CHAPTER ELEVEN
Donkey’s bray woke Sidney from a sound sleep. Even before she reached her hand out she knew Bryan wasn’t there. She reached anyway. The cold blanket beside her told her Bryan had been out longer than the time necessary to relieve himself.
She shifted and groaned as she glanced around the dark cave for him. Every muscle she owned was stiff and sore. Especially those muscles she hadn’t used in way too long. She smiled at the memory of sex with Bryan—no, it had been more than sex. Sex was what she’d had when she’d dragged those two guys home from the bar. Sex then had served a purpose, scratched an itch.
Whip, whir, thank you, sir.
And sleeping with her boyfriend. That had been…well, nice.
What she and Bryan had shared could never be described with a word as bland and cottage-cheesy as nice. Their time together had been much hotter than that. Like an Indian red curry after the chef dumps in an extra bit of black cardamom for the added kick. Her stomach grumbled. Now wasn’t the time to think of food. Or even sex, for that matter. Even if it had been hot and messy and remarkable.
Then she heard a thud about twenty or thirty yards away, like a sack of potatoes hitting the ground. One of the horses startled.
“Bryan?”
Nothing.
She threw off her covers and felt around for her clothes. Where was that bra? “Bryan!”
Still nothing.
Something was wrong. Screw the bra. Sidney dressed, stepped over to the saddle, and picked up the rifle.
The horses shuffled, and one of them let out a whinny that rang and echoed in the cave like church bells ringing in the dead.
Eerie silence cloaked her.
Far away, another horse answered. Her heart stopped, blood pooled and crystalized. If there were riders on this trail, in this weather, this early in the morning, she didn’t think they were anyone she wanted to meet. At least, not without a gun.
The Remington weighed heavy in her hands. She flipped off the safety and cocked the hammer. She almost called out for Bryan again, but thought better of it.
Even though she tried her hardest to move quietly, her boots scuffed on the stone underfoot with each step. It probably wasn’t that loud, but when there was no other sound besides the huff of horse breath or the occasional scrape of a hoof, it couldn’t be missed.
She flattened her back against the wall and made her way to the entrance, stopping every few steps to listen. Her blood must have thawed, because it thrummed through her ears and each breath rasped in and out like a three-pack-a-day smoker.
At the mouth, she stopped again. There was a grayness in the east, signaling the rising sun, but it wasn’t coming fast enough. Donkey hee-hawed and the far-off horse answered again. It didn’t seem like it was any closer, but it could be tied up, which spiked her concern.
She brought the rifle to her shoulder and stepped out, careful to keep her finger on the trigger guard. She didn’t want to shoot Bryan by accident if he came back unexpectedly. The hair on her arms rose as she swung the rifle left. Out of the corner of her right eye, something moved.
A stone rolled and clattered near the fire. She whipped around as her stomach dropped south and her heart jumped north. The moment she saw the rock she knew she’d made a crucial mistake.
Too late.
Three men poured into the cave. Another grabbed her from behind and stripped the rifle from her hand.
She screamed out, but no one was coming. Bryan wasn’t coming. If he’d been able—
As in, not dead?
Slapping a mental hand over Practical Sidney’s mouth, she double-dog duct taped it closed. What did her alter ego know anyway?
What these men wanted, she hadn’t a clue, but she damn well wasn’t going to wait around to find out what that was. She stomped on the instep of the man behind her and jammed an elbow into his ribs, but he was holding her to his body too tightly for the blow to do any real harm. She wriggled and struggled and tried to pry his hand from around her waist, wrenching his middle finger back.
“Pendeja!” he hollered. She understood the gist, if not the correct translation.
For a fraction of a second, his grip loosened, but then he tossed the rifle to one of the other men. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked back. She yelled. Hot tendrils of pain shot through her scalp. If he had lit her head on fire it wouldn’t have burned any less.
