Badlands
Jill Sorenson
Love is the most dangerous territory of allEvery day, bodyguard Owen Jackson puts his life on the line—and keeps his feelings for Penny Sandoval locked away. Assigned to protect Penny’s father, a presidential candidate, Owen can’t get emotionally involved. That is, until Penny and her young son, Cruz, are abducted and taken deep into the California badlands.Owen knows the bleak territory from his childhood. Worse, he knows the gang leader making ransom demands—his own brother, Shane. When a terrified Penny escapes into the desert with Cruz, Owen has to save her: from the elements and from the gang in close pursuit. Owen had hidden the darkness in his past from Penny. Now his only chance of keeping her alive is to let her see the man he really is—even if it means losing the only woman he’ll ever want."Sorenson fuels this fast-paced romantic thriller with nonstop adrenaline….This twisty roller-coaster ride keeps the pages turning."—Publishers Weekly starred review of Aftershock
Love is the most dangerous territory of all
Every day, bodyguard Owen Jackson puts his life on the line—and keeps his feelings for Penny Sandoval locked away. Assigned to protect Penny’s father, a presidential candidate, Owen can’t get emotionally involved. That is, until Penny and her young son, Cruz, are abducted and taken deep into the California badlands.
Owen knows the bleak territory from his childhood. Worse, he knows the gang leader making ransom demands—his own brother, Shane. When a terrified Penny escapes into the desert with Cruz, Owen has to save her: from the elements and from the gang in close pursuit. Owen has hidden the darkness in his past from Penny. Now his only chance of keeping her alive is to let her see the man he really is—even if it means losing the only woman he’ll ever want.
Praise for
JILL
SORENSON
“Sorenson makes her characters realistic, flawed, and appealing. Deftly handled violent action and red herrings rush this thriller to a believable ending.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Edge of Night
“Taut with emotion, suspense and danger. Sorenson expertly weaves the two stories into a heart-wrenching conclusion.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Edge of Night
“One of the best books of the year…nonstop, heart-pounding excitement.”
—RT Book Reviews on Stranded with Her Ex, Top Pick! 4.5 stars
“(A) high tension romantic thriller...culminating in a page-turning climax. Despite the mystery, the real tension comes from the emotional relationships, full of explosive sex and terrible secrets.”
—Publishers Weekly on Crash into Me
“It was definitely hot. Sooo hot. Jill Sorenson is my new favorite romantic-suspense author!”
—USA TODAY bestselling author Victoria Dahl on Crash into Me
Badlands
Jill Sorenson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u6d267572-83fe-59d6-8e64-bf313ff6e12e)
CHAPTER TWO (#u4c64675c-a996-559f-aa50-3c00e80c52c2)
CHAPTER THREE (#u7f8400c1-11fd-5349-85cb-388223843856)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u54b099fa-3f8f-50c5-8d44-e07c1b916cd8)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ue45d0bca-c091-504b-8e65-89bb5a40b455)
CHAPTER SIX (#ubb2d257c-afe6-5529-9155-3877cdb4b5f7)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
PENNY STILL HAD NIGHTMARES about the earthquake.
Whenever she felt trapped, she thought of that horrible stretch of days. Eight months pregnant, buried under a massive pile of concrete, no fresh air or sunlight. She’d never take freedom for granted again.
“Almost done,” the makeup artist said, aware that Penny was growing restless. “Purse your lips.”
Penny made a dutiful moue, hoping the color wouldn’t draw more attention to her mouth. She already had full lips and a wide smile. When she wore bright lipstick, it was like a neon sign on her face.
The chaos in the makeup room, along with her inability to move, increased her anxiety. Her mother was getting her hair styled in a chair nearby. Her sister, Raven, had shown up late. She was standing by the door, text-messaging her boyfriend on her iPhone. She seemed annoyed that she had to wait until Penny was finished.
Her youngest sister, Leslie, was trying to distract Cruz with a book. He didn’t want to sit still in this cramped environment any more than Penny did. She hoped he wouldn’t cause a scene during one of the speeches. In less than an hour, she’d introduce her mother in front of a huge audience at the San Diego Convention Center.
Millions would be watching from home.
“Done. You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” she said, barely glancing at her reflection. She got up from the chair just as Cruz wiggled free from Leslie’s embrace and grabbed a mascara wand. “Not so fast,” she said, prying it from his little fingers.
“Mommy! I want to paint.”
“Let’s go for a walk,” she said, putting the contraband out of reach. She shrugged out of the styling cape and grasped Cruz’s hand. As she led him toward the exit, she smoothed the front of her jungle-print dress. It was green-swirled chiffon with a gathered waist and a halter top. The daring style wasn’t typical for political conventions, but that was kind of the point. She’d been recruited to entice a younger, less rigid crop of voters.
Owen Jackson was standing by the door. He’d been a member of her father’s security team for about six months. Now that Jorge Sandoval had Secret Service protection, Owen had been relegated to guarding Penny and her five-year-old son, Cruz.
Owen skimmed her body with the barest hint of interest before he moved on to Cruz. “What’s up, little man?”
“It’s boring here.”
Owen’s brows rose. “This place? It’s a circus.”
Cruz studied a trio of men in suits passing by, as if searching for elephants. The convention center’s main floor had an arched canvas ceiling that resembled a dozen circus tents, or maybe the sails of a thousand ships. It was full of interesting architectural shapes and bustling with people. Penny might have given him a tour if she wasn’t worried about being recognized and accosted by reporters.
“Is there any space he can play?” she asked.
“Right this way,” Owen said, leading them down the hall. He touched the communication device at his collar, relaying the details of their location change.
Tonight her father would be awarded the official nomination at the Republican National Convention. No Hispanic-American had ever won this honor. It was the most important evening of his life. His performance would have a direct effect on the outcome of the November election. The entire nation was watching.
Penny felt like throwing up.
She’d promised to attend for her father’s sake, but she didn’t care for the public scrutiny. Her status as an unwed mother hadn’t gone unnoticed by her father’s conservative base. He was known for “family values.” Over the past few weeks, speculation about Cruz’s parentage had run rampant. Religious groups had criticized her for having loose morals. Pro-life activists claimed her son was the product of rape.
Troubled by the rumors, Penny had agreed to a single on-air interview. She hadn’t named and shamed Tyler, her son’s father, but she’d been candid in her other responses. She’d even confessed that her parents had ordered her to leave their home when she was pregnant. Then she’d told the extraordinary story of Cruz’s birth—days after the San Diego earthquake.
The public reaction to the interview had been overwhelmingly positive. Young people found her relatable. Everyone loved survivor stories. When her father had stood by her, expressing regret over his actions during her pregnancy, his approval ratings with women had soared.
It was just the boost he needed.
Although Penny hadn’t wanted to get involved in the campaign, she felt obligated to make one last appearance on his behalf. It was the least she could do after he’d given her his unconditional support.
She followed Owen to a small outdoor terrace that offered a spectacular view of the San Diego Bay. It was closed in, with walls on both sides and a Plexiglas barrier in lieu of a guardrail. At sunset, the surface of the ocean rippled with golden highlights. Cruz’s eyes lit up when he saw the fountain in the middle of the terrace. Water bubbled from the top of a stone pillar, cascading down its smooth facade.
“Let me take off your jacket,” she said.
He endured the three-second delay with impatience, his little body leaning toward the fountain. As soon as he broke loose, he raced to the fountain’s edge. She watched him play for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest. He gathered leaves from a nearby plant to make an armada of floating ships, sinking them with pebble bombs.
Focusing on Cruz helped her regain a sense of calm. He meant everything to her. Strangers said they looked alike, but his tawny-brown hair came straight from Tyler. It was thick and tended to curl at the ends, brushing the collar of his shirt. Sometimes, when his hair was freshly washed, she hugged him close and buried her face in it. Her love for him was boundless, almost frightening in its intensity.
She’d die without him.
Taking a deep breath, she moved her gaze to Owen. He was a tall, unobtrusive statue beside her. Away from the crowds, he didn’t need to be on high alert. His manner wasn’t exactly relaxed, but he seemed...present. As if he wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else.
His appearance never varied: smooth-shaven jaw, close-cropped blond hair, inexpensive black suit. She knew from experience that there were hidden depths to his pale blue eyes, dark secrets lurking beneath his ill-fitted jacket and white button-down shirt. The faint scars on his neck and hand, remnants from laser-removed tattoos, told a very different tale than his clean-cut image implied.
Cruz thought Owen was some kind of secret superhero. She’d told him that Owen had rescued them during the earthquake, and helped track down criminals in Sierra National Park. Her son had started making up elaborate stories of Owen’s other assorted feats.
She wondered if Owen was aware of the latest rumors. A tabloid reporter had linked them romantically, suggesting he was Cruz’s father. Which was impossible, because he’d been incarcerated at the time of Cruz’s conception.
“My sister wants to pitch a family reality show to the cable networks,” she said. “Keeping up with the Kardashians meets The West Wing.”
He arched a brow. “Sounds like your dad’s worst nightmare.”
“Mine, too.”
“The White House would never allow that kind of filming.”
“Do you think he’ll win?”
“Yes,” he said after a pause.
The polls were even, but her father was gaining ground. He had momentum. If he continued to perform well, he could be the nation’s first Hispanic president. The thought made her heart swell with pride.
“Would you move to Washington, D.C.?” he asked.
“No. Cruz is starting kindergarten next week, and I don’t want to leave Palos Verdes.”
Owen nodded, scanning the space between Cruz and the door again. Owen was often too engaged in his duties to carry on a real conversation. At this secure location, she didn’t think that was a problem. Since accepting the role of bodyguard, he’d put up a wall between them. He was polite and distant, as if they had no personal history. As if he’d never kissed her, or assisted her in childbirth, or been her unlikely confidant.
Their interactions had become stilted.
Maybe he wasn’t interested in furthering their relationship. If he was, he wouldn’t have been so eager to work for her father. He had a college degree and firefighter training. Instead of applying to the LAFD, as planned, he’d settled for this.
She’d settled, too. Over the past five years, she’d been a dutiful daughter, grateful to her parents for welcoming her and Cruz back home. They’d taken care of her financial needs and spoiled Cruz rotten. Between getting her degree and being a single mother, she’d been too busy to disappoint them.
They’d never approve of her dating someone like Owen.
She fell into a contemplative silence as the sun set over the bay. It felt odd to be back in San Diego with Owen again. Before the earthquake, Penny had lived here for several months with her aunt, who had died in the freeway collapse. The convention center was less than five miles from the interchange, which marked the epicenter. Most of the damage had been repaired years ago. The city showed no signs of its former devastation.
Owen fashioned a paper plane out of a discarded advertisement for the convention and handed it to Cruz. Instead of launching it off the balcony, Cruz ran around in circles, lifting the jet high overhead.
“The clinic offered me a part-time position,” she said. “I’m going to be their new community health educator.”
He looked impressed. “Congratulations.”
She thanked him with a nod. Although she’d done a lot of volunteer work during her final semester of college, this would be her first paid job. She was freshly graduated, ready to make a difference.
“They’re asking for you backstage,” he said, touching the microphone at his ear.
Her stomach exploded with butterflies. She had the terrifying premonition that she’d trip over her dress, hyperventilate at the podium, or faint from an attack of nerves. “I can’t do this,” she said in a rush.
“You’ll be great.”
“Do I look like a clown?”
He examined her face, smiling. “No.”
“You look good, Mama,” Cruz said, gazing up at her. “As pretty as the ladies on Telemundo.”
Owen laughed at this compliment. Perhaps he was familiar with the scantily clad female performers on the popular Spanish-language channel. When he saw her worried expression, he sobered, letting security know they were on the way.
An event organizer escorted the three of them through a maze of passageways until they reached the backstage area. Penny found her mark and stood there, taking deep breaths. She would enter on one side while her mother waited on the other. She didn’t dare peek around the curtain to gaze at the crowd.
Cruz was supposed to sit with Leslie and Raven in the family balcony. When her grandmother came to retrieve him, he hid behind Penny’s skirt and refused to let go.
“You can’t walk out on stage with me,” she told Cruz.
