Читать книгу The Stranger and I - Carol Ericson - Страница 5

The sharp snap jarred Lila out of an uneasy sleep. She bolted upright. Shrugging off the coarse, itchy blanket, she peered through the dirty car window into the dark, now-silent night. Where’d Chad go?

She glanced into the front seat. The keys dangled from the ignition, and her purse rested on the passenger seat where she’d left it before crawling into the back for a nap. Her mouth dry, she inhaled the mist seeping through the open window in the front.

Pressing her nose against the cool glass, she tried to focus on the dark shapes etched in the muted moonlight. Rubbing her eyes, she rolled down the window, catching the salty air on her tongue. A grove of palmetto and conical boojum trees created a thick barrier halting the encroachment of the narrow gravel road.

She heard it again, a crack cutting through the air. That same sound had permeated her sleep, dredging her up to this muddled state of consciousness. Instinctively, she opened her mouth to call out to Chad, but prickles of uncertainty danced along the back of her neck. She snapped her lips shut.

Chad told her earlier that he had to make a stop to meet someone before they crossed the border, but in this deserted spot? Didn’t make sense.

She grasped the car-door handle, easing it forward and nudging the door open with her knee. The dome light flickered and faded, failing to shed any light on her predicament.

“Damn,” she muttered, “broken like everything else in this crappy car.”

She placed a sandaled foot on a thick carpet of plant life that muffled her step.

And slid into the unknown.

Leaving the door open, she stole through the cluster of trees toward a new sound. Voices. Did Chad find his friend? The tone of the voices didn’t sound very friendly. She crouched behind some underbrush that skirted a small clearing.

Angry words punctuated the night air. She strained to understand them, inching toward another bush to gain a clear view of the open space.

She gaped at the man kneeling on the ground with his hands secured behind his back. A streak of what looked like blood stained his right cheek. Chad. And those men didn’t look like friends.

A thickset figure stood before Chad, holding a thin whip. Another, taller man pointed a gun at Chad’s head. The man with the whip snapped it and barked out a question in a foreign language. Chad shook his head, earning him a swipe across his bare chest. A thin line of blood sprang up. He jerked his head back, his long blond hair swinging behind him.

Lila bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. The metallic taste of her own blood spiked her tongue. She couldn’t understand the stocky man. Her brow creased. The language he spoke didn’t remotely resemble Spanish.

Chad’s tormentors had their backs to her, so she poked her head above the shrubbery to get his attention.

His half-closed eyes widened for a moment. He shook his head and groaned out, “No,” before dropping his chin to his chest.

Was that meant for her? She ducked.

Crouching, she scanned the ground for a heavy rock or a stick. She needed a weapon. She glanced back at the gun glinting in the moonlight and froze. A rock, no matter how heavy, couldn’t take on a firearm.

Her eyes darted to the other side of the clearing. Should she create a disturbance? Could Chad escape? Eyeing his limp form, she doubted he could make much of an effort. No, she had to get away and find help if she hoped to save Chad.

From their language, she knew the men weren’t Mexican Federales. At least Chad hadn’t broken any Mexican laws to get into this predicament. Or had he? What did she really know about Chad Delaney beyond what his casual chatter revealed during the three carefree days they’d spent together?

The man with the whip growled out another question. Raising his head, Chad gasped out an answer in the same language.

Wrong answer.

The whip shot out again, this time catching Chad across his bare thigh. Lila twitched with the impact, the sting resonating on her own flesh.

Chad threw his head back and yelled, “El túnel está aquí…” The tall man fired his gun. Chad pitched face forward in the dirt.

Her stomach lurched. She ground her teeth together to subdue the sour lump of terror rising from her gut.

Her eyes burned into the backs of the men now standing over Chad’s lifeless body, but her feet stayed as rooted to the ground as the thick brush that ringed the clearing.

Branches crackled and the trees across from her parted, ejecting two more men brandishing guns. As they cursed in Spanish, Lila peeled her feet from the ground and backed up one step at a time. The thick, springy undergrowth silenced her footsteps, but the two sets of men were too busy screaming at each other to hear anything anyway.

Once free of the bushes, she spun and ran for the car. Her heart ricocheted in her chest. The sound of her own terror roared in her ears like a wild beast. She tripped on a gnarled root. She sprawled forward, flinging her arms out in front of her. The sharp edges of the leaves and twigs covering the ground bit into her palms and knees. She dragged herself up. She plunged ahead, ignoring the pain that pierced her ankle.

