Badlands (6 page)

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.

* * *

A
ROUND
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

“W
HAT
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.

“I want to speak to my daughter,” Sandoval demanded coolly.

His attitude pissed Shane off. “You think you’re in charge?”

“You’ve made it abundantly clear who’s in charge.”

The way he said it suggested the opposite was true. Sandoval was a Mexican puppet, as far as Shane was concerned, but the man enjoyed a position of wealth and power. All men wanted those things.

“I have the money,” Sandoval said. “Please, put Penny on the phone.”

“We need a goodwill gesture first,” Shane growled. “Drop out of the race. Make a formal announcement. When we hear the news, we’ll get back to you.”