style="font-size:15px;"> He gestured toward the SUV, mock-chivalrous. “Your chariot awaits.”
Penny turned to Owen for approval. He nodded for her to go ahead. She exited the car with Cruz and glanced around the empty parking lot. If they’d been followed, the police would have intervened already. But no shouts to halt rang out across the dark night. No officers swarmed the area, and no helicopter hovered overhead.
“Hurry up, princess,” Shane said. “We don’t have all night.”
Penny couldn’t run away in high heels with Cruz in tow; she got in the SUV. Dirk dragged Owen out of the Cadillac and shoved him into the backseat with her, climbing in after. She scooted over and put Cruz on her lap to make room. As discreetly as possible, she tried to lift the door handle on the opposite side of the vehicle.
It didn’t budge.
Shane left Keshawn Jones handcuffed in the Cadillac and got behind the wheel of the SUV. Starting the engine, he drove out from the parking lot and headed east, away from downtown San Diego.
It was an uncomfortable ride. There wasn’t enough room in the backseat. Owen was smashed against Penny’s side. Cruz asked about the hospital again, but he sounded sleepy. She sang him Spanish lullabies in a soft voice, rocking him until he drifted off.
At some point, her son would wake up and realize they weren’t going to the hospital. He’d wonder what was happening and get upset. Owen wasn’t looking forward to the moment when reality struck.
He sat motionless and silent, his body thrumming with tension.
About twenty minutes later, Shane stopped by the side of the road. “Give me his phone,” he said, reaching into the backseat.
Dirk located Owen’s cell phone and passed it forward.
“Did you turn the tracking off?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to talk to Sandoval,” Shane said to Owen. “Tell him we want two million in a large duffel bag, unmarked. He has to bring it alone, no cops. We’ll call back tomorrow with more instructions.”
Owen couldn’t refuse. He didn’t have a choice.
Shane found Sandoval’s number in Owen’s list of contacts and pressed the button. Then he handed the phone back to Dirk, who held it close enough for Owen to speak into.
Jorge Sandoval answered with his own demand: “Where are you?”
Shane shook his head. No details.
“I’m with Penny and Cruz,” Owen said.
“Put her on.”
Shane nodded, allowing it. Dirk turned the phone toward Penny. “Daddy,” she said in a tremulous voice. “Estamos bien.”
It meant “we’re okay,” but Shane didn’t know that. He made a sharp gesture across his throat. Dirk moved the phone back to Owen, who repeated their requests. Her father gave an immediate agreement, as calm and diplomatic as ever. Dirk ended the call.
Shane pointed a menacing finger at Penny. “You speak English or I’ll cut your pretty little tongue out.”
Owen’s muscles went taut. He wanted to fly across the seat and attack his brother with his teeth, to smash his forehead against Shane’s until they were both unconscious. But such an attempt would only result in him getting tased or beaten, and Penny would be no better off. So he curbed his fury and stayed still.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” her mouth said. Her eyes said fuck you.
“What did she say?” Shane asked Owen.
“She said ‘we’re okay.’”
Shane turned around and started the engine again, muttering something about Mexicans. He continued to head east, toward the desert.
Owen noted the road signs and guessed their destination: The Badlands. It was a vast expanse of nothingness near Salton City, where they’d grown up. There were no witnesses and a thousand places to hide. Sandoval’s security team would have a hard time finding them out here in the tumbleweeds. Cell phone service was spotty, rescue was unlikely, and an organized search effort would be difficult.
Owen’s spirits sank lower with every mile. People who disappeared in the deep desert never came back. Shane had chosen this desolate place for a reason.
He hooked a right on the S-22, a winding highway between the Salton Sea and the U.S.–Mexico border. Dozens of sandy dirt roads led south, toward rocky hills, agave groves and mud caves. It wasn’t the kind of terrain you wanted to get lost in. On an average August day, the heat was unbearable.
They traveled far from the main road, past the last vestiges of civilization, beyond the dirt roads. Few backcountry hikers would brave the late summer temperatures in the sun-ravaged badlands. Human traffickers and drug smugglers were active at night, but seldom seen. Even the border patrol didn’t have the resources to cover this entire area. Its harsh conditions were deterrent enough for most criminals.
Owen couldn’t count on Shane to spare him just because they were brothers. If he didn’t create an opportunity to escape, he was going to end up in an unmarked grave out in the middle of nowhere.
CHAPTER THREE
PENNY HAD NEVER been more terrified.
Not even when she’d been under a freeway in the throes of labor without medical help. Her memories from the San Diego earthquake had faded with time, blending into a blur of unpleasant thoughts and images. She still smelled it, sometimes. The stench of gasoline and burning plastic, rainwater and decay.
A few years ago, her sister had broken her arm while Rollerblading. Penny had taken Leslie to the emergency room. Walking down the hallway, she’d detected the faint odor of singed flesh. Visions of her aunt’s death had come flooding back to her, sucking the air from her lungs. She’d fled to the parking lot, sat behind the wheel of her car and sobbed.
Moments like that were few and far between, however. She enjoyed a life of luxury, if not excess. Cruz had everything he needed and then some. They were insulated from harm, isolated in a home so large it could have been called a compound. She did volunteer work, and interacted with people of various economic levels in her college classes. But, for the most part, she was surrounded by wealth and privilege.
She’d never even been camping.
The days after the freeway collapse had been excruciating. This situation was worse. Or maybe it was just now.
Five years of being an adult, not to mention a single mother, had given her some perspective. She worried more than she used to, about her place in the world and Cruz’s future. She was no longer the center of her own tiny universe. What she remembered most about the disaster wasn’t death or terror or hardship. It was the miracle of Cruz’s birth. It didn’t seem possible to love a child more each day, but she did. Maybe her fears had grown at the same proportion.
She’d do anything to keep her son safe. Anything.
Owen
