Hallowed Ground (42 page)

Smoothly, he set me down on the cool mattress.

I opened my eyes to the near darkness of my bedroom. “What time is it?”

“A little after nine.”

“God. I’ve slept away the day.”

“You needed it.” At the window he twisted open the plastic blinds, then shut them again. Turned on the knock-off Tiffany lamp by my bed.

“Where are your bodyguards?”

“Interviewing enforcer candidates.”

They’d decided to let El Presidente waltz around alone after all that had happened lately? Wrong.

“You ditched them, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

I focused on his economy of movements, soothing, yet sexy as hell. “Hey, how did you get in here? I know I locked the doors.”

“I noticed that.” He shoved the rumpled mound of bedcovers to the other side of my bed. “I also noticed your gun is on the coffee table.” After piling two pillows together, he said, “You really should clean it after it’s been fired.”

I sighed. “I suppose you want to know who I fired it at today?”

Martinez froze. “You shot
at
someone today?”

“Yeah, and before you get all pissed off, I’d planned on telling you, okay?”

“Start telling me now.”

I did.

When I’d finished, he spun on his heel, paced to the door, stopped and came back. Dropped to his haunches in front of me. Pressed his forehead against my knees and began to laugh. Hard.

“What?”

He grinned at me and curled his hand around my head like he always did. I was beginning to get used to it.

“I don’t know why I bother to worry about you.”

“You worry about me?”

“Yes.” His fingers brushed away the wisps of hair that had stuck to my cheek. Then those rough-skinned knuckles traced my jaw line, up one side and down the other.

His touch was electric shock therapy; my aches and pains miraculously disappeared.

“Tony, why are you here?”

He didn’t answer right away. He kept stroking my face, watching my reaction with those dark, dark eyes. “Do you want me to go?”

I shook my head.

“Good.”

Unnerved by his continued stare, I dropped my chin. “Stop staring at me. I look like crap.”

“You think I care?”

I looked up at him skeptically.

“See? I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told you it didn’t matter.”

“You really don’t care about the stitches and the bruises? I’ll probably have scars.”

He kissed the corner of my mouth, my swollen nose, the skin around my stitches. “Scarred or not, I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

My stomach did a little flip. “You
do
know what you’re getting yourself into with me, don’t you?”

“I could say the same to you.”

I hadn’t forgotten Martinez lived by his own rules. Not the ones set by the law. Not even the same rules I followed. Could I ever come to grips with what he did as president of the Hombres?

Probably not.

But as he kneeled in front of me, I didn’t see the outlaw, just the man. I knew he saw me for who I really was. Maybe he was one of the few who ever had.

I lightly fingered his worn leather vest, covered in those intriguing patches. “So, you remember the other night?”

“Vividly.”

“Well, I don’t.”

He waited.

“I mean, I don’t remember vividly. It was so dark I didn’t really get a chance to look very closely at—”

“At what?” Impatience flashed in his eyes.

I pressed my lips to his temple. Waited a beat. “At your tattoos.”

He shivered as I blew a stream of air inside his ear.

“How about it, Martinez? Wanna show me your tattoos?”

I felt his grin on my cheek before he gently lowered me back on the bed.

Hours later, when we were both exhausted and he was wrapped around me like a vine, he’d become quiet. More so than usual.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Not really.”

Strange, how he’d known I was thinking about Harvey, not the change in our relationship.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You
can
talk to me.”

His hold on me increased. “I know.”

“I wish this was over. After I find Chloe I want to ...”

“What?” he murmured.

“Get away. Forget.”

He didn’t say anything.

I yawned. Shifted closer to him to absorb his body heat. He continued to play with my hair. I didn’t understand his obsession, but I counted myself lucky he was a hair man, not a breast man.

I had lots of hair.

“You didn’t finish telling me what happened after you shot up Little Joe’s manhood,” he said.

“Huh-uh. You distracted me.”

“Ah. The guided tour of my tattoos.” He nipped my shoulder. “I think you missed a couple.”

“I’ll look again later.”

“Mmm. I’m holding you to that.”

He sounded tired. The sooner I told him how I’d spent my afternoon the sooner we could melt away.

“I went out to the ranch.”

His caresses lulled me toward sleep. I had a hard time staying awake while I told him what my

father had said and the conclusions I’d drawn.

The last thing I remembered was Martinez placing a soft kiss on the back of my neck and whispering, “Thank you.”

I woke up alone around noon. If not for the hastily scrawled, “I’ll call you,” note he’d propped next to my cigarettes, I wouldn’t have believed last night had happened. Hard to fathom Tony Martinez and I meshed, in and out of bed.

After I’d showered, I dressed in baggy shorts and a tie-dyed T-shirt. Threw my hair into a ponytail. I didn’t plan on going anywhere. Actually, I was sort of scared to leave my house.

The day dragged on. I ordered a pizza. Watched TV. Waited for the phone to ring.

I’d called Sheriff Richards first thing only to find he’d taken a well-deserved day off. I didn’t want to bug him at home since Mrs. Richards was nearly as big and intimidating as he was.

Missy had promised to have him call me if he checked in.

I waited some more.

My cell phone rang just after dusk. I didn’t recognize the number. I answered anyway, hoping it was the sheriff.

“Hello?”

“Julie Collins?”