“I’ll stay behind the curtain with Abuelita.”
Penny’s grandmother agreed to this suggestion; she rarely said no to Cruz. He stomped toward her, purposefully noisy in his shiny new shoes. She held his hand and let him wander around backstage.
Penny was too nervous to argue. She hoped he wouldn’t cause a scene during the introduction. Cruz didn’t throw temper tantrums as often as he used to, but he had a lot of energy and got into his share of mischief.
“He’ll be fine,” Owen said.
She practiced her lines, heart racing.
“Can I get you anything?”
For some reason, his polite offer bothered her. She didn’t want a bodyguard or a servant. She wanted a friend. A man. “Do I really look okay?”
“You’ve never looked better.”
“The dress isn’t...too much?”
His eyes traveled down the bodice and back up. “Not quite enough, I’d say.”
The words held no judgment, only mild admiration. He was making a joke to put her at ease, not giving her his sincere opinion.
“I feel like a fraud,” she whispered. “Or a whore.”
This sparked an honest reaction in him: anger. “Why?”
“They’re using me for sex appeal. Selling my image, my...tasteful cleavage.”
He said nothing, unable to deny the truth.
“Do you think it works?”
“Yes.”
“Are votes so cheaply had?”
“Some are.”
“What about yours?”
His lips quirked into a smile. “I’d vote for you, if you were running.”
She assumed he supported the opposition, but she didn’t ask. He respected her father too much to admit it. Which was kind of ironic, considering the circumstances. It was no coincidence that her father had offered Owen a job as soon as he’d come to L.A. Jorge Sandoval expected his daughters to marry wealthy Latinos. He’d hired Owen to keep him under his thumb—and off-limits to Penny.
She was annoyed with her father for manipulating Owen, and with Owen for letting him. Most of all, she was frustrated with herself. She’d always felt stifled by her family’s strict religious beliefs. If not for Cruz, she’d have left home long ago. She’d traded stability for independence, suppressing her own desires.
“People say I don’t know who Cruz’s father is.”
“Fuck them,” he said succinctly.
Her worst critics were members of the Freedom Party, an ultra-conservative group her father had courted and abandoned after winning the primaries. Now that he needed to focus on gaining ground with undecided voters, he could no longer afford to be affiliated with extremists. In recent weeks, his social media accounts had been inundated with suggestive comments about Penny, ethnic slurs and anonymous threats.
Maybe she’d spoken her mind during the interview in an attempt to break free from her family chains. But the move had backfired. Here she was, at another campaign event against her will. She didn’t want to be put on display, or to help her father win. What she longed for was right in front of her. She wished she had the nerve to tell Owen how she felt. To shed her inhibitions and offer herself to him.
“What if they boo me?” she asked.
“They won’t.”
Penny pressed a palm to her stomach. If she choked, the media would have a field day. If she tripped and fell, the video clip would go viral.
“Try to picture the audience naked,” he said. “I’ve heard it helps.”
She started with him, her eyes trailing down his body. Years ago, she’d seen him bare-chested. He was lean and strong, built more like a runner than a weight lifter. She knew he’d had some of his tattoos removed. She remembered one on his shoulder, a three-leaf clover. It wasn’t quite as offensive as the rest.
“Kiss me,” she said, meeting his gaze. “For luck.”
He stared at her in disbelief. She crossed her fingers and waited, pulse racing. When he realized she was serious, he glanced around to see who was watching. Her grandmother and Cruz were nearby, their backs turned. Her mother studied her cue cards on the other end of the stage, more than a hundred feet away.
She didn’t know if he did it because she asked, or because he wanted to. But he stepped forward and lifted his hand to her face, indulging her request. His fingertips skimmed the side of her neck as he leaned in. She held her breath, longing for a tongue-tangling kiss. At the last second, he moved to the left, brushing his lips over her cheek.
Chaste. Respectful. Distant.
But when he retreated, she saw the heat in his eyes. The want.
After they broke apart, her grandmother approached with Cruz. “Leslie can’t find Raven. I have to go look for her.”
“Cruz can hang out with me,” Owen said.
Penny didn’t challenge the arrangement. Babysitting wasn’t part of Owen’s job, but neither was kissing, and she’d only be onstage for thirty seconds. While her grandmother went to search for Raven, Owen chatted with Cruz, avoiding Penny’s gaze. His expression showed no indication that they’d just shared an intimate moment.
Penny focused on the heavy curtains, her anxiety spiking. An innocent peck on the cheek was the most action she’d had in the past five years. She could still feel his mouth on her skin, his thumb against her throat.
When the production assistant gave her the go signal, she glanced at Owen and Cruz. They both smiled at her encouragingly.
Taking the plunge, she walked out on stage. The crowd stretched into infinity, red signs waving, a blur of excited faces. She continued toward her mark, terrified. Don’t trip. Don’t forget your lines. Smile.
She reached the podium without incident. Gripping its comforting wood edges, she stared at the blinking red light on the center camera, aware that her image was being broadcast on a huge screen behind her.
Smile.
Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. There were no boos or rude remarks. Someone in the far corner whistled, causing a ripple of laughter in the audience. Then her tension eased, and she stopped worrying about flubbing her lines.
She didn’t value the opinion of the bigots in the Freedom Party, a vocal right-wing minority. Let them criticize her wardrobe, her figure or her conduct. The only thing that mattered was getting through the introduction and moving on with her life.
Channeling confidence, she leaned forward to start her introduction. Before she’d uttered a single word, an alarm sounded, splitting the air with high-pitched wails. She stepped away from the microphone, flinching at the loud noise.
The stadium erupted into chaos.
CHAPTER TWO
OWEN HAD NEVER WANTED to be Penny’s bodyguard.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her. He’d give his life for her or Cruz in a heartbeat. He had self-defense training, rescue experience and an EMT certificate. After three years in prison, he’d learned how to read tensions in a crowd and anticipate violence. Even his entry-level position at Sierra National Park had been more dangerous than he’d anticipated.
But private security wasn’t his field of interest, and he was a poor candidate for Penny, in particular. He’d had a crush on her for years. It was extremely difficult for him to focus on the surroundings instead of her. He found himself following her every move, studying her body language and facial expressions...imagining them together.
In protective services, getting emotionally involved with a client was a bad idea. Engaging in sexual fantasies about her was downright stupid.
She often tried to draw him into conversations with her, which didn’t help. He was already distracted by her beauty. He liked her voice, her animated gestures, her smile. Her personality was irresistible.
And that kiss. Jesus.
He could get fired for touching her. There were cameras all over the place. If Sandoval heard Owen was sniffing around his daughter, he’d cut him loose without the recommendation Owen desperately needed.
Owen had developed a few coping strategies for keeping his cool around Penny. He avoided eye contact. He memorized her clothing details at a glance. When he had to look at her, he concentrated on her attire, not the body underneath. He treated her like an assignment, blanking his mind of their previous interactions.
It didn’t always work, obviously. He was slipping.
After Penny walked across the stage, Cruz tugged at Owen’s hand, pointing to a dark corner he wanted to explore. Owen might be biased, because he’d helped bring Cruz into this world, but the kid struck him as ridiculously cute. He had Penny’s honey-colored complexion and big brown eyes.
Owen pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head. He couldn’t let the boy wander off. There was a fleet of security personnel at this event, so he didn’t have to monitor the audience, but he had to stay alert.
A second later, an alarm sounded, indicating an emergency that required immediate evacuation.
Penny.
He tightened his grip on Cruz’s hand and strode toward the podium to retrieve her. She was already on her way backstage. As soon as she saw Cruz, she bent down and picked him up, her face tense.
The voice in Owen’s ear told him what to do: find the closest exit. He was familiar with the layout of the building. A production assistant waved a group of people forward. Owen placed his hand on Penny’s shoulder as they skirted around stage and lighting equipment. He looked for Penny’s mother but didn’t see her.
The alarm continued to go off in loud, intermittent blares. He couldn’t hear any more instructions from his boss. Pressing the button on the microphone at his collar, he checked in. “Moving toward the exit,” he said, reciting their code names and basic location.
They spilled out the door into a pavilion on the side of the main building. Audience members were emerging from multiple exits. Most of them headed west, to the area behind the convention center. It offered access to the harbor, parking lot and adjoining hotels. The production assistant went the same direction with the rest of the employees.
Owen didn’t follow. Penny would get recognized in the crowd, and his team was prepared for this kind of situation. They had a driver waiting in the loading area in front of the building, ready to whisk them to safety.
“To your left,” he said, squeezing her upper arm. It was early evening, just before dark, with good visibility. There were some random people milling around, along with a couple of photographers in casual clothes.
Owen hated the paparazzi even more than he hated those Freedom Party rejects who criticized Penny for having a baby out of wedlock. At the last political event she’d attended, some jerk had thrown a water balloon at her, soaking her blouse to near transparency. Of course the cameras had flashed before Owen could remove his jacket to cover her. The photos had been posted everywhere online.
He’d heard that one of the sleazy gossip magazines had offered to pay top dollar for a “crotch shot.”
Over his dead body.
Owen understood the public fascination with Penny. Her father was running for president. She’d grown up in the lap of luxury, made relatable mistakes and survived one of the worst natural disasters in U.S. history. She expressed herself sincerely. It didn’t hurt that she had a movie-star face and a figure like a Victoria’s Secret model. With her long legs, dark hair and radiant smile, she was stunning. The media loved her.
He spoke into his microphone once again to communicate their whereabouts, directing Penny toward the Cadillac at the curb. Secret Service had their own vehicles, so this one was used exclusively by Penny and her sisters. As they approached the car, Owen sensed a presence closing in on them. It was probably one of the photographers, hoping to get an angle up Penny’s skirt as she climbed into the backseat. He opened the back door, urging Penny and Cruz inside. Their driver, Keshawn Jones, was at the wheel.
Before Owen could glance over his shoulder to assess the threat, he noticed a rush of movement by the driver’s side. A masked man jabbed his fist through the open window, striking Jones in the neck.
The next few seconds passed in a blur. Owen reached for his mic just as he was tackled from behind. His fingers never found the talk button. A sharp pain hit his midsection, radiating through his torso like a bolt of lightning. Not a gunshot wound or a knife laceration. Electroshock. He was incapacitated before he even collapsed.
The man with the taser shoved him into the vehicle and climbed inside. Owen quaked like an epileptic. He couldn’t fight back or even resist. His body shook uncontrollably, and his thoughts scattered.
He was vaguely aware of Cruz’s muffled screams as Penny tried to quiet him. Everything else was pain. Pain in his torso, where the device had struck him. Pain in his muscles, which had seized up. His face contorted into a grimace, and his chest tightened. The pain went on and on, never ending.
Darkness edged in. Soon he’d be unconscious. Dead.
Owen didn’t realize the man with the weapon was still stunning him until he stopped, taking the device away from his side. The door slammed shut, and the vehicle accelerated. Owen slumped over, his cheek mashed against the leather seats. The worst of the pain receded, but the twitching continued.
“You didn’t have to tase him that long,” someone said from the front seat. “You almost killed him.”
Even in his fractured state, Owen recognized the voice.
It was Shane. His older brother, who’d just been released from prison. Shane must have pushed the driver aside and taken over.
“He’s still alive,” his attacker said. Then kicked Owen in the ribs for good measure.
Owen hardly felt the added insult, though he struggled to fill his lungs with oxygen. Cruz wailed in dismay, asking about Owen and sobbing his name repeatedly.
“Mommy, Mommy, what’s wrong with Owen?”
“Shut that kid up.”
Owen lifted his head to speak to Penny. His vision was blurry, his mouth slack. When he tried to speak, a string of saliva dribbled from his lips. “M’okay,” he mumbled, forming the words for Cruz’s sake. “I’m okay.”
Penny looked horrified. Maybe he should have saved his breath.
The man put away the taser and cuffed Owen’s hands behind his back. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His muscles felt like jelly. He wiped his chin against the fabric of his jacket. Lethargy drowned out most of his embarrassment.
“He’s okay,” Penny murmured to Cruz, rocking him in her lap. “He’s hurt, but he’s going to be okay.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the hospital,” she said immediately. “Owen needs a doctor.”
