Tempted by His Target (7 page)

Well. A high-speed crash was likely.

Shots rang out, echoing in her ears. Stifling a scream, she tried to drive and duck at the same time.

“He’s going for the tires,” he said.

“What should I do?”

“Swerve around! Don’t give him an easy target.”

She did the best she could, zigzagging across lanes of traffic, passing on the wrong side of the road. As she approached a busy intersection, her entire life flashed before her eyes. The green light turned yellow, then red.

“Run it,” he ordered.

She stepped on the gas, bracing herself for disaster. He leaned out the back window and squeezed off several shots. There was a terrific crash behind them as the pursuing car smashed into another vehicle.

Somehow, amidst angry honks and shrieking rubber, Isabel made it through the intersection.

She kept driving for several miles, feeling numb.

“Damn, that was close,” Brandon said in a low voice. He must have decided it was safe to face forward, because he was sitting there with his eyes closed, gun beside him on the backseat, hand on his heart. His face looked pale.

She wanted to ask about his gun, but she had another topic to discuss first. “How do you think they caught up with us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have a cell phone?” His eyes flew open. Straightening, he drew a fancy smart phone from his pocket, checking the screen. “I had to turn it in at the police station.”

Isabel glanced in the rearview mirror. “Maybe they tracked it.”

“Damn it,” he said again. “I should have thought of that.”

She didn’t know why he would have. She was accustomed to danger and intrigue, and she’d overlooked it.

“Pull over right here,” he said, spotting a parked bus. He hopped out of the taxi and tossed his phone onto the roof of the bus. The destination sign read Mexico City. With any luck, Carranza’s men would follow it there.

When Brandon got back in the taxi, Isabel headed the opposite direction, taking a road that went to Tehuantepec. They had many miles to travel before hitting the midway point to Guatemala.

“Should we ditch this cab?” she asked.

He deliberated for a moment. They couldn’t drive a stolen vehicle with distinctive markings for long. “How much gas does it have?”

She checked the gauge. “A full tank.”

“I don’t have enough cash to buy another car. Do you?”

“No,” she said, her mouth twisting.

“If they can track my phone, they can track my credit card.”

“That’s probably true.”

“So let’s just get the hell out of town and go until it runs out of gas.”

She nodded, feeling an equal measure of anxiety and relief. Carranza could influence many of the top officials, but local forces weren’t very organized. They probably wouldn’t launch a state-wide manhunt for a stolen taxi. Even so, Isabel stayed away from the toll roads, choosing the bumpier, less regulated freeway.

Brandon watched the blur of landscape out the side window, saying nothing.

“Where did you get that gun?”

His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, startled. “I picked it up last night in the parking garage.”

She hadn’t noticed. “Does your company test hunting gear, too? Rifles, handguns…”

“No,” he said, frowning. “But any good self-defense instructor knows how to use a variety of weapons.”

Another reasonable explanation, she thought sourly. “I guess we’re lucky that other guy wasn’t as accurate as you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“What do you mean? None of the bullets hit us.”

“You’re assuming he was trying to hit us.”

She kept her eyes on the road in front of her, mulling his words over. “You think those were warning shots?”

He didn’t respond.

“Why would they bother?” she persisted, glancing in the rearview mirror again.

Brandon shrugged, looking straight at her. “Maybe they want more than blood.”

Chapter 6

T
he drive to Tehuantepec was grueling.

Isabel hated sitting still for prolonged periods, especially if she was feeling stressed. Physical activity was her crutch, her comfort, her preferred method of dealing with tension. When she couldn’t move around, she felt edgy and claustrophobic. Although they’d taken turns behind the wheel, Brandon didn’t understand all of the road signs, so she couldn’t rest. Now he was stretched out in the backseat, asleep.

She knew he had a head injury, and that he’d been up most of the night, but she was still annoyed with him for drifting off. What he’d said about La Familia wanting more than blood haunted her. She’d been sure that the man she’d stabbed in the alley had planned to kill her. Had she made a terrible mistake?

