Texas Tall (21 page)

He took a moment to call Stella and tell her the plan was on. Then, stepping on the gas, he sped around the corner after Erin and screeched to a halt, short of the house. With a worried look on his face, he pulled up to the curb and rolled down the window. Erin had stopped and turned to look at him.

“Thank goodness I've found you, Erin!” he said. “Your mother passed out in court. She's been taken to the hospital. Your dad's on his way there. He asked me to find you and bring you.”

Fear flashed in her eyes. “What's the matter with her? Is she all right?”

He reached across the seat and opened the passenger door. “Get in. We can talk on the way.”

She ran around the car, tossed her backpack into the rear seat, and buckled herself in beside him. “Let's go,” she said.

Clay swung the Mercedes back into the street and headed for the road out of town. Stella would be waiting in an isolated spot off the freeway. The transfer would've been safer at night, but they'd agreed there was little chance of catching the girl alone, outside, after dark.

“Tell me about my mother,” she said. “What's wrong with her?”

“The paramedics weren't sure. She was still unconscious when they put her in the ambulance. A stroke, maybe, they said.”

Such brutal lies, and the girl looked so worried, so trusting. It was all Clay could do not to tell her it was all a mistake and shove her out of the car. But he'd long since passed the point of no return. He had to do this.

* * *

“Let me call my dad.” She twisted to reach for the backpack she'd thrown behind the seat. “Maybe he can tell us more.”

“No!” Clay tried to hide a surge of panic. If she got her hands on her phone, he'd be in big trouble. “Either your dad will be speeding to the hospital or he'll be in the ER with your mother—not a good time to take a call. You can talk to him when we get there.”

“Oh—okay. But hurry.” She settled back, agitated fingers gripping the seat belt. Clay could smell the stink of his own sweat as he swung onto the freeway. His heart was pounding so hard, he feared he might burst a blood vessel.

Take the second exit, onto the old ranch road.
That was what Stella had told him.
Drive till you see some cottonwoods and a tumbledown shed. I'll meet you there.

The exit was already coming up. Clay swung the Mercedes onto the off-ramp.

“Where are you going?” Erin grabbed his sleeve. “This isn't the way to the hospital!”

“I heard there was a big wreck up ahead. A semitruck rollover, blocking traffic. This road will get us around it.” Clay could see the trees in the distance. The asphalt pavement had ended in a weathered farm road. What the hell would he do if Stella wasn't there?

“How do you know there was a wreck? Who told you?” She was getting suspicious, Clay could tell. He stomped the gas pedal. The Mercedes shot forward, rocketing down the rutted road. He thought of the chloroform-soaked rag, sealed in a plastic bag, which he'd put in his pocket. He was going to need it.

“Stop!” she said. “Stop right now! I want to call my father!”

“Fine. Go ahead.” Clay eased the car to a stop. One hand reached into his pocket and unsealed the ziplock on the bag. Hampered by the seat belt, she turned to reach for her pack.

“I'm sorry, Erin,” Clay said, and he clapped the cloth over her face. The girl barely had time to resist before the chloroform took effect and her body went limp.

Leaving her sagging against the shoulder strap, Clay started the car again and sped toward the trees. Now he could see the dilapidated shed and the back end of Stella's Buick parked behind it. She was here. Soon this nightmare would be over, and he could start living his life again.

As he pulled up to the shed and climbed out of the car, she stepped into sight. “You've got the girl?” she demanded.

“Right here. Fast asleep.” He opened the passenger door to reveal Erin, still slumped in the seat.

“Good. Give me a hand with her.” She raised the lid of her trunk, which was lined with a dirty-looking quilt. Clay unfastened Erin's seat belt, lifted her in his arms, and laid her on her side. He'd hoped he was finished, but Stella handed him a roll of duct tape. “Wrists, ankles, and mouth, then fold the blanket over her,” she said. “Be quick about it.”

Clay did as he was told, trying not to make the tape too tight. “You won't want to tape her mouth. If she gets sick to her stomach in the trunk, she could choke to death.”

“Fine. But I'll need to keep her quiet. Give me the chloroform in case she wakes up.”

Clay resealed the washcloth in the bag and gave it to Stella. She tucked it into her red leather purse and closed the trunk.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Clay asked.

Stella raised an eyebrow.

“The tape. You promised it to me if I delivered the girl.”

“So I did.” With a smile she reached into her purse and handed him the cassette from the surveillance camera.

“Can you swear this is the one?”

“Don't worry. It's the real deal, and it's all yours. I won't need it where I'm going.” She turned back toward her Buick. “I believe this concludes our business. Have a happy life, Mr. Prosecutor.”