He pulled her back against him, then rewrapped his arm around her waist, the other across her shoulders. She bent at the waist, trying to break his hold, and stomped on his heavily booted feet, kicking at his shins. Her breath came in big, gasping, ineffective breaths and her strength quickly faded.
With one last burst of power, she slammed her whole body back into him, trying to ram him against the wall. He hit it, the force not even enough to make him grunt.
“Basta ya,” he said. “Quit.”
Still she struggled. His erection poked at her backside and she instantly froze.
All her wriggling, all her fighting, all she was doing was getting him off.
He chuckled and leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Sí, señorita.”
A man like him, she’d expected his breath to be as foul and fetid as his soul, but she was surprised by the sweet scent of apples and peppermints, like he’d feasted on the horse treats himself.
“What do you want?” Sidney forced a bravado into her words. The last word shook.
He threw his head back and laughed, and his men, though hesitant, laughed with him, as if they didn’t understand the joke but were afraid to let him think they were too stupid to understand.
“The list is long, señorita.” His voice was smooth, and some women might have thought his accent sexy if it didn’t ooze evil the way a slug oozes slime.
One of his hands roamed and squeezed her right breast. Pain shot through her, radiating up her shoulder and down her arm. She hissed in a harsh breath but swallowed the grunt. She refused to give him the satisfaction, though her heart pounded beneath his forearm, giving her away.
Then he spewed words in Spanish so fast she couldn’t catch a word of it, but that wasn’t saying much. She’d pretty much slept through two years of Spanish in high school. Ms. Markle was right: she should’ve paid more attention.
Whatever it was he’d said, it was some kind of order, because the men broke out of their half stupor and scattered in all directions like cucarachas, cockroaches, when the lights came on.
Maybe she’d picked up more Spanish than she’d thought.
The eastern sky pinked up, throwing enough light into the cave that the men didn’t need flashlights to halter the animals and bind her hands behind her back. When they’d finished, they dumped her in a heap on the blankets.
One of the men grabbed a saddlebag, dumped the contents all over the ground, and pawed through it like a starving dog. Mint Breath hollered something and the man started putting everything back.
“Where is—” Bryan, she was about to say, but Sidney cut herself off. Maybe Bryan was okay. His gun and holster were gone. Maybe he was planning his move, waiting for some sort of advantage.
Maybe he’s dead.
Tears stung the back of her eyes as she used a whole roll of mental duct tape around and around Practical Sidney’s lying mouth.
“What?” Mint Breath asked. “Your hombre?”
Hombre. Man. She knew that much. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m alone.”
He walked over to her. His jeans looked stiff with grime. His once-black jacket wasn’t any cleaner and it had faded to a dark gray. Crouching in front of her, he thumbed the brim of his sweat-stained cowboy hat. Thick tendrils of oily hair lay plastered against his forehead. His eyes dark and hard. She looked away.
“You think I am stupid man?” He tried to put a finger under her chin. She jerked away. He squeezed his hand around her jaw, his fingers digging into her skin and grinding her flesh against her jawbone.
Men like him never want to hear the truth, so she said nothing. If he wanted her to look at him she would. She would look at every pore, the moth-eaten beard, the flat nose, the half-inch scar by the corner of his right eye. Every. Freaking. Detail. There wouldn’t be a problem picking him out of a lineup.
“If you are waiting for your man to come save you…” He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, then into her mouth.
Instead of choking on her disgust, she bit the pad of his thumb and shook it like a terrier with a mouse. He howled with pain and indignation. The backhand across her face came quick and hard. It knocked her over, her head bouncing off the ground with a dull thunk. Pain radiated around her head, down her neck. Her face stung and she tasted blood.
Mint Breath grabbed another fistful of hair. It hurt like hell, but her scalp was so traumatized from the first time that at least it didn’t reset her scalp on fire. He grinned like this was all unexpected fun. Like a trip to Disney his parents hadn’t told him about. His teeth were straight and bright white. A sharp contrast to his clothes. Like a well-cared-for dog kicked out onto the street and left to go feral.
