White Hot: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (6 page)

D
al navigated
the bike through the cacti, following a well-worn path that headed, more or less, due east. Driving the bike felt good. It had great suspension, tires made for the desert, and plenty of power. He kept the speed at a reasonable level, aware of Emily behind him.

They had gear hanging off the bike at every possible spot. Bungee cords held their bag and some clothing items on the back rack over the rear wheel. He had gear bungeed over the gas tank between his knees and a bag of groceries on each handle bar. Behind him, Emily balanced two more bags in her lap.

Sun beat down on them as they cut through the desert leaving a plume of dust behind. He’d lent Emily his ball cap and tied a scarf around his head, biker style. The last time he’d driven a bike had been when he was a teenager and as he clicked the bike into third, he wondered why he didn’t buy a really nice one to tour the Pacific Highway. It was easy to imagine himself roaring up along the coast, leaning into those curves, with Emily’s arms wrapped around him, her hair flying in the wind.

She yelled something in his ear but her words were drowned out by the rumble of the non-mufflered exhaust. She waved her arm to the left as they came up on a fork in the path and he steered the bike to the north. He hadn’t wanted to leave the keys for the truck, but she’d been right that it didn’t matter. If the guy wanted to drive that truck, steal that truck or strip it bare, not having the keys would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

A small hut built low into the desert loomed before him. It was barely a lean-to with a sheet of corrugated metal pinning branches and tarp walls in place. As they neared it, a scrawny dog lunged out from the shade of a large cactus and raced toward them, barking and baring its teeth. Emily kicked at it while Dal accelerated, the bike wobbling as the balance was thrown off. After a minute, the dog slowed, disappearing into the dust behind them.

Emily squirmed behind him and passed him an open bottle of water. He drank deeply and passed it back to her. They rode on through the cacti and the unforgiving desert. Knowing the warmest part of the day was still ahead of them, he put his head down and concentrated on eating up the miles. If they were lucky, they’d find a gulley or tree for shelter where they could wait the heat out until evening. They needed to be closer before resting, but at some point, given the noise of the bike, they’d have to leave it behind and approach the ranch on foot.

Feeling a sharp jab in his ribs, he turned his head to the left where Emily was frantically jabbing her finger in the air. There was a large bulk visible on the horizon. “Go that way,” she said.

He complied, steering the bike off the path, and dodging cacti for several minutes until he started to wonder if they were getting too close.

“Stop,” she yelled, lips brushing his ear.

Gearing down, he brought the bike to a stop behind an eight-foot cactus and killed the motor. Emily jumped off and rifled through the gear bag on the back rack. Pulling out the binoculars, she adjusted them and looked through, a slight smile tugging at her lip.

“It’s the truck,” she said, scanning from left to right. “It’s overturned in the road.” She paused and lowered her hands. “Can they see us here, do you think?”

Dal shook his head. “We’re too far away.” He grabbed her forearm and pulled her around to the far side of the cactus, which provided a sliver of relief from the beating heat. “Let me see.”

“Hang on,” she said, lifting the binoculars back to her face. “They have two SUVs and a half ton. They’re loading boxes out of the semi into those vehicles.”

Dal whistled. “Jesus, do you think this means the
Federales
are in on it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the
Federales
were blocking the exits and Jack’s men were also there, as a back-up to make sure nobody went through.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” she said, wiping her fingers across her forehead. “There’s a lot of money in that truck and, according to my father, one of the biggest cartel guys is behind it.”

She passed him the binoculars. He adjusted the eyepieces and focus and took in the scene on the highway. He counted two men at the back of the truck and six - no eight - other men loading boxes in the other vehicles. He whistled. “Shit,” he said. “That’s a lot of people.” Scanning the vehicles, he noticed an elbow sticking out of one of the SUVs. “I think I see Jack.”

Emily looked through again. “In the SUV?”

“Yeah, the one closest to the semi,” Dal said, stepping to the bike to grab a bottle of water. He took a long drink, tempted to drain it. But they needed to conserve their supplies, so he passed the rest of it to Emily. He crouched down in the shade, and she dropped to the ground beside him.

