Chapter Eight

Callie woke with a gasp. She hadn’t meant to sleep. Once dawn broke, she’d insisted she keep watch so B.J. could sleep. With red-rimmed eyes, his drawn face had an exhausted cast to it. She had assured him she would keep an eye on things, but after he began to snore, she’d put her head on her drawn-up knees and had fallen asleep. Now it must be midmorning. She glanced at him, hoping he hadn’t caught her shirking her responsibility.

An idea had come to her in her sleep, but she couldn’t quite get it back. She scanned the broad vista before her. As if scrubbed clean by last night’s storm, the desert sky was a brilliant blue, just like B.J. predicted. Their cave lay on the western side of the mountain, so the rising sun lit up the desert in front of her and kept them in the shadow. A car sped down the highway, but there was no other movement. She’d expected the area to be crawling with searchers.

While not distracted by his intense gray eyes, Callie took the opportunity to really look at B.J. The gash at his hairline was blood-crusted but closed up. In sleep, his face lost its stern expression and made him look approachable. He slept sitting up, his sculptured arms crossed and his muscled shoulders filling up the space. Her bunched-up jacket stuffed under his head, he leaned against the rock, and his corded neck lay at an awkward angle. His legs stretched toward her, feet crossed at the ankles, and she had an image of her feet tucked under those hard, lean thighs. That must be a dream.

He couldn’t be comfortable. The cave that seemed like a godsend last night had proved to be full of sharp rock points and terrible for sleeping. It hadn’t even kept them dry.

The narcos’ blankets were a traditional Mexican weave in beige with black and maroon stripes. Her parents had one almost exactly like them hung on their wall, but it was gray. She felt a twinge when she thought of home.

Her lip was sore, but the swelling was down. B.J. had been furious with her, and she tried to remember why. Oh, yeah, he’d been worried about her, thought her stunt was foolish and risky, when she tricked Manny. In the light of day, she could see his point, but their survival had been at stake, and she couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

I don’t want anything to happen to you, he’d said.

She hugged herself for warmth but also with a little thrill that B.J. cared enough to get mad at her. Callie tested her arms, then her legs, for soreness. She’d seen better days, and she rotated her ankles to get some circulation down to her toes and studied her scuffed flats. Her jacket had bullet holes in it, and one sleeve had B.J.’s blood on it. Her jeans were torn, definitely done in.

Not a nature girl. Her purse with her comb, makeup bag, and gum had been on the console of her car when she made the dash to save Sara. Callie found a ponytail holder in her pants pocket to replace the lost one. Holding it between her teeth, she worked the snarls out of her hair with her fingers before putting the mass of dark waves back up. Hungry and thirsty, she looked around for her water bottle and caught B.J. staring at her.

“Hey! Um, good morning.” Her stomach fluttered with unexpected nerves.

“See anything?” B.J. stretched and rubbed the back of his neck.

You. Callie knew he meant out there. “No. Were you able to sleep at all?

“Some.”

Callie clamped her lips together so she wouldn’t say anything else in that chipper voice. This forced friendliness felt like a morning after awkward sex. And there had been no sex, just a couple of kisses under duress. After they’d killed two men.

Both experiences lived in vivid detail in her mind, but neither seemed real, more like dreams that had happened to someone else. Yet the effects were life-changing, each altering her in profound ways. She looked again for her water and found it, slowly sipping to get the most hydration from the least amount of water. Since she’d studied him thoroughly before he awoke, she disciplined herself to stare at the sky now. Her concentration was nearly broken when he twisted from the waist to stretch his back.

“How long has that car been there?” His brow creased.

“What car?” She frantically searched the landscape.

Sure enough, an older model car with a bike rack sat parked on the dirt road they crossed last night.

“Oh my God, I have no idea.” Callie stuffed things into her pockets.

B.J. yawned. “Callie, calm down. It appears we’re safe for the time being. We don’t have any reason to think the cartel drives around in old cars with bike racks on the back.”

“Maybe they hire people who have bike racks on their cars.” She peered down anxiously but saw no movement.

“You’re overreacting.” B.J. stretched his shoulders.

“Don’t patronize me!” she snapped.

