On Wings Of Deliverance
Elizabeth White
To make up for her sordid teen years, Bernadette Malone has spent her adult life in service to God. But her past has finally caught up with her: three young women–friends from her former life–had taken the truth about that past to their premature graves, and Bernadette was next on the hit list. Border patrol agent Owen Carmichael knew all about the dark side of life.And he couldn't turn down his friend when she came to him for help. Owen would protect Bernadette with his life. But her powerful enemy was prepared to kill again to prevent the revelation of his scandalous actions.
“I’m not leaving you to travel through Mexico by yourself.”
The very idea made Owen’s blood pressure rise.
Bernadette patted his hand. “You’re such a gentleman, but I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I’ve traveled to other foreign countries alone, my Spanish is fluent and I’m familiar with the culture. I’ll really be safer without–”
“No, you would not be safer without me!” Owen protested. “Let’s have this out once and for all. You claim to be so good at interpreting men. Did you not see the way that federale was looking at you?” He leaned in, nose to nose. “You. Are. Stuck. With. Me. Period.”
THE TEXAS GATEKEEPERS:
Protecting the borders…and the women they love
ELIZABETH WHITE
A native Mississippian, Elizabeth White now lives on the Alabama Gulf Coast with her minister husband, two teenagers and a Boston terrier named Angel. Beth plays flute and pennywhistle in church orchestra, teaches second-grade Sunday school, and—as an occasional diversion from writing—paints portraits in chalk pastel. Creating stories of faith, in which a man and woman fall in love with each other and Jesus, is her passion and source of personal spiritual growth. She is always thrilled to hear from readers c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY, 10279 or on the Web at www.elizabethwhite.net.
On Wings of Deliverance
Elizabeth White
I sought the Lord, and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.
—Psalms 34:4–5
To Mary Ann,
who has prayed faithfully for this story.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to express my gratitude to fellow author Jane Meyers Perrine, who translated my Spanish when she had her own stories to write. ¡Gracias!
Appreciation also goes to Karen M. Wise, whose entertaining and often funny Internet journal of her bus adventure through central Mexico enriched my story with details. Great pictures!
Thanks to my children who put up with me during marathon writing sessions. And to my husband, who came through with great ideas and encouragement when I needed it—all I can say is I love you!
Dear Reader,
Writing Bernadette and Owen’s love story has been a soul journey for me. Over the years I have counseled so many Christian women who struggle with issues of shame and condemnation—remnants of an old life before Christ came in. Words never seem to come to me in the right way when I listen to such heartaches, doubts and fears. My natural response is to write a story to illustrate how God deals with our stumbles.
Bernadette is a character who has begged me to complete her story for years. She was outwardly strong and full of faith, but full of inner feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness. The process of creating for her a hero whom God would use to heal those doubts was eminently satisfying. Owen is to me a picture of God’s agape unconditional love.
The Bible, of course, is full of word pictures of lives transformed by grace. Rahab. Mary Magdalene. The Samaritan woman at the well. It’s amazing how we can know “in our heads” that Jesus washes us clean when we come to Him—and then still act in fear. I hope you’ll go to the Bible to reread these wonderful stories, and discover anew the hope available in Jesus!
Blessings,
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
ONE
Yucatán Peninsula, Mexico
“So there I am, all fat, dumb and happy—” Owen Carmichael ducked under the Cessna to check the propeller mechanism “—when my bird’s engine goes out and I see the ground coming at me like a pie in the face.”
Kyle Garrett, the fifteen-year-old missionary kid helping Owen with preflight inspection, gently set down the sand crab he’d been playing with. “So what’d you do?” His freckled face was alive with curiosity.
“About fifty feet off the ground, I pull the nose up real quick, like you rein in a horse. Hand me that wrench, would you?” Owen gestured toward the tool chest sitting on the sand near the boy’s feet. “Then I adjust in the opposite direction so the tail won’t slam into the ground. The wind creates enough lift on the blades to slow the landing.”
“Man, that’s so cool that you can fly a chopper and a plane.” Kyle squatted under the wing to watch Owen work. “I’m gonna take flying lessons when I go back to the States for college.”
“Tell you what, next trip down here I’ll take you up for a lesson.” Deep under the belly of the plane, Owen squinted into the bright sunlight that flooded the beach, which also functioned as a makeshift airstrip.
From Owen’s perspective, the kid didn’t have much to complain about. The Gulf of Mexico lay just twenty yards away, and the ocean spray left a pleasant salty taste on his lips. He wished he had a few more days to spend here before heading back to the south Texas desert.
Unfortunately, his vacation time was up. As a United States Border Patrol agent/BORSTAR specialist, he’d been uniquely qualified to make this supply run down to the coast of the peninsula for Mission Aviation Fellowship. He was glad to do it, not least because of the excuse to check up on Bernadette Malone. Benny had been here for a month as a hurricane-relief volunteer, and he’d missed her—more than he would admit to anyone but himself.
“Hey, Owen?” Kyle’s voice cracked on the upswing. “Hasn’t Benny been driving my dad’s old Jeep?”
Owen turned his head, leaning down to keep from putting a dent in his forehead. All he could see were Kyle’s bare knobby knees and the waves breaking on the beach. “Yeah, why?”
“I think that’s her, coming in from the village.”
Owen yanked a bolt. “Guess she wanted to say goodbye one more time.” Ha, wishful thinking. Benny’s goodbye to him this morning in the cafeteria had been sleepy—cranky to the point of hostility. She was not a morning person.
“She must be in an awful hurry. I’ve never seen her do more than thirty, and she’s spitting sand, driving like a maniac.” Kyle crab-walked out from under the wing.
Owen pushed clear of the plane and stood up, sliding his shades onto his face. “Wow. Look at her go.” The Jeep dodged in a zigzag pattern worthy of a stunt driver in an action film. Bernadette was the most cautious woman he knew. What would make her drive like this?
The Jeep skidded to a halt on the inland side of the beach, parallel to the plane’s takeoff path. Benny hopped out and tore across the sand, arms and legs pumping and her long, curly hair flying like a black flag.
“Owen! I’m so glad you’re still here!” She ran past him and yanked open the plane’s passenger door.
“What are you doing?” Owen exchanged glances with a wide-eyed Kyle, then snagged Benny around the waist before she could clamber into the plane.
She shoved at his hands and seemed to notice Kyle for the first time. Her eyes widened. “Kyle, get out of here! Take the Jeep—head for the jungle!”
Kyle just gaped at her.
Owen grabbed her shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?”
Her breath hissed through her teeth. “I’ll explain when we’re in the air. Owen, get me out of here! I don’t want Kyle seen with me. Please, make him go!”
Owen couldn’t see Benny’s eyes behind her mirrored sunglasses. Her dark-olive skin was pasty.
“Owen!” Struggling to pull away, she burst into tears.
“Okay, okay.” Bewildered, he let her go. “Kyle, take the Jeep off the road and head home the back way. I’ll find out what’s the matter and bring her later.”
Kyle saluted and loped off toward his father’s old vehicle.
Benny took a couple of hiccuping breaths. “There’s a man trying to kill me. He said he was FBI—”
“What?” Was she kidding? Benny had a great sense of humor, but she rarely pulled practical jokes.
“She said they’re coming after us both. You’ve got to take me with you!”
“Benny—” He shook his head. “I’ve got flight regulations. And you’re supposed to stay for another two months, right?”
“Yes, but they’ll just have to understand. Please, Owen, he’s right behind—” She gasped and looked over Owen’s shoulder, her face gray. “Here he comes! Come on, we’ve got to go!”
Owen turned. A dark-green Land Rover approached from the direction Benny had come. Something that looked a lot like a gun glinted in the sunlight just over the vehicle’s windshield.
Good night.
“Benny, we’ve gotta get out of here.”
“Ya think?” She turned, gathering the folds of her full floral skirt in one hand. Impractical in many ways but she was always careful to comply with the missionary dress code—modest tops, skirts past the knees and nothing tight. No pants.
Owen gave her a hand up into the plane, stowed the steps, then ran around to the pilot seat. He had just started the engine when something pinged off the wing with a screech of metal on metal.
Bullets.
He was used to smugglers along the border getting excited about their little enterprises being busted up. But down here in paradise, you weren’t supposed to get hurt—except maybe by renegade jellyfish.
Another round hammered the plane as it taxied. Increasing speed, Owen checked to make sure Benny was buckled in. At least she had that much sense. He put on his headphones and gestured for her to do the same.
Adjusting the elevators, he taxied faster and faster. The airstream caught the wings and the plane took to the sky, leaving the Land Rover on the beach.
Owen turned to Benny. She sat with her head back against the seat, fairly green around the mouth. “Now. You wanna tell me what that was all about?”
“Mom! Dad! You won’t believe what just happened!”
