Clay felt an unaccustomed lightness as he walked back toward his car, clutching the tape. He had just done the unthinkable. But he’d salvaged everything that mattered to him. He was free to pursue his ambitions—become a judge, maybe go into politics. Nothing would be out of reach now.
He’d just opened the driver’s-side door when the bullet slammed into his skull, passing from back to front and knocking him forward across the seat. His body twitched once and lay still.
* * *
Will had come inside to read his mail when Tori called. “Will?” She sounded worried. “Did you pick up Erin after school? She’s not in the house, and she’s not answering her cell phone.”
Dread clutched him like a cold steel vise. “No. I haven’t heard from her. Did you call her friend?”
“I’ll do that next. But if she was at Allison’s, she’d have let me know, and she would’ve had her phone on. Will, I’m scared.”
“Call the sheriff ’s office—now. Tell them to check the Blue Coyote.”
“Dear God, you don’t think—”
“Until we find Erin, we’ve got to assume the worst. Call them. I’ll get Beau on this.”
The acting sheriff since Abner’s resignation was his young deputy, Rafe Sanchez. The kid was sharp, had the makings of a good lawman, but he lacked the experience to handle a life-or-death emergency. As a former DEA agent, Beau was a seasoned crime fighter with contacts in the FBI. If Stella, or somebody in her pay, had taken Erin, every minute’s delay could make a difference.
Beau had been outside, supervising work on the newly erected barn. Seconds after Will’s call he burst into the house, out of breath. “You’re sure she’s been taken?”
“Not yet, but if she has, we can’t afford to waste time.”
“Stella?”
“Until we know more, that’s my best guess.”
“The first thing we need to do is put out an AMBER alert. I’ll make some calls.”
While Beau was on the phone, Will got another call from Tori. His pulse skipped. Maybe she’d heard from Erin. Maybe all this panic was nothing but a false alarm.
But no, as soon as he heard her voice, he knew the news would be bad. “The dispatcher put me through to the sheriff,” she said. “He was out by that ranch exit off the freeway, checking something the Life Flight pilot had spotted from . . . the air.” Her voice quavered, then broke.
Will’s throat jerked. “Was it Erin?” he asked.
“No.” Her breath caught. “It was Clay Drummond’s car. Clay was inside, shot dead. And Erin . . . Oh, Lord, Will. They found her backpack, with her phone in it, behind the seat. But Erin was gone.”
CHAPTER 20
At last the sun was going down. Stella slipped off her sunglasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. While the daylight lasted, she’d kept to the back roads, doing her best to stay out of sight. Soon it would be dark enough to pull onto the freeway and make a beeline for Eagle Pass, where she would cross the border into Mexico.
She’d already called Don Ramon on her burner phone to let him know she had the package and was on her way. He’d assured her that the car wouldn’t be searched. Not that there was much chance of that. The Mexicans weren’t too fussy about what crossed into their country, especially when there was a mordida involved.
One of Don Ramon’s trusted agents would be waiting in Piedras Negras to give her the cash and take the girl off her hands. With the little bitch gone, she could finally get some rest.
Her passenger was awake and stirring. Stella could hear thumping, kicking, and cries of fear and rage from the trunk. At least the girl seemed to be in decent condition. But the car was running low on gas and Stella had to pee. If she stopped at a service station, the commotion in the back might draw attention. She would have to open the trunk and use the chloroform to knock the girl out again.
Now was as good a time as any. She glanced at the ski mask lying on the seat beside her. She hadn’t wanted the girl to see her face. But why bother? Erin Tyler wasn’t stupid. Mask or no mask, she’d know who had her.
The road was deserted. Deciding not to wait for a service station, Stella pulled onto the shoulder, climbed out of the car, and squatted behind a clump of sagebrush to relieve herself. The wind was blowing in hard from the northwest, bringing with it a bank of roiling black clouds. A storm was moving in. If she wanted to make the border before the weather hit, she’d have to step on it.
Unzipping the plastic bag with the chloroform-soaked washcloth in it, she slipped it in her pocket and opened the Buick’s spacious trunk. The girl, her wrists and ankles taped, her clothes twisted and rumpled, was glaring up at her like a wounded hawk, as much in fury as in fear.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
Stella chuckled. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, honey. Let’s just say I’m planning to retire, and you’re going to fund my pension.”
Fear flashed across Erin’s pretty face, but the look hardened into something else. The girl had fight in her. “So you need to keep me alive,” she said.