“I’m not. Look, we’ve been through a lot. I understand your alarm, but getting wound up over everything will wear you out, and you’ll have nothing left when it’s time to fight.” The empathy in his eyes matched the small smile and slight uplift of his brow.

The tightness in her chest eased, and through her emotional haze, Callie saw his logic. “You’re right. I’m jumpy at everything.”

He gave her an encouraging nod. “How about some breakfast?”

B.J. reached in the plastic sack and handed her a chocolate bar. She took it gratefully and opened the package.

“I fell asleep when I should’ve been watching.” Blushing, she hung her head.

“I know.” He sipped his water.

“You know, huh? Is that why you gave me a hard time?” She relaxed enough to tease him.

“No, I gave you a hard time because you were panicking.” B.J. seemed lighter this morning.

She saw a little smile around his lips, and she crinkled her nose at him. “In light of this new development, what do you think we should do?”

“Before dawn I went out to scout around. We’re not that far from the top of the mountain. Behind us is a U-shaped valley that leads out to an open area. You can see the border checkpoint, because it’s surrounded by open desert.” He watched her as he described his plan as if he wanted her feedback.

“So during the day we can keep the mountains between us and the highway. I like that. Then when it’s night we cross the open area?” Callie worked the top of her own water, tilting it to take a sip.

“That’s my thought. There’s a stream down there, so we’ll have a source for water, and we’ll get some shade from the mountains as the sun sets. It’s going to be hot today, so we can use any shade we can get.” He now opened his candy bar and took a bite.

Callie licked chocolate from her fingers as she fought the urge to stare at his mouth. “Sounds good. Should we wait and see who is in this car?”

“I don’t think so. We’ll be on the other side of the mountain and may not even see them. You could even be home tonight.” B.J. looked away.

Did that mean he would be walking out of her life?

Something about that sentence triggered the idea that had eluded Callie since she woke up. “Mount Cristo Rey. It could be another place to cross.”

“Where is it?” He leaned toward her.

“It’s at the border outside El Paso. Dad took us there when I was a kid. We hiked up to the top of the mountain where there’s a statue of Jesus. People from Mexico sold things on the way up, so they must have a way to get there. If we can find it, we could walk out of the park with everyone else.” She failed to tone down the excitement in her voice.

“When was this?” Rubbing his thumb on his bristled chin, B.J. didn’t seem enthusiastic.

She sat a little straighter. “I was ten, so almost twenty years ago.”

“There’s a fence at the border now, and there could be Border Patrol. It might be a way to cross without the narcos seeing us. ” He gazed out as if to see all the way to the border.

“For us, Border Patrol would be a good thing.” Callie scooted forward and bumped his arm. Heat flared in her.

“Where is the trailhead?” He nudged her shoulder in response.

“Outside of Sunland Park.” With his interest, she warmed to her idea

“How rough was the trail?”

“It wasn’t bad. I mean, I was a kid, and I thought it was horrible. We walked up in the morning and were back at the car by two o’clock. Dad videoed the whole thing, and he said, ‘I don’t know what you’re all complaining about. See, it’s only two o’clock.’” Callie felt a pang of homesickness. “Every family trip after that, if we complained about how long it took, someone always said, ‘See, it’s only two o’clock.’”

B.J. took a minute to reply. “This Mount Cristo Rey thing is a good idea.”

Callie heard hesitation rather than acceptance. “You don’t like it.”

“Let’s say I’ll keep an open mind.” He wadded his candy bar wrapper and tucked it into his pocket.

Things had been going so well until he shut down. Callie tried to think what she might have said, but it was only family vacation stuff.

Her gaze stayed on the sexy man beside her. Her pulse quickened as she ached to feel his arms around her and run her hands over his strong shoulders. Even as she admired his ruggedly handsome face, and the shape of his intriguing lips, she found herself once again wanting to coax a smile from him. She yearned to know him, to know what made him tick.

His gray eyes met hers. Electricity arced between them. She thought, no prayed, that he would kiss her again. His gaze even dropped to her lips, but he turned away.

“So where did you grow up?” Callie stood and brushed her pants off.

“Saint Louis.”

At least he was still speaking to her. “Do your folks still live there?” she asked.

“They died when I was a kid. My aunt raised me. She still lives in Saint Louis.” His brusque tone matched his movements as he shook out one of the blankets before folding it.