Clay felt an unaccustomed lightness as he walked back toward his car, clutching the tape. He had just done the unthinkable. But he'd salvaged everything that mattered to him. He was free to pursue his ambitions—become a judge, maybe go into politics. Nothing would be out of reach now.

He'd just opened the driver's-side door when the bullet slammed into his skull, passing from back to front and knocking him forward across the seat. His body twitched once and lay still.

* * *

Will had come inside to read his mail when Tori called. “Will?” She sounded worried. “Did you pick up Erin after school? She's not in the house, and she's not answering her cell phone.”

Dread clutched him like a cold steel vise. “No. I haven't heard from her. Did you call her friend?”

“I'll do that next. But if she was at Allison's, she'd have let me know, and she would've had her phone on. Will, I'm scared.”

“Call the sheriff 's office—now. Tell them to check the Blue Coyote.”

“Dear God, you don't think—”

“Until we find Erin, we've got to assume the worst. Call them. I'll get Beau on this.”

The acting sheriff since Abner's resignation was his young deputy, Rafe Sanchez. The kid was sharp, had the makings of a good lawman, but he lacked the experience to handle a life-or-death emergency. As a former DEA agent, Beau was a seasoned crime fighter with contacts in the FBI. If Stella, or somebody in her pay, had taken Erin, every minute's delay could make a difference.

Beau had been outside, supervising work on the newly erected barn. Seconds after Will's call he burst into the house, out of breath. “You're sure she's been taken?”

“Not yet, but if she has, we can't afford to waste time.”

“Stella?”

“Until we know more, that's my best guess.”

“The first thing we need to do is put out an AMBER alert. I'll make some calls.”

While Beau was on the phone, Will got another call from Tori. His pulse skipped. Maybe she'd heard from Erin. Maybe all this panic was nothing but a false alarm.

But no, as soon as he heard her voice, he knew the news would be bad. “The dispatcher put me through to the sheriff,” she said. “He was out by that ranch exit off the freeway, checking something the Life Flight pilot had spotted from . . . the air.” Her voice quavered, then broke.

Will's throat jerked. “Was it Erin?” he asked.

“No.” Her breath caught. “It was Clay Drummond's car. Clay was inside, shot dead. And Erin . . . Oh, Lord, Will. They found her backpack, with her phone in it, behind the seat. But Erin was gone.”

CHAPTER 20

A
t last the sun was going down. Stella slipped off her sunglasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. While the daylight lasted, she'd kept to the back roads, doing her best to stay out of sight. Soon it would be dark enough to pull onto the freeway and make a beeline for Eagle Pass, where she would cross the border into Mexico.

She'd already called Don Ramon on her burner phone to let him know she had the package and was on her way. He'd assured her that the car wouldn't be searched. Not that there was much chance of that. The Mexicans weren't too fussy about what crossed into their country, especially when there was a
mordida
involved.

One of Don Ramon's trusted agents would be waiting in Piedras Negras to give her the cash and take the girl off her hands. With the little bitch gone, she could finally get some rest.

Her passenger was awake and stirring. Stella could hear thumping, kicking, and cries of fear and rage from the trunk. At least the girl seemed to be in decent condition. But the car was running low on gas and Stella had to pee. If she stopped at a service station, the commotion in the back might draw attention. She would have to open the trunk and use the chloroform to knock the girl out again.

Now was as good a time as any. She glanced at the ski mask lying on the seat beside her. She hadn't wanted the girl to see her face. But why bother? Erin Tyler wasn't stupid. Mask or no mask, she'd know who had her.

The road was deserted. Deciding not to wait for a service station, Stella pulled onto the shoulder, climbed out of the car, and squatted behind a clump of sagebrush to relieve herself. The wind was blowing in hard from the northwest, bringing with it a bank of roiling black clouds. A storm was moving in. If she wanted to make the border before the weather hit, she'd have to step on it.

Unzipping the plastic bag with the chloroform-soaked washcloth in it, she slipped it in her pocket and opened the Buick's spacious trunk. The girl, her wrists and ankles taped, her clothes twisted and rumpled, was glaring up at her like a wounded hawk, as much in fury as in fear.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

Stella chuckled. “That's for me to know and you to find out, honey. Let's just say I'm planning to retire, and you're going to fund my pension.”

Fear flashed across Erin's pretty face, but the look hardened into something else. The girl had fight in her. “So you need to keep me alive,” she said.

“Alive and pretty. That's the plan.”

“I could use a bathroom break,” she said.

“That's your problem.” No way was Stella letting her out of the trunk and freeing those long legs. She'd probably take off like a jackrabbit.

“At least give me some water,” she said. “My throat's really dry.”