“Shit,” she said. “Jack’s definitely there. How many men did you count? I saw ten.”

“That’s what I saw, too. Plus Jack.” She passed an inch of water back to him. He removed his head scarf, poured the water into it, and used it to cool his neck, wiping off a layer of dust in the process. “That’s a lot of fucking people. We’re not prepared for that at all.”

“Yeah,” she said, looking up at him. “But we’re not going in to take them down. We’re going in to get the lay of the land. Remember, once we see what’s going on, they’ll send troops to back us up.”

His lip turned up as he met her gaze but he didn’t feel the smile he forced. “Like they had our back with the tracking device,” he said, kicking at the dirt. What the hell had he gotten himself mixed up in? He looked through the binoculars again, hoping they’d both somehow miscounted. Suddenly fighting fires didn’t seem that dangerous at all.

“
W
e have everything in place
,” Jack said into the phone. The connection was horrible and he’d been forced to turn the SUV engine off so he could hear. Without the air conditioning, the heat in the vehicle was unbearable.

“I’m aware of that,” he continued, stepping out of the vehicle and striding along the side of the overturned truck toward the cab where there appeared to be some shade.

He grit his teeth. “I don’t know what happened with the driver. He’s not talking. When they found him, he was unconscious.” A pause. He listened to dead air for several seconds, wondering if he could safely hang up. Then another question.

“I have
Federales
at the exits. Plus Miguel is there. Nobody is coming down this road until we’re finished here.” He kicked at the ground, wished he’d remembered the coke he left sitting in the console. The dust in the air burned his throat, the overwhelming heat sucking the life out of everything.

“Yes, I do have it under control. Completely under control.” He took a deep breath and held the phone out at arm’s length until his boss finished his rant. He didn’t miss a word.

“I will. I’ll give you a status in two hours.” He hit End, groaned loudly, and resisted throwing the phone into the ditch of cacti on the other side of the road.
Cabrón.
Paranoid fucking arsehole. Years he’d been working for this bastard. Almost a decade and yet … He had to micro-manage every little fucking thing and tear you a new one if things didn’t go exactly to plan. He should know by now the most useful skill was knowing how to improvise when things went sideways. Any asshole could manage things when they were going smoothly.

He stalked back to the SUV, favoring his bad leg, grabbed his coke, drained it, and pitched the bottle into the weeds. His body still ached from the beating he’d received from Miguel and Rico. The doctors said his leg might never be the same again. And although they’d never admit it, he was convinced the order to beat him and leave him for dead hadn’t been entirely their idea. But what the fuck did he know? Just another lackey in a long line of lackeys. He’d be glad when this night was over.

“Get a fucking move on,” he yelled, walking over to the back of the truck where two of his men passed the heavy boxes of weapons down to the others scurrying back and forth between the smaller vehicles. One of the men jumped into the loaded half ton and drove off. He watched the truck until it was a small dot on the horizon, obscured by the waves of heat bouncing off the asphalt. Out of that curtain of heat drove another truck, coming back empty for the next load.

He checked his watch. They were making progress. But nowhere near as fast as he needed it done. He spat into the dust and returned to the SUV.

E
mily brushed at her forehead
, trying to stem the steady trickle of sweat running into her eyes. Every piece of her clothing stuck to her skin and her arms, uncovered, had already turned a deep rose color. Soon she’d start to blister. How could she tell Dal she was at risk for heat stroke? It seemed ridiculous. A soldier, positioned in the Afghani desert, who couldn’t bear the heat. But that was part of it. Once you have several good bouts of heat stroke, it didn’t take as much to take you down again. She folded her arms in behind Dal’s back, trying to avoid full exposure.

Dal was a good driver and they were making good time. Judging by the sun overhead, it was late afternoon. Her stomach was growling and once they found a decent spot - somewhere with shade - she thought they should rest. Try to build up their reserves for the night.

Dal yelled back to her and she leaned around his shoulder.