There was a commotion behind him, but she didn’t dare look away. Blood and saliva pooled in her mouth and she spat it in his face.
He smiled at her in a way that liquefied her guts. “I like a woman with fire. They’re a hot fuck.” He cranked her head back. A vertebra popped. “Or I could as easily snap that pretty little neck. Comprende?”
Yeah, she understood.
He shoved her head aside and some of the men dumped something on the blanket in front of her. It landed hard, with a grunt then a low groan.
“Bryan?”
He made a noise in the back of his throat, but she wasn’t sure if he was answering her or if he was making nonsensical sounds. She tried to sit up, to see if he was in one piece, but sitting up with her hands tied behind her back was a lot more difficult than she’d expected, so she inchwormed herself over to him, shoulder-butt-legs, shoulder-butt-legs, until she could lay her head on his shoulder.
Vaguely, she was aware of a lot of activity and loud talking around her, but her world had shrunk to her and Bryan’s existence. They were what mattered.
“Bryan, can you hear me? Are you hurt?” Tears filled her eyes and he got all blurry. “Bryan.”
He groaned again. Then his eyes fluttered open. He blinked hard a few times, as if trying to bring her into focus. “Fuuuck.” The word came out in three low, long, laborious syllables.
“You okay?”
“Fucking fabulous.” He coughed, spitting out blood-tinged fluid. “You?”
“Never been better.”
His skeletal laugh brought on another coughing fit.
“Yeah, you sound freaking terrific. What did they do to you? What—”
“Hey, hey—”
“Bryan—”
“Look at me. Look. At. Me.”
She sucked in a deep breath, let it out, then met his gaze. There was a softness there that she recognized, but there was also a hardness she hadn’t seen before but somehow immediately recognized as Boomer the Marine.
“Boom...”
“No talking!” Mint Breath hollered across the cave.
Boomer ignored him and smiled. Blood stained his teeth. “Yeah, Irish?”
“What do we do?”
“I’m going to get you out of this, I prom—”
A boot landed in the middle of Boomer’s back. His jaw muscles clenched and his back arched, but he gave no other outward sign he’d been brutally kicked.
* * * *
Boomer shook his head when Sidney opened her mouth to say something. No telling what would come out of her mouth, and with the heel of a boot planted firmly over his kidney, chances were he would be the one to take the brunt of the man’s anger. As it was, the stomp to his kidney would probably have him pissing blood for a week.
He glanced down at his thigh holster, more out of want than anything. No way they wouldn’t have taken his weapon from him. Fat lot of good it would do him anyway, with his hands tied behind his back and his feet trussed up like a pig for the feast. All they lacked was an apple in his mouth and a roaring fire.
“Looking for this, amigo?”
Boomer rolled onto his back so he could get a look at the rat bastard.
The man had Boomer’s Glock in his hand, the barrel pointed between Boomer’s eyes. His heart thumped hard once in his chest in acknowledgment, but it settled down quick enough. It wasn’t the first time he’d stared down the barrel of a gun.
“I should kill you now. Let the boys have fun with the girl then kill her too.”
Sidney squeaked, but the guy didn’t take his eyes off Boomer. The bastard was trying to get a rise out of him.
Boomer blanked the pain, the anger, the emotion off his face, while the urge to kill his captor with his bare hands burned as hot and bright as rocket fuel in his blood. In Spanish, one of the men said that they couldn’t find something. Or that something wasn’t there. Boomer’s lack of understanding the language had more to do with the fact that his head still rang from being pistol-whipped and less to do with his rusty interpreting skills.
El Jefe, as Boomer was starting to think of this guy, since he was clearly in charge, told the men to search the rest of the packs. What the hell were they looking for?
