Chapter 17
Reese felt like slamming his fist into a brick wall. As wound up as he was, he could probably do some serious damage to a wall, not to mention his fist. His head ached from the injury sustained in the accident and more than likely it ached from frustration, too. He didn’t have any water so he dry-swallowed a couple of Tylenol that he found in a bottle in the glove compartment.
John glanced from the road to look at Reese. “It could be they’re still in Prescott.”
“My gut tells me they’re on their way to the border by now.” Reese’s entire body was so tense that he felt like his control would snap. “We’ve got to find them before they cross.”
As John drove, Reese tried to work everything over in his mind. During the trip down to the southern part of the state, Reese had called in every favor he could think of, making contact with his sources and pressing them for information.
So far nothing. Not a damned thing.
The first person he’d called was his brother, Garrett. As a private investigator, Garrett had his own sources and unconventional ways of finding information, ways that weren’t as readily available to the police department. Garrett also had methods of making his sources talk that Reese couldn’t legally use. Reese was holding out hope that Garrett would come up with something.
“We’re going to have to make a quick stop for fuel. We’re running on empty.” John broke into Reese’s thoughts as he pulled the SUV off the highway onto the Benson exit they needed to take to get to Douglas. He drove into a gas station that was across from a McDonald’s. “Tell you what. You gas up the SUV and I’ll run across the street and grab us a couple of Big Macs, fries, and drinks.”
Reese wanted to argue that they didn’t have time to stop for any reason. But there was no arguing that they weren’t going to get anywhere if they didn’t stop for gas. And they wouldn’t be at peak performance if they didn’t fuel their bodies, too.
“Make mine a double bacon cheeseburger with a large Dr. Pepper and large fries,” Reese said as John started to climb out. “Two of the burgers.”
“You’ve got it.” John gave a nod before jogging across the street.
Filling the SUV’s large fuel tank took some time, and Reese’s body ached with the need for action. He dragged his palm down his face as he waited, his patience waning. He winced when his hand rubbed over a large laceration on his temple. In the rush to find Kelley, he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on injuries he had sustained from the accident.
Fact was that his entire body ached, including his hand with the missing fingers. The ghost pains were almost as bad as all of his new injuries. At least he hadn’t fractured anything in the accident—not that he knew of.
Benson was a good seventy miles from Douglas and the Mexican border and there was still no sign of the bastards who’d taken Kelley. Hell, law enforcement agencies still had no idea what kind of vehicle Taynor and Rocha were in.
In his gut, Reese was sure that they were headed in the right direction. They just needed a break. He wondered, not for the first time, if Belle was being smuggled with Kelley.
Finally the SUV’s tank was full. John returned, carrying two white McDonald’s bags and two large drinks just as Reese took the receipt from the pump.
Reese stood by the driver’s side door as he tucked the receipt into his wallet. “I’ll drive.”
John shook his head as he handed Reese one of the fast food bags and a drink. “I’ve already made it clear to you. You were knocked out, which means you’ve got a concussion and you’re not driving. Personally, I’d like to reach our destination. Alive.”
With a scowl, Reese took the bag and headed to the passenger side of the SUV. He didn’t like the feeling of being out of control with any of this one damned bit. Driving always made him feel more in control than sitting in the passenger seat letting someone else have the wheel.
They climbed into the SUV. After Reese strapped in, he dug into his bag and pulled out one of the bacon cheeseburgers. He unwrapped it and took a big bite. He chewed and swallowed, and realized that John had been right about getting some food into him. He hadn’t had anything since breakfast, at least eight hours ago.
Reese managed to get both cheeseburgers and all of his fries down as he made more calls. Somewhere they had to get a break.
When they were fifteen miles from Douglas and the Mexican border, they were no closer to figuring out where Kelley was and what kind of vehicle she might have been smuggled in.
John glanced from the road to Reese. “Where do you want to start first?” John asked before looking at the road again.
Reese dragged his hand down his face. “Head to the border. One of our contacts has got to call with information that will help us find Rocha and Kelley.”
