

### DRIVEN

# A Novel by

# WILL DECKER

##

## Distributed by Smashwords

## Copyright 2018 by WILL DECKER

## WILL DECKER has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

## **All rights reserved.** No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased, or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

## **DRIVEN** is a work of fiction. The resemblance of any characters to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, media, situations, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

## This eBook may not be re-sold or given away except with written permission from the author or as otherwise permitted through special promotions and programs.

## A special thank you to everyone that has made this story possible. My beta reader, my proof reader, and to you the readers. I sincerely hope you enjoy this work of fiction.

## Will

## More Fantastic Stories by Will Decker:

## A COMPILATION OF SHORT STORIES

## UNREQUITED LOVE

## FIRE BABY

## HYBRID KILLERS

## The 'HEÄLF' Sci-Fi Collection:

## MORTALITY REVISITED

## CLONE WARS

## DAY OF NIGHT

## REGENERATIONS

## HORSPAW

## The 'Mac" Action Collection:

## THE WITNESS

## TOXIC RAIN

## BETRAYAL

## RECORD KEEPER

## DEATH IN THE DUNES

## WIT-SEC FAIL

## SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed.

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty one

Twenty two

Twenty three

Twenty four

Twenty five

Twenty six

Twenty seven

Twenty eight

Twenty nine

Thirty

Thirty one

Thirty two

Thirty three

Thirty four

Thirty five

Thirty six

Thirty seven

Thirty eight

Thirty nine

Forty

Epilogue

MORE BY WILL DECKER

# One

Have you ever felt like you were on a never ending treadmill? Constantly dropping one foot in front of the other, but never really gaining any ground? Or staring into that enticing view out the front windshield that never seems to get any closer? It's always just hanging right there in front of you while time slowly ticks away. That's the way it feels some days when I'm looking through the windshield of this old Kenworth, staring at the long, lonely stretch of blacktop snaking out before me. It gives the illusion that the horizon is just one more mile down the road. And as the sun begins to slip down toward that horizon each lonely night, it slowly slips a little further away, always just out of reach until it slides right off the edge of the earth, leaving me all alone and in the darkness once more with nothing more than the green glow of the dash lights to keep me company.

It's during these dark, lonely hours of the night when I'm traveling westbound toward San Diego and nearing my next destination that I don't feel any real need or reason to pull over, despite what my log book is telling me. My thoughts drift back over my life and all the decisions I've made that have led me to this point and time. Sometimes, I can feel her sitting in the seat next to me, her beautiful smile lighting up the night like a beacon, showing me the way.

And then other times, all I feel is the empty solitude of this cab accented by the steady thrum of 18 wheels hammering out their forlorn tune comprised of a single, solitary note.

This is one of those dreary nights where my destination is just beyond the reach of a legal log book and the maximum hours of driving in one stretch. And though my eyes are heavy, traffic is light, and before long, I will be off the black snake and in the spider web of surface roads where there is virtually no chance of being stopped or checked by the long arm of the scale master. The risk is worth the gamble and I push on, the very real risk of getting a ticket increasing my awareness of both what's on the road around me and what's parked alongside it.

Not for the first time, I reach my exit without incident or ticket and slide into the Jake brake to ease the heavily loaded truck down the off-ramp. Pulling up to the stop sign, I glance toward the truck stop just off to my left, the bright display of signs trying their damnedest to lure fellow truckers onto their lot. And while a hot shower is very appealing, I'm not in need of food or fuel, opting instead to take the road leading to the right and following the signs and arrows that indicate the truck route through town. The street is lined with small businesses, their livelihoods depending on the endless asphalt ribbon that I've just left behind. It's early morning and most of them are still as dark as night with only the street lights illuminating their empty parking lots. More than a few have large picture windows facing the street and I watch my reflection silently gliding past.

The business I'm heading towards is one that I've delivered freight to many times in the past and I know the way in and out like the back of my hand. As I roll up on the gated entrance to the freight yard, I notice the sky is just beginning to grow lighter beyond the reach of the Sulphur yard lights. No one is manning the open gate and I glide on in trailing a cloud of dust as I bounce up the slight angle to the higher level of the several acres of hard pack. There is a long, single level concrete building running along the right side of the lot for several hundred feet. It was once painted yellow but over time has faded to a pukey beige with a loading dock running along its length. This is the back side of the warehouse and the front of the building, where the offices are located, faces out onto a main street with ample parking for its employees.

Knowing the routine, I swing wide left and then ease my trailer back into to an open slot on the loading dock between two other rigs currently being offloaded. Shutting down the big diesel, I grab the bill of lading for this load and jump down to the gravel surface. Before I can turn and shut my door, Bob, the dock foreman is striding purposefully along the loading platform toward me, a big smile on his cherubic face. He's an easy-going guy that greets every driver with a welcoming demeanor and an offer of joining him for a cup of coffee and a Danish, a habit that has placed a lot of weight on his balding, five-foot seven-inch frame over the years.

"Bob," I say, returning his smile.

"I just put a fresh pot on, Driver," he calls down to me before turning back toward the open doors. "Bring your paperwork and meet me inside."

Strolling along the hard packed dirt toward the nearest set of steel steps leading up to the loading platform, I take note of the other rigs lined up. It surprises me that I don't recognize any of the other independents.

After climbing the steel grated steps, I hurry through the warehouse, dodging the forklifts running back and forth from the platform, carrying their loads into the deeper reaches of the building where they are constantly being organized according to outgoing needs.

Entering Bob's office, I hone in on the paper cup of coffee that he's poured for me and with a nod of thanks, take a long sip, savoring the thick black liquid. Bob knows how to make coffee, even if the Danishes are a tad stale.

"How was your run?" Bob asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Too damned long," I reply, setting the cup down to cool and pushing the paperwork toward him as I drop onto the hard metal chair. "Thanks for the Joe."

"No problem. By the way, the employee's lounge is pretty quiet right now if you want to take advantage of it while they get your trailer offloaded," he offers, knowing I'm one of the few truckers that will take advantage of every opportunity I get to work out and stay in shape. Long hours on the road can do a lot of harm to a human body, and while I'm not vain, I don't want to look like the typical three-hundred pound mass of flabby flesh either.

The only time Bob doesn't offer the use of the employee's facilities is if I show up between shifts and there are a lot of employees taking advantage of them before heading home or to the local watering hole or wherever they go when they get off work.

"I appreciate that, Bob," I reply, rising stiffly back to my feet while gripping the paper cup.

"Give the guys about half an hour and I'll have your paperwork done by then too."

"Thanks," I reply, heading back toward my rig to collect my ditty bag with workout clothes and shaving kit.

After a hard run through the weights and then a few minutes at high speed on the treadmill, I take a nice hot shower while simultaneously running a razor over my jaw. When I return to Bob's office, the sun is shining outside and I feel like a new man, albeit with a ravenous appetite and still wearing my driving apparel, a pair of faded jeans, steel-toed leather upper boots, and a white tee that fits snug. At this point, even his stale rolls are beginning to look good.

"Everything's in order," he says cheerfully, looking up at me with his usual smile. Then a dark cloud passes quickly across his countenance, disappearing so fast that I wonder if it wasn't just a figment of my imagination, when he turns on the smile again and says, "I'm off in another fifteen minutes, would you care to join me for some breakfast? There's a little diner just up the street where we can walk to, if you're interested."

Although Bob and I have known each other for some years now, we'd never socialized outside of the warehouse, and his offer has me looking at him anew.

Before I can answer, he adds, "You can leave your rig where it's at for now. Won't be in anyone's way and we won't be gone that long."

"Sure, Bob," I reply, acting like the offer is nothing out of the ordinary, even though it has me curious.

"I'll meet you out by your truck in a few minutes," he says, giving me the feeling that I'm suddenly being dismissed.

In less than five minute's time, Bob comes waddling along the loading platform before stepping gingerly down the raised steel steps to the hardpack. Seeing him approaching, I toss my gear in the sleeper of my rig and climb down, locking the cab door behind me. By the time Bob reaches the rig, his face is glistening in sweat and he's breathing as though he's just run a hundred yard dash. It's relatively warm here in the southern reaches of California despite the early morning and his thin cotton shirt is showing sweat dampened armpits.

"You okay, Bob?" I ask of him, slightly concerned that a couple of block's walk to a restaurant is going to prove too much for the poor man.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just give me a minute to catch my breath."

"Would you rather drive?" I ask, not sure if he even drives to work and if not, what we can drive since taking my rig is out of the question. Unless this restaurant that he suggested we walk to has a big parking lot.

"No," he snaps, giving me a nervous glance before regaining his composure. "I mean, I need the exercise. We'll walk."

"Sure, no problem, Bob," I reply, a feeling of unease raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

Without another word, Bob turns and sets off toward the gate that I came in through. Shaking off the unease, I quickly overtake him and we continue on in silence.

"It's just up the next block," he wheezes, pointing up a side street that's posted closed to heavy truck traffic.

Nodding toward the sign, I remark, "That's probably why I've never heard of the place."

His words coming in spurts between breaths, he says, "Yeah...not many...of the drivers...know about...this place."

When we reach the door, he pauses with a hand pressed against the doorjamb for a long moment to catch his breath before pulling the door open and leading the way inside. Our senses are immediately assaulted by a blast of warm moist air redolent with the smell of bacon and coffee. It's just a little mom and pop place that serves breakfast and lunches, both seated and to-go, and closes at 3: PM, according to the sign on the door. There's an older gentleman in whites with a soiled chef's hat manning a large grill in the kitchen and an older lady in a too short pink skirt with a pink matching blouse, white tennis shoes, and a ball of dishwater colored hair tied up in a net on her head working her way from table to table with a carafe in each hand, pausing only long enough to refill white porcelain mugs being pushed toward her by a good turnout of patrons. Behind the counter is a younger version of the woman wearing a matching outfit, but filling it out in a much more appealing way.

Glancing in our direction, the older woman calls out with a genuine smile, "Morning, Bob. Special for you and your handsome friend there?"

"Yes, Gladys," Bob replies, his trademark smile firmly back in place, though he's still wheezing slightly from the walk. "Morning Sally, Mike," he continues, addressing the young girl and the man in the kitchen as I follow him along the length of the lunch counter to a booth near the back of the place. It appears that he wants some privacy, as we've passed several empty booths.

Before we even get settled into our seat, Gladys, our waitress, is filling Bob's upturned mug. Turning toward me while I flip my mug up to match suit, she smiles and asks, "Regular or unleaded?"

"Regular, please," I reply, returning her smile.

While she pours a thick black liquid into my mug, she gives me a less than subtle eyeing over, asking Bob, "So who's this fine specimen of a man with you this morning, Bob?"

Having caught his breath, Bob smiles while replying, "Don't let Mike hear you asking that, Gladys. We'd rather our breakfast not be spit on or burnt, if it's all the same."

"Mike ain't got a jealous bone in his body. Do you Mike?" she adds, raising her voice so the entire patronage in the restaurant can hear her.

"Are you harassing the customers again, Gladys," Mike retorts loudly from the kitchen.

Glancing in the direction of the counter, I notice Sally working her way along the Formica top with matching carafes, her head shaking in disbelief at Gladys's harmless flirting.

With my broad shoulders, sharp blue eyes, square jaw, and standing at over six-feet, two-inches, I've gotten quite used to the opposite sex checking me out. But that doesn't mean I've ever let it go to my head.

When Gladys turns back toward the counter, I give Bob a friendly grin and casually ask him how the world's been treating him. It's a weak attempt at small talk, but I suddenly realize that I don't really know the man sitting across the table from me. I don't even know whether he's married or not, because not all men that are married wear a wedding band. And if he is and has a family, he's never mentioned them in any of the many conversations we've had in his office.

As he watches Gladys's backside, the smile slowly leaves his face to be replaced by one of uncertainty, as if he's suddenly not sure that asking me to have breakfast with him was such a good idea after all. After a moment of silence, he looks down into his mug like someone reading tea leaves before making up his mind and says, "Not so good, I'm afraid."

Though we're not really close friends, I feel obligated to offer, "Anything I can do to help?"

He continues studying his mug of coffee in silence, when Gladys suddenly returns, two large plates balanced on her left hand along with the carafe of regular grasped in her right. Bob's smile is instantly back in place as he looks up at her and sits back to make room.

"Here you go guys," she says, placing a plate in front of each of us before topping up my mug of coffee. "You need anything else," she adds, giving me an over-the-top wink, "you just yell."

"Thanks, Gladys. This should be all for now," Bob replies, barely glancing at his food.

"Yes, it looks delicious, Gladys," I add, studying the heaping plate of nicely browned hashbrowns and several sticks of bacon with a couple of pancakes on the side.

"Enjoy," she says, moving on to the next occupied table where there's a young couple that look like they just spent a rambunctious night together and are now trying to figure out where they go from there.

Oh, to be young again, I silently yearn, knowing that at just shy of forty, I have a long way to go to old age. But how many things would I have done differently if given the chance to go back and start over? Only the choices that would have kept her by my side.

Poking silently at his plate of food, Bob drags me out of my reverie with a barely audible voice, "I know you're wondering why I invited you to breakfast this morning." Before I can deny my curiosity, he looks up and with a wave of his hand, continues, "It's not like we're close buds or anything."

"Okay, you got me," I concede, my appetite taking a nosedive. Setting my fork aside, I pick up my mug of coffee and before putting it against my lips, add with an attempt at levity, "I'm dying of curiosity over here."

His voice barely more than a whisper, he looks around nervously before continuing without acknowledging my comment. "I don't really have any friends. Most of the guys that work the dock see me as the paper pusher while they're the muscle. And because I work graveyard and don't have a lot of business degrees and such plastered all over my walls, management just sees me as the night grunt. So long as there aren't any problems, they don't want to know me. My neighbors all work during the day when I'm at home, so it's not like I ever see anyone when I'm not at work."

"I'm sure it's not that bad, Bob," I gently commiserate, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the direction our conversation is going. If he's looking for a friend, his approach definitely explains why he doesn't have any. "I'm sure there are lots of people that like your company." I pause for a long moment, studying him in a new light as he pushes a mound of hashbrowns around his plate with his fork. "It can't be all that bad, Bob. Maybe you just need to put yourself out there. Join a gym. They're open all hours day and night. Or find a girlfriend," I tease, trying to shake off the tension growing between us.

Looking up, he glances around before continuing, as if he's afraid someone might be eavesdropping. "You don't understand."

"Then why don't you explain it to me," I pressure him, quickly growing impatient, my appetite now long gone. A stiff drink is sounding more appealing by the second.

While I impatiently wait for Bob to explain, I glance around the place, trying to catch another glimpse of the young waitress. Though she's too young for me, she's still easy on the eyes and a nice distraction from this conversation with Bob.

# Two

"About 2 weeks ago, just before I was heading home after a slow night on the dock, a guy in a suit approached me," Bob began, all the while glancing furtively around the restaurant as if expecting someone or something to come crashing down on him. He licks his lips nervously and after swallowing a breath, continues, "He told me he had his own dispatch company and had heard about me. He was looking to recruit only the best, people that he could count on, he said. Of course, I was flattered by this talk and agreed to have coffee with him and you know, hear him out and see what he was offering. You and I both know there isn't any loyalty at the place I'm working now."

"Sounds good so far," I nod, urging him to continue. "Headhunters aren't anything new to the trucking industry."

"No, they're not," he hesitantly agrees. Then, after studying his coffee mug for a long moment, says, "Neither is running contraband."

"Is that what this is about? He wants you to slip illegal loads onto unsuspecting drivers?" I ask, my attention fully on him now.

"Not quite," he mumbles, unable to look me in the eye. "Well, yeah, kind of."

"Then why don't you tell me what this is about, Bob?" I firmly insist, my grip tightening around my mug. Running any kind of contraband can be a career ender for a truck driver, not to mention downright dangerous depending on the contraband and the customer. And then there is always the possibility of jail time. "What kind of money did they offer you and what exactly is the contraband?" I ask, growing more impatient and angrier with each passing second of his hesitation.

"They didn't exactly offer money," he stutters, his voice barely more than a whisper as a sheen of sweat breaks out above his upper lip. "Actually, that's not quite true. They offered money, but they offered something else too." He hesitates, taking a deep breath before adding, "You're right about the rest, though. They do want me to slip the cargo into trailers without the driver's knowledge. Just another anonymous piece of freight."

"So why are you telling me about it? Why didn't you just give me a load and send me on my merry way, none the wiser?"

"I thought about it," he starts, and then takes a nervous breath while glancing furtively around the restaurant again. Now I'm wondering if he's looking for cops or someone else.

Cutting him off before he can continue, I ask, "How many trailers have you already contaminated without the driver's knowledge? And just what the hell kind of contra are we talking about here? Drugs, cigarettes?" I pause to take a deep breath, giving him my full attention before growling at him, "I sure hope they're making it worth your while, Bob."

"It's not that simple," he stutters, taking a quick sip of his cold coffee to wet his throat before continuing.

"Then explain it to me, Bob. Because right now, I'm real close to just calling the cops and walking out of here," I growl, knowing full well I'd never call the cops without first trying to help him out, even though he isn't exactly a close bud,

Yet, he doesn't know that, and the thought of being turned over to the cops sends him into a panic.

"Please, Driver, you can't do that," he grovels, almost on the point of tears when the young waitress stops by the table with a pot of coffee and a smile, her eyes on me as if Bob isn't even sitting across the table from me.

"Warm up?" she asks with a flirtatious smile and a subtle wave of her head to keep the hair off her forehead.

"Thanks," I reply, giving her a wink to let her know that what she has isn't being lost on me. I am still a man, after all.

As she walks away, I can't help but notice the exaggerated swing in her hips and the bounce in her step. With my ego freshly stroked, I pull my eyes away from her curves and stare hard at Bob. "Out with it," I growl menacingly.

He begins hesitantly, but I can tell by his defeated demeanor he's about to spill everything.

"It began like any other business introduction. Or at least the way I imagined a business introduction to go. Working the graveyard shift, I don't really get a lot of experience in that." He sips at his recently warmed coffee, relaxing slightly now that he's decided to commit to unloading some of his burden on another person. "He gave me his card and ask for my contact information, which I assumed was normal if we were going to be doing business."

"Didn't it make you wonder why someone would come to you to discuss business instead of going through the front office during regular business hours?"

"I wondered at first. I was even going to tell him that he needed to talk with the people up front. But he seemed to know exactly what he needed and he made me feel like I was more apt to understand him then the shirts in the front office. He explained how he used to drive a truck before getting into dispatch and that dispatch was just a stepping stone into bigger things and that he could do the same for me." Bob pauses to take another sip from his mug before continuing, no longer looking nervously around the restaurant. "He pulled out a large wad of bills and handed the entire wad to me while explaining that it would be my retainer, just like an attorney would get. When I balked, he went on to tell me that in exchange they would expect their freight to get preferential treatment and that I might get calls anytime of the day or night. Nothing that any other consignor wouldn't want; they were just willing to pay extra to get it."

"How much?" I ask, shaking my head in frustration that he could be so naïve.

"Five grand." Before I can say anything, he quickly adds, "The first time he came by. Then he came by again last night, just before you showed up."

I didn't need to ask. They were happy with his prior two weeks of service and were officially putting him on their payroll for 10 G's a month. I can only imagine how much freight of theirs he'd already moved. It had to be substantial.

"What's the cargo?"

"Counterfeit prescription drugs, I think."

"You think?" I growl, suddenly angry with him again.

"I didn't ask, but I peeked under the shrink wrap on one of the pallets and it looked like cases of empty pill bottles on top of cartons full of black plastic bags full of small pills." Before I can press him, he says, "I don't know what kind of pills. I could just feel them through the black plastic. The pallets weigh about a hundred pounds each, so I'm thinking they don't need any special equipment to unload them when they reach their destinations."

Turning to look out the window, I suddenly find myself full of questions. But I need to think this through before continuing. This is obviously a large operation and Bob is just one small cog in the larger network. Disrupting Bob's little piece of the pie might only bring down a butt load of pain on him, and possibly me if I get involved. Before we can do anything, I need to learn more about the entire operation. Especially, who the players are and how widespread the operation is. _But why am I even thinking like this? It's not like I'm a cop or anything._

"How many of these pallets have you moved and how do you get the ladings if they're not coming through the front office?"

"A single truck drops off a secure trailer and leaves it at the end of the dock where it won't be in anyone's way. No one gives it a second look, as we've got haulers leaving their trailers on our property all the time while they use their rigs like personal cars until they have another load to haul." He pauses, glancing out the window as if having second thoughts about sharing his burden with me.

After taking a deep sigh, he continues. "The trailer holds close to forty of these pallets, each securely wrapped with plastic banding material and shrink wrap. I receive texts with lading instructions that I print out, affix to the next pallet in line, and make sure it gets put on the next truck heading in that direction. Preferably, I try to keep their pallets near the rear of the load so it's the first to be offloaded, when possible. As little handling as possible is what he wants and is what he's paying me for."

Again, Bob looks around nervously, and I suddenly realize there's more to this than what he's told me so far.

"Now tell me the rest, Bob," I softly, yet firmly command. No matter what he says, I can't help feel that I'm already involved, whether I want to be or not.

"The day after his visit," he begins slowly, staring down at the linoleum table top, his voice barely more than a whisper. "A woman came in the back gate. You know, where the trucks come in."

I just give a simple nod of my head, not wanting to give him any reason to stop.

He glances up, and then slowly continues, "She told the guys on the dock that she was looking for me, so they sent her in to my office. I guess they just assumed I would know her." He pauses again, looking even more nervous than before. "Anyway, one thing led to another, and before I knew what I was doing, she'd locked the door to my office and began fulfilling every sexual fantasy I've ever had and even a few that I hadn't."

"Really, Bob, I don't need the details," I grunt, suspecting I know where this is going.

"Anyone else would have known right off that her showing up out of the blue was connected to my new benefactors. But no, not me. Stupid idiot that I am, I thought it was just my lucky day."

"So, where are you going with this Bob?"

Shifting sheepishly, he almost smirks before continuing. "I took her home with me that morning. We were like a couple of rabbits. Abstinence does more than make the heart grow fonder, Driver, trust me." He looks up and studies me as if seeing me for the first time and mumbles, "Course, I doubt if you would know anything about that." When I shift my weight as if I'm about to get up and leave him, he quickly shrugs and says, "Anyway, at some point we got to talking and she tells me that she'd been with some trucker and he'd taken off without her, simply left her behind. It never dawned on me to check the in and out ladings for the night to see who it might have been, but if I had, I would have figured out real quick that her story was bull."

Suspecting she might be the link to all of Bob's problems, I feel compelled to ask, "Where's she now?"

"That's the worst part. I let her move in with me and we were going at it every minute I was at home."

"Bob, I'm not going to tell you again. T. M. I. dude. Way too much information."

"Sorry," he sheepishly replies, giving me that smirk again just before his expression grows deathly serious. "She was the first woman that's ever seemed genuinely interested in me. I fell head over heels before I even knew her name. Then I come home from work yesterday morning and she's gone. Just this note on the coffee table saying that if I keep playing ball with them, she'll be returned to me alive and in one piece."

"Bob, you do understand that she works for them, right? They're not going to hurt her. She's probably just doing the same thing to another guy that she did to you," I gently explain, noticing the young waitress staring at me from the far end of the counter.

"You don't understand, Driver. We had something special. She wouldn't have left me if they hadn't taken her."

"I don't know what you expect of me, Bob. But let's start with her name."

He looks away again, unable to meet my gaze as the color rises in his cheeks.

"You don't know her name, do you?" I ask accusingly, staring angrily at him while silently wondering how anyone could be so damned stupid. Before I can say something I'll regret, I take a deep calming breath and quietly ask, "So tell me, Bob, you must have called her something."

" _Darling_."

"I'm sorry, Bob, I don't think I heard you correctly. Did you just say, _darling_?"

While his face turns from a dull shade of pink to full on red, he mutters softly, "I never got her name. She always answered to _Darling_."

"Bob, Bob, Bob," I resignedly respond, shaking my head from side to side as I drop back against the back of the seat.

He opens his mouth to protest and I abruptly cut him off. "Okay, it's like this, and correct me if I'm wrong or missed something, but you agreed to route suspicious freight out of a suspicious trailer for a suspicious guy that gives you a suspicious amount of cash and then, to top it all off, a suspicious woman suspiciously enters your life and you don't find any of it suspicious. How am I doing so far?"

"But now she's gone and they've kidnapped her," he mumbles, still unable to meet my gaze.

I sit there in brooding silence, not sure where to go with this information Bob has just laid at my feet, when I suddenly notice Gladys, the matronly waitress approaching out of the corner of my eye.

"Would you boys like a refill?" she asks, nonchalantly laying the check on the table an equal distance between Bob and me.

Reaching into my wallet, I pull out a couple of twenties and lay them over the check, telling her to keep the change. "No thanks. We're heading out," I reply, giving her a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

"Why thank you, young man," she smiles back, retrieving the check and the cash. "Was everything all right?"

"It was good as always, Gladys," Bob says with a forced smile, the color in his face almost back to normal.

On the way past the register, Sally, the young waitress that has been staring unabashedly at me, suddenly runs up and slips a folded napkin into my hand while giving me the universal sign language to call here while simultaneously mouthing the words _call me_ with puckered lips.

Slipping the napkin into the front pocket of my jeans, I give her a wink knowing full well that isn't ever going to happen in this lifetime. Not that I ain't tempted, but she's just too young. _Or maybe, I'm too old._

Bob holds the door open for me as I glide past him out to the sidewalk and turn to face him. Before I can say anything, he softly asks, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not going to knock your teeth out, if that's what you're thinking. Although, the way you've put several fellow trucker's livelihoods at risk, I am sorely tempted," I tell him as we head back down the street in the direction of the terminal.

"I guess, I never really thought it through," he ashamedly replies.

"No, Bob, you didn't." I pause for a long moment while our feet move steadily down the sidewalk. "I gotta ask you Bob. If _Darling_ hadn't left..."

"She didn't leave, they kidnapped her," he blurts, cutting me off and stopping suddenly. This is the first time I've ever seen him so upset and determined about anything.

"Okay," I concede to keep us moving and not having an argument out in public. "Let me finish this time. Would you have told me about the drugs if they hadn't _kidnapped_ Darling? Or would you have contaminated my load and sent me on my way, never giving my wellbeing another thought?"

When he hesitates, I know the answer.

"Has my next load already been contaminated?" I angrily ask, marching down the sidewalk with Bob almost running and tripping over his feet to keep up.

"No," he huffs out breathlessly. "I couldn't do that to you, Driver. You've always been the closest thing I have to a friend and I couldn't do that to you. No matter what else you might think of me," he adds, suddenly tripping on a crack in the sidewalk and heading face first toward the unforgiving surface.

Before he does a face plant on the gnarly pavement, I reach out and grab hold of him by the upper arm and keep him on his feet.

"Thanks," he mumbles softly, regaining his balance and falling back into step with me.

When we get back to the terminal, I move my rig over and park it next to the trailer on the end of the dock while Bob heads around front to collect his car and drive it around back to pick me up. I figure the first thing I need is a good night's sleep so I can think clearly and come up with a plan of action. I also want to see where Bob lives. _Just curiosity._

# Three

"Nice place you got here," I comment to Bob as he leads the way up the front steps to his single level ranch style home. It's nothing fancy, but it's solid and looked after, unlike my truck. While a small part of me is envious, a larger part of me can't grasp how someone can live with such an anchor around their ankle. I'd feel like I was drowning if I didn't have the freedom of the open road. _Or would I?_

Of course, there are days when I see a loving couple and wonder what it would be like to have a woman that gave a shit about me waiting for me to come home in a house like this. Some place to call home and look forward to returning to.

Bob stumbles on the top step of the small porch as he fumbles for his keys and then misses the lock with his first attempt at inserting it. Standing off to the side, I keep my mouth shut until he pushes the door open and leads the way inside. It's simply decorated, the furniture in the living room comfortable, but not top end.

"Does _Darling_ have a key?" I ask, casually looking around without taking liberties.

"Yes," he replies, moving toward the kitchen, which is off to the left of the living room, which is to the right with a bay window overlooking the front yard. A hallway heads straight back, probably the bathroom and bedrooms. "My bedroom is the farthest at the end of the hall," he adds, indicating the hallway straight ahead. "Bathroom is between the bedrooms on the left. Make yourself at home. I'm going to put a pot of coffee on if you're interested."

Though I'm dying to just shut my eyes and close out the world for the next ten hours, I say instead, "I'll just drop my gear in the bedroom and freshen up first."

"The bed isn't much, but it's probably better than the sleeper in your truck," he says over his shoulder as I head down the hallway to the first bedroom.

Pushing the door open, I'm surprised that the bed is made and there's an open wall closet with empty hangers. The only window looks out on the side yard with a light maple dresser beneath it. Since I don't plan on staying any longer than necessary to get some rest and the rest of the facts involving the dour business Bob got himself caught up in, I simply drop my bag on the bed and retrieve my razor before heading into the bathroom.

When I head into the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee assails my nostrils. "Smells good, Bob," I say, pulling out a chair at the retro steel dinette set upholstered in red vinyl.

"Turning away from the pot with two cups, he places one before me and comments, "It's the same brand they use at the restaurant."

Bob is definitely a creature of habit.

"Did she leave anything behind when they, uh, took her?" I ask, still not convinced that she didn't leave of her own accord and is working with the drug runners. "Is there any evidence that she was ever here?"

Bob's eyes widen with a twinge of anger, but then it just as quickly dissipates as he realizes I'm only asking because I'm here to help. His voice barely audible, he says, "No."

If I'm going to get my much needed sleep, I need to get the hard questions out of the way first. "Did anyone that knows you ever see the two of you together? You know, at the restaurant or at work?"

He mumbles something inaudible.

"I didn't hear you, Bob."

"No!" he cries out loudly, slamming down his coffee cup. Before I can reply, he angrily shouts, "If you don't believe me, just say so."

"Bob, it's not important whether I believe you or not. But if we have to drag the cops into this, and I'm sure at some point that's going to be necessary, anyone that can back up your story will come in handy. Otherwise, it's just that, a story." I pause for a moment and take a sip of my coffee. "Moving on. Do you have a name for the guy that first approached you?"

"Yeah, for what it's worth."

I can tell by the tone of his voice that he's finally figuring out that it was a setup from the get-go and that the people involved never gave him any real information, including _Darling._ It was all orchestrated to get him under their thumb so they controlled him.

"Okay, this is what we're going to do," I begin slowly, not really having any idea where to go with any of it. I'm just a lowly truck driver, not a detective. "Get a pad and pencil and write down everything you know for fact. Who has contacted you, where the prior shipments went, and what other drivers you've unwittingly involved."

When he gets up to retrieve a pad and pencil, I add, "Do they always contact you from the same phone number with your text instructions? And if so, I'll need that too."

"Yeah, it's always the same," he answers while bent over the pad, writing furiously.

"Probably a burner that isn't registered to anyone," I mouth to no one in particular, my thoughts muddled from lack of sleep.

Bob pauses for a moment, his brows furrowed from concentration. Then he slowly pushes the pad across the table toward me. "That's everything I can think of."

Picking up the pad, I study it briefly before ripping off the top sheet and rising. Folding it over and slipping it into my shirt pocket, I tell him, "If you think of anything else, start another list. Even the coffee isn't keeping my eyes open. I'm going to catch some shuteye. Wake me before you go to work tonight."

"Driver," he says softly, not rising from his seat at the table.

"Yeah," I answer, turning back toward him.

"Thanks."

"I should be thanking you. This is the first time I've had a real bed to sleep in in almost a year."

Without another word, I head back to the nearest bedroom and literally crash onto the bed, figuring at some point I'll wake up to use the bathroom and get undressed then.

# Four

"Hey, Driver."

"Yeah, I'm up," I stutter, surprised that I'm still wearing my work clothes.

"It's still early if you want to shower before we head into the terminal," he says, keeping his distance in the doorway. It's a man thing.

"Yeah, sounds good," I reply, rolling off the bed and onto my feet.

"I'll fix us something to eat and put the pot on," Bob adds, turning away from the door but leaving it ajar.

Picking up my bag, I head down the hall to the shower. When I finally make it to the kitchen, Bob has made us each an overflowing plate of hashbrowns, bacon, and scrambled eggs. Watching me studying the banquet on the table, he reaches for mugs and quickly fills them.

"I hope it's to your liking," he says, placing the mug beside the plate of steaming food setting in the same place I sat earlier in the day.

"Damn, Bob. I didn't know you could cook too. Had I known, I would have invited myself over a long time ago," I jokingly remark, trying to lighten the mood and feeling much better having a few good hours of sleep under my belt. "And that bed is something else."

His face lights up, and he replies with a tentative smile, "I'm not sure how you would know, having slept in your clothes."

"Trust me, Bob, it's not the first time."

We eat _breakfast_ in silence, the food tasting even better than it looks. When we finish, Bob hurriedly cleans up while I throw my bag back together and we head out to his car, which is a four-wheel drive SUV. On the way to the terminal, I ask Bob when the next shipment is due to go out. I don't need to explain what shipment I'm referring to.

"Tonight or tomorrow night for sure. The trailer still has more than half its load," he solemnly replies.

"I have a plan, but you're not going to like it," I start, the terminal already in sight.

"If they hadn't taken _Darling_ ," he begins, and then goes silent.

I stare at him across the seat from me, unable to believe after everything we've discussed that he still believes she was kidnapped. Shaking my head, I decide this is not the time to push the issue. If he wants to believe she was taken against her will, then so be it. It's his fantasy, not mine. I'm only helping him because of the other drivers that are unwittingly hauling contaminated loads and someone needs to do something. Or so I tell myself. Maybe I'm the delusional one here.

"Here's what we're going to do, Bob," I begin, not waiting for him to reply. "You're going to load the rest of those pallets onto my trailer."

"I can't do that!" he blurts before I can finish. "They'll kill her for sure."

"Bob," I say sternly, getting his attention. "No one is going to be killed, because you're going to explain to your handler that it was an honest mistake made by one of your dock workers. But we're going to load the remaining pallets in my trailer and then wait until you get your next delivery instructions."

"What if they don't believe me?"

"Just explain to them that you can contact the driver and have them rerouted as necessary. It's just a temporary inconvenience. And while they have you on the phone, cause I have no doubts they're going to call you after you text them the bad news, you can ask them to return _Darling_." I hesitate while Bob pulls the car into his normal parking spot in front of the building, noticing that the day crew and office workers are still on hand. "But Bob, whatever you tell them, don't make it sound like a demand or that you're holding their goods hostage. If they suspect you're trying to get one up on them, things will go sideways real fast." After a moment's hesitation, while I debate how much bullshit to feed him in order to keep him in line, I play along with his kidnapping notion. "In fact, if they think you're trying to use their product to get her back, they'll probably kill her and you too."

"They won't hurt her, will they?" he anxiously inquires, his voice cracking with stress.

"Only if they feel threatened, Bob. Whatever you do, don't threaten them. We'll get your _Darling_ back safe, trust me."

"Okay," he nervously replies as the first of the office crew comes out the front doors, not giving Bob and I even so much as a cursory glance as they head for their personal vehicles.

"I'm going to walk around to my rig, Bob. Give it about an hour or so before you have your crew pull all the pallets from their trailer and put them in mine. Keep it business as usual so no one suspects anything out of the ordinary. I'll leave the rear doors open on my trailer, but I'll be in the cab when you get your delivery text. Then give it another hour or so after that before you text them that someone on the dock screwed up and put all of their freight on one truck."

"Where do I tell them it's headed?" he quietly asks.

"I want to see the lading they text you before I'll know for sure. So after they text you instructions, come out and bring me the lading like you normally would. I'll decide where I'm going at that point and then you can text them the news of the screw up later and we'll go from there."

"Are you sure about this, Driver?"

"Unless you're ready to go to the cops."

"No," he blurts before I can clarify myself, so I let it drop.

"When you go inside, act normal, Bob," I say, opening the door and retrieving my ditty bag from the floor by my feet.

"Yeah," he softly replies, not moving from behind the wheel.

Leaning back into the door, I wait until he turns his head in my direction, and then add in a conspiratorial tone, "We can do this, Bob."

"Yeah," he replies, taking a deep breath and pulling the keys from the ignition before pushing his door open.

Without another word, I push the door shut and head off along the sidewalk leading around to the rear gate where all the action takes place. I hadn't felt this happy to see my rig in a long time. Picking up my pace, I hurry along the fence and am almost jogging by the time I reach the gate. Without looking at any of the men working on the dock and inside the open doors of the warehouse, I slow down and walk casually to my truck. Opening the door, I climb up inside and settle in behind the wheel, wondering just what the hell I'm setting myself up for.

For the first hour, I keep myself busy working on my log book, since I have to fudge the time from the night before. With that little chore out of the way, I consider my next move. Before I know it, Bob comes out with a lading for twenty-one pallets of pharmaceutical supplies and a destination of Redmond, Washington. The two is smudged enough that it looks like someone tried erasing it and gave up. A plausible excuse for why I got twenty-one pallets instead of the intended one.

"Looks good, Bob," I comment, climbing down out of my rig. When I turn to face him, the setting sun is gleaming off his sweating face. "Relax, Bob," I remark, knowing the perspiration has nothing to do with the outside temperature.

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing?" he anxiously asks.

Realizing that he's on the brink of undoing what we've already done and having the pallets of forged pharmaceuticals removed from my truck, I gently remind him of what's at stake, while wondering if we wouldn't be better off just going to the police. At this point they have nothing on Bob but stupidity. If we go forward with this half-baked plan and things go sideways, we could both be brought up on conspiracy charges, if we're still alive to face them.

Instead, I say, " _Darling's_ life could be on the line here, Bob."

"Right, right," he nervously stutters. "So, when should I text them of my mistake again?"

"I'll tell you what, Bob," I reply, changing our original plan slightly because of his nervousness. "I'll call you from the road and you just leave your phone on speaker so I can listen in. That way I can advise you on the spot if I have to."

"But what if they don't call?"

"Bob, trust me. The minute you send the text, you call me. I promise you, they'll be on the other line before you can even say _Hello_."

"I'm worried, Driver," he says, his voice cracking with nervous anxiety.

Turning to climb into my truck, I calmly assure him over my shoulder, "Just stick to the script, Bob and everything will turn out fine. If anything happens that we haven't discussed, you call me ASAP."

"Okay, Driver," he says, nodding his head as he turns and heads up the steel steps leading to his office.

# Five

After firing up my rig, I check the address on the lading again before inserting it into the file holder portion of my log book. I can't shake the feeling that Redmond is a long ways away and a lot can happen between here and there, even without the benefit of hauling an illicit load.

As I'm considering who might be behind an operation of this size, I begin to wonder if taking the most obvious route is really my best plan. With the number of states I have to cross, there's a real good possibility that I could be stopped by their people, or even cops on their payroll, because they are going to want their product back at any cost. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

The thought of me and my truck suddenly disappearing with no one the wiser causes a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. That late afternoon breakfast of Bob's that tasted so good earlier is suddenly trying to make a comeback.

Pushing off the air brake, I engage the gearbox and head back out onto the street leading toward the highway before I can let my doubts take hold. If anyone is watching, I don't want them growing suspicious before I even get started. Just past the on ramp is the truck stop, and even though I don't need fuel, I decide to top her up and see if anyone has followed me out of the yard.

With two full tanks of fuel on board, I pull the truck into the overnighting area and back her into an empty slot that affords me a view of all the comings and goings at the main entrance to the truck stop. I'm not watching for another truck, but rather an inconspicuous sedan or SUV, something that will blend into the background.

After an hour of sitting, during which time I've taken my thermos in and gotten it filled with black coffee, I decide that I need to plan a route of backroads heading north out of California. Before turning on my map light, I return to the main building and use the restroom, On the way back to my truck, I casually study the parking lot, every sedan and SUV appearing suspicious to me, even though I know Bob hasn't sent the text yet and there's no reason for anyone to be looking for my load. Climbing back into the cab, I pull out my road atlas and flip on the map light. Opening it to Southern California, I can't help feeling an urge to simply climb onto the 5 and put the pedal to the metal. San Diego to Redmond should be a gravy run. Instead, it's going to be a long, arduous drive on poorly maintained backroads that will keep me out of sight, yet ultimately carry me and my illicit cargo in the desired direction.

There's suddenly a knocking on my cab door and without even thinking, my concealed handgun is no longer concealed. It doesn't bother me in the least that I pulled my weapon and now have it resting across my lap with the safety off, the barrel pointed just below the door handle. It's these very same reflexes that have kept me alive in the past and I'm grateful for them now.

Cautiously, I lean toward the door so I can see who or what is standing outside. While some cab doors have a foot window so drivers can see outside without having to lean against the door, I normally prefer the privacy of not having one. The thought of someone looking up into my cab from ground level unsettles me. Of course, the windows in the cab doors weren't intended so much for seeing who's outside your cab as they are for eliminating blind spots when you're maneuvering in tight quarters.

Looking down, I see a young woman with barely enough clothes on to keep her from being arrested for indecent exposure. I can't help but worry about her, though there is nothing I can do for her. Picking up prostitutes has never been my thing, though I know many truckers that do it all the time. Even some married ones.

Pushing the door open just enough to let my voice out, I say, "Sorry. Not tonight." And quickly pull the door shut. Like most of the girls working the truck stops, she doesn't try to push herself on me and hurriedly moves on to the next occupied rig in line, her knuckles again rapping against the metal of another door in pursuit of monies.

Time to hit the road. With a tentative route laid out, I fire up the big diesel and patiently wait for the air pressure to rise before releasing the brake. When I reach the main entrance, I pull out and hang a right as if heading for I-5 northbound. But instead of taking the on ramp to the left, I continue heading East with a single thought running around in my head, _'Let the Games Begin'_.

# Six

The first part of the run has me heading east toward Alpine. My fuel tanks are topped off and the big diesel is purring like a kitten, glad to be on the open road and stretching her legs. Since the only freight I have on board is the twenty-one pallets of faux pharmaceutical drugs, the trailer feels empty and the overall rig is running light with lots of pep.

I'd originally considered heading up toward Vegas and then north from there up 95 and through Oregon on into Washington. But knowing that the trailer load of drugs had originated there, I felt it more prudent if I just avoided Vegas altogether. So my route out I-8 to state highway 79 feels much better, though I'm expecting some steep grades along the way.

Even though the sun is at my back, it has dropped below the horizon since leaving the terminal behind. And though I know this area is sparsely populated, there is an abundance of lights scattered out in the distance leaving one with a completely different impression.

Before long, I've settled into the comfort of my air ride seat and am cruising along I-8 with the slow flow of traffic. Congestion is a fact of life in California and this evening proves it out. After almost 3 hours of crawling along, I come to the 79 off ramp and begin working my way north. The road is one I've never driven before and I quickly discover why it's not a favorite of truckers. In addition to not having much call for freight out this way, the lane is narrow and winding with few turnouts, while the shoulders are almost non-existent. Not unlike what I was expecting.

Several hours of negotiating the narrow winding road with cars constantly passing and horns blaring, I've reached my wits end and am looking for a place to pull off and grab a bite to eat. The up and down shifting and the constant attention to the idiots putting their lives on the line to get around me and shave a minute or two off their trips is beginning to give me a headache.

It's with a large amount of relief and a deep sigh when I notice a small mom and pop style restaurant advertised on a small billboard just off the side of the road. If luck holds, they'll still be open and their parking lot will be large enough to accommodate an 18 wheeler.

Pulling up to the restaurant proper, I get a check off on both counts. Someone up there is smiling down on me tonight.

As the big diesel grows silent, I make a few notes in my log book and then decide I better hurry into the restaurant before they decide to close. Grabbing my now empty Thermos, I jump out of the cab and lock it behind me. There are only a couple of other cars in the parking lot and because they are both off to the left side of the building and parked next to each other, I suspect they might belong to the workers inside.

On the very edge of the parking lot to the far right, and opposite the cars as if trying to hide in the shadows of the trees that are blocking out the reach of the sodium lights positioned around the front area of the single level building is a dark pickup truck with oversized tires and a lift kit a mile high. Though I don't want to prejudge someone I've never met, I can't shake the feeling of foreboding I get when I glance toward it. Even the short hairs on the back of my neck are standing up before I reach the front door of the building, which has a sign stating they're open 24/7.

In the Marine Corp, I learned early on never to ignore my gut, and I'm not about to this time. Yet, I have no idea why I'm having a bad feeling about the mysterious truck, since there is no way it can be connected to my current situation involving my unlawful cargo. Without a doubt, though, I know I'm being watched.

The conditioned air scented with coffee and hot grease assaults my senses as I pull the door open. Just inside the door and running off to both the left and right is a long row of tables with views out on the parking lot. Straight ahead is the cash register and a small counter replete with toothpicks and breath mints along with an empty peanut butter container with a slot in the lid sporting a local cause containing some change and several paper bills. To the right of the register is a long counter with round stools bolted to the floor in front of it. Every couple of feet along the counter is a napkin dispenser and salt and pepper shaker.

The place looks like a million other greasy spoons you'll find scattered across this great country. Except for one very important difference. Standing behind the empty counter changing out the filter in one of two coffee machines is a young woman with long blonde pony tails, a white cotton blouse, white sneakers, and a tight fitting white skirt that is rocking her trim figure and shapely butt. The lower hem stops mid-thigh and thanks to the sheer nylons, doesn't conceal the finest pair of toned thighs that I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. Though I can't see down to her calves, thanks to the counter, I can see enough to know that it's definitely been awhile since I've had female companionship.

When she turns, her cobalt blue eyes meet my appraising gaze. Under normal circumstances, a woman catching me staring at them the way I'm hungrily staring at her, would be offended. Or at the least, nervously wary. But not her. Instead of being cautious of the stranger looking at her with desire in his eyes, she meets my gaze head on and without hesitation, smiles warmly.

"Hi," she says, holding up the coffee pot with a questioning look.

Smiling back, I try to say, _please_ , but my throat is suddenly dry and my voice completely fails me. Nodding in the affirmative, I suddenly remember the Thermos in my hand and hurry forward, pushing it out in front of me. When I reach the counter in front of her, I set it down harder than I intended, unable to pull my eyes off her. She is beautiful.

Sensing my awkwardness, she laughs softly, finding my antics funny. Never have I felt so uncoordinated and self-conscious around a woman before.

Clearing my throat and swallowing in an attempt to moisten it, I manage a weak, "Thank you."

"I meant if you wanted a cup or not, but I can fill your Thermos now if you're not staying to eat," she says, a slight look of disappointment in her eyes that throws me for another loop.

"Yes. Cup. Please," I stutter like a cave man. And then, before I can stop myself, add, "Food, please."

With an almost shy smirk, she says softly, imitating my awkwardness, "Yes, food. We can do that."

Taking a deep breath and exhaling to get my bearings, I lower myself to a stool and calmly say, "Okay, let's try that again."

"You don't have to," she says quickly, her smile never fading. "I thought you were cute."

Cute isn't exactly what I thought of my adolescent behavior, but I wasn't going to argue with her. I'll take cute.

"Thanks," I say, feeling more at ease by her engaging attitude. "Is there a late night special or anything that's easy for the cook to throw together? I'm not fussy, Shelly," I say, leaning forward to read the name tag pinned over her full left breast, which I am making a point not to linger on, despite its perky stature.

A light pink rises up the sides of her throat as she takes in the direction of my gaze and I chastise myself for making her blush. The last thing I want to do is make her feel uncomfortable by my actions.

"It was a slow day," she says, giving me a smile that lights up her entire face and highlights the blue depths of her eyes. "I'll check with Cook, but I'm sure he's got something leftover in a kettle if you don't mind pot scrapings."

"Sounds good," I smile back, thinking silently that she's the entire package and some guy out there should be counting his lucky stars.

As she heads toward the kitchen entrance off to the left of the till, I can't help watching the sway of her hips and the press of her butt cheeks against the fabric of her uniform. While my body is reacting of its own accord and creating a slight discomfort in the crotch of my jeans, on some level of my consciousness, I'm wondering if the black truck out on the edge of the parking lot belongs to her boyfriend or husband and he's sitting out there keeping an eye on her.

