Afraid the helicopter would return, Sophia removed the rolled blanket tied to the back of Hector’s bike and secured it to her backpack. She forced herself to climb back on the bike, the insides of her thighs and her bottom aching from the full day of riding and the strain of remaining seated on the motorcycle across the rough terrain.
She removed the compass from her pocket and clicked the button illuminating the dial. She set her course for north and took off across the desert, the night sky full of stars guiding her. With the threat of rain fast approaching, she increased her speed, refusing to give up when she’d come this far.
Before long, she came across a barbed-wire fence. If she hadn’t seen the silhouettes of the fence posts standing straight and tall in a land of short, rounded and oddly shaped cacti, saw palmetto and sagebrush, she would have run right into the razor-sharp barbed wire.
Hector had armed her with wire cutters for just such an occasion. He’d warned her that the wire was stretched taut and not to get too close or, when she cut it, she’d be wrapped in the sharp barbs, unable to extricate herself without grave harm.
Sophia held her arm out as far as she could when she cut through the bottom strand. The wire snapped, retracting into a coil farther down the fence line.
She cut the other two strands and drove her bike through, exhaustion making her movements slow and sluggish. If she didn’t find a place to hide soon, she’d drive off a bluff or wreck.
With only the stars and her compass to guide her, Sophia picked her way across the terrain, dodging vegetation not nearly large enough to hide a dirt bike or a woman, but large enough to cause serious damage should she hit it.
After the third near miss with prickly pear cacti, she finally spotted the square silhouette of a small building against the horizon. No lights gleamed from windows and no electricity poles rose up into the night sky, which might indicate life inside.
She aimed her bike for the dark structure, her body sagging over the gas tank, her hand barely able to push the throttle.
As she neared the building, she cut the engine and drifted to a stop, ditched the bike in the dirt and walked the remaining distance. She swung wide to check for inhabitants. Nothing stirred, nothing moved around the exterior. The building had a lean-to on the side and a pipe chimney. The place appeared deserted.
Sophia opened the door and peered inside. With the starlight shining through the doorway, she could see twin bed frames, no more than cots with thin mattresses rolled toward the head. A potbellied stove stood in one corner, and a plank table with benches on either side took up another corner.
Not the Four Seasons, but heaven in Sophia’s tired eyes. She trudged back to where she’d left the bike, pushed it under the lean-to and stacked several old tires against it to hide it from view. With nothing more than what she carried in her backpack, she reentered the cabin.
The door had neither lock nor latch to secure it. Too spent to care, Sophia shook out a thin mattress, tossed her blanket over it, placed the pistol Hector had given her on the floor beside the cot and lay down.
She stared up at the dark ceiling, thinking of Hector and Anna and all they’d sacrificed to get her away from Antonio. One tear fell, followed by another. Sobs rose up her throat and she let them come, allowing her fear and sorrow a release. Tonight she could grieve. Tomorrow, before sunrise, her journey continued.
* * *
THORN DRENNAN HADN’T planned on being out this late, but he’d promised his boss, Hank Derringer, that while he awaited his first assignment as a special agent with Covert Cowboys, Inc., he’d check the Raging Bull Ranch fences for any breaks.
With the number of illegal aliens and drug runners still crossing the border from Mexico into the United States, any ranch owner this close to the border could count on mending his fences at least two or three times a week, sometimes more.
On horseback, it had taken Thorn far longer than he’d anticipated. The sun had set an hour ago, and he still hadn’t completed a full inspection of the southern border of the massive ranch. He’d continued on, despite how tired he was, taking it slow so that he didn’t overtax his mount.
Since the stars shone down, providing enough light to see the fence, Thorn didn’t have a reason to return to the ranch sooner. He’d just climb into his truck and head to his little empty house in Wild Oak Canyon and lie awake all night anyway.
Sleep meant nightmares. The kind that wouldn’t let him get on with his life—the kind that reminded him of all he’d lost.
Tonight was the second anniversary of the murder of his wife and their unborn daughter. He couldn’t have gone home, even if he’d completed the inspection of the fence. And the bars didn’t stay open all night.
His house was a cold, grim testament of what his career had cost him. He’d slept on the couch for the past two years, unable to sleep in the bed he’d shared with Kayla. He’d loved her since high school. They’d grown up together there in Wild Oak Canyon. She’d followed him across the country when he’d joined the FBI and back home when he’d given up the bureau to take on the role of county sheriff. He’d made the switch so that he would be home more often, and so he and Kayla could start the family they both wanted.
Their plan had gone according to schedule—until a bullet aimed at Thorn had taken Kayla’s life and, with hers, that of their unborn child.
Thorn stared off into the distance. His horse, Little Joe, clumped along, probably tired and ready to head for the barn. So much had changed, and yet South Texas remained the same—big, dry and beautiful in its own way. Never had he known a place where you could see as many stars overhead. Kayla had loved lying out at night, staring up at the sky, picking out the constellations, insisting they teach their daughter all about the world and universe they lived in.
Thorn didn’t know much about the cosmos other than what he’d read in magazines, but he knew how to find the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt because of Kayla. And because of Kayla, Thorn never failed to marvel at the immensity of the universe, much less the galaxies beyond their own solar system.
Tonight the vastness only made him realize just how alone he was.
Little Joe ground to a halt, jarring Thorn out of his morose thoughts, and just as well. Coiled in big, loose curls was a tangle of barbed wire where the fence had been cut.
Thorn cast a quick glance around to make sure whoever had cut the fence wasn’t still lurking before he went to work mending the break. An hour later, fence mended, he stretched aching muscles. The moon had risen high above, near full, shedding enough light that it could have been daytime. The light wouldn’t last long. Thunderclouds looming to the west would change that soon. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to get back to Hank’s before the storm reached him.
In the dust at Thorn’s feet, a single tire track, probably a motorcycle, led from the break in the fence into the ranch. At that moment, the wind wasn’t blowing and the track remained intact. Thorn stowed his tools in his saddlebag and swung up into the saddle. Hank’s sprawling ranch house lay in the general direction of the tracks. With the moonlight illuminating the trail, Thorn chose to follow the tracks and see where they led. Perhaps he’d catch up with the trespasser.
After thirty minutes of slow riding, dropping to the ground to double-check the direction and climbing back into the saddle, Thorn spotted what looked like an old hunting cabin ahead in the distance. The motorcycle tracks were on a collision course.
Thorn pulled his rifle out of the scabbard and checked to make sure it was loaded and ready. When he got close enough, he dropped down out of the saddle and left the reins hanging.
Thunder rumbled, and Little Joe tossed his head and whinnied.
The flash of lightning reminded Thorn that the storm would soon be on him, obliterating the moonlight and any chance of finding his way back to Hank’s ranch house in the dark.
Thorn crept around the cabin, checking for any sign of life. He spotted the