Stacy Garrett, missionary nurse and wife of Dr. Wes Garrett, glanced over her shoulder when she heard the voice of her son, Kyle, shouting from outside the one-room clinic. She calmly held the thermometer in little Julio Carillo’s mouth. Kyle got exited about the silliest things.
“In here, son,” Wes called, meeting Stacy’s gaze with twinkling eyes. “What’s the matter?”
Kyle tore into the room, swinging on the doorjamb. “Benny just took off in Owen’s plane!”
“Sweetie, we don’t have time for your goofy jokes.” Stacy patted the toddler’s cheek. “Come get this bag of trash and take it out to the burn pile.”
“Okay, but, Mom, I’m not kidding around. Did you know she was leaving today?” He walked over and grabbed the plastic bag under the window.
“Benny’s got another two months before she goes back. Owen probably just took her up for a ride.”
Kyle shook his head. “He was planning to leave as soon as he filed his flight plan. He was tinkering with something under the plane when she came tearing across the beach. She made me take the Jeep and come home the back way. She looked really scared, and she said—” he took a breath “—she didn’t want me to be seen with her.”
“I’m sure you misunderstood her.” Wes paused over his patient, a woman with a tumor on her neck. “She’ll be back later and explain what that was all about. Now do what your mother says and take out the trash.”
Kyle reluctantly dragged the sack toward the door. “Okay, but I’m telling you something weird’s going on. I heard some popping noises from the beach, like gunshots.”
Wes dropped his stethoscope and gave Kyle a stern look. “Now you’re being melodramatic. That Jeep’s been backfiring for months. I don’t want another word about it.”
“All right.” Kyle shrugged and hauled the trash over his shoulder. “But don’t say I didn’t tell you.”
“What do you think’s going on?” Stacy asked Wes as soon as Kyle was out of earshot. “There was that man who came to talk to Benny yesterday afternoon. She never said who he was or what he wanted.”
“Benny’s a very private young woman, Stace, but she’s an incredible worker. It’s not our place to interrogate her.”
“It is if there’s something wrong and we can help her. That’s what the body of Christ is for. That man had a scary look in his eyes.”
“And I think it’s your overactive imagination. Give it a rest. Haven’t you noticed the way Owen looks at Benny? What we’ve got here is some kind of courting ritual. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”
Stacy rolled her eyes at her husband’s smug look. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic. I’ll leave it alone, but if she’s not back here in a couple of hours, I’m calling her to make sure she’s all right.”
Benny had never been bothered by heights. Still, taking off while under fire was unnerving. And then there was the pilot….
Though reassured by his firm grasp of the control column, she found herself shaken by the way he looked at her. Those eyes, an unearthly gold-shot turquoise, always stuttered her brain.
Owen was a crack Border Patrol helicopter pilot. And she’d always been able to depend on him to help out at the orphanage back in Acuña. But how to explain what had sent her on this precipitate and dangerous exit from the village of Agrexco?
“Bernadette—” Owen’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to the control panel “—the FBI does not kill missionaries. And who’s the ‘she’ that said they were after you?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure who that guy was, but he wasn’t FBI. I got an e-mail last night from an old friend saying that three of my oldest friends have died. I have to go back for—for the funerals.”
“That’s not the whole story, is it?”
Benny flinched at the hurt in his eyes. “Owen, I can’t tell you everything. It’s just too dangerous.”
“More dangerous than some guy firing a submachine gun at us?”
He had a right to be indignant, but she couldn’t formulate an answer that made sense. So she clamped her lips together and looked out the window. The bay underneath was blue and serene, and puffy clouds drifted past like a dream. How ironic.
Naturally, Owen wouldn’t leave it alone. “What about the three friends dying all at once? How did that happen? Some kind of accident?”
“The e-mail wasn’t very specific.”
His mouth tightened. “Well, that’s just great, Benny. People spill their guts to you all day long, but you never walk back across the bridge.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know exactly why you left Acuña to come all the way down to the Yucatán. You were afraid I was getting too close to you. Which is also why you’ve ignored me this whole week.”
“I didn’t ignore you! I was busy!” Benny clenched her hands. “We’ve had doctors and nurses and dentists needing translators and—”
“And I wanted to help, but you wouldn’t let me. ‘Go play with the children, Owen. Take this load of supplies over to the camp, Owen. I don’t have time to talk right now….’” He repeated her words with dead-on mimicry. “My Spanish may not be as good as yours, but trust me, I got the subtext.”
Benny looked away. Owen was a distraction, and it wasn’t just those eyes or the deep set of dimples that accompanied his ready grin. He could walk into a room and she’d find herself tuned like a metal fork against a table. Maybe she couldn’t block out that attraction, but she was determined to keep herself committed to her mission.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” It had never occurred to her that he would notice the absence of one person’s adulation. Everybody loved Owen—her supervisors, the children who ran around the village, the visiting medical personnel. Kyle Garrett idolized him. “Anyway, I know you can speak Spanish. That’s why you’re so useful entertaining the kids while they’re waiting to be treated.” She risked another look at him and found him frowning at the instrument panel. “What’s the matter?”
“Uh, we may have a slight problem.”
“What do you mean?”
Jaw shifting, he flipped a switch or two. There wasn’t a dimple in sight. “Either the fuel gauge is out of commission or both tanks are leaking. Neither’s a particularly good scenario.”
“You think bullets hit the fuel tanks?”
“Don’t know. Hold on, let me see who I can get on the radio. Mayday! Mayday! Broncobuster to control tower…”
Benny sat still as his attention focused on the instrument panel and his headset. He was a skilled pilot with thousands of flight hours under his belt, and she could trust him with her life. The Cessna didn’t seem to be losing altitude, but what did she know?
Looked like she’d dodged out of one dangerous situation right into another—worse than the guy in the dark suit and tie who’d shown up at the clinic yesterday afternoon. Flashing a badge, he’d asked if he could have a few minutes of her time.
Surrounded by screaming babies, worried mothers and fishermen with rotten teeth, she’d nearly booted him out without apology. But when he’d asked if she knew Celine Andrews, she’d handed the baby in her arms to Stacy Garrett and stepped outside.
How could anybody have connected her to a woman she hadn’t seen since she was fifteen years old—and traced her all the way to the Yucatán?
Lord, it’s me again. Please help me know what to tell Owen—and give him wisdom and skill to handle this problem with the plane.
She made the mistake of looking out the side window. They had begun to yaw downward and to the right. Nothing but blue ocean below. Her stomach surged. “Owen!”
“Hold on. The radio’s messed up. Must’ve got hit.”
“We’re dropping!”
“We should have enough fuel to clear the Gulf.” Owen winked at her. “Unless you’ve got your heart set on going for a little swim.” He laughed at her expression. “There’s a wide-open field a couple of miles inland, north of Veracruz. That’s where I’m headed.”
“Can’t we land at an airport?”
“Too far away. Hang on.”
The plane began to buck like a mustang. Owen’s full attention returned to the controls. His jaw tightened as he operated the rudder pedals and control column.
Benny’s teeth slammed together as the plane took a roller-coaster dip into a pocket of air. She wasn’t going to scream again. She wasn’t. Gripping the armrests, she closed her eyes. The ride became smooth for several seconds, then hit a corrugated patch that made the plane shake like a tambourine.
Oh, God, have mercy on us. You know I don’t swim well.
“You praying?”
“Of course I am.”
“Just checking. Another few minutes and we’re on the ground. Grab those life jackets under your seat just in case.”
Could one pass out from hyperventilation? She couldn’t remember ever being this frightened—even when the guy in the suit opened fire on her as she was leaving her room early this morning. She fished the life jackets out from under the seats and helped Owen into his. Fastening her own, she reminded herself how far the Lord had brought her. Her life was in His hands, and He could take it or give it back to her.
Your will be done, Lord.
She peeked out the window again at the jade-and-terra-cotta patchwork of coastal landscape below. Owen banked left and the plane stalled as they lost altitude.
“Hey, who knew Mexico had this many trees?” He tensed. “You might not want to look right now.”
“Owen! Look out!” Treetops zoomed at the plane.
“Relax.” Limbs and leaves scraped the belly of the plane. “You’re in the hands of a—”
She screamed as the landing gear came down with a fwump, snicking off the tops of a row of cypress trees. The right wingtip whacked into the trunk of a palm tree. Her stomach was somewhere around her eyebrows. The plane wobbled and skated clear of the trees, the wheels jouncing across somebody’s cow pasture. Another couple of wild bounces and they were taxiing.
Owen applied the brakes, his muscles bulging with the strain of holding the plane steady on the rocky field. Benny watched his face, mesmerized by the fierce concentration in his narrowed eyes, flared nostrils and tight lips. Then she glanced out the windshield.
They were headed straight for a barn.
TWO
Raymond Briggs tossed his navy suit coat across a chair and pushed the rifle case under the outdoor cantina table. Scowling at the pretty young waitress waiting to take his order, he yanked out another chair and dropped into it. Drowning his frustration in a shot of tequila would have redeemed some of this miserable day. Unfortunately, one did not order alcohol at ten o’clock in the morning in a conservative city like Villahermosa.