I hear someone come in the door and stop. Then the sound of heavy work boots thumping across the floor, stopping at the counter behind me. Before turning around, I grab the pot of coffee and hold it up, and my chest instantly constricts. Damn, he's cute. And solid. So unlike Rick, my ex. And his eyes. Deep blue, so dark compared to mine, and staring right at me as if liking what he sees. And polite. He's really hot. And probably married. A man that looks that good has to be taken.

Although the thought of a man staking out her place of work is stalkily creepy on some level, I'm not so sure I wouldn't be doing the same if she were my girl. After all, it's late, it's dark, and she's all alone with just one other person working in the kitchen and no other businesses or people for at least a quarter mile in either direction. And more importantly, she's a very beautiful and desirable woman. He could just be out there because he worries about her and trust has nothing to do with it.

Or on the flip side of that coin, there could be a guy out there stalking her, because she is a very beautiful and desirable woman. Dammit Driver, get your head together. She's just a woman and probably happily married to a man that is sitting at home waiting for her to get off work.

Just as I take a sip of my coffee, she returns from the kitchen carrying a plate that is almost the size of a serving platter heaped up with what looks like shredded turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and a couple slices of buttered toast.

"Wow, that looks absolutely delicious," I say, my appetite suddenly resurfacing, as I give her a warm smile of appreciation.

"You look like a man that appreciates good food, and Cook is one of the best," she says with a bright smile of her own as she leans toward me and sets the plate down on the counter directly in front of me, the low-cut uniform blouse giving me an unobstructed view of her cleavage and smooth skin. Even the delicious scent of the food is unable to thwart the sudden rush of desire that hits me in the pit of my stomach.

"Damn, that smells good," I manage, forcing my eyes to the plate of food before I make a complete fool of myself.

"Enjoy," she says softly, turning back to the coffee machine just a few feet from me.

I take a heaping forkful and insert it into my mouth without hesitation. If Shelly believes Cook is the best, then I'm a believer too. The flavors that surround my tongue are definitely the best I've tasted in longer than I can remember. Swallowing it down, I whistle loudly before saying, "Whew! This is even better than just delicious."

Shelly turns back around, sporting a bright smile containing just a hint of relief, saying, "I told you so."

Now that we've shared some conversation, I'm feeling much more comfortable in her presence than I did when I first laid eyes on her. Giving her a wink, I settle back into my heaping plate of food, enjoying each mouthful more than the last. After less than ten minutes, I'm dragging my fork across an empty plate and Shelly is returning with the coffee pot and her smile. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she likes looking at me almost as much as I like looking at her.

She refills my cup and picks up the plate from in front of me. Without the overpowering smell of steaming hot food, I manage to catch a whiff of coconut shampoo and clean soap emanating from her. It's a heady fragrance that instantly creates an uncomfortable pressure below my waist. When she turns away with my empty plate, I fidget slightly on the stool to reposition my offending manhood to no avail.

As she turns back around, I avert my gaze from her backside and ask, "Have you worked here long?" _Lame._

"No," she states matter-of-factly without offering anything more, though I can clearly see the indecision on her face.

"Are you from this area?" I ask, sensing that she wants to say more about herself, but isn't sure she can trust me. There is no doubt in my mind that Shelly is normally an open and trusting woman, possibly even a tad naïve when it comes to men. But for some reason that I would really like to know, she is shutting down and keeping her thoughts to herself.

"No, not really," she replies after a long moment of hesitation, during which time I began to wonder if she was going to answer me at all.

"Now I'm intrigued," I smile disarmingly up at her, hoping to set her at ease enough to share some of her life with me, because for reasons that I can't explain, I really want to know what's going on with her and why she seems spooked.

Of course, I might be reading a whole lot more into her behavior than there is. Being such a beautiful woman working in a greasy spoon, especially at night, she might get hit on by all sorts of lowlifes. When she's off work, she might be an entirely different person. And damn if I don't want to meet that person.

But what the hell am I thinking? I don't have time in my life for another woman. Especially not today while I'm dealing with a load of illicit pharmaceuticals. And I still haven't gotten over Molly, even though I haven't seen her for several years. Maybe it's time for me to open my eyes to the possibility of meeting women again. Yet, that doesn't mean Shelly, though I can't shake the feeling that there's definitely something special about her, and not just the fact she has a knockout body with a beautiful face and gorgeous eyes. There seems to be something flickering between us when I meet her gaze. Like a low voltage spark that if given half a chance could be the start of something more. _So much more._

She glances furtively toward the kitchen to make sure Cook isn't listening in before continuing. Based on the sounds he's making, it seems obvious that he's doing cleanup and prep work for the next day, totally oblivious of what's going on out at the counter with Shelly.

On the one hand, I'm glad to have Shelly all to myself, even if we are separated by a linoleum topped counter and she is just my waitress and I am just another customer. For the next little space of time, she's mine.

And then I wonder how safe she is out here when Cook is back there. She's visible to the outside world through a long wall of windows facing the parking lot, while Cook is hidden out of sight behind the wall separating the eating area from the kitchen. There is a small pass-through window for hanging orders and then passing them back through to the waitress. But unless Cook puts his face in front of it, he is invisible back there. I can only assume that if Shelly cried out or screamed, he would come charging out. At least, I want to believe that.

So where is this overwhelming feeling of protectiveness aimed at Shelly coming from? This is way out of character for me. Not to mention my sudden feeling of need to know everything about her. If I don't reign myself in, she's going to mistake me for some kind of stalker dude. Even I'm questioning my own thoughts toward her and finding them just a touch creepy.

"I just moved into the area," she hesitantly replies, clearly debating if she should say anymore or not.

My initial response is to ask her where she'd moved from, but some inner voice warns me to keep my mouth shut. Instead, I wait silently for her to continue. It's a known fact that you can learn more by keeping your mouth shut and simply listening.

He seems sincere. Like he really wants to know about me. The real me. But can I trust him? Do I want to trust him? Hell yeah!

After a long moment of silence, she shrugs her shoulders with a simultaneous sigh and says, "My boyfriend moved to this area from Los Angeles about a month ago. When he heard they were looking for a waitress here, he finally convinced me to move out here too." She hesitates, looking over the empty tables before continuing. "He was really nice when we dated in LA. But since moving here, he's a different person." She bites her lower lip nervously, no longer meeting my gaze. "I should have stayed in LA," she suddenly blurts, a tear breaking loose and running down her cheek that she hurriedly wipes at out of embarrassment.

Damn. I can handle just about anything but a woman crying. And when she is such a beautiful creature as Shelly, it's just downright wrong. Not knowing what to do or say, I'm surprised when I suddenly grab a napkin and rise up off the stool and reach across the counter, gently wiping the napkin against her cheek to dry the tears. When the side of my thumb accidentally touches the soft skin of her cheek, a small spark of static electric jumps between us.

To my amazement, she doesn't pull away. But instead, tilts her head down and lets me assuage her tears with a little tenderness. When she reaches up and places her hand over mine, I softly remark, "If this is an attempt to get a bigger tip, you really didn't need to."

When she looks up into my eyes, a tentative smile turns up at the corners of her mouth. Then her eyes shift to the darkness outside the plate glass windows and the warmth that she was feeling is suddenly replaced with fear as she pulls back from my touch.

"I'm sorry," she blurts. "You don't even know me."

"I'd like to," I blurt just as fast, not sure where the words even came from. "Get to know you, that is," I stammer, loving the blush that rises in her cheeks and finding the way she nervously bites her lower lip so sexy.

Grabbing my Thermos, she spins hurriedly back to the coffee machine and fills it from the carafe that just finished brewing. Turning the lid on, she places it next to my cup as she retrieves her ticket book from a front pocket in her apron and tears off the sheet with my order on it. Placing it next to the Thermos, she nervously mouths a thank you and picks up my dirty dishes.

What the hell was I thinking? If Rick hears about some guy touching me, he'll kill me. But, oh, what a touch. Before I can stop the thoughts, I'm imagining his hands all over my body, and a sudden warmth pools in my lower belly. Is that desire I'm feeling?

Sensing that our conversation has been concluded even before it got started, I rise from the stool and pull my wallet out of my front pocket while snatching the bill off the counter along with my Thermos. By the time I reach the register, she's returning from the other end of the counter, her face blotchy from a combination of tears and emotions.

Laying the ticket next to the till, I humbly apologize for upsetting her. "I'm really sorry, Shelly. I was out of line back there and it was never my intention to upset you." Slipping a hundred dollar bill on top of the ticket before she can pick it up, I continue, "The food was really good, and the service was by far the best I've ever had."

Smiling shyly at my compliment, which sets my heart to soaring for reasons I can't comprehend, she says, "I'm surprised I didn't cause you to lose your lunch. I'm not normally so emotional."

"Just the opposite. Thank you."

As I turn toward the door, a feeling of loss settles deep in the pit of my stomach. "Your change, sir," she suddenly calls out.

"Keep it. And the name's Driver," I call over my shoulder, afraid to turn around and see again what I was walking away from for fear that it would only make it harder to move forward.

Just before the door swings shut, I hear her voice carrying on the night air, "Thank you, Driver."

# Seven

Moving slowly across the parking lot to my rig with my head screwed on sideways, I still notice that the jacked up truck hasn't moved from the darker shadows near the outer edge of the parking lot. If I hadn't been so distracted between the illegal load I'm hauling and the sudden sprouting of emotions that I'm feeling for a woman that I've just met, I might have connected a couple of the dots sooner and realized that the pickup is somehow connected to the waitress, Shelly.

But the connection is more than clear when I turn to unlock the door to my rig and out of the shadows behind me a large man suddenly appears carrying a pipe or crowbar in his right hand.

"Hey, asshole," he growls, standing with his feet spread slightly apart, the pipe gripped in his right hand but resting in front of his waist in the palm of his left hand.

"You must have me confused with someone else," I calmly reply as I turn to face him, my hands hanging limply at my sides to create the impression that I'm not a threat. The Thermos dangling loosely from my left fingers. In my peripheral vision, I notice that there aren't any new vehicles in the lot so it only stands to reason this man is from the dark pickup.

But is he alone?

I'm not afraid of getting hurt. That's happened to me a time or two in the past. It's only pain, something you learn to block out in the heat of battle. But I have a real aversion to being blindsided. If there's more than one of them, fine, bring it on. It won't be the first time I've faced lopsided odds. And yet, I'm still standing. Though I can't say the same about some of the others.

"I don't have you confused with anybody," he growls, the odor of alcohol washing over me from his breath. "I could see you just as clear as day. You were in there putting the make on my bitch." He pauses to slap the steel bar against his left palm for effect, the sound of metal striking flesh clear in the still night air. "You can lie all you want, but I seen you with my own eyes."

"It's not what you think," I calmly reply, slowly taking a step toward him. If I'm in his personal space, the bar becomes more of a hindrance than a weapon. But I'm sure he's not aware of that fact. Nor is he even aware that I'm closing in on him. He's a bully and unfamiliar with real street fighting. He wins by intimidation. If he knew what he was doing, he never would have wasted time shooting off his mouth. He would have just walked up and taken his best shot.

"You're another one of them know-it-all assholes trying to tell me what to think. Is that it?" he growls, working himself up to actually taken action.

Before he is even aware of me having moved, I've closed the distance between us to less than a foot. He's a big man, even if his weight is mostly flabby fat, and he's a good three-inches taller than my own six-feet.

Now that I'm right on the edge of his personal space, though, there is no escaping the stench of alcohol on his breath and the rancid body odor from poor hygiene.

"No," I say in the split second before I slip into his personal space, head butting him a jarring blow against the bridge of his nose. The sound of crunching cartilage echoes in the still of the night before he's even aware that I've moved.

As blood spouts out of the smashed appendage, I grab the steel bar with both hands, my Thermos clanking loudly as it strikes the packed dirt of the lot, and jerk it upwards, the cold steel catching him on the bottom of the jaw. His mouth slams shut from the impact, his teeth clashing loudly, followed immediately by a loud outward surge of breath through his busted nose, shooting a red mist of blood and air outwards.

There is no dodging the bloody mist, and before he even hits the ground, I'm wondering where I'm going to find a place at this time of the night to get cleaned up.

Dropping the steel bar next to the man, I bend over to retrieve my fallen Thermos and hear him stirring. He's a tougher bastard than I'd given him credit for. Any normal man would be out for the count. And any smart man would have played possum until I left. But no, this damned fool is trying to get up, the steel bar once again in his right hand.

His eyes are a little out of focus as he does his best to sit up, the steel bar still gripped in his right hand. But he appears coherent, so I give him a little advice. "I don't know who the hell you are, and frankly, I don't give a damn. But you definitely don't deserve that woman in there. So I'm going to give you a piece of advice. Send her back home where she belongs and stay the fuck out of her life."

His eyes suddenly clear and he meets my gaze before saying, "Fuck you."

"Damn, I really wish you hadn't said that," I say, swinging my Thermos up against the side of his head, knocking him out cold.

After unlocking the cab of my truck, I climb into the sleeper and dig out a towel and some fresh clothes from my stash. Climbing back down, all the while being careful not to smear the dude's blood on anything, I relock the cab and take off in the direction of the restaurant. Based on the landscaping, there must be an outside tap on the building somewhere that I can use to wash myself off before putting the clean clothes on.

Fortune shines on me and just around the rear where the shadows are the deepest, I stumble upon a water hydrant next to an old steel picnic table. Slipping out of the bloodied clothes, I use my tee-shirt like a face cloth and after rinsing it thoroughly, use the cold water over my head and face and then the rest of my body. Although it's not that cold out, the night air against my wet skin causes goose bumps to rise on my arms and torso.

Moving quickly like a man possessed, I use the towel to dry off and climb into a clean pair of jeans and another white tee-shirt. While I'm tying my boot laces, I hear the dark pickup start up, a loud rumble followed by the squeal of tires and then acceleration as it hits the highway and takes off into the night.

Though I should feel relieved, I can't shake the feeling that I haven't seen the last of him. And damn if he didn't come around fast for the impact I gave him with my Thermos. I'm surprised I didn't break the glass liner in it judging by the dent his head left in it.

Sitting in my truck, the bloody clothes now sealed in a plastic bag, I notice a sedan pull into the parking lot and move into a spot on the far side of the only other two vehicles in the lot. Watching through the large plate glass windows, I see a middle aged woman wearing a uniform similar to Shelly's walking along the back side of the counter and entering the kitchen area.

"I see now how Brutus was able to see Shelly and me talking," I mumble softly to myself, my interest focused on the movement inside the restaurant when I see Shelly come out of the kitchen followed by the other woman and the man called Cook, whom I never actually saw when I was in there earlier.

They all stop at the cash register and together, count out the monies and make up a deposit that Cook carries back into the kitchen area, while Shelly gives the older woman a brief hug and then comes out the front door. She immediately goes to the older, rougher looking of the two vehicles that were there when I first arrived. Using her key, she unlocks the driver's door and stands there for a minute staring right at me.

My instinct is to look away until I realize that she can't see me inside the cab and is just looking in my direction, probably wondering why I'm still here.

Without thinking, I jump out of my rig and head towards her. For the briefest of moments, she looks like she might turn and run from me, and then visibly relaxes as she leans against the side of her car. When I get within a few feet of her, she smiles at me and my chest tightens. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

"Hey, Shelly," I begin, suddenly at a loss for words and wondering why I felt so compelled to go to her.

Sensing my unease, she responds, "Hey, yourself." Then, to break the almost awkward silence that is threatening to swallow us both, she says, "I thought you would be gone by now."

As if suddenly remembering why I was still here, I blurt out, "Yeah, something happened and I think you need to know about it."

The timid smile on her face is instantly replaced with clouds of concern and I'm hit with an overwhelming sense of loss. She has a way of smiling at you that just makes you feel special.

"What is it? What happened?"

I look around the parking lot before turning to her and asking, "Is there somewhere we can go?"

Stepping back, her grip on her keys tightening, she nervously blurts, "I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't even know who you are."

That hurt. But then the truth has a way of cutting to the quick. "I'm sorry, Shelly. I didn't mean to scare or worry you. I just think you might want to be sitting down when I tell you what happened." When she doesn't move or say anything more, I ask her, "Is your boyfriend a big man that drives a dark, jacked up pickup truck?"

At the mention of the truck her head jerks from side to side, the fear in her eyes reminding me of a trapped animal. "How do you know my boyfriend? Did he send you to keep an eye on me?"

"No, he didn't send me to keep an eye on you," I start, but she quickly cuts me off.

"He has friends. He knows people. People that hurt people," she frantically blurts out, her head still flicking around, trying to take in the whole parking lot at once.

When I step toward her, she doesn't move away. And when I pull her into my arms, she actually puts her arms around me and hangs on like a drowning person holding onto a life ring. With her head against my chest, I inhale her scent of coconut shampoo, fried foods, and something that can only be Shelly. It's intoxicating and I lean my head down until my chin rests on top of her head. She is a good eight-inches shorter than me putting her at around five-foot-four, though it surprises me that I hadn't noticed how short she was earlier.

Dam it Shelly! Why are you letting this guy get to you? He seems sincere, but who is he? What does he want? Yet, I can't help but trust him. He feels so solid. There's that word again. Solid.

Not until I feel the wet of her tears through my thin tee-shirt am I aware that she's crying. Not sure what I should say, I spout the first thing that comes to mind. "Everything will be okay. I won't let anything bad happen to you." I'm hit with an overwhelming need to comfort and protect her, which makes no sense. I don't even know her.

She suddenly pulls back and I let her go, her hands now softly holding onto my forearms as though she is afraid to completely let go of me. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, looking down at her feet. "I'll be okay now, thank you. What did you want to tell me?"

"I think we should find someplace quiet to talk," I suggest as a white mini-van pulls into the lot and parks near the front door. "You probably don't want to go back inside," I suggest, not sure if she would be comfortable having coffee with a stranger in the place she works.

"Anywhere but here," she sighs, letting go of my arms and taking a step back. "I can't go home. Rick will be waiting for me and I'm late. He doesn't like it when I'm late. He always presumes the worst and he'll suspect me of being unfaithful," she rambles, her voice trembling with fear.

Reaching out and taking her by the shoulders, I pull her back into my embrace, noticing how perfectly she fits up against me while saying softly, "Calm down. It'll be alright."

"Santa Ysabel."

"That's north of here."

"Yes, I have a friend that lives there. I can go there tonight." She pauses before hesitantly asking, "Are you going north? You could follow me there. I'll understand if it's out of your way."

"No, that sounds good. We really do need to talk."

Stepping toward her car door, she pulls the key out of her apron pocket along with a few paper bills. "My tips," she says shyly out of a need to explain the loose monies.

"I'll be right behind you. Just give me time to warm up my rig. I'll flash my headlights when I'm ready to roll," I tell her as she slides into the driver's seat of her beat up sedan.

I continue standing next to the car, hesitant to increase the distance between us, which makes no sense to me. I can't explain the pull she has on me. I just know that right here and now, I would do anything for this woman.

Feeling foolish for not moving toward my truck faster, she suddenly rolls down the window saying, "It won't start."

"Let me take a look. Go ahead and pop the hood latch."

There's a loud click as the latch releases and I reach under it and release the safety catch, lifting the hood up and using the prop bar to secure it. Even in the dim light cast from the sodium halides, I can tell something doesn't look right.

"You're going to need a mechanic to set this back to rights," I tell her, noticing through the windshield how shaken and pale she still appears.

As the implication of my words begin to register, her head falls against the steering wheel and an onslaught of tears break loose again, running unabated down her cheeks and falling through the gaps in the steering wheel. In a shaky voice that I can barely hear, she softly sobs, "He knows I can't afford to have it fixed."

And this handsome man is probably think I should be working for the water department. Ever since we've met, I've been an emotional wreck and nonstop tear factory.

Her words bring forth the Knight in Shining Armor syndrome that I've been accused of in the past. Moreover, I can't just leave her sitting here in the parking lot when that asshat that sabotaged her car could be waiting out there in the shadows for me to leave so he can pick up where he left off. Nope, that ain't gonna happen. Not on my watch.

"Shelly," Please don't let those be tears. If she weren't so damned cute, I might be able to handle the tears. But a pretty woman and tears will always be my undoing. Looking over the hood through the front windshield, she raises her face up in response. Damn, they're tears.

Lowering the hood back down, since there isn't anything I can do for it, I move alongside the door. "Shelly," I say again, a little louder this time to make myself heard over the sudden dryness in my throat. I sure could use a cold beer about now. "I know you don't know me from Adam," I softly continue, leaning over the door so my face is close enough to hers so she can hear me without having to raise my voice. "But let me give you a ride to your friend's place. Or at least let me call a cab for you. This car isn't going anywhere tonight."

She hiccups softly before turning her tear soaked baby blues up at me and saying, "Thank you, but I can make it okay on my own."

Grabbing her purse off the seat next to her, she slides out and almost collapses on the dirt parking lot. Without even realizing that I've moved, I find my arms stretched out and my hands on either side of her, supporting her petite frame upright, my errant right thumb pressing gently against the side of her left breast and instantly noticing the firmness of the flesh through the cotton blouse.

Moving around to get the door out from between us without letting go of her, she immediately sags into my embrace, and I can't help but notice again just how perfectly her body fits against mine. I should be ashamed of myself for having such thoughts that are so inappropriate considering the circumstances. Yet, I'm not.

Though I'm tempted to just scoop her up in my arms and carry her to my trusty steed of a rig, I instead keep my right arm around her shoulders for support and turn her in the direction of my rig while giving the door to her car a firm push shut with my foot, silently hoping it doesn't fall off.

In the light of day, my truck is quite intimidating to the uninitiated. Under the dim wattage of the parking lot that it's now parked in, it looks outright monstrous. The once shiny black paint and chrome accents are heavily dusted with road grime adding to the rough and tumble appearance that's been my home for the past three years. Ever since Molly kicked my ass out of her house when she met someone at the local grocery mart that can spend more time in her bed than a long haul trucker. But that's neither here nor there.

It was probably for the best though, as the only thing we really had in common was good sex, and that didn't happen often enough, as Molly liked to remind me all too frequently. Yet, there are no hard feelings between us. In fact, I get along quite well with the man that is now living in her house fulltime. And I know that when she said I can drop in anytime I need a place to crash, she sincerely meant it. No strings attached.

When we reach the driver's side door, I reach up and flip the latch, simultaneously pulling the door open. Before Shelly can argue, I pick her up and easily deposit her up in the driver's seat, being careful where I place my hands on her this time.

A slight exhalation of breath escapes her mouth and her eyes grow wide as she looks back down at me. "Go ahead and climb over to the passenger's side," I instruct her, my voice soft and comforting so as not to scare her any more than she already is.

Still in her waitress uniform consisting of a short white skirt, sheer nylons, white tennis shoes, and a matching white blouse, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to remind myself of who I am when she leans away from me and puts her hands on the passenger's seat to steady herself. The view from ground level is enough to make a sinner out of a holy man. Shapely calves, firm thighs, and the cutest little butt. _I should have called a cab for her_.

Once she is out of the driver's area, I pull myself up and land effortlessly on the driver's seat. Out of habit, I push the curtain aside to the sleeping compartment and verify that I haven't picked up any unwelcome passengers. It wouldn't be the first time I'd picked up unwelcome guests. But that's another story for another time.

Shelly turns slightly toward me, having noticed the sleeping compartment for the first time. She quickly turns back forward and stares out through the windshield, her color dropping a few shades towards pale.

"Don't worry, I'm not like that asshat I just met in the parking lot."

Her color returns and she briefly glances in my direction before saying, "You met Rick, didn't you? That's why you asked if he was a bid man that drove a jacked up truck." She clears her throat and swallows before continuing, "Although I should be afraid of you, I'm not. You treated me respectably in the restaurant when most men act like I'm paid to serve them more than just food."

"I imagine waitressing can be a tough job," I reply, though I've never considered rude behavior something anyone should have to put up with, least of all in such a humbling position to begin with. From habit, I hit the preheat switch and wait a moment before toggling the starter. The engine instantly roars to life, shaking the cab like a living beast shaking itself after a night's rest before settling into a steady rumble of barely leashed power.

Shelly instinctively grabs for the dash before settling back self-consciously into the seat, her eyes never straying from forward. And yet, if I'm not mistaken, I think I detect just the slightest of smiles on that pretty face.

What the hell have I let myself get mixed up in? He says he met Rick, but I don't see Rick anywhere. And now I'm leaving with him and no one knows where I am. Have I lost all my senses? If I were to answer that, it would be a resounding yes. I have lost myself to this man, and I don't even know him.

# Eight

We move silently through the early morning hours, the road a winding strip of asphalt stretching out in front of us. Off to the east the sky is just beginning to show false dawn. For a moment, I'm taken back to the times when Molly would accompany me on a haul. We spent a lot of time just staring ahead in comfortable silence, not feeling any need to fill the void with idle chatter. Just comfortable being together.

When I glance over at Shelly, the silhouette of her face pulls me out of my reverie, and I suddenly jerk upright, my eyes flying back to the road. She's not Molly. And when that thought fully processes in the front of my mind, I find that I'm actually glad that she isn't. Molly and I had something special at one time. But since then, we've discovered that we make much better friends than we ever did lovers.

I don't see that happening with Shelly. Although I was always attracted to Molly, I never craved her the way I do Shelly. I haven't even gotten to know Shelly yet and already I feel the addiction for her growing. And the scariest part of that is that I almost understand where her overly possessive boyfriend is coming from.

Before I can travel any further down that scary road, I turn my head toward Shelly and ask, "How long have you known Rick?"

She chuckles softly, covering her mouth self-consciously with her right hand as if to keep anymore of her private thoughts from inadvertently tumbling out. "Believe me, even though it's only been a couple of months, it feels much longer. I don't know what I was thinking letting him talk me into moving out here with him. It just seemed like everything in my life was going downhill. I'd been backed into a corner and I just didn't know what else to do." She pauses for a long moment before continuing. "He wasn't always so controlling. When we first dated, he was actually very nice."

"He was reeling you in," I mutter without thinking.

Her head jerks in my direction. In my peripheral vision I can see her eyes boring into me and I make a mental note to practice thinking before speaking in the future.'

"So I'm weak and needy? Is that what you think?"

"No, that's not what I think at all," I argue, my voice low. "I've known guys like him before and trust me, even if you knew what he was up to from day one, there wouldn't have been much you could have done to change the course of your future. When a guy like that turns his attention on you, there's no escaping them. Their obsessive mindset won't allow them to be ignored. They can't or don't know how to move on."

She doesn't say anything for a long while, and then as if no time has passed since she last spoke, says, "So what you're saying is there wasn't anything I could have done differently?"

"My guess is that if you hadn't been taken in by his charms originally, he would have simply kidnapped you and kept you as his prisoner until he had you so brainwashed you wouldn't have known up from down."

When she starts to protest being weak, I quickly cut her off. "I don't mean that with any disrespect toward you. I've seen guys that were trained in the art of torture and interrogation cave to their tormentors over time. And I'm talking about some pretty tough dudes."

She smiles mischievously, turning her face toward me and saying, "So what you're saying is that since I'm here with you and not locked up in some cold dark cellar responding to his every whim, I'm tougher than a dude?"

Liking the way her face lights up when she smiles, I return her smile, saying, "In my book, you're definitely one of the toughest individuals I've ever met. But I will never think of you as a dude."

She laughs out loud over my comment before bringing her right hand up and placing the back of it against her mouth in an attempt to hold it in. When she sees me studying her, she self-consciously lowers her hand back to her lap and entwines it with her left hand. For some reason, she has a hard time just being herself. That ex-boyfriend of hers has done more damage than she realizes, because I doubt that she has always been like this.

When she sees me still looking at her, she suddenly demands, "What?"

Turning my eyes back to the road, I simply reply, "Nothing," which is a lie. But I'm not ready to share my thoughts with her at this point.

I'm also not ready to lie to her. "Okay, that's not quite true," I say, keeping my eyes on the road. "Whenever you laugh, you bring the back of your hand to your mouth as if to hold your joy in so others can't see it." I pause for a moment, glancing over at her to find her staring back at me. Our eyes meet and I know for certain in that split second before I turn my eyes back to the road that I'm a goner. "That tells me that you're not use to letting people see the real you."

She doesn't say anything for a long time, yet I can feel her gaze still on me. "You're right," she suddenly says, drawing my gaze back to her. "I never realized it before, but once again, you're absolutely right. Before I met and spent time with Rick, I never did that." She pauses while she thinks about her next words, and then adds, "I wonder what else about me has changed since I've known him."

"From what I can see, all the important parts are still in place," I blurt without thinking. "Sorry, that didn't come out the way I intended," I quickly apologize, feeling the heat rise into my face.

Her sudden laugh, however, tells me she isn't offended by the Freudian slip. In fact, just the opposite.

"It's all right. I think I know what you meant," she says shyly, glancing between me and the highway.

"Look, we're coming up on Santa Ysabel. It looks like it's a fairly compact little community so I'll just park this in the biggest parking lot in town and we can walk from there," I tell her, studying the little community and seeing what looks like some kind of grocery store up on the right with a large parking area out front.

"We?" She says, giving me a perplexed look. "What do you mean, _'We can walk from there_ ,'? I thought you were just dropping me off at my friend's place and hitting the road. You do have a load to deliver somewhere, don't you? Or do you just drive this big rig around to compensate for something else?"

Her words catch me by surprise and I break out laughing. And not just a chuckle, but a laugh from deep down in my gut. Looking over at her, I notice the smirk she is trying hard not to show and a slight blush rising on the sides of her throat, accented by the early pink and orange hues of the rising sun. The sight of her in the early morning dawn sitting in the cab of my truck causes my breath to hitch. She is the most beautiful woman I've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. And the most amazing thing about her is that she's not even aware of how beautiful she is or the effect she is having on me.

So as not to take up the store's entire parking lot, I line up parallel to the highway just off to the side of it. To the casual observer, it'll just appear that some trucker is waiting for the store to open. Plus, if things go according to plan, I won't be here that long, anyway. All I want to do is get her to her friend's place and make sure she is in good hands so I can get back on the road and take care of my other business. Her friend will take care of getting her back to her proper home, or so I tell myself, trying hard not to let myself believe that it's my problem. _Do I want it to be?_

When I finally stop laughing, I explain to her that I just want to make sure she is safe before I head down the highway. Looking into her crystal blue irises, I ask, "Do you need anything, like money or what have you? I know your car isn't going anywhere until a mechanic can sort it out and that probably isn't going to come cheap. You might also want to consider moving in with your friend if she has space for you until you can find somewhere else to live, or your way back home," I add, letting my voice fade off.

"I think I'll just write the car off," she says, looking out the window at the storefront. "I don't think I can go back there." She doesn't say anything, nor does she make a move to open the door, and I can't help feeling that she is having the same hesitation about leaving as I am letting her go.

It isn't necessary for her to explain what she means by _back there_. "Where do you think you'll go?" I ask, wanting to know the answer to that question more than anything I've ever wanted before. The thought of her disappearing from my life is like a punch to the guts, momentarily leaving me short of breath.

"I'm not sure," she says slowly, deep in thought. And then, as if another thought just occurred to her, she says, "I haven't seen Suzie in years, though she's part of the reason I made the move away from San Diego. I figured if she can hack it out here in the middle of nowhere, then so can I. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, I can understand that," I softly reply. "Does she even know you've moved into the area? Or is this going to come as a complete surprise, you showing up on her doorstep?"

"Complete surprise. So maybe we should go see her and get this over with."

Instead of opening the passenger's side door, she climbs over the miniature deck between the seats that I use for climbing into the sleeper and literally slides out the driver's door and into my waiting arms. I hold her for a long moment, liking the feel of her soft body pressed against me and once again marveling at how nicely we fit together. Just like two peas in a pod.

She doesn't pull away, but instead, looks up into my eyes, and I'm suddenly drowning in the depth of her baby blues, instantly recognizing the smoky desire within them for what it is. Her lids grow heavy and before I know what I'm doing, my lips are covering hers, lightly brushing them, tasting them, tasting her, and really liking the feeling that is sweeping through me. She feels so right it scares me.

After a long moment, she pulls me in tighter, her hands moving up to the back of my neck and pulling my head down lower so she isn't standing on her tip toes. Pressing her lips harder against mine, I'm almost surprised when her tongue slides between my lips, searching out my tongue as we explore and taste each other, mutually liking what we're discovering.

Just as my hands slide down past the small of her back and cup the firm cheeks of her ass, a passing car honks its horn. But lost as we are in each other, it barely registers. Moving my hands back up the sides of her waist, a slight moan slips out of the depths of her throat, and I know in that moment that I have to have her. Whatever it takes, I have to make her mine. She is the missing piece of my life.

With regret, I slowly pull back, my eyes looking into hers before moving down to her now swollen lips, taking the whole sight of her in and knowing that I will never see anything so beautiful again even if I live to be a hundred.

"We should probably get going," I whisper, my voice husky with emotion while suddenly realizing that we're standing on the side of the road where everyone can see us.

Seeing the same regret reflecting in her eyes that I'm feeling causes my heart to soar. Slowly, she turns back toward the open door of the cab, saying over her shoulder, "I left my purse in there."

Grabbing her by the shoulder and stopping her before she can climb the steps to my cab, knowing that the sight of her from that angle will completely undo me, I turn her back toward me, saying, "I'll get it."

Without a word, she steps to the side as I climb up and reach across my seat and into the sleeper where she left her purse lying. The tightness in the crotch of my jeans is slowly abating, so I pause for a moment, giving it more time before jumping back down to the parking lot and handing her her purse.

"Thanks."

"Do you even know where this _Suzie_ lives?" I ask while closing and locking up the cab.

"Yeah, I got her address here somewhere," she replies, digging through the pockets in her purse before smiling and holding up a small notebook.

"Did you want to call her first?"

"Let's see," she says, looking up and down the street to get her bearings. "No. If I'm not mistaken, we'll be there in less time than it takes to call. That's Stephen Street there, so her place should be just a half block up that way." She puts the notebook back in her purse and then surprises me by taking hold of my hand and saying, "Let's go. Shall we?"

What the hell am I doing? But he tastes so good. At this rate I'll be coming with all my clothes on. Just his touch, his lips on mine, is almost too much. No man has ever had this strong of an effect on my. It's crazy. And I don't want to let him go.

# Nine

In less than five-minutes, we are standing on a street devoid of sidewalks facing a single story bungalow in dire need of work. It doesn't miss my notice that it's rundown condition and looking like it isn't loved doesn't make it stand out on the street. In fact, every house on the street seems to be suffering from the same lack of care.

Letting go of my hand for the first time since leaving the truck, Shelly takes a deep breath and squares up her shoulders before loudly exhaling and taking a tentative step forward. "Here goes."

Before I even realize that I've moved, I reach out for her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder with just enough pressure to hold her in place. There is something that I need to say to her before we go any further, but I'm not sure I can handle the look on her face if her reaction is anything other than what I want or need from her.

So instead of turning her to face me, I speak to her back, speaking gently yet firmly, "You don't have to do this, Shelly. If you would prefer, you can come with me, at least until you decide what's next for you. And then, when you figure that out, I'll be more than happy to take you anywhere you want to go." Before she can reply, I quickly add, "I know this is a lot to think about, but I swear to you, there are no strings attached to my offer. It's just something else for you to consider. That's all, I swear. Think about it before you decide."

Without a word, she slowly turns to face me. Our eyes meet and before I can plead with her, her face breaks into a bright smile and she lunges forward, landing in my embrace and wrapping her arms around my waist. In the back of my mind, I can't help feeling that she is holding on to me for dear life.

Wrapped in each other's arms, we stand there on the dirt that is the front lawn for a long time before I slowly release her, saying, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

We hurry back to the truck, each gripping the other's hand as though we are equally afraid of letting go and losing sight of each other. How did two people that didn't know each other 24 hours ago happen to find themselves in each other's grasp with such intense feelings for each other? It can't be anything more than animal lust at this point, can it?

Yet, as I look over her as we hurry down the street, I don't feel like it's only lust that has sprouted between us. The attraction that I have for this woman feels like so much more. At one time, I felt that I couldn't live without Molly. And yet this thing between Shelly and me feels like so much more than that.

When we reach the truck, Shelly stops at the foot of the steps and turns to face me, her hand sliding up the front of my chest with familiarity, her touch setting off a chain of fireworks across my skin. But as I lower my head to drink in her lips, she gently pushes me back, saying softly with a huskiness in her voice that has never been there before, "Wait for me. I'm going to run into the store real quick. I'll be right back."

"I'll go with you," I reply, not wanting to leave her out of my sight for even a minute.

"No. You go on and get up in there," she firmly replies with a mischievous grin, her voice not leaving any room for argument.

"If you insist," I begrudgingly concede. "Wait, do you need some money?"

She turns back, a questioning look on her face. And then it quickly disappears and her smile returns. "No, I got it."

Without another word, she turns and hurries away, leaving me waiting by the step until she has gone around the front of the truck before I climb in so that I can keep an eye on her as she hurries across the parking lot and disappears through the front doors of the store.

What did I just do? Does this mean we're a couple now? And did he just offer me money? Of course, he wasn't trying to buy me, that wasn't the look on his face. But it felt weird, none-the-less. Then again, what kind of impression do I think I've made? Desperate? Easy? All of the above. Oh, but he's a beautiful man. What has come over me? It's like I've turned into this different woman. It's him. He makes me feel special.

Although I'm not expecting any trouble from either her ex-boyfriend or the drug cartel supplying the faux pharmaceuticals that I'm hauling, I still grow nervous with her out of my sight. Fidgeting like a grade school kid with ants in his pants, I sit in my seat shifting my glance from the digital clock on the dash to the front door of the store and back again. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm thinking that Bob should have called.

When fifteen-minutes have elapsed and she still hasn't returned, I reach the end of my patience and grab hold of the door latch, fully intending to storm the store and find out where she is, when I catch sight of her exiting the front door and hurrying toward me.

Before she has taken ten steps into the parking lot, I'm out of the truck and running toward her, my eyes glancing from one end of the lot to the other. Seeing me approaching, her face lights up. Just before I reach her, she holds out two large bags in front of her, saying gaily, "You're going to love these deals I found."

Not looking at her purchases, I impatiently grab hold of her arm while reprimanding her, "You went shopping?" I blurt out, without thinking.

She shrinks back from me, momentarily at a loss for words and I suddenly want to kick myself. The fear in her eyes tears me up inside. And it's even worse knowing that I was the one to put it there.

"I'm sorry," I hurriedly apologize, noting that the look in her eyes doesn't change. "I didn't realize you were going to be so long and I was worried that something happened to you."

Her shoulders slump and the fear in her eyes is replaced with something that I don't recognize. "Is this what it's going to be?" she suddenly asks, looking me straight in the eye.

"Come on," I reply, reaching out for the bags in her hands. "We can talk in the truck."

"No," she firmly replies, jerking the bags away from me and planting her feet firmly on the ground. "Not until we get something straight. You said no strings attached. Well, for me, that doesn't only include sex. If you still expect me to go with you, you have to realize right here and now that I don't belong to you." She pauses for a moment, her eyes turning moist with tears that she is fighting to hold back. "I can't explain this attraction between us, but I want to explore it. If it's just gratitude on my part and loneliness on yours, then it will run its course and we'll go our separate ways." She pauses to catch her breath, but I hold my tongue, sensing that she isn't finished. "I really have to know," she says, tears threatening in the corners of her eyes.

"It's much more than that, Shelly. I don't know how I know, but I do. I can feel it in my heart and soul that we're meant to be together."

"How can you say that when we just met last night," she reminds me, playing devil's advocate.

"That part scares me too," I admit, while slowly reaching out and taking the bags from her. This time, she lets me take them. Moving both bags to my left hand, I take her left hand in my right hand and gently squeeze it. "Come on."

When we reach the passenger's side of the truck, she suddenly tugs on my hand and with a mischievous smirk, says, "I prefer climbing up your side."

It isn't necessary for her to explain that she is referring to the driver's side, and I veer to the right, guiding her around the front of the truck to the driver's door. Reaching up, I pull the latch and swing the door to the side. She puts a foot on the step and reaches up into the cab for the pull bar on the right hand side, slowly pulling herself up before hesitating, her butt almost level with my face.

"I really could use a little help here, please," she coyly whispers over her shoulder, fully aware of where her ass is in relation to my face and that she is still wearing the short skirt of her waitress uniform that is now leaving nothing to my imagination.

And the best part of it all is that she looks even better than my imagination could do justice.

Setting the bags down on the ground, I turn back toward her and after glancing in both directions to make sure I ain't about to give someone a free show, grab the cheeks of her ass with both hands and squeeze them firmly while lifting her up onto my seat before letting go.

A short squeal of laughter turns into a soft moan from deep within her throat, causing my heart to skip a few beats while an uncomfortable pressure grows unbearable in the crotch of my jeans. Smiling sweetly down at me from her perch on the seat with a knowing grin, I hand her the two bags, noticing for the first time that they contain, among other things, what appear to be used clothing.

After taking them from me, she turns toward the sleeper and places them up on the bed, her eyes taking in the plush accommodations for the first time. "This is nice," she mouths huskily before sliding from my seat over to the passenger's side.

Climbing up into my now vacated seat, I smile across at her, pleased that she likes what she sees, though I'm not sure why it should really matter to me. Shrugging it off to pride of ownership, I tell her to strap in and hit the preheat switch before bringing the big diesel to life.

As the big engine rumbles, bringing up the air pressure, I look over at her to find her looking back at me with a smile on her face that almost unhinges me, and I suddenly wonder if we could get away with spending a little time right here. It would be time well-spent in the sleeper of the cab getting to know each other better.

Just as I'm debating whether anyone will have a problem with my truck sitting in their parking lot, my cell phone chirps. After fishing it out of my pocket, I see _DISPATCH_ highlighted across the display and I suddenly remember my other problem.

He's looking at me as if he wants to take me right here and now, and it's making me wet just thinking about having him. I'm so far gone, I couldn't stop him if I wanted to, and I surely don't. Then his damned phone rings.

Holding up my hand to alert Shelly to remain quiet, I answer, "Hey Bob, what do we know?"

While the question sounds lame to my own ears, I have to remember that Shelly is sitting next to me and what she doesn't know, theoretically, can't hurt her. Or at least, that's what I'm working with here.

"They're pissed, Driver. Even when I told them I can contact you and get the other pallets returned, the guy on the phone went ballistic." I can tell by his voice that Bob is stressed close to snapping. But we've committed to this and I have no intentions of returning their drugs. Ever.

But I ain't ready to share that little tidbit with Bob either. "Calm down, Bob. We knew they were going to be upset."

"They're on their way here!" he almost screams into the phone. "We didn't discuss them coming here. You said they would let me call you back. You said they would come after you, not me. What am I going to do now? Damn, I never should have listened to you"

"Bob, you need to calm down," I calmly tell him, glancing over at Shelly and noticing that she is staring intently at me, her interest clearly piqued. I had only considered them coming after me, not going back to the terminal and roughing up Bob, or worse.

"When are they supposed to be there?" I ask, trying to figure out what I'm going to do now.

"It sounded like they were close. They could be here anytime," he whines, sounding like he's on the verge of crying. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Bob, listen to me. The first thing you're going to do is get a grip," I sternly order him. When his breathing calms down and he isn't hissing loudly in the phone, I calmly tell him, "Bob, there isn't time for me to return. Plus, they'll expect me to be a lot further from you than I am. If I turn back now, they'll know that we were going to set them up, and then they really won't be happy."

"They're not happy now!" he screams at the top of his lungs.

"Listen, Bob. When they arrive you just tell them that you contacted the driver and the freight is going to be transferred to another hauler and returned to your terminal. You have to explain to them that it was an honest mistake, but if you force the hauler currently carrying their freight to turn around and bring it back and blow off his other deliveries, he'll be suspicious of what he's hauling. He'll begin to wonder what's so damned important you're willing to pay him to return it." I pause for a moment, before adding, "Sell them on it Bob. You can do it."

"What if they don't buy it, Driver? What then?"

"They'll buy it, Bob, because they don't have any other choice. Moreover, you're too valuable to them to risk hurting. They know you're playing ball with them and this was just an honest mistake by one of the dock workers. Mistakes happen all the time. But you're their man and you'll get it straightened out for them. Sell it, Bob."

Looking over at Shelly, I notice she's still staring hard at me. When I get off the phone, I'm going to have to tell her what's going on, even if it means she no longer wants to be near me. Though it'll hurt, I'll understand completely. She didn't sign up for this.

"Bob, if you have to, give them my number. I'll tell them what they want to hear so they leave you alone."

After a long moment of silence, I hear Bob take a deep breath before saying, "Okay, Driver."

When the phone goes silent, I turn so I'm looking straight ahead and in a voice barely more than a whisper, say over the top of the phone, "I can explain."

Before I can say any more, Shelly cuts me off. "Just what the hell are you hauling back there?"

"I'm not sure you really want to know, but in all fairness, I'm going to tell you. I'm also going to tell you what I'm doing, and then you can decide whether you want to go any further with me or not. After you hear me out, you may decide to check in with your friend Suzie after all."

"And I may surprise you, too," she says with a smirk, settling comfortably into her seat.

Though I've given her no reason, this woman really believes in me.

# Ten

It only takes me about ten-minutes to bring her up to speed, though she interrupts me occasionally with a question for clarification. She grasps the situation a lot faster than I expected of her.

"So that's why you ended up on a highway that never sees anyone except for tourists and locals?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it," I finish with a big sigh.

"So now what? I understand why you're here, but you still haven't explained where you plan to go with a truck load of illegal contraband."

"Yeah, I'm not too clear on that part yet, either," I reply, giving her my _come hither_ smile.

"Well, we can't stay here much longer," she nonchalantly remarks, glancing out the window in the direction of the store where a few more cars are starting to show up.

"You're sure about this?"

Leaning across the console, she kisses me softly on the lips before climbing up on top of the console and putting her arms around my neck and leaning into me, her kiss quickly growing hotter.

When she pulls back to look into my eyes, I simply remark, "You might want to refasten your seatbelt."

Within minutes, we're barreling along the narrow winding road heading toward Barstow.

Late afternoon finds us just outside Temecula where I jump on the interstate, knowing that my chances are much better of finding a large truck stop on the main highway compared to the backroads we've been on. No sooner are we up to speed on the interstate when I see a billboard advertising a large truck stop just 3-miles ahead. Taking the indicated exit, followed immediately by a right turn onto a surface street and then another right hand turn almost immediately after the first finds us kicking up dust as I bypass the pumps in search of a parking space close to the main building.

"Why are we back here? Shouldn't we pull up to the pumps?"

"We don't need fuel," I calmly reply while concentrating on my mirrors as I back the big rig in between two other rigs, noting that neither of them have a refrigerated trailer in tow. The last thing I want to contend with is the noise of a reefer unit blaring through my cab while I try to catch a few hours of sleep.

"Then what are we doing here?" Shelly asks, looking out the side and directly into the cab of the rig beside us and noticing that there isn't anyone visible though the engine is running. "That truck is running but there's no one in it."

"The driver is either in the sleeper or in the terminal," I reply, pulling out my log so I can catch it up before I forget. "Okay, here's the plan. We're going to go in there and grab us a shower so you can get out of that uniform," I pause for a long moment, my eyes devouring her. "Not that I mind it, but I know you picked up some clothes at the store and I'm sure you want to get into something a little more comfortable."

She grows quiet and a nervous look knits her brows together. "What's wrong?"

"You really like what I'm wearing?" she shyly asks, avoiding my gaze.

"Are you kidding? The minute I walked into that restaurant and saw you in that outfit, I was a goner."

Smiling shyly, she turns her head toward me and meets my gaze before saying, "I hope you're not disappointed when you see me in regular clothes."

"Baby, there is nothing you could wear that you won't rock. Trust me. Now, grab your stuff and we'll hit the store first to get shampoo and whatnot, and then we'll reserve a shower before we hit the restaurant and get something to go."