“What?” she yelled.

He pointed to a fence ahead running to the north and the south as far as she could see. This area was comprised of large working ranches and they’d hit a roadblock. They would have to follow the fence and hope it didn’t take them too far out of their way.

Steering the bike south, Dal kept the fence several yards to the east. The ground evened out as they joined a trail that seemed to run the perimeter of the property. The sun was now at their right shoulders, rather than tapping straight down on their heads. One small blessing.

She reached to the back rack for water, but remembered they’d drained the last small bottle and needed to refill it from the four-liter container Dal had bungeed to the gas tank. She could wait until they stopped, but there was no telling how much time they’d lose skirting this fence. And what of all the other ranches that lined the road? Would they pose the same problem, force more detours? Tick tock, she said aloud to herself.

The landscape started to change. They were driving out of the flat and into the beginnings of the foothills. The bike rolled through small dips and up the other side. Being as loaded down as they were, it slowed them climbing the hills. The bike simply didn’t have the power with two adults and all the gear. As they continued to follow the fence, mile after mile, Emily started to worry.

She tapped Dal on the shoulder. “How much farther?” she yelled into his ear, more out of frustration than expecting a solid answer.

He shrugged and geared down, coaxing the bike up a hill. They roared along on the flat for a few minutes but as the ground started to slope again, he brought the bike to a stop and turned the motor off. The silence was deafening. Emily’s ears actually hurt from the constant noise. She clambered off the bike to stretch her legs and immediately saw why Dal had stopped.

Below them was a wide
arroyo
filled with large rocks. A foot trail picked through the rocks. “You want to push the bike through that?” She turned back to him and bit her lip. “Shit, Dal,” she said, reaching a hand to his cheek. “Your face is burning up.”

“Yours is red, too,” he said, dismounting and removing the bungee cords from the gas tank. He lifted the four-liter container and drank deeply before passing it to her. The container was hot to the touch, the water warm as it went over her tongue. She didn’t care. She took big gulps before passing it back to him.

“Your upper arms…” He reached out and pressed a finger against her flesh. Under his touch, her skin turned white for a second before returning to a vibrant cherry red. “We need to get out of the sun for a while.”

She stepped to the gear bag, removed the binoculars. Tracking the property line of the ranch, she spotted the corner of the fence they were following. “Finally,” she said. “The fence ends there.” She pointed to the southeast as she passed the binoculars to Dal.

“It looks like there’s a gorge up there. See? Beyond where the fence turns to the east.” He lowered the glasses and she reached out and tapped his nose.

“If this doesn’t work out,” she chuckled, “you can probably pick up a job with Santa this winter. Guiding his sleigh.”

He shook his head, a slow smile lifting his lips. Leaning forward, he pecked her on the lips. “Let’s see if we can’t find some shade in that gorge.”

“What about this
arroyo
,” she said. “Maybe there’s a few trees along it.”

Lifting the binoculars, he followed the arroyo to the west. “We’ll have better luck in the gorge,” he said, stashing the binoculars back into the bag and rolling the bike down the slope. Emily followed as he picked his way through the rocks. Her head was pounding and small water blisters were breaking out along her forearms. She needed shade soon.

Reaching the far side of the arroyo, Dal started the bike and nodded for her to get on. They went slowly up the hill then along the flat, making quick work of the distance between them and the corner of the fence. He’d been right. The land beyond the fence ended as a large gorge dropped to the right. Big crevices of red desert dirt cut into the hillside.

Emily held her breath as Dal navigated the bike close to the fence line and continued on, looking for a trail or animal path that they could walk down into one of the shaded crevices.

A large dog bounded out of a crevice two feet ahead of them and Dal twisted the bike to the left to avoid hitting it. The back tire skidded in the dust flinging Emily to the right. She jerked and the back tire lost purchase in the dirt, sliding into the crevice.

A moment later, she was aware of falling, her fingers losing their grip as they clutched at Dal’s waist, the grocery bags spilling their contents around her as she ricocheted down the hard dirt wall of the gorge.