Chapter Thirty-Two
Carly wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound her fists against the wall and tear out her hair. With a steadying breath, she battled the feelings down and fought to gain control of her emotions. “What are we going to do?”
Linc looked down at his heavy stainless wristwatch. “Barring any problems, it’s a little over six hours from here to Victoria. It’s ten after six right now so we have time, but not a lot. First we need to phone the Wellers, make sure they don’t call the police, let them know we’re going to bring Zach home.”
She swallowed. “They must be terrified.” Her hand shook as she punched in Amanda Weller’s contact number. Her throat tightened when she thought of how scared Zach must be.
She looked up at Linc and her eyes burned. “Could you talk to them? I’m afraid I’ll cry and I don’t want to frighten them any more than they are already.”
Linc took the phone, holding on to her hand for a moment before he let go. When Tom Weller answered, Linc asked if he was okay. Apparently he was battered and bruised but all right. Linc told him they were going to meet El Jefe’s demands and bring Zach back to them. Speaking calmly, he reassured them, told them he wouldn’t let anything happen to the boy.
Carly knew it was a promise he would do his best to keep, but there was no way to be sure.
She clamped down on the hysterical sob that rose in her throat. A little boy’s life was at stake because her grandfather had stood up for the principles he believed in. Donna had been right. Joe would have refused to pay the money El Jefe demanded, just as he had refused to be involved in the man’s criminal activities.
Carly took a shaky breath and forced herself under control. There was no time for emotion, not with so much at stake.
The trip to Victoria was pushing four hundred miles. Taking the less-traveled route El Jefe had laid out, they could be there by one A.M. but they needed to get on the road.
“I’ll bring up the truck,” she said. “If anyone’s watching, they’ll see me behind the wheel when we drive out of the yard.” Earlier, she’d mentioned the Glock beneath the driver’s seat. Linc hadn’t seemed surprised.
“I’ll talk to Frank,” he said, “send him to join the rest of the security people back at the ranch.”
While Linc went to find Frank, Carly locked up and went to get the rig. The big white eighteen-wheeler with the winged Drake logo on the side had recently been washed and the tank filled. Carly climbed into the cab, adjusted the seat so her feet were flat on the floor, and checked on the Glock under the seat, along with a spare magazine. She buckled her seat belt and started the big Cummins diesel, felt the rumble of the engine roaring to life.
The truck had a standard transmission instead of an automatic. Joe was old-school; he’d liked the extra control. As Carly shifted the powerful vehicle into gear, an odd calm settled over her.
She could do this. Together she and Linc could make this work. They could pick up El Jefe’s load, deliver it, and bring Zach safely home. The cameras would collect at least some of the evidence they needed to stop the maniac threatening all of their lives.
She could do this. She wouldn’t allow any other thought into her head.
As she drove the truck forward and pulled up in front of the office, Linc opened the door on the passenger side and swung up into the cab. She shouldn’t have noticed the huge bicep with the barbed wire tat threatening to tear through the sleeve of his black T-shirt. She shouldn’t have felt a tug of sexual awareness, but she did.
Clearly she wasn’t dead yet.
As she eased out of the yard and turned the big semi-truck and trailer onto the road, Carly prayed they could rescue Zach and manage to stay alive.
* * *
With fear for Zach riding on her shoulders, the first two and a half hours seemed like ten. Linc had offered to drive after the first hour and several times since then. Carly told him she’d turn the rig over to him in Waco, which was near the halfway point and would be coming up very soon.
It was dark inside the cab, just the glow of the speedometer, tac, fuel, temperature, and oil gauges illuminating the dashboard. She and Linc were both too wired to nap on the twin mattress in the sleeper compartment behind the seats.
Maybe as the journey wore on . . .
The back roads they had been traveling for nearly two hundred miles covered thousands of acres of rural Texas landscape and passed through a dozen tiny towns. Turning south on 77 would be more of the same.
“We’re coming into Waco,” Linc said. “There’s a convenience store up ahead. I could use a cup of coffee and you’re probably ready to take that break.”
She nodded. “I’m definitely ready. Coffee sounds good.” She braked, began downshifting through the pattern, made a wide turn onto the side street, then pulled into the asphalt parking lot, which was big enough to accommodate the rig.
Jumping down from the cab, she took a moment to stretch the muscles in her neck, shoulders, and lower back, then locked the truck, and she and Linc walked into the convenience store. It didn’t take long to make a pit stop, grab a packaged sandwich and a candy bar for energy, along with a big paper cup of hot coffee.
When they reached the truck, Linc swung in behind the wheel and Carly climbed into the passenger seat. Both of them buckled in and Linc started the engine. They finished the sandwiches as the truck pulled out of the parking lot and headed farther south. Linc took the turn onto Highway 77, and they settled back in their seats.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, finishing his coffee as the truck rolled into the night.
“All right, I guess. I’d feel a lot better if I weren’t so worried about Zach.”
“They’ve got no reason to hurt him. We’re doing what Zapata wants. We aren’t going to give him any trouble.”
“Except for the video cameras and sound equipment in the trailer.”
“Zapata won’t be expecting surveillance gear. I checked it out and it’s very well hidden. No way will anyone notice.”
“I hope that rat bastard is there at the pickup site. I hope we get the proof we need to bring him down.”
Linc chuckled. “So do I, but I wouldn’t get my hopes too high. Once Zach is safe, we should at least have some of the evidence the FBI is looking for.”
She sighed. “I hope so. I want my life back, Linc.”
“I know you do, honey. We’re going to make that happen, I promise.”
