklin had frightened him. Even now as he was turning up Franklin’s driveway, the knot in his gut tightened.
Franklin had sounded confused—even fatalistic. Adam didn’t think Franklin would do anything crazy, like do himself in, but he couldn’t be sure. And when he’d tried to call him back, there had been no answer.
He could have called an ambulance. The people in Broken Bow knew Franklin. They knew he had leukemia. They would send an ambulance, but if it was unwarranted—if Adam had misread the situation—it would embarrass Franklin, and that he didn’t want to do. So here he was, driving like a madman in the dark, pouring rain, just to make sure his friend was still of this earth.
As he came around the curve, he saw that the lights were still on in Franklin’s house. That was good. At least he wouldn’t be waking him up to make sure he was okay.
Lightning struck a tree about a hundred yards in front of him. Even in the rain, sparks flew. Right before the flash disappeared, Adam saw branches exploding, then flying through the air. He swerved as one flew past the hood of his truck, then sped past the site just before the tree burst into flames. It wouldn’t burn long in this downpour, but the sooner Adam got out of this rain, the better off he would feel.
He slid to a halt near the porch, jumped out in a run, vaulted up the steps and had his fist ready to knock when he realized he wasn’t alone. He let his hand drop as he slowly turned, staring down the length of the porch to the small square of light coming through the window from inside.
The porch was empty, yet he knew he was being watched. Drawn by an urge he couldn’t explain, he moved forward, and when he reached the window, stared out into the night, into the curtain of rain.
“Who’s there?” he called, and then for a reason he couldn’t explain, reached out and touched the air in front of him.
No one answered, and he felt only the rain.
Shrugging off the feeling as nothing but nerves, he turned back toward the door, and as he did, glanced through the window. Within seconds, he’d spied Franklin’s body lying on the floor.
“Oh, no,” he cried, and ran to the door.
It was locked, but not for long.
Adam kicked the door inward, then ran to his friend.
* * *
Sonora’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst. Every breath she took was painful, and she felt like she was going to be sick.
The man who’d come out of the storm onto the porch was unbelievable—like some knight in shining armor she might have conjured up during her teenage years.
His skin was the color of burnished copper. His hair was long, black and plastered to his head and neck from the storm. He was tall and lean, without an ounce of fat on him—a fact made obvious by the wet clothes molded to his body. But it was his face that intrigued her. His nose was hawklike, his chin stubborn and strong. His lips were full and his eyes were dark and impossible to read.
And he was looking straight at her.
Sonora shivered.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening.
He wasn’t part of the dream.
And it was a dream. It had to be.
When he started toward her, she screamed, or at least she thought she screamed. The sound was going off inside her head like the bells of an alarm, but the man kept coming.
All of a sudden, she fell off the porch. When she came to, she was on her hands and knees on the stairs of the motel.
“Hey, lady! Are you okay? I saw you trip and fall but I was all the way down at the end of the walkway. Couldn’t get here fast enough to do you much good.”
Sonora shuddered, then brushed at the knees of her pants and dusted off her hands as she looked up at the man standing at the head of the stairs. He was short and stocky with a bald head and a red beard. An odd combination of features for the guy, but he seemed harmless.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I’m fine, but thanks.”
The guy nodded, then took a couple steps backward before turning around and going back down the hall to his room.
Sonora unlocked her door and went inside, hung a do-not-disturb sign on the outside of the doorknob, and then carefully locked the doors. It took even less time to undress, and moments later, she fell into bed.
The hallucination she’d just had was still in her mind, but she shrugged it off. She couldn’t be bothered with worrying about some stupid daydream with Miguel Garcia still on the loose. With those thoughts in her mind, she fell asleep.
Chapter 4
Sonora crossed the Arizona border into New Mexico just before noon the next day. Traffic was already thicker on I-40, as well as on the access roads. A digital message on a bank near the interstate gave a temperature reading of 98 degrees. With the amount of traffic and exhaust fumes heating up the pavement, Sonora could add another ten degrees of heat to that reading and know she wasn’t off by much.