Staccato blasts echoed in the clearing.

More tree branches snapped.

Were they chasing her?

A sob ripped through her throat. A scream penetrated the mist. She couldn’t tell if it belonged to her or one of the four men involved in the shoot-out behind her.

She lunged at the car and gripped the door handle. As she yanked the door open, her breath raked through her lungs. She twisted her head over her shoulder to peer into the moon-smudged darkness.

No one followed. Were they all dead? She didn’t plan to stick around for the autopsies.

Dropping onto the driver’s seat, she grabbed at the keys in the ignition and cranked them forward. The engine sprang to life, and she ground the gearshift into Reverse. She stomped on the accelerator without even looking behind her. The back door of the car, which she’d left open, slammed shut. Her heart rate charged up another notch.

The tires crunched on the gravel, spewing dust and grit in their wake. Once she hit the paved road, Lila spun the steering wheel, threw the gear shift into first and gunned it. The car lurched and almost stalled before she shoved it into second and then third gear. Giving a protesting whine, the car straightened out on the asphalt and hurtled forward into the night. Her eyes picked out a Jeep pulled over to the side of the road. Stopping was not an option.

Lila clutched the steering wheel, her eyes darting back and forth between the road in front of her and the rearview mirror. Surely the men who murdered Chad heard her escape but still nobody came. And who were the other two, Chad’s friends?

She careened off the main road onto a smaller one that paralleled the coast. Her mind buzzed with shock and fear as she continued driving on for another hour.

Peeling her eyes from their constant vigil between the road ahead and the one receding in her mirror, she glanced down at the instrument panel. She needed gas. She needed food. And she needed to harness her galloping thoughts.

Calling the police in Mexico spelled trouble. What if Chad planned to meet this friend for a drug deal or something? Would the police arrest her as his accomplice? A cold fear grabbed her gut.

The light broke to the east, filtering through the haze, working its fingers through the gaps in the brown hills. A battered sign announced the next town, Loma Vista.

She pulled up to a gas pump in front of a dusty roadside café on the outskirts of town. As she filled the tank, her hands shook and the gas sloshed from the nozzle dribbling down the side of the car.

Leaning into the window, she grabbed her purse and walked toward the little café to pay and get something to eat.

The man at the counter smiled, his teeth gleaming against his brown skin. “Hola, señorita. You pay for gas?”

Lila answered, “Hola, yes, the gas, and could I please have some huevos rancheros and a cup of coffee?”

The few patrons at the counter ignored her. Americans close to the border were commonplace, even off the main road.

When she pulled out her wallet, a white envelope, with her first name scribbled across the front, slid to the floor. Wrinkling her brow, she picked it up.

She paid the clerk and carried the envelope to a table by the window. She ripped it open and pulled out a single sheet of folded paper.

Lila, if you’re reading this then something happened to me. If I don’t return to the car, take it across the border and go straight to the name and address at the bottom of this page. Don’t call the police or go to the Federales. I’m sorry to drag you into this, but when I saw you standing at the side of the road it was a stroke of luck for me. I’m afraid it was an ill omen for you, but once you deliver the car and tell Justin what happened you’ll be fine. Again, I’m sorry…

The name Justin Vidal and an address appeared at the bottom of the page.

The proprietor put her plate of eggs on the table. She jumped.

He frowned. “Lo siento, señorita. I scare you?”

Shaking her head and covering the letter with her hand, she gave a hollow laugh. “Oh no, no. I’m just tired. That’s why I need the coffee. Gracias.”

He shrugged, put the coffee cup on the table next to the plate and shuffled back to the counter.

Clutching her fork, she stared at the letter. Chad expected trouble and picked her up anyway. She jabbed at the eggs on her plate and speared a forkful into her mouth. As she chewed, she ground her teeth together.

He used her to make sure the news of his demise would get safely back to this Justin Vidal, whoever he was.

She swallowed and sighed, her anger evaporating as quickly as it collected. The man just died. She could at least try to honor his last wishes, unless there were drugs in the car. She wouldn’t go down that road again.

She screwed her eyes shut, trying to block out the vision of Chad plunging forward into the dirt. Before the others arrived, Chad and the two men had been speaking a strange language. Arabic? She didn’t see the men as clearly as Chad’s battered body claimed all her attention. Why did a man like Chad, a surfer on vacation in Mexico, speak Arabic?