She knew what was happening. Of course she knew. She wasn’t dumb. Even he knew, and his brain was fried.
“What happened to him?” Cruz asked.
“He had a seizure.”
“A seizer?”
“Seizure,” she corrected. “Shaking you can’t control. This man is helping Owen so he doesn’t hurt himself again. Isn’t that right, Mr....?”
“Dirk.”
“Mr. Dirk.”
It was a bullshit name, but it was a bullshit story. Owen should have been more careful approaching the vehicle. In his haste to get Penny and Cruz away from the paparazzi, he’d delivered them directly to...
The kidnappers.
He couldn’t believe Shane was involved in this. He couldn’t believe Shane was here. His brother had been living at a halfway house in Northern California. It went without saying that this violated the terms of his parole.
“The kid wasn’t supposed to be with her,” Shane said.
“What do you want to do with him?”
Penny tightened her arms around Cruz protectively.
“I can’t drop him off on the street corner,” Shane replied.
“Maybe he’ll double our take,” Dirk said.
Owen rested his forehead on the edge of the seat and tried to recover his wits. His stomach churned with nausea as he sorted through the fuzzy details. Penny was the target of this crime, not Cruz. The disappearance of two Sandoval family members would be noticed and investigated at once.
Despite the mix-up with Cruz, this kidnapping appeared to be an organized effort. The fire alarm must have been rigged. They’d known Penny had been about to take the stage. They’d known she had a single bodyguard—him—and not an entourage. They’d been following her. Waiting for an opportunity to strike.
The ease with which they’d executed the plan appalled him. With lucidity came regret. He’d failed to protect Penny and Cruz. Failed on every level. He’d been tricked, overpowered and stunned into submission.
Cruz had a booster seat, but Penny didn’t put him in it. Her arms were wrapped tight around him, her jaw clenched with determination. If anyone tried to take him from her, she’d claw their eyes out.
As the car went around a sharp corner, Owen slid towards Dirk. He wasn’t trying to challenge him in any way, but he couldn’t prevent his body from listing that direction. He had no control, no anchor.
Dirk gripped the back of Owen’s shirt and slammed him facedown on the seat. Straddling his thighs, he ripped off Owen’s communication device, which was hanging from his collar, and tossed it out the window. Then he checked him for weapons.
Owen gritted his teeth against the feel of another man’s hands on him, diving into his pockets and thrusting between his legs. He didn’t like incidental contact. Getting groped while he was restrained and vulnerable sent him over the edge.
He’d been held down before. Cheek smashed against the cold tile, wrists trapped in a cruel grip. He didn’t want to travel to that dark place again. It was locked inside his memory, never to be revisited.
Dirk dispensed with Owen’s jacket and relieved him of his cell phone, pepper spray and tactical baton. He also found Owen’s money clip and confiscated it. “This rent-a-cop doesn’t even have a gun.”
“I told you he wouldn’t,” Shane said.
“What kind of bodyguard doesn’t pack heat?”
Plenty of them. Some security experts used weapons, others didn’t. Owen was trained in self-defense and close combat. His top priority was escorting members of the Sandoval family to safety, not getting into shoot-outs with assailants. He was also a convicted felon, so he couldn’t own a gun. Being armed wouldn’t have made a difference in this situation, anyway. He’d been incapacitated before he’d had a chance to react.
With a derisive grunt, Dirk continued the search, running his hands along Owen’s thighs and circling his calves. He finished the pat-down, but the violation wasn’t over. Dirk pinned Owen to the seat with his body weight, taking an aggressive rear-mount position. He slanted his forearm across the back of Owen’s neck, putting his mouth close to his ear. “I heard you were a little bitch in prison.”
Owen clenched his jaw, not responding to the dig. It was a common insult for ex-cons; Dirk had no idea what he’d done inside. He was just trying to make Owen mad. Owen refused to give him the satisfaction. Dirk’s opinion meant nothing to him.
Penny was another story. Owen didn’t want her to see him like this. When he glanced at her, she was watching them. She’d cradled Cruz’s head to her chest to prevent him from witnessing the disturbing scene. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.
He closed his, feeling like a loser.
Fifteen minutes ago, she’d begged him to kiss her. For luck, she’d said, gazing up at him. He’d been floored by the request, but he’d also understood what prompted it. She’d needed an escape, a brief distraction. He’d fantasized about kissing her—really kissing her—a thousand times. The temptation to plunder her mouth was hard to resist. But he’d acted the gentleman, not mussing her pretty, painted lips.
In that fleeting moment, he’d fooled himself into believing he was good enough for her. In this one, he felt absolutely worthless.
“Quit fucking around,” Shane said to Dirk. “I don’t want to get pulled over.”
Dirk climbed off Owen and returned to his seat, adjusting a black handkerchief around his neck to cover his face. His baseball cap and casual clothes made him resemble a member of the paparazzi, but his powerful build suggested otherwise. Owen pegged him as a recent parolee.
When Owen was capable of moving, he dragged himself upright and settled into the space beside Penny and Cruz. He couldn’t help them escape, but he could put his body between them and danger.
They were on the freeway. Shane sat behind the wheel, wearing a motorcycle face mask. Keshawn Jones was handcuffed in the passenger seat. He appeared to be suffering from the effects of electroshock, too.
Cruz twisted around in his mother’s lap, studying him with solemn brown eyes. “Are you better now, Owen?”
“Much better.”
“Why do you need those han’cuffs?”
“I don’t have control of my arms yet. I might hit someone.” He glanced at Dirk, his fists clenched behind his back.
“Can I hug you?”
Owen was touched by the request. “Sure,” he said, clearing his throat.
Cruz let go of Penny and put his small arms around Owen’s neck. He was a chatty kid, always full of questions and bouncing with energy. Penny encouraged him to be nice and mind his manners, but she also let him run wild when he needed to. She didn’t try to smother his natural rambunctiousness or dole out harsh punishments. Owen respected Penny for raising Cruz with a gentle hand. It was clear the boy had never been mistreated in any way.
Cruz was so unlike how Owen had been at this age. Affectionate and expressive, quick to cry or laugh. Unselfconscious, unafraid. The way a child should be. Owen’s gaze met Penny’s over the top of the boy’s head. He saw some of the same qualities in her.
The fact that Cruz cared so much about Owen, an employee, was deeply humbling. His little-boy empathy damn near broke Owen’s heart. He’d be devastated if Cruz got hurt on his watch. And he wanted to tear Shane apart, limb by limb, for playing a role in this fiasco.
Owen couldn’t go back in time to reverse the abuse he’d endured, or to erase the wrongs he’d done. He might not be able to heal his damaged soul or overcome his past. But if he could protect another child from harm, it would be a step toward salvation. If he could keep Penny safe, he could live with himself.
The alternative was impossible to fathom.
Cruz kissed his cheek before returning to Penny. The simple gesture caused pressure to build behind Owen’s eyes. He took a deep breath, blinking the tears away. Shane noticed this exchange and issued a silent warning in the rearview mirror.
Owen understood the danger he was in. He had no value to the kidnappers. Sandoval wouldn’t pay for his safe return. He was a liability. If he tried to defend Penny or Cruz, they’d probably kill him.
He wondered what Shane planned to do with him. They hadn’t seen each other in eight years. Shane talked to their mother on a regular basis, and she sent him monthly care packages, but he hadn’t stayed in communication with anyone else from the outside world. That included his own son, Jamie.
Owen studied the interior of the Cadillac, his heart pounding. It had master locks, so Penny couldn’t open her door. The fire alarm had caused enough chaos to mask the kidnapping, but the security cameras in front of the convention center would show footage of the crime. There was a tracking device inside the car.
Shane pulled off the freeway, glancing in the rearview mirror. He seemed confident that they weren’t being followed. They continued to an industrial area, where he parked in a deserted lot next to a black SUV.
“Is this the hospital?” Cruz asked.
“No,” Penny said.
“Where are we?”
“Shh.”
Shane got out and opened her door. In addition to the half mask covering the lower part of his face, he wore a black handkerchief like a headband. His blond hair was shaggy. He was still lean, but he looked taller, and he’d put on weight. Those powerful shoulders were straight from the exercise yard.
He gestured toward the SUV, mock-chivalrous. “Your chariot awaits.”
Penny turned to Owen for approval. He nodded for her to go ahead. She exited the car with Cruz and glanced around the empty parking lot. If they’d been followed, the police would have intervened already. But no shouts to halt rang out across the dark night. No officers swarmed the area, and no helicopter hovered overhead.
“Hurry up, princess,” Shane said. “We don’t have all night.”
Penny couldn’t run away in high heels with Cruz in tow; she got in the SUV. Dirk dragged Owen out of the Cadillac and shoved him into the backseat with her, climbing in after. She scooted over and put Cruz on her lap to make room. As discreetly as possible, she tried to lift the door handle on the opposite side of the vehicle.
It didn’t budge.
Shane left Keshawn Jones handcuffed in the Cadillac and got behind the wheel of the SUV. Starting the engine, he drove out from the parking lot and headed east, away from downtown San Diego.
It was an uncomfortable ride. There wasn’t enough room in the backseat. Owen was smashed against Penny’s side. Cruz asked about the hospital again, but he sounded sleepy. She sang him Spanish lullabies in a soft voice, rocking him until he drifted off.
At some point, her son would wake up and realize they weren’t going to the hospital. He’d wonder what was happening and get upset. Owen wasn’t looking forward to the moment when reality struck.
He sat motionless and silent, his body thrumming with tension.
About twenty minutes later, Shane stopped by the side of the road. “Give me his phone,” he said, reaching into the backseat.
Dirk located Owen’s cell phone and passed it forward.
“Did you turn the tracking off?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to talk to Sandoval,” Shane said to Owen. “Tell him we want two million in a large duffel bag, unmarked. He has to bring it alone, no cops. We’ll call back tomorrow with more instructions.”
Owen couldn’t refuse. He didn’t have a choice.
Shane found Sandoval’s number in Owen’s list of contacts and pressed the button. Then he handed the phone back to Dirk, who held it close enough for Owen to speak into.
Jorge Sandoval answered with his own demand: “Where are you?”
Shane shook his head. No details.
“I’m with Penny and Cruz,” Owen said.
“Put her on.”
Shane nodded, allowing it. Dirk turned the phone toward Penny. “Daddy,” she said in a tremulous voice. “Estamos bien.”
It meant “we’re okay,” but Shane didn’t know that. He made a sharp gesture across his throat. Dirk moved the phone back to Owen, who repeated their requests. Her father gave an immediate agreement, as calm and diplomatic as ever. Dirk ended the call.
Shane pointed a menacing finger at Penny. “You speak English or I’ll cut your pretty little tongue out.”
Owen’s muscles went taut. He wanted to fly across the seat and attack his brother with his teeth, to smash his forehead against Shane’s until they were both unconscious. But such an attempt would only result in him getting tased or beaten, and Penny would be no better off. So he curbed his fury and stayed still.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” her mouth said. Her eyes said fuck you.
“What did she say?” Shane asked Owen.
“She said ‘we’re okay.’”
Shane turned around and started the engine again, muttering something about Mexicans. He continued to head east, toward the desert.
Owen noted the road signs and guessed their destination: The Badlands. It was a vast expanse of nothingness near Salton City, where they’d grown up. There were no witnesses and a thousand places to hide. Sandoval’s security team would have a hard time finding them out here in the tumbleweeds. Cell phone service was spotty, rescue was unlikely, and an organized search effort would be difficult.
Owen’s spirits sank lower with every mile. People who disappeared in the deep desert never came back. Shane had chosen this desolate place for a reason.
He hooked a right on the S-22, a winding highway between the Salton Sea and the U.S.–Mexico border. Dozens of sandy dirt roads led south, toward rocky hills, agave groves and mud caves. It wasn’t the kind of terrain you wanted to get lost in. On an average August day, the heat was unbearable.
They traveled far from the main road, past the last vestiges of civilization, beyond the dirt roads. Few backcountry hikers would brave the late summer temperatures in the sun-ravaged badlands. Human traffickers and drug smugglers were active at night, but seldom seen. Even the border patrol didn’t have the resources to cover this entire area. Its harsh conditions were deterrent enough for most criminals.
