Fatal Harvest (21 page)

“Ohh,” Josefina groaned. “It’s someplace bad. They’re gonna get killed. They’ll die, and it’ll be all our fault, Hernando.”

“Anyway, the chile is doing okay.” Pedro hadn’t spoken until now, but clearly he felt this was the time for some good news. “It’s up and looking really nice.”

“Yeah, we got eight calves since you left,” Hernando added. “The livestock is in good shape.”

“Can you two handle the place for a few more days without me?”

“Sure,” Hernando said.

“Claro.”
Pedro smiled. “I been doing this half my life, Mr. Strong. Tom Perry from Selena Foods came over from Roswell yesterday to check on our chile, and he says it’s looking like the best crop ever. If we don’t get hail, we’re gonna be great. And the hay—Homestead called me. If it’s the same quality as last year, they’ll take all we can give them.”

Cole felt a warm peace pour through him. “Tell Homestead it’ll be better than last year’s crop. Phone Tom, too, will you? Let him know I should be back at the ranch by the end of the week, and I’d like to talk to him.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow morning.”

The idea of sitting down over a cup of hot black coffee with his longtime colleague brought Cole a sense of normalcy he hadn’t felt since Thursday afternoon, when Matt failed to come home from school. It would be something to look forward to. One day—maybe soon—this mess would be over, and life would start ticking along as it always had. Days and months and seasons slipping by—His focus came to rest on Jill.

She looked away quickly. “Well, I’m bushed. I’d better head for home.”

“You don’t have to go,” he said, wishing he could prevent the inevitable.

“I need to make lesson plans.”

“Josefina could make us some dinner. I know you’re hungry.”

“Do you like enchiladas? I make red ones or green ones.”

“I love both kinds.” Jill smiled across at the other woman in the room. “But not tonight. Maybe another time.”

“Yeah, another time,” Cole said. “When we get Matt home, you could come over. Matt would love that. And me…I’d be happy for you to drop by anytime.”

She didn’t answer, staring at the strap on her tote bag.
“Anyway, don’t worry about the rental car, Cole. I’ll take care of it tomorrow—and I’ll handle the paperwork with the wreck in Mexico.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it…everything you’ve done.”

She shrugged. “No problem. Penny should be here soon. I’ve written her a note about your medicines. You ought to take another painkiller. It’s past time. And don’t forget the antibiotics, either.”

Standing, she picked up her tote bag. Cole watched her, intimate now with this bundle of energy and tireless enthusiasm that had so annoyed him in the beginning. Once a total stranger, Jill Pruitt had stayed at his side. Searched for his son. Cared for his mother. Rescued him from darkness, hunger and the threat of death. He was so used to hearing her voice in the car, to having her near. Somehow, her presence made it seem like everything would work out.

He rose, and with the motion a stabbing pain shot up his arm. Without hesitation, she reached for him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He winced, hobbling forward on his tender ankle.

“Just stay put. I know my way to the door.”

He went after her anyway, feeling a sense of deprivation at the thought of her absence. “I’ll call you.”

“When you find Matt, yes.” She swung around, a small smile pasted on her face. “I’ll be praying for you.”

“Jill.” He stretched out his bandaged hand, but she slipped through the front door. “Jill, wait.”

“It’s really late. I’d better go.”

“But I want to—”

“Your fiancée’s coming, Cole.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I need to go home.”

“Yeah. Well…thanks. Thanks for going with me.”

“Anytime.”

Before he could stop her, she hurried away, her sandals crunching on the driveway.

Cole rubbed his eyes as he moved back into the house and shut the front door. He had already thrown a few clothes into a bag. His passport was safely lodged in his pocket. But maybe he could afford a quick shower and a bite to eat.

Matt’s framed school pictures hung along the foyer wall, and Cole paused to study his son. He had been a beautiful child—large blue eyes, wavy dark hair, perfect skin. Always solemn, Matt stared into the camera as though this yearly routine bemused him. As though it required him to ponder why the picture must be taken, how the camera worked, what effects the lighting had, and what it would all mean in the end.