"I'm not sure I can do this," she suddenly blurts, looking nervous again.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my confusion showing.

"These are public showers, right? I've never used a public shower before."

Laughing, I explain to her that the showers are private and no one is going to see her naked, except maybe me. When she laughs with me, I quickly grab her by the hand, saying, "Now come on. Grab what you want to wear and let's get this over with before the supper crowd shows up. Most places like this tend to get a little busy in the evening."

Climbing up on the console so that her butt is pointing toward the windshield, she sorts through the two bags of clothing that she picked up earlier, moving what she wants to take with into one bag and then pushing the other farther back into the sleeper before drawing the heavy curtain. Turning toward me, I get the hint and climb out of the cab, turning back to face her when I land on the pavement outside so I can give her a hand down.

For the briefest of moments, I'm not sure if she is aware of the view she is giving me, or if she is doing it on purpose. But the minute she lands in my arms and turns her face up to mine, I realize that every move she makes is fully intentional. Her eyes are smoky with desire and her lips are slightly parted, inviting my own to them.

Throwing my ditty bag over my shoulder and taking her free hand in mine, I teasingly pull her in close, and then just as quickly, turn toward the main building, tugging her along behind.

"Come on," I impatiently command, feigning ignorance of her attempt at stealing a kiss, or more, despite craving it with every ounce of my being.

Heading into the building, I lead the way to the counter and drop money for a couple of showers before putting our names down on the signup sheet.

"It'll just be a few minutes. We'll call your numbers when they're ready," the middle-aged lady behind the counter says with a knowing smile.

"Thanks, we got a few things to pick up anyway," I reply with a smile.

As we walk away from the counter, Shelly quietly asks, "Now what?"

"Now we find a few things that I need. If you need anything, just put them in my basket here," I reply, scooping a plastic shopping basket off the floor by the counter.

After paying for our purchases, the same lady lets me know that the first shower is open. "The one next to it should be coming up in just a few more minutes," she adds with a smile, knowing that I have no intentions of using the second unit if I can help it.

"Thanks. Come on Shelly, I'll let you go first," I say loud enough for anyone within 20 feet to hear.

Following the signs, we come to several doors with numbers stenciled on the front. The unit to the one that is ready is standing open and I can see a small vanity, mirror, and toilet in the first part with the shower stall all the way to the back.

"That one is all yours," I say, nodding toward the open door.

"Don't you need to shave and stuff?" she asks coyly, turning those baby blues up at me while nervously biting her lower lip for fear that I might reject her.

"I can wait for the next number," I calmly reply, barely able to conceal my anxiety.

When she lays her free hand on my arm and says, "You don't have to," I almost come undone.

"Are you sure?"

Slipping her hand into mine, she literally pulls me into the shower unit. Pulling the door to and locking it behind us, I set my ditty bag on the closed lid of the toilet while she walks further into the room before finding a small table to set her own bag on.

Turning back to face me, I see a mix of nervousness and desire in her eyes. "I've only been with one man in years, and that was Rick," she says, explaining her sudden hesitation.

"I'm sorry you had to experience someone like that, Shelly," I say softly while slowly taking a step toward her. Moving toward her is like moving toward a nervous filly, and the last thing I want to do is spook her.

To my surprise, she stands her ground. "They'll probably time us, so we don't have a lot of time for foreplay."

Surprising me even more, she suddenly laughs. "Are you serious? We're actually being timed?"

"Dead serious," I reply, moving in close and kissing her softly on the lips while unbuttoning her blouse.

Her hands grab the hem of my tee-shirt and yank it up, trying to pull it over my head but only managing to lodge it over my face. Laughing, I cry out through the thin material, "Hey, that ain't fair. If I show you mine, you have to show me yours. Blindfolds are not allowed."

Though she giggles, I can hear a huskiness in the sound. Reaching up, I finish removing my tee before pushing her blouse off her shoulders and then lowering my lips to her ear before working my way lower, down the side of her neck, and then into the cleavage between her breasts.

Clicking the clasp on her bra, I pull it off and instantly latch onto first one nipple and then the next, loving the way they harden into proud little peaks under my ministrations.

As I grab a full breast in each hand and cup it, I'm surprised when my jeans suddenly slip down around my ankles. I'd been so engrossed with the upper half of her body, I hadn't realized what she was doing.

"Damn, you're beautiful," I whisper, pulling back just enough to take in the frontal view of her.

Working my way down her front with my tongue, I pause only long enough to push her skirt down to the floor before slipping my fingers inside the crotch of her panties and pulling them to the side. Her folds are glistening and inviting, and a deep sigh escapes my throat. Her scent is overpowering and I can't wait to taste her.

My tongue slides down her tummy while my hands slide over the firm flesh of her buttocks, pulling her sex to my face and holding it so she can't move away. When my tongue reaches the wet folds of her labia, a shudder quacks her entire body as a quivering moan erupts from deep in her throat. She tastes exquisite, and I know in that moment that I will never get enough of her. _This woman is mine._

Squeezing and massaging the flesh of her ass while working my tongue in and out and lapping up the sweet essence of her, she moves her hand to the back of my head and pulls me harder into her core, gyrating her hips in rhythm to my tongue lashing. With my jeans and underwear pooled around my boots, which are still on, her body suddenly clenches and starts trembling. Without warning, she collapses toward me, my hands instantly sliding up her backside while I rise to my feet, noticing that her eyes are shut and she appears almost lifeless, like a rag doll.

Pulling her into my arms. I pick her up off the floor and cradle her like a baby, her eyelids fluttering and her face flushed a bright pink. When her eyes stop fluttering wildly and remain open, she seems surprised to be cradled in my arms.

"What happened?" she asks breathlessly.

"If I had to take a guess, I would say that you either fainted or passed out," I smile down at her, relieved that she appears to be just fine.

"I think you can put me down now," she says, her arms moving up to wrap around the back of my neck like me putting her down is the last thing she really wants.

"Hold on," I tell her, stepping out of my boots and moving toward the shower. "I'm going to need a little help here," I continue, holding her close enough to the taps to turn on the water without putting her down.

She reaches out with her right hand and turns the knob to _hot._ Being very careful for fear that she might still be a little lightheaded, I gently place her feet down on the floor of the shower stall. "You still have your underwear on," she says, tugging playfully at the waistband. Then her eyes grow wide when she notices the large tent from my erection. "I'm sorry."

"What have you got to be sorry for?" I ask, perplexed.

"You gave me so much pleasure and you're..." she breaks off, still looking down at my huge erection.

"Trust me baby, the pleasure was all mine," I respond, keeping my arms around her in case she's still light-headed.

"Let me at least wash you," she coyly argues, reaching for the bar of soap and a wash cloth.

"Now that's an offer I can't refuse."

After soaping up the rag, she begins by rubbing tenderly along the length of my manhood, a soft groan slips out of my throat, emanating from deep down in the pit of my stomach. Moving her arms up my chest, she fondles my nipples briefly before sliding her tongue into my navel and following the water down my body with her mouth until she just touches the tip of my erection with the lightest pressure of her tongue, tasting the dew drop on the end that's defying the flowing water.

"Mmm," she purrs, liking the taste of me.

"You don't have to do that," I tell her, fighting to keep control, while feeling that my body is a traitor.

"Shut up," she growls with a husky voice just before she slips her mouth over me, the length of my shaft sliding over her lips and down her throat.

"Damn, woman, you're going to be my undoing," I cry out, realizing deep in the back of my mind that Molly would never have taken me into her like this.

As her hands tenderly massage my balls, I reach down until I can slip a hand beneath each arm and pull her back up. When my shaft falls out of her mouth, she looks up into my eyes with confusion clouding her own.

Before she can ask me what is wrong, I place my lips over hers and passionately kiss her, loving the feel of her warm body pressed against mine, my erection hard up against her tummy. Slipping my tongue into her mouth, we delve deeper into each other, exploring the depths of our desire, when her hand closes around my erection and guides it into the soft folds between her thighs.

"Damn, you're a wicked girl," I mouth a bit breathlessly, doing my damnedest to hold myself back.

"Just wait," she breathlessly responds, pushing herself into position to slide me into her.

"Let me get a condom."

"Oh God, you're just determined to drive me crazy, aren't you?" she breathlessly gasps.

"I know I'm clean. It's been 3 years since I've been with anyone."

"And I'm on the pill, because I knew I didn't want to have Rick's baby. But I can't swear that he hasn't given me anything else," she soberly admits.

"In my wallet. My pant pocket. Just give me a minute," I breathlessly reply, sadly realizing that until she gets a complete physical, there isn't going to be any unprotected sex. So I better pick up a case of protection before we leave this place.

While I step out of the shower to grab a condom, she turns her head to the water and shampoos her hair. When I step back in, the condom now in place, I can tell immediately that the temperature has changed, and not the temperature of the water.

Her back is to me, but I can tell by her body language that she's feeling embarrassed or inadequate, precisely which, I'm not sure. Maybe even a little of both, and it tears me up that she would feel this way. Turning her around to face me, I put my face directly in front of hers while lifting her chin up until she is looking into my eyes.

"I don't understand this attraction that we have for each other. I've never felt anything like this before and I'm not really sure what it is. But I do know that I want to learn everything about you. Not just the foods that you like or where you go on vacations or who your best friends are, but everything. If Rick didn't treat you with respect, I want to know. If you have a birthmark on your derriere, I want to find it. I want to know everything about you, Shelly. But I don't want to embarrass you, because you have nothing to be embarrassed over."

A soft giggle bubbles out of her beautiful mouth. "I don't have a birthmark on my derriere."

Playfully spinning her around, I laughingly ask, "Are you sure?" just before I drop to my knees behind her and tenderly bite her on the cheek of her ass while slipping my fingers around to the front of her thighs, plying them apart and slipping into her folds, loving how wet she is.

Rising back to my feet, I push her forward until she grasps the tap to keep her balance. With increasing pressure, I press the head of my shaft against her labia from behind, a small gasp of pleasure bubbling out of her throat.

"Ohh. I need you inside me now," she groans softly.

She is wet and slippery and pushes back against me, forcing my shaft deep inside her. Though I try to control myself, a 3 year absence is hard to ignore, and it's left me super sensitive to a woman's hotly tight pressure. Before I can pull back, I'm driving the full length of my shaft into her without mercy, hammering her up against the shower wall and almost lifting her with each powerful thrust.

"Oh yesss," she hisses, driving her ass back against me with equal force. "Give it to me, Driver. Give me all of it. Don't hold back." Her voice spins off in a loud moan of passion.

He is so damned large, filling me with his hot shaft. No man has ever felt so good or drawn out such a need in me. Can life go forward without him in it? Do I want it to? No.

The walls begin to spin and I'm lost in the moment as my penus explodes inside her with more force than I would have believed possible. I'm not a virgin. Far from it. But sex has never felt this fulfilling before. It's as if Shelly completes me in ways that I wasn't even aware needed completing.

With a hand across her stomach and another still latched onto a breast, I lean forward against her back, waiting to catch my breath. "Hold me up, Driver," she rasps. "I think my legs have turned to rubber. I've never had 2 orgasms so close or so intense before. Ever."

"That was a new experience for me, too," I reply, forcing myself to stand upright and pulling her along with me while holding her against my bare skin, not wanting to break the contact and feeling the loss as my now limp member slides out of her swollen pussy.

We quickly soap and rinse each other off, fighting the temptation to start over while knowing we both want to. Stepping out of the shower, Shelly asks, "Are you going to shave?"

Glancing in the mirror, I nod, "Yeah, I really should. But they're probably going to come looking to make sure we haven't fallen down and killed ourselves. So, I guess that means no."

"Good, because I kinda like it," she says with a coy smile while running her hand along the stubble on my jaw.

Leaning toward her, I brush my lips over hers, eliciting a small moan from deep in her throat. "You keep that up, and we'll never get out of here," she whispers, looking into my eyes.

Slapping her across her bare ass with my hand, I smile mischievously before saying, "Come on, we really do need to get going."

Sticking her tongue out, she grumpily proclaims, "Party pooper."

Clean and dressed, we pick up a couple of items in the store before heading back out to the truck. Shelly is wearing a faded pair of jeans and a soft cotton blouse in a light yellow pastel. She looks almost too good with her long blonde hair hanging loose and still wet from the shower. When we reach the truck, she waits while I open the door for her and then get in position to give her tush a push up. While the view from behind is still hot enough to melt asphalt, it's not the same as when she had her uniform skirt on. But it's more than enough to cause a stirring in the crotch of my jeans.

Once up in the cab, she turns back and gives me a pouty look before saying, "Ahh, wasn't that as much fun as before?"

"What, you're a mind reader now too?" I huff, feigning disappointment, and then breaking into a shit-eating grin as I pull myself into the cab and shift in the seat to reposition my growing manhood, as she looks on coyly.

Just as I'm thinking we should climb into the sleeper, my cell phone chimes. The caller ID is blocked. Let the show begin.

# Eleven

"Driver," I answer, holding a finger up to indicate for Shelly to be quiet.

"Yes, Mr. Driver, it would appear that you were given something of ours by mistake," a deep male voice says, not identifying himself.

"I understand that I was mistakenly given some cargo that wasn't supposed to be put on my trailer, but how does that make it yours? Especially since I don't even know who you are. And if you don't identify yourself real quick, I'm just going to hang up. Are we clear?"

"Trust me, Mr. Driver, you do not want to do that."

"So some stranger on my phone is telling me," I pause, waiting for a reaction.

"Okay, Mr. Driver. We'll do this your way for now," he replies, barely concealed irritation in his voice. "Call me Luciano. Is that better?"

I can tell by the undercurrents in his voice that he is not used to someone else calling the shots, and that if I were standing in front of him right now, he wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in my head. _Just a feeling_.

"That's much better, Mr. Luciano. Now where were we? You were saying something about me having some of your property on my truck."

"Yes. But I think you're already aware of that fact, Mr. Driver. We've already spoken with the dispatcher, Bob," he informs me, the sound of distaste in his voice. "In fact, he was the one that gave me your number, and despite questioning him for some time, he insists that it wasn't intentional and that if I called you, you would be more than glad to turn around and bring our merchandise back. No harm, no foul."

"That may be all well and good for you, but someone has to pay for my time and fuel. I'm just out here trying to make a living like the next guy," I whine like he's expecting, hoping to buy a little time until I know that Bob is okay and they haven't done anything stupid yet.

Glancing over at Shelly, the first thing I notice is that she's staring out the windshield and all the color has drained from her face. When I follow her gaze, the only thing I see is a dark sedan moving slowly away from the truck parking area and heading toward the exit.

Covering the phone, I whisper her name. When she turns her face toward me, I ask, "Do you know them?" indicating the car that has now pulled out on the highway and is moving parallel to us so that I can see the driver's face staring right at us. And he doesn't look happy.

Looking back at Shelly, she is slowly nodding her head up and down, but her eyes are glued on the man's face in the side window of the car. There's no mistaking the fear in her pretty blue eyes.

"Look, Mr. Luciano," I suddenly say into the phone, my voice leaving no room for misunderstanding as I decide to cut to the chase. "Let's cut the bullshit. We both know that I have your drugs and you want them back. Well, here's what I want in exchange."

"Are you sure this is how you want to play this, Mr. Driver?"

"You haven't even heard me out yet. You might like my terms."

Without a doubt, the man on the other end of this connection is not used to someone else dictating terms. Yet, if he wants his product back, and I'm sure it's worth somewhere in the millions, he's going to eat some humble pie to make it happen. But once he has his drugs back, my life and anyone else's that buys into this deal, isn't going to be worth a hill of beans.

Shelly has leaned forward in her seat and is breathing deeply, as if trying not to vomit. I need to see to her before I do anything else.

"Mr. Luciano, I'm going to have to call you back," I say, cutting the connection before he can protest.

Dropping the phone into the holder next to me, I reach across the console and gently lift Shelly out of her seat, sliding her across the console and onto my lap where she turns her head into my shoulder, the tears suddenly pouring forth like a broken dam.

"It's alright, baby," I softly soothe while tenderly caressing her back, loving the feel of her arms wrapped around my neck. When the tears finally stop and her body relaxes in my arms, I risk asking her how she knows the man or men in the black SUV.

"They work for Rick," she whispers, as if afraid by saying the words out loud it'll make them real. "They will tell him where I am and he'll come."

"He's never going to have you again, baby. I won't let that happen," I determinedly profess, thinking in the back of my mind that it might be time to dig my Glock out and start carrying it with me. That guy in the car didn't look like the type to go to church on Sunday mornings.

"I'm sorry."

"What have you got to be sorry for?" I ask, perplexed.

"For bringing this down on you. You don't know Rick, but he has a lot of friends that will do anything for him. He's not going to just let me go. That's not the kind of guy he is. Even if he doesn't want me anymore, he'll see it as losing face with his friends if he doesn't teach me that he owns me."

It isn't necessary for her to tell me that Rick is in a gang. The dark sedan and its driver already made that abundantly clear. And it's irrelevant whether he's high in the hierarchy or just a lowly initiate, their pack mentality will demand an all or nothing approach if they feel one of theirs has been slighted.

If it was just Shelly and having to deal with Rick, life would be simple. But I have a lot of other stuff on my plate right now too, and I am just one man, after all. Although I hung up on the drug cartel, I knew they wouldn't do anything rash. Not at this point. That'll come later.

Still, I need to call Mr. Luciano back. There are a few demands that I need him to get started on. Simple things that won't require much more than a phone call on his part. But demands, none-the-less.

We need to eat yet, but with Rick probably already knowing where we're at, it isn't safe here. And then again, Shelly may not be feeling any kind of appetite right now, and I can go for days without food if I have to. The marines gave me plenty of experience in that department. As well as how to kill a man with my bare hands and to fight through any pain inflicted on me.

"You want to crawl into the back and lie down?" I ask, not really wanting her out of my grasp, no matter how close she will still be.

"Can't I stay here?" she softly pleads, turning her blue eyes up to my face and pushing out her bottom lip in a pout.

With a large exhale, I explain why she can't, though I'm tempted to try driving with her on my lap.

"As much as I'd like to sit here and hold you forever, we're not safe here and I'm not sure I can drive with you on my lap. So, it's either the passenger seat or sleeper." As an afterthought, I add, "I have some snacks back there if you're hungry. We'll have to keep our eyes open for somewhere to eat when we're sure we haven't been followed, though I'm not sure how I can make this big rig just up and vanish."

When she crawls back over the console and slides into the passenger seat, the parts of my body that she was up against feel the chill of loss. Before I can change my mind about staying or going, I pick up my cell phone and hit the redial button.

"Don't you ever try that stunt again," comes Luciano's voice over the connection.

"Yeah, sorry, something came up," I nonchalantly remark before getting down to business, as I want to be out of here before Rick and his friends show up. And I have no doubts that he'll be showing up sooner rather than later. "Is Bob there?"

Without a word, he passes the phone to Bob. "Driver," Bob's anxious voice says into the phone.

"They treating you okay, Bob?"

"Yeah, yeah," he blurts, clearly scared out of his mind. "No problems."

"Good, just stay calm and do anything they ask. Where are you?" I ask, suddenly realizing that they wouldn't be at the terminal since Bob should be off work during the day.

"We're at my hou..."

"That's enough. You two lovebirds can catch up later," Luciano says, cutting Bob off.

"Look, Mr. Luciano, what I'm going to ask may sound a little strange to you, but hear me out."

"Okay, I'm listening."

"There was a woman staying with Bob when your guys first recruited him to arrange hauls for your product. Now I don't know what that was about, except maybe to keep an eye on him so he didn't run to the cops or something, but Bob seems to have developed feelings for that woman. You need to have her brought back so Bob can either see what a fool he was or get some kind of closure, because she really broke his heart."

"What the fuck are you talking about? Do I sound like some kind of Dr. Feel-Good to you?"

"A simple phone call on your part and it's done. You can use the excuse with your men that you want to keep him under surveillance until this is resolved. No skin off your ass, just make it happen," I calmly advise him, glancing across the cab at Shelly and wondering what I would be willing to do if someone took her away from me. I don't blame Bob in the least.

"Fine," he sighs into the phone. "Consider it done. What else?"

"Bob is going to text me ladings for the rest of these pallets and I'm going to deliver them for you. But then, you're going to move your operation out of Bob's terminal. He's done with you and you never see him again, because I'm going to have all the delivery addresses of these 20 pallets, which if I had to guess, is probably most of your distribution on the West Coast."

It isn't necessary for me to explain what having the list of addresses implies, as he quickly retorts with an angry edge to his voice, "No one has that information but me until they actually ship."

All I'm really forcing them to do is speed up their timetable for moving operations. Normally, after a pallet got delivered to a terminal for distribution, the operation would move to another terminal, unless it was a hub they put more time and effort into, like Bob's. Then they kept coming back with all the loyalty of a repeat customer.

But cultivating an operation like Bob's requires more time and effort, and it also opens them up to more exposure. While changing drops after each delivery eliminates risk. I'm not demanding anything more of them than an inconvenience. In my opinion, they'd be fools not to play ball with me.

"You're ready to ship. Give Bob the addresses and let's get this show on the road, because even though it might seem like I enjoy doing business with you, I really don't. And Mr. Luciano, I'm expecting twenty separate ladings, not just one drop, if you know what I mean."

"Understood," is all he says before the phone goes dead.

# Twelve

"Let's go find someplace where it won't be quite so easy for Rick's buddies to find us," I say, dropping the phone into the holder on the side of my seat while giving Shelly a wink. "Maybe we can find some food along the way. All that bullshitting worked up quite the appetite."

With a deathly serious expression, she says more than asks, "You don't plan to give them their drugs back, do you?"

"Like I told Bob, that's not going to happen. At least, not willingly."

Within minutes we are rolling out of the parking lot. But instead of heading back toward the interstate, I turn away from it while pushing the buttons on the navigational system to see what we have in the area for roads with adequate height clearances. There is nothing worse than heading down a backroad and discovering a low set of railroad tracks or an overpass without adequate height and being forced to turn around in a place where there usually isn't room to turn a rig of this length around. Or having to back up a road against oncoming traffic until one can find a place with room to turn around. Never a good situation.

So with those restrictions in mind, I study the navigational unit and the highlighted roads that will allow a vehicle of my height to pass. When I see a promising road leading away from the congestion of Temecula, I switch the screen from street view to earth view and instantly pick up on what looks like an abandoned Borax mine.

"Hot damn," I mumble under my breath, catching Shelly's attention.

"What is it?" she asks, a hint of worry in her voice.

"It looks like our luck might be changing," I say, my finger pointing at the small screen mounted on the dash. "If I'm not mistaken, that light brown spot right there looks like an old Borax mine."

"And if it is?"

"Those old mines were designed for large equipment and big trucks to run in and out of them. If it's not barricaded, and most of these old mines aren't due to lack of interest on all parties concerned, we're in luck. But even if they were at one time, target shooters, hunters, and others have busted through the barricades or used the old wooden barricades for bonfires. These are also popular party spots for the local teenagers. They can let loose all they want and no one worries about them starting a wildfire or damaging property."

We haven't gone too far when Shelly points out a convenience store sign up ahead on the right. "Can we find somewhere to park near it?" she asks, anxiously leaning forward in the seat searching for a place we can pull the truck into where it won't be in anyone's way or blocking traffic. Though I don't tell her so, I'm impressed by how quickly she is adapting to a trucker's lifestyle.

Just beyond the convenience store is a mini-mall that is almost deserted, most of the stores already closed for the night though it's still only late afternoon. Within half an hour, we're back at the truck, loading our bags of purchases into the sleeper.

Shelly still refuses to use the passenger's door, preferring instead to let me boost her up and onto the driver's seat. But I'm not complaining by any means. In fact, the tease she gives me every time I push up on her cute little ass is more than worth the effort. _Of course, that's probably why she refuses to use the passenger's door_.

Just a few more miles down the road and all resemblance of civilization drops away and we're suddenly out in the middle of nowhere. A few more miles after that we come to what used to be the main entrance to the mine, now marked by a busted up steel gate that has been rusting away in a heap on the side of the entrance for forever. To my immediate relief is the fact that there doesn't appear to be any fresh tracks on the road leading in. Hopefully the place has fallen out of favor with the locals and we won't be disturbed tonight.

"Hang on. It might get a little rough going in," I say, pulling the trailer wide. Even though the entrance was almost three lanes wide originally, in the convening years since it's been closed, only a single track used by pickups and off road vehicles has kept the vegetation chewed down and there is no telling what mayhem is hidden in the taller brush to the sides.

With the sun dropping low on the horizon, the lower levels of the mine are already in shadow, making it hard to see into the farther reaches. Dropping into low gear, I let the beast find its own footing across the rough terrain as we drop lower into the murkier depths of gloom.

"This is kind of spooky," Shelly says with a nervous grin, her hands gripping the chicken bar so tight her knuckles are white.

Despite the warm heat of late afternoon, the damp chill of the shaded air immediately creeps into the cab, lowering the ambient temperature by several degrees, sending chills through my body. Glancing over at Shelly, I see her scrunching her shoulders together to ward off the chill. "I have a jacket in the sleeper if you want to grab it out."

Without a word, she climbs over the console and crawls into the back. It doesn't escape my thoughts that this is the first time she has gone all the way into the back and not just leaned past the heavy day-blocker curtain. This realization triggers something deep in my chest. It's as if she has crossed some boundary of intimacy between us, making us closer, more comfortable in each other's space.

When she climbs back out, she's wearing my old fleece-lined, denim jacket. It's huge on her, and I'm again reminded of just how petite and frail she is. Before I know it, I find myself fighting an urge to grab her into my arms and protect her from everything bad in the world.

Fighting the urge, I ask instead, "Better?"

"Much," she says, dropping into her seat and pulling the jacket tight around her shoulders.

To my surprise, I glance over to find her smelling the collar. "I'm sorry. It probably hasn't seen the laundromat for a while."

"No, no, it's fine," she says self-consciously, embarrassed to be seen sniffing my clothing. Feeling she has to explain her actions further, she quickly adds, "It's kind of nice, really."

I might have been offended if she hadn't finished that last comment with a bashful smile. _She likes the way I smell_! Why that excites me, I have no idea, but it sure does.

Though the sky directly above us is a pale blue devoid of clouds, we are surrounded by darker patches letting on to varying degrees of shadows creating an almost eerie atmosphere. The mine stretches out for almost a mile across sporting a smattering of old shacks and rusted out equipment that was deemed worthless and simply left behind. Some of the old steel equipment showed darker streaks of soot and rusty wire looms where there once were massive rubber tires. Anything of value has long since been removed the rest simply burned.

Seeing a darker area off to my left, I slowly angle my way in that direction, using the headlights to avoid anything in the dirt that could be hazardous to a truck tire, as well as soft spots in the surface. If this rig breaks through the crusty surface rock, it will take an act of God to get us out. Not something I really fancy.

Pulling up next to the manmade cliff and facing us back toward the sloping entrance so we can see if anyone approaches, I shut the big diesel down and turn toward Shelly. Her eyes are sparkling with excitement or anticipation, or a combination of both. "Feel like eating something? We can build a small fire if there's anything lying about that will burn."

"It's too cold out there," she says, shivering despite the weight of my coat. "Can we just stay in here?"

"Sure," I reply, actually relieved that she doesn't want to spend the evening playing camp scouts. "I'm still hungry," I reply, turning to climb up on the console and reaching into the bags that we just picked up. "How about some burritos and beer?"

"Cold burritos?" she cringes.

"Hey, trust me babe, this is my home. No cold meals here." Climbing into the back of the sleeper, I place 2 burritos in the mini-microwave and let them cook while I dig out the beer we just bought and break 2 cans off the 6-pack ring before placing the other 4 cans with the plastic ring attached inside the mini-fridge next to the mini-microwave.

When the microwave dings, I remove the burritos and set them on the console between the seats, the aroma of hot beans and Mexican spices filling the cab. Putting a couple of napkins on the console next to the wrapped burritos, I place the beers on them to prevent moisture stains in the polished wood, and then climb back into the driver's seat.

"Dinner is served," I say, giving her a smile.

"They probably smell better than they taste," she replies, turning up her nose, yet taking one of the burritos and a napkin.

Picking up the other one, I take a large bite and almost spit it back out. "Oh yeah, these are fine," I jokingly cringe, unable to remember the last time I'd put anything so awful in my mouth and still called it food. _And that included MREs_.

Shelly takes a small, delicate bite and actually does spit it out into the napkin she's holding with her other hand before replacing the burrito on the console. "That's just plain nasty," she blurts, putting one of the beers up to her mouth and chugging a few swallows before pausing to catch her breath.

Looking with intensity at the end of my burrito, I nonchalantly remark, "I think there's something moving down in there."

With the back of her left hand, Shelly playfully strikes me on the arm. "Stop it," she laughs, tears springing to her eyes.

"No, look," I say, fighting hard to keep a straight face as I hold my burrito up to her face.

"Stop it," she says, pushing my hand away while laughing so hard she's crying.

The sight of her laughing and enjoying my company warms me all over, and I start laughing along with her. After several minutes, we settle back into our seats. "So what do we eat now?" I ask, watching her use the napkin to dry her eyes. "I could shoot us a rodent and roast it over an open fire, if you like."

"It probably wouldn't taste any worse than those."

"Even if it were to taste the same, I think I'd pass. How about some potato chips?"

"Just beer is fine for now," she calmly replies, looking up through the windshield at the deepening color of the sky. "It's going to be full dark pretty soon."

"Yeah, maybe we should get some shuteye."

After dumping the remains of the burritos along with the dirty napkins and empty beer cans into a plastic sack, Shelly looks across the console, meeting my gaze. "What are we doing for sleeping arrangements?"

"Well, this area behind us here is called a _sleeper_ , so why don't we put our groceries and clothes away before we go any further."

Just then, my cell phone rings, so I nod at Shelly to head into the sleeper while I take the call. Recognizing the name, I quickly tap the screen. "Hey Bob, what do we know?"

"Darling's coming home," are the first excited words out of his mouth.

"That's great, Bob. That'll give you a chance to see if there's a future for the two of you or not," I quickly add, hoping to nudge his thoughts regarding her in the right direction. Though I doubt anything I say will have any effect on him or what he does regarding Darling. Love is blind, after all.

Instead of acknowledging my comment, he hurriedly changes the subject. "I have the delivery addresses, Driver. As soon as we get off the phone, I'll text them to you."

"That's good, Bob." I pause for a moment, not sure how to broach the next part, and then deciding just to get it out in the open. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"No," he hesitantly replies. "They just made a lot of threats and pushed me around some."

I can tell he isn't telling me everything, and I begin to wonder just how far I can trust him. He came to me looking for help, but did he really want my help? Or is he seeing it more as interference now that he's getting what he wanted out of it. Specifically, _Darling_.

Shelly slowly pulls the curtain together, trying not to distract me by her actions. Yet, my mind is torn between my concern for Bob, or more precisely, my questioning trust in him, and what she's doing behind the closed curtain.

"Good, I'm glad to hear that, Bob. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about you. These guys can be ruthless when they need to be."

"No, I'm good." There's a long moment of uncomfortable silence before Bob comes back on the line. "Hey Driver. I gotta go now. I just got to work and things are busy here tonight. I'll text you those ladings."

"Alright, Bob. Let me know how things go with Darling. Okay?"

The phone goes silent as he hangs up even before I finish speaking, something Bob has never done before, and it gives me a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. The bite of burrito I swallowed earlier is suddenly threatening to resurface. Something is definitely not right.

Deep in thought, the phone all but forgotten in my hand, Shelly's soft voice suddenly flows teasingly through the heavy curtain. "I sure hope all that silence out there is you getting ready for me."

"Oh, babe, you have no idea how ready I am," I reply, almost dropping the phone in the pouch on the side of my seat before deciding to slip it into my front pant pocket instead. With an uncomfortable pressure instantly building in the front of my jeans, I force Bob and his situation out of my mind for the time being.

Though I'm nervous, I can hear the doubt in Driver's voice. He's beginning to wonder just how far he can trust this guy named Bob. He won't voice his concern though, because that's not the type of man he is. He will always show complete trust in his friends, even if he's not feeling it. But I can do something for him that will make him relax. And he so deserves some peace in his life, as well as love. Love. Could this be love?

# Thirteen

Pushing the curtain aside and climbing into the sleeper, I find Shelly snuggled up on the twin-sized mattress with the blankets pulled up to her chin, just her beautiful blue eyes looking out at me. Near her feet is a small pile of clothes along with my jacket and I know immediately that she isn't wearing anything under the blankets. If the pressure in my jeans was painful before, it's going through the ceiling now.

Rolling so her back is up against the rear wall of the sleeper, she smiles warmly at me, asking, "Are you still dressed?"

Looking around the dimly lit sleeper, I notice that she figured out the appliances mounted on the wall behind the driver's seat and up near the ceiling so they're out of the way. On the back wall is a row of cabinets with locks and on the passenger side, also mounted up near the ceiling, is the entertainment console. That's where the dim light is coming from, as Shelly figured out the controls and has turned on some soft country music from a local station. Everything is controlled by a master computer that won't let the start batteries drop below a certain level of charge that is necessary for starting the big diesel, even if I use all the appliances for hours on end.

Pulling my tee-shirt over my head and throwing it to the foot of the bed, I turn around and slip my boots off, leaving them on the console between the seats so I don't drag any dirt into the sleeper. "Are you warm enough?" I ask her, concerned because of how she was shivering earlier.

In reply, she lifts the blankets, saying in a voice husky with emotion, "You look hot enough to warm me up, if you would just get your ass in here before I freeze to death."

Rolling into her little cocoon of blankets and pulling them over both of us, I whisper softly in her ear just before grabbing it between my teeth, "We sure don't want that happening."

Slipping my tongue into her ear canal, I slowly pull out and lave it down the side of her throat, alternately nibbling and suckling on her soft flesh, eliciting soft cries from somewhere deep in her throat, the sound making me even harder, if that were possible.

Lifting my head up slightly, my lips softly brush over hers before she pulls back and looks into my eyes, softly asking, "Do you believe in faith?"

Wrapping my arms around her and pulling her in close so that her bare breasts are pressed hard against my bare chest, I grow acutely aware of her pebbled nipples as I breathlessly reply, wondering if I'm moving too fast for her, though I'm not sure I can slow down even if I wanted to, which I definitely don't. "Why do you ask?"

"I keep thinking about how you walked into the restaurant that night, and into my life when I was at one of the lowest low points that I've ever been. And how handsome you were. And so polite. You were just too damned good to be true."

"I don't know about faith, but I'll always remember walking into that restaurant and laying eyes on you for the first time. Even with your back to me, I knew you were one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, who also turned out to be kind, innocent, maybe a touch naïve, but oh so hot with a capital H. I've never wanted anyone as bad I wanted you the moment I saw you, and that is so not like me."

"That's faith, dummy," she giggles softly, reaching up to rub her palms along my unshaven cheeks, the touch of her fingers causing my breath to catch. Slowly, as if savoring every inch, she runs her hands down the front of my bare chest before concentrating on unbuttoning my jeans.

Pulling her close and working my groin up against her flat tummy in an effort to make it harder for her to get at the zipper on my jeans, I slowly slide my hands down the length of her bare back, savoring the arch in the small of her back before slipping lower and grabbing the cheeks of her ass and squeezing them hard.

"That's not fair," she pouts.

"What? That you're undressed and I still have my jeans on?"

"Yeah. And you're not making it easy for me to get them off."

Slipping my hands around to my front, I quickly unzip and push my jeans down to my ankles, kicking them to the foot of the mattress after slipping a foil clad condom out of a front pocket. Her hands move swiftly to encircle my swollen shaft, eliciting a groan from deep inside my chest. Pressing my lips against hers, I force the kiss deeper until she slips her tongue into my mouth, and then teasingly pulls back, slipping my right hand up and holding the condom in front of her face. "Here. You get the honors this time."

Reaching out and taking it from me, she shifts slightly on the mattress while saying, "But I've never done one before. What if I don't put it on right?"

"Just keep working on it. Eventually you'll get it right," I gasp softly, enjoying the feel of her hands on me.

After a long moment, she lifts a leg and slides it over me so that she is straddling my hips. Still holding my penus with her right hand, she guides it toward her swollen mound. When I feel the tip pressing against her, I suddenly stiffen and pull back. "Not so fast, baby."

In a voice breathless with emotion, she whimpers, "I need you now, Driver. Inside me. All of you."

Rolling her onto her back, I position myself over her, supporting my weight on my elbows and knees as I suckle first one of her nipples and then the other, nipping it slightly and causing her to gasp at the sharp sting of pain. Then suckling it and cooling the bite of pain with my tongue. Dragging my moist tongue down her belly, I quickly maneuver to her moist folds, finding the clitoris with my tongue and suckling on it. She responds by raising her hips up to me and clamping her hands on the back of my head, holding me down on her.

Her core is wet and ready for me, but I have other plans for her first. Nothing excites me more than the ability to bring a woman pleasure, and that means the longer and more intense her orgasm, the happier I am. So while I am savoring her divine essence, she is growing more impatient and animated beneath me.

When her body suddenly clenches up, her stomach and thigh muscles quivering spasmodically, she breathlessly pleads, "Driver, please, oh God. I need you in me now."

Pulling back, I hurriedly roll her onto her stomach and slip up behind her on my knees. With a hand on either side of her hips, I lift her up so that her sex is exposed and vulnerable and press the tip of my shaft up against her, feeling the moist heat of her need.

Before I can take her, she presses back against me, effectively impaling herself on my swollen shaft. Shocked by her forwardness and before I can react, she presses harder against me, taking the full length of me into her core before slowly pulling back, a muffled scream of pure pleasure emanating from her mouth. She feels so damned good, I know I won't be able to control myself for long if at all.

"Damn it, baby, you feel so fucking good," I cry out while pulling her hips back into me, loving the way her body is clamping tightly around me, her core vigorously milking my manhood and pulling me up to the very edge.

For the second time in as many minutes, her body begins spasmodically quivering, her womanhood clenching and pulling on me with such strength I lose all control. My body takes over, exploding with so much force I see stars and can't catch my breath, all the while slamming hard against her ass, the slapping of human flesh against human flesh muffling out all other sound.

Within seconds, our bodies go limp, momentarily sated and exhausted. Covered in sweat, my body collapses next to hers, the sound of her breathing loud in my ears as our hearts pound violently in our chests. She slowly, almost languidly turns her head to face me. She is flushed, her mouth turning up into a smile. "Are you trying to kill me?" she breathlessly asks with a smirk.

In the dim lights, I notice her expression suddenly change from sleepy and sexually sated content to alarmed concern, her brows knitting together at she looks past me and out the front windshield. "What's that?" she asks, pointing over my shoulder.

Though it pains me to do it, I release my hold on her and roll away, the cool night air chilling our sweat slickened skin that is suddenly exposed to it. But all that is instantly thrown out of my mind when I see a convoy of headlights coming down into the quarry at a high rate of speed. A cloud of dust highlighted in their taillights.

"Shit," I curse, quickly grabbing my jeans and slipping into them before locating my tee-shirt and pulling it over my head. "Get dressed," I command Shelly, while slipping into my boots and climbing over the console. My gut reaction is to fire up the big diesel and make a run for it, but despite all the action movies where a semi-rig can barge its way through a horde of cars and roadblocks, that only happens in the movies. In real life, that just doesn't happen. If they want to stop us, all they have to do is blow out a few tires and we'll be dead in our tracks, literally.

Sitting in the driver's seat watching the procession line up in a line from left to right with a jacked up pickup truck front and center, there is no doubt in my mind who we're dealing with.

"Shelly," I start when she sticks her head out of the sleeper, her hands still working the buttons on a blouse. "It's your old friend, Rick, and he's brought company."

"He's not my friend."

"Figure of speech," I calmly reply, my mind trying to grasp what's coming and what our best response to this problem might be. "I'm going out there to talk to him. Whatever happens, don't get out of the truck. Keep the doors locked and stay in here."

She suddenly latches onto my arm with both her hands, the strength in them surprising me. "You can't go out there, Driver. Please, don't. You have no idea what he's capable of."

Trying not to add anymore fear to the tension Shelly is already experiencing, I keep my voice as calm as possible, all things considered. "I think I know full well what he's capable of, Shelly. But he has no idea what I'm capable of."

"Take your gun," she suddenly blurts.

Though I have already considered doing just that, and just as quickly ruled out the idea for fear of causing whatever is about to go down to escalate into a gunfight, I simply reply, "You keep the gun with you. I would rather this not turn into a firefight."

"I've never even held a gun before," she answers, her lower lip quivering.

"Then now is probably not a good time to learn," I laugh, thinking I would rather she not shoot me in the back by accident.

Slowly, their headlights all shining toward the front of my truck, men begin climbing out, two or more to a vehicle, five vehicles. Not the greatest of odds, but I've been dealt worse hands.

As they step forward into the glare of their headlights, I study them, not only appraising what's in their hands, but also looking for evidence of concealed weapons. Only then do I notice a lone vehicle holding back, parked more than halfway back up the road toward the entrance and sitting askew so that the driver can use the door to steady a high powered rifle.

Or so my thoughts take me. But this isn't Afghanistan. There are no snipers hiding in the hills looking for an easy American target. More likely, it's the gang's leader, overseeing their activities, and since it isn't in the mix, I relegate it to the back of my mind, as I have closer and more urgent problems to deal with.

Namely, the big brute stepping forward that goes by the name of Rick.

He is the bravest man that I've ever known. But he doesn't really know what Rick or his friends are capable of, and I'm afraid more for him than I am myself. Rick has to punish Driver if he has any hopes of keeping face with his friends. What have I gotten this beautiful man into?

# Fourteen

"I'm serious, Shelly. Whatever happens, stay in the cab of the truck and don't unlock the doors for anyone."

Her hands are still clenched on my arm as she pulls me to the side, her lips finding mine and kissing me with everything she's got before pulling back and saying, "You be careful."

"I'm always careful," I reply calmly before opening the door and dropping down to the ground. While I lock the door behind me, I take a deep breath and force my racing heart to calm, something I'd learned to do before every mission.

Though I've been trained to kill with my hands, I have to remind myself that these are not enemy combatants. They are just insolent assholes that need a quick lesson in manners. Incapacitate, do not kill.

"So we meet again," I calmly remark, stepping a couple of feet in front of my truck and leaving a little more than ten feet between myself and Rick, who is standing almost four feet in front of the others. "So, judging by the small army you brought with, I take it you didn't like getting your ass kicked the last time we met."

He exhales a loud, "humph," in denial. Yet, I know my words have the desired effect with his posse when a couple of them smirk and chuckle softly in the background.

"What, you going to argue with me and tell all these fine friends of yours that you liked getting your ass kicked?" I calmly state, my breathing and heart rate slowing even more as my body shifts into full combat mode.

"I don't need any help kicking your ass. They just came along for the show. But I'm the one that's going to have the fun this time," he hisses through clenched teeth as he takes a step forward, and then suddenly stops, his gaze on the front windshield of my truck as he remembers the real reason for being here. "Get your ass down here, bitch," he yells, pointing at the ground near his feet as if ordering a trained dog to heel.

"She doesn't take orders from you and she isn't going anywhere with you," I comment, his demeanor towards Shelly beginning to break through my emotional armor and piss me off.

"Fuck you," he spits, the saliva flying from his mouth glistening in the glare of headlights.

Without moving my head, I'm silently assessing his army and determining which of them are the most dangerous and need incapacitating first. There are eleven men all told and within seconds, I have determined an order to take them out. Some might be offended by my judgement of them, as I determine they're more bluster than battle hardened.

_Incapacitate, do not kill_ is the mantra running through my head when Rick takes another step forward.

"Before you get any closer," I calmly state, estimating the distance between us based on how close he is to my kill zone, "you better take what I'm about to tell you to heart. When this is over, so is whatever relationship you think you have with Shelly. She is not your woman, and she is not going anywhere with you, tonight or any other time. This ends here and now."

"Fuck you, asshole," he blurts, his confidence bolstered by his men's laughter, the crack of my heel against the side of his head catching everyone by surprise.

When you are sorely outnumbered, you must use every advantage afforded you to the max, which in this case is the element of surprise. Who expects a single man against almost a dozen to start the fight? A smart man would probably just start running. But what I lack in brains, I more than make up for in skill. The U.S. Government trained me well.

The big brute, Rick, hits the ground hard. But even though the blow should have kept him down, he is still stirring, fighting the darkness encroaching behind his eyes. As I gathered from the last time we met, he is one tough bastard. I will give him that.

Standing over him, my fists clenched at my sides, I spin off to my left and catch the first coming from that direction with a solid palm to the throat, and then follow through with a thumb jabbed into the eye socket of the nearest man on the right before the others are even aware that the fight has started.

Then all hell breaks loose as the others take turns coming at me. Some get off lightly with a body punch that takes the wind out of them, or a broken nose, or maybe a loosened tooth. But eventually, someone gets in a lucky jab, catching me on the side of the chin. Or a kidney shot in the lower back when I'm turned away and dealing with another one of their gang.

When I see Rick slowly push himself to his knees, I work my way towards him until I can catch him on the side of the head with another solid kick, knocking him unconscious this time. And even though I can't spare the time or distraction to make sure he stays down, my sixth sense is telling me that he is no longer a threat, along with four others lying unmoving on the ground in the glare of their headlights.

One suddenly comes charging toward me, using the glare of the lights to momentarily blind me. Ducking below his upraised arms, I plant a shoulder in his midsection and rise up, throwing him over me and hearing his body connect with the front grill of my truck before landing solidly on the ground with a soft thud.

Twisting back to face the next, my breath growing louder from exertion, I find myself momentarily alone, as the others that are still standing are now holding back, reconsidering the situation. Although I am breathing hard, I have no blood on me, at least none of my own. While they are bruised, bleeding, and suffering broken bones or noses.

I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself, even though I'm aware that this fight might be far from over, when the skies open up and something crashes into my skull. My vision flares brightly as if I'm looking into a flash bulb and the pain in my head is excruciating. It feels as if my skull has been split open and white hot acid poured over my brain.

When the darkness enfolds me, I welcome it with open arms, as it brings an end to the unbearable pain in my head.

Oh my God, Driver is down. But what happened? He was standing there one minute and flat on his back with blood pouring out of his head the next. Not thinking, I push the door open on the truck and jump down to the ground. The only thing that seems to matter is getting to Driver, the man that I love. He needs me.

But before I reach him, someone grabs me from behind and pulls a hood over my head, blinding me. "Let me go!" I scream, swinging my arms and kicking for all I'm worth. But the arms are too strong and I can't get loose.

Someone yells to shut the bitch up and then something strikes the back of my head, jarring my teeth. I see bright lights behind my eyelids that quickly fade to black.

I have no idea how many days have passed, but I'm lying spread eagle on my back and my head feels like a thunderstorm is happening within it while the sun is shining down brightly in my eyes. My mouth feels parched and full of crawling insects. My joints stiff and resistant to all movement. After blinking my eyes several times in an attempt to focus, I try swallowing, but I can't form any saliva, I'm too dehydrated. More than a day, then, the calculating part of my mind is telling me.

Shelly?

The thought of her brings a completely different kind of pain as I wonder where she is. Desperately, I try to look around, but my head feels stuck to the ground. Or am I just too weak to lift it? Slowly, I force my hands up to my head. Though my fingertips are sore and mostly numb, I feel something tacky gluing my hair to my head and the ground. My head is extremely tender and just touching it sets off another wave of thunderous pain.

Afraid of vomiting and drowning in my own vomit, I force myself with every ounce of strength I can summon to roll onto my side, and it's then that I realize the thick, gooey substance plastering my head to the ground is congealed blood. My blood.

There is another slight tug on my scalp as I lift my head up off the ground and look around, igniting a new wave of pain through my brain. Yet, despite the debilitating pain in my head, I instantly realize that I'm still in the borax quarry. But more important is the fact that my truck is gone.

And with my truck, Shelly!

"Oh God," I silently scream as I collapse back onto my back, the cold darkness quickly repossessing my pain ravaged mind.