Owen couldn’t count on Shane to spare him just because they were brothers. If he didn’t create an opportunity to escape, he was going to end up in an unmarked grave out in the middle of nowhere.
CHAPTER THREE
PENNY HAD NEVER been more terrified.
Not even when she’d been under a freeway in the throes of labor without medical help. Her memories from the San Diego earthquake had faded with time, blending into a blur of unpleasant thoughts and images. She still smelled it, sometimes. The stench of gasoline and burning plastic, rainwater and decay.
A few years ago, her sister had broken her arm while Rollerblading. Penny had taken Leslie to the emergency room. Walking down the hallway, she’d detected the faint odor of singed flesh. Visions of her aunt’s death had come flooding back to her, sucking the air from her lungs. She’d fled to the parking lot, sat behind the wheel of her car and sobbed.
Moments like that were few and far between, however. She enjoyed a life of luxury, if not excess. Cruz had everything he needed and then some. They were insulated from harm, isolated in a home so large it could have been called a compound. She did volunteer work, and interacted with people of various economic levels in her college classes. But, for the most part, she was surrounded by wealth and privilege.
She’d never even been camping.
The days after the freeway collapse had been excruciating. This situation was worse. Or maybe it was just now.
Five years of being an adult, not to mention a single mother, had given her some perspective. She worried more than she used to, about her place in the world and Cruz’s future. She was no longer the center of her own tiny universe. What she remembered most about the disaster wasn’t death or terror or hardship. It was the miracle of Cruz’s birth. It didn’t seem possible to love a child more each day, but she did. Maybe her fears had grown at the same proportion.
She’d do anything to keep her son safe. Anything.
Owen sat beside her, stiff as a board. He must have been suffering with his arms wrenched behind his back. Hers had grown numb from holding Cruz’s sleeping weight. She had no idea where they were going or what they planned to do there. Would they kill her, torture her, hold her hostage? She took a deep breath, praying they wouldn’t hurt Cruz. She couldn’t bear it if they hurt Cruz.
She was afraid to examine either of the kidnappers. The driver had blue eyes, like Owen. They were about the same age and height. The thug sitting next to Owen was shorter, thick-necked and stocky with muscle.
She longed to rest her head on Owen’s shoulder to comfort him, but she didn’t want to draw attention. Her affection could put him in danger. The driver had already noticed Owen’s sweet interaction with Cruz, as well as his seething fury over the threats to Penny. The men had to know that Owen would fight for their lives, if he got the chance. She exchanged a glance with him, swallowing hard.
“I think these two are fucking,” Dirk said.
Penny’s stomach clenched with unease. She turned her head, staring out the window into the black night. Thank God Cruz was still asleep. He’d woken up early to watch cartoons and had spent the entire afternoon at the hotel pool.
The driver tugged down his mask and lit a cigarette. “Are you fucking your bodyguard, princess?”
“Leave her alone,” Owen said.
“I didn’t ask you, rent-a-cop. I asked her.”
Penny said nothing.
The driver looked in his rearview mirror, as if searching for the answer on her face. “They’re not fucking,” he said, taking another drag. “He probably wants to fuck her, but she’s too much of a daddy’s girl to let him.”
She tried not to flinch at the insult, which hit pretty close to home. The only men she’d gone out with since Tyler had been family-approved. Young Republicans from L.A.’s Hispanic Conservative Coalition didn’t count as real dates, either. Penny and her sisters attended a lot of events on her father’s behalf. She put on a pretty dress and smiled politely. None of her dance partners compared to Owen.
Even if Owen had been interested, her father wouldn’t approve of her dating an ex-convict. Especially not during the campaign. The media already scrutinized her choices, which reflected poorly on her parents. She’d shamed them by getting pregnant at seventeen. She also felt somewhat responsible for her aunt’s death. If she hadn’t taken Penny in, she’d still be alive. They’d been on the way to a doctor’s appointment when the earthquake struck.
Penny wasn’t deeply religious, but she loved her family. Her parents had been wonderful with Cruz. In return, she’d given up some personal freedoms. She didn’t have time for a serious relationship, anyway. Being single was part of her penance.
She snuck another peek at Owen, studying the pale tattoo scar on his neck. She’d often imagined putting her lips there and kissing away the hurt. Now the mark stood out in harsh relief against his flushed skin. Was he angry or embarrassed? If the driver’s words rang true for him, she wouldn’t have guessed it from his behavior. He never let his gaze linger on her body, never touched her for no reason.
Their trip through the desert ended at the mouth of a shallow, wind-carved canyon. The protected nook was surrounded by nondescript rock formations and covered with camouflaged netting. A trio of tents loomed in the shadows.
Penny counted three more men around a campfire. Most wore caps or beanies. Cowboy-style handkerchiefs shielded the lower halves of their faces.
The driver exited the vehicle, opening the door for Penny. It was difficult for her to maneuver with Cruz in her arms, but she managed. Dirk dragged Owen from the backseat and pushed him toward the campfire while the driver led Penny to one of the tents. She carried Cruz inside and laid him down on a soft blanket. As soon as he was settled, her captor gestured for her to come back out.
His crew gathered in a half circle around her. Although men had stared at her before, she’d never felt this vulnerable, not even in a boisterous crowd. Public reactions ranged from respectful comments to rude catcalls and blatant groping attempts. Owen had a hard elbow for the most aggressive types.
These men were more dangerous than a group of rowdy extremists. And Owen couldn’t help her if they got aggressive.
“Search her,” the driver said to one of the men. “And take her shoes.”
This order created a stir of excitement in the circle. Owen strained against Dirk’s hold, as if he wanted to kick and head-butt and body-slam everyone around him. His nostrils flared as a heavyset man in a fishing vest stepped forward.
Penny knew she couldn’t struggle. Triggering Owen’s protective instincts might prove fatal for him. If the kidnappers wanted to get paid, they had plenty of incentive to keep her and Cruz alive. Owen was dispensable.
She turned her head to the side, enduring the stranger’s touch. Her dress was thin and insubstantial, hiding nothing but expensive lingerie. He skimmed his hands along her curves quickly. His friends seemed disappointed when he did a perfunctory job instead of sexually harassing her.
“What a waste,” Dirk said.
“I don’t think Gardener has a dick.”
“Just a gunt,” another man said, and they all laughed.
Penny could only guess what that word meant. She removed her strappy high heels and handed them over, her mouth thin. They were worth a small fortune, but useless here. She couldn’t walk a quarter mile across the desert in those shoes. Barefoot, she’d encounter burrs and cactus needles in the first ten steps.
The leader gestured for her to go back in the tent, satisfied. “Make sure she stays there,” he told Gardener, who sat down on a crate nearby. He zipped up the opening, blocking her view of the men outside.
She curled up next to Cruz and hugged her arms around her middle. The tent appeared large enough for three people, at most. There were two blankets inside. She started to tremble from stress, rather than cold. Now that the men couldn’t see her, she had no reason to hold her emotions inside. Her face crumpled, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She broke down in muffled sobs, her hand clapped over her mouth.
Someone switched on the radio in the SUV, settling for a Spanish-language station. She wiped her cheeks, listening. There might not be anything else available this close to the border, but she doubted these men enjoyed Norteño music.
They didn’t want her to hear them.
She scrambled toward the front of the tent and lay flat on her belly. Unzipping a tiny opening at the corner, she peered through it. Owen was on the opposite side of the campfire. His wrists were still cuffed behind his back. The leader stood before him, smoking. His body language conveyed a challenge.
Owen shook his head, denying whatever he asked for.
The man flicked away his cigarette and stepped forward. Cuffing his hand around Owen’s neck, he drew back his fist and punched him in the stomach. Owen doubled over, coughing.
Penny bit the edge of her fist to smother her scream.
* * *
PAIN SPREAD THROUGH Owen’s midsection, settling like a ball of lead in his gut.
Although the blow wasn’t unexpected, it hurt. It always hurt when his brother hit him. From a very young age, Shane had used brute force and intimidation to get what he wanted. He’d been violent and impulsive, quick to snap.
Owen had dismissed most of their childhood rumbles as sibling rivalry, fueled by testosterone and an extra dose of dysfunction. Boys were supposed to be physical. The toxic environment they’d been raised in had exacerbated the problem. Their father had instigated fights between them, encouraging Shane to attack weakness.
Back then, Owen hadn’t stood up to either of them. He was younger than Shane, and nowhere near as aggressive. He’d never understood the appeal of hurting someone he loved. He preferred to run, hide and avoid conflict.
Now they were both adults and closer in size. He was handcuffed and at Shane’s mercy, but he refused to cower. Owen might have a chance against Shane, one-on-one. He wasn’t a scared, skinny kid anymore.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he wheezed.
Shane’s eyes widened with disbelief. Instead of sucker punching him again, Shane squeezed the nape of his neck and let go, chuckling. “You’ve grown up, little brother.”
He couldn’t prevent the rush of warmth those words generated. Owen hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Shane—or how much he’d craved human contact. His father’s death had left a hole inside him. Shane’s lengthy incarceration had made another, and his own stint in prison had gnawed him down to nothing.
Owen didn’t trust Shane, but he would always love him.
Although they’d served time in different institutions, Shane and Owen had joined the same gang. The Aryan Brotherhood was the most popular white gang in the California penal system. Its members underwent a savage initiation process and swore allegiance for life. They were expected to continue to serve the AB on the outside.
After the San Diego earthquake, Owen had been transferred to a quiet, medium-security correctional facility. Penny’s father had used his political connections to make the arrangements after Owen had helped rescue Penny. Owen would be forever in Sandoval’s debt for the favor. At the smaller prison, he’d been able to distance himself from the AB. He’d taken advantage of college courses, therapy sessions and a work program. When he was released, he’d had a job waiting for him in a remote park where no one would find him.
Now, three years later, he was a security guard for a presidential candidate. He hadn’t been worried about the gang coming after him. His mistake.
“You turned your back on the AB,” Shane said.
Owen couldn’t deny it.
“There’s a punishment for deserters.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Your compliance.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond. Did it even matter? These assholes would never believe he was on their side.
Owen had become a member the Aryan Brotherhood of his own free will. He’d engaged in gang fights and color wars. He’d used racial slurs without batting an eye and littered his body with offensive epithets. Although he regretted the necessity of these actions, he’d seen no other solution. He’d been eighteen when he’d gotten arrested. Male inmates preyed on young, attractive boys. Owen couldn’t escape their attentions without help. And, unfortunately, only one group would accept him. There were no rainbow coalitions in prison. It was a segregated environment, and protection came at a price.
Owen wasn’t a white supremacist, but ideological differences hadn’t made it difficult for him to fit in with the gang. No, he’d adopted their ways easily. He’d been poor white trash his entire life. The men in the Brotherhood were just like him. They were the boys he’d played with after school, the desert rats with the faded clothes, the trailer park kids who came from nothing and ended up the same way.
Salton City was a backward place, full of poverty and prejudice. His father had been a racist fool, spewing ignorance on a regular basis. His mother didn’t agree, but she’d known better than to contradict him.
Despite his upbringing, or perhaps because of it, Owen had rejected those views. He didn’t want to take after his father. Long before he reached adulthood, he’d decided to be whatever Christian Jackson wasn’t. Owen couldn’t change the fact that he was white, male and heterosexual. In all other areas, he would diverge.
That was the plan, anyway. But he’d gotten caught up in his brother’s world and drifted in the wrong direction. He’d started drinking heavily in high school, and he’d been a regular meth user by the time he was seventeen.
Since he’d left prison, however, he’d stayed on the straight and narrow. He had a stronger sense of who he was as a person. The idea of pretending to go along with Shane’s scheme made him nauseous. Not only that, he doubted an agreement would give him any advantage. They wouldn’t remove his handcuffs or let him go.
This was all just bullshit posturing. Shane had to prove his loyalty to the gang, and he had to do it with his fists. Dirk cracked his knuckles in a threatening manner. Owen knew what was coming: an epic beat-down. He studied each set of boots in his vicinity, expecting he’d be seeing them up close in the next few minutes.
