She drove by a sign that said Playa Tlaloc, Tlaloc Beach, with an arrow pointing toward the area where the men worked. Parking the Jeep and walking to one of the men nearest to the road, Hunter asked him, “Donde esta el Rancho Chapa?”

The man, a lean fellow of about fifty, peered at her before saying, “Solomon Chapa?”

“Si.”

He rubbed his chin with the side of a thumb before answering as the other workers stopped to watch them. He said, “Do you speak English?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He seemed to relax a bit. “Stay on the road for two miles, and look to the right tow

ard the hills near the lake. The house is there, on a small hill between two larger ones, and on a piece of land with deep water on three sides. Armed men are there, and it is having much activity at the rancho for several days. Hombres con armas, you understand? Men with weapons.”

“Thank you.”

“There are many small paths from that place, by water and by land, and secret ones that go to the mountains, if one wants to travel so far.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Vaya con Dios.” He shook her hand with a soft, gentle grip typical of rural people in Mexico. He looked worried about her, and like he meant what he said: Go with God.

She drove slow since there was no other traffic on the road, and made occasional stops, usually on ridges or small hills to use the binoculars and scan the terrain. Spotting the large ranch home surrounded by high walls happened five miles down the road as Hunter looked toward the lake and spotted the tan, ten-foot-high walls surrounding the compound. The structure, almost blending in with the terrain, was on a shoulder of the largest hill by the lake, and slightly below the crest.

The large, wooden front double gate stood open, and Hunter spotted Suretta’s vehicle and several others inside. A side path left Hunter a place to park out of sight of the main road and Chapa’s compound. It left a hike over rough terrain, but was the only choice Hunter had to approach it under cover. A long, single, white caliche road pointed like a finger at the ranch, and a Black Suburban patrolled it in regular patterns, from the double gates to the main road. She watched it park at the gate and two armed men enter, then close the big gate behind them.

Hunter thought that if she could get to the top of the tall hill, she could spy on those inside the walls. Tricky, yes, but she could take a longer route and come up the back side, keeping behind cover until she reached the crest.

Using the knife to work loose the headliner took little time, and the weapons fared well in the trip. Hunter buckled on the dove hunting bag at her waist and filled the three pockets that usually held doves with shotgun shells and the boxes of pistol rounds. The binoculars she hung around her neck, and the knife went into the front pocket of her Wranglers. Carrying the twelve-gauge shotgun in her right hand allowed her to use her left to draw the pistol from her waistband if she needed it.

Hunter took a deep breath and looked over the terrain and saw no one, only the house in the distance. Her mounting stress had Hunter’s jaws aching as she took time to prep for the confrontation. She pictured Kelly and Anita, and the other children as well as Ramona. Her breathing changed when she pictured Solomon, Suretta, and the others. Gripping the shotgun, she trotted across the thorn-dotted, rocky hills, looking for enemies as she went.

An hour later, she lay on her stomach under a bushy cedar at the edge of the hill’s crest and scanned the interior of the walled compound with her binoculars. The interior was a courtyard with a cabana and small swimming pool, and a flowing fountain arranged to look like a small spring. A large metal grill was against the wall next to the glass doors. Two large propane tanks rested on a bottom shelf, and the propane was on because Hunter saw yellow flames flicking under the steaks and sausages on the iron grill. Ringing the inside of the courtyard were small rooms along the walls, except for the one part which showed glass windows and doors. Behind the glass loomed an expansive home of oversized plush couches and chairs. Animal hides covered the Saltillo tile floor. A large bar showed along the back wall.

Solomon Chapa walked by the glass window as she watched, and she felt her jaws clench again. Behind him were Suretta and Kit, with massive La Osa behind them. She touched Kit’s shoulder and the two women walked out of the room and out of Hunter’s sight.

Paco brought up the rear, hanging back some five feet behind the others. Through the binoculars, Hunter made out a large red spot on the side of his face showing the imprint of a fist. As the others stopped to talk, he walked by them, flinching when he passed close to Suretta, who used her hands to emphasize her words.

Solomon gave instructions to the others, mostly to Suretta. They nodded and left, then Solomon walked to the bar, where a small man in a white jacket poured him a drink. The oversized, etched crystal tumbler twinkled like diamonds in the house lights as he lifted it to his mouth. Hunter felt odd, because it appeared that he was looking at her.

She shook her head, couldn’t be, she thought. Hidden like she was, and with eighty yards separating them, there was no way.

She wondered where they kept the children, and whether they were together in one room, or separated. A man exited Solomon’s home and walked to the open gates and closed the large, ornate wooden barriers.

A door at the far side of the pool opened, and Kit and La Osa emerged, herding most of the children into the open area. Hunter stiffened, watching as the two women arranged the children in a single line, facing the hill where Hunter lay hidden. Neither Kelly nor Anita were among them.

They waited as Suretta called to someone in another room, and Paco emerged a moment later, pushing a male into the yard. his hands were tied behind his back and a flour sack covered his head down to his shoulders.

Paco guided and pushed the man to the end of the line of children, then forced him to kneel. Hunter’s palms sweated as she watched it unfold.

In the distance, where the main road intersected with Solomon’s ranch road, Hunter watched a large truck and trailer similar to a furniture delivery truck start down the road toward the compound. It travelled at a tortoise pace because of the potholes and rocks in the uneven road, but it continued to come.

A movement in the yard brought her attention to it, and she watched Suretta go to the kneeling man and slap him so hard that dust flew from the sack on his head. He fell to the side, hitting the ground and causing another pale cloud of dust to rise.

“What the hell?” Hunter said.

She glanced again at the truck and saw it still coming down the road, much closer now, and close enough for her to see the two men, one the driver and one the passenger, in the truck cab. It appeared the truck would drive past the compound walls, taking a road that stayed close and circled to the back.

Solomon Chapa opened the glass door and walked into the compound yard, drink in his hand and nodding to the two men who had been in the black Suburban as they tended the grill. He definitely looked at the hilltop where Hunter lay, and it made goosebumps on her arms to realize that he and the others knew she was there.

Tags: Billy Kring Thriller
Source: readsnovelonline.net