Some indeterminate time later, consciousness slowly fights its way back to the forefront of my mind, a thunderous pain escorting it along so it can't be ignored. I'm surrounded by pitch dark, yet I can see a sky full of stars that drifts slowly in and out of focus.

To my amazement, I have more strength this time around, and I slowly manage to get up on my knees before I remember that my truck is gone and they took Shelly with it. Just the thought of that asshat having his hands on Shelly again causes my chest to constrict with anxiety and fear.

Fighting against the pain and the desire to lie back down and just drift off into that cold darkness where there is no feeling or pain, I tenderly raise a hand to my head in an effort to assess the damage. My tongue is swollen and my lips are cracked and split. There is a gnawing throb in my lower chest, and I immediately realize that I must have been kicked while I was down, probably trying to assess whether I was still alive or not. Since I'm still here and kicking, sort of, I must have passed their death test and been left for dead. Thank God for inexperience.

Having inflicted many gunshot wounds, both fatal and not, along with having received my share of the non-lethal type, I recognize the wound on my head for what it is almost immediately, despite the heavy matting of congealed blood in my hair.

Pushing myself up, I wobble unsteadily for a few long seconds before I lower myself back down to a sitting position before I fall over and possibly do myself more harm. Sitting on the cold, hard-packed dirt, I do a preliminary inspection of the rest of my body, relieved to discover that no bones are broken and the only discomfort I'm suffering is the head wound along with a growing soreness just below my rib cage. If I could see it, I wouldn't be surprised if it were all the colors of the rainbow, and then some.

To my amazement, my cellphone is still in my jean pocket where I slipped it earlier before climbing into the sleeper and enjoying Shelly's intimate charms. The memory causes my heart to beat erratically, as I can't help feeling that I let her down. How long ago was that? Hours, or maybe even days. Am I already too late?

Even though we never expected to fall so hard and fast for each other, she trusted me. More so, I led her to believe that she could trust me, and I let her down. Will she ever forgive me?

The backlight comes on showing me the day and time, and more importantly that the battery is almost discharged. Unable to swallow or create any kind of saliva, I gasp when I realize that it's been over forty-eight hours since Rick and his posse showed up.

Not wanting to waste anymore battery life than absolutely necessary, I pull up my contacts and tap Bob's number. He should be at work for another two hours, since he doesn't get off till six AM and it's just after four now.

"Driver! Where the hell are you? Where have you been? Luciano is going crazy. He thinks you took off with his merchandise." There's a long pause followed by Bob cautiously asking, "Driver? Driver, you there?"

Thanks to caller ID, he at least knows it's me.

"Help," I try to say, but nothing understandable comes out, my voice is almost non-existent. Trying not to bite my own tongue, I try again, putting everything I have into the effort, "Help."

Since my phone is GPS activated, he can pinpoint my location on his laptop. But first he has to understand that I need help.

"Driver, it sounds like you said, _'help'_. Is that right? Do you need help?"

Bob's voice goes from angry to anxious in a split second. Now he truly sounds concerned, like a friend might. With one last effort that causes my vision to blur, I rasp in a huff of exhaled air, "Help." Then the darkness closes in and I fall back to the hard ground, once again enveloped in a cocoon of life sapping darkness.

I'm in the back of a truck, my hands and feet tied. The road is rough, like a country trail, not suburbia. They left the hood over my head, but I can hear voices. Two men are talking about Rick. It sounds like he's in pretty bad shape, thanks to Driver. If my head weren't hurting so bad, I'd shout with glee.

The truck comes to a stop and someone opens the back and bodily lifts me up and carries me through a house and drops me on a bed. My heart beat begins racing as I assume the worst. But the man leaves and I'm left alone, trussed up and blindfolded on a bed in a room that could be anywhere in Southern California.

But where is Driver? And is he dead or alive, cause he didn't look too good the last time I saw him. Oh Driver, what have I gotten you into?

Somewhere off in the distance, I can hear the sound of tires crunching on gravel. It's slowly growing louder as it draws nearer, and then car doors followed by silence. Bob's voice. "Oh shit," just before something grabs hold of my shoulders and raises me up into a sitting position.

Though it hurts, I force my eyes open, the dried gum of sleep making it impossible to focus. But I can see that it's daylight.

"What happened to him?" another voice asks. Female. Heavy Asian accent.

"Help me get him in the back." That's Bob's voice again, surprising me by the authority in it.

"Let me look first." The woman again, defying Bob's attempt to take charge. There is a deeper throbbing in the right side of my head and I vaguely realize that someone is prodding against my scalp. "This is bad," she says, before adding, "Someone shot this man, Bobby."

"Crap," Bob replies, all authority suddenly drained from his voice. _Who the hell calls Bob Bobby?_

"Get me water bottle," the female again.

While the female supports me in an upright sitting position, Bob's footsteps retreat quickly and then scurry back. "Here."

Though my mouth is hanging open as if trying to catch flies, she pours the water over my head to rehydrate the congealed blood matting my hair so she can get a better look at the wound that I now know for certain is from a bullet. With that knowledge, I flash back to the night of the fight and the memory of the SUV parked a ways back up the road.

Sniper.

Someone didn't want me surviving my confrontation with Rick and his posse. But who? Rick's boss? But that doesn't make any sense. Luciano? But how would he have known where I was?

Of course, the same way Bob found me. Tracked my cellphone. So did he take his merchandise back, along with my truck? And who took Shelly? Luciano or Rick?

"Here." It's the woman's voice and she's pouring water into my open mouth. Then she pours some over my eyes and the gummy goo of sleep softens enough that I can open the lids and see almost clearly. "Now drink," she says when she sees my eyes focusing on her face. A very pretty face. Dark straight hair, wide set, large dark brown eyes, and a creamy complexion with full lips. Possibly Amerasian. _Darling_.

The water burns like alcohol hitting raw skin and exposed nerves. When I start coughing, she literally puts her fingers in my mouth to prevent me biting my swollen tongue. The thought that this woman has medical training comes to mind. "Take it slow," she says softly, a genuine warmth in her voice. Not what I was expecting at all.

# Fifteen

When the water bottle is empty, she gets up and walks over to the SUV that her and Bob arrived in. They exchange a few heated words that I can't quite make out, and then both slowly walk back to me until one is standing to either side of me.

"This going to hurt," The woman, _Darling,_ says in her clipped accent, giving me an apologetic look as her and Bob each place a hand beneath my arms and slowly pull me to my feet.

Fully erect but leaning precariously, since they are both much shorter than my six feet, my knees barely clear the ground as they drag/walk me to the back of the open SUV. Turning around so that we are all facing away from it, they manage to get my ass up on the rear deck before the woman, _Darling_ , climbs up inside and cradling my head against her ample chest for such a small woman, drags me inside while Bob lifts my feet and pushes.

There are no blankets, so Bob removes his light jacket with the dispatch company logo stenciled over the right breast and _Bob_ over the left, and hands it to the woman. Instead of bunching it up beneath my head, she carefully rests my head in the crux of her crossed legs and lays the jacket over my chest.

When Bob jumps into the driver's seat, she orders him to turn up the heat and hand her another water bottle. "You be good soon," she says to me, a genuine look of concern in her dark eyes.

"Thanks," I rasp, surprised that I don't recognize my own voice, or even the word I said.

"Me, Darling," she adds, pointing her thumb at her chest.

"Yes," I attempt to say, though it comes out sounding more like, "esh," which is a vast improvement over nothing.

Though Bob takes it slow, the ride out of the borax quarry feels like pure torture, every little divot sending jagged shards of pain shooting through my skull despite Darling's best efforts to cushion my head in her lap. After leaving the quarry behind, Bob finds an out of the way motel with peeling paint and a flickering vacancy sign reminiscent of the motel in the movie, ' _Psycho_ '.

"Where are we?" I ask, my words still garbled, but growing more understandable as the water painstakingly rehydrates my throat and voice box.

"Temecula, honey," she whispers, looking out the side windows as Bob pulls up to the office.

"Wait here," he says, climbing out the door and heading into the office to presumably get us a room.

"Not going anywhere, Bob," Darling says, even though the door has already shut. "Once we get you settled in room, I fix head. I sew real good. Mother seamstress. No cut nice hair."

"Thank you," I breathily gasp, wanting to say more and ask more before Bob returns, but unable to make my voice continue. Though I can't tell her, and I'm not sure she would even understand if I could, but she is turning out to be a real _darling_.

Then again, I should probably withhold judgement until she is finished _fixing_ my head.

Bob returns and climbs back into the SUV without a word. He pulls out and after bumping over a few speed bumps, backs us up to a ground floor room and climbs out. Within a minute, he has the door to our room open and the back of the SUV up.

"Keep his head up and I'll pull him back by his feet," Bob tells to Darling, while grabbing ahold of my ankles.

Within minutes, they have me hobbling into the room and stretching out on one of the twin beds. Though I'm still unable to walk on my own, my strength and equilibrium is coming back. Now, if the pain in my head were just to subside, I'd be doing great.

"We undress you and shower now," Darling says, while unlacing my boots and pulling them off.

Bob returns from locking up the SUV and bringing in some supplies. He looks nervous, which is to be expected, but I get the feeling he's anxious about something more than just coming to my rescue.

"What do you need, Darling?" he asks, glancing furtively toward the door as if he's about to make a run for it.

No sooner has she given him a list of first aid, general hygiene, and food items, than he hurriedly heads out the door with a look of relief plastered on his face.

"Drink," Darling orders, holding another water bottle to my lips. When I slobber more down my chin than I take in, she sets the bottle on the nightstand next to the bed saying, "Now we get clothes off."

"Mine?" I rasp, my thoughts still confused from the concussion.

"No. Mine," she firmly states, giving me a strange look before undoing my jeans and carefully pulling them down along with my underwear.

She glances almost nonchalantly at my package before pulling a pocket knife out of her bag and cutting what's left of my blood-stained tee-shirt off. I've never been timid about nudity, yet her complete disinterest in my manhood is a little disheartening.

"I help. You walk to shower," she says in her clipped accent.

The sound through my swollen vocal cords is nothing more than a grunt, but Darling seems to understand, and immediately shifts my feet to hang over the side of the bed before putting her arms around my back and leaning away, effectively lifting me off the bed and onto my feet.

With her assistance, we eventually reach the shower. Fortunately, it's a regular shower stall and not a bathtub with a curtain because I never would have been able to get my feet up high enough to step into a tub. Then she places my hands on the control knobs and steps back out into the bathroom proper. Just when I'm beginning to think that she's left me to fend for myself, an arm slips in past my chest and turns on the water.

The water pounding against my scalp feels like thunder clapping inside my head. Within seconds, Darling steps inside the small space with me and carefully guides me out from under the direct flow of the water. To my amazement and alarm, she isn't wearing any clothes, not even a bra or panties.

Seeing my eyes open wide, she simply states, "No got dry clothes." As if that explains everything. She's freaking naked, for crying out loud! And while I'm not a prude, I thought she was with Bob.

Starting at my head, she gently and carefully cleans my scalp and the deep wound, flushing it thoroughly with an indirect flow of warm water and soap. Then she works her way down the length of my body, not even hesitating when her hands massage the soap onto and around my limp shaft.

To my relief, my body doesn't betray me, and it remains obediently limp.

The shower and cleansing lasts quite a while, and I feel much better in spite of the exertion. Grabbing a large towel, she begins at my head again and thoroughly dries me off, being extremely careful around the head wound. Then she hurriedly towels herself off, and with her naked body pressed up against mine, helps me back out to the bed, where Bob is sitting waiting on us. _Shit._

His eyes widen even more than mine did at the sight of Darling without clothes, but if he's jealous, it doesn't show, and he quickly jumps to his feet and assists her getting me back on the bed. Once I'm stretched out on my side with pillows propped beneath my head to keep the wound up in the air, she slips her clothes back on and I notice then that she doesn't wear underthings. Just a pair of denim jeans and a thin cotton halter top to cover her ample breasts, her nipples very much on display.

"I got everything you asked for," Bob says, when Darling goes to the collection of plastic bags bearing a pharmacy store label. Then he turns toward me, a tentative smile on his face. "How you feeling?" If there's any jealousy or discomfort on his part, he's hiding it very well.

The moist air of the shower has helped my throat tremendously, and I'm able to reply clear enough that he can actually understand me. "Like shit."

"Darling's a miracle worker. She'll have you fixed up in no time."

"So I've been told." Then it suddenly hits me, the reason why Bob is acting so anxious around me; he feels responsible for getting me into this mess. "It's not your fault, you know."

He looks away, unable to look me in the eye. "I wish that were true."

Because I don't fully believe it myself, I say without conviction, "What happened to me probably doesn't have anything to do with Luciano."

Bob looks at me then, the gruffness of my voice hiding the way I truly feel. "Let's just get you fixed up and feeling better. Then we'll figure out what to do."

"I have a few ideas there, but yeah, let's get this over with first," I agree, watching Darling approach the bed with a handful of items, not the least of which is a spool of clear threat and what looks like a carpet or upholstery needle. _It's fucking huge and looks even larger in her small hands._

"Bob," she says in her commanding voice.

Before I understand what is going on, Bob is on the far side of the bed from me, a bottle of 140 proof Tequila in his hand. "Here, drink up," he says, holding the bottle against my lips and tilting it up.

When I start to pull back, he quickly raises the bottle higher, not letting me avoid the flow of fire that starts at my chapped lips and works its way down to the bottom of my stomach. Only when I cough and spit up a mouthful, does he relent. "Let me know if you need anymore. I'll be right here," he says with sympathy in his voice.

"Now hold still," Darling orders, placing a bath towel around my head and covering my eyes.

At first, the sensation feels like cold water striking my head and running down the side of my face, most of it being stopped by the towel. Reflexively, I squeeze my eyes shut, and then what initially felt like cold begins to burn, the pain searing into my brain and bringing a scream to my lips.

But before the sound can escape, I take control of myself and force it back down, holding it deep in the pit of my gut until the welcome blackness returns and along with it, peace.

At some point, someone I don't recognize enters the room and removes the bindings from my wrists and ankles along with the black hood. The air in the room is a welcome relief after breathing my own sour breath all night. The man is huge. But more than that, he doesn't look right. He leaves a couple bottles of water on the dresser and heads out the door without speaking, the sound of the lock clicking loudly to my ears. I jump off the bed and rub my ankles and wrists, forcing circulation back into them before going to the window. There are bars on the outside of it, but I can see desert rolling off into the distance and immediately recognition and remembrance flow back into my mind. I'm at Rick's hacienda. In his bedroom!

# Sixteen

The first thing I see through bloodshot eyes is a bleary collection of Chinese takeout containers and I realize immediately that I must have been unconscious for at least a day or more. The pain in my head feels more like a hangover than the residual effects of a concussion, and I know that I have Darling to thank for the improvement.

Though I feel as weak as a newborn kitten, I try moving first my arms, and then follow through with my feet and legs. Much to my relief, everything responds the way it's supposed to.

"You wake," Darling says from the other bed, where I notice there is a second, much larger lump under the covers next to her. With no thought to modesty, she throws the blanket off herself and completely naked, slides off the bed and grabs a glass of water from the nightstand before coming over to stand next to me, leaning over and holding the glass against my lips.

"Thank you," I mumble when she sets the glass back on the nightstand next to my bed. "What time is it? And how long have we been here?" It surprises me that seeing her naked doesn't have any effect on me one way or the other.

Instead of putting some clothes on, she leans over me, her full breasts just inches from my face as she unwraps the bandages on my head to inspect the wound. "We look good," she says softly before rewrapping the bandage. "We heal good," she adds, sliding off the bed and returning to Bob's bed without answering my questions.

"Thanks," I mumble quietly, as she snuggles up against Bob's prone form under the blanket.

Moving ever so slowly to prevent antagonizing my head, I finally turn enough to see that it's dark outside based on the fact that there isn't any light coming in past the window blinds. It doesn't explain why the lights are on if Bob and Darling are in bed. Surely, one of them isn't afraid of the dark?

Though my mind is racing with questions and concern for Shelly, I'm enough of a realist to understand that until I am mobile again, there is nothing I can do for her. My truck and its cargo are irrelevant compared to Shelly's wellbeing. And there is no doubt in my mind that if any harm has come to her, people will pay with their lives. Just as the person that shot me was trying to kill me and not simply incapacitate me, so too, will I be doing the same soon enough. The bastards that took her are going to pay, if it's the last thing I ever do.

I must have dozed off again, because when I wake, Bob is in the kitchenette of the room fiddling with a coffee pot and Darling is nowhere to be seen. "I'll take a cup of that," I rasp, startling him. "And something to eat, maybe."

"Coming right up," he says, smiling from ear to ear. I can't remember ever seeing him so happy and contented.

With what feels like a tremendous effort, I push myself up into a sitting position just as Darling comes flying through the door, a large white bag in each hand with what appears to be Chinese writing or symbols on the sides. Takeout, and it smells delicious. I must be on the mend to be feeling so hungry.

When she sees me sitting up, she hurriedly drops the bags on the counter and rushes to position the pillows behind me so I can sit back more comfortably. "Thanks," I raspily mouth, unable to take my eyes off the bags of food.

"You wake. Now we eat," she says, smiling happily. _What's with these two?_ How can they be feeling so glib, all things considered?

Without asking, Darling heaps a large amount of fried rice and shrimp onto a paper plate along with an egg roll and brings it over to me. When she sees me giving the chopsticks a grimace, she turns around and grabs a fork out of a drawer before returning to my bedside while Bob places a steaming mug of coffee on the nightstand nearest to my bed.

"You might want to let it cool a bit," he says, returning to the carryout containers and shoveling a combination of different delicacies on his own paper plate.

To my surprise, Darling clambers up on the bed so that she is sitting facing me and pushes a forkful of food toward my face. Reaching up, I grab the plate with my right hand while grabbing her wrist suspending the forkful of food with my left. "I may still be weak, Darling, but I'm not a baby. I can feed myself."

Looking hurt by my words, she slowly relinquishes the fork and slides off the bed without a word. As hard as it is for me to believe, I think she was really enjoying mothering me.

The three of us eat in silence, the food hitting my stomach hard and almost coming back up. "Too fast," Darling says, berating me for wolfing down my food without giving it a chance to settle. Just her way of venting her disappointment at me for not letting her hand feed me. She wouldn't have let me eat faster than my system could handle it.

With more than half the food still on my plate, I carefully place it on my lap and reach for the mug of coffee. Before I can bring it to my mouth, Darling is up and wresting it from my grasp. "No good. Rest now," she says with finality, taking back command of my convalescence.

Eating was much more strenuous than I would have thought, and within minutes of Darling swiping my mug of coffee from me, I'm deep in sleep.

When I wake, Darling is sitting on the foot of my bed staring out an open window at the parking lot. It's daylight outside. Possibly early morning.

"You wake," she says, barely glancing in my direction.

"Yeah. I'm wake," I reply, finding my voice sounding more like my old self. "Need bathroom."

Without a word, she slides off the foot of the bed and comes around to lend me a hand. Once I'm on my feet, I discover my strength is coming back. And more importantly, my head only feels weird if I move it too fast. It's as if my brain isn't quite reconnected to everything yet. But the debilitating pain has subsided. Now I just have to quit speaking with her accent.

As I settle back on the edge of the bed, I notice a folded stack of clothing setting on the chair next to a small writing desk. Pointing at them, I ask, "Mine?"

Almost subdued, she retrieves the clothes, places them on the bed next to me, and then takes up her position again on the foot of my bed, silently staring out the window. I can't help wondering if this is some kind of morning ritual for her.

Putting the thought out of my mind, I slowly struggle into my clothes, only standing to pull my jeans up. The effort is tiring, but it's a good kind of tired, like honest work tired. Looking around, I notice the coffee pot is on and there's a full carafe of dark, rich liquid on the element. Cautiously, I move across the room using the other bed, a night stand, a chair, and finally the counter for support along the way. Darling doesn't so much as glance in my direction, not even to reprimand me when she has to know I'm pouring myself a mug of coffee.

Rather than risk spilling my mug of coffee in an attempt to return to the bed, I make my way to the chair and drop onto it, a loud exhale of breath signifying the effort.

The first sip is hot, but oh so delicious. I savor the heat and flavor all the way down to my stomach. I'm about to take a second sip, when Darling suddenly lights up as though a switch has been flipped. She bounces off the bed and flies out the door, leaving it standing open behind her. Through the open door, I see an SUV backing up and realize that Bob has just returned.

Shit, I always thought that kind of loyalty only came in dogs. I'm beginning to think I really misread those two.

With Darling hanging on his waist, looking up at him with adoration in her eyes, he notices me sitting on the chair by the writing table with a mug of coffee in my hands and his face instantly lights up with relief. "How you feeling, Driver?"

"Much better."

"Darling," he says, looking down at her and planting a quick peck on her forehead. "Would you fix us all some breakfast?"

"Bacon, eggs, toast?"

"Yes," he smiles back at her as she moves into the kitchenette and opens the dorm sized fridge to remove the items to prepare. At some point, they must have stocked the place.

"How long have we been here?" I ask, fighting down the anxiety of wondering what Shelly must be going through.

"Four days. Five tonight."

"I can't stay here any longer, Bob. I have to get out there and find her."

"You mean Shelly?" he says, continuing when I simply nod. "Yeah, Darling said when you were delirious, you spoke non-stop about a woman being taken from you. You called out her name more than a few times. We thought we might have to gag you at one point so that someone didn't call the police," he says, a smirk turning up his lips.

"Shelly," Darling says from across the room as she lays strips of bacon into a hot frying pan.

"Yes, Shelly. I need to find her."

"We'll find her," Bob states, leaving no argument that he is going to help. "But first, you need to get your strength back. You aren't any good to anyone in your current condition. Even if you found her now, you'd probably just get yourself killed, and maybe her too."

Though his words hurt, I know they are laced with truth. I need to recoup and get more of my old strength back before I can take on Luciano and the rest of them and get Shelly back.

"While I was unconscious a lot of the time, Bob, I wasn't all the time. And I've been doing some thinking. You know, because most truck drivers do it, we use our smart phones for GPS units. In order to plan routes, look up destination addresses and what not, our phones have to have the location identifier turned on. Except for my friends, which is currently Molly, no one but you and Luciano have my cellphone number. Since I can rule out Molly using it to locate me that leaves you and Luciano. Since you came and rescued me when I called, I think I can rule you out," I grin up at him. "So that leaves Luciano, or his thugs."

"Where are you going with this, Driver?"

"Well, at first, I thought it was all about Shelly and her ex-boyfriend. Especially when they showed up at the quarry enforce. But how did they know we were there to begin with? That part had me confused, but I was too busy at the time to give it much thought."

"You could have been followed."

"Yeah, I thought the same thing at first. But we were just duking it out like a bunch of good ole boys. No guns. Incapacitate, not kill. But there was another vehicle there. It hung back, stayed out of the fracas. I think that's where the shot came from. And I also think Shelly's ex-boyfriend and his posse had no idea someone was going to snipe me, even though they had to know about the guy parked up the road behind them."

"I'm not the smartest knife in the drawer, Driver, but if what you're thinking is right, then Luciano already has his drugs back."

"Along with my truck and Shelly," I agree.

"Luciano no want your Shelly," Darling emphatically states, bringing two heaping plates of food and handing one to Bob and then the other to me, taking the mug from me in exchange. "He got plenty women already. No need her."

"She's got a good point, Bob. Luciano has no use for Shelly, unless he's into sex trafficking or the human slave trade to go along with his drugs." The thought of Shelly being sold into slavery or worse, causes my gut to clench, and I suddenly feel nauseas, the smell of the food sitting on my lap turning my stomach. "More than likely, he's let Rick, her ex-boyfriend, keep her as payment for his assistance." I never thought that I would actually be wishing for that to be the case.

"He called me last night. He was really upset that you haven't made any of the deliveries yet," Bob says, looking nervous.

"He called where?" I ask, confused.

"At work. I've been going into work. We're only a couple of hours drive away," he adds, as if that explains everything.

I'd forgotten how much quicker a car can travel these back roads than an eighteen wheeler. "So, he's feigning ignorance. That can only mean he's assuming that I'm dead, he has his drugs, and now he's going to lean on you. But aside from future compliance, what does he hope to gain by leaning on you?"

"He want Bob under thumb," Darling says, sitting on the foot of the bed and picking at her own plate of food with her fingers. "That worth more than money. It give him power. Bob close to LA. LA big drug business."

I look over at Darling, wondering not for the first time, what's her story. "Where are you from, Darling?"

Before Darling can answer, Bob does. "Her mother was a sex slave brought over from Vietnam right after the fall of Saigon. She was working for our side and knew that her days were numbered if she stayed in country. Unfortunately, there were many bad people taking advantage of the desperation of those that we left behind. Her mother had Darling later in life and with her connections was able to smuggle her into the US where she ended up working as a sex slave for a cartel that is actually headquartered here in the US," Bob says, his voice soft as he looks at Darling with obvious pride while speaking to me. "When her mother was no longer desired, they got rid of her," he pauses for a moment. "Don't ask," he says in reply to my unspoken question. "With no parents and a young nubile body, I think you can figure out the rest," he trails off, his gaze never leaving Darling. It hits me then that _he really loves her_.

And based on her behavior this morning when she was waiting for Bob to return, I would have to say the feeling is mutual.

"Eat!" Darling sternly orders, watching me pick at the now tasteless food.

When it's obvious that I can't stomach anymore without risking bringing it all back up, she collects the plates and throws everything into the garbage pail. With some food in my stomach, I'm suddenly feeling very tired again. Darling quickly inspects the wound on my head, simply grunting her satisfaction before applying new bandages.

"Wake me before you go to work," I tell Bob, unable to keep my eyes open any longer. When Darling reaches to undo my jeans, I brush her hands away, nodding my head slightly to let her know that I want to keep my clothes on.

She simply grunts acknowledgement and moves out of my line of sight before pulling the blinds closed at the front of the room overlooking the parking lot.

Early the next morning, the large man returns with a couple of microwaved burritos and 2 more bottles of water. "Where's Rick?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer. He doesn't so much as acknowledge my words before retreating from the room. This time, however, there is no sound of the door being locked.

After eating the burritos and drinking both bottles of water, I make my way to the door and put my ear against it, listening for anything that might tell me what's going on. Silence. Just as I place my hand on the knob, the door opens inward, almost slamming into my face and knocking me back a couple of steps before I catch my balance.

Rick.

At least, I think it's him. His face is swollen and discolored, one eye still swollen shut.

He's about to say something, when I brazenly accuse him. "You killed him!"

" _I didn't kill anyone, but if it's your boyfriend that you think I killed, yeah, he's dead, just the same," he says, his words slightly garbled by something in his mouth. It's then that I realize he's wearing some kind of braces on his teeth too. The thought that Driver got a few good licks in momentarily lifts my spirits. But then reality comes crashing back in. "It's just you and me now, bitch," he continues, spittle flying from his mouth. I take an involuntary step back, though I don't want him to think that I'm afraid of him._

" _I'll never be your bitch," I hiss back at him, my heart racing while I attempt a brave front._

He studies me for a long time without saying anything. And then, as if he came to a conclusion, he suddenly strikes out, hitting me with the back of his hand to the side of my face. The blow stings and I see stars for a moment. Then to my surprise, he softly agrees with me. "Yeah, I'm beginning to see that now. But it doesn't really matter anymore. I brought you back and the guy who tried to take you from me is dead. The statement's been made. No one fucks with me or my woman."

" _You won't get away with this," I say, unable to hide the desperation in my voice._

" _Yeah, I can't exactly just let you go, now can I?" Suddenly, he turns and walks to the door, slamming it shut before turning back to me. "You may not be my bitch, but you're still my property to do with as I please."_

I couldn't believe what he was saying. He comes toward me, reaching out and ripping my blouse away, exposing my breast. Casting my blouse to the floor like a piece of garbage, he grips my hair in his beefy hand and throws me onto the bed before following after me.

Landing on my knees, I try crawling away from him, but he's too quick, and before I can reach the far side of the bed, his hands are on me, pulling my pants down as he rolls me onto my back. At some point during our brief scuffle, he'd unzipped his pants and his manhood is hard and pointing at me.

" _Oh God, Rick. You can't do this. It's not right," I plead with him._

But there is no pleading with him. Leaning over me, his right hand on my throat, cutting off my air supply, I suddenly want to die and bring this all to an end. My body slowly quits fighting his huge bulk, surrendering to the horrendous act that he is committing on me. But I'm already gone.

Before I know it, it's over, and I can breathe again. He climbs off the bed, no longer able to make eye contact with me. He zips his pants up and turns toward the door, saying over his shoulder, "I hope you enjoyed my bed, because where you're going it's not going to be anywhere near as comfortable."

Rick has barely passed through the door, when the big man that brought the burritos and water suddenly fills the entrance. He steps toward me. With a new shot of fear racing through me, I push myself back across the bed, needing to get away from him. I can't take another horrific violation of my body. My mind is precariously on the edge as he easily reaches across the bed and grabs me around the waist with his huge hands, pausing only briefly to collect my blouse and pants from the floor before carrying me out the door, having to duck his head to clear the jamb. He takes me down a dark hallway and pauses for a second while he swings open the door leading to the cellar.

Although I always knew there was a cellar and that this door led to it from previously living here, I'd never seen it, never even been allowed to open the door to it, which is equipped with a hasp and padlock. With the door out of the way, he literally drops me on the top steps, a last second grab of my hair by his large hand the only thing preventing me from falling headfirst down the steps to a concrete floor.

When it's apparent that I'm not going to do a face plant on the steps, he releases me and steps back, throwing my clothes down after me and pulling the door shut. Not really wanting to, I gingerly step down the stairs while collecting my blouse and pants. The single room is lit by a dim bulb suspended from the ceiling. The smell of dank, stale air mixed with blood, sweat, and hopelessness assails my senses.

# Seventeen

"Hey Driver, you want some coffee?" Bob asks, gently shaking my shoulder to rouse me.

"Yeah," I manage to mumble through a thick tongue, the late afternoon sun shining in through open drapes and blinding me.

After placing a mug on the night stand, he gives me a hand sitting up and putting some pillows behind me to hold me upright. Then he hands me the mug and pulls the chair from the writing desk across the room so that it is next to the bed and drops down onto it.

"You wanted to talk before I head into work?"

"Yeah," I say, shifting slightly to test my strength. "When you return in the morning, we're going hunting. To do that, we'll need some firepower."

It isn't necessary for me to explain what I mean by hunting. And even though I would like to get started tonight, we only have Bob's SUV for transportation.

"What kind of firepower?" he asks, his color paling. I must remember that Bob is not accustomed to what I have in mind and to plan accordingly.

"A handgun, preferably one that can't be traced, and a high powered rifle, something along the lines of a .308. And a few boxes of shells for both. If you want, I can give you a list of the other things I'll need so you don't forget anything."

He swallows an imaginary lump in his throat before accepting my offer of a list.

"Where's Darling?" I ask, suddenly realizing that she's not in the room and the bathroom door is standing open.

"She went for a walk," he replies, his face lighting up at the mention of her name. "I think she wanted to give us some privacy so we can talk. She'll be back before I leave for work."

"Can we trust her, Bob?" I ask, knowing I might be pushing the wrong button with him.

"How dare you?" he angrily blurts, jumping to his feet. "She fucking saved your life. She's never questioned what we're doing, and she's been here for us. I trust her with my life, and I resent you asking such a question."

"I'm glad to hear that you trust her with your life, because moving forward, we won't have any choice. Right now, I'm assuming that Luciano believes I'm dead. If Darling informs him otherwise, he will finish what he started. I need to get Shelly back before we deal with him and the only way to do that is to continue letting him think I'm dead and that he has his claws into you."

After he slowly lowers himself back onto his seat, we sit in silence for a long moment, sipping our respective coffees, before I continue. "Furthermore, I have a strong suspicion that Rick and Luciano were connected before this all went down. More than likely through drug trafficking. It is a small world, after all."

"Darling won't contact Luciano," he says with resolve. "I can't explain her feelings for me, but I know it's not one sided."

"Just remember, Bob, she works for them," I say with equal resolve.

" _Worked_ for them, Driver. I have to get going or I'll be late," he abruptly says, rising to his feet while looking steadfastly toward the door and Darling's return.

As if she can read his mind, she comes dancing in, her spirit high as she prances up to Bob, giving him a tight hug followed by a passionate kiss on the lips. Then her face turns sad as she says, "Bob go now?"

Taking her by the hand, he leads her out the door without giving me so much as a glance. Within a minute, I hear his SUV start and the crunch of gravel under the tires as he pulls away. When she doesn't return to the room immediately, I assume she's standing in the parking lot like a lost puppy watching Bob drive away.

A minute later the door slowly opens and Darling comes walking in, her expression sad and lost. Standing by the sink holding Bob's and mine mugs, I turn toward her and offer her a cup of coffee.

As if unable to form words, she simply nods her head in the affirmative. After filling a clean mug, I refill mine and carry them back to the little writing desk, where we each take up a seat in the same manner that Bob and I just had.

We're both worried about someone, but it's not the same someone. Still, we have something in common. "He'll be fine so long as Luciano believes that I'm dead," I nonchalantly remark, looking over my mug so I can study her face for any reaction.

"You not dead."

"That's right, and we need to keep it that way," I say with a smile, watching her face for any sign that she knows something more. Or worse, has already done something worse, such as contacted Luciano. If Luciano learns that Bob isn't playing on the level with him, Bob's life won't be worth a hill of beans, nor will mine.

So if Bob returns in the morning, still in one piece, can we assume that Darling is on our side? _God I hope so, because Bob will be crushed if she betrays him._

When we finish our coffees, Darling rinses out the mugs and puts them in the strainer to dry. Turning back to me, she says, "We wash head now."

"Darling," I smirk, "we are not going to take another shower together."

"No shower?" she teases, turning her lower lip out to portray faux disappointment.

Her actions cause me to erupt in laughter, which causes my head to hurt, which reminds me that my side is still tender too.

"Oh Darling, you're going to be the death of me," I moan, noticing the suddenly serious expression cloud her face. "I didn't mean that literally, Darling," I quickly reply, hiding my concern regarding her sudden change. Was she guilty of something?

"Bring chair," she suddenly orders, returning from the bathroom with a couple of face cloths and a bar of soap and heading back to the kitchenette sink.

After dragging the chair over and placing it in front of the sink, I drop onto it and Darling begins removing my head bandage, all the while humming a tune I don't recognize. With a tenderness that surprises, me, she carefully dabs at the wound, removing any building pus and dried blood. When she is finished cleansing it, she applies a heavy coating of anti-bacterial crème and a fresh gauze bandage.

"Heal good," she says, patting my shoulder to indicate that she is done.

"Thanks, Darling."

"My pleasure, Mr. Driver. You good man," she adds, surprising me. But even without the compliments or her expertise at treating my wound, she is beginning to grow on me. I'm seeing now what Bob saw early on. There's a lot more to Darling than first appearances reveal.

"I need to get some air, Darling," I say, moving toward the door.

"No. You not go out there," she blurts, running around me to cut me off and block my way to the door.

"It'll be alright, Darling. I'm just going to step out for a minute and soak up some sunshine and fresh air," I argue, moving to step past her.

Moving with me, step for step so that I can't get past her, I stop, exasperated and growing angrier by the second. "You no go out. People see you," she argues, sensing my growing impatience. "They be looking for you. You stand out with head all wrapped up. They find us, they kill us."

Letting out a loud sigh, I drop back to the edge of my bed and plop down onto it. How could I be so stupid? Rick's probably got informants everywhere. It would only take one person talking about the guy at the motel with his head wrapped up like a mummy to unleash a flood gate of shit raining down on us.

"I'm sorry, Darling. I wasn't thinking. How about another cup of coffee?"

Heading back to the kitchenette, she grabs the cups from the strainer and refills them, bringing the cups and placing them on the night stand before returning for the chair and pulling it up beside the bed before sitting down on it.

"That was really stupid of me," I slowly start, thinking that if she had informed on our location and my condition, she wouldn't be concerned about my being seen by anyone; they would already know. _And probably already be here._

"What do now?" she asks, sipping her coffee and watching me over the rim of her cup.

"First, I have to find Shelly. Then get her away from Rick or Luciano, or whoever the hell has her. Once she is safe, I'm going to deal with getting my truck back. Then, if they haven't killed me, I'm going to kill every last one of them," I grind out with determination.

"I help," she flatly states. Then, with a glimmer of excitement in her eye, she asks, "When we start?"

# Eighteen

Darling and I spend the night between napping and talking, mostly about me, but a bit about her too. It turns out she's had quite a hard life. Yet, she's never let it get her down. From when she can first remember, she was working cleaning up after the women that were older than her. Then, when she was about twelve, she was forced to turn tricks, and other, younger girls cleaned up after her.

Though I knew better than to ask, I couldn't help myself. "You said that your mother was a seamstress and that she taught you how to sew. When was this?"

"Darling have many mothers. One show me her needles once. Maybe not seamstress," she shyly admits, looking down at the floor before looking up with her trademark smirk and adding, "but lots of needles."

"Yeah, I'll bet," I smile back at her. I'm about to say something else, when we both hear the sound of tires on crushed gravel just outside the door.

Darling jumps up from where she'd been sitting on the edge of her and Bob's bed and runs to the door, swinging it open without even checking to make sure it's Bob returning and not some of Luciano's men. When she charges out the door, a small squeal of delight in her wake, I know it can only be Bob.

Bob comes in through the open door just as I get up off the bed and turn toward the door. He's carrying a rifle with a scope mounted on it and several plastic bags bearing sporting goods store names. Judging by the hard corners pressing outward, at least one of them is holding several boxes of ammunition. Hanging tightly to his inflated waist and walking step for step with him is Darling, a look of sheer contentment on her face.

Dropping the bags along with the rifle on my bed separating us, he says, "I got some more stuff in the truck. How was your night? Is there any coffee ready?"

"Darling make coffee," Darling blurts out, finally letting go of Bob and hurrying into the kitchenette to get the coffee machine going.

Still looking at me with a mask of concern on his face, he says, "We can leave the other stuff in the truck for now. One of these bags has a dozen mixed donuts in it, if you're hungry."

"Starving," I smile, relief hitting me harder than I would have thought possible. His being here almost confirms that Darling can be trusted. "How did things go at work? Luciano contact you?"

Moving nervously toward the chair left setting by the side of my bed, he drops heavily onto it before bringing me up to speed. "Yeah, Luciano called. Said that he was willing to let bygones be bygones with regard to the last load of merchandise. But also, that it isn't going to happen again anytime soon. He said that he will be contacting me with another incoming shipment along with instructions and that he looks forward to doing more business with me in the future."

"He got his damned drugs back," I hiss, rubbing my hand across the newly forming beard on my jaw.

"I also feigned that I was coming down with a stomach flu and needed a few days off, so they won't be expecting me back to work for a few days."

"Any problems getting this stuff?" I ask, picking up the rifle and familiarizing myself with it. A nice Remington model 700 chambered for a 30-06 round. The scope is a Bushnell 3X9 with shaded eye relief.

"No. The rifle was my dad's. He left it to me. Probably hoping I would actually grow a set and take up hunting like him. Needless to say, I've never used it. I also had a few boxes of bullets for it. Picked this up," he continues, grabbing one of the bags and pulling out a stainless steel revolver secured in a shoulder holster, "from one of the guys that works on the dock. He seemed suspicious of me wanting a handgun, but was more than happy to take my money. I stopped at the sporting goods store and picked up 2 boxes of .357 bullets for it, along with some basic camping gear." When I give him an inquiring look, he quickly adds, "Don't worry, I got everything you asked for. Just decided to pick up some extra stuff too. One can never be too prepared. Right?"

"Right."

"What plan, boss?" Darling says, bringing us each a mug of steaming coffee. After placing the mugs on the night stand next to us, she bounces up onto Bob's lap and snuggles up against his large stomach, laying her head against his puffed out chest.

Without even thinking, he tenderly rubs the tops of her head with his pudgy right hand, affectionately smoothing out her short straight hair while picking up his mug of coffee with his left. "So now that you're up and about," he says, pausing to take a sip of his coffee, "what's the plan?"

"Priority one is finding Shelly. Until I know she's okay, everything else has to take a back seat," I begin, feeling an increased sense of loss brought on from thinking about where she might be and what might be happening to her. Watching the two love-birds sitting in front of me makes the feeling of loss even more poignant.

"Where do we start looking? Do you know where she was staying with this Rick guy?"

"No. She never told me and I never thought to ask. But we did drop in at a close friend of hers in a little town on the way here called Santa Ysabel. I'll start there. If she hasn't heard from Shelly, she might know where Rick lives."

"We go now," Darling says animatedly, jumping off Bob's lap and grabbing a backpack off the bed and throwing items into it.

Though I love her enthusiasm, especially after fighting my own impatience since regaining consciousness, we need to think before we jump from the frying pan into the fire. "Hold on a minute," I say, raising my hand like a traffic guard. "Before we go off half-cocked, we need to discuss a few things. Such as, will Luciano think it suspicious if Bob suddenly takes a few days off," I begin, looking at Bob. "Moreover, if they've been watching you, Bob, or even your house, won't they wonder where you and Darling are during the day?"

"I watch Bob. I tell them anything suspicious," Darling replies in her clipped accent, still adding items to the pack she picked up.

Looking sheepishly between the floor and my chest, as he's unable to look me in the eye, Bob slowly explains her comments. "Darling still works for Luciano, or at least, the cartel that he's connected to."

"I thought that was in the past," I almost shout, my blood pressure rising. Trying to control my anger, I heatedly demand, "And didn't either of you two think that maybe that's something I should know about?"

"We were going to tell you," Bob stutters. "But the timing never seemed right."

"And you knew that the minute you told me, I wouldn't include her, and maybe not even you, in my plans," I angrily hiss, fighting to keep my voice down.

Not until I look away from Bob and see the hurt on Darling's face do I realize that I might have just screwed up royally. She is kneeling on the bed holding the pack upright with one hand while the other is holding a box of wooden matches, her body frozen in place.

"I'm sorry, Darling," I gruffly remark, getting to my feet and hurrying out the door to get some air. It doesn't escape my notice that this time, she doesn't try stopping me.

Standing outside in the still cool morning air, I look up at the cloudless sky, and then kick the dirt with my toe in frustration. Is it any wonder that I don't have any close friends? If I treat them all like I just did Darling, I wouldn't want to be my friend either.

"Damn it all to hell," I grumble before turning on my heel and heading back inside to find Darling held in Bob's embrace, tears running down her cheeks.

At the sound of the door closing, he looks up at me, no longer afraid to meet my gaze, the anger apparent in his eyes at me for hurting the woman that he loves.

"Look," I slowly begin, apologies never having come easy for me. "I was out of line. After everything you guys have done for me, especially you, Darling, I had no business questioning your loyalty. I'm an ass, and I'm really sorry."

Her face lights up and she pushes away from Bob to come running into me, her face barely above my naval as she wraps her arms around my waist. Hesitantly, while looking apologetically at Bob, I pull her into a tight embrace, relieved and warmed by her open show of emotions. If she's pulling an end run on Bob and me, she deserves an Oscar Award for her performance.

"We go now?" she asks, stepping back and picking up the backpack off the bed.

"One question first, and please don't take this wrong, but how do you contact Luciano if you have something to report?"

"With this," she says, pulling a disposable phone out of her rear pant pocket. "It programmed already."

Though I want desperately to ask her if I can look at it, I have no doubts that she will realize instantly that I just want to check her phone log of outgoing calls. Instead, I fight down the urge and say, "Don't lose that, it might come in handy."

She simply smiles and returns it to her pocket. "You okay driving, Bob? I know you've already had a long night and a long drive back."

"Just as long as we can get something to eat along the way," he says with a smirk. Glancing at the counter, I notice the now empty box of donuts and realize that I never even saw the going of them.

# Nineteen

With the gear loaded into the SUV, Bob does a quick check through the room to make sure we haven't forgotten anything on the off chance that we don't return. Meanwhile, I've strapped the magnum on so it's suspended beneath my left arm and loaded the magazine in the Remington, plus one in the chamber, and placed it on the floorboards at my feet. Hopefully, we won't need the guns, because when I kill Rick, I want it to be with my bare hands.

Darling automatically goes to the back seat, but I cut her off and insist instead that she ride up front with Bob, which seems to please her immensely. I figure if anyone can keep him awake and alert after his long night it would be her.

Without a word, Bob pulls out onto the highway and heads south. Though I know it's futile, I can't help looking out the side windows, my head moving first to the right and then to the left, checking out every driveway and parking lot as we pass by for signs of a big black 18 wheeler.

"Where to first, boss?" Bob asks, his arm over Darling as she forewent the safety harness to be closer to her man.

"There's a truck stop just south of Temecula," I nonchalantly reply, subconsciously reasoning that where there are more trucks, there is a better chance of finding mine. This is flawed logic, since I have no doubts that my truck has already been processed through a chop shop and the parts being filtered all across the US by now.

"You think we'll actually find your rig?"

"No. But since we're going right past, it won't take but a minute to check it out," I reply, my voice betraying my frustration.

By the time we hit the truck stop, which is less than thirty minutes from the motel, my head is beginning to pound and the pain killers aren't having any effect.

"We need fuel anyway," Bob says. "Why don't I run in and get us some coffee and maybe donuts to go with it," he tentatively adds. "I'll ask around inside, see if anyone remembers your rig."

"Sure," I reply, my voice betraying my sense of defeat even before we pull up in front of the main island.

Darling jumps out behind Bob, grabbing his hand possessively as he holds the door open for her. I can't help but think of what an odd couple they are. Bob, large, obese, but ultimately a good man. And Darling, small petite, and hopefully, a good woman.

Within minutes, they return, each loaded with bags of snack foods and a cardboard tray of coffees. Bob manages to open the rear door and Darling hands in the tray of coffee to me, placing all but one bag on the seat next to me. The smell of fresh bakery items and warm frosting assails my nostrils, momentarily pushing the drumming in my head to the background. I hadn't realized how hungry I was or when I'd last eaten.

After settling back into their respective places up front, Darling opens the white pastry bag she'd retained, and passes back a crème filled éclair, accepting a coffee for Bob before turning back for her own. Not wanting to sit on display in front of the main doors, Bob fires up the SUV and slowly pulls us over to the fueling island for passenger cars.

"I prepaid inside," he says off handedly, stuffing the second half of an éclair into his mouth before setting his coffee in the cup holder and getting out to pump his gas.

When he gets back inside, I point toward a row of big rigs and say, "We can pull over there and eat our donuts before hitting the road, if you want."

"No man, I'm good. Darling put me on a diet. It's just coffee now until lunch," he says, licking crème filling from around his mouth as he pulls the SUV back out on the highway headed south.

We ride along in silence, my eyes involuntarily still searching every passing parking lot and driveway for signs of a big black Kenworth. The trip from the motel to Santa Ysabel should take less than an hour, so I sit back with my coffee and try to relax, planning out our next move in my head. Somewhere along the way, I need to find a safe place for Darling, possibly even Bob. Neither of them are accustomed to what we will likely be facing when I meet up with Rick and his posse. There is no doubt in my mind that Darling is a survivor. But surviving and taking the offense are entirely different things. This is something that I need to do on my own, if for no other reason than I don't want or need witnesses.

"We're coming up on Santa Ysabel," Bob says, shifting slightly in his seat to accommodate his bulk and make it easier to navigate the SUV.

"There'll be a mini-mall on the left side of the road. When you see it, hang a right and go up a block. I'll recognize the house when I see it."

"Who are we looking for?"

"I never met her, but she's a close friend of Shelly's. Her name is Suzy. I don't know anything more than that," I reply, studying the road ahead for the mall, and subsequently the street that Suzy lives on.

As the mall comes into view, my heart begins to race, and I find myself doing my mental exercise to reach that calm, pre-battle place in my mind. So much time has passed since the night they took Shelly, I'm not sure what to expect. Even if Suzy can guide us to Rick's place, there's a good chance that he's moved and no longer there.