“Agua embotellada, por favor,” he growled.
The little waitress scurried inside.
Slouching, Briggs unclipped the cell phone from his belt and stared at it. He’d rather face a mountain lion than have to tell his boss he’d let Bernadette Malone slip through his fingers.
How could he have missed that shot? At least once a week, he’d spend a few hours at a practice range so he wouldn’t choke under pressure.
He was a professional. Hidden in the thick vegetation on the outskirts of the camp, he’d waited patiently for a chance to catch the missionary alone. With his binoculars trained on her cabin, he’d seen her and another young woman walk toward a long Quonset-like building, which he assumed to be the cafeteria. Thirty minutes later, she’d returned alone and he’d had his chance. He should have been out of there, his mark dead and no one the wiser; he’d had a silencer on the rifle and he was a genius at disappearing.
But the sting of a mosquito had made him twitch, sending the bullet into the cabin wall. Startled, the woman stood there for a split second. Then, just as he reloaded the chamber, she’d darted toward the old Jeep parked by the door.
Ray kicked the gun case at his feet. How was he going to explain the behavior of this crazy young woman? Why would she drive away from the other individuals in the camp? Dumbfounded, he’d knelt for precious seconds with the rifle held to his shoulder as the Jeep sped toward the main road. Arrogantly sure of his aim, he hadn’t bothered to sabotage her vehicle.
The waitress returned with his bottled water and Ray gave her a few pesos, silently cursing himself, cursing the woman, cursing the humidity that made his shirt stick to his back. By now, he should have been in Cancún enjoying a short vacation before returning to the southwest Tennessee heat.
Thumb on speed dial, he hesitated before dialing the number. The judge was going to go ballistic.
He lined up defenses in his mind like toy soldiers. How could he have known there was a plane sitting on the beach less than five miles away, with a pilot getting ready to take off? Assumptions, as it turned out, had been the source of his every mistake.
Mistakes for which he was going to pay a major price.
His hand clenched around the phone, his thumb pressing the dial button. “Hey, boss.” What a relief to get voice mail instead of the powerful pit bull who could put a knot in his stomach with nothing more than silence. “It’s me, Briggs. I, uh, I got bad news. The girl got away. I’m not sure how much she knows, but I’m going after her. My plane leaves in an hour. Cell reception’s kinda spotty down here, so you may not be able to get me right away. I’ll call you when I hit the States. Don’t worry. She’s as good as dead.”
Owen reviewed his options, both of which called for what his mother referred to as bowling language.
He could turn the plane and mow down a couple of cows.
Or he could crash into the barn. The Cessna was sturdy but not indestructible. Mission Aviation Fellowship functioned largely on donations, and it killed Owen to think about how much repairs would cost.
So he’d just have to stop it.
Ramming his feet down on the brake pedals, feeling the aircraft shudder, he held on to the control column for dear life. The crooked, gaping boards of the barn loomed, closer and closer, until he could almost smell the manure and hay.
He braced himself for impact. Benny had thrown her hands over her face, but at least she had stopped screaming.
God, I need help! Come on, come on, please help me stop this plane.
The plane skidded for another heart-stopping second or two. They rammed into the barn, with the nose of the plane tucked into the open front door. An odd noise crunched in the right wing as it came to rest against the outside wall.
Trembling, Owen stared into the dark recesses of the barn. “Wow. That was close.” A couple of chickens squawked.
“We’re not dead, are we?” Benny lowered her hands.
“I don’t think so. If this is Heaven, I’ve got issues with the management.” He took off his headphones. “Are you okay?”
“Um, yeah.” She unfastened her seat belt and took off the life jacket. “Good thing we didn’t need these.”
Owen grinned. “Remember when we took the de Cristos kids swimming last summer?” Benny had gotten too far away from shore and couldn’t dog-paddle back; then when he went after her, she’d nearly drowned him. For such an accomplished lady, Bernadette was a terrible swimmer.
Who also looked great in a swimsuit, even a style pretty much in line with his grandmother’s taste.
“I remember.” Benny scowled. “You put a fish down my back.”
“It was a two-inch minnow, and he was more traumatized than you.”
“Oh, so you think fish abuse is funny.” Her eyes were twinkling, though, so maybe she was getting over the shock of their forced landing.
“So what do you say we break out of this joint? Find out who this plantation belongs to.”
“I don’t think I can get my door open.”
“Okay, then come this way.”
The double-decker Cessna Combi-Bush was designed with the cockpit high above a deep freight compartment. Owen jumped to the ground, turned and reached for Benny’s waist. She put her hands on his shoulders and let him set her lightly down.
She frowned a bit when he didn’t immediately step back. Boy, she didn’t like to be touched. He wondered if more than water panic had been behind that scene at the river last summer. She’d fought him like a wildcat, even when they were safely in shallow water.
Suddenly, something bumped the back of his legs hard enough to buckle his knees.
“Mba-a-aaa!”
Owen looked down to find a small gray goat backing up to butt him again. “Hey!” He dodged, pulling Benny with him.
She laughed. “We invaded the earthling’s territory.”
“Looks like.” Owen danced to avoid another thrust of the underdeveloped horns.
Benny didn’t seem concerned. Standing in a shaft of dusty sunlight, she absently reached down to pet the animal’s nappy head as she surveyed their surroundings. “How’re we gonna get out of here? The plane’s blocking the door.”
“I’m surprised we didn’t knock the whole barn down.” Owen looked up to examine the tin roof. It was apparently sturdier than it appeared.
“Look, there are a bunch of loose boards over here.” Bernadette walked over to the corner and started shoving at the walls.
“Watch out! You’ll have the place falling on our heads.” Owen followed her and saw that she was right. With one good kick, he could open a space big enough for them to slip through. “Stand back, I’m gonna—”
“¿Quién está?” demanded someone outside the barn. “¡Voy a disparar!”
Benny’s big dark eyes widened. “Did he just say he’d shoot us?” She peered through a knothole in the wall and said in Spanish, “Please, señor, we’re Americans! We had to make an emergency landing, but we won’t hurt you. Can you get us out of here?”
The voice growled out a series of Spanish words. Then the boards in front of them began to splinter and fall away from the outside. Owen and Benny found themselves staring into the myopic brown eyes of an elderly Mexican gentleman carrying an equally ancient shotgun. He had apparently used it to pry loose the wall.
“You are scaring my chickens,” he said in surly Spanish, moving back so Benny could squeeze through the narrow opening. “I should charge you a hundred pesos’ compensation.”
“Reckon he’s gonna send ’em to poultry therapy?” Owen sucked in his breath to follow Benny.
She gave him a quelling look, then batted her long, curly lashes at the farmer. “We are so sorry for the inconvenience.” She glanced at the plane, stuck in the doorway of the barn for all the world like an alien spacecraft in an Ed Wood movie. “We’ve got a problem with the fuel tanks, and one of the wings is broken. We can’t move it right now. If you would be so kind as to let us leave it here until we can have someone come repair it, we’ll be glad to pay you a storage fee.”
“How am I supposed to get in to feed my animals?” The farmer folded his skinny arms without lowering the gun.
Owen decided he’d been quiet long enough. “You’ve got a nice new opening started right here. I’ll help you straighten it up and build a door.”
“I won’t pay you one peso.” The farmer’s gaze fell on Benny’s face and softened. “However, my wife will give you a good dinner before you—” he glared at Owen “—go away.”
Owen had no desire to impose himself on the farmer’s dubious hospitality any longer than absolutely necessary. He pulled Bernadette aside.
“The least I can do is repair the old guy’s chicken coop. While I’m doing that, why don’t you sweet-talk him into giving us directions to Poza Rica?”
“But that’s a big city. I think we should avoid crowds. We need to go around—”
“All right, all right. I’ll let you make that call. But sooner or later, we are going to talk.” He searched her face. Avoiding his eyes, she stood there with arms folded and one toe drawing circles in the dirt. Owen had never had any patience for puzzles. “Benny—”
“Okay, Owen.” She sighed. “I owe you an explanation. But not now.” She glanced at the farmer, whose gray brows beetled in patent suspicion. “You fix the door and I’ll see if I can come up with some other mode of transportation.”
Benny turned her beautiful smile on the farmer, who unbent enough to lower the muzzle of the gun to the ground. With Benny jabbering in enthusiastic Spanish, the two of them headed toward a small adobe house sitting on a lumpy hill about a hundred yards away.
Owen slipped back into the barn and climbed into the cockpit of the plane. Benny wouldn’t like it, but he was going to try the radio again. They’d taken off without filing a flight plan and he had to let somebody know what had happened. Otherwise, people were going to worry.
His brother, for example. Eli was a Border Patrol agent, too, and hadn’t been wild about Owen taking this little jaunt. The prototypical big brother, Eli had become a total worrywart since a month ago, when he’d taken on a wife and a couple of kids.