Dear God, no wonder he shut down. “I can’t imagine that much loss.”

“My Aunt Susan is a teacher. She always took me to the library. I did okay.” He shrugged and reached for the second blanket.

All the cops Callie knew tended to bottle their emotions so they could do their jobs, but B.J. must have started early. “I’m sorry, B.J. I wasn’t trying to pry. I don’t know where the land mines are yet.”

He folded the second blanket neatly. “Land mines?”

“You know, touchy subjects. Everyone has them.”

“I may have more than most.” His jaw clenched, and he shot her a quick glare.

Callie measured her words. “You never show them.”

“Yeah, well. You should be careful around me,” he warned.

“I’m kind of clumsy that way.” She lifted her chin.

…

Hell, that sounded ominous. He didn’t want her poking and prodding. She had tied her jacket around her hips and tucked that rich brown hair with the golden stripes behind one ear as if nothing was wrong.

“Did you and Jimmy ever think about kids?” B.J. tried to find her land mines.

He’d read the file and made a guess. Callie and Jimmy had been kids themselves when they got married, probably young and idealistic. He must have hit something, because the well-intentioned smile slipped off her face. He did warn her, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

“Yes.” She stared out across the beauty but didn’t seem to see any of it.

“So why didn’t you have any?” He cringed, knowing he should stop prodding her just to prove a point.

“I did.”

Alarm bells sounded in his head. “What do you mean?”

“I had a baby that died.”

B.J.’s chest tightened, and his heart thudded. He’d been trying to warn her away from him for her own good and ended up hurting her anyway. “When?”

“Right after Jimmy died. I was six months pregnant. We’d felt the baby move and heard the heartbeat. I’d hoped a baby would help Jimmy settle down, and we could have a normal family. Then Jimmy was killed, and the baby came too early.” She shrugged, but it didn’t hide the slight tremble in her voice.

Damn, there was nothing he could say. He had an inkling of the depth of her pain, and his gut constricted.

“After Jimmy was killed, my biggest fear was that I was being stalked. Isn’t that ironic? I thought I was being stalked when I wasn’t. Then when I was stalked, I didn’t know it.” Callie turned to look at him. “I wasn’t afraid for me but for my little boy.”

He could see Callie with a little boy. She’d be a great mother. B.J. had misjudged just how strong she was. To survive a loss like that took so much strength. That explained why she took some of the risks she took: because she would always fight. It was part of who she was.

Now he knew Karl Abbott was even more of a punk scumbag than he thought. Abbott had taken far more from her than her husband. He’d taken everything and had the audacity to keep coming back for more. B.J. would do anything to take that son of a bitch down.

“So if you were looking for one of my land mines, there it is.” Callie looked away, leaving him feeling like a jerk.

B.J. didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing.

“Did your wife want kids? I’m sorry, my brain shorted out, and I can’t remember her name.” There was no inflection to her voice.

“Moira.” He owed her an answer. “She wanted a houseful. I wasn’t so sure.”

“Because you were a cop, sorry, an agent?” She sighed.

“I didn’t want her to be a single parent. You know, in case.” Callie provided the easy answer so he hoped she’d be satisfied with it.

Callie picked up both water bottles and made sure the lids were screwed tightly before placing them into the plastic bag. “I know. Tell me about Moira.”

B.J. didn’t want to talk about Moira. If he tried to reconstruct the woman that had been Moira, he’d fail miserably. But words tumbled out of him in spite of his better judgment. “She was Irish. She had beautiful reddish-blond hair. Strawberry blond, she called it. She had the fiery Irish temper. When she got mad, her accent would get so thick I couldn’t understand her. I used to tell her if I knew what she was saying, I’d get mad, too.”

Callie continued to busy herself with packing, but he knew she listened intently. “How long were you married?” she whispered.

“Almost five years.”

“You were married longer than I was.”

B.J. wondered how long it had taken her to refer to herself in the singular. He’d felt he deserted Moira when he quit saying “we” about six months after she died, one way that even language reminded him of his loss.

“How did you find out Moira had been killed?” Finished with the packing, such as it was, she leaned against the cave wall and looked out at the vista again.

A lump in his throat almost strangled him. “I was with her when she died.”