I quickly dismiss the idea, though. There is no reason for him to move. As far as he's concerned, he's in the clear. He'll remain on familiar ground. I just need to find the high ground.

"Turn right there," I suddenly blurt out, pointing between him and Darling at the street across from the mall and drawing an exasperated look from Bob.

The street is still in bad repair, the houses lining it looking almost like a third world country. When I recognize the dilapidated house that Shelly almost went to before I drew her back, I silently point it out to Bob, my thoughts suddenly going to a different place. What if I hadn't pulled her back? What if I'd just let her begin anew with her friend Suzy? Would she be better off today than where she is for trusting me and wanting to explore the feelings that we were both experiencing for each other? _Damn straight she would be!_

"I'm coming for you, Shelly," I hiss under my breath, my face so close to the back of the seat that Darling overhears me and turns her head with a look of concern in her eyes.

Just before opening the door, I force a weak smile for Darling's sake. Though I've never been a pessimist, I can't shake the feeling that this is just a futile effort and we're never going to find Shelly. She'll disappear just as surely as my truck has, never to be seen again."

Moving toward the front door, I glance furtively around the neighborhood, suddenly aware that Darling is right on my heels. "You can wait in the truck," I say over my shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

When I hear another door close softly, I realize that Bob has decided to join the party too. Stopping at the door, I turn to face them. "You guys can wait in the truck, you know. It won't take all three of us to question her."

"We moral support," Darling simply states, looking off to the side where there is a rotting wood gate leading to the back yard.

"Okay," I huff resignedly, turning and wrapping a few times on the paint chipped and torn screen door.

When I don't get any response, I pull it open and knock against the hollow core door, careful not to put my knuckles through the thin laminate, wondering who would use an interior door for their front door. A slumlord.

"I check back. Come Bob," Darling says, moving toward the side gate with Bob right behind her.

Reaching the gate, Darling steps to the side and lets Bob pull it open, only the top hinge still attached to the rotting boards. It swings awkwardly, about to fall, when a man yells from a window in the next house, "Can I help you guys?"

Jumping off the step and hurrying over to stand beneath the window where the man is, I notice he's old, a rough scruff of silver whiskers, balding with age spots on his head, and a stained and holy white tee shirt. In addition, he's working his mouth like his dentures aren't fitting properly.

"We're friends of Suzy," I say, watching his face.

"I remember you," he suddenly blurts, almost dislodging his teeth altogether. "You and that cute blonde were here last week, but you didn't go in."

"That's right," I confirm, hoping he doesn't remember that we never even made it to the front door or met with Suzy that day.

"Well, then you should know that she works most days," he says, scrutinizing us more closely, his suspicions growing. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, then says with an air of superiority, "I remember now, you and her, you didn't even knock. You spoke out front of her place for a few moments, and then took off like a couple of lovebirds, damned near running up the street."

"You have a good memory, sir," I say, massaging his ego. "You probably remember me getting a phone call just before we reached the door. That was Suzy, calling from work, letting us know that she would meet up with us later," I fabricate, studying his face to see if he buys the story or not. He's an old man, hopefully his memory isn't nearly as good as he believes it to be.

Scrunching up his face in deep thought, he suddenly says, "Yeah, I remember now. But you couldn't have met up with her at work, because they don't let strangers in the day care center."

"No, we met her across the highway, over at the mall," I lie, trying to keep my excitement over learning where she works, concealed from him. "I guess we'll just have to come back later."

"Yeah, you do that," he says, letting the faded curtain fall across the open window as he moves away from it.

When I turn around, I almost trip over Darling. "We find daycare," she says softly, turning to follow Bob back to the SUV. It doesn't escape my notice that the gate is leaning precariously, about ready to fall off completely.

Back in the SUV, we take up our previous spots and Bob fires up the engine. "Where to?" he asks, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

"Back to the mall. Someone there must know where this daycare center is," I say, grabbing a bottle of water from a bag on the seat next to me and offering it to Darling to share with Bob before grabbing another for myself. Although it's still early, the day is already warming up.

When Bob pulls up to the front entrance, Darling quickly states as she slides to the passenger's side door, "I go in. I can find."

"Are you sure?" I ask, chomping at the bit to be doing something proactive and not sitting in a hot truck sweating, feeling almost useless.

"I tell them, I look for work, Good with babies," she says before closing the door and entering the store.

Once she disappears through the front doors, I shift on the seat, trying to make myself comfortable. "You have yourself one hell of a woman there," I say for no other reason than to break the silence.

"I know," he says, not offering up anything else, just drifting back into silence.

After an interminable time sitting in the SUV sweating, I'm about to ask Bob to start the engine and turn on the air conditioner, or go in and find out what happened to Darling, when she suddenly comes charging out the front doors with a big smile plastered on her face.

Bob reaches across the seat and pushes her door open for her. Like a forest sprite, she effortlessly jumps up on the seat, pulling the door closed behind her.

Unable to wait for her to tell us what she learned, I demand, "What did you find out? Do you know where she works?"

"Give her a minute," Bob barks in her defense. "She just got back."

Though I should have felt chagrined by Bob's words, they have no effect on me; my need to find Shelly is all important.

"We go," Darling says, settling in up against Bob.

"Do you have an address or just directions?" I ask as Bob fires up the SUV and backs out into the parking lot.

"Go there," Darling says, pointing for Bob's benefit while totally ignoring me. _Yeah, I kinda deserve that._

# Twenty

When Bob pulls out on the road, she simply points and says, 'go there' as needed until we are just a short way out of town on a poorly maintained road that has more gravel showing than asphalt. Just when I'm about to ask her if she got the directions right, we round a corner to the left and an old brick building comes into sight. It's set just a little ways back from the road with a completely fenced front lawn and a driveway up the side of the lawn becoming a small circle that feeds back out into the driveway. Off to the left of the circular drive is a long lean-to that has several cars and a beat-up old pickup truck with lawn tools sticking up out of the bed nosed under it.

Unlike the street where Suzy lives, this place looks as though it receives regular maintenance. From the chainlink fence to the mowed lawns to the freshly painted trim work, it is obvious that someone is taking pride in the place.

"Should I pull up?" Bob asks, stopping on the side of the road at the bottom of the driveway.

"Unless you want me to walk up?" I sarcastically reply, clearly indicating that I will do the inquiring this time.

When he reaches the circular part of the driveway, I instruct him to remain on the driveway just beyond the front door. And then I literally order both him and Darling to wait in the truck, giving her a look that shows I mean business.

In response, she spins around and draws her knees up to her chest, holding a bottle of water in her hands and looking as though she is about to have a childish tantrum. I'm not about to wait and see if she does or not, as I push open the door the minute the vehicle stops moving and head toward the front entrance of the building.

When I am less than ten feet from the SUV, I suddenly turn around and march back to it and climb back in, pulling the door shut behind me.

"What's wrong?" Bob asks, concern etched into his chubby face.

Darling, understanding instantly, slides to the door and pauses before opening it. Looking back at me, she simply says, "You look funny. Scare kids no good."

Putting a hand up to my head where I'm still sporting a large white band of gauze, I reply in a huff, "Yeah, real funny."

Knowing better than to comment after Darling enters the daycare center, he sits in silence while eating on another donut. "What kind of hours do places like this normally keep?" I ask for no other reason than to break the silence.

"Most keep hours from early morning to late afternoon. But I would imagine it depends on their clients."

"Darling did good getting us here," I say.

"You should tell her, not me," he replies between bites that he washes down with the water that he and Darling are sharing.

"You're right, I should."

Within moments, Darling returns, a petite woman in her early 30's wearing jeans, a light, white cotton blouse that accents her light tan, white nursing shoes, and her auburn hair in a messy bun, following close behind. When she sees the SUV, she hesitates slightly, and I begin to wonder what Darling told her to bring her out here so quickly.

As they approach the passenger's side of the SUV, I open the rear door and slide out, the sight of me causing the woman to pull up short, her face belying her anxiety. Knowing I have to say something quick before she turns and runs back inside, I begin, "I don't know what Darling told you, but we need your help. You have nothing to fear from us."

Visibly relaxing, she says, her hand indicating Darling, "This lady here, she said that Shelly is in trouble and you need my help." And then, before I can explain, she heatedly states, "It's that Rick guy, isn't it. Did he do that to you to?"

"Yes, it is, and yes, in a round-about way, he did," I calmly reply, surprised that the impression I had of her based on the house she lives in, could be so far off. I was expecting someone that I wasn't going to like, though I have no reason to explain why. I liked this person immediately, and it's obvious that she cares for her friend. We have something in common.

"I have an office inside, if you all would like to come in and get out of the heat. We can talk in there."

"That's very kind of you," I reply, giving Bob an inconspicuous signal to lock the doors.

Because I hadn't expected to be entering the building proper, I hadn't thought to remove the magnum from where it's concealed beneath my cotton shirt. I'm sure there is a law or ordinance somewhere prohibiting the carrying of a firearm where there are children, but there is nothing I can do about it now except make sure no one sees it.

Following Suzy into the building, I'm relieved to see that her office is just inside the doors to the left and that we don't have to go anywhere near the children, though the sounds of young voices screaming and laughing can be heard echoing down the main hallway.

"Have a seat," she says, indicating a conference style table with three foldable steel chairs along each side. Her desk is off to the right with a single chair facing it, a Naugahyde office chair behind it. "Would anyone like something to drink, coffee, water?"

"No, thanks," I say, taking a seat furthest from the door and also her desk.

Darling follows me, taking the seat to my right while Bob takes the seat nearest the door and Suzy stands for a moment before taking the seat across from mine.

Before I can begin to explain, Suzy asks, "What did he do? Is she alright? I never liked that guy. I don't know what Shelly ever saw in him." She pauses for a moment, and then says, "I knew something was wrong when she didn't return my calls. What can I do to help?"

"As I think you've already figured out, Rick and his boys got the better of me and he took Shelly with him. This was a few days ago," I add, cringing at my own words.

"Have you called the police?"

"It's a little more complicated than that," I start, not sure how much I should share with her. "Right now, I need to know where Rick lives, or where he hangs out with his posse."

"But shouldn't we let the police deal with him?" Suzy nervously asks. She takes a deep, calming breath, then says with a trembling voice, "He's never physically hurt her before, so I doubt he would start now. He can be a mentally abusive ass, and he likes to intimidate people with his size, but I honestly don't believe he would hurt her. I really don't," she says as if trying to convince herself.

"Do you know where Rick lives?"

"Yes," she says, trying to calm herself. "I would show you, but I can't leave right now. We're required to have two staff on site at all times there are children here and Patty, our registered nurse, had an appointment today, so I'm covering for her."

Reaching across the table, I gently place my hands over hers, trying to calm her. "We just need the address. When we get her back, we'll call you. I'm sure she'll want to see you too."

"Thank you," she says, taking a calming breath. Then she pulls her hands away, and gets to her feet, going to her desk and grabbing a notepad and pen. "I'll write his address down along with some basic directions. If you're not familiar with the area, it can be rather tricky finding your way around."

We all rise, Bob and Darling thanking her before turning toward the door while I accept the proffered piece of paper with the address and instructions. "As soon as we find her, we'll be in touch," I say, noting the wetness in the corners of her eyes. She is fighting to hold back the tears.

"My phone numbers are on there too. Call me if you need anything else. She's really a good person and doesn't deserve any of this."

"No, she doesn't," I reply, following Bob and Darling back to the SUV, while Suzy remains behind in her office. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her lowering herself into the chair at the table, too weak to walk back to her desk. She is really taking this hard. Shelly is fortunate to have her for a friend, because she really cares.

Back in the SUV, I hand Bob the slip of paper. "Can you follow her instructions?"

Glancing at it, he nods, saying, "Yeah, no problem."

"Then let's go check it out. Get a lay of the land, so to speak."

# Twenty One

The instructions have us heading east, out of town. The road is rough, unpaved, and sparsely populated. Darling breaks the self-imposed silence that we're all adhering to, saying, "Nice lady."

"Yes, she is," I absently acknowledge, studying the countryside. "Any idea how much farther, Bob?"

"Based on her instructions, we've still got a ways to go. But looking at the terrain, I can't imagine what we're going to find. There ain't nothing out here for as far as you can see except for sage, rocks, and sand."

"Rick is out here, and that means Shelly is out here," I stoically reply, the thought of what might be happening to her bringing my barely contained rage bubbling back up towards the surface of my demeanor.

"That's not what I meant, Driver," he quickly apologizes, sensing the sudden change.

"No, I know what you meant," I apologize too, feeling the stress and worry of not knowing what might be happening to Shelly at this very moment, while silently praying that Suzy is correct, Rick wouldn't physically hurt her. But I firmly believe she's a lot tougher mentally than Suzy realizes. For the sake of my sanity, I have to believe that.

It's closing on mid-afternoon when Bob pulls the truck off to the side of the road that has deteriorated to little more than a dusty rut and says, "Those buildings up ahead must be the place."

Looking past his head through the windshield, I see what looks like an old farmstead or ranch. The barn is on the verge of collapsing, most of the roof missing, and no doors on the front. Attached, and in the same derelict condition, is a paddock that is missing more rails than are standing and clearly hasn't seen use in close to a century.

The main building, a single story sprawling ranch style hacienda covering more than three thousand square feet, appears to be in much better condition. The road we're on continues on past the place as it winds up into the desert, eventually getting lost from sight in the hills and ravines. Based on the condition of the road and driveway leading up to the hacienda, not much traffic goes beyond this place.

Further proof of this is the number of vehicles scattered around the front of the place. Among them is the jacked up pickup truck that Rick was driving the night we faced off at the restaurant. Next to the old barn is a rusted out hulk of a tractor, but all the other vehicles appear to be in running condition.

Pulling out the binoculars from the backpack, I hand them to Bob while I grab the rifle from near my feet and point the barrel over the front seat, using the backrest to steady it on. Darling shifts closer to Bob, the rifle obviously making her nervous.

"It's okay, Darling," I calmly remark. "I don't intend to shoot anyone. Not yet, anyway."

Bob, looking intently through the binoculars, says, "I count seven rigs, so there has to be at least that many people in there." He puts the binoculars down on his lap, and Darling instantly grabs them up and puts them to her face, scrutinizing the area for herself.

"We can't stay here, Driver. Someone is liable to come along or leave at any time and see us," Bob says, glancing nervously in the side mirror.

"There's a real good chance that they already know we're here from the dust trail we kicked up. They just don't know who we are, and based on their overwhelming numbers, probably aren't too concerned. Unless we look like cops, they're probably just going to ignore us unless we get too close. My guess is that hunters come by this way all the time."

"What do you want to do?" Bob asks, the tension in his voice evident.

It's become obvious to me that if I had any doubts earlier, I can't have Bob or Darling involved any further than they already are. They're not trained or conditioned for what I need to do if I'm going to get Shelly back. Bob can drive and Darling can play doctor, but I'm the foot soldier in this operation. And I wouldn't have it any other way, because if something happened to either Bob or Darling while they were helping me, I would never be able to forgive myself.

Taking one last look over the place through the Bushnell scope mounted on the rifle, I return it to the foot well at my feet and then scan in a complete three-hundred-sixty degree circle, committing the terrain and all the dips and boulders to memory as I form a rough plan of operation.

"Turn around and head back down the road until the buildings are out of sight," I instruct Bob, satisfied that I have the area surrounding the old homestead firmly engraved in my mind.

While Bob slowly moves down the road in the direction from which we just came, I pull one of the packs onto my lap and dump it out on the seat beside me. Using discretion, I replace items in the pack, including all the ammunition for both the rifle and the handgun. I also include several bottles of water, the matches, protein energy bars, a miniature first aid kit, a length of parachute cord, a roll of duct tape, an LED flashlight that fits in the palm of my hand, and a six inch bladed knife in a leather sheath. Hefting the pack with my right hand, I determine that the bulk of the weight is the ammo and water, both items I can't afford to go short on.

When Bob pulls over to the side of the road, I look up, twisting to look out through the rear window and make sure we are well beyond sight of the buildings and that no one is following us.

"How far are we from the homestead?" I ask Bob.

"Must be close to two miles," he says, clearly relieved to not be sitting in sight of it.

"Good," I reply, thinking it won't take long to cover the distance, nor will it wear me out before I get there. "Darling, I need you to do something about this beacon on my head. I'm going to need to blend into the background at night, and this turban isn't going to cut it."

Turning around on the front seat so that she is facing back towards me, her face alight with excitement at being involved again and not ignored, she happily says, "Darling fix."

After studying my head for a moment, she instructs me to lean forward and removes the gauze wrapping. While she works with a knife and a camouflage tee shirt, I instruct Bob to find somewhere to park where we won't be seen from the road, since there is a good chance that someone connected to Rick will drive by and see us. Even if they don't recognize me, they're going to be suspicious of a strange vehicle so close to their hangout.

"I've been wanting to test this rig out off-road. Now's as good a time as any to see what she's made of."

The words have no sooner left his mouth, than he's fired up the engine and turned the wheels towards the ditch along the north side of the road, which just so happens to be the same side as the hacienda, so I won't have to double back across the road later tonight when I'm on foot.

While Bob slowly and meticulously picks a path across the sand and rubble that is typical in a desert environment, I remind him, "Don't hit any cacti."

"Yes boss," he mocks.

He hasn't gone far when he stops and turns around to look over the back of his seat. "There's a nice ravine dead ahead. I'm just going to check it out before I go down into it, cause I'm sure you want us to be able to get back out later."

"I'll go with you," I quickly say, pushing the door open at the same time he does.

He wasn't exaggerating the distance to the ravine. Just a few feet in front of the front tires the ground drops down into a shallow ravine measuring almost thirty feet across. Although it is only about six feet deep, it pans out flat just a short distance back toward the road. So even if the SUV won't climb back up the bank, Bob can drive out the end of it and come up near the road.

"Go ahead and pull down into it. But when you hit the bottom, turn hard right so that you're facing back towards the road. I think this will work good. So long as no one is looking too hard, it won't be noticeable from the road."

"Guide me in?" he asks a bit nervously.

"Sure, no problem," I quickly agree, not surprised by his timidity, and not wanting to embarrass him over it. "Just be careful of the ruts in the bottom so that you don't get high centered in them. Keep the tires up between them and keep it moving when you hit them from the side. It's going to bounce, so be ready for it. And if she starts spinning, let off the gas, we can't exactly call a tow truck out here. And Bob," I quickly say before he can turn away. "If something happens while I'm gone tonight, you get the hell out of here and just look after Darling. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"I won't let anything happen to her, Driver, so don't give it a second thought." He stands looking down into the ravine for a moment like he has more to say, but isn't sure of the correct words. As I'm about to head down into the ravine to guide him in, he suddenly says, "Take care of yourself. Driver. I don't have many truckers with your work ethic and I'm sure Darling will miss you."

Slapping him gently on the shoulder, I simply smile at him and then slide, hobble, stumble down to the bottom of the ravine. The far side isn't as steep as this side, but it would still be a struggle for the SUV to climb out of with its stock tires and suspension. So long as he keeps the tires out of the deeper ruts in the bottom, he should be able to drive it out the end and back up onto the road.

Standing at the bottom of the ravine, I use hand signals to guide him over the lip. The side is steeper than I first thought and the SUV almost high centers before gravity pulls it over the lip. Using my hands and waving frantically, I manage to keep him moving when he looks like all he wants to do is hit the brakes, which will only leave him stuck in the ruts.

The poor vehicle bounces over a few of the deeper ruts, the bottom slamming against the upper ridges before he has it turned facing back toward the road with the tires perched precariously on the upper sides of the ruts, some of which are more than twelve inches deep before widening out and eventually growing more shallow.

Looking toward the road, I notice an oblong culvert running beneath it. It's about six feet wide, but less than two feet in height with a lot of debris piled up around the entrance, almost completely hiding it from view. When Bob shuts off the engine, I climb back onto the rear seat. The sun is just above the horizon and about to drop from view, the shadows growing long across the panoramic views, while the last rays shine brightly into the SUV, coming in beneath the sun visors.

When I climb back into the SUV, Darling turns around on the front seat, getting up into a kneeling position so she can reach over the backrest. "Lean forward," she says, having me position the top of my head within her grasp.

With the tenderness of someone that really cares, she slowly unwraps the bandages from my head, dropping the gauze on the seat beside her. Then she dabs at the wound with a soft rag, applying a thick salve to the area, followed by a large adhesive pad.

"How's it looking?"

Bob turns in his seat, takes a quick glance and simply says, "Looks like shit."

Darling quickly turns and taps him on the side of the head, feigning anger as if his comment is a reflection on her nursing skills. "It heal good. Bandage keep desert out. But scab solid, no more pus."

"Good," I reply. "But I can't have a big white band aid on my head that'll stand out in the dark. The next bullet may not ricochet off this hard noggin."

"No ricochet. Bad shot."

"Yeah," is all I can think to say to her comment. "So what's the plan for camouflaging it?"

Reaching down on the other side of the seat, she produces a pant leg from a pair of camouflage style jeans. It doesn't escape my notice that she cut the jeans in a manner that leaves her with a pair of camouflage shorts and a strip of cloth more than three feet long.

"Lean forward," she instructs me.

When I do, she expertly wraps the material around my head, leaving two long strips that she manages to finagle into a knot at the base of my skull, the camouflage pant leg looking more like a skull cap than a head band. Looking past her and into the rearview mirror, I'm immediately impressed with her handiwork.

"Damn, nice job, Darling," I mouth, liking the way her face lights up from the compliment. Yet, looking back in the mirror, I wasn't exaggerating, she did a bang up job. If I had some face paint, I'd look as good as any special ops ranger.

We sit in silence for the next half hour, each sipping our own bottle of water while lost in our private thoughts. When the sun is below the horizon and the panoramic display of oranges and reds have faded to deep purples and then black, I break the silence. "I'm going to leave the rifle with you guys. If I'm correct, it'll only get in my way and I'll feel better knowing you guys have a weapon too." Pulling the ammunition for it out of the pack I'm going to use, I hand it over the seat to Darling. "Here's all the ammo for it, plus it's fully loaded."

Bob begins to protest, so I cut him off. "I don't expect you to have to use it, but keep it handy."

Before he can continue his argument, Darling simply states, "Okay."

We all climb out of the SUV and regroup near the driver's door. With the all black pack strapped to my back, I turn and reach back into the SUV, grabbing the rifle from the foot well and handing it to Bob. "If I'm not back by dawn, get the hell out of here and call the police."

Bob extends his hand and we solemnly shake. As soon as he releases my hand, Darling throws herself into my arms, wrapping herself around my middle and squeezing hard. Then she just as quickly releases me and grabs the rifle from Bob and walks around to the front of the SUV keeping her face averted. If I'm not mistaken, her cheeks appear shiny, as she wipes at them with the back of her hand. _I think she likes me_.

Without another word, I scale the steeper side of the ravine, scrabbling for purchase in the dark and realizing just how weak I still am. When I finally reach the top, I turn and look back for a moment, catching my breath and noticing that I've broken into a sweat. My heart is racing from the exertion, and for the briefest of moments, I question my ability to perform.

But muscle memory is not to be under-estimated, and my body quickly kicks into gear. Since there isn't any chance of being seen, I walk upright, finding my way around rocks and small prickly shrubs. The sky is already thick with stars, but they don't offer much in the way of light on the ground, which is a good thing. If I can't see, then I can't be seen. Though I could really use a nice pair of NVG's. Night vision goggles were standard issue in my past.

Instinctively, I drop to the ground before I even realize that I've heard a sound that's out of place. The sound of boots thumping against sheet metal. And it came from the direction of the SUV.

Rising slowly, I make my way back to the ravine, expecting the worst, yet silently thankful there were no gun shots. As I draw closer, I get down and crawl the last twenty feet to the lip, cautiously raising my head to look down into the ravine. Though the roof of the SUV is only a foot or so lower than the surrounding terrain, it's open to the west toward the road.

The sight before me almost makes me laugh. Lying next to each other on the roof of the SUV is Bob and Darling. But what has struck my funny bone is that the rifle is in Darling's grasp, not Bob's, and she has it sighted toward the road.

The noise must have been them climbing up onto the roof of the SUV. "Don't shoot," I say, rising to my feet.

They both gasp and turn onto their sides to look over at me. "Damn, you scared the shit out of me," Bob says in a huff.

"I just wanted to say, you guys need to be quieter. I could hear you halfway to the hacienda."

"I told Bob he make too much noise," Darling says defensively.

"Did you remove the interior bulb?"

"Yeah. First thing after you left."

"Good. I'm heading out then."

It feels like I've been down here forever. The big ugly guy brings me burritos and water and nothing else. There's a commode near the far end as well as a tap, but I'm not sure the water is potable. Oh, Driver, I'm so sorry. You're dead because of me. I almost wish Rick had just had his way with me. It would serve me right. Life isn't worth living without you in it.

# Twenty Two

When I've barely gone a couple of hundred feet, I stop and cock an ear toward the ravine. Not hearing anything outside the normal night sounds typical to a South Western desert, I continue on, picking up my pace until I am almost jogging. Within half an hour, I crest a slight ridge due east of the hacienda and almost directly behind it. The yard lights aren't bright enough to draw attention to the place, but there is a single light on shining through a rear window. Judging by the brightness, it's more than a nightlight, shining out toward the desert wasteland.

It puzzles me that there are so few lights on in the house, simply based on the number of people that might be in there and the earliness of the evening. Though it's already dark, it's not even midnight. If these guys are already in bed and not up partying, they're not the heavy weights that I'd envisioned them to be.

Using stealth, I slowly work my way across the open expanse of ground till I reach the rear of the barn, where I stop to catch my breath. My heart is racing and my breath is rushing in and out loud enough to wake the dead. There is also a slight throbbing in the back of my head, which I put out of mind and instead, focus my attention on my surroundings.

The barn is old and beyond repair, sporting more missing boards than existing boards, and I'm able to look inside with ease. There is nothing to see except for trapped tumble weeds and a pile of what looks like several decks of rotting lumber, several half covered with a rotting canvas tarps.

Moving in the shadows, I leave the barn behind and head in the direction of the south side of the main building, pausing momentarily by the rusted hulk of an old farm tractor to catch my breath again. With no cover between the tractor and the hacienda, I rise up to my full height and walk toward it as if I belong. If there's a sentry on duty or someone happens to glance out one of the dark windows and sees me, there's a good chance they'll mistake me for one of their own. Or at least hesitate before shooting me.

When I'm within ten feet of the side of the building, I drop into a crouch and duck into the shadows nearer to the side of the hacienda. After sitting up against the stucco siding for a couple of long minutes and not hearing anything out of the ordinary, I work my way in a crouch to the nearest window and furtively sneak a peek inside.

Unfortunately, the inside is darker than the night outside and I'm unable to see anything beyond my reflection in the glass. Dropping back down, I wait again for any sounds or evidence of movement inside the wall. When no alarms are sounded, I work my way along the building from window to window with no success, all the while thanking the powers that be they don't have dogs roaming around the yard. There may be dogs inside the hacienda, but so far no evidence of such.

Reaching the far corner near the rear of the building, I resign myself to the fact that I'm going to have to steal my peek inside through the only window with light coming out of it, which is also near the rear center of the building and next to the only door in the rear of the hacienda. The rear door is a double pane glass slider typical of any patio door in a million apartment units. It opens out onto a red paver brick patio measuring about twenty feet deep by forty feet across. On the patio are a couple of old kitchen chairs with their padding gone and a glass topped table that has been shattered, but hasn't come apart yet. The wonders of safety glass.

Up against the house is an old propane grill that has also seen better days. Though it's on little plastic wheels, there's a good chance that if it were pulled away from the house it would collapse, a five gallon LP tank sitting on the ground beside it.

Moving cautiously, I work my way stealthily until I come to the window with the light on inside. Crouching beneath, I listen intently for a moment for sounds or voices coming from inside. Nothing. Taking one last glance around the area, I slowly raise my head until I can just see over the sill.

Though I'm not sure what to expect, a couple of men sitting across from each other at a small wooden desk drinking beer and playing a game of Rummy was not it. They are positioned off to my right.

Glancing quickly around the rest of the room, I see a few metal file cabinets off to the left. Next to the file cabinets is a computer stand with a large multipurpose printer on the lower shelf and a laptop sitting open on the top shelf. Directly across the room from the window is an open door with only what appears to be a dark hallway beyond it.

Moving my eyes back to the two men playing cards, I notice they are both wearing denim jeans with stained tee shirts, one faded red and the other a faded blue. They're both armed with semi-autos in shoulder holsters. While red has a full beard and thick brown hair, a large gut pressed up against the desk, the smaller of the two by more than a few pounds in the blue tee is semi-clean shaven, balding, and at least twenty years older than red.

Ducking down, I slowly work my way up to the patio doors and take a quick peek inside before pulling back. The open door to the room where the two guys playing cards is around the corner from the patio entrance, but is casting enough light into the hallway to give me an idea of what lies immediately beyond the doors. Off to the right is a kitchen with an island, a few dirty dishes in the sink and some utensils along with a wooden knife block on the island.

Straight ahead is a short hallway that tee's off to the left and right, just beyond the kitchen. There's a door straight ahead that looks like it's solid with a hasp and padlock bolted on it. _Who has a hasp and padlock on a door inside their house?_ Unless they're trying to keep someone from having run of the whole place or escaping.

Moving quickly, I look back through the glass door, zeroing in on the door with the hasp and padlock hanging unlocked from it. Though it might have been installed a day ago, or even years ago, I get the impression that it hasn't been there long. The padlock is still shiny. But even though it's not locked, the way it's hanging in the hasp will prevent the door opening. And then again, there might not be anyone being held against their will beyond it. Or, and I'm hoping this is the case because it means that Shelly is still alive, the Rick is currently with her. Either way, that door, or rather what lies beyond it, is my ultimate destination. I just hope I'm not too late.

# Twenty Three

Looking around the back yard for any sign of movement or evidence of a sentry and not seeing anything, I crouch down and place my hands flat against the glass of the nearest door and push sideways. To my amazement and disbelief, it slowly slides to the right. I continue pushing until it's open enough for me to slip through and then turn back to it and using the lip, slowly push it back into place before moving into the shadows on the far side of the kitchen island and hunker down behind it.

Taking stock of my situation, it seems pretty apparent that I have to decide if I should go straight for the closed door or take out the men in the room playing cards first. And if I go after them first, do I clear the rest of the house before coming back to the mystery door?

Yet, if I don't incapacitate them first, I have to watch my back the entire time I'm moving forward, since I don't have anyone covering my six.

_Mental discussion over._ I need to clear the rest of the house before I go after Shelly, starting with the two goons in the office. And since I don't have a silencer for the magnum, I need to keep it simple and swift.

Slipping out of the backpack, I ease it down on the kitchen floor next to me and pull out the knife, slipping it down inside my boot with the handle protruding for easy access. I'm not ready to kill anyone, yet. But at the same time, I can't take any chances with Shelly's life. These guys have shown me they're ready and willing to take a life, so I must be ready and willing to do the same. No hesitation. Hesitation will only get Shelly injured or worse, and that's not acceptable.

I hesitate for a moment, debating whether to remove my boots or not. After a moment, having decided to keep them on, I work my way into the hallway from the kitchen. When I reach the door with the padlock dangling on it, I have to fight the very real urge to jerk it open and go charging through in search of Shelly.

Fighting the pull of the door, I slowly and quietly move up to it and then turn left, working my way quietly down the hall towards the open door with light spilling out of it. As I draw nearer, I can hear the men talking in low voices, probably out of respect for those that must be sleeping. I can't help but think that if these are the sentries, they're not doing much in the way of keeping a lookout.

With my back pressed up against the wall, I move at a snail's pace until I draw up next to the open door and take a deep breath, silently releasing it as my mind goes into the zone. When I enter the room, I will have to be moving fast, incapacitating the two men before they can call out and warn any of their friends.

With the room and the men committed to memory from when I peeked in through the rear window, I pivot around the door and flick off the light switch, throwing the room into darkness, as I move silently to the first man that I have come to think of as Red, just as he loudly curses, "Damn it, Hank. Quit fucking..."

His voice is instantly cut off by the sharp blow I deliver to his carotid artery, rendering him unconscious. Still moving toward the smaller man in the blue tee while lowering Red's head to the table, I simultaneously bring my left hand up in an open palmed upper cut to where his larynx should be.

But unlike Red, who made the incorrect assumption that it was one of their other posse members playing a joke on them with the lights, Blue must have seen me before I hit the light switch and instantly took evasive action.

It is only my good fortune and a fluke that his evasive action is bringing him around the same side of the desk that I happen to be moving along in the opposite direction. And while my open right palm doesn't strike his wind pipe as planned, my extended right elbow connects solidly with his face as my elbow is moving in the opposite direction that his face is moving, dropping him like a rock, the sound of crunching cartilage loud in the small room.

Surprised by my good luck, I pause when I hear Blue making gurgling sounds with each intake of breath as he lays unmoving on the floor between my feet. Silently, I move back to the door and lean my head out into the dark hallway for a long minute, listening intently for any alarms being raised. When I don't hear any sounds or movement, I turn to the right and scurry back to the kitchen where I left my backpack. Retrieving it from behind the island, I hurriedly make my way back into the room where I left the two unconscious men and flip the light on.

The amount of blood surrounding Blue's head from the crushed nose I gave him causes me a moment of alarm, and I move to him first and roll him onto his side so that he doesn't drown on his own blood. My intention was to use duct tape over their mouths, but if I do that to Blue, he is liable to suffocate, since he's no longer able to breathe through his nose.

Not sure what to do with him, I move to Red and lower him to the floor where I place a rag in his mouth and cover it with duct tape before using parachute cord to hogtie and drag him into the corner beneath the window. Next, I hogtie Blue in the same manner, and then decide I have no choice but to gag him the same way. After I secure the rest of the hacienda, I'll come back and remove his gag.

Satisfied with my handiwork, I turn off the lights and slip back into the hall. There are quite a few more rooms to clear before I can check out the door with the padlock, and the night isn't standing still and waiting for me.

The next door I come to is on the right, and I put my hand on the knob before pressing my ear up to the cool wood and listen for any sign of movement on the other side. Not sensing anything, I slowly turn the knob until I can feel the door moving inward. There isn't any light behind me so I shouldn't be creating any shadows or a silhouette as I slowly move into the room.

Holding my breath, I wait patiently for my eyes to pick out the darker shadows of furniture. The bed appears to be along the far wall to my left, while the dresser and chest of drawers are on my right and sliding doors for a closet also on the left but to the right of the bed.

Moving stealthily toward the bed, I slowly get down on my hands and knees and low crawl the last few feet, the low pile carpeting silencing my progress as I try discerning if there's a lump on it that would indicate someone sleeping in it. Suddenly, the sound of something slicing through the air just barely registers before I'm lying face down in the short pile carpeting, a debilitating pain radiating throughout my back and into my chest, making it impossible to breathe. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm wondering if I'm broken.

But I've fought through pain before. With an almost inhuman effort, I plant my hands to either side of my face and after summoning what's left of my training and determination, push away from the floor.

Before I've risen more than an inch off the pile, another sharp blow strikes my lower back, driving me back to the floor, the pain so extreme I wish the floor would just open up and swallow me, taking me away from here and the pain.

I lay unmoving for a long moment, trying to breathe, but only sucking in carpet dust and dander, my face pressed solidly against the course fibers, when the light suddenly comes on.

In the background, I can hear someone chuckling like they just heard something funny. Instinctively, I try to turn my head toward the voice, when someone plants a heavy boot on my upper back, reigniting the pain, and gruffly says, "Don't move, muthafucka or I'll be tempted to try this shiny new magnum out on you. I imagine it will do a lot more damage than my wimpy little niner, especially with the barrel pressed right up against the back of your head like this, sucka." Despite the pain radiating through my entire body from the blows to my back, I can feel the barrel of my own gun pressed into the base of my skull. "Oo-wee, what a mess that'll be. Blood and brains everywhere," he continues. "Of course, that might piss Rick off, cause I think he has his own plans for you."

From somewhere near the door, I can hear the chuckling again, only it sounds more like giggling this time, if that's possible. _Did I just die and land in the looney bin?_

"Then again, Tom and Mike might have something to say about what happens to you, after what you did to them. Of course, they won't be talking for some time, especially Tom. Man, you really did a number on his face." His comments set off another round of giggling. "Of course, when they come around, they might not wait until Rick gets here, they might just kill you themselves. If you'd done that to me, I know I would." He pauses a moment, the pressure of the gun leaving the back of my head. "Come on _Retard_ , give me a hand getting him up." Then his sour breath is right in my face as he leans down next to me and says, "Don't even think of trying anything, muthafucka, because after what you did to me and my friends out at the quarry, I think we kinda owe you, if you get the meaning."

Blinking my eyes to get the carpet grit out of them, I try focusing on his face. But before I can, someone grabs me under the arms and lifts me bodily up to a standing position. Though whoever lifted me is standing behind me, I can feel his strength and size, both of which are immense. He picked me up like I was a rag doll. He is also the source of the giggling. The one referred to as _Retard_.

Though my eyes are still blurry and feel as if they're full of sand, I can make out the man standing in front of me, my own gun in his hand aimed at my chest. _That magnum is quite an intimidating weapon when it's pointed at you_.

"Put him in the basement," he orders the man holding me upright. There is no doubt in my mind that if he lets go, I'm going down. My entire body is screaming in pain and yet, at the same time, if that's possible.

Just as we enter the hall, there is the sound of fireworks off in the distance. Before the sounds even fade, the man leading the way says over his shoulder with a chuckle, "That must be your friends." When I don't respond, he happily explains. "We saw you guys earlier out on the road. What? Did you think we wouldn't notice? It's not like we see much traffic out here, dumbass. Even the local hunters don't use this road since we took over the place. Anyway, a couple of the guys followed you back to where you went off the road and into the ravine."

He pauses to slip the padlock that's hanging on the door into his pocket before swinging it open and stepping aside to let _Retard_ move me to the door. There is a dim light coming from down below and I immediately notice a rickety set of steps leading down to a concrete floor.

With _Retard_ suspending me over the threshold, my feet not quite touching the floor, my captor continues. "The guys weren't supposed to kill your friends. At least not yet. But judging from all that gunfire, I wouldn't be counting on them surviving. Enjoy your stay," he finishes, giving the huge being holding me a slight nod of his head to indicate he's done talking with me.

The last thing I remember before going airborne and landing on my feet halfway down the stairs, my legs crumpling upon impact with the steps, followed by a forward somersault that I just roll out of before striking the concrete floor is that insane giggling.

# Twenty Four

Somehow, I rolled, tumbled, and sprawled down a steep flight of stairs before impacting with a solid concrete floor, and not once does my head strike anything. If the rest of my body had been half as lucky, I might even appreciate that tidbit.

As it is, the rest of my body didn't fare anywhere near as well. As I lay semi-conscious on the cool concrete, a dim bulb shining in my half open lids, I slowly and methodically take stock of myself. Pushing the pain aside, I move my right arm, dragging it out from where it's pinned beneath my torso. There is fresh blood smeared over the back of my palm and a large wooden sliver sticking out of the flesh of my forearm from where it caught the side of the steps on my way down.

Moving my left arm around to my face, I find the arm heavy and almost unresponsive. Yet, I manage to grasp the four inch long sliver protruding from my right arm and yank it out. With that task accomplished, my arms fall soddenly to either side of my body, exhausted.

My feet feel like they are crossed on top of each other, but when I try moving them apart, my right leg falls off the bottom step, landing atop my left leg, which is lying away from me at a sharp angle on the floor. Although I feel weak as a newborn kitten, I swallow a deep sigh of relief that there doesn't appear to be anything broken.

Yet, when I try rolling onto my side in an effort to right myself, a stabbing pain erupts just below my ribcage, momentarily cutting off my ability to breathe. Because the pain had faded after the incident in the borax quarry, I'd almost forgotten about it. But thanks to the asshole that got the better of me in the bedroom upstairs, it's come back with a vengeance.

Instinctively, I curl into a fetal position, a strong taste of bile sitting in the back of my throat as I welcome the darkness that delivers me from the extreme pain and the burning anguish at having failed Shelly once again.

"Driver. Driver, is that really you?" The voice is instantly followed by a slight gasp, and then, "Oh my God."

It's soft and barely more than a whisper. Shelly? But it can't be. I must be dreaming.

Yet, even if it is a dream, I need to tell her how sorry I am for failing her. I have to make her know that I tried my damnedest and still failed. "I'm sorry, Shelly," I mouth, the words little more than a whisper.

"Driver, don't move, I'm coming to you," she says, her voice weak and breathy, as if she's been crying.

Not until something or someone touches my outstretched arm do I realize that there's actually someone else down here in this hell hole with me and the voice isn't in my mind. "Shelly?" I rasp, my voice choking up with emotion. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, it's me," she says, her voice breaking into sobs. "Oh my God. I thought you were dead. I saw you lying on the ground bleeding. Rick told me that they'd killed you. Thank God, you're alive."

Moving slowly, I turn in the direction of her voice, my eyes instantly taking in her bloodshot eyes and what looks like dried blood in her blond hair. The raging anger toward the man that could do this to such an innocent and loving creature fills me with strength and renewed determination. I am going to send him to hell for this.

"I'm so sorry, Shelly," I tell her, while slowly pushing myself up into a sitting position and reaching out for her hand and taking it in mine. Though her hand is covered in dirt, the skin is soft. I can't remember the last time I'd felt such strong emotions from just a simple touch. "This never should have happened to you."

She slides closer to me, favoring her left side. When she is out of the shadows where she was hiding, I notice rips in her blouse and that she's no longer wearing a bra. Did she put one on when she got dressed in my truck back at the quarry? Or was it removed from her at the same time her blouse was torn? Just the thought that someone touched her against her will, or worse, fuels my rage even hotter.

"It's not your fault, Driver," she says, noticing my eyes assessing her from head to bare feet. "I really wish you didn't have to see me like this."

Without even thinking, I blurt out, "What happened to your shoes?"

"I'm not sure," she replies, growing uncomfortable.

Needing to reassure her, I quickly spout, "I'm going to get us out of here, Shelly."

Squeezing my hand, she softly says, "I wish I could believe that, Driver. I really do. But I've seen these guys. They're ruthless and there are too many of them. And please don't take this wrong, but look at you. You're a beautiful man. I thought that the first time I saw you that night you came into the restaurant. You looked so strong and handsome. In that first moment of laying eyes on you, I knew that you could make me yours with just a smile." She smiles shyly, despite what we've both been through, and heat rises in her cheeks. "So don't take this wrong, but looking at you right now, I just want to hold on to you and heal you, and remember the moments we've shared. You will always be my knight in shining armor, but there's no denying that you've had a real butt kicking."

A laugh slips out of my mouth before the pain below my ribs causes my chest to constrict, abruptly cutting it short, followed immediately by a harsh cough that feels like something tearing loose inside me. When I can finally breathe again, I take shallow breaths, calming my racing heart before lying to her in the calmest voice I can dredge up, "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Now who's full of it?" she laughs with a smirk, a glimmer of the old Shelly momentarily showing through in her beautiful blue eyes before quickly retreating.

Even in her present state of being, she is still the most beautiful woman I've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. "Shelly, this probably isn't the best time to be telling you this, but all things considered, I want you to know how much I care for you."

"Driver, don't," she says before I can continue, a flicker of panic sparking in her eyes. "You don't have to tell me what you think I want to hear if you don't mean it."

Pulling her hand closer so that it is lying against my chest, I say, "What makes you think I don't mean every word of it? Because I love you, Shelly. Until I met you, I didn't know what it meant to want and need someone in my life. My whole life, not just when it's convenient, or when I'm between loads."

"You're right, this is a shitty time to be telling a woman how you feel about her. But no matter what's happened or is going to happen, I love you too, Driver. More than you'll ever know. And I wish with all my heart that I hadn't dragged you into this mess."

Letting my body relax against the cool concrete, I tell her what I believe is the truth so far. "Believe it or not, I was in this mess before you and I even met."

"You knew Rick before that night at the restaurant?" she cries out in surprise.

"No. I never met him before that night. It just so happens that your Rick was working for my Luciano, a well-connected opioid manufacturer that I was hoping to take down. Or at least force him to take his business elsewhere."

Feeling a chill creeping into my body from the cement beneath us, I struggle futilely to sit up straighter. "Let me help," she says, pushing herself onto her knees and grabbing my tee-shirt at the shoulders and lifting while I push up with my hands.

It's awkward, and when I start to fall back down, I almost pull Shelly over with me. But at the last second, she braces herself with a hand against the wall behind me, and before I know it, I'm sitting upright, my back against the cinderblock wall. With my legs stretched out before me, my feet are only four feet or so from the bottom step.

The effort drained me, leaving me breathless and gasping for air. Meanwhile, Shelly slides up next to me, placing her head on my chest and an arm around my back, her left hand laying softly over my right hand, while sharing her warmth with me. Thinking that she must be feeling the cold more than myself, as she's been down in this hole for much longer than I have, I suddenly need to know exactly how long she's been here, and how they've been treating her, if she is willing to tell me.

"Did they bring you right here, that night?"

Despite the chill and pain, I can feel her body stiffen momentarily, and then relax again as she silently decides what she is willing to share with me and what she will never tell anyone. Looking down at her face, I notice a stray tear running down her cheek, and I suddenly wish I hadn't asked. "Yes," she whispers, her voice barely audible despite our closeness.

"Look," I say, using the thumb on my left hand to wipe away the tear. "We don't need to talk about this now."

"No. It's done, it's over. Rick's men brought me here that night. I think Rick had to go to the hospital. Everyone else was celebrating because they thought you were dead. Hell, I thought you were dead." She swallows, and I begin to believe she isn't going to say anymore, when she says, "They kept me upstairs in his bedroom bound hand and foot for the first few nights. Then, I think it might have been the day Rick got out of the hospital, because he didn't look to good, they cut me loose. He showed up later and when I wouldn't cooperate with him, he got violent. That's when this happened," she pauses, pulling weakly at her blouse and showing me her face in the dim light. After taking a deep breath and letting it out, she continues, "After he got what he wanted..."

"I'm going to kill him," I mouth, cutting her off, my body shaking more from anger than shock.

"I'm sorry, Rick," she whispers, her tears running freely down her face, creating rivulets through the dirt and grime covering her cheeks.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Shelly. It wasn't your fault. But he's gonna be sorry before I finish with him."

"I feel as if I should be asking you not to kill him, because that isn't me. But I can't," she whispers. "I want him dead. More than anything. Not only so he won't ever be able to touch me again, but so he can't ever touch anyone again."

I'm just about to tell her that I will do everything within my power to bring an end to Rick, when the door above us suddenly flies open, banging loudly against the wall behind it.

# Twenty Five

At the top of the stairs looking down, his eyes wide with fear, stands Bob. Even in the shadows cast by the dim bulb, I can tell that he is bleeding from his nose or lip, a darker shadow running down his chin and staining the front of his shirt. While his left arm is dangling limply at his side, his right is twisted behind his back, probably by the man holding him.

Recognition and relief light up his face in the second before he is physically lifted over the threshold and thrown down the steps. With his right arm still behind his back and his left arm hanging limp and useless, there is nothing to break his fall before landing face first on the steps, his body literally bouncing, his head snapping back and then striking the next set of steps before coming to a complete stop against the hard concrete, unmoving.

Standing next to the giant ogre at the top of the stairs, a hideous grin on his bruised and loosely bandaged face, is the man I simply refer to as _Blue_. His eyes momentarily lock with mine, a harsh laugh erupting at the sight of my bruised and damaged body before the ogre pulls the door shut, the sound of a hasp being secured on the far side.

"Bob," I say, pushing away from the wall and crawling to his prostrate form.

As I reach out my bloody right hand to check for a pulse, Shelly moves up beside me, a deep look of concern on her face as she asks, "Do you know him?"

"Yes, he's a friend of mine," I reply, feeling a strong pulse beneath the heavy layers of fat. "He's alive, just unconscious. We need to move him away from the steps, but we don't want to do more harm than good. What's back that way?" I ask, indicating the direction from which she'd come.