What it meant to Cole was that he would not take a shower or eat or do anything else. He would not wait for Penny to arrive from Albuquerque. And he certainly couldn’t afford to take any more painkillers. The image of grown men hot on his sixteen-year-old son’s trail was enough to recharge Cole. He stepped into the living room.

“Thanks for coming over,” he told his three employees. “Keep your mouths shut about the passports, all of you. Don’t tell Sheriff Holtmeyer that Matt was here. And whatever you do, don’t—” He halted, catching Josefina’s stricken look. “Did you tell the sheriff?”

“Well, he came over to the house on Sunday morning right after Matthew left. He wanted to know if we’d seen Matthew—”

“She looked guilty,” Hernando cut in. “My wife has never been a good liar. I can always tell if she’s—”

“Never mind.” Cole gritted his teeth. “Just do the best you can to protect Matt.”

The three rose, looking uncomfortable and sad. Cole wished he could ease the situation, but he knew it was impossible. How much information had been leaked already? Who knew about France besides Jill? And what if someone got to her? What if Agrimax—

“Good night, Mr. Strong,” Josefina called over her shoulder as Hernando led her toward the kitchen. “You sure you don’t want any biscochitos? I baked them today.”

Cole stepped forward and took a couple of the small, powdery cookies just to please her. “Josefina, will you do something for me?”

“Anything, Mr. Strong. You know that.”

“You used to tell me you had your limits.”

She smiled for the first time that night. “Not anymore.”

“Me, either,” he said.

She touched his arm. “What can I do for you?”

“Will you check on Jill Pruitt? Call her tomorrow, and make sure she’s all right. Hernando, you could drive by her house, maybe phone the school, too. These guys—the ones who caused my accident, the men who are after Matt—they know Jill was with me. They interrogated her. They may still think they can get information out of her and—”

“It’s okay, Mr. Strong.” Hernando laid a hand on his boss’s shoulder. “We’ll make sure she’s all right. I won’t let nobody hurt her.”

As Pedro, Hernando and Josefina left the old adobe ranch house, Cole let out a deep breath. He could trust them. Maybe they hadn’t been as circumspect as he wished, but they were human and therefore susceptible to stress, fear, and all the factors that led people to confess their secrets.

Again his thoughts turned to Jill Pruitt. How had she withstood Agrimax’s interrogation for two solid days? Anyone who would run a car off a road and leave a man in the ditch to die could have no conscience. Surely the pressure those men had put on her had been intense. She had prayed, she told Cole. Simply prayed. Was that enough?

Determined to do things the right way, Cole paused beside the couch and knelt. Pressing his forehead against his clasped hands, he begged God to have mercy on his son.
Protect Matthew. Save his life. Lead me to him.

Was this how Jill prayed? Cole regretted his laziness in remembering to read his Bible, to pray, to commune with the Lord. He was like one of those baby Christians Paul had spoken of—still on the milk of the gospel and not even ready for meat.

“Help me grow, Father,” he prayed aloud. He clenched his fists, heedless of the pain in his wounded fingers. “No matter how this turns out, even if I lose my boy like I lost my wife, I want to know You more. I want to be the man You intended when You created me. Grow me like a good healthy crop, like a chile bush loaded with pods. I want to bear fruit. Help me. Teach me. And God…please…please lead me to Matthew. I need to—”

The doorbell cut off his thoughts. Jill? He felt a surge of hope. She had returned. Cole limped toward the door as the bell sounded again.
No, probably it’s Penny,
he realized. She must have driven ninety-to-nothing all the way from Albuquerque.

How could he explain that he had to leave her behind? He didn’t even have time to talk, to tell her what was happening. Why had she come? Did he want her presence?

The thought of Penny’s thousand lawyerly questions, her quick anger, her lack of understanding discouraged Cole as he reached for the door. Had he made a mistake in allowing a relationship to develop between them? Once, he’d been so sure he wanted to marry her. Now that idea seemed foreign and misguided.