Turning his attention back to Boomer, El Jefe thumbed the gun’s magazine release. The fully loaded magazine dropped on Boomer’s chest. Then El Jefe racked the slide and a 9mm hollow point round hit the blanket between him and Sidney. El Jefe dropped the gun on the ground with a calculating smile and went off to join the search with his men.
That his weapon lay within reach with nothing he could do about it was like sticking a big fat juicy steak out of reach of the lion’s cage. His goal was to make sure he and Sidney stayed alive long enough for one of the men to make a mistake, or long enough for Mac to come to the rescue. Though it would be days before he and Sidney were missed, and the chances of them being found, remote.
“That guy, the boss, El Jefe, he didn’t…hurt you, did he?” Boomer almost hated to ask, but he had to know.
“Not that way. No.”
Boomer closed his eyes and thanked whatever deity was kind enough to lend him an ear right then. Now he had to make sure it stayed that way. “Do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Try not to piss them off.”
Her laugh came out on a harsh breath. “Now you tell me.”
She hesitated, then she said, “I don’t think it matters much.”
“Why do you say that?”
“These are not nice men. We’ve seen their faces. We have nothing they want, no reason for them to keep us around or keep us alive—”
“Take a breath, Irish. They’re not going to kill us.” At least, not yet.
“If they shoot us out here, who knows when—”
“Shhh, shhh, shhh. They’re not going to shoot us. They have no reason to. I promised I’d get you out of this. You think I’m the kind of asshole that goes back on a promise?”
“No, but—”
“No buts.”
There was a crash as a pot hit the ground as the men tore their packs apart. The sun was high enough to almost fully illuminate the cave. El Jefe glared at them from across their pile of gear, his expression an oxymoronic combination calculation and rage. El Jefe started toward them with the fierce stride of a man determined to find answers. Even if he had to beat the answers out of them.
“Whatever happens next,” Boomer said, “just play along.”
* * * *
Alone after the interrogation, aka the beating, Boomer curled into a ball in the cave, trying not to breathe or move or think. His right eye was swelling closed and three of his teeth shifted when he ran his tongue along them. He gave El Jefe credit: the guy knew how to throw a punch.
None of that mattered.
The thing that mattered was that he had managed to convince their captors that he had what they wanted. And because of that lie, they were getting out of there. Alive. At least for now. They could have beaten him for another hour. Two. Three. And they wouldn’t have gotten anything out of him. Mainly because he had nothing to give them but lies. They thought he had their package, or knew its location.
Whatever the hell they were looking for, it was worth enough to this motley band of degenerates to warrant taking him and Sidney with them to wherever it was they were headed. Worth the wrath from their higher-ups when they bring a couple of gringos into the heart of their operation.
He had no doubt that as soon as he and Sidney were of no use to them they would be killed. These weren’t the kind of men who played games.
Two men came into the cave. One of them said, “Vamos.”
Everyone else was already outside. Two of the mustangs were saddled and Donkey was repacked with all their equipment. Minus the radios. The men had smashed them with rocks and thrown the pieces in the fire. The fumes of the burning plastic had plated his lungs and brought tears to his eyes. He couldn’t get out of this cave soon enough.
He hissed in a breath when they lifted him, wrenching his shoulders as they half carried, half dragged him to where they’d staged the horses. Sidney was already mounted on Rio with her hands tied to the horn in front of her. They’d saddled Dante for him.
Thank God I don’t have to walk.
They untied his legs long enough to wrestle him into the saddle. Dante danced around a bit, which didn’t help, but it wasn’t exactly the normal way to be mounted so Boomer cut the young horse some slack.
He hoped they’d tie his hands in front like they had with Sidney―he had a few more options with his hands in front of him, one of which was checking his right boot for his combat knife.
Unfortunately, El Jefe wasn’t as stupid as he looked. As added proof, he ordered his men to tie his legs together under the horse’s belly. If the horse slipped and fell in the mud or on the slick rocks, he’d be crushed.
This wasn’t a tenderfoot trail ride and El Jefe didn’t strike him as the type too concerned with riding safety.