As if flying medical supplies across the Gulf of Mexico was any more dangerous than chasing illegal aliens and dope peddlers through the desert.
Settling into his seat and adjusting the headphones, Owen paused in the act of flipping the radio on. Come to think of it, things had turned a little dicey in the last few hours.
Oh, well. Eli would just have to get over it.
After supper, Benny sat beside her hostess on the sagging sofa in the family room, where the only light came from an oil lamp and a string of multicolored Christmas bulbs strung along the ceiling. Mariela, a tiny butterball of a woman distinguished by a gray-streaked black bun and an enormous wart on the side of her nose, had given them coffee and empanadas for dessert.
Benny wished she’d had a video camera to record Owen dealing with Gustavo and Mariela de Oca. Over a simple meal taken at their kitchen table, Owen had piled on lavish praise for the good señora’s frijoles and tamales until she wouldn’t hear of her guests continuing their odyssey without a good night’s sleep. Furthermore, he’d apparently done such a good job with the barn door that even crusty old Gustavo was ready to apply for membership in the Owen Carmichael fan club.
Trying not to wince as she sipped the strong coffee, Benny watched Owen playing el juego de damas—checkers—on the bottom of a cardboard box with their host. Gustavo sat cross-legged on the tile floor, while Owen reclined on his side, his long legs taking up most of the floor space. He could make himself at home in any situation. He’d make a wonderful missionary.
“Your husband is a handsome young man.” Mariela straightened her flowered housedress. “You have been married for long?”
Benny choked and wiped coffee off her skirt. “He’s not my husband.”
Mariela frowned. “But you travel together without a chaperone?”
How wonderful to meet a lady with scruples as antiquated as her own. “We’re traveling together sort of by accident. We’d planned to reach our destination before dark. I’m happy you and Gustavo can be our chaperones.”
Mariela pursed her lips. “For one night. What will you do after that?”
Benny shrugged. “Owen’s a gentleman. I never have to worry about him.” She lifted the coffee cup to shield her face but couldn’t help glancing at Owen. There was something powerful and magnetic about the way he’d looked at her while he was in Agrexco this week. His usual teasing expression had been thoughtful. As if he saw into her thoughts and feelings.
Thoughts and feelings she hid pretty carefully. After all, she wanted to present an impression of a godly young Christian woman. Which was, of course, exactly what she was.
Lord, with Your help, I’ve escaped so much tragedy, she thought as she watched Owen jump three of Gustavo’s black checkers. Why? Why let that man stir it up again? So many men in her life had sent her down destructive paths. She couldn’t help lining Owen up with the lot of them, measuring to see how he fit.
He suddenly grinned at something Gustavo said and Benny hastily dropped her gaze to watch him jingling a handful of checkers. He had beautiful hands—long, deft fingers with neatly trimmed nails—and he wore a big college class ring with a blue stone on his right hand. She noticed a gash across his thumb, probably from his impromptu carpentry work that afternoon. He could do pretty much anything that came his way.
She stood up. “Owen, is there a first aid kit in the plane?”
“Sure, it’s in the cockpit, in the compartment between the—hey, where are you going?”
“Your thumb’s bleeding.” She handed her coffee cup to Mariela, who blinked in surprise. “I’ll be right back.”
Owen caught up to her as she pushed open the screen door. “I don’t want you going out there by yourself.”
She paused, wishing he’d stayed put but not entirely surprised that he hadn’t. “Why not?”
“Because it’s dark. And…there’s a killer goat out there.”
“Ooh. You’re gonna protect me from the big bad baby goat?” She patted her chest as if overcome. Owen grinned and she smiled. “Look, Mariela already thinks we’re into scandalous behavior. We need to be careful.”
His eyes narrowed. “Good grief. What a busybody.”
Benny shrugged. “She asked if we were married. When I told her no, she assumed…Well, I said I was glad for her to chaperone.” She looked up at Owen, relieved to have this discussion out in the open. She didn’t want any misunderstandings. “Listen, Owen, my credibility as a single female missionary hinges on my reputation. I’ve got to make sure we’re not alone at night. Ever.”
He stared back at her, his jaw shifting. “Okay. I guess I can see that. But for the record, you know I’d never…you know you can trust me, right?”
She weighed her words carefully. “I don’t think you’d do anything on purpose, but…” She sighed. “Well, I know when a man is looking at me a certain way.”
His mouth opened and she fully expected him to blast her for her conceit, but then his gaze unexpectedly wavered. “There’s nothing wrong with looking at a beautiful woman,” he muttered.
Benny couldn’t help the little thrill of pleasure his words—and his confused expression—sent through her midsection. Oh, Lord, forgive me. I thought I was past that hunger for approval….
She crossed her arms over her stomach. “That’s very sweet of you to say that, but I really need you to help me be…circumspect. Do you know what I mean?”
She had to endure the intense blue-green gaze scanning her face, touching her lips. Finally, he smiled a little. “No looking, huh?”
She shook her head. “And we’ve been in here by ourselves long enough. Go play checkers with Gustavo and I’ll get the first aid kit. I can’t have my pilot coming down with gangrene.”
“Yeah, that would be inconvenient.” Owen pushed away from the doorjamb. Placing his hands over his eyes, he backed away. “Just call me See No Evil.”
Benny laughed and headed out into the moonlit yard. A flashlight would have been nice, but they’d left that in the plane, too, along with Owen’s luggage and some stuff the Garretts had sent back to the States. Benny herself had no personal items whatsoever. She’d left in such a panic she hadn’t even had time to grab her purse.
She shuddered, remembering the zip of the bullet whizzing over her head to plant itself in the concrete wall behind her. Had it really happened less than twenty-four hours ago?
Now she had no cash, no credit cards, no ID, no phone—nothing but the clothes on her back. Getting safely across Mexico was going to stretch her faith and intellect to the limit.
Owen Carmichael would never have been her first choice of escorts. Lord, why not somebody safe? Somebody a little less…charismatic?
Pushing open the barn door that Owen had created from the boards he’d cut out of the wall, Benny poked her head inside. She could hear the animals rustling in their stalls. She wasn’t afraid of the little goat, but the idea of getting butted in the dark didn’t appeal, either. Hopefully he was locked in a stall for the night.
If the barn had been shadowy in the daytime, it was positively Cimmerian tonight, and it smelled like…well, like a barn. A draft through the open door stirred the hay and she sneezed. Leaving the door open so the moonlight could filter in, she waited a moment until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. As hangars went, this one was on the cramped side. The nose of the plane loomed over her head to the left and she could barely discern the outline of the door panel in front of the wings.
A moment later, she had the door open and managed to lower the steps. By the glow of the interior light, she climbed into the cabin. Sliding into the pilot’s seat, she laid her head back against the soft leather back of the chair. Astonishing, this sudden feeling of being enveloped by Owen. Even more surprising was the realization that she didn’t feel threatened. Just safe.
She studied the instrument panel. Earlier in the day, she’d been too frightened to pay much attention to all those dials, knobs and switches. Clearly it would take a pretty good brain to operate a million-dollar aircraft like this. Owen liked to perpetrate a class-clown persona, but he had hidden depths. Well hidden.
She grinned to herself. Okay, the first aid kit. He said it would be in the compartment between the seats. She lifted the lid of the box, which reached to about the level of the armrests. Its interior light revealed a couple of maps, a pair of sunglasses and a spiral-bound notebook. She dumped them all in her lap to continue digging for the first aid kit.
There it was, a white metal box with the traditional red cross on top. She opened it and removed the antibiotic ointment, as well as a couple of adhesive bandages, then put the box back in the bottom of the compartment.
She examined Owen’s aviator sunglasses before returning them to the console. Expensive. Quality eyewear must be a necessity for a pilot. She started to put the remaining two items in her lap back into the console when a photograph fell out of the notebook and slipped to the floor. Sticking the maps in a niche beside Owen’s sunglasses, she reached down to pick up the picture.
She turned it over and caught her breath. “Oh, my….”
It was a snapshot taken the day of the swimming expedition. She’d let a couple of the little girls bury her feet in the sand and Owen had captured her close-up, with her head thrown back, laughing.
He was quite a good amateur photographer, and he’d shown her the other pictures he’d taken of the children that day. But she hadn’t imagined he would stick this one in a notebook and bring it all the way to Mexico.
Her heart thumped a little. Just how deeply engaged were his feelings for her?
THREE
Chief Justice of the Tennessee Supreme Court, the Honorable J. Paul Grenville III, had pulled his Harley into one of the historic roadside parks along I–20 to Memphis. He sat on a picnic table with his cell phone pressed to his ear. On his way home from Nashville for the weekend, he’d stopped to check up on a certain international project.
“What do you mean, you missed her?” In his agitation, he dropped his helmet and it went bouncing against some Confederate soldier’s headstone. Probably one of Grenville’s ancestors. He was related to half the state of Tennessee.