Brandon’s presence bothered her even more than his words. He’d proven himself useful this morning—almost too useful. Any man in his right mind would be running the other direction after what they’d just experienced. Instead, he was sleeping like a baby, unperturbed. She glanced in the rearview mirror once again, contemplating his inelegant sprawl. One arm was bent behind his head, the other draped across his flat stomach. His T-shirt rode up, revealing a sexy whorl of hair around his navel.

She returned her attention to the road, moistening her lips. If this was his idea of fun, he had a few screws loose. Maybe that knock to the head had done some serious damage. When he came to his senses, he would leave her high and dry.

Near the outskirts of the city, she reached her breaking point. The afternoon sun shimmered on the horizon, playing tricks with her vision. They were running on fumes anyway. She pulled over next to a thick copse of trees by the side of the road.

Brandon jerked awake. “What is it?”

“We’re out of gas.”

He groaned, straightening his clothing as he sat up. Actually, it was more like he was adjusting his male parts, or making sure they were in the right place. She pulled her gaze away, her cheeks growing hot.

Removing a bottle of water from his pack, he took a long drink, studying their surroundings. “How far to…”

“Tehuantepec,” she supplied. “A few miles.”

“Let’s push the cab a little farther into the trees.”

She nodded, gathering her belongings from the front seat while he got behind the cab. Opening her door, she stood beside it, ready to help.

“Is it in neutral?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He shoved the back end and she cranked the wheel, guiding the cab toward the heavy underbrush. Together, they wedged the small vehicle into the foliage. By the time it was found, they’d be across the border.

Brandon turned around and made good use of the trees while she found a more private spot to relieve herself. They reconvened by the side of the road, preparing to walk the rest of the way. It was blazing hot and muggy outside, typical weather for the area. As they approached the next road sign, Isabel’s tank top was damp with sweat.

Tehuantepec 20 km.

“That’s more than a few miles,” he said in an even tone.

“The car was almost out of gas,” she shot back, irritated with him, and herself, and the entire situation.

“Almost out, or out?”

She narrowed her eyes, daring him to continue this line of questioning. He wisely refrained. “I was worried about getting stranded on an open stretch of road, with no trees around to hide the cab.”

He examined the highway, which was lined with lush greenery.

Isabel clenched her hand into a fist. “If you wanted to call the shots, maybe you should have stayed awake.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Fair enough.”

But she wasn’t being fair, and she knew it. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m just tired, and hungry, and…”

…not used to being shot at, or depending on strangers.

Although she didn’t say that last part out loud, he seemed to understand where she was coming from. His face relaxed and they continued moving forward. “I’m hungry, too. What do you want to eat when we get there?”

She shrugged. “Tehuantepec is pretty rustic. They’ll have traditional Oaxacan food, nothing fast or fancy.”

He made a sound of approval. “I’ll order one of everything.”

Although they kept a steady pace, the heat wore them down. The pothole-riddled roadway seemed endless. Isabel would have preferred a shorter walk, but she couldn’t regret leaving the car. Sitting inside it had become unbearable.

“Tell me about your family,” he requested.

“My family?”

He gave her a curious look. “Brothers, sisters, parents. You know.”

“I have a mom.”

“Is that all?”

She nodded, self-conscious.

“Does she look like you?”

“Yes.”

“Beautiful?”

Her stomach fluttered at the compliment. Although she’d been called that, and compared to her mother many times, the words had never…soaked in…until now. “Everyone says so. She used to be an actress.”

“Really? Movies or TV?”

“Both, but mostly Spanish-language horror films. Nothing you’d know of.”

He looked impressed, nonetheless. And she cursed herself for saying too much. “Where were you born?”

“Santa Monica.” A harmless lie. She’d been born at her dad’s posh mansion in Beverly Hills, but her best memories were of the little bungalow by the pier where she’d been raised. “How about you?”

“San Diego.”