As soon as the men had Boomer secured in the saddle, they all headed up the trail. There were five men besides El Jefe, each one ponying one of the horses. The poor bastard stuck with Donkey was in for a fight. Boomer grinned. He thought about telling them the donkey would follow, but the guy on the other end of Donkey’s lead rope was one of the assholes who’d held him while El Jefe used him as a punching bag. So he kept his trap shut.
One man ponied Sidney ahead of Boomer. El Jefe led the way. Then the other guys pulled up the rear. Probably to have extra eyes on him in case he decided to try something stupid. But trussed up the way he was, there was no way he could escape without putting his life in even more danger. Besides, he wasn’t going anywhere without Sidney.
The treacherous climb up the steep, slippery mountain slope had already brought Dante to his knees once, jarring every bruise, every loose tooth, every cracked rib.
The rope cut into his wrists, and his arms had long since gone numb. To top it all off, he needed to piss. None of that helped him conjure up an escape strategy. He didn’t think “run like hell when no one was looking” constituted an executable plan.
Near the top of the mountain, they squeezed through a tight pass, his boots scraping the craggy rock on either side. He pointed his toe outward, dragging it along the rock as much as he could, trying to leave some sort of mark, some indication of the way they were taken. With Donkey’s pack, Boomer thought they’d have to butter the walls to get the animal through. The trip down the other side was a series of switchbacks along what was probably once a mountain goat trail.
The sun was high and hot against his face. One of the assholes behind him had taken a liking to his hat and had stolen it for himself. With Sidney’s fair complexion, her nose and cheeks were already red. If they didn’t get to where they were going soon, she’d be burned to a crisp.
Farther down the mountain, they descended into the tree line, a tortuous descent. Just when he thought he couldn’t ride another minute, they arrived at an area where the tree canopy above grew thick, but the underbrush had been cleared away.
Footpaths crisscrossed the ground. Voices came from up ahead. Donkey brayed and was answered by another burro farther down. Finally, their camp. Through a break in the tree cover, he saw peak after peak after peak in the distance. No wonder these guys hadn’t been found. They were literally in the freaking middle of nowhere.
No doubt, these were the men the sheriff had warned them about.
And the package they were so concerned about? Money? Drugs?
It had to be something small, by the way the men had torn through their gear. And it would take more than a dime baggie of heroin or cocaine to make it worth the risk of bringing him and Sidney into their operation.
The train of horses stopped. Someone grabbed his belt while another cut the belly rope. The relief from the strain on his hips made his eyes water. They dragged him out of the saddle and dumped him on the ground with a resounding thud. His breath caught as the pain in his ribs skidded across his chest like a lightning strike, overshadowing his throbbing jaw and his wrenched shoulders.
The urge to kick one of the assholes in the balls overwhelmed him. He let it go. The last thing he needed was another beating.
Or, worse, have them take it out on Sidney.
He rolled onto his chest, got his knees beneath him and, with a grunt, pushed himself to standing, sucking in a shallow, scorching breath. The effort nearly brought him to his knees again. He swayed and caught his shoulder on a tree to steady himself.
El Jefe walked down the line of horses, giving orders to the men. Two of the men flanked Sidney and started marching her down the hill. Two men grabbed Boomer and started shoving him in the opposite direction. He shook them off.
“Hey. Hey!” When El Jefe didn’t turn, Boomer hollered out again. “I’m talking to you, motherfucker!”
El Jefe stopped walking, but he kept his back to Boomer.
“Where are you taking her?”
Then, without answering or even a glance back over his shoulder, El Jefe followed the men who’d taken Sidney. She stumbled along, looking back over her shoulder. Even at a distance, the fear in her eyes couldn’t be missed, but her tenacity burned bright.
The tightness in his chest now had nothing to do with his cracked ribs and everything to do with a terror so deep and visceral it invaded every cell, every fiber of his body, like a cancer.
