Читать книгу The Soldier's Mission - Lenora Worth - Страница 10

Paco shoved Laura down behind the car, his hand covering her head. “Friends of yours?”

“I don’t know,” she said on a gasp of air, the shock of her words telling him she was being honest. “What’s going on?”

“You tell me.” He lifted his head an inch. And was rewarded with another round of rifle fire. “Somebody doesn’t like you being here, sweetheart.”

She tried to peek around the car’s bumper, but he held her down. Glaring up at him, she whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you sure they aren’t shooting at you?”

“That is a possibility,” he said on a growl. “I’ve made a lot of enemies lately.”

“Anybody in particular?”

Paco thought about the laundry list of sins he’d committed in the name of grief. “We don’t have that long. I have to get you out of here.”

She seemed to like that idea. “So how do you plan to do that?”

“Good question.” Paco pulled his sunglasses out of his T-shirt pocket and shoved them on then slowly lifted so he could scan the surrounding desert and mountains. “If it’s a sniper, we’re stuck here. If we move, they could take us out in a split second. But if they’re just using a twelve-gauge or some other sort of rifle, we might have a chance at making a run for the café.”

“My windshield is shattered,” she said, her tone sensible. “That means they could do the same to us if we move.”

“True. But a moving target is a lot harder to pinpoint than a parked car.”

“Maybe they weren’t aiming at us.”

Paco glanced around the empty parking lot. “We’re the only customers right now.”

“Your grandfather?”

“Doesn’t have an enemy anywhere in the world.” Paco held her there, the scent of her perfume merging with the scent of dirt and grim and car fumes. “And if I know my grandfather, he’s standing at the door of the café with his Remington.” He rolled over to pick up a rock. Then with a quick lift of his arm, he threw it toward the small porch of the rickety restaurant.

His grandfather opened the dark screen door then shouted. “One shooter, Paco. Coming from the west. Want me to cover you?”

Paco took his grandfather’s age and agility into consideration. “Only if you don’t expose yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“Are you sure he can handle this?” Laura asked, her words breathy and low.

“Oh, yeah.” Paco grabbed her, lifting her to face him. “Now listen to me. We’re going to make a run for the porch. Grandfather will cover us. You’ll hear gunshots but just keep running.”

Fright collided with sensibility in her eyes. “What if I get shot?”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“But you can’t protect me and yourself, too.”

“Yes, I can,” Paco said, images from his time in special ops swirling in slow motion in his head. “I can. But you have to stay to my left and you have to run as fast as you can.”

“Okay. I ran track in college.”

“Good. That’s good. I need you to stay low and sprint toward that door on the count of three.”

She did as he said, crouching to a start. Paco counted and prayed. “One, two, three.”

And then they took off together while his grandfather stepped out onto the porch and shot a fast round toward the flash in the foothills about a hundred yards away. Paco put himself between her and the shooter and felt the swish of bullets all around his body. Then he pushed her onto the porch and into the door, holding it open for his grandfather to step back inside.

The old man quickly shut the door then turned to stare at Paco and Laura, his rifle held up by his side. “Would either of you care to explain this?”

Laura’s gaze moved from the old man to Paco. “I don’t know who’s out there. As far as I know, no one wants me dead.” Watching Paco, she could believe the man might have a few enemies—probably several heartbroken women among them. “What about you?” she asked, wondering what was going on inside his head.

His grandfather chuckled at that. “Only about half the population of Arizona, for starters.”

“Thanks.” Paco replied with a twisted grin. “Grandfather, I forgot my manners, what with being shot at and all. This is Laura Walton. She thinks I need her help.”

“Do you?” the old man asked, putting his gun down to reach out a gnarled hand to Laura. “Nice to meet you. Sorry you almost got shot. I’m Wíago—Walter Rainwater.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Laura said, her breath settling down to only a semi-rapid intake. The weirdness of the situation wasn’t lost on her but she was too timid to shout out her true feelings. Turning back to Paco, she asked, “What do we do now?”

Paco didn’t answer. Instead, he went through a door toward the back of the café then returned with a mean-looking rifle. “You wait here with Grandfather.”

Walter put the Closed sign on the door. “It was a slow morning anyway.”

“It’s always a slow morning around here,” Paco quipped. “Even when we aren’t being shot at.”

Laura twisted her fingers in Paco’s sleeve. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going out there to track that shooter.”

“But he might kill you.”

“Always a chance, but don’t worry about me too much. I think I can handle this.”

Laura didn’t know why it seemed so important to keep him safe. Maybe because she hadn’t had a chance to get inside his head and help him over his grief. Or maybe because while he frightened her, he also intrigued her and she’d like to explore that scenario.

Shocked at her wayward thoughts, she chalked it up to being nearly killed and said, “Well, be careful. I have to give a full report on you.”