She’d already made a decision that traveling in the heat of the day in this part of the country wasn’t smart. So she took the next exit off the interstate and found a motel.
Within minutes she had a room on the ground floor. She left the office and rode her bike to the parking place in front of her room. When she dismounted, she realized her hands and legs were shaking. Too much heat and not enough water, but she was about to fix that. She locked up her bike, shouldered her bag and unlocked the door to her room, gratefully inhaling the artificially cooled air inside as she entered.
She went to the bathroom to wash up, and drank a big glass of water while she was there. There was a café on the other side of the parking lot, which she planned to visit, but not in this hot biker leather. When she came out of the bathroom, she took off her pants and vest, tossed her shirt aside as well as her biker boots for some cooler clothes and tennis shoes.
She stretched and then bounced once on the bed, testing it for comfort. She scooted all the way up on the mattress, then stretched out—but only for a minute. She noticed the red LED light on the smoke detector was working and closed her eyes.
When she woke up, it was after 10:00 p.m. She groaned as she rolled over and swung her legs off the bed.
“Oh, great, I didn’t mean to sleep so long.”
She stood up and went to the window. It was pouring. She probably wouldn’t sleep tonight, but she could eat, and her belly was protesting the fact that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Grabbing a clean T-shirt and jeans from her bag, she dressed quickly and slipped her wallet in a fanny pack before she left.
Despite the rain, the smell of charcoal and cooking meat was heavy in the air. Her mouth watered as she made a dash across the parking lot and into the café.
“Ooh, honey, come in out of that rain,” the hostess said as Sonora dashed inside. “Are you by yourself?” she added.
Sonora nodded.
The hostess picked up a menu. “This way,” she said, and led the way across the floor to a booth in the back. “This okay?”
“Perfect,” Sonora said, and meant it. Being at the far end of the room with a clear view of the door was a good thing. The fact that she was close to the kitchen didn’t bother her. She wasn’t looking for ambiance, just food.
She ordered iced tea, salad and chicken alfredo, then opened a package of crackers and began nibbling on them while she waited for her food to arrive. Lightning flashed outside, momentarily lighting the parking lot. Lights flickered, then went out. A communal groan of dismay sounded throughout the seating area while cursing could be heard in the kitchen.
Sonora automatically felt for her fanny pack, making sure her wallet was in place. Before she could relax, there was the sound of falling furniture, then a woman’s shrill scream.
“Help! Help! Someone just stole my purse!”
Sonora was on her feet without thinking. She heard running footsteps coming toward her. The way she figured it, the only person running in the dark would be the perp.
She moved instinctively and heard, more than saw, him coming. What she did see was that the shadow coming toward her was well over six feet tall. Using one of her kickboxing moves, she caught the running man belly high. She heard him grunt, then heard him stagger into a table and some chairs. She spun on one foot and came back around with another kick that caught him in the chest and ended up on his chin.
He went down like a felled ox.
Lights flickered, then fully came on as power was restored.
The woman who’d been robbed was still screaming and crying.
The hostess who’d seated Sonora saw the man on the floor, then eyed the tall, dark woman she’d just put in the back of the room and pointed. “Lord have mercy, honey! Did you do that?”
“Call the cops,” Sonora said.
The man on the floor moaned and started to roll over.
Sonora put her foot in the middle of the man’s back and pushed. “Uh-uh,” she warned. “You stay right where you are, buddy, or I’ll snap your spine faster than you can blink.”
“Damn, lady. My belly hurts bad. I think you broke my ribs.” The man moaned.
Soon the squall of approaching sirens could be heard. The perp moaned again.
The police came in the door, followed by a pair of EMTs.
The hostess waved them over. “Here! He’s here!” she yelled.
Sonora quickly exited the café through the kitchen, looking wistfully at the food as she ran through. The last thing she needed was to call attention to herself, and she’d done that big time by stopping the perp. The police would have wanted to see her name and ID. Having them identify her as DEA was completely opposite to what she was trying to do—which was get lost.
She hunched her shoulders against the rain and walked out into the parking lot. Quickly she crossed the street to a pizza place on the corner.
