Читать книгу Rider on Fire & When You Call My Name: Rider on Fire / When You Call My Name - Sharon Sala - Страница 10

DEA agent Sonora Jordan was running after a drug dealer when she fell into the twilight zone. One moment she was inches away from grabbing her perp, Enrique Garcia, and the next her gun went flying as she fell flat on her face. The shot that would have hit her square in the back went flying over her head. Instead of the heat and dust of Mexico, she was in the shade of a forest and hearing the sound of moving water from somewhere up ahead.

She lifted her head, and as she did, she saw a tall, older man standing on the porch of a single-story dwelling that was surrounded by trees. His skin was brown, and his hair was long and peppered with gray. There was a wind chime hanging by his head that looked like a Native American dream catcher. The chimes were different shapes of feathers. It was so foreign to anything she knew, she couldn’t imagine why she would be hallucinating about it, and wondered if she was dead.

The man lifted his hand, and as he did, she had the strongest urge to wave back, but she couldn’t seem to move. She couldn’t see his face clearly, yet she knew that he was crying. A sad, empty feeling hit her belly and then swallowed her whole.

By the time she realized she wasn’t dead, only facedown in the dirt, the vision was gone. If that wasn’t enough humiliation, her perp was nowhere in sight.

“Oh, crap,” she muttered, then breathed easier when she saw Agent Dave Wills coming back with the perp she’d been chasing. Garcia was handcuffed and cursing at the top of his voice.

“Can it, Garcia,” Wills snapped, then saw Sonora on the ground. “Jordan! Are you all right? Are you hit?”

“No…no, I’m okay,” Sonora said as she got up, picked up her gun, then began brushing at the dust on her face and clothes.

“What happened?” he asked, as he shoved Garcia into the back of his car and slammed the door.

She didn’t know what to say. “I guess I tripped.” It was lame, but it was better than the truth.

He frowned. Sonora Jordan wasn’t the tripping kind. He reached for her shoulder, intent on brushing a streak of dirt from her face when movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned just as the other Garcia brother appeared.

“Look out!” he yelled, shoving Sonora aside as he reached for his gun.

Sonora reacted without thinking. Her gun was still in her hand and she was falling again. Only this time, she got off four shots. Two of them connected.

Juanito Garcia died before he hit the ground.

Enrique saw the whole thing from Wills’s car and began to scream, cursing Sonora and Wills and the DEA in general.

Wills waved his arm at another agent and yelled, “Get him out of here!”

As he was being driven away, Enrique looked back at Sonora, mouthing the words, “You’re dead.”

It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, but it never failed to give her the creeps.

Wills eyed the muscle jerking in her jaw but shrugged it off. She was tough, no need getting bent out of shape on her behalf. Still, this bust hadn’t gone as they’d planned.

“They made you too early,” he said. “What happened?”

She spun, eyeing him angrily. “Oh, hell, Wills, I hate to venture a guess, but it might have been your ugly mug showing up a good ten minutes too soon. I wasn’t through making my play when you came flying around the corner.”

Wills shrugged. “But we got ’em.”

“No, we got two. Miguel Garcia is the boss man and he wasn’t here…yet.”

This time Wills frowned. “So, it’s not my fault he didn’t show. You said he would.”

“Yeah…at three-fifteen.”

“So, what time is it now?” Wills asked.

“Three-fifteen,” Sonora snapped, then strode to her car and got in, slamming the door behind her. When Wills still hadn’t moved, she leaned out the window and yelled, “You plan on buying a house down here?”

Wills glanced down at what was left of Juanito Garcia and then at the faces peering out at them from windows above the street.

“Hell, no,” he said.

Within minutes, they were gone, leaving the aftermath and cleanup to others. There was a border to cross and reports to be written before anyone slept tonight.

* * *

Sonora typed the last word in her report and then hit Print. She gathered up the pages with one eye on the clock and the other on the scowl her boss was wearing.

Gerald Mynton wasn’t any happier than she’d been about letting Miguel Garcia get away. Capturing two out of three wasn’t the kind of odds Mynton operated on. He was an all-or-nothing kind of man. Added to that, Sonora Jordan was no longer a viable agent in this case. He knew Wills was partly responsible for missing the last Garcia brother, but there was nothing they could do about it now except pick up where they left off—minus Jordan.

When he saw Sonora get up from her desk, he motioned for her to come in. She gathered up what was obviously her report and strode across the floor.

Even though he was a happily married man and totally insulted by the thought of sexual harassment among his agents, he couldn’t ignore what a beautiful woman Sonora was. She was over five feet nine inches tall and could bench-press double her weight. Her hair was long and dark and her features exotically beautiful. In all the years he’d known her, he’d only seen her smile a few times.