John guided the SUV toward the Mexican border. “You never know, we might see something suspicious while we keep an eye out.”
With a nod, Reese said, “That’s what I’m counting on.”
* * * * *
In case Rocha or Taynor was coming to check on her, Kelley hurried to tie the gag around her head and slipped the ropes onto her wrists. It was so cramped in the compartment that she could barely get the gag tied and ropes back on her wrists. She didn’t have time to put the ropes over her ankles.
Metal scraped metal as the lid of the compartment started to slide away. Light and chilled air rushed in along with the sound of the motor running. Kelley closed her eyes and let her head loll to the side to make it appear as though she was still drugged and out cold.
“Should we give her another shot?” Taynor said aloud and Kelley had to keep herself from reacting. No, damn it. No more shots.
“Nah.” Rocha’s voice. “Getting low on the shit we drugged her with. We’d have to use something different. We’ll have her across the border in twenty minutes and she’ll still be too drugged to do anything. We don’t want to give her too much.”
Kelley felt a small measure of relief. They weren’t across the border yet and they weren’t going to give her another shot.
“I think we should just kill the bitch.” Taynor spoke in a harsh growl. “After what she’s done—”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Rocha said with a hard edge to his words. “When we deliver her to the buyer, she’ll pay. She’ll be nothing but a whore to whoever wants to fuck her.” Rocha gave a harsh laugh. “The buyer likes to loan out his whores and he’s going to like this one. We will see the bitch pay. It will be worse for her than killing her.”
Kelley’s entire body started to tighten and she had to fight to keep any expression off her face and to look relaxed from the drugs.
A phone rang and Kelley heard Rocha answer, “What?” Silence as Rocha listened. “How the fuck did they find out?” he said after a moment. Another pause. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Taynor asked.
“One of my men told me that fucker, Zip, left a note after I blew a hole in his gut,” Rocha said. “The message told the cops we’re headed for the border.”
“Shit,” Taynor said.
“They’ll be waiting for us,” Rocha said with fury in his voice.
“Cops don’t know what we’re driving,” Taynor said.
Rocha let out a sound like a growl. “Unless Zip told them.”
“I don’t think Zip knew,” Taynor said.
“He knew.” Rocha practically spat the words. “It was one of the reasons why I shut him up permanently, before he spilled anything else to the cops. Should have shot him in the head.”
“What are we going to do?” Taynor sounded panicked now.
“I’ve got to think about it,” Rocha said. “We’ll stay here until I’ve got this figured out.”
“What about the detective?” A derisive note was in Taynor’s words when he said detective.
“We’ll have to shoot her up before she wakes,” Rocha said. “What I’ve got will keep the bitch out until morning.”
Kelley kept still. If they tried to drug her now, she’d have to make a move. She couldn’t let them shoot her up again.
“What the hell?” Taynor’s voice grew closer to Kelley. “Her wrists weren’t tied like that when I left her. Something’s different.”
“You’re probably imagining things.” Rocha dismissed Taynor’s words. “Move out of my way. We’ll give her a shot then seal her up again and get going.”
“Just a second.” Taynor’s voice was closer now. “Her ankles aren’t tied anymore. I know I—”
Kelley reacted automatically. She opened her eyes, grabbed Taynor’s head, and jerked him down at the same time she rammed her knee up and to his nose.
Taynor screamed in shock and pain. Kelley lunged for a gun that was in the front of his pants. She wrapped her hand around the grip and started to pull it out when she felt the hard press of a barrel against her temple.
Her skin went cold and she froze. “Hold up your hands and move away from Taynor,” Rocha said with fury in his voice.
She leaned back, her hands up, her body stiff. Adrenaline pumped through her, masking the pain from her injuries. All she felt was the pounding of her heart and heard the blood rushing in her ears, her body wired from the adrenaline.
Taynor regained his balance and slowly brought his gaze to Kelley, blood gushing from his nose. He raised his arm and backhanded her so hard it threw her backward, against the side of the compartment she’d been kneeling in.