She’d figured he was from California. The accent was unmistakable and he had that West Coast vibe. The fact that he wasn’t an Angelino relaxed her nerves a little. Most San Diegans didn’t hang out in L.A., and vice versa, so it was unlikely that she’d run into him during her party years.

“Don’t tell me you’re a Raiders fan.”

She shook her head, sighing. “My dad was.” Football wasn’t on the list of American things she missed, but she wouldn’t mind snuggling up next to Brandon at a game. Another impossible fantasy.

“What happened to him?”

“He died.”

His brows drew together. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, and it was. In that sense, Mexico had been good for her. She’d been forced to clean up her act and
grieve,
rather than masking the pain. She could run away from the authorities, but she couldn’t escape her feelings.

He talked of inconsequential things for the next few miles, the surfing spots he’d heard about in Guatemala, and his interest in the local archaeology. It finally dawned on her that he was trying to put her at ease, and that his calm attitude was deceptive. Although his natural confidence made him seem relaxed, this wasn’t his idea of a good time.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” she said suddenly.

He looked stricken. “You think I’ll ditch you on the side of the road?”

“No. But I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I just…don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I don’t feel obligated.”

Isabel didn’t believe him, but she dropped the subject. The only other reason he could have for standing by her—sexual attraction—made her even more uncomfortable. And not because she didn’t feel the pull. If he showed an interest in her tonight, she might leap on him. Or she might pass out from exhaustion as soon as she saw a bed.

It was almost dusk when they arrived, and their presence garnered little attention, as Tehuantepec didn’t thrive on tourism. The bus station had closed, but the schedule was posted. They could leave bright and early tomorrow.

Hotel accommodations were few and far between. Isabel spotted an old colonial near a corner café. As they walked toward it, her stomach growled at the prospect of a sit-down dinner. Across the street, there was a small pharmacy, its lights on.

“Do you have any sunglasses?” she asked Brandon.

“No. I left them in Puerto Escondido.”

“What about a hat?”

“Just a baseball cap. It’s in my pack.”

“Wait here,” she said, ducking into the pharmacy. She found the items she needed quickly and came back out. Although he didn’t ask what she’d purchased, she showed him the box of semipermanent black hair color.

“You going gray already?” he asked, studying her dark locks.

“It’s for you. Your hair and eyes are too noticeable. Even with a hat on, you’ll stand out from other men.”

“I will anyway. I’m a head taller than the average Mayan.”

“These people are Zapotec.”

“Whatever. They’re short.”

She put the dye back in the shopping bag and handed Brandon a pair of cheap sunglasses. He donned them, smiling wryly. They weren’t stylish, but they covered the bruise under his left eye and the bandage above it.

Inside the hotel lobby, she did the talking while he stood in the shadows, his hands shoved in his pants pockets. Unfortunately, there was only one room available, a single. Isabel was surprised the hotel was full on a week-day during the off-season, but she was too tired to look elsewhere. After securing lodgings for the night, they continued to the café and collapsed in chairs on the outdoor terrace, dusty and disheveled.

Brandon didn’t bother with the menu. “You order for me.”

She browsed the selections, which were few. “Do you like mole?”

“I like anything with meat in it.”

When the waiter came, she asked him for two house specials, which included a hearty vegetable soup and fresh bread, served with green tomatillo salsa. After they devoured that, he brought two heaping plates of shredded chicken slathered in rich, dark sauce. Black mole, a staple of the area, had a bold, complex flavor with a hint of chocolate.

Brandon cleaned his plate, abandoning any attempt at conversation. Isabel smiled when he was finished, pleased that he’d enjoyed the dish as much as she had. They’d both eaten with more gusto than grace.

He leaned back in his chair, looking somewhere between satisfied and chagrined. “I think I’d have growled at the waiter if he’d passed by.”

She laughed a little, taking a sip of her
agua fresca
. The light, refreshing guava juice complemented the spicy meal perfectly. “One day with me, and you’ve already become uncivilized.”

He drank from his own glass, his mouth wry. “I wasn’t that civilized before we met.”