Despite his training, despite his resolve to keep his cool, despite that little voice in his head that warned him he was about to screw everything up, he yelled after El Jefe, “Tell me where you’re taking her!”
* * * *
“Tell me where you’re taking her!” Bryan’s voice echoed in Sidney’s head as two guys led her down a narrow path—one of the twins and a short, bald, stubby guy that reminded her of a cue ball with legs.
The thick canopy of leaves filtered out the sun, casting everything with a shadow.
They stopped at a wooden shed partly built into the slope with a padlock on the crude, split-log door. The walls were roughly cut stacked logs. The builder hadn’t even spent the time to shave away the bark. What had she expected? It wasn’t like the lumber yard delivered out here.
They opened the double door and shoved her inside. She held her hands out, hoping they would cut her free.
Cue Ball laughed and turned to his friend. “Señorita wants free.” Then he turned his attention back to her. “You pay me, I cut you free.”
She had no money, but by the way he grabbed his belt buckle and stepped toward her, money wasn’t what he wanted. She stepped away, but the back wall of the shed stopped her after a few steps. Her heart rate spiked and she sucked in a deep breath to scream out, when someone blocked most of the light coming through the door.
“Idiot,” El Jefe said as he grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and shoved him out the door. Then El Jefe said something to him that ended in the word caballos. Even a Spanish flunky like her recognized the word for horse.
She held her bound wrists up again.
El Jefe shook his head.
“Scared?” She tried to get under his skin. “You think I’m going to punch my way out? Beat up your men?”
A sluggish smile toyed with his lips. “I think you would try.” Then he reached into the leather pouch on his belt and pulled out his knife, unfolded the four-inch blade, slid it between her wrists, and sliced through the rope. “But you wouldn’t succeed.”
“Your English is good. Is that a West Texas drawl I hear?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he said something to one of the twins and then raised his voice and hollered to someone farther away.
“You could let me go.” Sidney never expected for one minute that he would do it, but she wanted to get him talking. Any information she could get from him was potentially valuable.
“You are my insurance policy, why would I let you go?”
“Insurance against what?”
“Maybe insurance isn’t the right word.” He thought for a moment, as if trying to find the perfect descriptor. “Leverage.” He smiled, proud of the word he’d come up with.
Leverage she understood.
She was in no hurry to be used as such. As it was, Bryan was in rough shape. She’d watched El Jefe land blow after brutal blow; it had taken all she had not to confess the truth. That they knew nothing, but admitting that would have gotten them dead.
A woman entered the shed. No, not a woman. Not more than a girl. Ten, eleven, maybe. Tall, thin, with dull doe eyes that looked like they’d seen too much in her short life. The girl handed her a battered milk jug half filled with water and what looked like an empty feed bucket. Sidney accepted them both, then held up the bucket and asked what it was for.
The girl darted a glance to El Jefe then back to Sidney. “Por necessito,” she mumbled, and looked away as if embarrassed.
“Baño,” El Jefe translated. “Your bathroom. Not quite American standard, but…” He shrugged and let the sentence drop.
The girl turned to go and Sidney said, “What’s your name?”
Again, the quick check with El Jefe.
“Su nombre,” he said.
“Pepita,” she said, then ducked out the door.
Sidney stared at El Jefe, anger igniting in her blood. What kind of life did that poor kid have? “She’s a kid.”
El Jefe held her gaze, then backed out of the shed, closing the doors with a clunk. There was rattling and the distinct snick that could have been the arm of the heavy padlock hitting home.
She kicked the door. It hardly budged. Then she yelled, because she could. She yelled out of fear and frustration and fury. She threw the bucket in the corner and, because it felt good, she did it again and again until her breath came in short, choppy bursts. Then she righted the bucket, found the corner with a level spot, and used it.
When she was done, her legs shook from the effort required to squat above the bucket so long. Sidney sighed with the relief when she was finished.
