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“Cabrera, show me my sons.” Bull’s voice was firm, but Rose could imagine the gut-wrenching fear he must be feeling.
“First, show me you’re not packing a weapon. Turn around and raise your arms.”
Bull did as he was told. “My sons!” he thundered. “Now!”
“They are right here.” Refugio’s voice sent chills through Rose’s body. But when the light shone on the two boys, each in the grip of an armed man, she took a breath of relief. At least Will and Beau were alive and appeared unharmed.
“Now, the woman,” Refugio said. “Bring her out, we make the trade, and you can take your boys home.”
Rose glanced down at the weapons Bull had left on the seat. She could take one of the guns, and . . . But what was she thinking? If she tried to save herself, Bull’s sons would be the first to die.
Before Bull cou
ld come for her, she opened the door and slipped to the ground. “I’m coming, Refugio, you pig,” she called. “Let the boys go.”
A coldness crept over her as she walked forward.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TANNER WAS PARTWAY AROUND THE SIDE OF THE BARN WHEN HE heard Rose’s defiant shout to Refugio Cabrera. Fueled by her courage, he pushed through the thick growth of weeds toward the back corner of the barn. He had to be there for her. And he had to be ready to strike as soon as he knew the boys were safe.
This was his first time on the Gunther property, which put him at a disadvantage. His plan to ambush Cabrera and his thugs from behind would work only if he had some kind of opening. So far he had no idea what he would find when he reached the back of the barn.
Training had taught him that it was safest to assume there might be a lookout. He kept low, screened by the tall weeds. Thistles clawed at his clothes. A sharp briar gouged his cheek, drawing a trickle of blood. He kept going.
The big four-wheeler had to figure into the equation. Since he couldn’t see it outside, he had to assume the vehicle was in the barn. In a gunfight, it could provide cover for the cartel thugs or for him. He wouldn’t know which until he got inside. And even then it would be too dark to see much.
Did Cabrera plan to kill Rose right here or take her back to Mexico and prolong the torment? There was no way to know. All he could do was try to get her out of that barn and to safety as fast as possible.
He reached the back of the old barn and swore under his breath. No opening, not even a window. But the boards that formed the siding had weathered over long years. They were so thin that he could see the flicker of a flashlight and hear voices through the cracks. When the time came, he would have to break through, most likely with a solid kick. And when he started shooting, he would have to make sure he didn’t hit Rose.
Sweating, he tested a board with his finger. It yielded to the pressure. If he could smash his way through, it would give him the advantage of surprise. If not . . . But that was just one more unknown he was dealing with. The only certainty was that whatever the cost, he had to get Rose out of there alive.
* * *
After a dozen paces, Rose halted and stood still. She could see the boys, each one gripped by a man holding a pistol to his small head. Their moon-pale faces were frozen in fear. Rose’s heart broke for them and for their father.
“Let the boys go now, Refugio, or I won’t take another step.” She shouted the words, hoping Tanner could hear her.
She willed herself not to think about dying. Refugio was holding all the cards. He could shoot her now and kill the boys out of spite. But giving her a quick death would spoil his fun. His sadistic streak was all she had to count on.
“Let them go, Cabrera,” Bull shouted. “Tell your goons to take their hands off them. If anything goes wrong, I won’t care who I have to kill or how long it takes.”
“They can go. But you keep walking, Rose, or my men will shoot them.” The cartel boss nodded to his henchmen. They released their grip on the boys. Will reached for Beau’s hand and locked his around it. They stumbled a few steps, then broke into a run that took them all the way across the open yard to their father’s arms.
Rose kept walking, aware of the switchblade knife under the back of her jeans. In her side vision she glimpsed Bull carrying his sons to the truck. Go, Bull, she thought. Get them out of here. Nothing else matters.
Bull’s truck might have started and moved. But if it did, Rose couldn’t be sure, because she had reached the entrance to the barn, and the two Cabrera cousins—she recognized them now—were stepping forward to take her arms, holding her between them.
Maybe this was her time to die—like Ramón and María and the good people of Río Seco, who’d been lined up against an adobe wall and shot, or killed in more imaginative ways for the amusement of the cartel. After all, everybody died. Why should she be anything special?
Then she thought of Tanner, somewhere out there, risking his life to save her. Tanner, who’d told her he would rather die with her than live without her. And she knew she had to keep fighting. She wanted to live. She wanted to raise a family with him, to grow old with him. And she wasn’t about to settle for anything less.
It was dark inside the barn, but Rose could make out figures and faces. The vehicle—some kind of enclosed ATV with oversized tires—was a looming black shape, parked to one side of the barn, taking up almost a third of the space.
The two cousins, gripping Rose’s arms, propelled her over to Refugio, who held a flashlight in one hand. As he holstered his gun and shone the light in her eyes, his cruel, handsome face broke into a smirk. “So we meet again, Rose. I can hardly wait for us to get to know each other better.”
Rose spat in his face.