“I told you he was fucking her,” Dirk said.
“You might be right.”
“Looks like he’s had some tattoos removed.”
“Strip him,” Shane said.
Owen held still as one of the other men came forward, ripping his shirt down the front and letting it hang off his shoulders. The swastika on his hand and the script on his neck were gone. His other tattoos had been altered, rather than removed. He’d changed the Old English lettering that arced over his stomach to read Irish Pride, instead of White Pride. More telling, perhaps, was the cross on his chest. The flames were covered and the name Cruz was added underneath, transforming the hateful image into a tender tribute.
He still had a three-leaf clover on his shoulder, minus the AB initials. Green ink was hard to remove, and it was a symbol of his Scotch-Irish heritage, so he’d kept it. He was damned lucky to be alive after several close calls.
But maybe this was it. The last scrape.
Dirk pointed out the obvious. “This motherfucker isn’t one of us.”
“Are you with us?” Shane asked.
Owen didn’t answer.
“Stand him up.”
Two men dragged him to his feet. He looked Shane in the eye, his pulse racing. His brother hit him with an open hand across the face, knocking his head to one side. Pain exploded in his cheek and gums.
“Are you with us?” Shane repeated.
Owen spat a mouthful of blood on Dirk’s shoes. “No.”
“Son of a bitch!”
They took turns hitting him in the stomach and back, hammering his pride and bruising his luck. Shane didn’t participate as much as the others, and his blows weren’t quite as heavy. Owen wondered if he’d lost his appetite for violence. The malicious glint in his eyes had faded into resignation.
Whatever enthusiasm Shane lacked, his friends more than made up for. They held Owen upright and pummeled the hell out of him.
“Enough!” Shane roared.
They let him fall to the ground, writhing in pain.
“Leave us alone for a minute.”
“Are you going to finish him?” Dirk asked.
“How about I finish you?”
Dirk walked away with the others, grumbling.
Shane crouched down next to Owen and lit a cigarette, one hand cupped around his jaw to block the wind. “I don’t want to kill you.”
Owen struggled for breath, rolling over on to his side in the dirt. The punches to his rib cage felt like fire. It was difficult to anticipate Shane’s next move. He’d always been a loose cannon, acting in his own self-interests. But he’d defended Owen as often as he’d bullied him. He hadn’t been as cruel as their father.
Shane changed the subject. “How’s Mom?”
The question didn’t soften Owen’s sympathies any. Shane had a lot of fucking nerve, asking about their mother. “Better, now that Dad’s gone,” he said, spitting out another mouthful of blood. “I’ll send her your regards.”
He had the grace to look guilty. Their mom had a substance-abuse problem. Since their father died, she’d been clean, but Owen was worried she’d relapse. Difficult situations—like Shane busting parole— triggered her addiction. “Have you seen Jamie?”
“Yes. I visit him once a month.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Janelle won’t even let me talk to him.”
Owen didn’t blame her. Jamie’s mother didn’t want her son to have anything to do with Shane, for good reason. He was a convicted killer. He’d only served eight of his ten-year sentence, which had been light to begin with. His brother had gotten off easy because the liquor store clerk had fired at him first—while he was running away with the contents of the cash register. The bullet intended for Shane had nearly hit Owen, who’d been sitting behind the wheel of the getaway car.
“Why are you doing this?” Owen asked, lowering his voice. “You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”
Shane took a drag of his cigarette, eyes narrow.
“Do you owe them money?”
Shane didn’t answer. It was easy to get drugs in the pen if you had the right connections. Guards brought in the supplies while prisoners racked up debt. The AB was deeply involved in the underground narcotics trade.
“You could have gone to the police,” Owen said.
Shane snorted at the suggestion. The Brotherhood might not track down and execute every ex-member, but they didn’t mess around with snitches. If Shane gave incriminating information to the authorities, he’d have to enter a witness protection program.
“Fuck the police,” Shane said. “I’ll do the damned job and get it over with. Then I’ll be free of them.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t have a choice, and neither do you. I told them you’d cooperate.”
Owen refused to consider it. He had too much to lose. He wanted to make something of himself. Shane was asking him to throw his future away. “Not a chance. The last time we collaborated, I went away for three years.”
Shane tossed his cigarette in the fire. The conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped, so he switched tactics. Shoving Owen facedown on the ground, Shane climbed on top of him. He hooked an arm around Owen’s neck and applied a crushing pressure to his windpipe. Owen was trapped under his weight. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Shane continued to choke Owen until his vision went dark. “Tell Dad I said hi,” he muttered, finishing him.
CHAPTER FOUR
PENNY EASED AWAY from Cruz and sat up, her ears straining for the slightest sound.
The men had finally quieted. She’d watched in horror as they’d beaten Owen to a pulp. When the leader had climbed on to his back and choked the life out of him, she hadn’t screamed or broken down in hysterical tears. She hadn’t unzipped the tent opening and rushed to his aid. She’d gone completely numb, her heart shrinking inside her chest.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
Someone dragged his body away from the fire, out of her line of sight. Then the men gathered in a circle and passed around a bottle. They didn’t seem upset or anxious about the sequence of events. If anything, they were giddy. In the hours that followed, they’d celebrated their success, drinking beer and laughing like hyenas.
Now they were probably sleeping it off inside the other two tents. The guy who’d searched her was still awake, sitting outside. He’d been respectful, but she didn’t fool herself into believing she was safe. Dirk had made several suggestive comments about Penny. What would stop him from trying to attack her?
These men were dangerous criminals.
She doubted her father would follow their instructions. There was no way he could keep this secret from the police. His profile was too high. He’d bring the money and pretend to cooperate. She swallowed hard, imagining a bloody shoot-out.
Even if everything went according to plan, which she doubted, the kidnappers might kill her before the money exchange was completed. They could take her father’s money and kill him. They could kill Cruz.
Her thoughts raced with possible outcomes, none of which involved a happy ending. They’d killed Owen. Hadn’t they?
Her head ached from tension. She refused to accept the fact that he might be dead. Maybe if she saw him up close and touched his cold skin, she could acknowledge it. Until then, she had to push the awful possibility from her mind.
She thought back to the dance she’d shared with Owen at his friend Sam’s wedding. It was months before he became her bodyguard. Her sister Leslie had been helping Cruz eat a piece of cake at a nearby table. Penny and Owen had had a rare moment to themselves. But when the song was over, they’d broken apart.
Tears of regret spilled down her cheeks. If only she could go back in time and not let go. She should have hugged him closer, confessed that she wanted him. Instead, she’d withdrawn, waiting for him to make a move. He hadn’t.
For too many years, she’d been passive and acquiescent, pleasing her parents. After surviving the earthquake and seeing so much devastation, she’d been overjoyed to be reunited with her family. She’d needed their love, comfort and security. Keeping Cruz safe was her main focus, and her father’s house was very safe.
But her father wasn’t going to rescue her tonight. Neither was Owen. She had to save herself—and her son. If she didn’t try to escape, and they hurt Cruz, she’d never forgive herself. She had to act fast, while the leader and his cronies were inebriated.
Outside the tent, the guard made quiet crunching sounds. Slow, deliberate, infrequent. After a long pause, he started again.
Penny’s stomach lurched. She’d been too nervous to eat before going on stage, and now she felt sick. She was also desperately thirsty, and her bladder was full. They hadn’t been given any food or water, or allowed a bathroom break.
Cruz shifted beside her. “Mommy?”
“Be quiet.”
“I have to potty.”
Damn.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Where are we?”
“We’re camping.”
Cruz had always wanted to go on a camping trip. Her father had taken them boating at Pyramid Lake once. Her son had been enthralled by the sight of tents and picnic tables on the lakeshore. This probably wasn’t what he’d pictured, however. He had no pillow and only a blanket as a cushion. “I’m thirsty for water.”
At least he wasn’t hungry. Yet.
She unzipped the front of the tent and looked out at the guard. “Can we have a drink of water?”
He handed her a canteen, his eyes shifting in the dark.
A glance around as she accepted the offering revealed nothing but inanimate shapes in the moonlight. “Thank you,” she said, helping Cruz get a drink. After she slaked her own thirst, her bladder screamed for relief. “We have to go to the bathroom.”
“One at a time,” the man said.
She urged Cruz outside, telling him to go right there, by the tent. He came back when he was done and curled up on the blanket, too drowsy to question the strangeness of this experience. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. More tears sprang into her eyes, but she blinked them away, exhaling.
She could do this. She could think of a way to trick the guard. She could find a weapon. If she had to, she’d attack him with her bare hands. Owen had taught her some self-defense techniques.
Owen.
Heart clenching painfully, she stepped out of the tent. The sand was cool and gritty beneath her bare feet. She didn’t want to push her luck by straying too far, but she wouldn’t squat down in front of the guard. He kept his eye on her as she balled the fabric of her skirt in her fist and crouched in the shadows by the canyon wall, next to a crumbling rock pile.
Rocks made good weapons.
It was difficult to pee and search for a blunt object at the same time. Her pulse raced with anxiety as her trembling fingertips touched a chunk of clay. It broke apart on contact. She tried again, reaching farther. The next rock she encountered was solid, about the size of a baseball. She held it in a tight grip as she rose, adjusting her clothing.
Now she needed a way to surprise him. If he saw her coming at him with a rock, he could shout out a warning or duck.
The rest of the men had to have been asleep in the tents, because she couldn’t see them. As she walked forward, she pretended to step on a sharp object. Gasping in pain, she crumpled into a pathetic little heap on the ground.
“What is it?” the guard asked.
“I cut my foot.”
He approached to take a look, kneeling beside her. Her skirt rode high on her thighs as she extended her foot, whimpering. When he bent his head to inspect the injury, she walloped him. Her first strike was weak, partly because she didn’t really want to do it, but also because winding up would have caught his attention. The short swing and glancing blow failed to incapacitate him.
He touched his temple, dumbfounded.
Cringing, she hit him again. And again. The third one did the trick. He slumped forward on top of her, knocking the wind from her lungs.
Oh, God. Now she would die of suffocation underneath him. Saying a quick prayer, she asked for forgiveness. Then let go of the rock, which was wet with blood, and shoved him aside. He made an odd groaning noise that she hoped wasn’t his last breath. Pulse pounding in her ears, she tugged off his boots and put them on her own feet. They were slip-on style, reaching just past her ankles, and only a size too large.
She hurried toward the tent, afraid he’d regain consciousness and start shouting. His canteen was sitting by the crate, along with the vest he’d been wearing earlier. Grabbing both, she stuck her head inside the flap. Cruz blinked at her in confusion. “Silencio,” she hissed. “Vente, ya! Apúrate.”
He knew she meant business when she issued sharp orders in Spanish. Her family had a lot of Mexican pride, but Penny and her sisters were typical second-generation immigrants. They spoke English almost exclusively.
He scrambled out and grasped her hand, voicing no complaints as she yanked him along. She rushed past the SUV, searching for a set of ignition keys. She couldn’t knock on the tent flaps, asking for him. She didn’t see a cell phone lying around.
They had to leave on foot. Trying not to panic, she fled with Cruz, circling around the side of the canyon until they were out of sight. Faced with another immediate dilemma, she paused, taking a ragged breath. She didn’t know which way to go. Following the tire tracks back to the road seemed like a reasonable option, but she doubted they would reach civilization before the kidnappers found them. The opposite direction was just as risky. Getting lost in the desert might be a fate worse than death.
Even so, she headed away from the tracks, dragging Cruz across the moonlit landscape. The terrain was difficult to navigate, full of loose pebbles and shifting sand. They ran until the camp was far behind them, and Cruz begged to stop.
“Where’s Owen?” he asked, winded.
“I don’t know.”
“Are we lost?”
She couldn’t lie again. “Those were bad men. They wanted to hurt us. We have to get far away and hide.”
He started to cry, which wasn’t unexpected. This situation didn’t sit well with her, either. She hadn’t wanted to leave Owen with those bastards, dead or alive. She was afraid to take her son into the deep desert. The ill-fitting boots were already bothering her.
