Jill Sorenson - Badlands

Shane continued to choke Owen until his vision went dark. “Tell Dad I said hi,” he muttered, finishing him.

CHAPTER FOUR

PENNY EASED AWAY from Cruz and sat up, her ears straining for the slightest sound.

The men had finally quieted. She’d watched in horror as they’d beaten Owen to a pulp. When the leader had climbed on to his back and choked the life out of him, she hadn’t screamed or broken down in hysterical tears. She hadn’t unzipped the tent opening and rushed to his aid. She’d gone completely numb, her heart shrinking inside her chest.

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

Someone dragged his body away from the fire, out of her line of sight. Then the men gathered in a circle and passed around a bottle. They didn’t seem upset or anxious about the sequence of events. If anything, they were giddy. In the hours that followed, they’d celebrated their success, drinking beer and laughing like hyenas.

Now they were probably sleeping it off inside the other two tents. The guy who’d searched her was still awake, sitting outside. He’d been respectful, but she didn’t fool herself into believing she was safe. Dirk had made several suggestive comments about Penny. What would stop him from trying to attack her?

These men were dangerous criminals.

She doubted her father would follow their instructions. There was no way he could keep this secret from the police. His profile was too high. He’d bring the money and pretend to cooperate. She swallowed hard, imagining a bloody shoot-out.

Even if everything went according to plan, which she doubted, the kidnappers might kill her before the money exchange was completed. They could take her father’s money and kill him. They could kill Cruz.

Her thoughts raced with possible outcomes, none of which involved a happy ending. They’d killed Owen. Hadn’t they?

Her head ached from tension. She refused to accept the fact that he might be dead. Maybe if she saw him up close and touched his cold skin, she could acknowledge it. Until then, she had to push the awful possibility from her mind.

She thought back to the dance she’d shared with Owen at his friend Sam’s wedding. It was months before he became her bodyguard. Her sister Leslie had been helping Cruz eat a piece of cake at a nearby table. Penny and Owen had had a rare moment to themselves. But when the song was over, they’d broken apart.

Tears of regret spilled down her cheeks. If only she could go back in time and not let go. She should have hugged him closer, confessed that she wanted him. Instead, she’d withdrawn, waiting for him to make a move. He hadn’t.

For too many years, she’d been passive and acquiescent, pleasing her parents. After surviving the earthquake and seeing so much devastation, she’d been overjoyed to be reunited with her family. She’d needed their love, comfort and security. Keeping Cruz safe was her main focus, and her father’s house was very safe.

But her father wasn’t going to rescue her tonight. Neither was Owen. She had to save herself—and her son. If she didn’t try to escape, and they hurt Cruz, she’d never forgive herself. She had to act fast, while the leader and his cronies were inebriated.

Outside the tent, the guard made quiet crunching sounds. Slow, deliberate, infrequent. After a long pause, he started again.

Penny’s stomach lurched. She’d been too nervous to eat before going on stage, and now she felt sick. She was also desperately thirsty, and her bladder was full. They hadn’t been given any food or water, or allowed a bathroom break.

Cruz shifted beside her. “Mommy?”

“Be quiet.”

“I have to potty.”

Damn.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Where are we?”

“We’re camping.”

Cruz had always wanted to go on a camping trip. Her father had taken them boating at Pyramid Lake once. Her son had been enthralled by the sight of tents and picnic tables on the lakeshore. This probably wasn’t what he’d pictured, however. He had no pillow and only a blanket as a cushion. “I’m thirsty for water.”

At least he wasn’t hungry. Yet.

She unzipped the front of the tent and looked out at the guard. “Can we have a drink of water?”

He handed her a canteen, his eyes shifting in the dark.

A glance around as she accepted the offering revealed nothing but inanimate shapes in the moonlight. “Thank you,” she said, helping Cruz get a drink. After she slaked her own thirst, her bladder screamed for relief. “We have to go to the bathroom.”

“One at a time,” the man said.

She urged Cruz outside, telling him to go right there, by the tent. He came back when he was done and curled up on the blanket, too drowsy to question the strangeness of this experience. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. More tears sprang into her eyes, but she blinked them away, exhaling.

She could do this. She could think of a way to trick the guard. She could find a weapon. If she had to, she’d attack him with her bare hands. Owen had taught her some self-defense techniques.

Owen.

Heart clenching painfully, she stepped out of the tent. The sand was cool and gritty beneath her bare feet. She didn’t want to push her luck by straying too far, but she wouldn’t squat down in front of the guard. He kept his eye on her as she balled the fabric of her skirt in her fist and crouched in the shadows by the canyon wall, next to a crumbling rock pile.

Rocks made good weapons.

It was difficult to pee and search for a blunt object at the same time. Her pulse raced with anxiety as her trembling fingertips touched a chunk of clay. It broke apart on contact. She tried again, reaching farther. The next rock she encountered was solid, about the size of a baseball. She held it in a tight grip as she rose, adjusting her clothing.

Now she needed a way to surprise him. If he saw her coming at him with a rock, he could shout out a warning or duck.

The rest of the men had to have been asleep in the tents, because she couldn’t see them. As she walked forward, she pretended to step on a sharp object. Gasping in pain, she crumpled into a pathetic little heap on the ground.

“What is it?” the guard asked.

“I cut my foot.”

He approached to take a look, kneeling beside her. Her skirt rode high on her thighs as she extended her foot, whimpering. When he bent his head to inspect the injury, she walloped him. Her first strike was weak, partly because she didn’t really want to do it, but also because winding up would have caught his attention. The short swing and glancing blow failed to incapacitate him.

He touched his temple, dumbfounded.

Cringing, she hit him again. And again. The third one did the trick. He slumped forward on top of her, knocking the wind from her lungs.

Oh, God. Now she would die of suffocation underneath him. Saying a quick prayer, she asked for forgiveness. Then let go of the rock, which was wet with blood, and shoved him aside. He made an odd groaning noise that she hoped wasn’t his last breath. Pulse pounding in her ears, she tugged off his boots and put them on her own feet. They were slip-on style, reaching just past her ankles, and only a size too large.

She hurried toward the tent, afraid he’d regain consciousness and start shouting. His canteen was sitting by the crate, along with the vest he’d been wearing earlier. Grabbing both, she stuck her head inside the flap. Cruz blinked at her in confusion. “Silencio,” she hissed. “Vente, ya! Apúrate.”

He knew she meant business when she issued sharp orders in Spanish. Her family had a lot of Mexican pride, but Penny and her sisters were typical second-generation immigrants. They spoke English almost exclusively.

He scrambled out and grasped her hand, voicing no complaints as she yanked him along. She rushed past the SUV, searching for a set of ignition keys. She couldn’t knock on the tent flaps, asking for him. She didn’t see a cell phone lying around.