“Yes?”

“Listen carefully. We have the girl. You have the disk. We’re willing to make a trade.”

My knees failed and I sank to the floor.

Oh my God.

“Who is this?” I said. “Let me talk to her. Right now.”

“You aren’t in a position to make demands.”

I dry heaved. When I regained control, I said, “Okay. Tell me what you want.”

“Bring the disk to the Bear Butte Casino. Bottom door. Basement. East entrance. Come inside.

Wait there for further instructions. Come alone. Come unarmed. If you fail to follow a single instruction, she dies. You have twenty minutes.”

Click.

I STAYED SURPRISINGLY CALM.

Since I’d bluffed my way this far there was a slight chance I could keep it up long enough to get Chloe to safety.

I dug in my entertainment center and yanked out a blank CD still in the case. Tossed my home office until I found an unused manila envelope and slid the CD case inside. I threw my gun (cleaned, with a fresh clip) my knife, cell phone, and a package of Twinkies (for Chloe) in my purse.

Before I ran out of the house, I left a vague message on Martinez’s voice mail.

Only when I was in my truck and on my way did I allow myself to think about Chloe. She’d better be okay. They’d better not have harmed a single hair on her little head or I’d kill them.

Even when I didn’t know who “them” was.

Fuck. I floored it.

Scenery blurred past. I’d made it to the turnoff when I hit the brakes. The seatbelt caught, throwing me forward, and the back end skidded sideways in the gravel.

Damn that hurt.

No sense barreling up there. They were expecting me.

I whipped down the embankment and parked my truck in the ditch. Killed the lights. I dropped the stun gun in my purse, and slid from the cab.

The stars weren’t yet at full brilliance. The moon hadn’t risen. The bitter scent of skunkweed arose as I carefully picked my way across the field. At the last hill I stopped and caught my breath, about 500 yards from the building.

The heavy equipment that had served as a blockade was gone. Didn’t look like the builders had made much progress in the last few days. Wait. They had put in the windows.

I wasn’t dumb enough to try and sneak my Browning or my stun gun or my knife in with me.

But I wanted them close, just in case. A saw-toothed shaped rock poked up, ten yards to my right. I hid my purse along the back side of it in a lone clump of tall grass.

At 100 yards, I removed the two small, flat nylon restraints from my front pocket. Wrapped one around my ponytail holder, and slipped the spare, with the rhinestone glued on the clear plastic block, over my hand to my wrist. I squinted. Looked like a friendship bracelet.

Envelope clutched in my hand, I forced my feet to move. One step at a time. I could do this. I
had
to do this. Chloe’s life depended on me being able to do this.

No back up. No last minute rescues. Just me.

Hey, no pressure.

Shades were drawn in the office trailer. The recent rain had left mud puddles across the empty parking lot.

Bear Butte loomed in the background. Silent. Watching.

The front of the building was spread out, and appeared to be a single level, except off to the right side it sloped sharply to reveal a walk out basement.

I should’ve veered to the right. Instead, I went left. I don’t know how I thought coming in on the wrong side would give me the element of surprise, but it would give me a vague idea of escape routes if Chloe and I needed to run.

Boulders lined the slope around a sea of pea-sized gravel. Had to be some kind of drainage ditch.

Chloe and I could probably hide behind those big rocks if we had to, but it was too close to the building for my peace of mind.

Sturgis
was too close for my peace of mind.

I started downhill. Every step jarred my ribs. I slid in the mud, righted myself by touching the cool cement blocks of the foundation.

I’d reached the end of the left side of the building. I peeked my head around the corner. Couldn’t distinguish the lumpy shapes. Listened, couldn’t hear anything over the rapid staccato of my heart.

I turned the corner.

Discarded construction materials littered the area. I had to slowly pick my way through a footstep at a time lest I step on a nail or broken sawzal blade. I’d made it halfway when a low hissing registered.

I froze. Just what I didn’t need, a rattlesnake hunting out here in the dark. Damn things always hissed a warning before their rattles signaled a strike.

I willed the blood to quit rushing in my ears so I could listen again.

Nothing. Maybe I’d imagined it.

I gave the remaining junk a wide berth anyway and rounded the last corner.

Since my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I noticed a five-pound bucket of Sheetrock mud held the steel door ajar.

What was I supposed to do now? Go in? Wait out here?

A latex glove clapped over my mouth. Cold steel pressed into my neck.

Fear seized me, hard.

The hand moved. The knife stayed.

“Spread out and hold still.”

I closed my eyes, suffocating with helplessness.

A strong male hand thoroughly patted me down. Up my left side, then my right. Over and under my arms, neck, and head. Down my back, and the back of my legs. Between my legs, up the front of my thighs, across my hips, belly, my breasts, collarbones, and shoulders.

I had to focus on something besides the nauseating sensation of unfamiliar, unwanted hands on me. Why hadn’t he taken the disk?

He moved the knife under my chin. “Swear you ain’t got no weapons or nothin’ on you.”

“I swear,” I whispered.

“Come on then.”

I still didn’t recognize the voice, but I obeyed.

Once inside, my bare knees hit concrete when he shoved me to the floor. The disk flew from my hand and the envelope skidded. Tears stung my eyes as I scrambled away. I kept crawling until my back hit the solid cement wall.