Traveling well south of Waco at nearly ten o’clock at night, there were few cars on the road, just the occasional pair of headlights coming in the opposite direction or a vehicle pulling out of a driveway after the truck drove past.
“You sure you can’t sleep?” Linc asked. “Be good if you were fresh when we got to Victoria. We’ve got no idea how much farther we’ll have to go to get to the pickup site.”
“I know. Maybe once the caffeine wears off, I’ll give it a try.”
But an hour later, she was still wide-awake, still worried about Zach, and no way would she be able to fall asleep.
* * *
As the miles rolled past, Linc grew more and more tense. It was after midnight, Victoria still thirty miles away. They should make the rendezvous on time, but until he drove into the truck stop and met up with Zapata’s man, he wouldn’t stop worrying.
Next to him, Carly was nodding off, her head against the window. He wished she had climbed into the bed in the sleeper, but he hadn’t suggested it again. It wouldn’t have done a lick of good and at least this way she was resting.
Another half hour passed. The lights of Vic’s Truck Stop burned into the darkness up ahead. As he started downshifting, Carly stirred, then jerked upright in the seat.
“Are we there? What time is it?”
“We made it a few minutes early,” Linc said. “Keep an eye out for Zapata’s man.” Pulling into the lot, he found a parking spot away from the big mercury lights illuminating several acres of asphalt, and turned off the engine. When no one walked up to the window, they climbed down to stretch their legs, went in and used the bathrooms, then headed back to the truck.
As they approached, a man stepped out of the darkness, big, with black hair slicked back and a bushy mustache. Linc recognized him as the man holding the knife on Carly when Zapata’s men had attacked her at the roadhouse.
“The woman drives so I can keep an eye on you,” the big Latino said, pointing his pistol at Linc.
“You don’t need the gun,” Linc said. “You’ve got the boy. We’re going to cooperate.”
The man just grunted. Linc remembered Carly saying his name was Cuchillo—knife—a name she’d heard the night she’d been abducted.
Jerking open the door to the sleeper compartment, Cuchillo climbed in and settled himself on the bunk behind the seats. Linc climbed into the passenger seat while Carly eased into the driver’s seat, fastened her belt, and started the engine.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Just keep heading south. I will tell you where to turn.”
Pulling back onto the road, she followed the pavement south. A ways down the highway, the man’s deep voice rumbled to life.
“Turn here. Head for Tivoli.”
Carly made the turn and kept going. At the tiny grease spot in the road that was Tivoli, she was ordered to turn again, onto Road 35. The truck passed through farm country for awhile, then into an area of marshes, bogs, and swamps that was completely desolate. A good place to pick up smuggled cargo—or get rid of bodies.
Linc flicked Carly a glance and her gaze caught his. He read her unease, which matched his own.
Twenty miles from Tivoli, Cuchillo ordered her to turn down a boggy lane. Linc knew roughly where they were, knew the land around here was part of the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge. Proof of that in the form of a huge boa constrictor at least twelve feet long appeared in the headlights along the side of the road.
“Did you see that?” Carly asked as the truck drove past.
“Yeah. Lots of snakes out here. Gators, too.”
“Keep driving,” Cuchillo said.
The road petered out, dead-ending into a saltwater bay. Just beyond, the headlights reflected on dark, murky water stretching far into the night. Linc caught a glimpse of a big rubber boat pulled up on shore. Farther out, a powerboat disappeared into the darkness, heading back out to sea.
The smugglers had delivered their cargo. Whatever the hell it was.
“Pull up here and turn the truck around—and do not get stuck in the mud.”
There was a makeshift circular turn-around area. Carly pulled onto what appeared to be a solid-looking piece of earth and turned the truck around so it faced back the way they had come. So far she was doing a helluva job of handling the big rig. Linc was proud of her.
“Put on the outside lights and turn off the engine,” Cuchillo said. “Mosquitoes are as thick as dog hair here so leave the windows up, and do not get out of the truck.”
“Whatever you want,” she said.
Cuchillo climbed out of the cab, slammed the sleeper door, and disappeared toward the rear of the trailer. Linc had purposely left the roll-up door unlocked. He could hear the rattle as someone shoved it up, then the slide of something heavy being loaded into the trailer.
Carly leaned forward to look in the side mirror. “They’re staying out of sight behind the truck. What do you think they’re loading?”
He glanced into the mirror, saw only the sides of the trailer. “Something heavy. Could be drugs, could be anything.”
It didn’t take long to complete the job, whatever it was. The roll-up door rattled back down and the sleeper door opened. A whiff of marijuana seeped from Cuchillo’s clothes as he climbed into the truck, a can of bug spray in his hand. He sprayed the interior, ending the buzz of the annoying insects, and settled himself on the bunk.
“Start the truck.”
Carly cranked the engine. The truck came to life and idled softly.
“Where are we going?” Linc asked.
“Back the way we came. No tolls on 77 so no cameras. There is a convenience store in La Grange. You can take the wheel from there.”
Cuchillo yawned. “I need to get some sleep. Wake me when you get to La Grange. El Jefe is expecting me to call from there.” Apparently satisfied Linc wasn’t going to cause him any trouble or maybe just too stoned to care, he stretched his bulky frame out on the bed. “Do not do anything stupid or the boy gets killed.”
Linc looked over at Carly, whose eyes met his. They were heading back toward Dallas. The cargo could be anything—from drugs to a dirty bomb.
“It’s going to be okay,” Linc said softly as the truck rolled along and Cuchillo started to snore. “We’ll get Zach and head home.”
Carly nodded. But both of them knew they might never see home again.