The other two came charging in speaking Spanish. Were they all connected, or did the Mexicans stumble onto the scene as she did? With guns? Chad had some strange friends.

Puffing her cheeks, she blew out a breath of air and swept her change off the table into her hand. While putting her change away in her wallet, she flipped it open to the plastic insert. With her fingertip, she traced the outline of a face in the photo. Tyler.

She finished her eggs and swallowed the rest of her coffee, grimacing at its bitter taste. Calling a farewell to the man at the counter, she walked out to the car. She glanced up and down the road.

Before proceeding any further with this wild scheme or getting in any deeper, she wanted to make sure Chad didn’t have anything illegal stashed in his trunk, making her an unwitting accomplice. Once was believable, twice was criminal.

In keeping with the car’s battered condition, the trunk lock was broken. She eased open the trunk, tilting her head sideways to glimpse inside. Drawing her brows together, she reached out to pluck at what looked like a pile of clothes.

Her fingers touched clammy human flesh. She gasped and drew back as the trunk light illuminated the curled-up body of a man. She clamped her fist to her mouth.

She slammed the lid down and stood trembling. Her hand gripped the keys in the broken lock. Was this the friend Chad went to meet? She craned her neck to glance into the café at the same bunch of men huddled over the counter. Nobody even looked out the window.

Could she dump the body out here? Don’t be ridiculous. She’d never get away with that.

Should she tell someone inside the restaurant to call the Federales? Chad’s letter specifically ordered her not to do that, but what did she owe Chad? He dragged her into this mess and then got himself murdered, but maybe he knew calling the Federales would get her into trouble now.

The screen door of the café banged open, and the proprietor stepped out onto the sagging porch. “Is everything okay, señorita? Your car okay?”

She yelled back, “Está bien. It’s okay.”

He stood outside watching her, and she made one of her hasty decisions. Oh hell, I’m going to do what Chad asked me to do in that letter. Dead body or no dead body.

She waved to the man on the porch and slid into the car.

Taking it slow and easy, she got back on the main road toward Tijuana and the border. She joined the line of cars crawling through the border stop. She licked her dry lips and called over one of the many vendors threading their way through the cars. After a few minutes of haggling, she bought a large, gaudy sombrero and a donkey puppet on strings in an attempt to appear like a normal tourist, even though she felt far from normal. Tyler would like the puppet anyway.

As she inched the dirty little car forward, her mouth got drier and drier. Her hands gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles bleached white. She drew a ragged breath and grabbed the water bottle lying on the seat next to her. She grimaced at the film of sediment at the bottom of the bottle and wet her lips with the warm, stale water.

Releasing the steering wheel, she flexed her fingers and coached herself. “You can do this, Lila.”

The Border Patrol agent approached her car, and she turned down the radio and rolled down the window. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes, reflecting her face. Her lips peeled back in a smile.

He ducked his head. “Good morning, ma’am. What was the reason for your visit to Mexico?”

“Just came over as a tourist.” She didn’t want to get into any long explanations with him about her research as a marine biologist.

Gesturing to the car, he said, “Looks like you’ve been driving quite a bit.”

She shrugged. “Just down the coast and back.” Sucking in a breath, she held her smile and waited.

He shook his head. “It’s not a great idea for a woman to drive alone in Mexico.”

Stepping back, he waved her through. “Have a nice day.”

She expelled her breath, and breezed across the border into the United States of America.

Once she reached the border town of Nestor, she pulled off the road into the parking lot of a shopping center. She grabbed the grubby street map shoved in the door’s side pocket. After jotting down the directions to the address in Chad’s note, she took off to deliver the bad news and the dead body to Justin Vidal.

Cruising into San Diego, she searched for the address among streets that twisted and turned through hills and canyons. She found it tucked away on a quiet block dense with trees. A high fence and lush vegetation obscured the house from the road.

She pulled up across the street and, still favoring her sore ankle, walked through the gate up to a large wooden deck.

She rang the doorbell and knotted her hands in front of her. What was she doing? She had a dead guy in her trunk. She should just call the police right now. She spun on her heel, when a gruff voice from behind the door stopped her.

“Who is it?”