The voice on the other end of the cell connection surged and dropped out. What good was the North American Free Trade Agreement when you couldn’t even get a good cell connection with employees in Mexico?
“—didn’t get close enough for a clear shot,” he finally heard. “They took off, headed across the Gulf.”
“Took off? You mean in a boat?”
“No! Some big blond guy had a Cessna freight plane parked on the beach. There was a kid there, too, but he drove off in the girl’s Jeep before I got close.”
“You checked out the plane, right? Where did it go?” Grenville picked up his helmet and paced along the concrete sidewalk edging the cemetery. Briggs had been in his employ for nearly twenty years, since the days when Grenville had been on the Tennessee Court of Appeals. Briggs was methodical, thorough and ruthless. In a word, invaluable.
“Of course I did. Turns out he’s an off-duty Border Patrol agent on a supply run for some missionary outfit out of Laredo. I figure that’s where they’re heading.”
“Make sure.” Grenville mounted the bike. “Get the flight plan and intercept them when they land. It would have been a lot easier to get her before she reached the States.”
“I know.” Briggs made a disgusted noise. “She really fooled me during the interview. I thought I had the wrong woman until I poked through her stuff while she was out of the room.”
“You better get something straight right now, Briggs. This girl is young, but she is not stupid.” In fact, that had been the thing that most attracted Grenville once upon a time. “I’m counting on you to keep her from scotching this appointment.”
“You know I will, sir.”
“And Briggs—”
“Yes, sir?”
“The pilot has to go, too.”
Grenville ended the call and sat there a moment, contemplating the budding greenery in the woods behind the cemetery. He had sacrificed too much to let some little ex-hooker ruin his chances at one of the most powerful posts in the judicial branch of government.
Gustavo snored like a B-52 bomber, and Owen woke up with a crick in his neck from trying to keep his ears covered while sleeping on a tile floor with nothing but his arm for a pillow. He and Eli had camped all their lives, so roughing it wasn’t a problem. Still, he’d found himself tossing and turning all night.
The look on Bernadette’s face when she’d come in, armed with ointment and Band-Aids, would probably give him nightmares for months. Demanding to see his thumb, she’d squirted half a tube of medicine on him and nearly cut off his circulation with a bandage. Then she’d disappeared behind the curtain, where she and Señora de Oca would sleep.
He couldn’t understand her sudden agitation. After the crash landing, she seemed to have settled down, almost enjoying the impromptu bed-and-breakfast scenario. Maybe she was worrying about whoever had shot at her in Agrexco. One way or another, he was gonna have to find out what that was all about.
He sat up, stretching, and looked at the backlit dial of his watch. Not quite 5:00 a.m. and Gustavo was already gone, apparently outside tending to his animals. Maybe there would be eggs for breakfast.
There wasn’t much light yet in the dingy little living room; Mariela had unplugged the Christmas bulbs before following Benny to bed, and the sun barely glowed around the edges of the thick polyester curtains hanging in the windows. Owen had a sudden overwhelming urge to get out of this place. He’d have been happier spending the night in the plane, but leaving Benny alone wasn’t an option. Though Mariela and Gustavo de Oca seemed like nice enough people, he felt better knowing Benny was just on the other side of that curtain.
Pulling on his boots, he wondered if she’d slept well. No looking, he reminded himself as he glanced at the curtain. He quietly let himself out the kitchen door.
He walked down the hill toward the barn, intending to inspect the plane before Benny got up and around. A thorough examination revealed that, besides the holes in the fuel tanks, which he could have patched, the right wing had a long crack near the fuselage. Without the tools or materials to fix it, he felt like a surgeon diagnosing an inoperable tumor.
Getting Benny safely home in a reasonable amount of time was going to be a challenge. He didn’t have much cash, and the border was a long way off. Laying a hand on the cool steel belly of the aircraft, he spent a few minutes praying for wisdom.
Feeling immeasurably stronger, he went searching for old Gustavo and found him inside the barn, feeding the goat. The little billy gave Owen a disdainful bleat, then went back to his hay.
“Good morning, Gustavo.” Owen leaned over the top of the stall. “Thanks for your hospitality.”
“It’s nothing.” Gustavo propped his hands atop his pitchfork. “We don’t see many Americans out here, so you must excuse my rudeness yesterday. I thought you might be drug traffickers running from the law.”
Owen smiled at the irony of that remark. “Not a chance. Do you have any idea where we might get hold of a car?”
“Now that,” Gustavo said, “is a large problem. As I told the señorita last night, all I have is my truck, and my closest neighbor is twenty kilometers away. Unless—” he scratched his whiskery chin “—unless you want to ride my mule up to Poza Rica. My cousin Jorge runs a used-car lot and I’m sure he’d give you a good deal.”
Owen thought of several objections to that plan, not least of which was Benny’s desire to stay away from cities. Still, their choices were limited. “Couldn’t you drive Benny and me to Poza Rica? We’d be glad to pay you—”
But Gustavo was shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave right now. Lajuana is due to drop her calf. She had trouble last time.”
Having grown up around horses, Owen understood the concept of protecting one’s livestock. Still, the prospect of riding a mule twenty miles struck him as a bit over the top. “But won’t you need your mule?”
“It is only mid-March.” Gustavo shrugged. “I won’t plow for another two weeks, at least. You could leave Sunflower with Jorge. I will drive up to get him later.”
“Okay, then, how about letting us borrow your truck? I’ll pay someone to drive it back to you. The plane’s good collateral, don’t you think?”
“I need my truck.” Gustavo picked up the pitchfork and went back to work, the subject obviously closed. “If you don’t want to take Sunflower, you can walk.”
Owen glanced over his shoulder at the busted-up plane, then at the swaybacked mule, contentedly munching oats in its stall a few feet away.
Oh, how the mighty are fallen.
Benny was scrambling eggs on Mariela’s ancient stove when Owen came in the back door, carrying a bucket of milk. He plunked it on the table and walked up behind her. “I was hoping somebody would have breakfast going. That smells good.”
She glanced over her shoulder. With golden-brown bristle covering his jaw and a sleepy droop at the corners of his eyes, he looked a little worse for wear. “Where have you been?”
“Negotiating a deal with Gustavo.” He reached over her shoulder and snitched a strip of bacon.
“What kind of deal?”
He leaned on the counter and licked grease off his fingers. “Let’s just say I didn’t get the better end of it. More specifically, my end may wind up whooped.”
Benny had to giggle. “That sounds ominous.”
“I’ll say. Old Gustavo wouldn’t part with his truck, so it looks like Sunflower and I will be taking a little field trip.”
“Sunflower? Who’s that?”
“Not who—it. Sunflower’s a mule, my transportation to Poza Rica. I’ll ride up there, buy a car from Gustavo’s cousin Jorge and come back to get you.”
Benny stared at him. He looked perfectly serious. “You’re not leaving me here.”
He cocked his head. “Benny, I shouldn’t be gone more than a day—two at the most. Mariela will take good care of—”
“No, I’ll go with you. That will save time.”
Owen’s blue-green eyes lost their sleepy look. “What are you afraid of? You know we lost the guy in the Land Rover. There’s no way he could catch up to us.”
“They’ll know we never made it to Laredo. Anybody can look up a flight plan.” Shivering, Benny turned off the stove and shoved the pan full of eggs off the burner.
“I didn’t have time to file a flight plan.” Owen took her by the shoulders when she would have turned away. “Bernadette, who’s after you? Is it more than just this one man?”
She stood stiff under his hands and looked at the strong brown column of his throat. “I’m not sure.”
“This is insane.” Frustration laced his voice. “How can I protect you—and myself, for that matter—if I don’t know what we’re running from?”
He was right. It wasn’t fair to keep Owen in the dark, but if she told him about Paul Grenville, Grenville would do his best to kill Owen, too. On the other hand, she refused to lie.
She made herself relax. “Okay, you’re right. It’s silly to worry like this. Go ahead and take the mule to Poza Rica.”
Several seconds ticked by. Benny felt Owen’s big, gentle hands tighten, the thumbs on her collarbones and palms cupping her shoulders. When she looked up at him his expression speared her to the heart.
“You’ll be gone when I get back, won’t you?” His lips pressed together as he let her go. “I can’t believe you have so little regard for me.”
Benny caught her balance against the table. “Owen, you don’t understand who these people are. I care for you too much to let you—”
“You care for me?” Owen uttered a harsh laugh, the kind she’d never imagined him capable of. “Then trust me with the truth.”
She put her hands to her face and closed her eyes. “Okay, listen. Here’s all I can tell you now. When I was very young, I had some bad experiences and they’ve come back to haunt me. I have to get to Memphis to see an old friend, find out what she knows.”
After another moment’s silence, Owen sighed. “Why not call her?”
“We’ve just been in touch by e-mail because I’m afraid my calls can be traced. I have to see her in person.”
