Читать книгу Rider on Fire - Sharon Sala - Страница 11

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 on the 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, 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 on the 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 hawk-like, 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.