“I’m used to having full reports done on me,” he replied, his dark eyes burning with a death wish kind of disregard. “If I bite the bullet, you can just tell the powers that be that I died fighting.”

Laura ventured a glance at his grandfather and saw the worry in the old man’s eyes. That same concern strengthened her spine and gave her the courage to reason with him. “But we don’t know who you’re fighting this time.”

“I’ve never known who I’ve been fighting.” Paco graced her with a long, hard stare before he pivoted and headed toward the back of the building. “Stay put and lock both doors. Don’t come out until you hear me calling.”

Paco crept through the flat desert, willing himself to blend in with the countryside. The black shirt wasn’t very good camouflage but it would have to do. If he could make it around the back way and surprise the gunman, he’d have a chance of figuring out who was out there and why.

So he did a slow belly-crawl through the shrubs and thickets, careful to watch for snakes and scorpions. Stopping to catch his breath underneath a fan palm, he held still and did a scan of the spot where his grandfather had indicated the shooter might be hiding. A cluster of prickly pear cacti stood spreading about four feet high and wide alongside a cropping of Joshua trees centered on the rise of the foothills leading toward a small mesa. But Paco didn’t see anything or anyone moving out there.

Thinking maybe the culprit was hiding much in the same way as he, Paco slid another couple of feet, careful to be as silent as possible. The sun had moved up in the sky and even though it was November, the desert’s temperature had moved right along with it. Sweat beaded on his forehead and poured down his face. His shirt was now damp and dusty. He could taste the sand, feel it in his eyes. For a minute, he was back on that mountainside, waiting, just waiting for the enemy to make a move.

But fifteen minutes later, Paco hadn’t seen any signs of human life in this desolate desert. So he threw a clump of rocks toward the thicket and waited for a hail of bullets to hit him.

Nothing.

Grunting, Paco lifted to a crouch, his gun aimed at the Joshua trees a few feet ahead. He was a trained sniper so he didn’t think the other guy would stand a chance. But then, he’d been wrong before.

Laura hated the silence of this place.

Walter Rainwater didn’t talk. Not at all. If she asked a question, he’d answer “Yes”, “No” or “We’ll wait for Paco.”

She was tired of waiting for Paco. So she got up to look out the window for the hundredth time. “He should have been back by now.”

A hand on her arm caused her to spin around. Tugging Laura toward a booth, Paco said, “We need to talk.”

Surprised and wondering more than a little bit how he’d snuck up on her, she pulled a notebook from the shoulder bag she’d managed to hang on to in all the chaos. Maybe the episode outside had triggered something in Paco.

But she was wrong. “Put that away,” he said, pushing at the notebook. “We’re not talking about me. I need to ask you a few questions. We have to figure out who’s trying to kill you.”

Laura took in his dirty shirt and the sweat beads on his skin. “Did you find someone?”

He shook his head, took the water his grandfather sat on the table. “No. Whoever was there is gone now. I found shell casings and tracks, footprints out toward the highway.” Then he handed her a dirty business card. “I did find this.”

Laura looked down at the piece of paper then gulped air. “That’s one of my cards.”

His smirk held a hint of accusation. “Yeah, saw your name right there on it. But nothing after that. I guess once we managed to get inside here, they left. But I don’t think they dropped this card by accident. They wanted you to know they were here.”

“But why?”

Instead of answering, he drank the water down, giving Laura plenty of time to take in his slinky, spiky bangs and slanted unreadable eyes while she wondered about why the shooter had left her business card.

He put the glass down and met her gaze head-on. “I think you know why. Ready to tell me the truth?”

“Me?” Shocked, Laura drew back, her head hitting the vinyl of the booth. “I told you as far as I know, no one’s after me.”

Paco leaned across the table, his expression as black as his eyes. “Yes, ma’am, someone is after you. Another inch and your rental car’s windshield would still be intact. But you’d probably be dead.” He sat back, his big hands centered against the aged oak of the table. “Now, think real hard and tell me if you’ve had any hard-case patients lately.”

“None, other than you,” she replied, the triumph she should have felt disappearing at the ferocious glare in his eyes.

“Look, lady, I didn’t ask you to come here. And up until about an hour ago, no one cared about me or what I’m doing. This place is about as remote as you can get. So I figure someone tailed you here and waited for the right opportunity to shoot at you. And that means you’ve probably got an unstable client out there with an ax to grind. So quit insulting me and think real hard about some of the people you’ve counseled lately.” He leaned over the table again, his tone soft and daring. “Besides me.”

Laura stared across at him, wondering how he could stay so calm when they were sitting here with a possible sniper still on the loose. “I don’t have a clue—”

“Think about it,” he said in that deep, low voice that sent ripples of awareness down her spine. “How many people have you talked to in say, the last three or four months?”

“Too many to tell,” she retorted. “I’d have to have access to my files.”