“Memphis,” Owen muttered. “I thought we were going to Laredo.”
Benny lowered her hands. “Will you help me get back to the States? Without asking questions?”
He shook his head. “You are a crazy woman, you know that?”
“I know. Please, Owen?”
“Like I could ever say no to you.” It wasn’t a question.
After breakfast, Owen saddled Sunflower with Gustavo’s old-fashioned tack, then mounted the mule with the confidence of long practice. Getting Benny situated was a bit trickier.
At least he’d talked her into trading in her full, flowery skirt for his extra pair of jeans.
“Come on, Ben,” he’d teased, “you’ll have saddle sores on your saddle sores if you try to ride in a skirt.”
So she’d rolled up the legs three or four times and tied them at the waist with a leather strap Gustavo had lying around the barn. She actually looked pretty cute, in a countrified kind of way.
“Okay, now stand over on the left side of the mule—watch out! He’ll kick if you get too close to his rear.” Owen was sweating already; he could just imagine what the heat would be like this afternoon. He’d give anything for his straw cowboy hat or even his Border Patrol headgear.
Benny looked up at him, hands on hips. “How’m I going to get up there?”
He extended his left hand. “Okay, put your left foot—no, your other left foot,” he said with a grin “—in the stirrup. That’s it. Now grab my wrist with both hands and I’ll pull you up. Hang on. Here you go!”
She swung up easily, fitting neatly behind the deep, old-fashioned cantle of the saddle.
“I did it!”
“Good girl. Now give my stirrup back and hold on.” When she clutched the sides of his shirt, he looked over his shoulder. “You’re gonna have to get a little more aggressive than that.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Whatever you say,” he said with a little smile and a shrug. Waving at Gustavo and Mariela, who stood at the kitchen door watching the show, he kicked Sunflower lightly in the ribs. “Yippee-ki-yo!”
As Owen had anticipated, the mule’s gait would have registered about 5.0 on the Richter scale. Benny was forced to hang on for dear life.
The mule also expressed, at regular intervals, noisy objection to his double load, which kept their conversation to a minimum. Since Owen had nothing to do but keep Sunflower from turning around to head back to the barn, he passed the time mulling over this morning’s conversation with Benny.
Bad experiences when she was very young. What did that mean? Most people he knew had traumatic experiences of one kind or another. He could never understand people who let tragedy dictate their lives. Owen figured you could make your own sunshine.
Not that Benny seemed to dwell on negative things as a rule. He’d always observed her to be a can-do person. She’d tackled issues with a Mexican orphanage that would have made most women run screaming back to the good old U.S. of A.
Now here she was, mounted behind him like Calamity Jane, arms wrapped around his waist and heels bouncing in rhythm with Sunflower’s bone-jarring trot. Wondering what she was thinking, he looked down at her slim hands, clasped under his rib cage. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream, her nails short and unpolished but beautifully groomed. She had a little silver ring with a turquoise stone on her right pinkie, and her watch—a simple bangle—was silver as well.
He took an experimental breath, filling his lungs to make Benny’s arms tighten around him. Sunflower seemed to have settled down. “You okay back there?”
“J-just peachy. How much longer ’til we get there?”
“About five more hours.”
“Five hours?” Owen felt a gusty sigh against his back. “I thought I was in pretty good shape, but I’m beginning to feel muscles I didn’t know I had.”
“Wait ’til you try to get to sleep tonight.”
“Oh, thanks. You’re such an encouragement. I guess this is no big deal for you, huh?”
“Well, old Sunflower’s not exactly in the same league as my cutting horse.”
“You ride the rodeo circuit?”
“Yup. Three-time amateur calf-roping regional champ. Got the buckles to prove it.”
Bernadette chuckled. “I’d like to see you ride sometime.”
Owen felt his chest swell a bit. “You could come this fall, after you get home.”
There was a short silence. “I’m not sure where home is.”
“I’m guessing Mexico doesn’t cut it.”
“Not yet.”
“Is Memphis your stomping ground?”
“No.” He thought she wasn’t going to elaborate, but then she said, “I grew up in Collierville. It’s a little bit east of Memphis.”
“Really? Tell me about your family. You got brothers and sisters?”
“No, I was in foster care.”
“Oh.” Kids in foster care generally came from messed-up families that they’d just as soon you didn’t mention.
Bad experiences.
He briefly laid his hand on top of hers and felt her fingers flutter against his palm. “I’m sorry, Benny.”
“One of my foster moms gave me a Bible. She was a nice lady.”
Owen didn’t find it nearly as easy to talk about spiritual things as his brother did, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get Benny to talk. “Is she the one who taught you about the Lord?”
“She tried. Her name was Mrs. Coker. How about you? How did you come to know Christ?”
“The usual. Vacation Bible school. Mom had us in church every time the doors were open.”
“You’re very blessed, Owen.”
“I know.” He shifted in the saddle. “But then my dad blew it all at the end. I don’t understand how he could throw our family away for money. I always looked up to him as a kid. He was my hero.”
Three years ago Owen’s father, a Border Patrol agent, had been involved in a smuggling scheme that had resulted in the murder of two other agents. A year later he’d been killed while trying to cover his tracks. Owen’s mother was just now getting over the tragedy.
Benny was quiet for a moment. Then to Owen’s astonishment she laced her fingers through his. “Lots of times people self-destruct when they’re separated from God, Owen. Make sure you stay close to Him.”
Owen could have sworn she laid her cheek against his back for a fleeting second. He decided it must have been his imagination.
Still, he was strangely comforted, even when Benny released his hand and began to sing, off-key, “Arroz con leche.”
Rice pudding, huh? He goosed Sunflower with his heels. Poza Rica was a long way off.
“Wait a minute, Briggs.” Grenville turned off the speakerphone and shut the door of his home office. He sank back into the antique leather chair and swiveled to face the picture window looking out onto his front lawn. “What did you find out?”
“They didn’t make it to Laredo.”
“Then where did they go?”
“Seems they made an emergency landing somewhere north of Veracruz. Some farmers in the area reported it. I must have nicked the fuel tanks.”
Grenville watched two hummingbirds squabbling over the red glass feeder hanging from the eaves. He found their antics soothing. “Where are you now?”
“Laredo, their intended destination.”
“Then you’ll just have to backtrack. Head for the area where the plane turned up.”
Briggs sighed. “I’m on it.”
“Briggs…” Grenville paused, picking up the morning newspaper covering his desk blotter. The front page of the editorial section displayed an old file photo of himself, sharing a basketball trophy with his college roommate and cocaptain—now the President of the United States.
“Yeah, boss?”
Grenville tossed the paper into the trash can. “Find them.”
FOUR
Benny slid off the mule and into Owen’s arms. Her thigh muscles ached, her knees were rubbery and there were blisters in places she didn’t want to think about. To make it worse, her stomach had been rumbling for the last hour. It was past noon and Owen had to be starving, too.
Owen grabbed the mule’s harness. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, thanks.” She stepped back, staggering a little. “I’ll get out lunch while you take care of Sunflower.”
They’d stopped at a small pond just off the dusty, rutted track they’d been following for the last two hours. The sight of the little brown pool had instantly centered Benny’s misery on her parched mouth and throat. Water. Blessed gift of a good God.
She unbuckled the saddle pack, keeping a wary eye on Sunflower’s broad hindquarters. She extracted a couple of bottles of water they’d brought from the plane and the burritos Mariela had sent. Owen ground-tied the mule, letting it graze on the weeds at the edge of the pond.
Benny handed Owen a bottle of water, smiling when he twisted off the cap and glugged it down in one long swallow.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wish we didn’t have to leave the other two cases back in the plane.”
“I know, but Gustavo and Mariela will enjoy it. We owed them a little something for their trouble.”
“You mean besides a new door in their barn?” Owen’s mouth quirked as he put the empty plastic bottle back in the saddle pack. He accepted one of the newspaper-wrapped rolls in Benny’s hand. “What’s on the menu?”
“Burritos.”
Owen grimaced. He sat down in the skimpy shade of a mesquite tree near the pond and opened the packet. “Burritos for breakfast, burritos for lunch, burritos for supper. I’m beginning to sympathize with the Israelites’ manna complex.”
“At least Mariela’s a good cook and her kitchen was clean.” Too sore to sit, Benny leaned against the tree and ate where she stood. Biting into the soft flour tortilla, she found it filled with spicy rice, beans and a trace of chicken. “Mmm…I should’ve gotten the recipe.”
Owen lifted his sunglasses and squinted at her, eyes inhumanly blue-green in the bright noonday sun. “You’re kidding, right?”
She shrugged. “I like to cook. Rolling tortillas is an art.”
“Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been busy taking care of orphans and translating for medical teams. When do you ever have time to cook?”
Benny smiled. “Granted, Rosie did most of the cooking at the orphanage, but I had to help. I learned when I was in high school.”