“Oh . . . what the hell. Just a sip. I've got a bottle up front.” Stella walked around to the car's front door, opened it, and found the plastic bottle she'd tossed onto the passenger seat. She was out of sight for no more than a few seconds, but she walked back to find that the girl had rolled, dropped her bound legs over the rear bumper, and was almost out of the trunk.

Stella tossed down the water bottle and grabbed the girl's arm. “Where d'you think you're going, you little spoiled shit?” She backhanded her hard across the face. “You think you can hop all the way home to your daddy, eh?” She hit her again, so hard that Erin's head snapped to one side. “Don't mess with me, princess, or you'll be sorry!”

She clamped the washcloth over the girl's face and held it there until the slender body went limp. Then she shoved her prisoner back in the trunk, took her shoes for good measure, and slammed the lid shut. She'd never liked kids, and this one could turn out to be more trouble than she was worth. Only the thought of the money the girl would bring kept her from dumping the little twit on the road and leaving her there to freeze.

Climbing back in the car, Stella drove on. If the weather held, she could be over the border in a couple of hours. The idea of a warm bath and a soft bed in Piedras Negras was sounding more and more like heaven.

* * *

How could anything be harder than waiting?

Will, Tori, and Beau huddled in Tori's living room, all of them silently praying for good news. Until they had some word of Erin, there was nothing they could do except be here, and be available.

Tori's cell phone rang. The caller was Natalie, who was waiting back at the ranch with the rest of the family. She'd called Tori because Beau wanted to keep his phone free for police or FBI calls. “Any news?” she asked.

“Nothing yet.” Tori forced herself to use her lawyer voice. She was crumbling inside, but this was no time to break down.

“They're sure it was Stella who took her—and shot Clay?”

“Positive. The sheriff 's men matched up the boot prints and tire tracks. Plus, the waitress at the Blue Coyote hadn't seen her boss all afternoon. The best guess is that she's headed for Mexico. The highway patrol has an all-points bulletin out, but no one's spotted her car. She may have switched vehicles.”

“Oh, Tori . . . ,” Natalie whispered.

“Don't,” Tori said. “Sympathy can wait.”

“They must be doing more than that to find her,” Natalie said.

“There's a statewide AMBER alert out for her. And the police will be checking every car that leaves the country through Eagle Pass. If all Stella wanted was revenge, she could've killed Erin when she killed Clay. If she's keeping her alive, and taking her over the border, it's for one . . . reason.” Tori choked on the last words.

“I'll let you go,” Natalie said. “Tell Beau I called. We're all praying.”

“Thanks.” Tori ended the call, struggling to get a grip on her emotions. It was all she could do to keep from dashing outside, jumping into her station wagon, and rushing off in the night to find her daughter. But that would be useless. All she could do was stay here and endure the agony of minutes crawling past with no word.

Will was sitting next to her on the couch. Tori reached for his hand and felt his big, rough palm close around hers. They held each other in silence, seeking comfort, drawing strength, and sharing the pain that only parents of a loved child could know.

A light rap on the door jerked them all to attention. Beau opened it to find Sheriff Rafe Sanchez on the porch. Just twenty-two, the son of an unmarried Mexican mother, he'd stepped into Abner's job barely a week ago. Now he was in charge of investigating the scene of Erin's kidnapping and the murder of Clay Drummond.

“Any news?” His dark eyes took in their stricken faces. “No, I guess not. I just wanted to give you an update on what we found at the scene. I don't know if I'm supposed to share it, but . . .” He shook his head. “What the hell, you deserve to know.”

“Come in.” Beau stepped aside and ushered him into the living room. “Have a chair. Can we get you something to drink?”

“Thanks, but I can't stay.” He remained standing, a tall young man, his lean body still filling out. “We're pretty sure Stella was blackmailing Clay. We found a surveillance tape in his hand—something that would've ruined him if it had gone public.”

“That's no surprise,” Beau said. “Blackmail was Stella's stock in trade. We know better than to ask you what was on the tape.”

Sanchez nodded. “For now, we're not telling the family. Stella's prints were on the cassette. She could've offered it to Clay in exchange for delivering Erin.”

“Erin would've trusted Clay.” Tori felt a wave of staggering rage. “It couldn't have been too hard for him to get her in his car.”

“So Stella gave him the tape and then killed him.” Will was on his feet. “The woman who's got our daughter isn't just a kidnapper. She's a cold-blooded murderer—but I guess we already knew that.”

“Yes.” Sanchez's English was measured, as if he'd learned most of it in school. “She's capable of anything. But if she went to that much trouble, she must want to keep Erin alive, most likely to sell her. At least that buys us some time.”

But how much time? Will and Beau exchanged glances. In a kidnapping the odds of a safe recovery dropped exponentially with every hour that passed. Time, they knew, was swiftly running out.