She gulped. “Ah, you don’t know me, but I met Chad Delaney in Mexico, and he gave me a lift, and—”

The thick wooden door jerked open. A strong arm shot out and dragged her across the threshold. That same arm encircled her neck, pinning her back against a body as hard as granite.

She clawed at his arm and stomped down on his foot in a futile struggle. A click close to her ear made her freeze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the barrel of a very big gun.

The low voice, as smooth as silky, dark chocolate but not as sweet, purred in her ear. “That’s better. Now, who the hell are you, and where’s Chad?”

A river of anger coursed through her veins, washing away the fear. She did everything Chad asked of her, and his so-called friend planned to repay her with a bullet in the head?

She gasped out, “If you’d get your arm off my neck, I could tell you.”

The man grunted and released her so quickly, she stumbled. She pivoted and looked up into a pair of tawny-colored eyes glinting with sparks of anger. The man’s intense stare plucked an answering chord in her chest, and she raised her hand to cover her heart. Then her gaze fell to the gun still aimed in her direction.

“And stop pointing that thing at me. I’ve had just about enough of you and Chad, and, and…” She sagged against the door while hot tears scalded her cheeks. She sensed movement from the stranger, but he made no attempt to comfort her.

Comfort? Yeah, like a rattlesnake.

Damn, she hated crying. It never solved anything. Didn’t do much good when her father died, and wouldn’t do much good now in the face of this man’s smoldering fierceness.

Dragging a hand across her face, she heaved herself off the door. She glanced up through wet lashes at the imposing figure still standing in front of her, sinewy arms crossed over an unyielding chest. He watched her through narrowed eyes.

Tiger’s eyes.

But at least the gun had disappeared.

She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and croaked, “Can I sit down?”

He stepped back and nodded toward a chair by the window, his dark, wet hair falling over one eye. She limped to the hard chair and perched on the edge.

“Who are you, and where’s Chad?”

Gripping her knees, she drew a shaky breath. “Chad’s dead.”

The man in front of her swore softly but didn’t move, except for a twitching muscle in his jaw. Some emotion flickered in his eyes. Fear? Regret?

He intoned, “Go on.”

She dragged her hands through her tangled hair as she continued. “I met Chad three days ago just outside of Playa Roja. I’m a marine biologist, a graduate student at U.C. San Diego, and I went to Mexico to conduct a study of the marine life off the coast there.”

His lean jaw relaxed a little, and encouraged, she plunged ahead. “My car broke down, and Chad came by and gave me a lift.”

The man’s breath hissed out between his clenched teeth, but he said nothing. Every taut muscle in his body signaled danger.

She faltered. “I—I…He said he was driving back up across the border and could take me all the way into San Diego. We planned to drive all night, crossing the border in the early morning, but last night Chad mentioned he had to make a quick stop to meet a friend.”

Interrupting her for the first time since her monologue began, he asked, “Did he tell you why? Did he tell you his business in Mexico?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t say why he was meeting the friend, but he told me he came to Mexico for the surfing.”

Sinking into the chair across from her, he extended his long legs in front of him, crossing his ankles. “How’d he die?”

Lila shot him a look from under her eyelashes. His expressiveness rivaled the Terminator’s. Looked about as hard, too. “I climbed into the back seat to get some sleep, and when I woke up Chad was gone. He’d parked down a gravel access road at the edge of a clump of trees. I had a strange feeling when I woke up, so I crept to the clearing and saw Chad with his hands behind

him and two men questioning him. One had a gun and one had a whip or something. They asked him a question in a foreign language, he answered in the same language, and the one with the gun shot him.”

The man sprang forward, his eyes wide. “You mean, you witnessed Chad’s murder? Did these people see you?”

Was that concern for her? Encouraged by this first sign of emotion other than anger, she answered, “Yeah, I saw everything, but they didn’t see me. I hid behind some bushes.” She tilted her head. “I think Chad saw me though.”

He waited in silence, his muscles perfectly still, but even in repose the man buzzed with activity, a thinly contained restlessness.

Slumping in her chair, she massaged her temples. “After the men killed Chad, two other men came crashing through the bushes, yelling and screaming in Spanish.”

His brows shot up. “Two more men? What happened after that?”

She hunched her shoulders. “I didn’t want to stick around to find out. While I ran back to the car, I heard gunfire and a babble of voices. I got to the car and took off.” She bit her lip. “They probably heard me drive away, but I don’t think they followed me. Too busy shooting at each other.”

