I’m about to ask how much farther when Ramon brakes sharply, the Jeep skidding to a halt. He jumps out, grabs a heavy looking tree branch that has fallen near the trail and gives a tug. It pulls away, revealing an opening in the brush. He motions to Culebra to drive the Jeep through, pushing the branch into place when we’re on the other side. Then he climbs back into the driver’s seat and we’re off-roading it through terrain even rougher than before.

I grab the roll bar to keep from bouncing out. Low-hanging branches pull and scrape at us, ruts as big across as tree trunks launch the Jeep airborne, then send it crashing back down to earth. I’ve jammed my jaws so tightly closed, my teeth ache. It’s either that or take a chance they’ll break with the jarring. I need my teeth. Don’t know if there are vampire dentists. Every muscle in my body is drawn tight as a vise. When I look over at Max, he’s got both hands around the roll bar. He looks a little green, like he may be getting carsick.

I don’t say anything. If he’s going to lose it, I don’t want him looking in my direction.

Only Ramon seems oblivious to the Jeep’s wild careening. His jaw is set, his eyes stare straight ahead. He’s a man on a mission to save his family. I can’t fault him for that.

I only wish I knew where the hell we were going.

We’re not parallel to the river anymore. Gradually, the brush gets sparser, the ground more rocky. We start on an uphill climb. Low-growing bushes are crushed under the wheels of the Jeep, releasing the sweet smell of sage and musky scent of mesquite. The air becomes dryer, but not cooler. Max sheds his jacket, exposing the gun on his hip. Comfort wins over concealment.

We wind our way up and around a small hill.

“Where are we?” I ask Max.

“Somewhere I’ve never been before,” he says. “The edges of the Chihuahuan Desert? Shit, I don’t know. Even the banditos don’t venture this far from civilization.”

Culebra half turns in his seat. “We’re almost there. Ramon chose the location for his safe house well.”

Ramon ignores our conversation. White-knuckled hands gripping the wheel, his eyes focused straight ahead. I can only imagine what images are playing in his head. No matter how isolated a spot he chose, the fear that it wasn’t isolated enough must be torturing him.

The ground levels off and we seem to be at the top of a mesa. There are a few trees here, oak and pinyon. Native grasses and low-growing creosote with lacy light green leaves, Yucca and mesquite cover the desert floor. Quite a difference from the more barren desert surrounding Beso de la Muerte.

Ramon is driving straight toward what looks, from my vantage point in the backseat, like the edge of the mesa. What the fuck? I get struck by a disturbing thought. What if Culebra was wrong and rather than going to help Ramon’s family, Ramon is driving us all to oblivion. The Thelma and Louise way out. Maybe he made a deal to swap the safety of his family for his life and Culebra’s.

I grip the roll bar tighter. I can grab Max and haul us both out before the Jeep goes over, but I can’t grab Culebra, too.

I send out a frantic warning. Culebra, I think he’s going over the edge. Get ready to jump out.

Culebra’s thoughts reflect alarm. I grab Max’s arm. He turns toward me, his eyebrows raised. At the moment I’ve tightened my grip, ready to fling us both out, the Jeep slams to a stop.

Max’s breath rushes out in a hiss. “What the fuck, Ramon?”

My sentiments exactly.

Ramon turns in the seat, surprise and confusion stamped on his face. He sees me grasping Max’s arm and interprets Culebra’s hand on the window as preparation for a bailout. He says something to Culebra in Spanish with a bewildered inflection in his voice that even I can interpret.

Max shakes out of my grip and starts to rub at his bicep. “Ouch. Next time you get the bright notion that we need to jump out of a moving vehicle, ask questions first, okay? Ramon just told Culebra that we’re here. His family’s safe house. Just over that bluff.”

CHAPTER 21

OKAY, SO I GOT IT WRONG. TO HIDE MY EMBARRASSMENT, and because anger is my normal way of dealing with being embarrassed, I lash out.

“Shit, Max, I thought he was driving us over the rim. You did, too.”

“Not until you grabbed me. What made you think he was going kamikaze on us?”

“Oh, maybe the fact that he was driving straight for the edge. And that it occurred to me he might have made a deal with Santiago. His family’s safety in exchange for his life and Culebra’s.”

Culebra half turns in his seat but before he can say anything, Ramon jumps out of the Jeep. He heads for a patch of brush that becomes camouflage netting when he pulls at it. He motions to Max and Culebra. “Ayúdeme.”

Max and Culebra join him. The three men grab the netting and pull it over the Jeep. It’s sand colored and dotted with bits of rock and brush. Ramon anchors it with more rocks and stands back to brush dirt from his hands. He glances at his watch.

“Vengan conmigo,” he says.

And runs straight toward the edge of the mesa. In an instant, bickering forgotten, Culebra, Max and I take off after him.

Ramon disappears just as we catch up. Like an optical illusion, the trail that looks, from the way Ramon vanished, like a steep drop-off actually levels off, hugging the side of a hill. It takes standing at the very brink to see that we’re not looking at precipitous drop at all. Ramon is running ahead.

We plunge after him. Ramon moves with purpose. I catch up with him, eyes scanning, senses alert. I don’t see anything that looks remotely like a house. Just a lot of brush and boulders. Once again, I wonder if Ramon isn’t leading us into a trap.

Then I catch the scent. Human. Female. Somewhere off the trail.

Ramon calls out. “Maria! Gabriella!”

From around a bend in front of us, a woman’s voice answers. “¿Ramon? ¿Es tu?”

And then Ramon and a woman are embracing. She appeared from the side of the trail like an apparition but there’s nothing ghostly in the way she clings to her husband or he to her. Culebra and Max catch up.

When the woman sees Culebra, her hand flies to her mouth. “¿Tomás?”

And then she is hugging Culebra and crying and she, Ramon and Culebra are speaking all at once and so fast, the words are a blur in my head. She is darker than Ramon, sculpted cheekbones that are more Indian than Spanish. She is short, heavy hipped and stocky, dressed in a white shirt and jeans cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt. She has a big revolver in a holster clipped to her belt.

Max and I stand apart and watch. It’s apparent she was waiting for Ramon—was this why he didn’t want to start out last night? They had a prearranged time to meet? It would explain his crazy dash across the countryside.

Another movement from just out of sight to our right snaps me to attention. Max sees the reaction. “What is it?”

Before I can reply, another voice.

“¿Papa? Has vuelto para nosotros.”

The words come from a girl, fourteen or fifteen, who steps into the path. She has a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her face is hidden by the wide brim of a hat she sweeps off at the sight of her father.

Ramon opens his arms to embrace the girl. “¿Tu prometí que, no, mi preciosa?”

Ramon hadn’t mentioned having a daughter but clearly this girl is his. She inherited his hair color and eyes, his slender build. She’s tall for her age and dressed like her mother in jeans, a white blouse.

Her mother watches, arms still around Culebra, her expression, her tears reflecting relief. Ramon turns his wife and daughter to face Max and me.

“This is my wife, Maria, and my daughter, Gabriella.” To them he says, “Son amigos de Tomás. Ilegaron para ayudarnos. Anna y Max.”