* * *

Erin stirred and opened her eyes. She was still in the trunk of Stella's car, bound hand and foot by duct tape. Her neck was sore, her face bruised and tender where Stella had hit her. Her throat felt as if she'd eaten a fistful of sawdust. Her limbs were cramped, and her shoes, she realized, were gone.

The darkness smelled of cigarette smoke, mildew, and dirty carpet. Being in the trunk was like being inside a coffin. But she couldn't give in to panic. She'd already worn herself out with useless struggling. She had to stay calm and alert, to think from moment to moment. Whatever happened, she had to survive until she could find a way to escape.

Shifting and wiggling, she used her bare feet to explore her prison. If she could find some kind of tool, or anything with a sharp edge, she might be able to slice through the duct tape. But there was nothing. Stella must have cleared out the trunk ahead of time. Erin had seen a movie where a person trapped in a car trunk had knocked out a taillight from the inside to attract attention. Her toes probed the corners where the taillights would be, but she couldn't find any way to break one.

The trunk was cold and getting colder. She shivered in her light jacket. Through the metal trunk lid, she could hear wind whistling around the car. A heavy patter, like tacks spilling into a tin bucket, filled the dark space around her. It had to be hail. The car was still moving, but its speed felt slower, as if the road surface might be slippery. Maybe the car would slide off the road. Maybe then a patrolman would come by and rescue her. But that was just a fantasy. For now, all she could do was pull the blanket over her as best she could, curl into a ball, and try to keep from freezing. That, and pray.

* * *

Driving through the storm on the ice-slicked freeway had been a hellish experience, but at least it had lessened the chance of her car being spotted. Now the weather was clearing. Ahead, in the distance, Stella could see the lights of Eagle Pass. Soon she'd be safely over the border, with the money in her purse and Will Tyler's precious daughter on her way to some Mexican drug lord's bed.

Reaching for the burner phone, she called Don Ramon's number. He answered at once.

“Is everything ready?” she asked.

“Unfortunately,
querida,
there has been a slight change of plans.”

Something clenched in Stella's empty stomach. “Did you get the money?”

“The money? Yes.
No problema.
But I just got word that the police on the American side are checking every car, looking for you and the girl. You will never get through.”

“Both crossings?” There were two border bridges in Eagle Pass, a large one and a smaller one.

“Yes, both. But don't worry. My man is in Piedras Negras with the money. Find a motel in Eagle Pass, someplace cheap and quiet. Check in and call me. He will find you, pay you the cash, and take the girl.
Entiendes?
”

“Yes,” Stella said. “But—”

“Let me finish. The police will be looking for your car. Tomorrow you can leave it somewhere to be stolen and walk across the bridge with the foot traffic. No police will stop you. You will be safe. But one more thing.”

“What?” Stella was liking this less and less.

“My man will need a truck or a van to smuggle the girl across the border. To arrange this may take time.”

Stella mouthed a curse on the man's ancestors. “How much time?”

“Who knows? Not long. Perhaps a few hours. Maybe less. You can rest and wait.”

“I don't like this,” Stella said.

“What else can we do? The police are everywhere.”

“Fine. I'll phone you.” Stella ended the call and pulled off at the first exit. Too bad she hadn't switched cars, but she'd been in a hurry, and it was too late now. She had little choice except to follow Don Ramon's directions.

Eagle Pass was a fair-sized town. But with the police on the lookout, she didn't want to drive in very far. Anyway, the older, cheaper motels would likely be found on the run-down outskirts.

Fifteen minutes from the freeway, she found a place that might do. The El Camino was a row of clapboard units, set back from the quiet street and overhung by a sagging willow tree. Two battered-looking pickups were parked outside. At one end a sign in the window said
VACANCY.

Parking the car at a safe distance, Stella climbed out. The night air was frigid, the ground coated with icy hail. She would have to bring the girl inside, a bother, but she'd promised to deliver the little bitch in good condition.

A bell rang when she opened the door of the office. The Mexican woman who came to the desk was wearing a ratty fleece bathrobe. From somewhere out of sight, a TV was blaring.

“Just one of you?” the woman asked.

“No, my daughter's with me. She's sick. I'm taking her to the doctor in the morning.” Stella thrust a wad of small bills across the desk. “Here's an extra ten for keeping things quiet.”

Stella was given a key to the unit on the far end. She backed the car up to the door and got out to open it. Before unlocking the trunk she took the Smith and Wesson .38, the gun she'd used to kill Clay, out of her purse. Before today, when someone needed killing, she'd always paid or manipulated others to do the job. Until she'd fired at the man and seen him fall dead, she hadn't known what a powerful rush it could be. She wouldn't mind feeling that rush again, maybe soon.