darkness of dusk edged deeper into the canyon, making the trail hard to find. Sophia eased her dirt bike out from the shadow of the overhang. Tired beyond anything she’d ever experienced, she managed to sling a stiff leg over the seat and cranked the engine with a hard kick on the starter. At first, the bike refused to start. On the fifth attempt, the engine growled to life. With a quick glance behind her, she was off, climbing the trail more slowly than she’d like in the limited light from encroaching nightfall.
At the rim of the canyon, her heart sank into her shoes.
The other motorcycle came into view first, lying on its side a couple hundred yards down the steep slope. Ahead on the trail lay the crumpled body of Hector, her ally, her only friend willing to help her out of a deadly situation.
She stopped beside Hector’s inert form, dismounted and leaned over the man to check for a pulse.
The blood soaking into the ground told the tale, and the lack of a pulse confirmed it. Hector Garza was dead.
Sophia bent double as a sob rose up her throat. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, dropping to the dry earth, where they were immediately absorbed in the dust.
Anna had sent Hector to guide her. Hector had been the one to encourage her along the way. He’d arranged to buy the bikes from a cousin in Juárez and had hidden them in a shed behind his brother’s house in Paraíso.
The hopelessness of the situation threatened to overwhelm Sophia. The only thought that kept her going was that Anna and Hector would have wanted her to continue on. Sophia brushed away the tears and looked around, not sure which way to go. Instinct told her to head north. With only a compass to guide her, and the few provisions she’d loaded into her backpack, she was on her own. Alone and pregnant.
Afraid the helicopter would return, Sophia removed the rolled blanket tied to the back of Hector’s bike and secured it to her backpack. She forced herself to climb back on the bike, the insides of her thighs and her bottom aching from the full day of riding and the strain of remaining seated on the motorcycle across the rough terrain.
She removed the compass from her pocket and clicked the button illuminating the dial. She set her course for north and took off across the desert, the night sky full of stars guiding her. With the threat of rain fast approaching, she increased her speed, refusing to give up when she’d come this far.
Before long, she came across a barbed-wire fence. If she hadn’t seen the silhouettes of the fence posts standing straight and tall in a land of short, rounded and oddly shaped cacti, saw palmetto and sagebrush, she would have run right into the razor-sharp barbed wire.
Hector had armed her with wire cutters for just such an occasion. He’d warned her that the wire was stretched taut and not to get too close or, when she cut it, she’d be wrapped in the sharp barbs, unable to extricate herself without grave harm.
Sophia held her arm out as far as she could when she cut through the bottom strand. The wire snapped, retracting into a coil farther down the fence line.
She cut the other two strands and drove her bike through, exhaustion making her movements slow and sluggish. If she didn’t find a place to hide soon, she’d drive off a bluff or wreck.
With only the stars and her compass to guide her, Sophia picked her way across the terrain, dodging vegetation not nearly large enough to hide a dirt bike or a woman, but large enough to cause serious damage should she hit it.
After the third near miss with prickly pear cacti, she finally spotted the square silhouette of a small building against the horizon. No lights gleamed from windows and no electricity poles rose up into the night sky, which might indicate life inside.
She aimed her bike for the dark structure, her body sagging over the gas tank, her hand barely able to push the throttle.
As she neared the building, she cut the engine and drifted to a stop, ditched the bike in the dirt and walked the remaining distance. She swung wide to check for inhabitants. Nothing stirred, nothing moved around the exterior. The building had a lean-to on the side and a pipe chimney. The place appeared deserted.
Sophia opened the door and peered inside. With the starlight shining through the doorway, she could see twin bed frames, no more than cots with thin mattresses rolled toward the head. A potbellied stove stood in one corner, and a plank table with benches on either side took up another corner.
Not the Four Seasons, but heaven in Sophia’s tired eyes. She trudged back to where she’d left the bike, pushed it under the lean-to and stacked several old tires against it to hide it from view. With nothing more than what she carried in her backpack, she reentered the cabin.
The door had neither lock nor latch to secure it. Too spent to care, Sophia shook out a thin mattress, tossed her blanket over it, placed the pistol Hector had given her on the floor beside the cot and lay down.
She stared up at the dark ceiling, thinking of Hector and Anna and all they’d sacrificed to get her away from Antonio. One tear fell, followed by another. Sobs rose up her throat and she let them come, allowing her fear and sorrow a release. Tonight she could grieve. Tomorrow, before sunrise, her journey continued.
* * *
THORN DRENNAN HADN’T planned on being out this late, but he’d promised his boss, Hank Derringer, that while he awaited his first assignment as a special agent with Covert Cowboys, Inc., he’d check the Raging Bull Ranch fences for any breaks.
With the number of illegal aliens and drug runners still crossing the border from Mexico into the United States, any ranch owner this close to the border could count on mending his fences at least two or three times a week, sometimes more.
On horseback, it had taken Thorn far longer than he’d anticipated. The sun had set an hour ago, and he still hadn’t completed a full inspection of the southern border of the massive ranch. He’d continued on, despite how tired he was, taking it slow so that he didn’t overtax his mount.
Since the stars shone down, providing enough light to see the fence, Thorn didn’t have a reason to return to the ranch sooner. He’d just climb into his truck and head to his little empty house in Wild Oak Canyon and lie awake all night anyway.
Sleep meant nightmares. The kind that wouldn’t let him get on with his life—the kind that reminded him of all he’d lost.
Tonight was the second anniversary of the murder of his wife and their unborn daughter. He couldn’t have gone home, even if he’d completed the inspection of the fence. And the bars didn’t stay open all night.
His house was a cold, grim testament of what his career had cost him. He’d slept on the couch for the past two years, unable to sleep in the bed he’d shared with Kayla. He’d loved her since high school. They’d grown up together there in Wild Oak Canyon. She’d followed him across the country when he’d joined the FBI and back home when he’d given up the bureau to take on the role of county sheriff. He’d made the switch so that he would be home more often, and so he and Kayla could start the family they both wanted.
Their plan had gone according to schedule—until a bullet aimed at Thorn had taken Kayla’s life and, with hers, that of their unborn child.
Thorn stared off into the distance. His horse, Little Joe, clumped along, probably tired and ready to head for the barn. So much had changed, and yet South Texas remained the same—big, dry and beautiful in its own way. Never had he known a place where you could see as many stars overhead. Kayla had loved lying out at
