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Monday, May 30
Echo, Texas
Amazing aromas drifted upstairs while Pilar Inez Mendoza was still asleep. The scent of bacon frying and coffee brewing filtered into her unconscious, awakening her more effectively than any alarm clock.
She hadn’t eaten since she’d left Mexico and the gnawing in her stomach roused her from emotional and physical exhaustion.
Before she opened her eyes, she stretched broadly, feeling the soreness within her body. She had been stuffed into small spaces far too long. The tension of escaping Mexico to her new life had taken its toll, too.
Her muscles were cramped and short and achy and fairly screamed to be released. Nothing three hours of yoga wouldn’t fix. Or even a good stretch followed by a five-mile run might do the trick.
Problem was, she would have neither.
Pilar patted her pillow to be sure the Glock was where she’d hidden it last night. Then she threw back the covers and sat naked on the edge of the bed.
Her eyes were still closed, but her nose and her stomach were fully awake.
When she finally looked, she saw her clothes were tossed into a careless pile on the floor near the bed. Her nose wrinkled of its own volition when she realized she’d need to wear them again today.
She had left home with a small duffel bag half-filled with mostly sentimental possessions. She barely owned any clothes, and she shared them with her sisters. Her mother had sent her away with only the clothes she was wearing and one more set of jeans, T-shirt, and underwear.
The pile on the floor was the spare set. The ones in her bag were dirty and in worse condition.
Pilar had intended to buy jeans and a shirt at a thrift store in the first town she came to. But Miguel had dropped her off at this godforsaken place sixty miles from Pecos and no way to get there.
She’d promised herself she’d kill him last night for his part in stranding her here. She’d meant the threat literally then and she hadn’t changed her mind.
The bacon and coffee aromas tempted her. She felt the urgency to pee. She reached for the dirty jeans and pulled them on. Slipped her arms into the stinky T-shirt and walked barefoot across the cool wood floor.
When she grabbed the doorknob and attempted to turn it, the door was locked.
Which meant Pilar had been locked in after she fell asleep. She grimaced. Probably that man who had led her up here after Miguel dropped her off.
Bobby Greer, he’d said. He’d offered to feed her. She was so angry, she’d refused. He’d shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Act in haste, repent at leisure, as her mother often said.
Pilar leaned back against the door, flipped the light on, and looked more closely at her prison. As prisons went, this one was spartan but definitely upscale.
There was a window directly across from the door. The window was closed by plantation shutters.
Pilar padded across the room in her bare feet and opened the shutters. She stood for a moment at the window and looked outside.
She was on the front side of the house. The window offered a view of several outbuildings painted the same brick red as everything else. She saw the circular driveway that became the long dirt road that ran under the painted gate and to the paved road out front.
The road that led to Pecos. Sixty miles away.
Briefly, she considered hitchhiking to Pecos. Sixty miles wouldn’t take that long, if she caught a ride. Even a slow-moving farm truck would get there in a couple of hours.
She didn’t see a single vehicle on the road. But if a road existed, that meant there would be traffic of some sort. Surely.
She adjusted the shutter slats to allow a bit of sunlight into the room and returned to her search for a toilet. Which was when she saw a closed door on the right side of the bed near the corner.
When she opened the door Pilar found a small, tiled bathroom. White pedestal sink, white toilet, and a white tiled shower stall with a clear glass door. White ceramic tile covered the floor.
There were white towels, a white bar of soap, and on a freestanding holder waiting beside the toilet, the whitest toilet paper she’d ever seen.
Pilar smiled with pleasure. It was the first time she’d smiled since forever. The smile and the pleasure felt strangely grotesque. What did she have to smile about?
She turned on the shower, used the toilet while the water heated up, and then stepped into the shower completely dressed.
It was a ridiculous plan, of course. But washing her clothes and her body at the same time seemed like an efficient way to do things. At least, until she could execute a better plan.
Besides, it was so hot and dry outside that the air would suck the moisture right out of them. They’d be stiff as new canvas, but they’d soften up after a bit.
Pilar stayed under the spray until her growling stomach snagged her attention again. She should have joined Bobby Greer for a meal last night when he’d offered. But she was too angry at Miguel to eat then.
Anger wears off. Hunger lingers much longer.
She turned the water off and patted herself dry with the towel. Her clothes were soaked. But she’d seen enough dirt swirling down the drain to hope that they were cleaner now than before.
She removed her jeans and her T-shirt and her underwear. She twisted them as hard as she could to squeeze the water out before she put them back on again. An hour in the sun and they’d be dry. Probably.
Pilar finger combed her long, black, wavy hair. She pulled it into a ponytail, low on her neck, and secured it with a rubber band.
When she looked into the mirror, she was almost surprised to see how young and clear-eyed and fresh-faced she seemed.
A hard knock sounded on the bedroom door.
“Pilar? Are you ready for breakfast?”
She recognized Bobby Greer’s voice. “Coming.”
She reached under her pillow, grabbed her dagger and slid it into the side zip pocket of her jeans. She stuffed the pistol into her waistband at the small of her back and pulled the loose T-shirt down to cover it.
She slipped her arms into her denim jacket and took a quick look in the mirror. The gun wasn’t obvious. Which was the best she could do for now.
Pilar slipped her feet into her shoes and covered the short distance to the door. She tried to turn the doorknob again, and this time, the door opened.
Bobby Greer was standing in the hallway, waiting. He looked her over. His lips twitched and then he said, “Come on. You’re late. Bring your bag. Follow me.”
He turned and walked toward the stairs. Pilar grabbed her duffel and trudged behind him, shivering in the artificially cold air.
At the bottom of the stairs, he veered right down a long corridor and kept striding toward the back of the house. Framed photographs were hung on the walls on both sides above a built-in bookcase crammed full of well-thumbed paperbacks.
Pilar only had time for a brief glance as she followed. The photos might have been shot here at the ranch. She thought she recognized a couple of the ugly red barns. The paperbacks were old westerns and detective novels. Not that it mattered. Pilar’s ability to read English was too limited to enjoy novels, anyway. She’d learned English by watching American television.
She realized soon enough that she was following her nose as much as Greer’s broad back. The scent of bacon and coffee grew stronger with every step she took. Her stomach growled with hunger.