She drank from the jug then pressed the plastic lid back on. The water was cold and clear. Probably from a nearby stream. For about a second she worried about contamination with bacteria or parasites, but there was nothing she could do about that. At that point, with the dry mountain air, her biggest concern was dehydration.
Her thirst remained unquenched, but she had Bryan to consider. There was no telling when she’d get more. So, she would ration it for now, until she had a better grip on their situation.
Glancing around, Sidney investigated her surroundings. The shed wasn’t completely devoid of light, for which she was forever grateful. The roof was a series of split logs laid several inches apart across the top edge of the walls. Not far enough apart for an escape route and not close enough to keep out any rain. Lovely. And because the logs were taken from what trees were available to them, they were not uniformly straight and there were gaps in the walls as well.
Putting her eye up to the slits, she had a good view out all four sides. Out the front, one twin was still standing guard―well, not standing. He was sitting on a stump across from the shed, picking at a pinecone in his boredom. Out the back was a single trail that looked like it continued farther down the mountain. On the right side were the corrals.
A flash of buckskin, a rump too skinny to be Rio’s. The head popped up, a bushy black forelock between the ears—Eli!
Her heart did a string of cartwheels in her chest. As her eye raked down his body, her elation shifted to anger, then stone cold fury.
Eli looked bad.
He must have dropped at least a hundred and fifty pounds, and he had bite marks on his butt and shoulder and he limped on one of his rear legs. The way he carried himself concerned her the most. Head low, with that sunken, dull look an animal gets when he’s given up. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and tried to push the thoughts away. The big thing, the important thing, was that her horse was alive. No sign of Angel, but if Eli was here, chances were, Angel was too.
Out the left side there wasn’t much to see besides trees and rocks and more trees and more rocks. The floor of the shed consisted mostly of a large, flat rock. She groaned at the thought of having to sleep on it tonight. She was still stiff from her night on the ground, but compared to the shed, the cave was like the Ritz. Okay, maybe not the Ritz, but definitely one of the newer Motel 6s, with the flat screen TV upgrade.
In one of the corners, the rock floor kicked up with a ledge about two feet high. Sidney sat down on it, reached over, picked up the water, and drank some more. She leaned back, the bark digging into her shoulders. What was taking them so long with Bryan?
Then her stomach sank. Would they even bring him back to her?
She closed her eyes and tried to pick up the sounds around her when she heard a knocking sound. No, a tapping.
“Hello?” she said. “Somebody out there?”
“Shhh shhh,” came the reply.
Sidney couldn’t tell where the voice had come from. Then something poked her in the hip. She stifled a squeak of surprise as she jumped up. Down by the ledge she was sitting on, there was a gap between the rock and one of the logs. The gap had been packed with dirt, but dirt trickled down as the stick poked, poked, poked through.
For the first time since they’d been taken, Sidney felt a glimmer of hope. She got down on her knees and dug at the dirt with her fingers until there was an opening roughly four by seven inches. A petite, dirty hand came through.
“Pepita?”
“Shhh,” came the voice.
Sidney grabbed the hand and held on tight for a few seconds. The hand was warm and heavily calloused for such a young hand. Then the hand disappeared. She almost called out, but she wouldn’t risk anyone knowing Pepita was at the back wall. She didn’t want to think about what they would do to the little girl if she were caught.
Then the hand reappeared, and brought something with it. Sidney reached down and removed the object from the hand. It was soft and warm and mouthwatering. She held it up to the light and counted four tortillas. She looked out the slits in the back wall, but Pepita was gone.
Settling back on the rock, Sidney brushed off her jeans and laid the tortillas across her thigh. The first one she didn’t even taste, she was so hungry. The second she ripped into tiny strips to savor the flavor and make it last. Corn tortillas, she decided. When finished, she laid Bryan’s share over the jug of water.
Looked like she had made a friend. If Pepita could sneak them food, could she get them a knife?
A gun?