Callie’s eyes were huge when she snapped her head around, her hand over her heart as if she’d taken a blow.

“Weren’t the details in the newspaper article you read?” He struggled to keep the bitterness out of his words.

“No.” She moved to his side, slid her hand into his, and squeezed.

“Moira was going to remove a child that day, but she was worried about the father. He’d shown signs of mental disturbance, so she asked me to go with her. She laughed and said I was her backup.” He scrubbed his face with his sleeve. “When we got there, we argued. She wanted me to go in so the father would be intimidated and not put up a fight, causing the child more emotional trauma. I told her she’d be fine, just to call me if she needed me. Then I heard a shot from inside the house. Apparently it was a warning or it missed. When I got in, the father had a gun to her head. I tried to talk him down—” B.J. stiffened his back and took a deep breath. “I wasn’t able to…he shot her and ran off. She was dead even before the ambulance got there. Gone.”

If Callie didn’t run the other way from him now, she was a fool. There was more, but she didn’t need to know the rest.

“I remember what ‘gone’ looks like. B.J., how is it we’re still walking around with these burdens?” Callie leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He clenched his jaw, but she simply smoothed his hair. She wasn’t put off by his story. Her hand felt like a lifeline, making it harder to resist her, yet he couldn’t let her get any more involved with a loser like him.

He cleared his throat. “Speaking of walking, are you ready to go?”

She swiped at her face. “Give me a few minutes while I find a bush. Then I’ll be ready to go.” She left the cave but turned back, tears glistening in her eyes. “You were right. The sky is beautiful.”

He hadn’t realized she’d cried. No one ever cried for him. He didn’t want these bonds that were forming between them.

He picked up the plastic bag, which showed its wear and tear, and he wasn’t sure he could trust it to hold much longer. He set the chocolate aside to put in Callie’s jacket pocket when she returned, because he thought it might melt less there. He slid his Glock into his waistband and the flashlight into his pocket. Only the duct tape, what little water remained, and their trash was left in the bag, and he tied that to his belt. He picked up the folded blankets, and as he came out of their shelter, he checked the road below them.

“We climbed higher than I thought last night.” Callie moved up beside him and accepted the chocolate.

“You’re a trouper.” B.J. cringed, hoping the word wouldn’t bring her another emotional dip, and was relieved when she seemed to skip over it.

“Yeah, right. Not.”

Within an hour they had reached the top, and as B.J. pulled Callie up those last few inches, she looked over her shoulder at the road. “It’ll be nice to put a mountain between us and those cars.”

“So where’s this Mount Cristo Rey?” Even though he’d promised to stay open, he suspected Callie’s idea was based more on a fond memory than on practicality.

Callie squinted and pointed. As he made out the cross, she spotted their biggest obstacle.

“Is that the fence for the border?” Callie’s finger had moved.

“Looks like.”

Callie cocked her head and met B.J.’s eyes. “It’s a rougher climb on this side.”

He hated the disappointment he heard, but at least she saw reason. She started down the mountain with B.J. behind, not saying much while they navigated the rocky terrain. They’d talked enough to last a while.

Her flat shoes still caused Callie to slip, but she didn’t complain. Even though he tried to help her, half the time she ended up catching herself on the rocks and ripping up her hands. When they finally reached the bottom of the mountain, he was relieved to see the water level was high enough for them to get drinking water, although he hoped they wouldn’t end up with stomach cramps or worse. It was one more step to getting Callie home.

Since the walking was easier, B.J. decided to try a little light conversation. “You’ve got a lot of family in Rowdy.”

“Yeah, everyone pretty much stayed right there. My sister married the boy who inherited the only grocery store in town, so she’s not going anywhere. My dad owns the title company. I think I told you that. My grandparents and aunts all have a deep connection to the town.” She pulled off one of her shoes and emptied the sand and rocks out of it, followed by the other.

“You left, but you didn’t stay gone.”

“Family will do that.” Callie shrugged.

He wouldn’t know.

Out of the corner of his eye, B.J. saw a flash. Then it was gone. “What was that?”

“I don’t see anything.” She stopped.

“No. Do you hear that?” He heard it again, a soft shushing sound. “I think it’s a mountain bike.”