“Oh.” Sliding his glasses onto the top of his blond head, Owen swallowed the last of his burrito. “Sit down, kid, you’re makin’ me noivous.”
Laughing, Benny gingerly sat down and stretched out her legs. “Ooh, you were right about the saddle sores.”
Wearing pants again felt strange. Hot and itchy. At least it was a modest outfit, and she should be grateful Owen had let her borrow them. He had on lightweight cargo shorts and a white Promise Keepers T-shirt. He’d shoved the sleeves up onto his shoulders and she couldn’t keep her eyes off the hard brown biceps that flexed and rolled every time he moved.
“So who taught you? Mrs. Coker?”
“Huh?” Benny jerked her gaze to Owen’s face.
He wadded the newspaper that had wrapped his meal. “Who taught you to cook? You said Mrs. Coker was one of your foster mothers.”
Food, Benny. He’s talking about food. “No, Mrs. Coker was from my Tennessee days, before—” She snapped her jaws together. “I moved to south Mississippi and finished high school with the Gonzales family.” Rattled, she forced a smile. “Miss Roxanne was my culinary coach. You should try my chicken and dumplings.”
“Believe me, I’d love to.” Owen canted his head, fixing her with his deceptively sleepy gaze. “I bet you have lots of unsuspected talents.”
She stared at him, heat rising to her cheeks. He didn’t mean anything by that. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. And even if he did, he’d never deliberately insult her. “Well, I speak fluent Hebrew,” she said lightly. “That’s always useful.”
Owen let out a crack of laughter. “How come you decided to study that language?”
She shrugged, offering him the last of her burrito, which he swallowed in one bite. “I did my graduate work in missions, but my Hebrew-studies class hooked me, so I decided to stick around for a Ph.D.”
He looked at her openmouthed for a moment. “How old are you, Bernadette?”
“You’re not supposed to ask a lady her age.”
“Since you look like you’re about sixteen, that’s hardly an insulting question. Come on, how old?”
Benny pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Twenty-seven.”
“And you’ve been in Mexico for over a year. What are you, a genius? Nobody gets a Ph.D. at the age of twenty-six.”
“People do it all the time. I graduated from Delta State at twenty-one and went straight to seminary.” Benny ducked her head. “I’m…very focused.”
“Yeah, right.” Owen snorted. “That’s what I’d call it. Why did I not know this about you?”
“Well, the subject just doesn’t come up in everyday conversation.” Back home in Del Rio/Acuña, Owen and his older brother, Eli, had often come to the orphanage to deliver supplies or take the older kids on outings. Benny had appreciated the help, but there never was much time for adult fellowship. Even at church, she’d deliberately kept Owen at arm’s length. Male-female relationships were a complication she didn’t need or want.
Now…Well, there was nobody around but her, Owen and Sunflower. She could hardly refuse to talk to him. That would just make him more curious.
Her glance fell on his big college ring. “Where did you go to college?” Men always loved to talk about themselves.
He held up the ring, which glinted in the sunlight. “Baylor. Class of two thousand.”
“Really? What did you study?”
“Criminal justice. Then I went to Border Patrol Academy and came back to Texas.” He looked a bit sheepish. “I’m kind of a homebody.”
Benny rested her chin on her knees and studied him. She’d always been a rootless person, self-contained and lonely. Owen, on the other hand, was deeply attached to his family and his home in Del Rio. Self-confident, recklessly extroverted and full of fun and adventure, he never met a stranger and had a talent for turning adversaries into allies. She deeply admired him.
And secretly feared him.
“Well, Mr. Homebody, if we’re going to make it back to the States sometime this year, we’d better hit the road. We have to get to Poza Rica before Gustavo’s cousin closes his car lot.” She pushed herself to her feet, starting a little when Owen took her elbow to help her up. “Thanks.” She forced herself not to jerk away from his hand. She had to keep reminding herself that Owen was a gentleman. He’s not grabbing you, Benny. Chill.
Old habits were hard to break.
On the outskirts of Poza Rica, Owen and Benny were stopped by a gun-toting federal sitting just off the road in a rusty blue truck that looked like it had been hauling chickens since the Nixon era. The officer got out and gestured for them to dismount.
“¿Drogas?” He pointed to the saddlebags.
Owen grabbed Sunflower’s halter to keep him from taking another nip at the officer’s black T-shirt sleeve. “¡No drogas!” That was all they needed—to get hauled off to the Mexican pokey, accused of transporting drugs. He would have given anything to be able to flash a U.S. Border Patrol badge and ease on down the road.
Instead he opened the saddlebags and let the federal paw through them.
Owen’s experience with the Mexican national police force had been mixed. Just last year he and Eli had worked closely with an undercover officer named Artemio Petrarca in an operation to rescue Eli’s wife from a brutal smuggler, kidnapper and murderer. Artemio was a fine policeman. But in other quarters Owen had encountered graft, corruption and downright laziness. He hoped this guy would belong to the former category.
Judging by the way his and Bernadette’s stuff was getting strewn all over the side of the road, though, they were about to experience a good old Mexican morde-dura, or “bite.”
The officer eyed Benny in a way that made Owen want to clock him. “Déme cincuenta dólares.”
“Fifty dollars?” Owen let go of the harness. Sunflower could have at the guy.
“¿Porqué?” Why? Benny coolly folded her arms.
No Mexican officer would argue directly with a woman if there was a man nearby. The federal flicked a glance at her, then turned to Owen. “Cincuenta dólares,” he repeated. “Por el peaje.”
Sunflower was straddling a pothole the size of a small car and the guy wanted them to pay a toll? Clearly they weren’t going to get away without a donation to the federal’s bank account.
Owen hid a grin and pretended to think. “Cinco,” he finally offered. Five.
“¿Cinco?” The officer frowned, shaking his head. “Treinta.” Thirty.
“Siete.” Owen ignored Benny’s squeak of protest. Seven bucks ought to be enough to get rid of the guy.
Scowling, the officer put his hand on his gun. “Diez.”
“Owen—” Benny grabbed his arm “—give him the money so we can get out of here.”
He stared down at her for a moment, startled by the real fear in her eyes. Maybe she had a point. The guy would remember two Anglos giving him such a hard time. Making himself relax, he reached for his wallet, which contained nine American dollars. He handed it all to the officer. “No tengo más.” I don’t have any more.
Except the three hundred-dollar bills he’d stashed in one of his shoes.
The federal glared for a few seconds, which wasn’t too intimidating since Owen towered over the guy by at least a foot. Finally the man stepped back, waving Owen and Benny on. “Salgan ustedes.” Get out of here. He muttered a few choice phrases about cheap tourists.
For Benny’s sake, Owen ignored him and swung onto the mule’s back. Hoisting Benny up behind him, he kicked their intrepid steed into motion. He could feel the federal’s stare as they trotted down the road.
When they were out of earshot, Benny sighed against his back. “I hope he doesn’t have a radio.”
“Yeah. If somebody’s looking for us, he won’t have any problem describing us.”
“Owen, we’re going to have to split up. I’m the one they want and I can easily make it back to the States by myself. With my coloring I can pass for Hispanic.”
“I’m not leaving you to travel through Mexico by yourself.” The very idea made Owen’s blood pressure rise.
She patted his hand. “You’re such a gentleman, but I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I’ve traveled to other foreign countries alone, my Spanish is fluent and I’m familiar with the culture. I’ll really be safer without—”
“No, you would not be safer without me!” Owen reined in so hard the mule brayed in protest.
By now they had reached the outer edges of Poza Rica, named “rich hole” because it was Mexico’s largest oil town. Derricks rose like skeletal trees in the eastern distance and the Sierra Madre rippled off to the west. In front of them, the buildings of downtown fell into a pile like blocks dumped out of a toy box. Close by, straggling rows of plywood-and-palm-frond shacks stuck out from the road, intersected by sagging power lines. Children played in the junky, flower-bedecked yards, and old men lounged on cars and trucks parked along the dirt streets.
Mexico in its essence. Not particularly frightening at first glance. But all kinds of danger lay in wait for an unaccompanied woman.
He hooked a leg over the old-fashioned saddle horn and turned sideways. He could see the fragile violet veins at her temples, and long, curly black wisps had come loose from her braid to blow against his cheek. Beautiful and vulnerable.
“Okay, lady, let’s have this out once and for all. You claim to be so good at interpreting men. Did you not see the way that federal was looking at you?” He leaned in, practically nose to nose. “You. Are. Stuck. With. Me. Period.”
She stared up at him, mouth pursed to protest. Then something shifted in her expression and she looked away. “I guess I shouldn’t expect you to say anything else.” She didn’t exactly sound grateful.
“What does that mean?”
“Never mind.” Leaning back a little, she gave him a gentle poke in the side. “Turn around and let’s get going before Señor Federal decides to come after us. We’re going to have to disguise you and find a change of clothes.”
“Disguise me?” Owen nudged Sunflower in the ribs with his heels. “How?”
“You’ll see. Just find a general store.”