He opened the door, but instead of Penny…instead of Jill…Tom Perry stood on the porch. Heavyset, with a friendly face and a rich Texas drawl, the man who bought Cole’s chile for Selena Foods stood in the pool of light from the overhead fixture. With a chuckle of surprise, the man held out his hand.

“Cole, I didn’t expect to find you here!” He stepped into the foyer and took off his hat. “I was staying overnight in
Artesia—getting bored just watching TV at the motel, you know. So I thought I’d drive around the area to take a gander at what’s going on with some of my accounts. Your fields are looking real good this spring.”

“Thanks.” As welcome as the familiar face was, Cole knew he couldn’t afford to talk to Tom for more than a moment.

“Anyhow, when I saw the lights on over at your house, I got concerned. Pedro told me you were in Mexico. He says you’ve had some trouble lately. What’s this about your boy? Matt ran off?”

“Something like that,” Cole said. “Listen, Tom, I’d invite you in for a cup of coffee, but I’m on my way out.”

“At this hour? Whoa, look at your hand. What happened there, buddy?”

“It’s not bad, but I really do have to go, Tom. I’ve got things to take care of. You know.”

Tom grew solemn. “Listen, Cole, some of the honchos from headquarters flew down here the other day. I’m not sure you knew that. They’re real unhappy about the way things are going. I wanted to warn you that you could have big trouble on your hands. And I’m not just talking about a runaway boy.”

Cole belatedly remembered that Selena Foods was owned by Agrimax. Of course. His heart sped up as he studied his old friend. “What kind of trouble are you talking about, Tom?”

“They say your boy stole some information that belongs to Agrimax. Everybody knows Matt is good with computers. It sounds to me like he pirated their patented technology.”

“If he did, so what? He’s only sixteen. What’s a kid going to do with a formula for pesticide or fertilizer? If it’s patented, he can’t sell it. And he sure can’t make the stuff himself. Matt’s no threat to Agrimax, Tom. You know that.”

“Seems that way, Cole, but all the same…they want to find him.”

“Well, so do I.”

“Then are you willing to cooperate?”

Standing in the open doorway, Cole noted the car idling in his driveway. Not Tom’s old blue pickup. This was a sleek, black luxury vehicle.

“You didn’t come out here to check on my fields, did you, Tom? They sent you.”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Cole, listen, I need Agrimax just as bad as you do. I’ve worked for Selena for twenty-three years. Neither of us can get along without our jobs. Why don’t you cooperate? Tell them everything you know. Work with them to find Matt. If you help out, they’ll make this easy on your boy. I promise.”

“I wouldn’t give those people the time of day,” Cole said. “They tried to kill me, Tom. Down in Mexico, they ran me off the road and left me for dead. They’ve chased my boy and scared the living daylights out of my seventy-year-old mother. And they killed Jim Banyon, Tom. They murdered him.”

As he spoke, two men in dark suits emerged from the car and moved toward the house. “What’s going on?” Cole demanded. “Was that a signal? Rubbing the back of your neck like that, Tom?”

The big man stepped aside. “I’m sorry. I tried to talk them out of this.”

Cole’s numbed brain leaped to alertness. As the men lunged through the door, he grabbed two of Matt’s school pictures with his good hand and hurled them. Glass shattered. He ducked into the living room and sprinted for the kitchen. The pain in his ankle shot up his leg as his boots thudded across the saltillo tiles. A shot rang out, and the adobe wall beside his hip exploded in a puff of dust.

Cole flung open the back door and stumbled into the
darkness. Shouts echoed. The car in his driveway roared to life, headlights swinging across the alfalfa field behind the house. Curling his wounded fingers against his chest, he dropped to his belly and crawled under a string of barbed wire. Flashlights flicked on, and their beams chased him as he hobbled across the newly mown hay.

Where to run? He could ignore the pain in his swollen ankle, but how much pounding could it take before he collapsed? And where could he hide in flat terrain with few trees and no deep ravines?