“One more time,” she muttered as she hurried inside.
“Sit anywhere,” a waitress said as she hurried by with an order. “I’ll be right with you.”
This time, Sonora settled in at a booth near the front door and then leaned her head against the glass as she looked out into the night. She was alternating between sausage or mushroom pizza when another flash of lightning sent her back into the black hole that had become part of her mind.
* * *
The older Native American man was sitting at a table with his back to Sonora. She wanted to go around him and see what he was doing, but she found herself unable to move.
“Why am I here? What the hell do you want?” she yelled.
Either he didn’t hear her, or he was ignoring her.
The man stood up slowly, then walked away, revealing a small piece of wood and a pile of wood curls.
He was carving something, but whatever it was, it was little more than an outline in the wood. Her gaze slid from the wood to the man. He was shaking pills from a bottle into his hand. There was a strange expression on his face as he tossed them down the back of his throat and chased them with water.
He’s dying.
The moment Sonora thought it, she flinched. A deep sadness came over her. “What am I supposed to do?” she cried. “Why are you haunting me?”
* * *
“Hey, lady!”
Sonora jerked.
“What?”
“I asked you…what do you want?”
Sonora blinked. Traveling from insanity to the real world was confusing, but she was getting better at it. It didn’t take her but a moment to answer.
“A medium sausage-and-mushroom pizza and a large Pepsi.”
The waitress nodded and left Sonora on her own again, only this time, Sonora focused her interests on the people at the other tables as she waited for her food to arrive.
She was both frustrated and confused by these recurring hallucinations. Talking to a shrink was a possibility and probably wise, but she wouldn’t risk it. The first time the precinct got wind of an agent in “therapy,” that agent would wind up doing desk duty until pronounced fit for duty again. Sonora didn’t want that on her record, so she was relying on instinct to get her through this. She couldn’t help but feel as if she was seeing this man for a reason. Maybe if he was real, and maybe if she found him, she’d discover for herself what this all meant.
Then the waitress came, delivered the pizza, refilled Sonora’s drink and left her to dine alone. By the time she had finished eating and paid for her meal, the rain had stopped. Reflections from the streetlights were mirrored in the puddles as she crossed the street to get to her room.
She was wide-awake and itching to be on the move. Despite an old fear of the dark, she handled it better outside. When she thought about it, which was rarely, it always made sense. She’d gotten her fear of the dark from being locked in a closet, so if she wasn’t bound by four walls, the fear never quite manifested into a full-blown panic attack. Glad to be on the move again, she packed her bag quickly, dropped her room key off at the office and mounted up. Within the hour, she was gone.
* * *
Miguel Garcia had been in Phoenix less than six hours when he’d gotten his first good lead on Sonora Jordan’s whereabouts. He had a name and an address, only it wasn’t Sonora’s address. It belonged to her ex-boyfriend, Buddy Allen.
* * *
It was just after 10:00 p.m. when Buddy pulled into the driveway of his apartment building. It was the first time he’d been home since this morning when he’d left for work. With his mind on a shower and bed, he got off the elevator, carrying a six-pack of beer and a bag of groceries. He set down the six-pack, then toed it into his apartment after he opened the door. The door locked as it swung shut. Buddy was halfway across the living room when it dawned on him that all the lights were on, but he distinctly remembered turning them off when he’d left.
The hair rose on the back of his arms. He set down the sack and the six-pack and stepped backward, intent on leaving the apartment to call the police.
Then a man walked out of the bedroom holding a gun. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, and motioned for Buddy to sit down on the sofa.
Buddy measured the distance to the door against the gun and cursed silently. The man didn’t look like the kind to be making idle threats.
“Who the hell are you?” Buddy asked.
“My name is of no importance,” he said.
“Then what are you doing here?” Buddy countered.
“Looking for a friend of yours.”
“Who?” Buddy asked.
“Sonora Jordan.”
Buddy’s stomach rolled. Suddenly, it hit him how much danger he was in. Sonora didn’t deal with lightweights, and she’d been spooked enough to leave Phoenix. There was every possibility that he might not live to see another day.
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