“Drink,” she said, passing him the canteen. “Don’t let it spill.”
While he sat down with the water, she rifled through the vest. She found a pocketknife, a pack of matches, ChapStick and a miniflashlight. All useful items. There was also a medium-sized bag of corn nuts.
She used the knife to cut strips from the bottom of her dress, making it shorter. The length inhibited her movements, and she needed the fabric. She wrapped up her feet and stuffed the excess into the toes of the boots. Much better.
That done, she put on the vest and canteen, adjusting the strap across her chest. Then she knelt, gesturing for Cruz to climb on her back. As soon as he was secure, she resumed jogging. It wasn’t easy. He didn’t weigh much, just forty pounds, and adrenaline fueled her every step, but she didn’t have the strength to go all night like this. She wasn’t a cross-country runner or an experienced hiker. Cruz tightened his arms around her neck, half choking her. She kept looking over her shoulder, expecting to see Mad Max.
After a few minutes, she realized that she was following a dry riverbed and leaving discernible footprints. Her trail would be easy to see. Switching directions, she traveled across a series of low hills, dodging the boulders and cactus plants that threatened to trip her up. She continued at a brisk pace, alternating between carrying Cruz and making him walk. They had to cover as much ground as possible before sunrise.
Hours later, the horizon turned pink with approaching dawn, and she slowed to a stop. Defeated, she let Cruz slide off her back. She had nothing left. Her arms felt like spaghetti; her thigh muscles were trembling and her feet were raw.
Cruz couldn’t go another step, either.
She searched their surroundings for a place to rest. Like wounded animals, they needed to crawl into a hole and hide.
The hills in the distance looked promising. Tall mounds rose up toward the sky, their jagged surfaces resembling peaks of meringue. She’d been hoping to find a group of large boulders to duck behind, but perhaps these structures would suffice.
“This way,” she said, grasping his hand. “Just a few more minutes, and we can sit.”
He trudged along gamely, more cooperative than usual. Cruz had endless energy for fun activities, but no patience or endurance whatsoever on long, boring trips. He seemed to understand that this was neither.
Her spirits lifted as they got closer. There appeared to be a hole in the side of the hill, a tunnel of sorts, carved from wind or water erosion. She turned on the flashlight, inspecting the interior. What an amazing stroke of luck.
“It’s a cave,” Cruz said, excited.
“Let’s explore.”
They stepped through the opening, which widened out to a large area before narrowing again. The passage zigzagged along for several hundred feet. Penny had to turn sideways in some areas, and duck in others to avoid bumping her head. When they came to a fork in the path, she veered left, choosing the tighter squeeze. She dropped to her hands and knees, inching forward with the flashlight in her mouth. Cruz crawled behind her. They reached a section she could barely fit through. It opened up to a small room with a skylight.
She didn’t think the men could reach them here. She couldn’t get out, either, because the hole in the roof was tiny. But the little window comforted her, making the hiding place seem less tomblike and claustrophobic.
Penny hated enclosed spaces, for obvious reasons. “Here we are.”
“We can stay?”
She nodded, resting her back against the wall. “We have to be very quiet.”
“Will they come looking for us?”
“Maybe.”
They shared the corn nuts, which weren’t actually nuts, but roasted corn kernels, called elotitos in Mexico. She tried not to drink too much water, though she was thirsty. The canteen might have to last several days.
“Why do they want to hurt us?”
“They want money,” she amended.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do they touch kids?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, disturbed by the question. She’d told him about child molesters out of necessity. He had no fear of strangers, no shyness. One day he’d wandered off in the library when her back was turned. After a frantic search, she’d found him talking to a friendly older man. Later, at home, she’d explained the danger.
She doubted any of the kidnappers were pedophiles, but the threat of rape had felt very real to her. A woman of color surrounded by racist gang members was at high risk. She thought about the way Dirk had manhandled Owen, with threatening postures and suggestive insults. These men weren’t above using sexual violence as intimidation.
She felt another pang of guilt for leaving him. This was all her fault. He wouldn’t have taken this job under normal circumstances. Her father had probably appealed to his sense of chivalry, claiming she required special protection.
If she hadn’t been such a coward and a pushover, none of this would have happened. She should have moved away from home three months ago, when she graduated. Or sooner, before her father announced his candidacy. She hadn’t because her father claimed it wasn’t safe. He’d insisted on enrolling Cruz in a private Catholic preschool for the same reason. After he offered to pay full tuition, how could she refuse?
Her father doted on Cruz, spoiling him with expensive gifts. He was like the son Jorge had always wanted. And Cruz needed a man in his life, so she didn’t complain. If her father had his way, Penny would marry a young conservative—Cuban, perhaps, because there were so few Mexican-American Republicans—and move in next door.
She should have stood firm and been more independent. She should have told her father flat out that she had feelings for Owen.
Now it was too late.
She couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing him again, never asking for another kiss. With a strangled sob, she touched her trembling lips, trying to recapture that tender moment. Her fingertips tasted like salt and something else, a dark tang. With horror, she realized that she had dried blood on her hands.
“I’m scared,” Cruz said.
“So am I,” she replied, hugging him close.
CHAPTER FIVE
“GET UP.”
Shane woke Owen by kicking the bottom of his foot. He wrenched his eyes open, studying the tan nylon tent fabric inches from his nose. Dirk had dragged him inside last night, where he’d drifted in and out of consciousness. His mouth was dry and his throat ached. His midsection, which had taken the brunt of the blows, felt like raw hamburger. When he tried to raise a hand to his face, he encountered resistance.
Handcuffs. Now they were in the front.
Shane was standing outside the tent, smoking a cigarette. His motorcycle mask was pulled down to his neck. He had a 9 mm tucked into his waistband.
Owen’s stomach roiled at the smell of tobacco. He groaned, trying to piece together the events from the night before. His brother had attempted to kill him, or maybe just scare him into believing his life was in danger. It had worked; he was scared. He’d only been knocked out once before, after the earthquake. Waking up under a collapsed freeway with a band of escaped convicts, himself included, had been pretty fucking horrible. Getting strangled by his own brother, even more so.
“Your bitch ran off with her kid,” Shane said.
Owen blinked a few times, processing the information. He was glad Penny had escaped, but the badlands was a treacherous place for a woman and child with no shelter or supplies.
“Don’t call her that,” he said, rolling over and crawling out of the tent.
“A bitch or yours?”
He winced at the early-morning light. “How did she get away?”
Shane took another drag. “Went to pee, grabbed a rock and bashed Gardener over the head with it.”
Owen spotted Gardener on the other side of camp. He had a purple goose egg on the left side of his forehead, and he looked nauseated. Owen had to give Penny credit for a simple, effective attack.
While the crew got ready to search for Penny and Cruz, Owen studied each member, memorizing as many details as possible. Most of them were wearing hats and sunglasses, with handkerchiefs over their faces. Next to Shane, Dirk was the strongest, medium height and loaded with muscle. Sometimes that kind of bulk could slow a man down, but Dirk’s movements weren’t clumsy. He was armed with a handgun, like Shane.
Gardener was the weak link, even before his injury. He had hound-dog eyes, a receding hairline and a rounded gut.
The other two men, Brett and Roach, were in between. Brett was small and wiry, tough like a bullfighter, with dusty-blond hair. Roach had longish dark hair. He was taller than Dirk, almost as tall as Shane. His pale skin and slouching physique gave Owen the impression that he played a lot of video games.
Owen rated them by threat level. Shane was a five, despite their family connection. Dirk, four; Brett and Roach, three; Gardener, one.
No one tried to guard Owen as he found a rock to urinate behind. He couldn’t get far in handcuffs and wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. Not without Penny and Cruz. He helped himself to a jug of water, rinsing the old blood from his mouth before taking a drink. Then he eased his shirt back on to his shoulders and fastened the single remaining button. Bruises were already beginning to form on his battered torso.
A few minutes later, they loaded into the SUV and followed Penny’s tracks. She’d stolen Gardener’s boots—clever.
They lost her trail quickly. She’d left the softer terrain of the wash and traveled across the hard-packed hills. Shane parked the SUV and got out, muttering under his breath. Going after her on foot would be a hassle. Penny couldn’t outdistance them with a child in tow, but if she found a good place to hide, she had a chance of evading them.
She could also die from heat and dehydration. Fear stabbed Owen’s chest. He didn’t know whether to root for her or not. She might be safer with them.
Shane searched for a sign of her while the rest of them waited in the SUV. He cursed and kicked a cactus, annoyed with it for getting in his path. Then he looked south, his eyes narrow. “Let’s check out the mud caves.”
Owen wasn’t familiar with every inch of terrain between here and the border, but he knew the mud caves. Situated a few miles away, the domelike structures offered a network of tunnels and caverns, formed out of dried clay. Beyond the caves lay a five-palm oasis with ample shade and a seasonal pool of water. From there it was a half-day’s hike to the old railroad, which led back to civilization. If Owen got the opportunity to break free, he could orient himself and survive out here. He could guide Penny and Cruz to safety.
Shane drove south and parked as close to the mud caves as possible, walking the final mile. The early-morning sun was already blasting heat. Living near the coast for so long had thinned Owen’s blood. Eighty degrees felt like a hundred. They were all sweating as they approached the cave’s entrance.
One by one, they stepped out of the harsh sun and into the cave’s cool, dark recesses. It was almost like entering an air-conditioned room. Owen squinted into the cave, letting his vision adjust to the lack of light.
Dirk bent to pick up a scrap of fabric on the dirt floor. He brought it to his face and inhaled, as if sniffing panties. “This is hers.”
Shane inspected the blue-green material and turned to Owen. “Call out to her.”
Although his body still ached from last night, he hesitated. He’d take another beating before he betrayed Penny.
His brother drew the 9 mm from his waistband and pressed it to Owen’s cheek. This wasn’t up for discussion. “Do it.”
“Penny,” he shouted, his voice hoarse with anger. Most of it was directed at Shane but some bled inward. He’d been warring with these feelings his entire life. This sick, dysfunctional mixture of love and hate. As much as Owen loathed his father, he’d also sought his approval in many ways. He’d learned welding, his father’s trade, to earn a rare pat on the back. He hadn’t wanted to be like his father, but he’d wanted be liked by him.
That desire had never quite faded.
He was furious with Shane for picking up where their dad had left off, and with himself for being unable to break this vicious cycle.
Penny didn’t answer his call. She might not be able to hear him. She might not even be inside the cave anymore. Some tunnels went on for miles and offered multiple escape routes. Others were dead ends.
Shane returned his gun to his waistband, his eyes moving from Dirk to Brett. They were brothers, too, Owen realized. The younger, smaller Brett was a criminal-in-training.
“Give Brett your piece,” Shane said to Dirk.
“What for?”
“I’m sending him in. They might be hiding in a narrow space. He’ll fit through the tight spots easier than you.”
Dirk handed his weapon to Brett, seeming to be disappointed. He wanted to hunt down Penny and terrorize her himself. “How will he get her out?”
Shane sucked on his lip, thinking. “Owen, you go first. Make her come to you.”
“And if she won’t?” Brett asked.
“Tell her you’re going to shoot Owen in the head.”
Brett’s mouth went slack. He wasn’t as hardened as Dirk, or as macho. “O-okay.”
“If she still doesn’t come out, shoot him in the foot,” Shane conceded. The guy who’d pulled his punches last night was gone, replaced by the cold-eyed sociopath who’d choked Owen into submission. His brother was good at intimidating people, staying in control. He could flip the switch between charming and cruel in an instant. Penny’s actions had challenged his authority—and this was payback.
Dirk smiled at Owen, enjoying the tension.
“You two, walk around the perimeter,” Shane said to Roach and Dirk. “If you find another entrance, guard it. I’ll stay here.”
They followed his instructions, leaving the mouth of the cave. Brett trained the gun on Owen while Shane removed his cuffs. Owen needed free hands to navigate in the dark. Between the twisted tunnels, armed escort and men blocking the exits, he’d be a fool to try running away. Or so they thought.
Owen rubbed his chafed wrists, his blood pumping with adrenaline. He wasn’t going to let an amateur like Brett shoot him in the foot. He’d take advantage of any opportunity to escape. He’d create an opening if he had to.
