LITMIR.BIZ

      The Stranger and I

      Carol Ericson

      

      To my husband, Neil, and our two boys for their

       enduring love and support. Ustedes son mis héroes.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      The sharp snap jarred Lila out of an uneasy sleep. She bolted upright. Shrugging off the coarse, itchy blanket, she peered through the dirty car window into the dark, now-silent night. Where’d Chad go?

      She glanced into the front seat. The keys dangled from the ignition, and her purse rested on the passenger seat where she’d left it before crawling into the back for a nap. Her mouth dry, she inhaled the mist seeping through the open window in the front.

      Pressing her nose against the cool glass, she tried to focus on the dark shapes etched in the muted moonlight. Rubbing her eyes, she rolled down the window, catching the salty air on her tongue. A grove of palmetto and conical boojum trees created a thick barrier halting the encroachment of the narrow gravel road.

      She heard it again, a crack cutting through the air. That same sound had permeated her sleep, dredging her up to this muddled state of consciousness. Instinctively, she opened her mouth to call out to Chad, but prickles of uncertainty danced along the back of her neck. She snapped her lips shut.

      Chad told her earlier that he had to make a stop to meet someone before they crossed the border, but in this deserted spot? Didn’t make sense.

      She grasped the car-door handle, easing it forward and nudging the door open with her knee. The dome light flickered and faded, failing to shed any light on her predicament.

      “Damn,” she muttered, “broken like everything else in this crappy car.”

      She placed a sandaled foot on a thick carpet of plant life that muffled her step.

      And slid into the unknown.

      Leaving the door open, she stole through the cluster of trees toward a new sound. Voices. Did Chad find his friend? The tone of the voices didn’t sound very friendly. She crouched behind some underbrush that skirted a small clearing.

      Angry words punctuated the night air. She strained to understand them, inching toward another bush to gain a clear view of the open space.

      She gaped at the man kneeling on the ground with his hands secured behind his back. A streak of what looked like blood stained his right cheek. Chad. And those men didn’t look like friends.

      A thickset figure stood before Chad, holding a thin whip. Another, taller man pointed a gun at Chad’s head. The man with the whip snapped it and barked out a question in a foreign language. Chad shook his head, earning him a swipe across his bare chest. A thin line of blood sprang up. He jerked his head back, his long blond hair swinging behind him.

      Lila bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. The metallic taste of her own blood spiked her tongue. She couldn’t understand the stocky man. Her brow creased. The language he spoke didn’t remotely resemble Spanish.

      Chad’s tormentors had their backs to her, so she poked her head above the shrubbery to get his attention.

      His half-closed eyes widened for a moment. He shook his head and groaned out, “No,” before dropping his chin to his chest.

      Was that meant for her? She ducked.

      Crouching, she scanned the ground for a heavy rock or a stick. She needed a weapon. She glanced back at the gun glinting in the moonlight and froze. A rock, no matter how heavy, couldn’t take on a firearm.

      Her eyes darted to the other side of the clearing. Should she create a disturbance? Could Chad escape? Eyeing his limp form, she doubted he could make much of an effort. No, she had to get away and find help if she hoped to save Chad.

      From their language, she knew the men weren’t Mexican Federales. At least Chad hadn’t broken any Mexican laws to get into this predicament. Or had he? What did she really know about Chad Delaney beyond what his casual chatter revealed during the three carefree days they’d spent together?

      The man with the whip growled out another question. Raising his head, Chad gasped out an answer in the same language.

      Wrong answer.

      The whip shot out again, this time catching Chad across his bare thigh. Lila twitched with the impact, the sting resonating on her own flesh.

      Chad threw his head back and yelled, “El túnel está aquí…” The tall man fired his gun. Chad pitched face forward in the dirt.

      Her stomach lurched. She ground her teeth together to subdue the sour lump of terror rising from her gut.

      Her eyes burned into the backs of the men now standing over Chad’s lifeless body, but her feet stayed as rooted to the ground as the thick brush that ringed the clearing.

      Branches crackled and the trees across from her parted, ejecting two more men brandishing guns. As they cursed in Spanish, Lila peeled her feet from the ground and backed up one step at a time. The thick, springy undergrowth silenced her footsteps, but the two sets of men were too busy screaming at each other to hear anything anyway.

      Once free of the bushes, she spun and ran for the car. Her heart ricocheted in her chest. The sound of her own terror roared in her ears like a wild beast. She tripped on a gnarled root. She sprawled forward, flinging her arms out in front of her. The sharp edges of the leaves and twigs covering the ground bit into her palms and knees. She dragged herself up. She plunged ahead, ignoring the pain that pierced her ankle.

      Staccato blasts echoed in the clearing.

      More tree branches snapped.

      Were they chasing her?

      A sob ripped through her throat. A scream penetrated the mist. She couldn’t tell if it belonged to her or one of the four men involved in the shoot-out behind her.

      She lunged at the car and gripped the door handle. As she yanked the door open, her breath raked through her lungs. She twisted her head over her shoulder to peer into the moon-smudged darkness.

      No one followed. Were they all dead? She didn’t plan to stick around for the autopsies.

      Dropping onto the driver’s seat, she grabbed at the keys in the ignition and cranked them forward. The engine sprang to life, and she ground the gearshift into Reverse. She stomped on the accelerator without even looking behind her. The back door of the car, which she’d left open, slammed shut. Her heart rate charged up another notch.

      The tires crunched on the gravel, spewing dust and grit in their wake. Once she hit the paved road, Lila spun the steering wheel, threw the gear shift into first and gunned it. The car lurched and almost stalled before she shoved it into second and then third gear. Giving a protesting whine, the car straightened out on the asphalt and hurtled

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