"There's an old toilet and a faucet sticking out of the wall, but I don't know if the water is drinkable or not," she quickly replies, studying the rotund man lying crumpled at the bottom of the steps.

Reading her mind, I say, "If we work together, we might be able to drag him." I don't want to tell her that I'm concerned it was his girlfriend that might have betrayed us. But since she didn't arrive with Bob, that seems the only logical conclusion, and the thought that she could betray us, lies heavy on my heart. I was really beginning to like her.

"I'm doing better than you," she says, so let me take his hands.

"Can you stand?" I ask, studying her dirty bare feet.

"It hurts, but if I have to. I don't know what happened to my shoes, but no one bothered to bring them for me," she says, followed by a heavy sigh of sarcasm.

Despite our dire situation, her actions bring a smile to my face. Using the wall for support, she slowly rises, looking unsteady for a moment as she tries to hide the pain that is evident in her eyes. Leaning over, she takes Bob's pudgy hands in her own small ones and leans back, his body straightening out, but not moving away from the steps.

When I push up to my feet to give her a hand, I'm momentarily shocked by a sharp pain in my lower chest. The same pain I experienced earlier. Catching my breath, I shakily continue until I am standing facing Shelly with Bob lying flat on his back between us.

As I clutch my side, forcing air in and out of my lungs to keep from passing out, Shelly studies me with unease before asking, "Are you okay?" Moving unsteadily around Bob until she is standing next to me, she slowly raises my tee-shirt, her eyes growing wide at the sight of my torso, which is covered in a black and yellow bruise that extends across the entire area exposed by her lifting of my shirt. "This isn't good, Driver. You might have internal injuries."

"I'll see a doctor just as soon as we get out of here," I jauntily remark, trying to make light of my injuries to keep her from worrying any more than she already is.

Just then, a long moan escapes Bob's lips, and his arm rolls weakly across his face as if trying to block out the light from his eyes.

"Bob, it's me, Driver."

"Shit," he growls, moving his arm and looking up at me, as I crouch down to him. "Where's Darling? Did she get away?"

"I don't know, Bob. She was with you, last I knew."

His gaze shifts slightly to land on Shelly. "You must be Shelly," he says, reaching up for my hand to pull himself into a sitting position and almost pulling me down on top of him. Only Shelly's quick reactions keep us from becoming a human pile of bruised and damaged flesh on the floor, as she quickly reaches out and grabs my shoulder, steadying me and preventing me from toppling over.

With everyone steady again, Shelly acknowledges Bob, introducing herself, to which Bob replies, "Now I see why he's willing to turn the planet inside out to find you."

"Down, boy," I jokingly growl, noticing the light color in Shelly's cheeks from the compliment. "Let's get you moved before you embarrass yourself."

"Just give me a minute and I'll probably be able to get up on my own," he says, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth where his lip is split open.

While Bob takes a minute to get his wits back, Shelly and I explore the basement, looking for anything that might be used for a weapon or a means to escape. There are no windows, and except for the chipped and stained porcelain toilet and the tap sticking out of the concrete wall next to it, there isn't anything else either. No old timbers, no work bench, no stored items. Just a single rectangular room approximately fifteen feet wide by forty feet long made entirely of concrete. More than likely, the room has been thoroughly cleaned out so that it can be used for holding prisoners. Period.

Just as I turn the tap to see if the water can be used for cleaning ourselves up, Bob comes limping back to us, his breathing loud in the confined space. The water that comes out looks red and lumpy, a combination of rust and more rust. It splashes on the floor so I bend over and pick up one of the larger chunks that's mixed in with it.

"Rust," I mumble before dropping it on the floor. "We'll let it run for a bit. If it clears up, it should be good enough for cleaning ourselves with, if not for drinking." Turning toward Shelly, I ask of her, "What have you been drinking since they put you down here?"

"They brought me micro-waved burritos and bottled water yesterday and waited until I'd finished. Then they took the garbage with them when they left and I haven't seen anyone since. At least, not until you dropped in, literally."

Bob looks at me questioningly. "Yeah, I dropped in the same way you did," I reply with a grimace.

"So, now what do we do?" Shelly asks, meeting my gaze.

"About all we can do for now is sit tight and see what they have in mind. I'm pretty sure if they just wanted us dead, we would be already."

"I gotta sit down," Bob says, moving to the wall opposite the stairs and dropping down onto his butt, extending his legs straight out.

The water is slightly clearer, but still a muddy brown. Removing my tee-shirt, I soak it under the flow and wring it out, using the damp fabric to clean off my face. Rinsing it out a second time, Shelly takes it from me and slowly, being careful not to press too hard against my bruised torso, wipes my upper body off. The cool water has a renewing and rejuvenating effect on me, and I suddenly feel much more optimistic about our circumstances.

Since the water coming from the tap doesn't look like it's going to get any clearer no matter how long we let it run, I shut it off, noticing that there is a low spot in the floor next to the toilet where the water is disappearing down. It probably ties into the same pipe as the toilet.

Shelly and I move over and drop down alongside Bob, putting myself nearest to the stairs with Shelly in the middle. Though I wrung out my tee as dry as possible, it's still damp and now feels chilly against my skin, raising goose bumps along my arms.

Shelly is the first to break the silence. "We could hide under the steps and grab their feet when they come down. See how they like dropping in."

Although I thought Bob might have dozed off, a small chuckle comes from him.

"I admire your initiative, Shelly, but even if we had clubs to beat them over the heads with while they're down, there are too many of them for us to get them all. They also have guns," I say as kindly as possible, not wanting to dampen her spirit.

"What do you suggest?" she asks, not sounding disheartened in the least.

"I suggest we rest," I say, feeling the crash of a post-adrenaline high setting in. Before dozing off, I put my left arm around Shelly's shoulders, so thankful to have her here with me. Even if the circumstances that I now find us aren't exactly what I had hoped for.

# Twenty Six

We are startled awake by the banging of the door slamming against the back wall at the top of the stairs. Pulling my legs up, I slowly push myself to my feet, using the wall behind me to keep from falling over. Bob and Shelly are already standing by the time I turn back toward the stairs, keeping a hand on the wall for support. Shelly has wrapped an arm around my waist and is standing just slightly behind, also facing the stairs.

The alligator skin boots coming down the steps don't have a lick of dust on them, and the khaki pant legs flowing into them are still displaying fresh creases from recent dry cleaning. Though I've never met the man, short of our phone conversation, I realize immediately that I'm about to meet Mr. Luciano in person.

Above the pants is a white silk shirt, also neatly pressed, a bolo tie, and a Stetson to top off the whole package. If I didn't know him for the snake he is and the profession that he's involved in, I would guess him to be a well-heeled rancher or a successful rodeo star. He is taller than me by a couple of inches with a strong jaw, lean muscular build that looks like the product of hard labor, not a gym, and piercing black eyes that bely no emotion. Cold like the reptile he is.

Before he can speak, I say with a cockiness that usually gets me into trouble, "I hope you're taking care of my truck."

His lips turn up in a humorless smirk. "You figured that one out, huh."

Standing on the stairs behind him is Blue, a glare shining through his black and swollen eyes, my magnum in his right hand pointing at my head. Luciano slowly steps to the side, giving Blue room to join him on the floor.

"So what now? You got your merchandise back. You've probably already sold my rig to a chop shop that will make all evidence of your crimes disappear. It seems to me that all you have left to do is kill me and dispose of my body."

"Yeah," he sighs heavily. "If only it were that simple. But you couldn't just do as you were told and deliver the damned merchandise, could you? No, you had to drag your friends into it. Did you honestly think the three of you were going to take me down? Have you got any idea who I am? How big this organization is?"

"For what it's worth," I calmly reply, my voice steady despite the pressure of knowing that I'm about to die. Which, in and of itself, isn't all that upsetting. It's that Shelly and Bob are witnesses and they can't allow them to live either. "My intentions were never to take you down."

My words cause his eyebrows to raise as he studies me anew. He didn't expect that. "Really? You don't put me in mind of someone that would turn around and sell my merchandise for your own profit."

"Wouldn't I have just called the cops or the DEA if all I wanted was to take you down? It sure would have been a lot easier than this shit," I explain, not having any idea where I'm going with the conversation, but trying to keep him off balance and buy us some time. Because I have no doubts that he came down here to gloat before having the idiot with my gun take us out in the desert and make us disappear. Permanently.

"So what were your intentions, Mr. Driver?"

Though I don't expect him to buy it, I have to give it a shot. "I had every intention of delivering your drugs, and that is what we're talking about here, drugs. It wasn't my intention to get shot and left for dead at the borax quarry, though I still haven't figured out where that shot came from," I begin, not divulging that I saw the SUV up on the road and already figured out that he was behind the shot that was meant to kill me, if indeed he wasn't the one that actually took it.

"I was just there trying to avoid a guy named Rick because I had his girlfriend with me. And since the way he and I left things the first time we met, I knew the second time would be even worse for all concerned. I have to admit that I didn't expect him to outright shoot me, though."

"Not too smart taking another man's woman," he smirks, glancing at Shelly for the first time. "Though it appears to me that she prefers your company to his."

Shelly's arm tightens around my waist and I subconsciously place my right arm around her shoulders. "I like to think so," I drawl conspiratorially, never breaking eye contact with him.

Blue, whom I'd almost forgotten was there, let's out a derisive grunt, his eyes burning holes of hatred into me for what I'd done to him, if nothing else. There is no doubt in my mind that he's just waiting for Luciano to give him the word to finish me. In his mind, he has a score to settle. He's probably been made a laughing stock by the other posse members for letting someone get the better of him the way I had. The only way he can save face now is to put a bullet in my head.

Though my heart is racing, my outward appearance is calm and under control. I need to give Luciano the impression that we had no intentions of double crossing him. Maybe he'll reconsider killing us, figuring we might still be useful to him. With him holding all the cards, it's the only chance we have of coming out of this with our lives.

"So," I slowly start, unable to get a reading on him from his dead eyes. "Where do we go from here?"

"You're an interesting man, Mr. Driver. It appears that I'll have to give this situation some more thought. Good assets are hard to come by and your story has a ring of truth to it."

"You said you were going to leave it up to me, how I wanted to dispose of them," Blue hisses, clearly upset that Luciano is reconsidering our deaths.

Luciano shoots a warning glance at Blue and the man visibly cringes, swallowing any further words that were on the tip of his tongue.

"At any rate, we need to wait for Rick's return before we do anything," Luciano says, his eyes back on me, though his words are spoken for Blue's sake. "He runs this territory, and although I may give him advice from time to time, he makes all the final decisions here. As it should be. He is the one that will live or die based on the consequences of those decisions."

Without another word, he turns and retreats up the stairs. After giving me a smug grin, Blue turns and follows him. Based on the noise coming from above, there are many more boots thumping around up there. Even if we had overpowered Luciano and Blue, we would never have gotten out of the basement alive.

At the slamming of the door, followed immediately by the sound of the padlock being slipped through the hasp, I slide heavily back down onto the cold cement, my legs unable to support me for another minute. No sooner have I caught my breath, then the door above re-opens and two huge feet come pounding down the stairs. The weak-minded giant.

To my surprise, he is alone. In his right hand he is carrying a plastic bag like they use for groceries at all the supermarkets. Shelly involuntarily takes a step back as he approaches, almost tripping over Bob's feet. If I had any strength, I would rise and put myself between the big man and Shelly. But though I try to get up, my body is just too weak.

When he is less than four feet from me, he drops the bag on the floor with a deep, guttural grunt before turning and retreating up the stairs. The door slams shut and once again, the lock and hasp are engaged.

Shelly is the first to speak. "It's probably our food and water for the day," she says, stepping forward to retrieve the bag. Lifting it up to her face while holding it open, she peers inside at the contents before saying with a hint of excitement in her voice, "There's half a dozen bottles of water and probably close to a dozen burritos in here."

Without hesitating, she grabs out a bottle of water and hands it to me before turning around and handing one to Bob. Then she pulls one out for herself and places the bag next to me. "They only gave me one bottle of water and two burritos yesterday."

"My guess is, Luciano doesn't want us dead just yet. He obviously sees some further use for us. In the meantime, let's get healthy. Bob, you want a burrito?"

# Twenty S

# even

I'm not sure which tastes better, the lukewarm water or the cold burritos. Whether my words to Luciano can be accredited to buying us some more time or not, I'm not sure. But whatever has him keeping us alive, I hope it doesn't change when Rick returns from wherever he went, which I'm going to assume is going to happen tomorrow or the next day at the latest.

After one burrito, I'm unable to eat anymore and it keeps threatening to come back up. Something seems to be going on inside my body and the only thing I can think is that I received an injury during the fight at the borax quarry and when they struck me in the back last night, it aggravated the injury.

Yet, I don't want to advertise my pain and discomfort to Shelly and Bob. I don't want them thinking I'm weaker than I am, and I sure as hell don't need their pity.

"When we get out of here, I am never going to eat another burrito for as long as I live," Shelly says, finishing off her second one with gusto.

"I wouldn't go quite that far," Bob says, noticing that I'm not sharing their fervor for the food.

"Yeah, you would never rule out eating anything," I tease, my voice sounding weak even to me.

An uneasy silence ensues that has nothing to do with my teasing Bob about his eating habits, when Shelly breaks it, saying, "My name is Shelly Anne Walters. Surely you have a real name besides Driver."

"My full name is Robert George Dowry," Bob says, when I hesitate to reply to Shelly's leading statement.

"Dennis Duane Drivens," I resignedly admit. "I've gone by Driver since before I can remember. I'm told my father went by Driver, too."

The minute the words are out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back. "What happened to your father?" Shelly asks. "It sounds like you were told about him, but I'm thinking you never met him."

Before responding, I think about my answer. Though I have no qualms about sharing my childhood with Shelly, this is neither the time nor place. "Yeah, he was killed in battle while my mother was carrying me. I never got to meet him."

"Is that why you joined the marines? To follow in your father's steps?" Shelly asks, her voice tender with emotion and sympathy.

"I've actually wondered sometimes if I would have followed in his footsteps if I hadn't been given the choice between prison and military upon graduation from high school. It really wasn't much of a choice. Since everyone seemed to feel I liked to fight anyway, the military seemed like a natural choice for me at the time."

We sit in silence for a while, before Shelly softly says, :I know you said that you guys were involved in that man's business before you met me, but I can't help feeling responsible for all the bad things that have happened to you guys because of me."

"It's not your fault, Shelly," I weakly argue, sitting back against the cool concrete wall, my eyes shut against the bare light bulb, my body feeling exhausted, yet unable to sleep.

"He's right, Shelly," Bob says, sounding more like his old self. "If this is anyone's fault, it's mine for being so stupid in the first place." He pauses for a minute before slowly continuing, his voice on the point of breaking with emotion. "If anything good came out of this, it would be Darling, and now I think I've lost her too."

"What happened to you guys after I left?" I ask as delicately as I can, because until I know where Darling is, the verdict is still out on whether she can be trusted or not.

He hesitates for a moment, and I begin to wonder if my asking has upset him, when he suddenly says, his voice betraying his anguish. "We were ambushed. You were gone about thirty minutes when they came at us out of the dark from all directions. We were lying on the roof of the truck and they assumed we were inside, which might be why Darling wasn't captured with me and was able to slip away. The first thing they did was yank the doors open and poke their weapons into the truck. When I turned around, Darling was already gone. Then they noticed me on the roof and dragged me off."

"They might have killed you if they'd seen you were armed," I offer, understanding his concern for Darling, even if I'm not feeling it, yet.

"Yeah, they didn't kill me, but they thought they had to beat me into submission before throwing me into the bed of a truck and pointing guns at me."

"They didn't bring you right back here because they were toying with me," I offer. "Did Darling take the rifle with her?"

"I never saw the going of it so I don't know for sure." He pauses for a long minute before adding, "I'm really worried about her. I know she puts on a tough act and all, but she's really a gentle, caring person underneath."

"You don't have to tell me, Bob. She saved my life, remember."

Shelly tenderly places a hand on Bob's arm, saying, "I've not met her yet, but if she has friends like you and Driver, she must be a very special person."

"Yes, she is very special," Bob says, his voice drifting off.

Shelly slowly turns, resting her head on my chest. When she tries slipping a hand around my back to snuggle into my body for warmth and comfort, her hand brushes over the tender area just below my ribcage, causing me to involuntarily tense up. A slight gasp escapes me and she quickly pulls back, staring at me with concern in her eyes.

"You're hiding something. What is it?" Before I can answer her, she adds, "Don't lie to me, Driver. If you're injured worse than you're letting on, we need to know."

I can hear Bob shuffling behind me as he draws closer, also concerned.

"I caught a foot to my upper body, just below the ribcage here," I say, indicating where the pain is emanating from. "I think it happened out at the quarry that night, but it didn't hurt that bad. And then with everything that was going on, I had more important things to worry about. It wasn't until I took a blow to my back up there last night that it began to really bother me."

"Pull up your shirt," Bob says, sluggishly getting to his feet and moving around to stand in front of Shelly and me.

"Bob, we've been through this," I grin, trying to ease the high level of tension that has descended on the close space. "You know I don't swing that way."

As Shelly moves aside, Bob drops down onto one knee, and while I hold my tee-shirt up to my chin, he tenderly touches the most seriously bruised area on my torso. "What do you know about heal... Dammit Bob, that hurt," I cry out when his fingers lightly brush over the blackened area.

"As the dock foreman, I was required to take all kinds of first responder first aid courses." His fingers move lightly across my abdomen and up my chest. But the minute he returns to the tender area, my body tenses and it's everything I can do to keep from crying out.

Shelly reaches out and places her hand in my free hand, smiling worriedly at me when I glance at her, silently thanking her for the support.

Bob sits back on his haunches and I lower my tee-shirt, careful not to touch the sorest area. Even the soft touch of the tee is enough to cause pain. "Do you feel any swelling or bloating in your belly?" he asks, the nervous tension in his eyes belying his concern.

"I haven't taken a dump in a few days, but I also haven't had much to eat for the same time frame, so I'm not really worried about it," I answer him, giving him a strained look. _No one likes talking about their bowel movements in front of a woman that they're still trying to impress_.

"Well, you know I'm not a doctor, and an EMT would be better trained to diagnose you, but my guess is that you have a ruptured kidney." Before I can ask how serious and what I can do for it, he continues. "At first, I thought it might be a ruptured spleen, but that would cause much more widespread pain throughout your digestive tract. So that's good."

"More pain in my digestive tract," I cry out. "How the hell can that be good?"

"No, good in that it's not your spleen. If it was your spleen, you would need immediate surgery. But if it's you kidney, we just let it heal naturally. You must avoid injuring it further, of course."

"Of course," I mime, relief flooding through me.

"And, you must remember, in case something changes, this is just my best guess." He reaches forward and touches my forehead. Sitting back on his haunches again, he adds, "Also, if it were your spleen, I think you would be feverish and sweating by now. As it is, you are running a low grade fever, but that is nothing to worry about. Drink lots of water to keep you kidneys hydrated and flushed."

"Yes, Doctor Bob," I smirk, much more relieved than I'm willing to admit. _I'm not dying, yet_.

"Don't give him such a rough time," Shelly says, slightly admonishing. "He's only trying to help."

"It's okay, Shelly," Bob quickly says with a smile, getting to his feet and moving back to his place against the wall. "It's just his way."

"Thanks, Bob," I remark as Shelly snuggles back into me, being overly careful not to touch the tender area on my torso. "Let's all get some rest while we can."

Within minutes, I'm dead to the world. I have no idea how long we've slept, when the door above us is suddenly flung open, slamming loudly against the wall behind it, startling all three of us out of our slumbers. My eyes haven't even adjusted to the glare of the dim bulb above us when the sound of many heavy boots hurriedly thumping down the steps has me moving Shelly to the side as I rise to face what's coming next.

# Twenty Eight

The first to reach the bottom of the stairs is the man I've nicknamed Blue, my stainless .357 magnum held tightly in his grubby right hand is leveled at my midsection, his face still swathed in what are now dirty and stained bandages. Behind him is the large man with the learning disability. He doesn't appear to be armed, but after studying him for a minute, I come to the conclusion that he doesn't appear to need a weapon. He is more of a _hands-on_ type of guy.

The third and last guy to step off the stairs and look at us is the big man that I'm going to kill, he just doesn't know it yet. Rick.

While Blue and the overgrown idiot each take a step to the side, leaving Rick framed between them, I feel Shelly trembling beside me and I lightly push her behind me as Bob steps forward to stand next to me, keeping Shelly behind us. It's a brave move on Bob's part and I've never been prouder of him.

Rick's gaze is zeroed in on Shelly, his deep voice almost echoing in the confines of the bare cellar. "I was willing to give you a chance, even when I knew you'd slept with him," nodding toward me.

To my surprise, she yells at him, "I never wanted anything from you. Now, I just want to be left alone and my friends to go free."

"Yeah, about that," he drawls, shifting his focus to me with a sly grin on his face. "Not going to happen."

"What does Luciano have to say about that?" I ask, wondering how much of this decision is him, and how much is Luciano. Because if he's going to kill us, then I really misread Luciano. And that is so unlike me. I'm usually really good when it comes to my gut and reading people's intentions. It's kept me alive on more than one occasion.

"This is my territory, not his," he retorts, his voice belying barely concealed anger. "He doesn't tell me what to do."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," I derisively reply, fueling his anger further. "I have an idea," I say, locking eyes with him. "Why don't you and I go outside and duke this out like a couple of gentlemen. If I win, you let me and my friends walk away. No harm, no foul. We go our way and you continue doing whatever the hell it is you do."

"And if I win? What do you have that I could possibly want?" He suddenly laughs, adding, "Or what I haven't already had?"

"Shelly," I flatly remark, sensing her suddenly tense up behind me.

"She's right there. If I still wanted her, I'd just take her."

"If it was that simple, you would have done just that already." I pause, letting it sink in. "But if she agrees to go to you willingly upon you beating me, I believe she will."

"No," she hisses just loud enough for my ears. "You're injured. You won't win. He doesn't fight fair."

"What did she say?" asks Blue shirt, waving the gun in Bob's face.

"Tell him, Bob," I calmly advise him, wanting Rick to believe I'll be that much easier to beat and it won't be much of a fight.

Hesitantly, Bob says, "Driver is injured. He has internal bleeding and needs surgery. If he doesn't get treated within a few days, he'll probably die." _Damn, Bob, pour it on_.

"Maybe I should take you up on your offer," Rick says, feigning consideration. Then quickly adding with a smirk, "Nah." Turning to Blue, he says, "Take em out in the desert later tonight and make them disappear. I don't care what you do with the bodies, but they better never turn up or you'll be the next to disappear."

Blue actually licks his lips before answering, "It'll be my pleasure, Boss."

"Luciano's not going to like this," I say, fighting the desperation that even I can hear in my voice.

Without a word, he glances toward Blue, their eyes momentarily connecting before he turns and retreats up the stairs. Blue lingers a moment longer, waiting until Rick is out of hearing range, and then says with a sneer, "I'll be back later." Seeing the bag lying on the floor where we'd left it, a few water bottles and burritos bulging its sides, Blue scoffs before turning away, "You might want to finish that. It'll probably be your last meal."

Blue laughs derisively all the way up the stairs as the huge ogre, not truly understanding what's going on judging by the dull look in his eyes, silently trudges up behind him. When they reach the top, the door is pulled to, but for the first time since us being down here, it's not slammed. Nor is there the sound of the padlock being slipped through the hasp.

"We don't have much time before they come back for us," I say, my mind spinning madly and coming up with nothing. We need a plan, but the situation isn't the most promising.

"So, what can we do?" Bob asks, no sign of fear in his voice.

"I was hoping Luciano was going to keep us alive for a while longer. But if I had to guess, I'm thinking he doesn't have a clue what Rick is up to. And unfortunately for us, by the time he finds out, it'll be too late anyway."

As Bob moves over and picks up the bag of water and burritos, Shelly steps in close and wraps her arms around my waist, carefully pulling my injured body into her embrace. My right hand moves up to the back of her head, my fingers entwining her long blonde tresses, while my left slides down to the small of her back, pulling her in even tighter.

"We should probably drink the rest of this water," Bob says, holding out a couple of bottles toward us.

Slowly, I release Shelly and take one of the proffered bottles while Shelly accepts the other. "That was quick thinking on your part, Bob, telling him that I might be dying."

"Yeah, for all the good it did."

"Yes, but I saw him hesitate for just a moment."

"Maybe if I hadn't been so overwhelmed by the thought of being his, I might have helped by agreeing to your offer," Shelly says, before visibly shaking herself as if trying to dispel herself of the thought of Rick.

"Don't worry about it," I tell her. "There is nothing any of us could have done to make him change his plans. He knew what he was going to do all along."

"Then why come down here and taunt us?" Shelly asks.

"He just can't help himself. His whole purpose in coming down here was to toy with us like a cat toys with a mouse. The outcome is inevitable."

"Sometimes the mouse escapes because the cat is overconfident," Bob says, trying hard to dispel the feeling of defeat that is threatening to overwhelm us.

"So Bob, as long as I protect this area on my body," I say, waving my hand over the tender area below my ribcage. "I should be alright?"

"Even if you take a direct blow to your kidney, it probably won't kill you. Not immediately, anyway. But I can't guarantee you won't be short a kidney in your later years," he says, realizing why I'm asking.

I'm an ex-marine. I've been a fighter all my life. I won't go out without a fight.

"At least there'll be _later years_ ," I shrug, swallowing some water.

"Do you have a plan?" Shelly anxiously asks, her eyes searching mine.

It pains me to tell her that I don't. At least, nothing concrete. "All we can do is what a marine is taught to do, adapt and overcome."

"What exactly does that mean?" Bob asks, hoping for something more specific.

"Simple. Don't resist. Let them feel you've given up, that your spirit is broken and they're holding all the cards. That's the adapt part. Then, when they least expect it, an opportunity will present itself. When that happens, we do whatever it takes to survive and ultimately conquer. That's the overcome part."

"You make it sound easy," Bob says with a nervous laugh.

I'm about to tell Bob that it's not going to be easy, when the door above us swings open, once again slamming loudly against the wall behind it. But instead of someone coming down, a loud voice calls down to us, "Put your hands on top of your heads and slowly, one at a time, come up the stairs."

As I take a step forward, Bob lays a hand on my shoulder and says, "I'll go first. Let Shelly go next and you come up last. If they're going to kill us as we get to the top of the stairs, you will at least have an eye on Shelly and can come up fighting."

His suggestion makes sense, so I reluctantly let him go first. When he reaches the top of the stairs, there's the sound of a brief scuffle and some muffled curses followed by silence.

Then the same voice calls down again. "What the hell are you waiting for down there?"

On the verge of tears, her body trembling, Shelly grips me tight for a second longer, and then kisses me lightly on the lips before hurrying to the stairs and making her way up. Not wanting to lose sight of her, I move quickly to the bottom of the stairs and watch her until a man with a red shirt grabs her by the shoulder, a small gasp escaping her lips that has me hurrying up the steps.

But before I reach the threshold, Shelly has been escorted down the hall toward the kitchen area and the man with the red shirt is standing directly in my path aiming a Glock semi-automatic in my face. The grim look on his face says that he won't hesitate to use it either. Halting less than two feet from him, I slowly raise my hands to my head.

"That's better," he says in the same voice that had called down the stairs earlier. "Now move," he gruffly commands, waving the gun in the direction of the kitchen as he steps back and to the side to keep the two feet of space between us clear.

# Twenty Nine

When I turn the corner of the hallway, the man with the gun prodding me in the back with the barrel as he follows a short distance behind, I notice the sun shining brightly through the patio doors that I came through just the other night, and my friends standing with their backs to the island, their hands already secured behind them.

As I'm pushed in their direction, a man I don't recognize carrying a few zip ties grabs me by the arms and grunts, "Turn around and put your arms behind your back."

When I do as he instructs, he quickly and efficiently places the ties around my wrists and jerks them tight. Since I'm expecting it, I clench my fists a split second before he jerks the ties to expand the muscles in my wrists. Satisfied that he's done with me, the man turns and moves to stand next to the patio doors, and I slowly relax my fists. The little bit of slack that I feel in the ties won't let me slip my hands out of them, but at least the circulation hasn't been cut off and my fingers won't go numb.

Blue suddenly grabs me by the shoulder and twists me around before pushing me up against the island to stand next to Bob. Glancing around, I note there are only three men total already in the room, Blue, the ogre, and a man I don't recognize. With Red, that makes four altogether, each of them armed with handguns. I expected more.

"What now?" I ask of no one in particular.

"Now," Blue says with a lascivious grin, "We're going to go for a walk."

Nodding toward Shelly and her bare feet, I meet Blue's cold eyes and say, "You want to find some shoes for her first?"

He laughs, his reply removing all doubts of what they have in store for us. "Bitch ain't going to need no shoes where she's going." Then he looks down at my feet and Bob's before adding, "Neither will you. Anyone need a nice pair of boots, look to be about a size 10." He raises his eyes back to mine and says, "About a size 10. Am I right?"

The ogre chuckles and Red laughs as they're both enjoying the teasing Blue is putting us through. Only the man standing by the patio doors seems uneasy. "Rick probably left her shoes in his bedroom," he says, looking down at the floor while moving across the kitchen toward the hallway. "I'll go see if I can find them."

"Leave them!" Blue shouts, suddenly upset that one of his fellow posse isn't enjoying the show he's putting on. "I already said, the bitch ain't going to need them where she's going. None of them are going to need their shoes."

The room grows quiet with the tension brought on by Blue's outburst. The guy that was willing to get her shoes silently moves back to stand by the patio doors again. At first, I believed he was standing there to prevent the possibility of an escape. But now I think he is there only to facilitate his own escape. He must be new to the posse. He is definitely not comfortable with their antics.

Red is the next to speak, breaking the tension. "Where are you taking them?"

"You don't need to know that," Blue hisses, giving Red a scorching look.

_They don't trust each other, flashes through my mind_.

"You need to wait until dark, at least," Red counters. "You don't want anyone seeing them or it could bring the cops down on us. If that happens, Rick won't be happy."

"Shit," Blue curses, glancing toward the bright sunlight outside and silently gauging the time until dark falls. "Sit down!" he suddenly orders us, his face turning a nice shade of red.

In unison, the three of us lower ourselves to the floor. While Bob and Shelly drop all the way down until they're butts are planted firmly on the linoleum, I remain squatting, ready to spring into action if the slightest opportunity presents itself.

Red slowly moves past the island, as though he is going to look out the window, when he suddenly turns and kicks my right foot out from under me. As I sprawl awkwardly on the floor, unable to use my bound hands to right myself, he says, "The man told you to sit."

Fighting the pain in my lower side, I slowly work myself into a sitting position next to Shelly, who is studying me with a concerned expression. She noticed the pain I was in despite my best efforts to conceal it.

After taking a few deep breaths, I whisper to her, "I'm okay."

"Shut up," Blue shouts, kicking out at me with a heavy steel-toed boot and striking my exposed left ass cheek. If he knew that kicking me almost anywhere in the torso would subject me to debilitating pain, I have no doubts he would lay into me with glee.

After a few moments of silence, Red again breaks it, asking, "So what do we do with them until it gets dark?"

"Let them sit there."

"Are you sure _Retard_ is going to be enough? I can go with if you want," Red offers.

"You should bring him with," I nonchalantly remark to no one in particular. "After all, there are three of us."

"I'm not going to tell you to shut up again," Blue loudly declares, giving my left ass cheek an even harder blow with his foot.

"We can't afford any screw-ups, is all," Red says, ignoring Blue's actions.

"What? You think I'm going to screw this up," Blue shouts, getting into Red's personal space and trying to stare him down.

To my surprise, Red stands his ground, his eyes locked with Blue's, the rage rolling off Blue in waves. I want to say something to fuel Blue into taking action against Red, but fear the only action Blue takes will be against me.

Ah hell, I never could keep my mouth shut. "Sounds to me like he doesn't think you're capable of killing us without help. You must really be some kind of a screw up."

Probably shouldn't have added that last bit. The way he spins around, his boot connecting higher up my thigh feels like someone took a baseball bat to my leg. _That hurt_.

"I'm not going to tell you again," Blue shouts, spittle flying from his lips, as he waves my magnum around. "Next time, I'm just gonna put a slug in your head and these friends of yours can carry your body between em."

He suddenly calms down and storms out of the kitchen, heading down the hallway. In his absence, Red says to me, "I wouldn't push him, if I were you. He won't think about the outcome till it's too late."

I get the impression that Red wants to say something more, but catches himself when the sound of Blue's boots come thumping loudly down the hall toward the kitchen. As he rounds the corner, he tosses a pair of dirty sneakers at Shelly's feet. "You," he shouts, indicating the man by the patio doors. "You were worried about her damned feet, you can help her put them on." And then adds under his breath, "I don't want the bitch slowing us down tonight because she has sore feet."

Moving slowly, hesitantly as if not believing Blue means what he's saying, the man works his way along the back of the island until he's around the front and standing before Shelly. As he gets down on his knees, he glances uncertainly over his shoulder before picking up the first shoe.

"You heard me. Put em on her."

Turning, he momentarily makes eye contact with Shelly as if apologizing before slipping the first sneaker on her foot and lacing it up. His hands are shaking when he picks up the second shoe, expecting a bullet in the back of the head at any moment.

When her second shoe is laced up, he slowly rises and then quickly steps back to stand by the patio door, his face a bright sheen of sweat. The sun is beginning to wane, bright hues beginning to streak the sky. It won't be much longer before the blanket of darkness settles over everything.

As if reading my thoughts, Blue sneers at me, saying, "Yeah, won't be much longer now."

# Thirty

If this were a mission we were going on, I would take the opportunity to catch some shuteye. But if Blue has his way, I'm going to be getting all the shuteye I'll need for eternity. While the man that put Shelly's shoes on remains vigilant by the patio doors, the others raid the fridge in search of refreshments. After Blue reaches in, grabs himself a beer and steps aside, I notice that Red simply takes a bottle of water for himself and passes another to the ogre before looking over to the patio door and making eye contact with the man standing there, silently questioning whether he wants a bottle too. The man gives a slight nod of his head and Red lobs a bottle over our heads to him. No one offers Bob, Shelly, or myself one. Not that I expected them to.

My thoughts take a turn when Shelly slowly leans into me, her head against the side of my arm. If she's afraid of what's to come, she isn't letting it show. The girl really has some inner strength that I find very attractive.

"Fuck it," Blue says, crushing his beer can and dropping it on the island on his way to the fridge to grab another. With a fresh beer in hand, he turns toward Red and with obvious impatience, asks, "What time is sunset anyway?"

"You've lived around here longer than I have," Red replies, not offering anything else.

"Ah hell," Blue curses, slamming the beer down on the island counter top, an eruption of foam suddenly spraying everywhere. "It'll be dark by the time we get where we're going, anyway. Get up," he shouts at us while taking a step back and simultaneously pulling out my magnum and waving it at us.

"You taking the _retard_ with?" Red asks, moving toward the far side of the kitchen like he doesn't want to be involved, while the three of us struggle against stiff joints and unmoving circulation to regain our feet without the use of our hands.

"Fuck yeah. By tomorrow he won't even remember what he did today, much less with who and where the bodies are."

"I'm out of here," Red says, suddenly heading toward the patio doors.

"I'm with you," the guy standing by the patio doors says, shifting to the side and pulling one of the doors open. "If Luciano blows up at someone for killing this guy, I don't want it to be me."

"I didn't want any witnesses anyway," Blue angrily calls after the two retreating men. "Besides, Rick is the one that's going to take the heat for this, not me." But his voice falls on deaf ears as the two men continue on around the side of the building, headed toward the front where the cars are parked.

"Are you really sure this is such a good idea?" I calmly ask of him, trying not to agitate him anymore than he already is. "Rick might be your boss, but if Luciano gets pissed, Rick's going to use a scapegoat, and who better to fill that position than the man that killed me?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to think here."

While he paces back and forth in front of us, the magnum waving around madly, the huge man they keep referring to as _retard_ , silently moves toward the patio doors where he longingly looks outside. The expression on his face makes me think that in his simpleton mind, he wishes he had left with the other two men.

The sky is slowly turning grey as dusk approaches, the air coming in through the open doors already feeling cooler. Blue suddenly stops and, indicating with a wave of the handgun toward the patio doors, says, "All right, let's move."

"Are you sure you want to do this? Your friends are showing some sense. Maybe you should consider that they might know what they're doing," I say, shuffling toward the doors with Shelly close behind me and Bob bringing up the rear.

"Shut up," Blue yells at me. "And pick it up, I don't want to be out all night."

When we get out on the patio, I stop and turn back toward the doors, waiting until Bob and Shelly have pulled up on either side of me, also facing back the way we'd come. The ogre follows Blue out the door, his face lacking any expression. "If this is personal, then just take me out and kill me. There's no reason these two have to die because of my mistakes," I state, still hoping he sees reason before it's too late.

"You're going to die tonight, but not because of what you did to my face," he replies.

"Then why? Is it because you're just a sick, murdering son-of-a-bitch that likes to kill people that can't defend themselves? Cut me loose. Let's do this like real men, just you and me. Leave them out of it," I add, nodding to either side of me.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he replies with a smirk. "You forget, I've seen you in action twice now. There's no way I'm letting you get anywhere near me with those hands and feet."

"Then let me fight the big guy there," I suggest, nodding towards the ogre. "If I win, you let my friends go and you still have me. And if I lose, well, you don't have to hike out in the desert because it won't be your ass on the line."

He studies me for a long moment before glancing briefly at the ogre, whom appears out of it, and then looks back at me as though he's seriously considering it. The thought of watching someone else beat the shit out of me excites him. I feel a flutter of hope spring to life in my chest.

But since he is holding the gun, and hence, that means all the cards, he decides against a change of his plans. He wants to be the one to kill me. _Revenge_.

"Single file. The girl first and the fat guy last," he states, dashing my blossoming hopes. "And don't try anything, because if I have to shoot one of you, the other two will just have to carry the third." He pauses for a second, then looks at the ogre and angrily shouts, " _Retard_!"

"Boss," the big man says, looking away shyly, as he's unable to make eye contact with Blue.

"You follow behind them. If anyone gets out of line or falls behind, break their neck. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Boss. Break neck."

"Do you remember how you break necks?" Blue asks him, clearly for our benefit and not the ogre's.

The big man grips an imaginary neck between his huge hands and twists them like you would wring out a dishrag, while making a grizzly noise deep in his throat.

"That's right," Blue says with a twisted grin before turning back to the three of us. "I suggest that you don't drag your feet or step out of line, because he will..." ending his sentence with a repeat of the ogre's performance. And then quickly dropping his hands as if all negotiations are over and taking off in a direction that has us hiking between the old barn and the hacienda.

When we pass the barn, and then a couple of old pieces of farm equipment buried in mounds of dead tumble weeds that have gotten caught on them over time, we come to a faint trail that is just wide enough for a dirt bike or single file hikers. Already, I can hear Bob wheezing loudly from the exertion and my head is starting to throb. A cold sheen of sweat is covering my face, the cooling night air almost refreshing in its intensity against my sweaty skin.

As we follow the trail, the sun dips below the horizon, leaving us in total darkness. If we're going to make a move, the time is near. And then, just as a crazy plan formulates in the front of my mind, a bright light comes on behind us, clearly illuminating our column and the trail ahead. It isn't necessary for me to turn around to know that the ogre brought a battery powered floodlight with him. Maybe I've been underestimating his mental prowess all this time based purely on looks and perceived demeanor.

And then maybe not, as Bob yells over his shoulder, careful not to look into the light and lose his night vision, "Shut that damned thing off! You want the whole world to know we're out here. I told you to bring it, I didn't tell you to use it." He pauses for a moment, and then resignedly adds as he continues marching ahead, "At least, not yet." The big guy is also carrying a couple of shovels that he grabbed off the deck.

Based on our speed and the relatively easy terrain, which has only fluctuated between slight rises and dips, I'd estimate that we'd covered almost four miles, when Shelly suddenly stumbles. In an effort to keep from falling face first into the dirt, she stumbles forward on a collision course with Blue. At the last second, Blue hears her coming up behind him, but he's too late to take evasive action, and she pummels headfirst into the small of his back, striking him hard enough with her forehead to knock him off balance.

My opportunity just presented itself.

Since Blue is the only one carrying a weapon, he is my first target. That leaves poor Bob to keep the ogre occupied until I can dispatch with Blue. But even before I can make my tired legs move, a shot rings out, the slug whistling past my head so close I can feel its breath against my damp skin.

But the sound came from behind, not from Blue.

Shelly is lying down in the trail ahead of me, squirming on her belly like a worm with her hands still secured behind her back as she tries desperately to make herself disappear into the deeper shadows, while Blue is in a crouch and running headlong up the trail away from us.

It takes me a second to realize what Blue has already figured out, the shooter behind us isn't one of his posse. They weren't shooting at me, they were either shooting at the ogre behind us or they were shooting past me at Blue. _Either one, they're a very lousy shot_.

Without even realizing what I'm doing, I'm suddenly sprinting forward, my head lowered like a battering ram, my legs pumping madly, already feeling weak and rubbery from the hike. But adrenaline is an amazing drug, and I'm not feeling anything short of super human strength, as I race through the dark, the shadowy form of Blue bobbing and weaving on the trail just a short distance ahead of me, a distance that might as well be miles.

Less than twenty-four hours earlier I was literally on my death bed. And now, after a long hike through the night desert, I'm giving chase with both hands tied behind my back after a mean son-of-a-bitch that's armed with my gun. Though I'm not thinking of those things as I quickly gain on the older man that hasn't kept himself in shape. Nor am I thinking of the fact that he could easily stop, turn around, put a bullet in me, and then continue on his merry way.

Only because Shelly was on the ground and moving, was I able to put my worries and concerns for her temporarily out of my mind. My only concern in this moment of time is stopping Blue. I can't let him escape and report back to Rick or Luciano. He must be stopped at all costs if I have any hopes of stopping Luciano. But even more importantly, if I'm going to have any chance of getting revenge on Rick for the way he's treated Shelly, I have to stop him.

Though I'm not normally a vengeful person by nature, I've never wanted anything more in my life than to make him pay for his sins. And more importantly, make sure he is never able to treat another human in the same manner.

But these thoughts are far from my mind when Blue suddenly pulls up short. Moving as if in slow motion, he pivots on his left heel, spinning around to face me, his bandaged face unreadable in the dark. His eyes are burning brightly, shining with a mixture of fear and surprise. Fear from the sound of footsteps gaining on him. Surprise at recognizing his pursuer is none other than me.

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, a breathless laugh of relief escaping his open mouth, the gun slowly coming up, the barrel having never looked so large and ominous in that moment, a cavern of death and destruction that is darker than its immediate surroundings.

Just when I'm sure he's going to pull the trigger, my right foot lands on a rock, throwing off my precarious balance, and I jig slightly left, my momentum still carrying me forward, the sound of the magnum deafening in my right ear. And then my head connects solidly with Blue's lower belly, knocking him backwards off his feet as a loud whoosh of escaping air bursts from his lungs.

My feet hook with his and I come down hard on top of him, unable to use my hands to break my fall. I'm aware of the magnum, still held tightly in his right hand, jabbing me in the torso, just below my ribcage. The sudden jolt of pain is extreme, and I almost wish he would pull the trigger, putting me out of my misery.

But there isn't time to feel the pain, and reaching inward, I push it to the recesses of my mind and roll off him, instantly bringing my knees up to my chest and slipping my arms around to the front of my body. Though my wrists are still secured tightly by the zip ties, I can now use my hands, and the first thing I do is grab the gun that he's still holding securely in front of him. Using the training that I was given in the Marine Corp, I turn the barrel back on him, while simultaneously jerking it upward in an effort to dislodge it.

Struggling for air, but aware of what's happening, instead of releasing the weapon, he grips it even tighter, determined that I won't get it away from him when my second or third quick jerk causes his grip to slip on the gun's grips with his index finger still curled around the trigger.

The sound of the shot is much more muffled than the one that he fired at me in the moment I tripped, as the barrel is pressed into the soft part of his belly, the trajectory of the bullet travelling downward through his intestines and into his groin area before exiting somewhere beneath him, burying itself in the desert floor.

His eyes widen with shock and surprise, his body spasmodically twitching, his grip on the gun now slack as I pull it away and roll off to the side, turning the weapon in my hands until I'm gripping it with only my right before pushing up to a kneeling position and turning the weapon to cover him.

Frantically, his eyes search his surroundings, the pain now pronounced in their depths, the earlier shine gone. When they land on me, his mouth begins working, pleading for help, but no sound comes forth. The darker area surrounding his lower body is growing quickly, as his blood flows profusely from the internal damage caused by the slug tearing through his organs.

His eyes suddenly roll up into his head, only the whites left showing when his body gives one last heave upward, and then deflates against the ground with a shuddering exhalation, the life force having moved on. _For Hell, for all I care_.

# Thirty One

With the rush of the moment past, the adrenaline quickly recedes and the pain steps forward, encompassing my entire being. My body is crying out that it's had enough, it's ready to lie down and just give up.

But I can't do that. Not yet. There is still too much that needs doing. And I have to find Shelly. I have to make sure she's alright.

Unable to straighten up enough to get to my feet, I move forward on my knees until I am beside the corpse that was once Blue. After tucking my magnum into the front of my waistband, I hurriedly search through his pockets, finding nothing of value, except for a disposable flip phone and a bottle of water. The phone will definitely come in handy.

Fighting against the pain, I force myself to my feet and turn back in the direction of the others, thoughts of Shelly giving me the strength to put one foot in front of the other. Even with the pain, having my hands in front of me makes it much easier to navigate the trail in the dark.

I haven't gone more than a hundred feet, my steps slow and unsteady, when Shelly comes running down the trail towards me. Her eyes light up at the sight of me, and my heart flutters. This is the women that I've been searching for all my life, and I know that without a doubt now. If anything comes out of this pain, it's the truth of what I feel for this beautiful woman throwing herself against me and her arms around my middle just before I collapse in a heap on the ground, dragging her down with me.

As the dark night closes in around me, a softer, warmer darkness engulfs me, shutting out everything else. Somewhere, far off in the distance, I can hear Shelly calling out for help. Her voice is anxious and full of fear, but she is free and alive. I can't ask for anything more. _I can die now knowing that I made things right with her._

Slowly, I come around to the sensation of something poking at the center of all my pain, aggravating it and pissing it off so that it's lashing and clawing at my insides, determined to make me pay for neglecting its earlier mewling's. Reflexively, my hand lashes out, grabbing at the source of my new pain. Before it can pull back or react, my fingers lock around the soft flesh of a human wrist.

Opening my eyes, I am face to face with Darling, her face just mere inches from mine as she looks into my eyes, studying them for probable signs of a concussion.

Still holding her wrist firmly in my right hand, I grumble angrily, "I passed out. I wasn't knocked out."

"Yes, Darling see that," she calmly replies, not showing any reaction to my angry outburst. "Bob also tell you no hurt self. Possible kidney rupture. But you no listen to him. Nooo," she replies, drawing out the word as if reprimanding a child, before moving back into a squat position to hover beside me, not even trying to pull her arm free. "You go after man with gun when own hands tied in back."

Feeling too weak to maintain my anger, I break eye contact with her and look away before meekly saying, "I couldn't let him get away, he had my gun."

"Humph," she snorts. "You buy nother gun."

My fingers grow weaker and my hand slips off her wrist, the momentary bond that we were sharing precariously between us breaking.

"Where's Shelly? Is she okay?" I anxiously plead of her.

"Shelly okay. She make big argument. Bob take her with. They bring back truck."

Reaching into my front pant pocket, I carefully pull out the phone I took from Blue. Handing it to her, I say, "Here, call 911."

"And what, tell them you kill someone?"

While I consider her words, I begin to wonder where the ogre is. As if reading my mind, she says, "He tied up. Over there," she adds with a nod of her head to indicate somewhere out in the darkness. "Bob and me work good together."