He shifted in the chair and ground out, “You don’t think they followed you? That’s rich. You probably led them right to my doorstep.”

He jumped up and peered between the plain white blinds as if expecting to see the two men standing on his deck.

With his back to her, Lila now saw the gun shoved in the waistband of his faded jeans. His damp T-shirt clung to his back, outlining his muscles. Must’ve just gotten out of the shower.

He spoke over his shoulder, “What are you doing here anyway, and why didn’t you call the Federales? Come to think of it, why didn’t you call the U.S. authorities once you crossed the border?”

She took a deep shuddering breath. “Chad left me a note.”

Fumbling in her purse, she withdrew the slip of paper and handed it to him.

He opened it and scanned the contents.

“Chad asked me not to go to the Federales, told me to come straight to you.” She added, “Y-you are Justin Vidal, aren’t you?”

He snorted. “Little late to be asking that question, isn’t it? Yeah, I’m Vidal. This still doesn’t explain why you didn’t call the police when you got across the border. You took a big chance coming here. For all you know, Chad and I could be drug dealers.”

Wrinkling her nose, she said, “Yeah, I thought of that, but Chad didn’t strike me as the drug-dealer type. And, well, I liked him. I wanted to carry out his last wishes. They were his last wishes.”

Her nose stung with tears, and she rubbed it. She did not want to cry in front of this man again. Useless to cry anyway. He seemed immune to her feelings, immune to all feelings, including his own.

He glanced up from the letter, his eyes traveling over her body, as if seeing her for the first time. His gaze left pinpricks of excitement in its wake. Great, she had an insane attraction to a robot.

His lips tightened into a grim smile. “I see.”

Lila folded her arms across her chest. She wasn’t sure what he saw, hopefully it didn’t include her peaked nipples, but she had more of her story to tell. “There’s something else.”

Waving the letter at her, he said, “Go on.”

She cleared her throat. “There’s a dead body in the trunk of Chad’s car. I think it might be that friend he planned to meet.”

The letter fluttered to the floor, as Justin Vidal took a step back, one eyebrow lifted in patent disbelief. He whispered, “What?”

Feeling more than a little satisfied that she’d elicited some solid emotion from the man, she enunciated, “A dead body.”

He growled, “I heard you the first time. I can’t believe you drove across the border with a dead body in the trunk of your car.”

She corrected, “Chad’s car.”

His hand sliced through the air, and she ducked.

“Whatever. What’s it doing there?”

She launched into an explanation of how she’d stopped for gas, checked the trunk to make sure Chad wasn’t concealing anything illegal and discovered the body of a man curled up inside the trunk.

She stood up as she finished. “You see, that’s another reason why I didn’t want to call the authorities. I didn’t want to come under any suspicion.”

“And your actions up to now haven’t been suspicious in the least.”

She shook her head. “I thought you’d be happy I came straight to you.”

She expected a better reception from Justin Vidal than this. She’d just been through hell, and he was treating her like the enemy.

Planting herself in front of him, she wedged her hands on her hips. “I want some answers now. Who are you anyway and who’s Chad and what was he really doing in Mexico?”

“That—” he gripped her arm “—is not important right now. All you have to know is that we’re the good guys. Let’s go see this dead body, if he’s really dead.”

His touch seared her skin. How could such a cold man cause a wave of heat to rush through her body? “Yeah, you’re the good guys. Chad brought me into this mess, and you’ve done nothing but manhandle me since I got here.” She shook off his hand before his scorching touch caused her to melt in a puddle at his feet. “Will you please get off me?”

Those tawny eyes darkened as he dropped her arm. He limped to the front door and, hanging back, gestured her through first.

What was he worried about? He had the gun.

She glanced down at his bare feet. “Why are you limping?”

His lips twisted. “You stomped on my foot.”

Was that supposed to be a smile?

“Sorry.” As she brushed by him out the front door, he recoiled. She rolled her eyes. Man, did he have issues.

They hobbled into the street, empty except for a few cars parked along the side. She led him to Chad’s battered little car and flipped up the trunk. Her mouth fell open as first she stared into the trunk and then turned to Justin Vidal, studying her through narrowed eyes.

Frantically, she plunged into the trunk, clawing at her bags, her diving gear and a tire iron, to no avail.

The dead man was gone.