Owen cast a look over his shoulder and found Benny’s eyes twinkling. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like whatever you’re cooking up.”
“You want to stay with me, you’re going to have to do this my way.”
Unable to get her to come clean, Owen had to content himself with the full-time task of keeping Sunflower’s attention off the wild onions growing along the side of the road.
He could not wait to trade in this contrary, spavined animal for a vehicle with wheels. Cousin Jorge had better have a decent selection.
“I look like an Elvis impersonator!”
Benny surveyed Owen critically in the wavy, speckled mirror. She thought she’d done a pretty good job, considering she’d never been to cosmetology school and hadn’t dyed her own hair since she was fourteen. Back then she’d gone in for magenta and green streaks or a full-platinum bleach. She wrinkled her nose. Thank goodness those days were over.
On the outskirts of Poza Rica, they’d stopped at the first general-store-cum-tourist-trap they came to. Leaving Owen to tend to the mule, Benny had gone inside to purchase a beach towel, a bottle of hair dye, a hat and a pair of cheap sunglasses.
She’d had to get creative to find a place to effect Owen’s disguise. The restroom in the store was out of the question. Slipping a man of Owen’s height past the clerk would have been impossible, and besides, anybody could walk in on them. So they’d headed toward town until they saw an outhouse in an empty schoolyard. It was relatively clean and contained a sink and mirror—the major requirements for Benny’s impromptu beauty salon. Propping the door open, she’d draped the gaudy towel around Owen’s broad shoulders and got to work.
Now his blond hair and eyebrows were jet black. By contrast, his horrified blue-green eyes looked even more electric. She had to admit, he bore a strong resemblance to the King, whose black-velvet portrait hung over the couch in Roxanne Gonzales’s living room. Every day during her sophomore and junior years of high school, Benny had giggled at that portrait as she walked into the kitchen for breakfast.
She whipped the towel off his shoulders. “Can you do ‘That’s All Right, Mama’?”
Giving her a pained look, he slipped on a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt he’d had stuffed in his backpack and buttoned it up. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Would I do that?” She crammed his discarded T-shirt and the towel into the backpack. Fooling around with Owen’s hair had been an intimacy that left her flustered.
“What are you gonna do with your hair?”
“What do you mean?”
“You ought to cut it.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” She grabbed the braid lying across her shoulder. “If I cut this off I’ll look like a Brillo pad.” Vehemently she plopped on her new straw sun hat. “The hit man saw me wearing a skirt, with my hair down. See? In these jeans, with my head covered, I’ll look like a boy.”
There was a short silence as Owen studied her. “I don’t think so.” The look in his eyes seemed to suck every bit of oxygen out of the room.
Or maybe she was just breathless because it smelled so bad in here. “You s-said you wouldn’t—”
Owen sighed. “I know, but…”
There was nothing threatening in his stance, and his gaze was tender. Still, she closed her eyes. Was she afraid of him or herself? She couldn’t help thinking of that picture of her in his notebook.
“Bernadette, look at me.”
She was trying to summon the courage to open her eyes when someone banged on the door. With extreme vigor. Apparently it had swung shut while she was occupied with Owen’s hair.
“What’s going on in there?” demanded a female voice in scandalized Spanish. “Get out here right now or I’ll call the police!”
FIVE
Owen stared down into Benny’s wide brown eyes. He’d been this close to kissing her. What kind of jerk kissed a woman for the first time in an outhouse?
The pounding on the door got louder. “Open up! What’s going on in there?”
He shook his head to regain his composure. “I’ll handle it.” Yanking open the door, he found a middle-aged woman who, from every indication, was an out-of-work schoolteacher. “¡Hola, señora!” he said in the worst Texas accent he could muster. “Gracias por letting us usar el baño. Yo estoy embarasado—” He stopped when the woman’s eyes widened and Benny gasped. “What? What did I say?”
“You know you just told her you were pregnant, you dork!” She looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or faint.
“Oops.” Pleased that his diversion had worked, he turned back to the woman still blocking the doorway. Her florid face was convulsing in laughter. “Lo siento, señora. Yo no embarasado. Yo—Yo—”
“Yo-yo about covers it.” Benny ducked under his arm to smile up at the señora. “We are sorry if we weren’t supposed to be here,” she said in her flawless Spanish. She had an ear for colloquialisms and she’d already picked up the penchant for extra x’s and z’s characteristic of the dialect in this part of Mexico. “We’re having a very bad hair day.”
Owen clutched his dyed locks. That was the understatement of the year.
“We were just leaving,” Benny continued. “Do you know where we can find the car lot of Jorge de Oca?”
The woman wiped her streaming eyes. “The other side of town on Highway 130 near the Poza Rica Inn. Jorge has fine cars, but I hope you have plenty of money. He does not sell cheap.” She moved aside, glancing at Owen with mild disapproval. “You should let your wife do the talking if you expect to make a bargain.”
“I’m not his—”
Owen bent down to lay a quick kiss on Benny’s mouth. “Sí, señora,” he said with a wink at the schoolteacher. “Hasta luego.” He hustled Benny toward the gate, where they’d left Sunflower. “Ha. That went pretty well.” He untied the mule and mounted, then reached a hand down for Benny.
“Depends on your definition of well.” She grabbed his wrist and let him boost her up. “If you wanted to make sure she remembers us, I’d say you accomplished your mission.” She sighed as Owen nudged the mule’s ribs. Sunflower brayed and reluctantly abandoned the weeds along the fence. “Doesn’t Border Patrol ever do undercover work?”
“Benny, I’m a pilot. I generally wear a uniform.” He patted her hand, lightly splayed across his middle. “This is a big city. The chances of anybody finding us here are next to nil.”
“It’s that little possibility that worries me.”
Silence fell as Sunflower plodded along the street. It had been recently paved and the smell of sticky tar rose from the sunbaked road. Owen longed for a cold shower. Well, truthfully, he needed a cold shower for a lot of reasons. He and Benny were going to be together for a while, whether she liked it or not.
The problem would disappear if they were to get married. A thought that proved the sun had roasted his brain, too. He might be halfway in love with Benny, but he wasn’t ready to marry a woman who had people shooting at her.
Yesterday. Had it been less than thirty-six hours ago that they’d taken off from the beach with bullets flying after them?
Owen pulled the mule to a halt in the shadow of a little adobe church whose steep roof was topped by a small bell tower. The bells began to chime for afternoon mass. “Bernadette, we’ve got to talk about this. Who’s after you?”
She sat silent for a moment. “There are several possibilities.”
The mule sidled. Owen settled him, tamping down irritation. “I can’t help you if you won’t give me a clue who they are.”
He felt a gusty sigh against his back. “I know. I just…Owen, I’m not putting my life in somebody else’s hands again—” She paused. “Nobody’s but the Lord’s.”
“Yeah, that sounds really noble and spiritual, except for the fact that it’s downright unbiblical.” He felt her stiffen. Right about now his big brother would have told him to keep his mouth shut and wait for a better time to talk. But Owen had never been a big fan of waiting. Or keeping his mouth shut, for that matter. “What about the whole ‘two are better than one’ thing? And ‘pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up’?” He prepared to defend himself. After all, who was he to correct somebody with a seminary Ph.D.?
“Okay, I give. You’re right.”
“I’m—what?” He looked over his shoulder and found her eyes closed, brows pulled together.
“I had no idea you knew so much Scripture. But you’re right. It’s not fair to expect you to hang with me and not tell you what’s going on.”
“So—” he struggled to regain his footing “—so you’re going to fill me in?”
“No. We’re splitting up as soon as we get to the car lot.”
“Benny, we are not going through that rigmarole again. If you try to leave me, I’ll find you. And you should know, I’ve got a wall full of tracking awards. Besides, you have no money and no ID. How do you think you’d get to Texas by yourself?”
“I can walk and I can hitchhike.”
“You can hitchhike.” He felt like howling.
“I don’t want to, but I can. Owen, please.” Her voice wobbled a little, the first crack in her pigheaded confidence he’d heard. “Please don’t push me. There are things I can’t say without putting other people in danger. I—I really feel safer when you’re with me but not if you’re going to keep on at me.”
With a frustrated grunt, he kicked the mule into motion again and they continued to plod down the road. That little waver in her voice got to him, whether he liked it or not.
His thoughts rotated like a propeller. What could Benny have done to make someone want to kill her? What was so bad, so scary that she refused to let him get involved?
As they rounded a bend in the road, a huge white sign painted with red letters appeared: Carros de Segunda Mano de Jorge. Jorge’s Secondhand Cars.
They had other things to think about now, but he wasn’t giving up on digging the information out of her. Nope, he didn’t like to wait, but he could do it when he had to.
“I still think we should take a bus.” Benny tugged on Sunflower’s reins. Multicolored plastic flags flapped overhead as she peered through a chain-link fence at rows and rows of cars. Just inside the gate squatted the small prefab office building.
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