"Thank God," I sigh, my entire body relaxing into the ground as if the earth is swallowing me up in its embrace. Growing too weak to raise my head, I ask of her, "How am I doing?"

"You live." After a moment, she adds, "We take you hospital now."

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice fading into the darkness.

Not sure how much time has passed, but the sky is turning a lighter shade of Navy blue as the sun threatens to rise beyond the horizon to the east. When my eyes flutter open, a deep rumbling coming from the ground beneath me causes my body to tremble. It takes only a moment to realize that I'm feeling a vehicle approaching.

Darling is on her side, cuddled up to me, the 30-06 rifle that I'd forgotten existed, awkwardly placed between us like a child. Fortunately, she has clothes on, because I would not have been surprised to find her naked and when questioned, use the ruse that she is keeping me warm.

Like me, she too can feel the rumblings through the desert floor of a vehicle approaching. Without a word, she sits up and looks in the direction of the hacienda, the direction from which we were marched out onto the desert to be put down like rabid dogs not that long ago.

"Can you see anything?" I rasp, my throat parched.

"They come," she replies, opening the cap on half a bottle of water and, after helping me sit up, holding the opening to my lips and pouring some into my mouth. "Not too much. Sorry," she explains, as she pulls the bottle away before I've barely taken enough in my mouth to work my swallow reflex.

Moving stiffly, she gets to her feet, pulling the rifle up into her arms and holding it at the ready without actually aiming at anything. The truck is Bob's SUV. It's bouncing and rocking slowly up the trail with its lights off. In the rapidly increasing daylight, I can see two silhouettes in the front seat.

Just knowing that I'm going to be riding back in that jostling vehicle causes an involuntary cringe. The fact that Shelly and I will be together is the only consolation I can find in it.

When the vehicle finally pulls to within twenty feet of us, it rolls to a stop and the engine shuts down, the immediate silence deafening in the burgeoning light of day. When Bob steps out of the driver's side and Shelly hobbles around the passenger's door and stumbles hurriedly toward me, there's a huge smile of relief on her face at seeing me awake and conscious. Darling visibly relaxes, her own face a beacon of light as she watches Bob hurry toward her.

I don't know for certain how long I was unconscious, but judging by our reunions, it would appear to be more in the length of days or weeks, not hours and minutes. Shelly drops onto her knees by my side, her shoes now missing their strings, and wraps her arms around my head, pulling my face up to meet her descending lips. We kiss long and hard, savoring the moment with every ounce of our being. My relief is overwhelming, the intense pain in my lower torso momentarily forgotten. Even the pounding that was so prevalent in my head just seconds earlier, takes a back seat to the joy that I feel in Shelly's embrace.

"We need to get going," Bob says, reluctantly pulling away from Darling's embrace, yet keeping a hand on her shoulder as if afraid she might disappear otherwise. "I don't know when Rick is due back at the hacienda, but someone in that gang is going to be asking about that guy that brought us out here last night when he doesn't return this morning."

"Good point," I agree, my voice sounding stronger after the brief rest.

When I put my hands to either side and try to sit upright on my own, Shelly quickly wraps her hands beneath my armpits and pulls me forward while Bob hurriedly steps around behind me and assists until I am upright, even if a bit wobbly.

Leaning heavily on Shelly, I look around the area, the light of day now full upon us. "What are going to do with the ogre?" I ask of no one in particular. If my head weren't so fuzzy, I might be able to figure it out on my own. But given my condition, I'm drawing a blank.

"We tied him up with Shelly's shoe laces," Bob offers with a bashful grin, clearly wanting to tell me how he and Darling had over powered the huge man the night before, but knowing the timing isn't right and we have more important matters to contend with in the immediate moment, such as getting me into the SUV.

"Leave him," Darling flatly remarks. "He get loose before he die."

Glancing at her and seeing the hard set of her face, I decide to take her advice rather than argue a point that I'm not convinced of. "Then we'll leave him. But," I continue, glancing around the area again and not seeing the big man anywhere, "where is he?"

"Back down the trail a short piece," Shelly answers, as we slowly work our way to the SUV.

"I didn't realize that I'd chased him that far," I softly remark.

"You ran like someone possessed," she replies equally softly, the conversation being shared just between the two of us. "And I cowered."

"You're not a trained soldier, Shelly. By taking cover and staying safe, you made it possible for me to do what needed doing without having to worry about you."

"Thank you, even if you're just saying that to make me feel better about the way I acted."

"It's the way I feel," I reply, leaving no room for argument as we reach the open passenger's door of the truck. Shifting my weight to the door instead of Shelly's small frame, I say, "Maybe I should lay out in the back."

"The trail's pretty rough, Driver," Bob says, coming up beside Shelly. "You might be more comfortable strapped in up front here."

"There's no way you're putting a seatbelt around my middle," I grin, the thought of a belt jerking against my battered torso causing a chill to run down my spine. "Just help me over the tailgate and I'll get in back."

"If you're sure."

"Yeah, just take it slow till we hit the main road," I state, pushing off from the door and stumbling a couple of feet before Shelly and Bob get on either side and help me up on the folded down tailgate.

While I'm sitting on the tailgate, a sheen of cold sweat forming on my face from the exertion, Shelly quickly scrambles around to the rear door and climbs in so that she is kneeling behind me. While Bob lifts my feet, Shelly places her hands in my armpits and lowers me down to the carpeting while sliding me further inside until Bob tells her I'm good and raises the tailgate, leaving the hatch window open.

Darling has spent this time stowing the rifle in the passenger's side foot-well up front, the barrel pointing toward the roof, but leaving it accessible for the drive out. She hands the partial bottle of water over the seat to Shelly, who is making herself comfortable on the carpeting beside me, intent on keeping me from being jostled around the back during the ride out.

Bob climbs in the driver's seat with Darling beside him. After starting the SUV, he shifts it into drive and then calls out over his shoulder, warning us that he's about to take off, "Hang on."

# Thirty Two

I don't remember much of the ride to the hospital after the initial bouncing and jostling of getting turned around. At one point, I became aware of Shelly shifting next to me as she lifted my head onto her lap. When we reach the hospital, Bob pulls up to the emergency entrance, leaving Darling to run in and raise the alarm while he opens the back of the truck and raises the hatch.

Within seconds, emergency staff are lifting me out of the SUV and placing me on a stretcher. Then I'm treated to another rough ride through the hospital corridors, all the while Shelly is running alongside, holding tightly to my hand and saying words that I can't hear through the din in my head.

When next I wake up, I'm aware of Shelly sitting next to my bed, her hand firmly grasping mine. Her eyes are closed, but she looks better. Her hair is clean and I'm sure I can smell the sweet fragrance of peaches over the sterile scent of the hospital disinfectants.

Rolling my head to the other side, I notice Darling hurrying toward me, Bob still sitting on a second chair along the wall near my feet, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling rhythmically in sleep.

"Darling," I rasp, my throat parched.

Grabbing the plastic cup of water sitting on the bedside table, she reaches across me and holds it carefully to my mouth, tilting it until it's slobbering down my chin.

"Better?"

"Better," I reply, my voice clearer. "How am I doing?"

"I already tell you," she replies in her chopped accent.

"I know. You told me I was going to live."

"What more you want know?"

At that moment Shelly stirs, her eyes opening and finding mine. Still holding my hand, she jumps out of the chair and leans over me, kissing me softly on the lips before pulling back and drinking in the whole sight of me.

Before she can speak, I say with a smile, "Darling was just telling me I'm going to live. You think you could fill in some of the finer details?"

She returns my smile, nodding her head in the affirmative as if at a loss for words.

Bob steps up beside the bed next to Darling, his chubby hands rubbing the sleep from his eyes before confirming that I'm awake, and then saying, "I'll let the nurse know that you're awake." When he turns to go, Darling follows him out, silently closing the door behind them, leaving Shelly and me alone for a few minutes.

"What happened since I was awake last?" I ask her as she brushes a soft kiss to my forehead.

"They operated on you. I don't know all the specifics, but you have a lot of stitches inside that beautiful body of yours. They treated Bob and myself for dehydration and cleaned up our cuts and bruises." She pauses for a moment, still full of relief after everything we'd been through. "The people here are really nice. They asked us a lot of questions, but I think they believed our story of off-roading and crashing and being stuck out in the desert for a few days."

"How long have we been here?" I ask, even though it didn't feel like it could have been all that long.

"We came in around noon yesterday and it's about seven AM now."

Whispering so as not to be overheard by anyone that might be near, I ask of her, "Have you heard anything about what happened, on the news or anything?"

"Nothing. What do you think that means?" she whispers back, her face close to mine.

"They would have found his body by now, or the ogre should have gotten loose and returned to the hacienda. Either way, they have to know we escaped and will probably be checking hospitals looking for us. They know by now that we haven't contacted law enforcement, but they still can't risk leaving us alive. We need to get out of here as soon as possible."

Before I can say anymore, the middle-aged floor nurse comes charging in, her stout build, short cropped hair in a bun and stern demeanor all business. "I'm happy to see that you're awake, Mr. Drivens. It was a rough night. Your body has been through quite a traumatic experience." She studies my chart in silence for a long moment before adding, "We also did a brain scan because of that nasty wound in your scalp. It's healing nicely and there doesn't seem to be any long term side effects that you need to look out for, I have to admit, in all my years nursing, I've never seen anything quite like it, though. Your friends said you hit your head on a bolt last week while working on something under your truck, but darn if that doesn't look more like an impact wound."

Realizing that she's fishing for information, or for me to say something that doesn't jive with the story that my friends have already given her, I simply remain silent, not offering her anything one way or the other.

After a long moment of awkward silence while she realizes that I'm not going to comment on the subject, she moves on to the more recent injuries. "Okay then. You have quite a few internal stitches. If you heal properly, we won't have to address them again, as they will dissolve in time and your body will simply absorb them. But in the meantime, while you're healing, you need to be very careful. No rough housing or riding off road. Even if you don't crash again, the bouncing could tear the stitches loose. And if that happens," she pauses to take a deep breath, as if to empathize the point, "you will be right back in here. That is, if you don't die first from internal hemorrhaging."

"Thank you," I sincerely reply, making eye contact with her to reinforce my gratitude. And silently acknowledge what she already suspects.

Turning to go, she stops and checks something off on the chart hanging at the foot of my bed. "The doctor will be in later to check on you. If you need anything in the meantime, just alert one of the nurses with that button thingy hanging off the side of your bed."

Before I can thank her again, she turns and struts out of the room, determined to take charge somewhere else. As the door swings to in her wake, Bob and Darling slip back inside. Darling is the first to speak. "When go home?"

I involuntarily cringe at her words, as it suddenly dawns on me that I no longer have my truck, aka my home. Picking up on the wave of tension that flows through my limbs, Shelly rubs my upper arm, saying, "We'll get another truck."

We?

Gritting my teeth as a wave of anger rolls over me, replacing the tension, I harshly state, "Luciano is going to pay for more than a new truck before I'm done with him."

"We're in this with you," Bob quickly chimes in. "Whatever help we can give, you have just to ask and we'll do it."

"Get me out of this damned hospital," I hiss, aware of Shelly's grasp tightening on my arm.

"Relax, honey." She gives Bob a warning glance before saying more. "You need to heal first. You heard what the nurse said. If you aren't careful, you might rip your stitches."

Just her words and the touch of her hand on me has a calming effect. Not to mention that she said _we_ will get a new truck. With the receding anger, a fresh wave of exhaustion flows in to fill the void. Again, Shelly reads my thoughts. "You rest, baby. We're going to go downstairs and get some breakfast, then we'll be right back and figure out how much longer you need to be in here."

"Luciano or Rick won't risk showing up here in person, but they'll have their goons out in force by now, so keep your eyes open. If you see anything that doesn't look or feel right, get back here immediately." Without turning my gaze away from Shelly's beautiful blue eyes, I resolutely add, "Do you understand, Bob. No heroics. Just get your asses back here on the double."

"I'll be with them, Driver," Shelly says with a knowing smirk, as she reluctantly releases her hold on my arm and moves toward the door, letting Bob and Darling lead the way. Just before she steps out of my line of sight, she turns back and blows me a gentle kiss. I return it with a wink and then succumb to the overwhelming need for rest.

Sensing more than hearing someone in the room, I push my eyelids up, the crust of sleepy dust blurring my vision momentarily. Yet, I can see someone in a lab coat hovering near the side of the bed and my mind instantly goes on alert.

"Good, you're awake," comes a deep baritone voice. Before I can say anything, he introduces himself. "I'm Dr. Kildare, and no jokes please, I've already heard them all."

I have an instant smile on my face and know without a doubt that I like this doctor.

"Nice to meet you, Doc," I rasp out, my throat once again parched.

"The nurse will get you some water in a minute. I just need to make sure everything looks good and that nothing is amiss. How are you feeling?"

"Weak. Are you the one that operated on me?"

"I am. But until we know you're well on your way to recovery, I won't be advertising that fact," he says with a smirk and a wink. He's easily into his sixties, athletic looking, with kind eyes and a warm smile.

"How long before I can get out of here, Doc?"

"In a hurry, are we? Because if you're planning anything amorous with that cute little blonde that's been hovering all over you, you might want to put it on the back burner. Sex is the last thing you need right now. Even if the effort didn't tear out the stitches, the energy expelled could set your recovery back weeks," he says with a twinkle in his eye as he moves a stethoscope over my lower abdomen. "I'm going to recommend bed rest for the next two weeks to give that organ some time to mend. But if you're determined to get out of here, you can always go against my orders and sign a waiver. But mind you, I'm not recommending it."

"Thanks Doc," I reply, a growing determination to get out of here taking shape in my mind as he returns my chart to the hanger on the foot of the bed and turns to go.

Over his shoulder, he says, "Whatever you decide, just remember, nothing strenuous for at least two weeks. And then, only after you've had someone qualified check you out. The stitches should be dissolving by that time, so it'll be your most crucial time." He gives his words a moment to sink in before adding, "Do we understand each other?"

"Absolutely, Doc. Thank you."

He hesitates as if he knows I'm not going to follow his advice, but at the same time realizing that no matter what he says, I'm going to do what I have to do irregardless of the consequences to my body. And then he moves on to his next patient, letting the door slowly swing shut behind him.

It has barely clicked shut, when Shelly comes hurrying in with Bob and Darling close on her heels. Before I can ask, I sense the urgency in their movements. Shelly is the first to speak. "Was that the doctor?"

"Yes. What's going on?"

Ignoring my question, she asks, "What's his prognosis? How long do they want to keep you here?"

Before I can tell her that the doctor recommended two weeks of bed rest, Darling pipes up, "We must go now."

Before Shelly can argue with her, I've swung my feet over the side of the bed and Bob is rolling a wheelchair around for me. "Driver, you're not supposed to be moving around this soon after surgery," Shelly argues, her voice rising with a mix of anger and anxiety. But no one is listening to her which only increases her anxiety level.

Placing a hand on her forearm, I calmly state before letting Bob help me into the wheel chair, "We don't have any choice, Shelly. I'm a sitting duck here in this bed and you guys aren't willing to leave without me. What choice do I have?" Then I soften my voice and say, "With you guys looking after me, I won't come to any harm."

She pauses for a brief moment, giving my words some thought. I know the idea of being alone together is working on her and she quickly caves. "I'll have the duty nurse pull up the necessary forms for you to sign."

Squeezing her arm gently before she can pull it free, I smile at her, whispering softly, "Thank you."

# Thirty Three

With me sitting upright in the front seat next to Bob, the seatbelt wrapped laxly around my waist and over my shoulder for show more than anything, we head away from the hospital in search of a motel where we stand a chance of not being discovered by Rick's posse.

Little is said during the drive that has turned into an exploration of back streets and out of the way industrial parks when we come across an almost deserted mini-mall. Of the surviving stores still in business, there's a liquor store with its windows brightly decorated and displaying all the finest in alcoholic beverages situated next to a convenience store advertising mail boxes and prescription services in its windows.

"Here, Bob," Darling commands from the back seat.

Without question, Bob turns into the cracked and broken parking lot, dodging the larger potholes before pulling up in front of the convenience store and shutting the engine off.

Shelly quickly says, "I'll go with you. The sign says they cash personal checks. We'll need some cash if we're going to stay under the radar. We also need toiletries and some pain killers."

When the two girls are out of the truck, I mention offhandedly to Bob that at least we still have the guns, even if the only ammo we have is what's in them. Moreover, we can't risk buying any more since the transaction may be reported to Rick or one of his minions. There's no telling how far his reach goes in this area.

"So, what now, Driver? I doubt if I still have a job. You don't have a truck. Shelly left her job, and Darling has thrown in with us, betraying Luciano and his cartel. Our prospects aren't exactly glowing."

"Bob, we're still alive," I reply, sensing his declining mood. "In the marines, we'd call that a victory. It was a hard fought battle, but this war is far from over."

"Our savings ain't going to last forever," he continues, his negativity beginning to weigh on me.

"Bob, shut up. Before this is over, I promise you, a job at that dispatch warehouse will be the last thing on your mind. First, I'm going to take care of Rick and pick up some operating capitol. Then I'm going to take down Luciano. In the process, he's going to pay us all back for everything he's put us through, and then some. Interest, you know," I smirk, hoping Bob gets the hint and drops the bummer attitude before I have to reach across the seat and shut him up. Because frankly, I'm just not in the mood for it.

We sit in silence, watching through the front windscreen while glancing around occasionally out of habit and the real fear of being caught off guard, when Shelly and Darling come bouncing out of the front door of the store, their faces animated as they exchange laughs and smiles.

Dropping their bags on the back seat, Shelly says, "We'll be right back." And before I can say anything to stop them, she swings the door shut and follows after Darling into the liquor store. _What the hell?_

Within minutes, they come prancing back out, each carrying a paper sack concealing their purchases. After their back in the SUV and we're heading out towards the street, Darling orders Bob, "Go right."

Without a word, Bob pulls up to the quiet street and turns right without stopping.

"Where are we going?" I ask over my shoulder, convinced that they've both lost their minds, or they know something good and are simply toying with Bob and me. I'm hoping it's the latter.

The sky has taken on a deep purplish tint with the threat of a thunder storm in the cooling air creating an almost surreal feel to the area. Most of the houses are rundown, many are boarded up, and in some cases, inhabited by junkies and crack addicts, their garbage strewn everywhere.

Though I don't repeat myself, it hasn't escaped my notice that neither of them have answered my question, when Darling suddenly gives Bob another command. "Left, there," she almost shouts out, startling everyone in the rig as she points towards the next street just before Bob reaches it.

Taking it faster than is safe due to Darling's last minute instructions, we turn up another street that has more traffic on it than the one we'd just turned off from. The houses also look better kept, even if only slightly.

Darling is almost completely over the back rest of the front seat like a little kid looking through the front windshield, when she suddenly points at a large three story Victorian that has seen better days, saying excitedly, "There. We go there."

Without questioning her, Bob swings the SUV into the drive and pulls up in front of an old detached garage that doesn't appear large enough to house a Mini Cooper.

"Out. Out," she commands all of us, swinging the door open and bailing out, only to stand impatiently between the truck and the steps leading up to the front door.

Bob is the first to reach her, while Shelly helps me out of the front seat and offers a shoulder to lean on as we come around the back of the truck to join them. "What's going on?" I whisper in her ear, taking in the fresh scent of soap, shampoo, and something else that is all woman.

"Darling made this deal, so let's just let her enjoy it," is all she says in reply, a smirk turning up her beautiful, oh so kissable, mouth.

Waiting until Shelly and I are almost to them, Darling turns toward the front steps, and with Bob in tow, hurries up to the porch and immediately slams a heavy brass knocker mounted on the wall next to the door. It's dark patina suggests that it doesn't see much use.

When the door opens, the person standing there is tall, thin, in need of a haircut and shave, approximately in their twenties, and rubbing his eyes as if he'd just been woken from a deep sleep. And judging by the wrinkles in his tan slacks and untucked, button up shirt, he's wearing the clothes he slept in.

"So, you guys made it," he says uninterested. "I just got off the phone with Phil. Let me show you around, then I have to get going."

Now my interest is really piqued. But not wanting to sound unappreciative, I keep my mouth shut, at least until the tour is over. Then Shelly and Darling can explain what they got us into. Because I have no doubts that there's a catch to all of this. You don't just prance into a neighborhood store and come out with a rental agreement in hand.

The guy introduces himself as Phil's son, Adam, and while he shows us around the house, leaving myself to sit in a plush recliner on the main floor in a large room overlooking the street, the rest of them head up the stairs to be led around the second floor. I did catch that the third floor is off limits, that's where Phil, the store owner lives. The kitchen and open spaces on the main floor are considered shared spaces, as well as the main floor bathroom. The garage is also available for our use, if the SUV will fit in it.

How Darling and Shelly arranged this just by going into a convenience store, I have no idea. But I'm sure that once we're all alone, Darling will elaborate in great detail, with more than a few embellishments.

When I hear their footsteps coming down the open stairwell, I push out of the recliner and meet them near the bottom of the steps. Only then do I notice the large, older beige suitcase leaning against the wall between the foyer and the kitchen.

"Okay," he says cheerfully, the excitement of meeting new people combined with the exercise of the tour having fully wakened the young man. "I'll be back week from Monday. If you have any problems, just give my dad a call at the store. Otherwise, it's all yours."

"Are you sure you don't need a ride to the airport?" Bob asks.

"Nope. It's all good," he says with a flourish, grabbing the beige suitcase and hurriedly making for the door like someone running late for an important date.

"Bye," Darling says to his backside as he pulls the door shut behind himself.

"I'm going to see if the truck will fit in the garage and bring in our supplies," Bob says, moving toward the door.

"I help," Darling quickly chimes in as she catches up to Bob, clearly not wanting to be left behind with Shelly and me when she sees the questioning look on my face, which only makes me more suspicious about our _good_ fortune.

"Before you say anything," Shelly starts, even before the front door has fully closed behind Bob and Darling.

"I'm all ears," I simply state, crossing my arms over my chest and giving her an inquisitive gaze.

"First, let me put me a kettle on and get the mugs ready for some coffee and tea," she suddenly blurts, scurrying into the kitchen.

My arms dropping to my sides in defeat, I debate following her into the kitchen. Instead, I'm drawn back to the comfortable recliner in the front room, where I settle in and watch the tail end of the SUV disappearing into the little garage. It looks like it was tight, but it fit. So it won't be sitting out in the open. Thank God for small favors.

As Bob and Darling come in the front door, Shelly passes in front of them with a steaming mug in each hand on her way to the front room. "There's coffee on and hot water for tea in the kitchen, guys," she says cheerfully in passing, their arms full of supplies from the SUV, Bob holding the rifle close to his side so it isn't conspicuous. "We'll be in the front room."

"You want to tell me what's going on before they get in here?" I ask Shelly, giving her an opportunity to come clean, as she hands me a cup of coffee and keeps a mug of tea for herself.

"Short version, Darling couldn't find something she had her heart set on, so she demanded to see the store manager, whom is also the owner of this house. Somehow, believe it or not, they clicked. He promised to order in whatever it was she wanted, but in talking with her, Darling found out that his son was living here with his dad, but had to go out of town for a week or so on business. He, Phil, is concerned about this place sitting empty during the long days he puts in at the store, the neighborhood in decline and all, and Darling told him we needed a place for a short while. Before I knew what was going on, he was giving Darling a set of keys and was on the phone with his son." She stops and takes a deep breath, her smile lighting up her face.

"Why does that not surprise me?" I reply sarcastically, once again, even more impressed with Darling.

# Thirty Four

With steaming mugs in their hands, Bob and Darling join us in the front room. Shelly and I are snuggled together on the plush recliner, while Bob and Darling choose the cushions in the window seat. Without much discussion, it's decided that Shelly and I will take the lone bedroom on the main floor, while Bob and Darling will have their choice of bedrooms on the second floor. Phil, our benefactor and owner lives on the third floor, but there is an outside staircase in back that he prefers to use and doesn't come down to the main floor except when visiting his son, which means we'll have it pretty much to ourselves for the next week, if we stay that long.

Although I'm anxious to get after Rick, I'm smart enough to realize that I need to recuperate first. And I can't risk putting any of these people with me at anymore risk than I already have. They've grown close to me and have already done more than anyone had a right to ask of them. I need to finish this on my own. First Rick, and then Luciano.

"Didn't you guys hit the liquor store too?" I ask softly, though no one really looks like they're going to get up and fix drinks. Fatigue, combined with a good dose of relief and comfort, has turned us all into immobile lumps of human flesh.

"Tomorrow," Darling flatly replies, her voice sounding tired and distant.

Speaking just loud enough for Shelly to hear me, I ask if she's ready to explore the bedroom before we fall asleep in the chair and wake up regretting it in every joint and muscle of our body come morning.

"Yes," she whispers softly, moving her lips up to mine and brushing across them softly, as if giving a hint of what's to come.

"Hey guys," I say loud enough for Bob and Darling to hear, as Shelly slips out of my arms before turning back to offer me a much needed hand up. "We're going to go explore the bedroom," I remark, wincing slightly from a stab of pain in the proximity of my internal stitches.

"Good night you two. Try not to make too much noise, we're going to be trying to sleep right above your heads," Bob says with a grin.

"Do I look like I'll be swinging from the chandeliers anytime soon?" I grumpily reply, holding Shelly's hand as she leads me down the hall to the only bedroom on the main floor.

Pushing the door shut behind me, I hear Bob and Darling's footsteps on the stairs. Turning to reach for the light switch, Shelly's voice comes to me from across the room. "Leave the light off. We won't be needing it."

Turning away from the door to face her, I'm surprised to see her silhouette on the edge of the bed, a soft yellowish light coming through the curtains from a distant streetlamp highlighting her long blonde hair as it falls loosely around and over her full breasts, the darker areolas surrounding her tight nipples standing out like a siren calling a sailor to the depths.

Moving toward her, I stop just close enough to feel her knees press against mine. Pushing her jeans down, I notice immediately that she's not wearing any underwear. Letting them fall to the floor, she kicks them aside and then stands before me, her body so close I can feel the heat of her through my clothes.

Slowly, she grabs the hem of my tee-shirt and pulls it up and over my head, throwing it across the room so it lands near her own. With a slowness that is driving me wild, she runs her hands up my bare chest before running the palms down to my waist and undoing the button before slowly, oh so slowly, worrying the zipper down before grabbing the waistband over either hip and pushing them down over my waist, my erection springing free and wedging against her belly.

Stepping out of my jeans, I gently run my hands around to her back, rubbing her soft flesh with my fingertips, a small cooing sound emanating from deep in her throat, sending a wave of heat through my veins. Slowly, teasingly, I run the tips of my fingers up to the base of her neck before changing direction and sliding slowly down to the small of her back, teasing the firm roundness of her ass before heading back up again.

Her hand tenderly encircles my manhood, a slight tremor running through her body with the contact, exciting me even more, threatening my control over myself. "If you aren't careful, this will be over before we even get started, baby," I whisper in her ear, my teeth nibbling the lobe gently before trailing kisses down the side of her throat, my hands slipping beyond the small of her back and full on cupping the cheeks of her ass, massaging them in rhythm with her strokes up and down the length of my shaft.

My mouth glides over her cheek, landing solidly on her lips, my tongue instantly pushing against her lips, fighting for admittance, which is quickly given, as her tongue slips into my mouth. Her mouth tastes like hot chocolate and Shelly, a flavor that has instantly become one of my all-time favorites.

Sliding back onto the bed, she spreads her thighs before me, her hand guiding my swollen shaft toward her core, tenderly pulling me forward. But instead of letting her slip me inside the warm folds of her, I lean over, my lips hurrying to the hard beads of her nipples, suckling on first one and then the other, the sound of her breath loud in my ears, the beat of her heart racing in her chest.

"Ooh, Driver," she moans when I pull away and lower myself to my knees, my mouth trailing kisses down her tummy, pausing briefly to torture her navel before continuing lower.

Her hands are on my shoulders, and then tangling in my hair, pulling me forward one minute to guide my mouth to her core, and then trying to push me away in the next, her thighs rising and falling, her feet finally settling on the edge of the mattress as she gives in to my ministrations.

Using my thumbs, I gently spread the folds of her core apart before my tongue slathers into her, searching for the nub of nerves that will send her over the edge. "Oh, Shelly baby, you taste so good," I say into her, the wisp of my breath sending tremors the length of her body.

Her feet suddenly slip off the edge of the mattress causing her body to jerk forward, my teeth momentarily striking the sensitive nerve bundle, a spike of pain and pleasure soaring through her, pushing her body over the edge as she screams my name, over and over.

With a desire that I've never felt toward another human being, I relish the taste of her orgasm, savoring the unique flavor of her body. When she finally comes back to earth, I slide up on top of her, a condom already sheathing my manhood, and slide into the hot center of her being. "Oh baby, you feel so good," I whisper hoarsely, my hands holding her ass steady as I begin driving into her, my pace increasing with her breathing as she climbs toward a second climax, one that I share equally with her, stitches be damned.

After the headiness of our love making, we're lying in bed, her naked body snuggled up against mine with her thigh draped over my waist, her head lying comfortably on my chest. Together, we pull a blanket over our sweat glistening bodies, the night just beginning in earnest, when she suddenly says. "You haven't said what we're going to do next," catching me on the verge of dozing off.

It isn't necessary for me to ask her what she's talking about, there's only one subject dominating our minds anymore. "You're not going to do anything," I say, the words out of my mouth before I even realize I've spoken them.

Her body tenses, jerking away from mine, the suddenly exposed flesh is quickly chilled by the cooler night air that has seeped into the room. Sitting up straight, her back stiff as a board, she glares down at me in the amber glow from the streetlight. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be in this mess," she angrily huffs.

"Honey," I softly reply, hoping to calm her before her anger can turn into something more. "We already discussed this. I just didn't know that Rick worked as a distributor for Luciano." I pause to take a breath before continuing. "I doubt if that would have remained unknown to me once I went after Luciano. At least by meeting you that night in the restaurant, I got to meet the leader of the crew that Luciano would have sent after me, irregardless of your part in it."

She sits in silence for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is soft, almost pleading, but no longer angry. "I owe you my life, Driver. You can't not let me help you with this."

"Okay, you can help, but you're not going anywhere that isn't safe," I reply, relieved by her understanding. "Tomorrow, I'll need a ride to the bank so I can get another credit card and report the original stolen. I also need to pull out some cash for expenses. Then, I need to get to DMV and get a replacement driver license so I can rent a four wheel drive unit. Plus, I still have to report my truck stolen. Maybe I'll get lucky and the cops will turn it up parked somewhere. If not, I'm sure my insurance will take care of it."

"You know they're going to be waiting for you to come after them," she solemnly states.

"There hasn't been anything in the news about a body found out in the desert, so they're definitely not advertising the fact that there's about to be a war. So yes, they're planning on taking me out without any fanfare, which can only mean there's a contract out on me. Or they're hoping I'm stupid enough to come after them on their turf."

Without a word, she pulls the blanket back over us and snuggles in against me, the feel of her breasts pressing softly into my side causing the rise of my manhood happening despite my need for rest. Unfortunately, her breathing grows steady and shallow before I can do anything more than hold her close.

# Thirty Five

The next morning, Shelly and I wake to the fragrant smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying. The sun is up and shining brightly in through the window that had allowed the streetlamp to enter all night. After a quick breakfast with Bob and Darling, Shelly and I pull the SUV out of the garage and head into a better part of town where we find a branch of my bank.

"Do you have any money?" Shelly shyly asks of me, as we ascend the steps leading up to the front doors of the bank.

"They stole my truck, honey, not my bank account," I smile back at her, holding the door for her to enter ahead of me. "We'll need to speak with one of the ladies at the desks," I whisper, guiding her with a hand in the small of her back.

When we leave the bank, I've got five grand in cash and a shiny new credit card. Surprisingly, there are no new charges to my missing card, which simplified things immensely. The kind lady that worked with me also let me use her phone to call my insurance carrier. They informed me that before they can proceed, they'll need a copy of the police report, so I explained that I didn't have one on me, but that I would fax them one just as soon as possible. The lady on the phone said there was no hurry, but she took notes to help speed up the process for when I contacted them in the future.

From the bank, Shelly jumps behind the wheel and drives me to DMV, where I purchase a replacement license, complete with a new picture of my ugly mug that's replete with fading bruises and a head bandage. Granted, the head bandage is now just an overgrown Band-Aid covering the actual wound and not a complete head wrap.

"What's left?" she asks, climbing in behind the wheel of Bob's SUV.

"We need to find a car rental place that has four wheel drives, and not some citified SUV for soccer moms."

"I know just the place," she says with a sly grin.

When we pull into a large paved parking lot in front of a multi-door shop advertising custom lift kits and exhaust systems installed, I smile sheepishly at her. "I'll have to wait in the truck while you conduct business," she says, smiling happily. "I've been here with Rick, though I doubt they'd recognize me. But just to be safe, I'll stay out of sight."

Unable to resist her, I lean across the seat and plant a kiss on her cheek, wanting to take it further, but she's still driving. Sitting back, I proudly declare, "You're an amazing woman, Shelly."

"I know," she replies, smiling smugly.

Parking near the entrance from the street so she can come crashing in to save me if things go south, I enter the front office, instantly impressed with the cleanliness of the place and the clean cut appearances of most of the workers. There's a lot of pride showing in this business and I immediately feel relief wash over me. Because there's no doubt I'll have to leave my credit card number and name for deposit on a vehicle rental, I was concerned over how connected Rick might be to the business. Seeing the place in person, I feel strongly that this business has zero connections to a drug distributor of Rick's caliber.

The man introduces himself as the owner and after I explain that I need something to go exploring out in the desert, maybe even do a little prospecting, he leads me down a hallway that exits at the rear of the building in a cyclone fenced area almost half as large as the front parking lot. All along the top of the steel fencing is a strand of razor wire. Within the fenced compound are several jacked up rigs sporting oversized tires. I recognize an older Suburban, but the rest are lost on me. That is, until my eyes roll over a dark green CJ-5 Jeep.

"How about that one?" I ask, pointing at the jeep.

"That's actually my personal driver," he laughs. "Not many people want something with a rag top in these parts. Least of all the locals."

"Is it available or not?" I ask, trying not to show too much interest, since we haven't discussed rates yet.

"Sure, why not," he says resignedly. "I'll need your insurance information, copy of your driver's license and a credit card."

"No problem. What's this going to set me back?"

To my surprise, because he didn't think anyone would want to rent a topless rig with the bright sunlight that's so prevalent to southern California, he gives me quite a good deal on it by the week, with an open ended agreement, no less. When I come tearing around the side of the building, heading straight toward Shelly, her eyes grow to the size of saucers. Pulling up beside her, I quickly explain that I need to stop along the way back to Phil's house to pick up some items, but that she should get Bob's SUV back under cover.

I jump down from the jeep and lean into the driver's window, kissing her amorously with a little tongue action before stepping back and smiling at her flustered expression before watching her drive off.

Climbing back up into the jeep, I head to the nearest Army Surplus store and make my way directly to the manager. I figure if anyone knows where to find the items I'm going to need, it will be him. And to my good fortune, he doesn't disappoint.

Lighter by two grand, I carry my purchases to the jeep and head back to Phil's house. Worn out from the day's efforts and still weak from recovering, I stop along the way and pick up several large pizzas to go, figuring I'll surprise everyone.

As I walk in the door, I smell fresh bread baking, and am greeted by Shelly with a warm embrace and hotter kiss. This time, before I can even set the boxes of pizzas down, or the large canvas sack slung over my shoulder, she slips _me_ the tongue and then quickly pulls back, a coy grin turning up her full lips.

Setting the canvas bag down carefully in the foyer, I hurriedly take the pizzas to the kitchen and deposit them on the table before turning to find Shelly, whom is nowhere in sight. Darling quickly scoops up the boxes of pizzas and opens the oven door and slides them inside.

"You're going to set them on fire," I comment over my shoulder, more concerned about where Shelly got off to so quick than I am food.

Scooping up my canvas bag, being careful not to bang it up against anything due to some of the more fragile items in it, I head down the hall toward our bedroom, noticing immediately that the door is ajar and the lights are out. Pushing the door aside, I reach for the light switch, when Shelly's voice comes out of the darkness, barely a breathless whisper. "Leave the lights off."

Smiling, knowing what she's doing, I innocently inquire, "What are you up to?" barely able to keep the excited laugh out of my voice.

"You're not the only one that can kiss and run. What do you think that does to a girl?"

Unable to wipe the grin off my face, I slowly move into the room. "What do you think that does to a guy?"

"Well, you started the fire. Now come here and put it out," she replies, her voice husky with emotion.

Our lovemaking, while tender and emotional, doesn't come close to the physically demanding antics of the night before, yet it leaves me physically drained.

When Shelly realizes that I'm not faking it, she offers to bring me some warm pizza and beer when she returns, climbing off the bed and pulling the covers back over me before slipping into a pair of jeans and tank top, sans bra and panties.

When I wake up, the sun is again shining through the window and a warm woman is snuggled up to me, a plate with cold pizza sitting on the nightstand next to the bed alongside an empty bottle of beer. A grin turns up the corners of my mouth as I picture her drinking the beer and not touching the pizza while I snore ignorantly beside her.

Not wanting to move for fear of breaking contact with this soft, warm woman that has become a major part of my life, I slowly slide my arm up until I can feel the silkiness of her hair entwined in my fingers. She is so beautiful in so many ways. After Molly, I truly believed that I was done with women. Not because Molly and I ended badly, but just the opposite. Because we ended up as such close friends, I've not felt any need for anything more.

But Shelly is different. She is so much more than anyone I've ever known. She has this unspeakable power over me, yet I know she'll never abuse it or take advantage of it. I've given her my heart and everything that goes with it, including blind trust.

"You're awake," she whispers groggily, rolling slightly to increase the area of contact between our bodies.

"Yes," I reply, knowing that I need to get started. "I'm going to be heading out today."

"I know," she sighs resignedly. "You'll come back to me, promise."

"There is nothing on this forsaken planet that could possibly keep me away from you." _And there is nothing that I won't do to keep you safe_ , I silently swear to myself, knowing full well that I will be taking actions that some might find unconscionable. I killed protecting my country. I will kill to protect the woman that I've come to love more than life itself.

"You promise?" she repeats, holding back a well of tears that is threatening to break loose.

"I promise, baby. I will be back," I state with resolve, turning to face her.

Her eyes are red from crying, and while my heart aches for the pain that I'm causing her, I know there is no alternative. As long as Rick is alive, Shelly is in danger. Even from prison, he could reach out to her. My mission has never been clearer. The term _extreme prejudice_ has never rang truer.

Kissing her forehead, and then her closed eyes, before moving down to her lips, the connection between us seems hotter every time we touch. If there is one firm truth in this life, it's that I know with certainty that I will never get enough of the woman lying next to me.

Though it tears something deep inside my soul, I break off the kiss before it can lead to more and swing my feet over the edge of the bed, pulling myself up into a sitting position. I'm only slightly surprised and disappointed when she doesn't grab me, pleading me not to go. The larger part of me is proud of her that she doesn't. It shows again just how strong she is. And yet another part of me wishes she would, because I might just put it off a little longer.

When I come out of the shower, the bed is made, the cold slices of pizza and empty beer bottle are gone and I can hear voices drifting down the hallway from the kitchen. After slipping into a pair of desert khakis and matching tee-shirt, I pull on my worn boots with the steel toes beginning to show through the worn leather, and head into the kitchen.

Bob is sitting across from Shelly and Darling is plating up stacks of pancakes, mugs of coffee already setting in front of the places at the table. Dropping onto the chair next to Shelly, Bob is the first to break the uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. "Shelly says you're going out today."

I throw a quick glance in Shelly's direction, noticing that she is studiously watching Darling so that she doesn't have to make eye contact with me, before replying. "Yeah. I'm feeling much stronger thanks to the soft bed rest," I lie. In truth, I still feel weak as a newborn, but I can't shake the feeling that I need to take this war to Rick before he finds out where we're hiding. There's no doubt that he has a large underground network of snitches and informants working the streets looking for us, anyone of which could stumble upon us without warning. And all of them will gladly inform him of our whereabouts for a couple of bucks or a dime bag of coke with little or no regard of the consequences that will come raining down on us.

Darling takes that moment to set plates of food out in front of us, the one with the largest stack of cakes ending up directly in front of me. "Eat," she orders, making it clear that I'm not getting off with just a mug of coffee.

The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a butter knife as we all eat in silence, not even tasting the food we're putting in our mouths, though I'm sure it's delicious, if for no other reason than Darling made it.

With my plate cleaned and a sodden weight of pancake in my gut, I finish off my mug of coffee before pushing back my chair and getting to my feet. "I make coffee for you," Darling says, placing a full thermos of coffee on the table in front of me before meeting my gaze, a deep look of sorrow mixed with concern in her eyes. Then she quickly grabs Bob by the arm, dragging him out of the kitchen so that Shelly and I can have a moment of privacy before I go.

"Why can't I drive you?" Shelly quietly asks, holding back a river of tears.

"This is my fight, Shelly. I can't afford the distraction, and if you were anywhere near, I'd be more worried about you than doing my job."

"It's not a damned job," she hisses angrily, the tears beginning to leak down her cheeks.

Her anger and concern are my undoing. Sliding off the chair, I move to stand next to her, pulling her unresisting body into my arms and holding her tightly against me.

"It's going to be okay, baby," I whisper in her ear. "I'll be back before you know I've left."

"It's not going to be okay. Don't tell me it's going to be okay, because I know it's not. It's never going to be okay." She takes a deep swallow of air and looks into my eyes, my chest tightens at the depth of her understanding and love for me. "You're going out there to kill a man. That will never be okay."

I would be lying if I denied it. If there was any other way to solve this problem, I would take it in a heartbeat. Just because I've killed in the past, doesn't mean it's something I relish. It's something I bear, and she's right, I'll carry it to my grave. It will never be okay. But it will mean that she's safe, and I'd willingly trade all my tomorrows for that one thing.

"No, it will never be okay." I hold her for a long time, feeling the urgency of needing to get started growing stronger by the second. When she slowly pulls away from me, I notice the front of my tee-shirt is wet from her tears and I teasingly remark, "Doesn't look like this shirt will need laundering this week."

She weakly strikes my chest with her open palm and I grab hold of it before she can pull it back, yanking her back into me before tenderly placing my lips over hers. It's a soft, passionate kiss that says things I can never put into words.

Pulling back, I study her face intently, wanting to remember every little thing about her. Then, I retrieve the thermos of coffee that Darling put together with some sandwiches in a plastic bag, and walk toward the front door, grabbing my bag of gear before heading out the door without so much as a glance back, afraid that if I see her tears again, I'll change my mind and stay.

Once I reach the jeep, I glance back toward the front of the house. At first, there is no sign of movement. But then, after I've put the gear lever in reverse, my foot resting lightly on the clutch, the curtains flutter in the window to the right of the front door. After a moment, Shelly's face appears, a tentative smile turning up the corners of her worried expression.

I smile back before letting the clutch up and hitting the road. It's already high noon, and I have a lot of ground to cover.

# Thirty Six

Within minutes, I've wound my way out of the residential district and entered a more sparsely populated part of town that opens out onto the eastern desert. At first the houses are palatial estates, but gradually they decrease in size, and then become the occasional shack. There is little traffic on the roads the farther from civilization that I get, and before long, I am looking for the offbeat path that is headed in the general direction that I need to go.

When the road drops down into a shallow valley that hides me from view, I pull over and climb out. Going around to the back of the jeep, I retrieve my canvas bag and lay out most of the contents in the small area behind the front seats, placing a Glock, shoulder holster, ammunition, 2 spare clips, a Ka-bar knife, and a GPS unit that I've already loaded the coordinates for Rick's place into on the two front seats. Looking over the stuff scattered in the rear, I pick up the NVGs and move them to the driver's seat next to the Glock.

Standing there, deep in thought, I think through what is about to go down. After a long moment, I add a couple of bottles of water and a handful of energy bars to the gear up front along with a small camouflaged sling pack. Then I change into the desert camo outfit that I also picked up at the surplus store along with desert boots and a camouflaged boonie hat to shield my eyes from the sun. I look at the 30-06 for a moment before deciding against it. If I have to kill anyone today it's going to be up close and personal. They're going to know who is doing the killing and why.

Before pushing the remaining gear back into the bag, I add a pocketknife, a pack of zip ties, and some para-cord to the items on the front seats. When I look over my assortment of items, I suddenly wonder if I'm not over preparing. If I were operating at full strength, the weight wouldn't be a problem. But in my reduced capacity, every item represents that much more weight I have to carry. Which equates to that much sooner I will run out of energy.

Shaking off the thought, I strap on the Glock 17, insert the Ka-bar into my boot, and fill 3 magazines with 9mm parabellums, suddenly wondering if I shouldn't have asked about silencers. Sliding a clip into the Glock 17, so named because it was his 17th patent, and not because it just so happens to hold 17 rounds, I slip the remaining two clips into a forward pocket on the front of my camouflaged cargo pants.

Next, I fit the NVGs over my head and adjust the strap so that the goggles rest on the front brim of my boonie hat for ease of use. What I think I will need on the run, I distribute throughout the pockets of my pants, the rest is delegated to the sling bag along with the remaining ammo.

It's about two hours till full dark yet, so I eat the sandwiches Darling fixed for me along with finishing off the remaining coffee, now cold, and climb back into the driver's seat. Turning on the GPS unit, I let it lock onto the satellites, then make a mental note of how far and in what direction Rick's hacienda lies. Strapping the unit to the front of my shirt, I carefully adjust it so that I can glance down and easily see my position in relation to my destination.

Firing up the jeep, I set off cross country as if I'm just some dude out for a day of playing with his four-wheel drive and doing some target shooting or rabbit hunting. Just another GI wannabe to the casual observer. I have no doubts, however, that Rick's posse is on high alert following the death of Blue and our escape. If any of them were to see a jeep bounding cross country, it wouldn't just casually be ignored.

Glancing down at the GPS unit, I notice that I'm six miles from Rick's hacienda as the crow flies. The topo map of the area is showing a lot of detail, but nothing like an actual satellite image can provide. Unfortunately, this mission doesn't have the backing of the US Government, hence, no real time satellite support.

Stopping the jeep, I climb up on the seat back, using the roll cage for balance, and search the surrounding area for some place I can effectively stash the jeep. Just leaving it in a ravine isn't going to work this time, since I have no idea what kind of resources Rick has available to him now that I know he's connected with Luciano. A low flying plane or helicopter doing surveillance patrols in the area surrounding the hacienda might do a five mile radius. But if they go farther out and come across the jeep, I'll be dead before I know it. It's bad enough just knowing they're already expecting me, I don't need to advertise from which direction I'm approaching.

About a thousand yards off to my right, I notice a slightly brushier area and quickly decide to head in that direction. As I approach, I see a slight dip in the terrain and instantly steer toward it. Pulling up to the edge of a steep drop that tapers down into a bowl shaped depression measuring almost five hundred yards across and filled with a mixture of dead and living brush, I shut off the jeep and slowly work my way down the bank, pushing dead tumble weeds and limbs out of my way as I slide and stumble down to the bottom.

Thirty feet down, I reach solid ground, a mixture of smooth rocks, hard-packed sand that's been washed in from many rains, and a thick layer of decaying debris that is crisp and crunchy beneath my feet. It's a strange geological depression to someone ignorant in such matters such as myself. But even this idiot can tell that it's a water hole in the spring and early summer before drying up in the late summer heat.

Climbing back up to the rim where I'd left the jeep, I look back out over the depression and notice now that the vegetation is greener as you draw nearer to the center where the moisture must linger longer into the summer. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I determine that what I'm looking out over is an abandoned borax mine. Probably dating back to the turn of the century.

The climb back up to the rim leaves me short of breath and sweating profusely. Plopping heavily into the driver's seat, I fish out one of the bottles of water and drink it down before tossing the empty container into the passenger's side foot well, questioning my sanity at attempting such a venture in my current condition.

