Chapter Seventy-Three
Nathan
I left Bree and avoided the rearview mirror for miles. She was better off without me. There would be more questions if I was caught with them. Bree didn’t need to get caught up in the whirlwind that awaited me.
Navy SEALs never went AWOL.
The only way I would see Bree again was if I made it to town ahead of the cartel. I could get into our motel room, grabbed enough cash, and be gone before they came looking. One man was hard to find in Mexico, and I knew I could get away.
I could make it out now that Bree was safe.
And if I didn’t make it, then I would find out what kind of deal I had struck with the cartel. I considered it null and void now that I had sprung the children from the warehouse. If they saw it that way, too, then they’d be out for my blood.
And I’d never be able to see Bree again.
I sped up as I heard the GPS announce Ciudad Juarez, determined to lead the cartel as far from Bree and the children as possible. There was still a chance I could disappear.
Only then would I be able to find Bree again. I’d be a different man then. Free.
The thought flashed across my mind, a whole future with Bree. Our own life, no rules, just the road and her skin against mine. It was so bright that I was blinded.
I cringed under the bright headlights and swerved down a side street. The cartel had caught up with me but it was too late. I recognized the section of town and tore through it. Two black sedans and a bull-like black pick-up truck roared after me.
The RV was a less than ideal getaway vehicle but I had the perfect plan to make it work. I swung the RV the wrong way up a narrow one-way street. Ramming the last car on the right, it jutted out and blocked the roadway.
The sedans had to pull back so the pick-up truck could blast past the barricade. It gave me enough of a lead to make the next turn and drop out of sight. Halfway down the block was an underground parking garage. It looked too low for the RV, and I knew the lifted pick-up truck would hesitate as well. I turned sharply and hoped my estimations were correct.
I cleared the first signs and stopped to take a ticket, then held my breath as I eased under the archway above the ramp. At the bottom, the RV leveled out and cracked the sign that pointed which way to go. I ground the pedal down and heard it shred a section off the RV’s roof. Then I sprang free and the RV squealed down the first row of parked cars.
I wedged it far in the back, blocking three luxury cars in reserved parking spots, and turned off the ignition.
The parking garage was unmanned and the street level showed no damage. I calculated the black pick-up truck had already barreled past and taken a guess at my next turn. The sedans would follow and see no reason to check the underground lot.
I stood up and stretched, then went to the back of the RV to search for a disguise. The closets held a ragtag assortment of clothes intended to fool the border security’s quick checks. All the shirts were different sizes, and the women’s clothing was a garish mix of styles and prints.
I had to settle for a faded Hawaiian shirt, a stiff pair of jeans, and souvenir cowboy hat with a beer logo stamped on front.
The first people I met when I stepped onto the sidewalk were a couple. The man was dressed almost identical to me. I nodded to the tourists and continued down the street, confident I would blend in. I even took it one step farther and bought a churro from a street vendor.
I was chomping down the delicious treat and trying to remember the last time I ate, when I saw the first gunman come around the corner. His dark suit stood out against the lazy streams of tourists. In the bright sun of the morning, he stood out like a black hole. I buried my face in the churro wrapping and kept walking.
The tourists were oblivious to the cartel men even as they appeared from every store front. The shop owners, on the other hand, were tense and quiet. When I stepped into a small bodega, the man behind the counter was tight-lipped and didn’t smile.
I bought a pack of cigarettes. The act of smoking, hand to mouth, and the smoke would distract the gunmen from my face as I walked. They were looking for the man they saw through the RV windshield. I hunched my back, let my left shoulder droop a little, and shortened my stride.
As close as I was to the motel, I couldn’t risk it. Cartel men were everywhere. They questioned every shop owner down the street I walked. When I saw another wave of gunmen come around the corner, I ducked into an open-air market.
It was worse than being a rat in a maze. The booths were overflowing with bright goods, leaving the already narrow aisles an unpredictable obstacle course. I gritted my teeth and kept to my new awkward stance and gait. The gunmen would have to pass too closely to me in the narrow aisles. It was only a matter of time before one of them encountered me and I was recognized.
A man in a dark suit rounded the corner twenty feet in front of me. His eyes narrowed as soon as he saw me. We were the only ones in the aisle; the booths were now abandoned.
I ducked between two and waited for the man to follow. He was behind me in seconds. I spun fast enough that he didn’t see the punch coming. I caught him before he hit the ground and dumped him in the neighboring booth.
When he woke up, he’d stink like fish.
I pushed my way through the back of the booth and found myself at the edge of the market. A narrow strip ran out to the street, and I squeezed along it. It wasn’t safe to go back the way I came, so I rounded the block and slipped into a large clothing store.
“Looking for a new shirt?” The clerk was anxious to help a customer and escape his furious-looking wife.
I didn’t question his domestic problems, just nodded and let him lead me to the back of the shop. “Great, I’ll try it on,” I said to the first shirt he held up.
The man smiled and pointed to the small, curtained dressing room. It was perfect. I slipped inside and started counting. I estimated it would take the cartel men ten minutes to clear the immediate area around the market and move on past the motel.
“Does it fit? Do you like the color?” The helpful clerk was still avoiding his wife.
“Maybe a different pattern?” I asked.
The clerk returned sooner than I wanted him to and handed me a large selection of shirts. “I picked out our best Hawaiian shirts though I threw in a few Cuban-style, too. Little less flashy.”
“Thanks,” I said.
The first shirt had a neon-blue background with bright red lobsters and enormous palm trees. I was afraid of what the clerk would consider ‘flashy.’ I flipped through the ridiculous patterns and even brighter color mixes and felt bad. There was not one single shirt I could bring myself to buy as a thank you.
I opened the dressing room curtain and shook my head. “I’m no good at this. My wife is the one who can pick the shirts I like.”
The clerk’s eyes shone with opportunity. “Then how about a gift for your wife? We have a wonderful selection of sterling silver charms.”
“Charms?” I estimated I still had six minutes until it was safe to head to the motel.
The clerk showed me to a wall display of miniature silver pendants. “Women love it when you choose a few that remind them of good things.”
I laughed out loud when I saw a small ‘charm’ in the shape of an RV. “I’ll take this one and a bracelet.”
The clerk rang me up and was so happy that he walked me to the door and patted me on the back. I thanked him and shook his hand as I glanced up and down the street. The gunmen had moved on. It was time to get to the motel.
I could see the motel when it struck me. When would I be able to give Bree her present? She was probably in some Texas police station by now. Not only was Bree back in the US, but she had a new driver’s license and passport. She could start her life all over.
I closed my eyes and could still see her passport on the card table in the small storage room. If she stuck with her new identity, I could find her.
The thought sent me soaring up the motel stairs without stopping to retrieve a new key from the clerk. Then I saw the curtain move. Someone was in our room. I staked out the corner for a moment, wondering if the person would reveal themselves. Then I slipped back downstairs.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the motel clerk said when I opened the lobby door. “Your girl already paid for the extra night.”
“My girl?”
The clerk cocked an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, remember? The one you can’t keep your hands off whenever you’re in here.”
Bree.
I took the steps three at a time and called her name. The door flew open, and she was in my arms again.