Even with his warning, Callie jumped as a rider came out of nowhere and slid to a stop. He looked like a recreational bike rider to B.J., which still could cause them problems. B.J. went on alert with a quickly cobbled cover.

“Buenos días. Are you lost?” The biker dismounted and walked toward them. When he removed his helmet, the rider revealed black hair shot through with gray. Sweat ran into the wrinkles of his weathered face. He was in great shape, not as old as he looked, with a bike-rider physique and well-defined calf muscles, and his bike was battered and his gear worn.

“We had car trouble and got caught by the storm. We’re trying to get to the border.” B.J. casually put his arm over Callie’s shoulders.

As B.J. talked, the rider guzzled from his water bottle before responding. “You must be very careful. The narcos can smell trouble from miles away.”

“So we’ve heard. We’d appreciate some help before we get into any trouble.” B.J. tried to sound like a hapless tourist.

“What’s your name?” Callie asked.

“My name is Reymundo.” The rider’s grin brought out deep creases around his eyes.

B.J. scowled. He didn’t get a bad vibe from Reymundo, but he didn’t like the man flirting with Callie.

“Your English is excellent.” Callie beamed at the guy.

“I like her.” Reymundo jabbed his thumb in her direction.

“Do you live in Juárez?” Callie stretched, arching her back a bit as she spoke, drawing the man’s attention to the shirt pulled tightly across her chest.

B.J. gritted his teeth.

“I was a bartender for many years. Our bar was very popular with Americans.” With a glance at B.J., Reymundo began banging on his bent fender.

“Was? Did something happen to it?” Callie asked.

Reymundo shrugged again. “My boss had to close. The narcos scared off all the customers, but he is trying to open again, and I get work now and then. Enough that I hope to get new gear soon.”

“The Juárez mountain bike race. Is it still going on? It used to bring in hundreds of riders.” B.J. tried to take back control of the conversation and get Reymundo’s attention away from Callie.

“Not so many join. People are still scared, just like the people who used to come to the bar. They have good reasons. But yes, the race goes on. It’s why I train.” He took another drink.

B.J. scratched his head and looked around, attempting the confused-tourist look again. “I worry about running into danger. A little information would be much appreciated.”

Reymundo lost some of his friendliness. “Yes?”

“Have you seen narcos this morning?” B.J. leaned toward Reymundo.

“Some of them driving up and down the highway on the road that goes to the U.S.” Reymundo glanced at Callie.

“Is that the road?” B.J. pointed.

The biker’s eyes followed B.J.’s finger. “Yes. Once these mountains end, the land is wide open for about five kilometers. There’s a checkpoint at Santa Teresa.”

Five kilometers of open country could be the difference between life and death.

“Is there any way to get to Mount Cristo Rey?” Callie asked.

Reymundo’s eyebrows shot up. “Mount Cristo Rey? That way is not easy. You have to cross the fence and climb the mountain.”

“How hard is it?” Callie showed her usual relentlessness.

“There are some little trails where people walked up the mountains to sell things to the touristas. Like I said, the fence makes that hard.”

“What if we went into Juárez?” B.J. wanted to explore another option.

Reymundo’s expression hardened. “Be very careful. It’s hard to tell who’s friendly in town. There are houses between here and those mountains. If you stay in the ravine, it can take you to Mount Cristo Rey. But there is a big road to cross before you get to the fence.”

That route sounded risky. “What about the other way? South along that highway and go around that end of town?” B.J. mapped the possible routes in his head.

The biker wrinkled his brow and tilted his head. “It’s longer. There are buildings at the foot of the mountains, but it will take you much longer to get to the border.”

B.J. and Callie exchanged a look.

“One more thing. This is Easter week. There’s a grotto on the other side of this mountain. Here and on Mount Cristo Rey there will be pilgrims. Sometimes narcos can be very religious.” Reymundo got back on his bike.

B.J. nodded. “Any wildlife we need to watch out for?”

“The rain may bring out some tarantulas and snakes.” Reymundo laughed when Callie shivered. “Stick to the ravine.”

B.J. shook Reymundo’s hand. “You’ve been a big help.”

“Vaya con Dios.”

B.J. and Callie watched Reymundo speed off.

“Go with God,” B.J. echoed in English.

That simple statement made things seem even more desperate.