Yet, something is niggling in the back of my mind, warning me that I'm running out of time. In the past, my instincts have always been spot on and I've learned to trust them with my life. This time won't be any different.

Starting the jeep, I send it over the lip and ride the brakes down to the bottom, crashing loudly through the dead and dying brush. When I approach the bottom, I let off the brake and step on the gas, the big engine kicking up the RPMs and propelling me forward through the standing brush. It's too late now to worry about scratching the paintjob, as the dry brush scrapes along the body panels like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.

By the time I've gone several hundred feet into the basin, the brush is standing almost to the top of the roll cage. Stopping the jeep and shutting it down, I carefully climb out over the hood and slide down the front. Using my hands, I pull the brush away from the front of the engine before slowly working my way around the entire rig, pulling the brush out from beneath it and throwing it up on top of the roll cage and hood until the entire exhaust system is cleared of any combustible material.

Pushing back from the jeep a few feet, I study it for a long moment while catching my breath, thinking to myself that at this rate, I'm going to be done in before I even get started. However, my efforts have camouflaged the jeep in place, effectively hiding it from all sides, including the sky.

Moving back to the side of the jeep, I grab the sling pack and double-check the rest of my gear, making sure that I still have everything, while familiarizing myself with their locations. Even though I intend on retracing my path back out to the rim of the basin, the brush will be grabbing and scratching at me, literally stripping off anything that isn't properly secured to my person.

Slipping the sling pack over my shoulder, I mark a waypoint on the Garmin so I can find my way back to the jeep, and set out for the rim and open ground.

When I finally reach the base of the rim, my legs are already shaking from fatigue and my breathing is hard and fast. Without stopping for fear of not being able to get going again, I continue on until I'm standing unsteadily on the top of the rim, the sun now just a sliver of red on the horizon.

Dropping the sling pack to the ground, I drop heavily to my knees and extract the remaining bottle of water. After guzzling down the water between heaving breaths of air, I check myself over, making sure the gun, ammo and other items are still attached to me. From this point, I'm still a long six miles from the hacienda.

I know he has to do this for us, but that doesn't make it any easier to accept. Sitting in the plush recliner that Driver adopted for himself immediately upon entering the house, I can still smell him, a heady mixture of cologne and man. My man. Bob and Darling come down from their room, both acting strangely. They sit on the window seat for a little while before Bob asks Darling if she'd like to go out for some air. Her response feels rehearsed, especially when they don't ask if I'd care to join them, but simply agrees.

Within minutes, they've changed into dark clothing and after grabbing a few items from the kitchen, head out the door with barely a 'Bye, see ya later,' leaving me sitting in the growing gloom of the old house worrying about Driver.

# Thirty Seven

Satisfied that everything is where it should be, I set off along the edge of the rim in the general direction of ground zero, the name I've applied to the coordinates that refer to Rick's hacienda. The sun is now completely absent and the sky is quickly turning a deep shade of dark. Lowering the NVGs down over my eyes, the landscape turns into a green, surreal place, the goggles pulling together what little light is available and making it possible to avoid obstacles and pitfalls.

Glancing down at the GPS with the NVGs on, I'm relieved to see the screen is visible without having to turn on the backlight, which although dim, would be visible for a long distance against the dark of night. This wouldn't have been a concern with my military grade gear, but I have to remember what I have is just civilian grade. And while good, it's not the best.

Using the topographical map app, I work my way slowly across the desert, doing my best to avoid steeper terrain that will over tax me in my current condition. When I'm less than four miles as a crow flies from the hacienda, the terrain smooths out and my path takes a more direct route. It's already nearing eleven PM, so that puts my estimated time of arrival to the hacienda at close to two AM, if I don't encounter any surprises, which is a good time of the night. Most bodies will be in deep sleep at that hour.

From breathing heavy, my throat has gone as dry as the dirt I'm walking across and my mouth feels like a moonscape. I'm beginning to question my earlier decision not to carry more water with. But water is weight and that's a double edged sword. On the one hand, it's relief from dehydration. But on the other, the extra weight would wear me down that much quicker. I could kick myself for not thinking of adding a hydration bladder pack to my gear, which just goes to prove that I'm not only physically far from my best condition, but also mentally.

With just over two miles to go as a crow flies, I decide to rest for a moment. Though I have no water to drink, a short rest will let me catch my breath. Dropping to my knees, I let the sling pack drop to the ground beside me and slowly search inside for an energy bar, thinking it might get my saliva flowing again.

While I chew on the tasteless cardboard covered in a waxy substance that is supposed to pass for chocolate, I study the terrain between me and the hacienda. The last couple of miles have been relatively flat and I've made good time. If the topo map's accuracy holds, the next couple of miles should be pretty much of the same.

After finishing the bar, I bury the wrapper in a shallow grave, and stiffly get to my feet, working out a few kinks in my back and neck before setting off again. The tasteless bar has actually added some life to my parched throat and I'm feeling slightly rejuvenated from the rest.

Within an hour, I crest a slight rise and see the lights of the hacienda directly ahead of me. Crouching down, I slip the GPS off my chest and drop it into the sling pack. Raising the NVGs up and over my head, I drop them into the sling pack next, no longer needing them thanks to all the extra lights glaring out from the area of the hacienda. I can't help but smile with satisfaction, knowing that all the extra lights are a direct result of Rick's fear of me. It's also a blaring indicator of his belief that I'm coming for him.

Out of habit, I check the freedom of movement of the knife in my boot before slipping the Glock out of its shoulder holster and jacking the slide back just enough to verify I have a round in the chamber and the safety is _off_.

After a short rest to let the headache abate that I developed from looking through the NVGs, I get back to my feet and lift the sling pack up by its strap, giving it a tentative shake to make sure nothing rattles inside before throwing it over my right shoulder and securing the safety clip to my belt so it can't accidentally slide off my shoulder if I should have to do a sudden tuck and roll or flat out sprint. _Who am I kidding?_

Although I'm not sure what measures Rick has taken in addition to the increased outside lighting, I have to assume he's also placed sentries further out from the hacienda, which also means I can't rule out the possibility of them being equipped with either infra-red or NVG goggles. At the least, they will be in contact via radios or cell phones. Once I take out a sentry, the clock will begin to tick in earnest, which means I must begin stealth tactics now that I have a line-of-sight to the hacienda.

Just the thought that I might already be inside their perimeter gives my system a shot of adrenaline.

Moving in a crouch at an angle across the open plain, much like a sailboat tacking against a breeze under sail, I slowly and silently set my sights on an imaginary point. If I reach the point without incident, I'll adjust my course ninety degrees, and make another pass across the plain, slowly drawing nearer to the hacienda.

I haven't gone a hundred yards, when I notice a more solid shadow silhouetted against the lights from the hacienda. It's indistinct, yet more solid than the surrounding terrain. Frozen in place, my breathing soft and shallow, I subconsciously calculate if my own body is stopping any light from the hacienda, making me visible to a trained observer, especially one with infra-red equipment.

After a long moment of studying the shadow, it suddenly shifts. And then it rules out any chance of being a sentry with infra-red gear, as a lighter clicks to flame and a face is lit up behind it as a man carelessly lights a cigarette. _Rick really needs to hire better help_.

For a long moment, I debate whether I need to silence this sentry or just mark his location in my mind and move on. Knowing that his night vision is now shot and he's really not taking his job seriously makes it almost too easy. Plus, by silencing him, I can see what he's using for communication with the others.

Decision made, I adjust my route to bring me around him so that I am approaching on his blind side. This maneuver takes time, but I have a safe cushion of darkness at this point.

When I'm less than ten feet behind him, he suddenly hacks from the smoke of his cigarette before crushing it out in the sand at his feet. Now that I'm closer, I can see that he's sitting on what looks like a little fold up stool. He's probably been out here since before it got dark, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer, which I can smell on the night air.

With the odds of any other sentries being in the same vicinity almost nil, I rise up to my full height and pull out the Glock. Holding it securely in my right hand, I step up behind him, stopping myself at the last minute from making a stupid wisecrack and just simply crack him across the back of his skull with the butt of the weapon, instantly knocking him unconscious.

He falls over sideways to his left from the momentum of the blow, taking the stool over with him and landing on a small pile of debris consisting of crushed beer cans, cigarette butts, and candy wrappers. To the right of where he'd been sitting is a small Styrofoam cooler that I immediately pull the lid off to look inside, hoping against hope that he brought more than just beer to drink, but knowing I'm in no condition to be picky.

The cooler contains about an inch of tepid water, two bottles of water, a can of beer, and something that might have been a sandwich before the ice melted and the resulting water soaked it into oblivion. Without hesitation, I snatch one of the bottles of water and twist the cap off, drinking the entire thing down before pausing to catch my breath.

After a long minute, I slip out the pack of zip ties and secure the man, binding his hands and feet together behind his back like a trussed pig. This takes more than half of my zip ties, but I can't risk him getting loose or crawling back to the hacienda. Next, I go through his pockets, finding a wallet with a few dollars and in a side holster, a Sig Sauer P229 chambered in .357 Magnum. In his jacket, I find a cell phone and an extra clip for the Sig.

I've always been partial to this weapon, but could never justify the cost or the need, so I remove his holster and work it onto my own belt, dropping the Sig into it and checking that I can access it easily. I put his cell phone and the extra clip for the Sig in pockets on my pants for easy access. The selfish thought goes through my head that if I don't have to use the Sig to kill anyone tonight, I'm going to keep it for myself.

Tearing a sleeve off the man's shirt, I ball it up and stuff it into his mouth so he can't call out if and when he regains consciousness. Then, after dropping the beer and the last bottle of water into my sling pack, I set off on my original diagonal course. Reaching my next turn point, I pause for a second to study the GPS and see exactly how far I am from ground zero so I can adjust my second to last tangent.

With my next and last point clear in my mind's eye, I stealthily set off across the plain toward it, having to work lower and slower due to the increasingly closer proximity to the flood lights shining out into the desert.

When I've almost reached my last turning point, I stumble over an exposed root, catching myself at the last moment before falling face first into the dirt. A grunt escapes my lips before I can bite down on it.

"Jake, is that you?" comes a deep male voice from less than thirty feet straight ahead of me. "Are you fucking drunk again? I told you not to drag that cooler out there with you, dumb ass."

Clearly, this guy isn't going to be as easy as the last one, presumably known as _Jake_.

"Agh," I groan, dropping down to a crouch, my legs beneath me like two giant springs under tension.

The man rises from a sitting position and stares right at me, seeing only a deeper shadow as the lights are behind and to my side now. Again I groan, feigning an injury and hoping this sentry sees me as the falling down drunk known as _Jake_.

"Fuck, man," he cusses loudly, taking a tentative step toward me.

Squirming around like an injured animal, I slip the Sig out and check the safety by familiarity and feel, knowing that if the sentry approaching me turns on a flashlight I'll be forced to kill him.

"I can't keep covering for you, man. If Rick catches you out here like this, he'll put a bullet in your head and bury you alongside that asswipe Dave before you even know what hit ya."

"Dam it, man," he cusses one last time in resignation before marching stiffly toward me. His feet are only a foot in front of my face, when he stops and leans over, his hands grabbing my shoulders to help me up.

With all the strength I can push into my legs, I bolt upright, the top of my head catching him beneath the chin, his mouth slamming shut to the sound of broken teeth smashing together from the impact. Still holding the Sig, I swing it hard in a roundhouse, catching him with the base of the grip against the side of his temple, a loud exhalation of stale breath hitting me full in the face and making me gag.

Under normal circumstances, he should be unconscious and dropping toward the ground like a rock, after receiving a blow to the head like that. But instead, his right arm comes up, swinging unsteadily at me. I easily block it and kick downward on his right knee joint, bending it backwards at an oblique angle until there's a sharp, sickening snap.

His head snaps up at the pain like a man subjected to smelling salts, as his body lurches drunkenly to the right, his leg on that side bent in the wrong direction and no longer able to support any weight. As he topples to the side, my left fist catches him under the chin, causing his body to contort strangely. When he hits the ground, he's not moving, so I hurriedly search for his weapon and cellphone, finding the gun in a belt holster on his hip and his cellphone in his jacket pocket.

Slipping the gun into the sling pack, I retrieve the remainder of the zip ties and tightly bind him up with what's left. Then I pull out the para cord and finish trussing him before putting his cellphone in the same pocket as the other sentry's phone.

After balling up a sleeve from the guy's shirt and stuffing it into his busted mouth, I work my way over to where he'd been sitting before I'd drawn him out. On the ground next to another foldup stool is another Styrofoam cooler, similar to the other sentries, only this one contains nothing more than bottles of water.

Pulling one out, I break the seal and guzzle it down, leaving the rest for now. Between the guns and ammo that I've acquired from these sentries, I'm packing a lot of extra weight, something that I'll deal with when I get closer to the hacienda.

Only then do I feel the pain and reach up to gently touch the top of my head and discover the top of my boonie hat is wet. I've effectively replaced the pain of the headache caused by the use of the NVGs for another.

Removing the hat, I tenderly touch the stitches on the top of my head and realize immediately that's the source of the blood. It doesn't appear serious, just a steady stream of blood. When I head butted the guy, his chin connected with the stitched up wound on my skull, breaking it open.

Returning to the trussed up sentry, I remove the other sleeve of his shirt and fold it up before placing it atop my head and pulling my hat down over it to hold it in place. Out of curiosity, I check his condition before moving forward. His breath is shallow and steady like someone asleep. Moving off in a crouch, I adjust my route slightly to put myself back on course. When I reach the end of my virtual tangent, I drop to the ground and assess the area directly surrounding the hacienda. I'm within fifty yards of the front door, the old barn sitting off to the right, and more than likely containing another sentry.

After a moment's hesitation to calm my breathing and take stock of the situation, I determine that the barn is my next destination. Once I've cleared it of any threats, I can stash my sling pack and unnecessary gear before moving in on ground zero.

But instead of heading straight across the front of the property, which also includes crossing the road and leaving myself exposed from every direction, I decide to work my way to the left until I am out of the shadow of the lights before crossing the road and making my way around the back of the hacienda so that I can approach the barn from the rear also.

Cutting toward the single lane road that is little more than a ribbon of higher ground surrounded by desert, I move stealthily forward until I'm within fifty feet of it before turning hard left and following it along for almost a hundred yards before I feel comfortable crossing it.

Once on the other side of the road, I pause in the deeper shadows and pull out the phones that I'd taken off the sentries, checking them for texts or messages and letting out a held breath when I see there's been no activity. So far so good.

Before moving around the backside of the hacienda, I take a moment to shift a few items around, dropping the second gun and ammo into the sling pack while making the para cord more accessible. Then I double check that the phones I confiscated are definitely turned off and drop them into the sling pack too.

With only the knife in my boot, two handguns, and the para cord on my person, the rest of my items tucked away in the sling pack, I set off in a large circle, maintaining a distance of approximately a hundred yards out from ground zero before adjusting my course to bring me up to the far side of the old barn.

# Thirty Eight

The wall on the far side of the barn is in even worse shape than the side facing the hacienda, providing me a good view into it. It only takes a second to pick out the shadowy form of a man sitting in the front corner smoking a cigarette, his back to me as he faces outward toward the front of the hacienda and the road leading up to it. _What do they expect, that I'm going to just drive up and announce myself?_

Slipping the sling pack off my shoulder, I stash it behind a more solid portion of the remaining wall and carefully place a piece of rotting wood over it to conceal it. To the casual observer, it won't be noticeable, and should remain so even with the break of dawn.

Before moving into the structure proper, I study the rest of the interior carefully from my position outside the decrepit wall, wondering if I should retrieve the NVGs before moving forward.

Out of a sense of haste, I forgo the NVGs and instead slip in past an upright beam that is almost rotted away, lowering my foot carefully into the oily blackness near the floor so as not to step on anything that will make noise and alert the sentry.

To my chagrin, a large rodent frightened by my presence makes a noisy dash for safety, the alarmed sentry jumping to his feet with a sharp exhalation of breath, knocking his little stool over. Silhouetted against the yard lights, I can see his outline clearly, a gun at the end of his extended arms aimed toward the ground in front of him as he realizes the cause of the noise.

Angered and frustrated by his own reaction to a rodent, he kicks out at it, striking a piece of wood and sending it flying across the barn to the accompaniment of a shrill squeak and a mad scurrying out of the building. Cussing softly, he turns and sets his stool back upright before plopping down heavily on it.

While he's settling down and making all kinds of noises, I take advantage of the opportunity and move quietly up next to him. "Afraid of a little rat, are we?" I whisper next to his ear, causing him to lurch backwards, the sudden shifting of forces too much for the little stool and it buckles beneath his weight.

Not wanting him to get out of my reach, I grab the back of his head at the same time he reaches for the gun that he just put back in its holster at his waist. With the back of his head cupped in my right hand, my left knee simultaneously jutting forward, his gun clears the holster at the same moment that my knee connects with his forehead.

His gun falls harmlessly to the ground at my feet while his body deflates like a blowup doll that just sprung a massive leak, swiveling unconsciously away from me. Bending over to retrieve his weapon, I briefly glance at it before slipping it into the waist band of my pants, and then reach down to check the man's pulse. It's weak, but steady, and I decide not to waste time tying him up. If everything goes according to my loose plan, he's going to sleep through all the excitement anyway.

Though I have no more need to collect their cellphones, I fish his out of his jacket pocket and drop it into a front pocket on my cargos. In the inside pocket of his jacket, I come across a wad of large bills and also add them to the same pocket as the cellphone before moving forward to the area where the front doors of the barn used to be. Staying back from the glare of the yard lights, I study the front yard and the road leading into it. I would be a fool to believe there aren't any more sentries hiding out there in the dark somewhere. It's been my good fortune so far that none of the cellphones have rang, indicating they're either not communicating with each other, or communicating on timed intervals that haven't elapsed yet.

Just as the thought enters my mind, the phone I just dropped in the front pocket of my pants vibrates briefly before stopping, indicating an incoming text or instant message.

Damn! Because I have no intentions of responding to it. The clock is now ticking. Within minutes, everyone will be on high alert and looking for me.

With no time to lose, I throw caution to the wind and ride the fresh flow of adrenaline to the rear door of the hacienda, the same one I'd entered through on my first visit here. Only this time, I don't even slow down, I simply kick through the glass and keep moving, catching the first man by complete surprise as he turns away from the sink, a glass of water in one hand, a gun in the other, and a look of disbelief on his face.

Before he can fully comprehend, his gun slowly coming to bear on me out of simple reflex, I put two 9mm slugs into his chest from the gun I just removed from the man in the barn, and then spin toward the hallway where the next threat is bound to come from.

Knowing the basic layout of the hacienda is a great help, as I know that if there's a command center, it's gonna be the room where I originally met the two members of Rick's posse that I nicknamed Red and Blue, one of which is now in an unmarked grave somewhere out in the desert.

Not wanting to give whoever's in the building a chance to react, I hurriedly set off down the hall, intent on bearing to the left and hoping beyond hope to catch most, if not all of the occupants in the house in that room.

As I clear the end of the hall, the basement door directly ahead of me, a shot comes from my left, the wind of it brushing my ear as I hit the basement door, my plans of turning left no longer a feasible option.

Before I can push myself off the door and retreat back into the short hallway, a second shot rings out at the same time I feel something tug at my leg. Moving reflexively, I let off two quick shots across my body to the left, and fall back into the relative safety of the hallway, noticing movement on the patio behind me out of the corner of my eye, just outside the shattered door I entered through.

Boxed in. Not good. I can't move forward without coming under fire, and if I remain where I am, I'm exposed to the threat on the patio. Risking a quick look down at my leg, I see what looks like a fresh tear in the material where a bullet almost took out my kneecap but fortunately missed striking any flesh.

When a head suddenly pops out of the door that I believe is their command center, I jerk off a hasty shot, knowing full well that I didn't hit anything, but hoping to drive them back before they can figure out exactly where I am. Instantly, a hand with a gun comes into view and opens fire on my general position, not aiming, just hoping to get lucky.

At almost the same moment, the threat on the patio reaches around the door jamb and opens fire too, not giving me anything more than a hand holding a gun to shoot back at. With lead flying all around me, the walls and floor being chewed up and flinging debris every which way, a thought comes to mind.

Shimmying back down the short hall until I reach the kitchen and can roll in behind the island, effectively putting myself out of the shooter's line of sight, I slip the 9mm that I'd been using back into my waistband and pull the Sig out of the holster. Since neither shooter can see me, the shooting comes to a stop almost as quickly as it began. Taking my time, I line up the front site on the Sig with the wall just to the right of the patio door at about chest height.

It's eerily quiet in and out of the house, and I've almost convinced myself that I've wasted too much time waiting for the man on the patio to reload, despite knowing it's only been a matter of seconds since I rolled out of the hall, when I see his shadow right before his gun comes around the edge of the door jamb, seeking a target.

Without giving him a chance to realize that I'm no longer in the hallway, I put five slugs through the wall in the vicinity of the man's torso. Nothing happens at first, then a body falls away from the wall, leaving a small cloud of dust hanging in the air outside where the bullets exited through the brick façade.

Damn fine weapon!

Slipping the Sig back into its holster, I retrieve the dead man's gun from the kitchen floor and check the magazine, assuring myself that the safety is off and that he has indeed reloaded it and that there's also a round in the chamber. It's just another 9mm semi-auto, which seems to be a favorite of these punks.

Crouching down low, I grab a peak around the corner wall, into the short hallway.

Nothing.

So I swivel my head toward the patio, assuring myself that there isn't a second threat coming from that direction.

Satisfied that my six is clear, I lower myself into a prone position and slither down the short hallway, sneaking quick glances over my shoulder for more unexpected visitors that might come via the patio door. Reaching the junction with the main hallway, I remove my boonie and slowly push it along the floor until it is just beyond the corner of the wall and into the hallway proper. There's still a light filtering into the main hallway from the room I'm assuming is the office and command center of this operation, which leaves a dusk-like appearance at either end of the hall.

When nothing happens and no gun fire erupts, I pull my hat back and replace it on my head to hold the makeshift bandage in place, and then slither the last few inches before pulling myself up against the nearer wall. With the wall against my back, I take a deep, calming breath, looking back to my right before snapping my head around the corner and then just as quickly pulling it back. A snapshot of an empty hallway is imprinted on my mind.

_Where did they go?_ I wonder to myself. It's not a secret that Rick has a large crew, so where are they?

Moving out into the hallway without knowing where and how many are waiting for me seems like pure suicide. Yet, my options are limited. If I just sit here, eventually someone will get in a lucky shot or my position will be overrun by sheer numbers.

And then I have what I hope is a brilliant idea.

Retreating to the kitchen, I crawl directly to the stove against the wall facing the rear patio doors, noting with a degree of excitement that it's a high end gas range. All I have to do now is figure out how I'm going to trap enough gas inside the building to cause an explosion with the back patio door laying in a million pieces across the kitchen floor. _Maybe I should have tried opening it before crashing through it._

While deep in thought, movement catches my eye as one of Rick's posse runs across the broad expanse of rear lawn heading toward the ruins of the old barn. Turning to put the stove at my back, I shuffle across the floor and crouch down behind the island, taking a moment to assess my situation. By now, everyone must know that I've been cornered in the kitchen. So where are they? Why haven't they come charging in with guns blazing? I'm just one man. I must be outnumbered by at least twelve to one, even after the sentries I took out of the game.

Glancing furtively from behind the kitchen island, I see the same man sprinting back in the opposite direction, heading toward the front of the hacienda. Without giving it any thought, I draw a bead on the guy and open fire with the gun from the dead man in the kitchen, squeezing the trigger until the firing pin clicks.

At one point, the man stumbles, but then rights himself and continues running until he is beyond my range of vision through the shattered patio door.

Throwing the weapon across the kitchen so that it lands next to its owner's body, I pull another of the sentry's weapons, and look around the kitchen, trying to come up with a plan of action that Rick and his posse won't see coming.

And then it hits me. If I can't blow the place up in one fell swoop, maybe I can burn it to the ground slowly, taking a bunch of the rats with it. Or at the least, sending them scurrying.

Looking back toward the dead man, I quickly decide that his clothes are flammable and I can use the burner on the stove to ignite them. While watching the back door for movement, and constantly rotating my head toward the hallway, I pull the man's nylon jacket free along with his pants and shirt. I leave his undershorts intact, not wanting to go there.

I stuff the pants into one sleeve of the jacket and his shirt in the other sleeve before tying the cuffs into knots to keep the material from slipping out. After tearing the jacket down the center of the back, I pull open the nearest cupboard in search of cooking oil. Although I would prefer something a tad more flammable like gasoline, cooking oil will work for what I have in mind.

In the second cupboard I yank open, I find a gallon jug half full of vegetable oil. Pulling it out and unscrewing the cap, I pour a good amount into each sleeve at the open armpit area, giving the material inside a chance to soak it up.

While the oil soaks into the fabric, I pull open the pantry and locate an old mop and straw broom. Using the torn jacket back material, I tie one of the arms to the end of the broom, stuffing the straw bristles inside the arm with the fabric and the other arm to the end of the mop handle. Rolling back to the stove with my two homemade torches, I flick a knob and watch the flame light. Holding the first oil soaked ball over the fire until it ignites and then the other, I take off in a crouching sprint down the hallway, sliding to a stop before exposing myself to the main hallway.

When I encounter no gunfire or other evidence of danger, I fling the mop around the corner to the left so it's lying against the wall in the main hallway, the flames licking up against the wall. Then, taking a huge risk, I stand up and glance furtively around the corner, seeing only the burning ball of fabric.

Before I can think twice about what I'm doing, I reach across the hall and push open the cellar door, placing the second torch wth the broom head on the steps, and then push the door shut before ducking back into the short hall.

Pulling the confiscated 9mm from my waistband, I take another quick look around the corner, and not seeing anything new, step around it and pick up the end of the burning torch, noticing that the floor and wall are already burning.

Stepping around the growing flames, I slide up next to the open door of the office and throw the burning torch inside before stepping around the door jamb and following with my weapon at the ready. The lights are on, but there doesn't appear to be anyone inside, when suddenly the window shatters inward and bullets are chewing up the door jamb and wall next to my face, splinters of wood striking me like shrapnel and sticking in my left arm and shoulder.

Dropping to the floor, I push the mop handle forward until the flaming head is up against one of the wood legs of the desk, and then roll off to the side, bringing my weapon up across my body while lying on my back. Through the floor, I feel more than hear footsteps moving fast out in the hallway.

The first one is through the door almost before I can register his position, as he throws himself to the right, followed instantly by another that comes in on the left and rolls up against the far wall to my right. A third man is suddenly standing in the doorway with a Tac-9 on full auto, spraying the room from left to right, as the burning oil and dry wood fill the room with smoke. Most of his bullets strike the exterior wall and blow apart the sparse furniture, the sound deafening in the room.

As I automatically tracked the first one through the door to my left, I squeeze off a series of quick shots in his general direction, not waiting to see if I hit anything or not before swinging across my torso and popping two more shots into the broad chest of the man with the fully auto machine gun, causing him to jerk back, the short barrel of his weapon going up and taking out the overhead light as it leaves a trail of destruction across the ceiling.

A sudden burst of gunfire erupts outside, the bullets flying into the room through the wall and window, as the only remaining light is coming from the growing fire. The man across the room from me starts screeching in pain, cussing and yelling for his compadres to quit shooting.

The sound of his voice gives me a target, and I squeeze off three rapid shots before something burns across the top of my chest like a hot iron.

He immediately ceases yelling, but I have no idea if I hit him or not. Glancing down at my chest, I see a line of blood soaking through my tee shirt in a diagonal from just below my left pectoral muscle up to just above my right pectoral muscle. If I had one running at 90 degrees to it, I'd have a big red _X_ on the front of my chest. And though it burns as though it's on fire, it doesn't appear to be anything more than a deep laceration or graze.

The flames are growing larger, the far wall and cheap furniture adding to the fuel feeding it. If I don't plan on burning to death, I need to get a move on.

# Thirty Nine

Rolling onto my stomach, I raise my head just enough to see over the flames and shoot a quick look toward the door, my first thought of escape being back the way I'd entered. The two men that first charged into the room are no longer moving despite one of their legs beginning to contribute to the black smoke filling the room.

Through the doorway, I can just make out the large guy sitting on the floor with his back to the far wall, his arms splayed out to either side, his feet lying across the threshold while the light of the fire reflects eerily off his open, lifeless eyes.

Several shots suddenly ring out in the hallway and the large guy's corpse jerks and shutters from the impact of lead slugs before rolling over onto its side. In the dark, smoke filled hallway, someone mistakenly thought the big guy might be me and weren't taking any chances. Which can only mean that at least one person is still covering the hallway.

That leaves the window.

Realizing that the longer I procrastinate, the more time I'm giving them to set up and prepare, I push to my feet and sprint across the small room, the stench of burning flesh adding to the black, oily smoke and hot flames. Aiming my body for the center of the shot out window, I take a running leap at the shot out window, throwing myself through it. Unfortunately, my body isn't anywhere near a hundred percent even with the shot of adrenaline coursing through my veins, and my legs drag over the sill, the remaining jagged shards of glass slicing through my pants and flesh.

Landing hard and awkwardly on the compacted dirt outside the window, I'm semi-aware of the sound of yelling voices and sporadic gunfire. Rolling back up against the side of the hacienda, only slightly aware of the pain coming from my legs, I search frantically for targets as bullets punch into the side of the building on either side of me.

There's a muzzle flash from my right, near where their cars are parked, and without aiming, I point the gun in the general direction and squeeze off several rounds before a slug ricochets off the wall to my left, the brick façade disintegrating and pelting the side of my face with stinging debris.

Swinging the gun to my left, in the direction of the old barn, I jerk the trigger twice before seeing a flash by the rusted old hulk of a tractor and instinctively adjust my aim, hitting the man there, but not killing him, as I see him holding a hand to his face and running for the cover of the old barn.

Pivoting back toward the right, I empty the magazine into the cars parked almost a hundred feet distant, then drop it on the ground and pull out my Glock before twisting to my feet and taking off in the direction of the barn. By now flames are shooting out of the window that I just came through along with a heavy curtain of smoke.

My legs feel numb down the front, but I don't have time to investigate the cause as I'm charging toward the barn, knowing full well that there is at least one armed man inside it. Even if he's wounded, he could still be dangerous, maybe even more so.

As I pass the rusted out tractor hull, a bullet slams into it, the shot coming from just a few feet ahead of me. Without slowing, I crash through a rotted section of wall, twisting to the right and bringing my weapon to bear on the man standing there in the shadows as I fall toward the debris littered floor.

Our shots ring out as one thunderous clap, and even in the shadows, I can see the darker spray of blood splatter emanating out from his head as his body collapses.

Breathing hard, I'm suddenly aware of something jabbing me in the side, and slowly get to my knees, noticing for the first time that the front of my pants are shredded and soaked in blood from going through the window. Reaching around to my side, I feel immediate relief when I don't find anything protruding out of me, but the area is tender to the touch, just the lightest of which causes my breath to hitch. My internal stitches must have torn from stretching myself out going through the window.

When the sound of gunfire erupts from the area where their cars are parked, I push the pain out of my mind and move forward until I can check the man lying on the ground in front of me. He's dead, but the one I knocked unconscious earlier is still breathing deeply and showing no signs of waking anytime soon.

Moving to the front of the old building, I look across the yard at the area where the cars are parked. The flames are now pouring out of several windows in the hacienda when the yard lights suddenly go out, leaving the burning hacienda as the only source of light. There's a lot of yelling and shouting coming from the far side of the building as someone is clearly taking charge and giving orders. I quickly determine that's where I need to be if I'm going to find Rick, and set off toward the back of the barn, passing my stash in the process.

Moving out a little distance from the burning hacienda to prevent being caught in the flickering light, I circle around the back side, my legs beginning to quiver uncontrollably as the rush of adrenaline wears off. From a distance of several hundred feet, I see a small group of four or five men standing together, facing the hacienda while discussing something animatedly between them, when suddenly all but two of them suddenly run off in the direction of the cars.

Though I can't be sure, one of the remaining men's silhouette against the jumping and bouncing flames of the burning building looks a lot like Rick's, and I suddenly know my destination. In a crouch, I move toward the two men when an SUV suddenly pulls up next to them, putting itself between me and them, its lights dark.

Slipping my Glock back into its holster, I pull out the Sig, knowing its door penetrating abilities to be much higher than my niner.

In the dark and with only the light from the raging fire, it's impossible to tell if there is more than just the driver in the vehicle, when the other two men open the far doors and climb inside, the larger man taking the front passenger's seat while the other man climbs into the rear seat. If I'm reading the situation correctly, they're departing the scene before someone calls in the fire and the authorities comes to investigate.

That's not going to happen if I have anything to do about it. I can't allow them to leave. At least, not alive.

Moving quickly, I stumble toward the SUV just as it begins to back away from the burning building, the rear of it coming around toward me and then coming to a stop less than twenty feet distant before spinning its tires and lurching forward toward the road and a hasty exit.

With no other thought but that I have to stop that vehicle no matter what or this whole night will have been for naught, I pull up the Sig and sight along the barrel, putting the driver's head at the end of the barrel, before lowering my aim, and putting a slug in each rear tire before adjusting up just a notch and putting two in the fuel tank for good measure.

As the vehicle grinds to a halt in the loose sand, the driver is the first one out, flinging his door open and rolling to the ground, a fully auto TAC-9 spraying lead randomly in my direction and hoping to hit something, namely, me.

My shot catches him in the center of the chest, literally lifting him up before dropping his carcass back to the ground, dead on arrival.

Reflexively, I swing the Sig to the right just enough to cover the right side of the vehicle, fully expecting Rick or the other guy to exit at any moment. When there is no movement, I get to my feet and slowly approach the SUV, my weapon shifting just enough to keep it fully covered, when there's suddenly a loud thump and a simultaneous bright flash inside the vehicle.

Someone just fired a gun inside the SUV, but no glass shattered from an exiting bullet.

Shifting further to the right while keeping the SUV covered, I'm almost to the rear passenger's door when it slowly opens and a gun is thrown out.

"Don't shoot," comes a man's voice that I instantly recognize. "I'm not armed."

"Mr. Luciano," I calmly remark, surprised, but not letting it show.

"I'm coming out, don't shoot." He pauses for a moment while his feet touch down on the ground and he turns to face me, his hands in the air. "We need to talk," he says, a twinge of nervousness in his voice, and rightly so.

"So talk," I command, the Sig held out at arm's length, unwavering while my legs quiver, threatening to give out at any moment.

"Rick won't be bothering you anymore," he says, as if that explains why I'm here and that I can simply leave now. "I killed him."

"Well now, I do appreciate you saving me that trouble, but for what it's worth, he never bothered me," I state matter-of-factly, watching the confusion grow on the side of his face that is lit by the brightly burning hacienda, the flames shooting through the roof now.

"Then what are you doing here? Why was Rick so sure you were after him if he was never a concern of yours?"

"I didn't say he wasn't a concern of mine. I just said that he never bothered me," I reply, letting it sink in before continuing. "I'm here on behalf of a friend. Nothing more. But you now, that's another matter. You do bother me. And for what it's worth, you were going to be my next visit."

Before he can answer, one of the other vehicles starts up and tears out onto the narrow dirt lane heading toward the highway at a high rate of speed.

"Looks to me like you just lost the last of your backup," I nonchalantly remark, as his nervousness grows incrementally while watching the vehicle's tail lights disappear over a slight rise in the road.

"What do you want from me? Money? I can pay. You want this territory for you own, it's all yours. A new truck? Just name it, I can make it happen," he says, his voice cracking from the tension.

"You know, if I thought I could trust you, I could tell you what I want and just walk away. But I know the minute I leave here, you're going to get on your cellphone and make a call that will have every hired gun within a thousand miles trying to claim the prize. I'm sorry Mr. Luciano, but I can't have that hanging over my head."

He begins shaking as a dark stain grows outward from the crotch of his pants. "You can't just shoot me like a mangy dog."

Just as I'm about to explain what he's going to do, his head explodes out the back, spraying the open area inside the SUV with bloody brain matter and skull fragments, his lifeless body collapsing in a heap on the ground at my feet even as I drop into a spinning crouch, the Sig pointing out into the darkness of the desert.

From experience, I know the shot came from a high powered rifle. But with only one shot and no clear angle of trajectory to go on, the shooter could be anywhere out there in the night, the flames from the burning hacienda providing sufficient light for them to sight in on their target.

Unable to rule myself out as a possible target, I hesitate only long enough to realize that I don't have anything to shoot at, even if I'd wanted to, and slip around to the far side of the SUV, noticing Rick's corpse on the front seat as I go by the open driver's door, stepping over the driver before forcing my body into a hobbling run.

# Forty

As I draw close to the remaining cars parked out front of the building, I momentarily slow, silently debating whether it's worth the trouble and time of looking for one with keys in it that I can use to shorten my hike back to the jeep, or just continuing on.

Having made my decision, I veer left to the old barn, noticing that the unconscious sentry is no longer where I left him. Briefly, I wonder if that was who took off in the vehicle while I was talking with Luciano, and then I reach my stash.

Not wasting any time, I throw it over my shoulder and glance to the east, noticing that the sky is already turning a lighter shade of violet. False dawn, which means sunrise is less than an hour away.

The first mile goes fast, but then the second charge of adrenaline that hit my system when Luciano's head blew apart, finishes running its course, and my legs suddenly have enough. Dropping to the ground as the sun crests the horizon, I roll onto my back and notice for the first time that my boonie is missing.

Feeling washed out, I close my eyes for a minute, only to open them to a bright mid-day sun. A breeze has kicked up since sunrise, and when I sit up and look down my back trail, I'm relieved to see that the wind was strong enough to wipe away my tracks.

In a sitting position, I open the sling pack and lift out the remaining bottle of water. Tepid water has never tasted so good, and I guzzle it down without pause. While I let the water revive me, I check myself over and assess the damage. I have more than a five mile hike across the desert with the sun beating down on my bare and bloodied head, the last of the water is now in my gut, and I have accomplished my mission, with a little help from an unknown source. _Life is good._

My legs are lacerated from the shards of glass in the window sill catching my legs as I dove through it. There is no doubt that I need stitches, but the cuts have stopped bleeding, as have all my other injuries, from my head to my chest. The only serious pain I seem to have is coming from just below my rib cage, in the same area that was just sewn up. Whether I bruised the area or tore my internal stitches will only be determined when I next urinate and whether the urine contains blood or not.

Yet, even though the pain is excruciating, it won't kill me, and I just have to suck it up, or so I keep telling myself as I grudgingly get to my feet and attach the GPS to my belt before throwing the sling pack over my shoulder. After setting my destination to the waypoint indicating the jeep, I haltingly set off, my feet feeling heavy, my whole body protesting each step.

At some point in my journey back to the jeep, I hallucinate, suddenly imagining that Shelly is with me and we're cruising along the highway in a new eighteen wheeler. She smiles over at me, her face brighter than the sun streaming in through the windshield.

But I know somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind that it's only a hallucination, and that if I want to see her again, be with her again, I have to keep going. One foot in front of the other.

At some point, I trip and roll down into a shallow ravine, the impact bringing me back to reality. Sitting up, I study the screen on the GPS for a long moment, trying to remember where I am and where I need to go. When my senses finally clear, I note with some relief that I'm less than a mile from the jeep. Letting go of the GPS unit, I reach into the sling pack and find the can of beer along with an energy bar. Plipping the tab, I guzzle the beer down in one long swallow, followed by a loud burb. Then, after tearing the wrapper off the energy bar, I slowly chew on the tasteless cardboard, wondering why I didn't hold back some of the beer to wash it down with.

Feeling a slight light-headedness from the beer along with a boost of optimism from having eaten the bar, I get back to my feet, wobbling precariously for a minute while holding the GPS unit out in front of me. When my equilibrium stabilizes enough to make out the compass function, I set off in as direct a route as I can manage toward the jeep.

Sooner than I had expected, I reach the edge of the basin, and adjust my course slightly to follow along the rim until the compass tells me that I'm approaching my new ground zero.

Glancing in the direction of the compass arrow, I can clearly see the mound of vegetation covering the jeep, but only because I was the one that put it there. Without thinking, I hurriedly set off down the bank, my feet unable to keep up on the loose scree, and I end up tumbling, rolling down to the bottom, unable to stop my momentum.

When I reach the bottom, I lie stretched out on the ground for a long while, staring up into the relentless sun, while digging deep into my core to find the strength to finish what I'd started, and knowing that failure now will mean never seeing Shelly again. And that is an unacceptable outcome.

Back on my feet, I fight my way through the loose brush on the driver's side of the jeep until I reach the driver's seat. Resting atop it is a six-pack of bottled water.

Not even taking the time to wonder where it came from, I grab a bottle and twist the top off before pouring it down my throat, the last few swallows ending up over the top of my burning head. Throwing the empty into the back of the jeep, I pull another loose and drink it more slowly, again pouring the last couple of swallows over my head and face.

Feeling slightly refreshed, I push the remaining bottles over to the passenger's side and struggle up into the seat, plopping back against the backrest with a loud exhalation of breath and instantly pass out.

_I have a guardian angel_ , is the first thought that registers when I come to. The sun is beyond its zenith, a spackling of light through the dry brush, putting the time somewhere around three o'clock. My thirst has returned, so I grab up another of the bottles of water and slowly drink it while contemplating everything that has gone down. Someone followed me here and left this water for me. Could it be the same person that blew the brains out of Luciano's head? My gut says it is.

So now I have to wonder who would be helping me. Was it one of my very few, but loyal friends? Or did I get involved in something bigger involving a hit man? The water I can easily see Bob or Darling leaving for me. But the sniping of Luciano. By process of elimination, I know I can rule out Bob and Shelly. But what about Darling? She is a wildcard in all this. Is Darling my guardian angel?

Only then do I think to look for the rifle that I left in the jeep previously. Though I can't move fast without reigniting the pain in my body, it takes only a moment to realize that the 30-06 rifle is no longer where I'd left it. That can only mean that whoever left me the water is also the one that took the rifle, and is more than likely the same one that took out Luciano.

While I only killed when I had no other choice, my taking out Luciano would have been nothing more than cold-blooded murder, and someone saved me from that guilt, because I have no doubt that I was going to kill him.

Or was I?

In my mind, I had already worked out a plan that should have worked for both him and me. But would he have agreed to it? I'll never know for sure, but probably not, which means I would have had to kill him. If not last night, then at some point in the future.

My head is pounding from too much trauma without trying to sort this out too. Turning the key, the engine quickly comes to life. After letting it idle for a minute, I put it in reverse and hit the gas, letting the clutch fly and charging backwards out of the brush. I hit the hill at a good clip and ride the momentum to the top before backing off the throttle and turning the jeep to face back toward the main road.

I make the ride back to Phil's house in a circuitous manner, fully aware that my clothes are torn and bloody, and the last thing I need right now is to be pulled over by the cops for a traffic violation. Pulling into the driveway, Shelly comes running out of the front door, her face puffy from lack of sleep and a lot of crying.

# Epilogue

"Oh Driver," she cries, throwing herself into my arms as I almost fall out of the jeep. The dam of her tears breaks and she cries uncontrollably, not letting go of me.

"It's okay, baby," I whisper, only the solid body of the jeep behind me keeping me upright. My face is pressed softly against the side of her head, breathing deeply of her scent. "It's all over now." Though I never want this moment to end, I finally find the strength to hold her at arm's length and say with a rough smile, "Come on, let's get inside before the neighbors get a gander of me and call the cops."

When we move away from the jeep, Shelly realizes for the first time just how weak I am, and immediately slips in next to me so that I can lean on her for support. After helping me up the steps and then opening the door for me, she says, "When Bob and Darling said they were going to keep an eye on you, I wanted so badly to go with them. But they convinced me that someone needed to be here when you got back. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have let them talk me out of coming after you."

Shutting the door behind us and letting my sling pack fall to the floor with a heavy thump, I pull her in close again, saying softly, "No, it's all right. I need you here now, with me, not out there."

"Let's get you cleaned up. Or do I need to take you to the hospital?" she asks, studying my face with a look of concern.

"A hot shower with you is all I need right now. We'll see how I'm doing after that," I smile. And then her words register regarding Bob and Darling. It was them, after all, that were looking out for me. "Have Bob and Darling returned yet?" I ask, concerned that they might have run into trouble trying to get out of there. Especially if they ran into the authorities, because someone will have called in the fire.

"Yes, they're in their room upstairs. They came back early this morning. I'll tell them you're here."

"No, that can wait. Right now, I just want you all to myself," I add, taking her offered hand and letting her lead me down the hall to our room.

She carefully undresses me, the stack of torn and blood soaked clothes going straight into a large garbage sack. With each piece of clothing that she removes, she carefully studies the exposed damage to my body, beginning with my tee-shirt.

My chest is torn and raw where the bullet sliced a deep groove diagonally across my chest. She studies it carefully before tenderly placing her lips against it and softly kissing it. "It feels better already," I say, placing my right hand beneath her chin and raising her face up to mine so I can gaze into her beautiful eyes.

Next she moves to line me up with the bed and has me sit back so she can remove my boots, the laces caked with dried blood that ran down the front of my legs after catapulting through the shattered window and falling short of the goal.

With my boots and socks off, she helps me back to my feet and carefully undoes my belt before removing the waist holster with the Sig in it. Placing it on the bed behind me, she slowly peels my cargo pants down the length of my legs. No matter how careful she is, fresh blood begins to flow anew from peeling the pants where they're encrusted in the torn flesh.

Standing before her in nothing but war torn flesh, she kicks off her sneakers and pulls her own tee over her head, revealing a black silky bra that sets off her long blonde hair. Despite my weakened condition, my manhood responds to her like a pubescent teen.

Reaching out, I cup her firm breasts in my hands before undoing the clip between them securing her bra, while she unbuttons her jeans and lets them slide down and puddle around her ankles before stepping out of them.

Taking my hands in hers, she pulls me gently toward the bathroom, saying seductively with longing in her eyes, "Come on my hero. Let's get you cleaned up."

After letting her lead me into the shower, I let the warm water and her ministrations wash the whole of the past week off me. The sludge, the crusted blood, and the memories of what I had to do all swirl around the drain and then disappear. Only when the water begins to run towards tepid, does she lead me out of the shower and carefully dry me with a soft towel. Though she looks delicious and my manhood is up for the challenge, she curls up with me on the soft bed, pulling the blankets over the both of us before we might fall asleep.

"Shelly?"

"Go to sleep now, Driver. We can talk later."

"This is important," I push, spooning her from behind, my shaft pushing up against her sweet cheeks.

"Okay," she softly replies, her breathing already growing shallow and steady.

"I have some money saved up, and I'll be getting a chunk from the insurance for my truck and trailer."

"Yeah," she sighs softly, her voice growing fainter.

"I'm thinking I should start a private security company. Bring in Bob and Darling as operatives if you'll run the office for me."

I pause for a long moment, not sure if she heard me or if she's already asleep, when she softly whispers, "That would be nice. I'd like that."

"Then, you're in?" I ask, hardly able to contain my excitement.

She suddenly rolls over to face me and I can see the excitement first hand in her eyes. "Keep talking like that and you're going to be in before you know it," she says with a sexy smirk, her hand wrapped around my shaft.

# The End

## More by Will Decker:

## A COMPILATION OF SHORT STORIES

## UNREQUITED LOVE

## FIRE BABY

## HYBRID KILLERS

## The 'HEÄLF' Sci-Fi Collection:

## MORTALITY REVISITED

## CLONE WARS

## DAY OF NIGHT

## REGENERATIONS

## HORSPAW

## The 'Mac" Action Collection:

## THE WITNESS

## TOXIC RAIN

## BETRAYAL

## RECORD KEEPER

## DEATH IN THE DUNES

## WIT-SEC FAIL

## SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed.

## If you received this book gratuitously, please take a moment to leave a review.

## Authors starve or eat based on reviews. Thanking you from the pit of my stomach, WILL DECKER