“Shoot her up,” Taynor said, blood flowing over his lips.
“Told you I’m running low,” Rocha said. “We’ll have to shut her up another way.”
Taynor grabbed her by her hair and jerked her to her feet. Pain shot through her scalp where she’d sustained more injuries in the accident. He dragged her out of the compartment then threw her to the floor of the truck.
She only had a moment to see him bringing the grip of his pistol down hard on her, slamming it into the side of her head.
Everything went black.
* * * * *
Parked in the SUV with John on the Arizona side of the border, Reese narrowed his eyes as he watched vehicles pass through from Douglas into Agua Prieta, Mexico. The Mexican customs agents gave a good show of checking each vehicle with more diligence than normal. Reese was afraid it was just that—all show. They could have been paid off. Rocha could already be across the border with Kelley.
They’d provided the Mexican Customs agents with a photograph of Taynor and a rendering of Rocha’s image. No photographs were on file for Rocha, aka Johnny Rocket, so the only thing they had to go by was the sketch.
Reese’s phone rang. He saw by the caller ID that it was his brother, Garrett. Reese pressed the ON button and raised the phone to his ear. “What have you got?” Reese said as way of an answer.
“Just met up with one of Fat T’s boys,” Garrett said. “They call him Junior because he’s a smaller version of Fat T.”
“I’ve heard of him.” Reese straightened in his seat and just about knocked over the rest of his large Dr. Pepper from the drink holder. “What can you tell me?”
“It took some convincing, but I think I’ve got something you can use,” Garrett said and Reese had a feeling that Garrett hadn’t used conventional methods of interrogation. “Junior said that he saw a big silver truck one time when he was with Fat T and Johnny Rocha. Thinks it might have been an ice cream truck because it had pictures of ice cream treats on it.”
“An ice cream truck?” Reese frowned, thinking out loud.
“Not a typical ice cream truck that goes around a neighborhood. Most likely a large refrigerated truck of some sort,” Garrett said. “Maybe one that isn’t really refrigerated or has some kind of hidden compartments insulated against the cold to smuggle humans.”
Reese’s mind raced. “Mexico exports frozen treat items to parts of the U.S., including Arizona. That would be a perfect front to smuggle humans out of the U.S. when the truck returns to Mexico.”
“Sounds like a good possibility to me,” Garrett said.
“Thanks, bro.” Reese blew out his breath in a rush. “We’re at the border but haven’t seen any kind of refrigerated truck. I’ll call it in now.” He cut the connection and glanced at John as he grabbed the radio. “If they haven’t already crossed the border, we have a good lead on Rocha and Taynor.”
Reese’s heart rate increased as he spoke into the radio, giving the new information to be relayed to all law enforcement agencies and Mexican Customs.
Reese looked back at the border. In the long line of cars waiting to cross into Mexico, there was no big ice cream truck, or refrigerated truck of any kind.
They got out of the SUV and headed for the border station and walked up to the Mexican Customs Agents. John spoke fluent Spanish, leaning toward Spanglish in this case, which included Mexican slang spoken in states along the border. John explained the situation to the agents and asked if they had let a refrigerated truck of any kind pass by earlier today.
Reese’s Spanish wasn’t fluent, but he understood enough to know what John was asking the agents. The agents said a refrigerated truck had gone through earlier but it had not been a truck that delivered ice cream. It had been a truck filled with frozen meats from the U.S.
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t them,” Reese said as he and John walked away from the border and back toward the SUV. His mouth was in a hard, tight line. “But if it was, it means we’re too late.”
John nodded. “I hope to hell that’s not the case.”
Reese clenched his hands into fists as they reached the SUV. “For all we know the Mexican border agents were paid off to keep quiet about the truck crossing the border. Wouldn’t be the first time, I’m sure.”
“We’ll stay put for now and keep an eye out,” John said. “Could be we beat Rocha and Taynor here.”
Reese stared at the border crossing. It went against his grain to do nothing. But right now all they could do was wait and pray for the best.