Seventy-nine

Take the next exit.

Sabrina did, taking a soft right at the off ramp marked Castle Dome Mine Rd. She’d been driving for almost twenty minutes with no other direction other than to head north on the 95.

The two-lane blacktop wound through low-lying mountains and she followed it past a sign marked Castle Dome Airport. Past what looked like an industrial complex plunked down in the middle of nowhere.

None of this was here when I found it. I’d been here for a few days, driving around looking for a place you and I could be alone. Not sure what made me come this way. Must’ve been divine intervention.

She was about fifty miles outside the city. Wherever she was going, it was remote.

Still clingin’ to the belief I’m not real? You still think your subconscious is coughing up suppressed memories or some kinda shit? I thought we were past that, darlin’.

Her phone rang in the seat beside her and she reached for it.

Church.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t like me, Kitten,” she said as soon as she answered. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Sabrina said, surprised she actually meant it. “Vega called and I—”

“I know, Alvarez filled me in,” Church said. “He and Vega are at the ranch house with Santos, trying to sort through twenty years’ worth of telenovela bullshit.”

“And Val?” She’d be foolish to think Church was unaware that Val was in Yuma. She’d probably known she was here the second her plane touched down. “And her mom?”

“I’m on my way to them now.” Church gave her a long-­suffering sigh. “I’ll pick them up and take them back to the station. Get them settled in to wait this out.”

Relief washed over her. As long as they were with Church, they were safe.

“What do you need?” Church said. “Tell me where you are and I’ll—”

This is a private party, darlin’. Your little friend ain’t invited.

“I can’t,” she said carefully. “I can’t tell you where I am.”

“Okay.” Church sounded concerned but she didn’t argue. “Call me when it’s over.”

Any other partner would have been screaming at her to not go in alone, demanding to know where she was. Not Church. Whether it was because she was confident in Sabrina’s ability to make it out alive or because she was tired of chasing her around, she didn’t know. “Courtney—”

“Ahhh, my first name again.” Church laughed but the sound of it rang hollow. “This oughta be good.”

“Thank you,” she said. “For not doing your job.”

“You’re a terrible influence on me, Kitten. Be careful.” And then she was gone. Sabrina held the phone for a moment before scrunching down in her seat to tuck it into the front pocket of her slacks.

Stop the car.

She pulled over, the car tires sliding into the soft shoulder of the road before coming to a stop. She killed the engine and waited.

Get out.

Popping the driver’s door, Sabrina climbed out of the car. As she did, her phone rang again.

It was Croft.

“Is she there?” she said by way of greeting. “Did you find her?”

“You need to work on your people skills, you know that?”

“Croft, I—”

“I know, I know—you don’t have time for my bullshit.” He sighed. “Yeah, I found her.”

“Well?” she said, reaching into the car to pop the trunk before slamming the door closed. “What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Get off my property, I’m calling the police,’” Croft said. “And my personal favorite, ‘I have a gun.’”

Bitter disappointment coated her throat. “So she wouldn’t talk to you?” she said, reaching into the trunk to pull out the duffle Church had put there when they arrived in Yuma. Inside was a collection of handguns and knives. Maps and flashlights. Clothes and boots.

What does it matter, darlin’? You’re gonna find out who he is soon enough.

It matters to me, she thought. Pulling out a pair of cargos, she checked the tag. Her size. Tucked inside one of its legs was a T-shirt and FSS-issue Kevlar tank. If Church were here, she’d kiss her. She started to strip, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, hands flying over buttons and buckles.

“No. But after a few hours of threats and bullying, mostly on her part,” Croft said, sounding smug, “she finally agreed to talk to you.”

Sabrina paused for a second, listening to Croft’s cell phone being transferred from one hand to another. She put the phone on speaker and set it on the edge of the trunk before yanking the cargos up her hips, fastening them quickly. “Hello?”

“You’re the FBI agent? The one who was at Paul’s house when …” Graciella let her words trail off. “I found Rachel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied. “My name is Agent Claire Vance.” The lie stuck in her throat. She yanked the tank on over her head. “I know Paul didn’t hurt Rachel when he was a boy and he didn’t kill her.” Next came the T-shirt. Suddenly, she felt like herself again. Reaching into the pocket of her discarded slacks, she pulled out the knife shed been carrying with her since she left Montana.

Graciella let out a heavy sigh. “It was his brother.”

Sabrina slipped the knife into the front pocket of her cargos. “Who is he, Ms. Lopez?” She didn’t have time to explain that Mark Alvarez, not this mysterious villain, was Paul Vega’s brother. What mattered was that the old woman believed that the man who’d come to her, claiming to be her abandoned nephew, was telling the truth. That’s why she’d helped him. Kept his secrets. Protected him all these years. “He needs help. I can’t help him if I don’t know who he is.” Dressed, she reached into the duffle again to pull out a police-issue Maglite. Clicking it on, she aimed the beam into the desert.

“He’s so angry. Hateful,” Graciella said, her tone full of remorse. “When he found me, I was sure I could help him—be the family he needed, but …” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think he can be helped anymore. I think he’s damned.”

Wade’s laughter rang in her head.

Damned? Ain’t we all, darlin’—ain’t we all?