Shane had brought supplies from the SUV’s glove compartment. They had walkie-talkies and flashlights. Brett clipped the walkie-talkie to his waist and held a mini-flashlight in his teeth, gesturing for Owen to precede him. The setup wasn’t ideal. Owen’s shoulders kept blocking the beam of light. Brett wasn’t stupid enough to let him hold the flashlight, so Owen crouched as low as possible, picking his way forward.
He was comfortable in this kind of setting. Dark, confined spaces didn’t bother him, even after his experience in the earthquake. Neither did heat, usually. During his firefighter training, he’d endured both better than most students. He’d grown up near the badlands, in Salton City. High temperatures and harsh conditions just reminded him of home.
They came to a fork in the tunnel. Owen stopped and listened, detecting the faintest hint of wind. He couldn’t wait any longer. If they reached the end of the cave before he had a chance to strike, all would be lost.
“Bats,” he shouted at the top of his lungs, flapping his arms around.
Brett looked up at the ceiling of the tunnel, where there were bats. Sleeping bats, tucked up and motionless.
Owen seized the moment of distraction. He grabbed Brett’s right wrist and slammed it against the cave wall, knocking the gun loose from his grip. It clattered to the floor, along with the flashlight from Brett’s surprised mouth. Owen couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t need to. He drew back his arm and punched Brett in the stomach with full force. The air rushed out of him in an audible whoosh.
Brett doubled over, as men who’d been gut-checked often did. Owen grabbed Brett’s head and brought it down on his raised knee, crushing the small bones and cartilage in his nose. The blow was delivered with enough force to knock him out, apparently. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Owen scrambled for the gun and flashlight. He also took Brett’s walkie-talkie. Then he crept forward, his heart hammering against his chest. “Penny?” he called out, unsure which direction to take.
He had no idea how they would get out of this. His actions might have saved them or sealed their doom.
* * *
PENNY JOLTED AWAKE with a start.
She’d had a dream about Owen. He’d been calling out to her in the dark, crawling through the earthquake wreckage, searching vehicles full of dead bodies. She was pregnant again, sitting in the passenger seat of her aunt’s car. Not trapped under the freeway, as she had been, but among the victims in the massive pileup outside. Owen had found her and reached inside. His grasping hand was blue-tinged, his forearm ropey with black veins.
Shivering, she cleared her mind of the disturbing image.
Cruz was about ten feet away from her, carving designs on the wall with a sharp stick. It was hard-packed clay, not crumbly, but it had a fine, siltlike surface. The powdery substance clung to her dress and skin. Cruz looked like he’d taken a bath in it. He was singing songs under his breath, not being quiet at all.
“Shh,” she told him, straightening. “Did you hear anything?”
“No.”
“Come here.”
He dropped the stick with reluctance and returned to her side. The light coming from the hole in the ceiling seemed a little brighter. She took a sip of water, doubting she’d slept more than an hour. “How long was I asleep?”
“I don’t know.” He had no sense of time. Five minutes was an eternity to him.
She put her arm around him and listened, her pulse still pounding from the nightmare. Although she was exhausted, she couldn’t believe she’d drifted off. She’d been quaking with tension and sorrow, tortured by the thought of Owen dying.
Catastrophic events made some people stronger. Owen had been a hero during the earthquake. He’d emerged from prison a reformed man. At his national park job, he’d proven himself again by rushing to help a female ranger in trouble. These experiences had inspired him to pursue a career in rescue work. He was naturally courageous.
Penny wasn’t.
She’d had the opposite reaction to trauma, retreating from any hint of danger. Playing it safe was more her style. She didn’t know how she’d drummed up the nerve to hit a man over the head with a rock. If not for the blood under her fingernails, she’d have suspected the episode was just another bad dream.
“I’m hungry,” Cruz whispered.
Penny gave him a drink of water. It was the only thing she had.
“When can we leave?”
“Soon.”
“What happened to Owen?”
She swallowed hard, unable to answer without breaking down. Although she had mixed feelings about prayer, she said a silent plea in her desperation, begging God to spare them.
“I’m bored,” Cruz said.
“You don’t like this cave?”
“I want to see the rest of it.”
“I bet there are bats.”
His brown eyes lit up with curiosity. He had clay dust in his hair and on his lashes, giving him an angelic look. “Where?”
Penny was about to answer when she heard a man calling her name. He sounded frantic. He sounded like...Owen.
Cruz tried to respond, but she clapped her palm over his mouth. This might be a trick to draw them out. She also didn’t trust her ears. She’d seen Owen’s lifeless body. Heart racing, she stared at the narrow entrance, half expecting a zombie hand to reach through.
“Penny,” he shouted, closer now. “Cruz?”
She released her grip on Cruz, trembling with emotion. “Owen?”
“Where are you?”
“Over here!” She scrambled toward the opening and stuck her arm out, waving to get his attention.
Then he was right there with her. The hand that clasped hers wasn’t ghostly pale or black-veined. It was dirty and strong and vibrant. His skin was lightly tanned, not quite as dark as hers or Cruz’s. She wept at the sight and feel of him.
He was alive! She didn’t care how. He was alive.
Owen couldn’t fit through the narrow space, so she climbed out to greet him. With a strangled sob, she threw her arms around his neck. His stiff shoulders betrayed his discomfort; he’d always reacted strangely to touch.
Penny had been friends with Owen since he’d gotten out of prison. She’d stayed in contact with all of the earthquake survivors. They exchanged emails and shared Facebook photos. She’d taken Cruz to visit Owen a few times in Sierra National Park. The three of them had a special connection. He seemed to enjoy their company as much as they enjoyed his. Penny cherished every moment with him.
Over the years, Owen had gained confidence. He no longer flinched at a simple handshake, but he still avoided overt displays of affection. She didn’t think he was repulsed by the feel of her body against his. There was something else going on.
His behavior reminded her of an incident from her childhood. Their dog, Blanca, had run away on a rainy day, only to be captured and returned by a neighbor. Her mother had tried to thank the man with a hug, but he’d been wet and dirty, too polite to soil her clothes.
That was Owen, to a T.
She knew he’d had a dysfunctional home life. She knew he’d done things he regretted, in and out of prison. Maybe her father had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t good enough for her.
“I thought you were dead,” she said, for his ears only.
“Shh,” he said, patting her hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
When Cruz joined them, she released Owen, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He hugged her son with ease, proving his self-consciousness was reserved for grown-ups. Perhaps her, in particular.
A groan emitted from the shadows behind Owen. She froze, peering into the dark. He turned and directed his flashlight toward the sound. She could only guess that he’d harmed someone in order to break free.
“We have to go now,” Owen said.
She gathered her vest and water, following as he led them back to the main tunnel. Owen took Cruz by the hand and skirted him around a prone figure on the ground. It was a semiconscious man, his face splattered with blood.
“Who’s that?” Cruz asked.
“A bad guy,” Owen replied.
“Did you hit him?”
“Yes.”
“You must hit hard.”
Penny hurried past him, cringing. They headed into the deep recesses of the cave, traveling a serpentine path.
“Is there another way out?” Owen asked.
She thought he knew where he was going. “I didn’t check.”
He stopped, considering. “They’re going to come looking for that guy. If we don’t find an exit soon, we’ll return to your safe spot.”
“You can’t fit there.”
“That’s okay,” he said, showing her the gun he had tucked into his waistband.
Penny stared at the weapon in dismay. She felt faint, as if she might forget to breathe and pass out from fear. Five minutes ago, she’d thought Owen was gone for good. Now they were together, but they weren’t safe. The idea of him getting into a shoot-out and dying for them made her chest ache.
“Don’t risk your life again,” she whispered. “If it comes to that, surrender.”
He nodded his agreement. Then he continued forward, into the dark.
* * *
AROUND THE NEXT CORNER, natural light beckoned.
The tunnel emptied into a large room with an opening at one end. It was exactly what Owen had been hoping for. Scrambling toward the narrow passageway, he got down on his hands and knees, ducking his head out. The area was deserted. They were on the opposite side of the mud cave, nowhere near the other entrance. A steep slope downhill could pose a challenge for Penny and Cruz, but it wasn’t impossible. He’d sooner navigate rocky, crumbling terrain than tangle with members of Shane’s crew.
“How does it look?” Penny asked.
“Like freedom,” he said, straightening.
He was embarrassed by his reaction to Penny’s earlier embrace, and by the tears that clogged his throat now. It had always been this way with her. Even casual hugs from friends made him uneasy, but he could handle it. He couldn’t handle his feelings for her. They were too intense, too threatening to his self-control. Whenever she got close to him, he felt as if he was on the edge of something, ready to fall over. Her touch affected him on a deeper level, reaching the places he was afraid to access.
Instead of urging Penny and Cruz through the opening, he hesitated. They might be spotted as they fled the area. He needed to buy them a little more time. “I have to create a diversion so we can get away without being followed.”
Penny gave him a curious look. Her eye makeup from last night was smudged, her pretty face streaked with dirt. “How?”
He had an idea, but he couldn’t explain it with Cruz listening. So he gave her a watered-down version. “I’ll shoot a hole in the tunnel. While the guys come in to see what happened, we’ll climb out.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, her mouth trembling. He didn’t think she suspected what he really planned to do, but he avoided her gaze as he left the cavern. Heart racing, he returned to the place Brett had fallen. He was conscious now, sitting up with his back to the wall. Owen couldn’t decide if that made his task easier or harder. He’d already broken the guy’s nose. Now he was really going to jack him up.
He took the weapon from his waistband. It was loaded and ready; he’d checked. Raising the gun, he assumed a ready stance. The flashlight in his left hand supported his right.
Brett cowered against the cave wall, trying to scoot backward. “No,” he cried, his voice muffled by the hand cupped over his face. “Don’t, please!”
Owen took aim and pulled the trigger, shooting him in the foot. If he’d waited another second, he might have lost his nerve. It was probably the most difficult, most horrific thing he’d ever done—and he’d done a lot of shitty things.
Brett screamed at the top of his lungs, moving his hands from his broken nose to his ruined foot.
Owen was tempted to apologize, but he didn’t. He just walked away. Brett didn’t give a fuck how sorry he was. He’d spend the next few hours, if not days, in excruciating pain. He might be crippled for life. The fact that Brett was a kidnapper who’d agreed to do the same to Owen didn’t ease his guilt any.
Shane shouted into the radio, demanding answers.
Owen engaged the safety and tucked the gun into his waistband. It sizzled against the small of his back. The burn wasn’t worth wincing at, under the circumstances. His stomach lurched suddenly. He stopped in the middle of the tunnel and retched, emptying its meager contents. After his nausea abated, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued down the corridor on wobbly legs. This wasn’t the first time he’d shot a man. It was the first time he’d shot a defenseless man, and the difference wrecked him.
“We haven’t found another way in,” Dirk said to Shane on the radio. “Do you want us to come back to where you are?”
“Yes,” Shane growled. “Fuck!”
Owen turned down the volume on the radio. His risk had paid off, but he felt no triumph. When he reentered the cavern, Penny flinched. Her arms were wrapped around Cruz, her hands covering his ears. She seemed reluctant to let go, which was understandable. Brett’s hoarse cries faded into the background as Owen came forward.
He wondered how he looked to her. Like a monster, not a hero.
Owen felt disconnected from reality, as if studying the scene from above. He didn’t want to be the kind of person who shot a man as a strategy, instead of in self-defense, but here he was. He just wished Penny and Cruz didn’t have to witness it.
“You climb out first,” he said to Penny. “Cruz can go next.”
She edged closer to the opening, kissing Cruz on the top of the head.
“Wait for us right outside,” Owen said.
“Be careful, Mommy.”
She had to get down on her hands and knees to pass through the narrow space. Her skirt impeded her progress, so she hiked it up to her waist. He watched her crawl forward, his pulse jackknifing. It was an incredibly inappropriate moment to ogle her. They were still in danger. He’d shot an unarmed man two minutes ago. Even so, his mind wasn’t so detached from his body that he failed to admire her perfect backside, framed by lacy black panties. His libido was like the heat of the muzzle—irrelevant, but undeniable. Seeing her in this position appealed to the animal in him. He couldn’t have averted his gaze if he’d tried.