“You mean by computer?”

“Yes.” She tapped her big purse. “I didn’t bring my laptop with me. Besides, I can’t download every case history I have on file.”

Paco pulled a slick phone out of his pocket. “What if I get us some help?”

“But no one has access to my patient files. That’s confidential.”

“I know someone who can break into those files.”

She shook her head. “I can’t allow that. My clients trust me.”

“That won’t matter if you’re dead.”

The man certainly cut right to the chase.

“Who are you going to call?”

“Kissie Pierre. You’ve probably heard of her. She keeps computer records on all the CHAIM agents and she keeps files on anyone who has any dealings with those agents. And that includes counselors.”

“The Woman at the Well. But she can’t help us with this type of thing.”

“If you give her some names, she’ll be able to crack your files and compare notes.”

“Confidentially?”

“Yes, completely confidential, I promise.”

“Legal?”

“As legal as we can make it. This is an emergency. But if you think you can remember without us going to that extreme then talk to me.”

Laura preferred that method to hacking into private files. “Let me make a list of names. Maybe that will bring back some memories.”

“Good.” Paco grabbed her notebook. “Got a pen?”

She found a pen in her purse then handed it over to him. Walter passed by with phantom quietness, his rifle held at his chest. “Nobody coming to call. I think we’re in the clear.”

Paco looked at the door. “Keep an eye out, Grandfather. They might try to sneak up on us again.”

Walter nodded, his solid presence a comfort to Laura.

Paco and his grandfather were close. She could tell by the respect Paco offered the old man and by the way they teased each other, both serious and stoic but with a trace of mirth in their eyes.

“Are you thinking?” Paco asked, his gaze cutting to the windows and the door. “We don’t have much time. They might decide to come back for another visit. And bring friends along.”

Laura sank back, terrified of that prospect. “I’m a pastoral counselor. I mostly deal with church members with marriage problems, those who’ve lost a loved one, or teenagers who are going through angst. Things like that. And CHAIM agents and workers, of course.”

“Of course. Anyone who stands out in your mind?”

She put her head down, bringing her right arm up to settle on the table, then leaned her chin against her fist, a dark thought creeping into her mind. In that brief moment, Laura thought of only one possible suspect.

“About a month ago, we had a teenager come to the clinic. He was upset about something his father had done.”

“Go on.”

Not wanting to divulge the particulars, she shook her head. “I can’t talk about it—except that the teen was traumatized by what had happened. I counseled him, told him how to get help from the authorities next time it happened. He didn’t want to report the incident, but I could tell he was afraid. He was a lot stronger and calmer after our first couple of sessions, though. Then he didn’t come back.”

“Did he seem angry at you?”

“No, he was angry at the world.” And his father. The man had been extremely demanding and controlling. How could she tell Paco this without getting upset or giving away personal information? Or her acute sense of failure. “The young man killed himself about two weeks after he’d talked to me.”

Paco scribbled some notes. “What was his name?”

“Is this necessary?”

“We have to assume, yes.”

“Kyle Henner. He was sixteen.”

She watched as Paco pulled up a number on his phone. “Kissie, it’s Paco. Yeah, I’m okay. I need you to run a name for me. See what you can find out about a kid from Phoenix named Kyle Henner.” He held the phone away. “Father’s name?”

Laura hesitated then said, “Lawrence Henner. He’s a big-time developer of some sort. He owns a lot of different companies. Lots of money and lots of power. He was devastated about what happened.”

She didn’t add that the man was also a walking time bomb who’d verbally abused not only his son but his wife, too. His wife left him after Kyle’s suicide. And now that she thought about it, Lawrence Henner was just the kind of man to blame someone else for his son’s death.

Someone like her, maybe?

Paco finished his conversation with Kissie then turned to Laura. “She’ll get back to us. And if you think about anything else you can tell me about this kid, let me know.”

“His father is ruthless,” she said, her nerves sparkling with apprehension. “But I don’t think he’d try to shoot me. He’d just find a way to ruin my life, probably.”

“Or if he’s that powerful, he could send someone else to shoot you.”

She swallowed back her worries. “Last I heard, Mr. Henner had left the country.”

“That could be a red flag.”

“Or maybe he needed to get away from everything in the same way you did?”

He gave her a hard stare. “Maybe. Only I’m not the one out there in the hills with a gun, now, am I?”

Laura shivered at his words. No, he wasn’t out there trying to shoot people. But if he didn’t unload some of his own grief soon, he could be the next one.

How in the world could she help Paco Martinez deal with post-traumatic stress if someone was trying to finish her off before she even got started? That thought caused her to gasp and grab at Paco’s hand.

“Did you remember something else?”

“No, but I just realized something.”

His dark eyes swirled with questions. “Spit it out.”

“What if that person out there was trying to stop me from talking to you?”