But it wasn’t her looks that made her a valuable agent. Besides her skill, there was an asset Sonora had that made her a perfect agent. She had no relatives and no boyfriends. She was as alone in this world as a person could be, which meant that her loyalties were 100 percent with the job.

Unfortunately, killing Juanito Garcia had temporarily put an end to her usefulness, and until Miguel Garcia was brought to justice, she needed to lay low. Miguel was the kind of man who dealt in revenge.

Gerald Mynton hated to be in corners, but he was in one now. If he put Sonora back to work on anything new, Garcia could dog her until he got a chance to kill her. Mynton’s only option was for her to drop out of sight until Garcia was brought in and she could live to solve another case.

He squinted thoughtfully as Sonora entered his office. Now he had to convince her that it was in her best interest to hide when he knew her instincts would be to confront and overcome.

“My report,” Sonora said as she laid the file on his desk.

He nodded. “Close the door, then please sit down.”

Sonora stood her ground with the door wide-open. “I’m not hiding.”

Mynton sighed. “Did I say you should?”

“Not yet, but you’re going to, aren’t you?”

“There’s a contract out on your life.”

Sonora’s chin jutted. “I heard.”

“So…do you have a death wish?”

“No, but—”

“Garcia won’t take what happened without payback. No matter what case I put you on, your presence could put everyone else in danger, not to mention yourself.”

Sonora’s shoulders slumped. “I hate this.”

“I’m not all that excited about it myself,” Mynton said.

Sonora nodded. She wasn’t the kind of person who let herself be down for long. If this was the way it was going to play out, then so be it.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do as you ask,” she said.

Mynton stood up and then walked around his desk until they were standing face-to-face.

“You don’t apologize,” he said shortly. “You don’t ever apologize for doing your job and doing it well. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there anyplace special you can go?”

She thought of the hallucination she’d had in Mexico—of the house surrounded by a forest of green and the wind chime hanging on the porch. It had seemed so perfect. If only it had been real, she’d already be there.

“Not really. I’ll think of something, though.”

“Find a different mode of transportation. We don’t think Garcia is in Phoenix yet, but once here, it won’t take him long to find out where you live. I don’t want you to be there when he arrives. As for leaving Phoenix, you can be traced too easily by credit card. Also, I’d skip the airports and bus stations.”

“Well, damn it, sir, since my broom is also in the shop, what the hell else do you suggest?”

Mynton’s frown deepened. “Use your imagination.”

“This is a nightmare,” Sonora muttered. “Just do me one favor.”

“If I can,” Mynton said.

“Find Miguel Garcia,” she added.

“And you stay safe and keep in touch,” he added.

A few minutes later, she was gone.

By the time she got home, she was exhausted. However, there were plans to be made. Mynton wanted her to get lost. He didn’t know it, but she’d been lost all her life. Dumped on the doorstep of a Texas orphanage when she was only hours old, Sonora had grown up without a sense of who she was or where she was from. When she was young, she used to pretend that her mother would suddenly appear and whisk her away, but it had never happened. Life for Sonora was nothing but one kick in the teeth after another. She didn’t believe in luck, had never believed in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny and trusted no one. What had happened on their last case had been unexpected, but she could handle it. All she needed to do was get out of town.

Transportation was no problem. She knew exactly how she would travel. All she needed to do was call her old boyfriend, Buddy Allen, and have him bring back her Harley.

She stripped down to a bra and panties before she sat down on the side of the bed. She rubbed the back of her neck with both hands, wishing she had time for a massage, but that was too public for someone who needed to lay low.

She picked up the phone and dialed Buddy’s number. Although it had been more than six months since they’d quit seeing each other, they were still on good terms. Sonora had been gone too much to commit herself to anyone, and Buddy wanted more than a once-a-month lay. The decision to quit trying had been mutual.

Still, as she waited for Buddy to pick up, she couldn’t help but wish she had a little backup in her personal life.

Buddy answered on the third ring. “Heelloo, good lookin’.”

“Did you know it was me, or is that the way you always answer your phone?” Sonora said.

Buddy laughed. “Caller ID and yes.”

This time it was Sonora who chuckled. “Some things never change…you being one of them,” she said.

Buddy sighed. “Did you call to chastise me for being male, or can I talk you into a round of good sex for old times sake?”

“No on both counts. I called because I need my bike.”

Buddy groaned. “Aw, man…not the Harley.”

“Sorry, but I need it,” Sonora said shortly.

The smile disappeared from Buddy’s voice. “Are you in trouble?”

“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.