When she reached daylight, she sat up and glanced around carefully before signaling for them to join her. Cruz climbed out next, followed by Owen. The path along the side of the hill looked much steeper from here.
“Don’t stand up,” he said to Penny. “Crouch down and slide on your butt if you have to. I’ll take Cruz.”
She did what he said, her movements clumsy. He winced as she half slid, half scrambled down the slope, probably scraping her hands and bruising her bottom in the process. But she reached the ground safely.
“Ready?” he asked Cruz.
The boy looked up at him with huge brown eyes. “I’m scared.”
“I won’t let you fall.”
Cruz clung to his neck, trembling with fear. He made short work of the climb. Penny watched them descend, her face tense. She took Cruz away from Owen at the first opportunity. Making a strangled sound, she cradled her son to her chest.
He studied the hole they’d climbed out of, raking a hand through his dusty hair. Although he didn’t want to push Penny too hard, they couldn’t afford to delay. Brett’s injury would create problems for Shane and his ragtag crew, but that didn’t mean their ordeal was over. Someone would come after them.
“Let’s go,” he said to Penny as gently as possible.
She set Cruz on his feet and trudged forward, her shoulders trembling. She knew what he’d done to Brett. He’d exposed her to his true nature. She’d seen the ugliness inside him, the savagery he’d always tried to hide. He’d been raised this way. Infected with dysfunction, hardened by circumstances. He couldn’t shed his criminal past. He was the kind of person who got off on the sight of a crawling woman. He’d just committed a stunning act of violence. There was no going back now.
He wasn’t one of the kidnappers, but he wasn’t one of the good guys, either.
CHAPTER SIX
“WHAT THE FUCK is going on in there?”
Shane released the talk button, listening for a response from Brett. Still nothing. Jesus. When he’d told Brett to shoot Owen in the foot, he’d been bluffing! He never thought Brett would actually do it. He’d just wanted to ensure Owen’s cooperation. Maybe Brett had gotten trigger-happy. He was young and green and eager.
Shane didn’t want to wait for Dirk and Roach to return to the entrance. “I’m heading inside,” he said to Dirk on the radio. He turned on his flashlight and made his way through the narrow passageway, taking care not to bump his head or scrape his elbows. He could barely fit through the tight squeezes.
He should have taken Owen through the tunnel instead of Brett. Shane didn’t trust Dirk—he was an arrogant bastard. Shane didn’t trust himself, either. He couldn’t shoot a family member. Owen clearly had feelings for this girl and her kid, which complicated the situation. Putting a gun to his brother’s head had made Shane’s flesh crawl as if a thousand centipedes had walked over his skin.
He hoped Owen wasn’t dead. Their mother would be devastated. She already thought Shane was responsible for ruining her life and for messing up Owen’s. She’d been a shell of a person since they’d both gone to prison.
Fuck.
He couldn’t get Brett to answer on the walkie-talkie, so he gave up and used a loud voice, calling out his name every few minutes. When Shane reached a fork in the path, he paused, pointing the beam of his flashlight in both directions. There was a dark, wet trail on the right, along with the telltale drag marks of a person with an injured limb.
Heart racing, Shane drew his gun from the back of his pants. “Owen!”
“Over here,” Brett shouted.
Shane stepped around the soaked dirt and continued through the tunnel. Brett was around the corner, sitting with his back to the wall. His face was smeared with blood and dust. He’d removed his white T-shirt and tied it around his boot. The effect was cartoonish, like a giant bandaged foot.
“Where are they?” Shane asked.
Brett pointed into the dark. “I think they went that way.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know.”
Shane stared down the twisted passage in disbelief. “I told you to shoot him in the foot,” he said, even though he hadn’t meant it. “Not yourself!”
“He shot me,” Brett mumbled.
“What?”
“He took the gun and knocked me out. Then he came back and shot me.”
No wonder Brett’s face was mangled. On second glance, his nose appeared to be broken.
The radio at his belt sounded. “We’re at the front of the cave,” Dirk said. “Do you want us to come in?”
Shane didn’t answer right away. He squinted at Brett, weighing his options. The shirt wrapped around his boot was soaked with blood. Shane didn’t think he’d die in the next few hours, but he needed immediate medical treatment, and they were out in the middle of nowhere. Driving him to the emergency room would take all day. More importantly, hospitals reported gunshot wounds. His contact, Ace, would probably tell him to eliminate this problem right here, rather than risking capture.
Brett wasn’t so naive that he couldn’t see the wheels turning in Shane’s mind. Perhaps getting shot had introduced him to cold, hard reality. He looked terrified and trapped, writhing in agony. But he didn’t cry or beg. He would go out like a man.
After a moment of indecision, Shane let him live. Not because he’d shown a hint of courage, but because Brett reminded him of Owen. The kid had tagged along with his good-for-nothing brother and ended up in a world of hurt.
Explaining the second shot to Dirk would have been tricky, also.
“Yeah, come in,” Shane said into the radio. “We’re on the right side.”
Brett slumped against the dirt wall, relieved.
“How did he take your gun?”
“I don’t know. He just...attacked me.”
“Did you try to shoot him?”
“I didn’t get the chance.”
“You had the flashlight,” Shane explained. “He was in front of you.”
“He said something about bats,” Brett said, panting. His forehead was dotted with sweat. “I looked up for a second.”
Shane stared at his misshapen nose, wanting to break it again. Every minute that ticked by gave Owen and that Spanish cunt a greater opportunity to escape. He wondered if his brother had lied to him about their relationship. They acted like a couple, and he had her son’s name tattooed on his chest. What kind of sucker did that for a girl he wasn’t even dating? Why get a tribute for a kid who wasn’t his?
By the time Dirk and Roach reached them, Shane was seething. He’d been pissed at Gardener for dropping the ball, but confident that a woman with a child wouldn’t get far. Now they had Owen’s help. The three of them might leave this cave and walk all the way back to civilization.
Shane felt the situation slipping from his hands. These idiots were going to ruin everything, and the stakes were too high for him to back out. He owed the Aryan Brotherhood more money than he could ever pay. If he skipped town, they might threaten his family. It was a matter of honor, if nothing else.
Dirk went nuts when he saw Brett. He paced back and forth, plotting revenge on Owen. “I’ll kill him,” he repeated, baring his teeth. “When I find him, I’ll cut off his head and piss on his neck.”
“Shut up,” Shane said wearily.
“I’ll do his bitch, too. I’ll do her right in front of him.”
Shane fisted his hand in Dirk’s shirt. “You won’t do a goddamned thing unless I say so. Got that?”
Dirk didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue, either.
Shane let him go. “Stay here while Roach and I check the rest of the cave.”
He sat down beside Brett, his nostrils flaring. Shane crept down the passageway with his gun drawn. They came to a large room with an opening to the outside. Cursing, he bent down and looked through the hole.
There was no sign of them.
As Shane straightened, the implications of Owen’s actions began to sink in. His little brother had a gun. He knew the badlands as well as Shane did, if not better. Owen could survive out here. He could hide.
That wasn’t Shane’s only challenge. He’d planned to recapture this bitch and her brat before checking in with Ace. Now Shane had to deliver the bad news. He’d lost his quarry, and he had an injured man to deal with.
He turned to Roach, his eyes narrow. “Find their trail and follow it. We can’t afford to let them get away.”
“What do I do if I see them?”
“Keep your distance. Watch them until we come back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Roach left the cavern, armed with a jug of water and a walkie-talkie. Shane went back down the tunnel to rejoin Dirk and Brett. “They’re gone,” he said, clenching his hand into a fist. “Let’s get him out of here.”
Dirk helped Brett stand up and supported him on one side as they limped away. The return trip to the SUV took forever. Brett might have been prepared to face death like a man, but he handled a gunshot wound like a total pussy. He moaned every time his boot dragged along the ground. Dirk had to lift him up and carry him the last half mile.
Shane didn’t slow down or offer to help. When they reached the SUV, Dirk loaded him into the backseat, elevating the injured foot. It was still bleeding.
“Should I take off his boot?” Dirk asked.
“Hell if I know.”
“Don’t touch it,” Brett wailed.
Dirk removed the soaked T-shirt, to Brett’s dismay. He had a small hole in the top of his boot and a slightly larger one in the sole.
“It went in and out,” Shane said.
Brett grimaced. “Is that good?”
“It’s better than ricocheting around in there, shattering bones.”
Dirk wrapped another shirt around Brett’s boot and gave him a bottle of whiskey, which he sucked on like a tit. “He needs to go to the hospital.”
“Let’s go,” Shane said, annoyed.
He got behind the wheel of the SUV while Dirk climbed into the back with his brother. Brett made a sound of agony every time Shane went over a bump. He turned the radio up to drown out his whimpers.
Back at camp, he slowed down to talk to Gardener, another useless wretch. He was sitting in the shade, smoking a joint.
“Get in,” Shane said.
Gardener blinked at him stupidly. “I just started this.”
“Bring it.”
As soon as he got in the passenger seat, Shane took the joint away, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply. He was going to smoke the rest without sharing, but then the mellow mood hit him and he handed it back.
“What happened?” Gardener asked.
“Brett got shot.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
They followed the road to the highway. It was a long drive, so long that they were sober again by the time they arrived. Brett hadn’t lost consciousness, and his color looked better. Shane was glad; he didn’t want to go to all this trouble for a goner.
While he drove, he tried to plan what he would say to the boss. Ace was really just a middleman, a connection between Shane and his unknown clients. Shane knew they were affiliated with the AB, but he’d never met any of them. He didn’t want to meet them. He just wanted to do the job and get the hell out of Dodge.
Before he bit the bullet and called Ace, he took Owen’s phone from his pocket, scrolling through his list of contacts.
Janelle was there. Owen had her home number and her cell phone number, unlike Shane. She refused any communication from him, even letters. She told him that he had to apply for visitation rights if he wanted to see Jamie.
Shane knew Janelle was friendly with Owen, but he’d never envied their relationship. Probably because he’d held an outdated view of his little brother, like an old picture he hadn’t bothered to replace. Owen was a man now. The better man, according to Janelle. The man who was allowed to visit Jamie.
Shane dialed her number on his throwaway cell. She picked up right away, her voice raspy from sleep. The sound hit him like a main-line rush. She wouldn’t have answered if she’d known it was him. They hadn’t shared an uncontentious conversation in years. Shane wished he could ask to speak to his son.
Instead, he shoved the phone at Gardener. “Tell her to take Jamie and go to her mother’s house. Stay there for a few days.”
Gardener repeated this message.
Shane listened as Janelle’s tone turned shrill. She demanded answers and issued threats. This was the woman he knew, sharp and combative. But even her foulmouthed tirade elicited a pleasurable response in him, oddly enough. He remembered the good times, the passionate arguments and wild nights.
Clearing his throat, he ended the call. Then he dialed Ace’s number. “We have a problem.”
“I don’t like problems.”
Shane broke the news about Brett’s accident and claimed he had the situation under control. No need to worry Ace with too many details. Shane was optimistic his brother wouldn’t be on the loose for long. Owen had limited resources. The girl and her kid would drag him down. In this heat, they couldn’t outrun Shane on foot.
“Let me talk to Roach,” Ace said.
“He’s back at camp. Keeping an eye on things.”
“Just handle it,” he said, and hung up.
Shane said he would. If he didn’t, he’d be a dead man.
He had a third call to make, to Jorge Sandoval. It couldn’t be traced, but it could be triangulated. The government might scrutinize all communication signals from the same basic area, and there was nobody else out here. He drove twenty more miles to the town of El Centro, pulling over at a dusty truck stop.
Shane got out and glanced around to make sure the coast was clear before dialing. Dirk waited in the backseat, an impatient look on his face.
“This is Jorge Sandoval.”
Shane had planned for Owen to make this call. It was the only reason Shane had brought him along. He didn’t trust Gardener to do it right, so now his only option was disguising his voice. “Do you have the money?”
Jesus. He sounded like Cookie Monster.
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