Dana Mentink - Race to Rescue

The voice on the other end was faint, raspy. “Ani.”

There was only one person who would dare call her Ani. She pressed the phone closer to her ear and listened to her brother’s irregular gasps. “What’s wrong? You sound out of breath.”

There was a delay before he answered. “Need your help.”

She felt a stir of fear as she struggled to hear him through the bad connection. Drew didn’t need help for anything. He was ever the bullheaded, larger-than-life brother who shot first and aimed later. “Tell me.”

His voice faded in and out. “…trouble.”

She felt a stab of alarm. “I can’t hear you. Tell me again. Where are you?”

“Please…gotten myself in too deep this time.”

Her throat constricted. “What happened? Are you still in Arizona?”

“Yeah, I’ve been…” Dead space swallowed up his words. “You’ve gotta help me, Ani.”

“I can’t hear you. It’s a bad connection. Are you hurt? Do you need the police?”

Drew managed one more word before the phone clicked off.

Anita stood stock-still, her body taut. Frantically she redialed Drew’s number and got an “out of service” message for her trouble. If his words hadn’t scared her enough, the desperate tone of his voice had. He needed her help to escape from something, something deadly.

She had to go; she had to find him.

His final word tumbled over and over in her ears.

Murder.

The harsh Arizona sunlight beat down on Booker Scott as he wrenched the barbed wire back into place. Second time this week it’d been cut. He knew exactly who was responsible, and he knew they’d be back, with more help and more firepower. They were checking things out, seeing if his property offered the necessary amenities. Ace reached a paw up to scratch under his collar, his sturdy German shepherd body parked in the shade of the pickup.

“They’re getting bolder, Ace.” He wondered if they were watching him at that moment from some concealed spot in the rugged side of the distant gorge. But even more menacing than the trespassers on his property were the bankers, looking for their pound of flesh. He’d take guns over bankers any day.

He fought against the desperate feeling that rose in his gut. It’s still my land for a while longer. His eyes followed the sun-parched ground, speckled with boulders bearing resurrection moss, until it folded into the steep gorge on the western periphery of the property. The black mouth of Mesquite Cave was almost invisible, tucked into the shadow of the massive rock that overshadowed it.

It was all there, the key to saving his ranch and his father. Right there, but locked away from him as surely as if it was chained in a steel vault somewhere. Thanks to Cyrus Leeman and his beautiful helper, Anita Teel. He allowed his mind to picture her for only a moment. Long hair, brown eyes, determined chin, full lips that left an indelible imprint on his.

“Trabajo?”

He whirled around to face the small man with the battered straw hat. He knew the guy’s name was Diego.

“Trabajo?” Diego repeated, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Work? Booker almost laughed. How could he possibly pay to have someone else work his property when he could hardly afford to keep it going now? “No, man. Sorry.”

Diego nodded and turned to shuffle off.

Booker stopped him. “Here.” He tossed Diego a cold water bottle from the small cooler he’d brought along.

The man caught the bottle and tipped his hat. “Gracias.”

Booker nodded back, threw his toolbox in the back of the pickup and fired the engine to life. Ace jumped into the back, and they headed into town.

He didn’t expect to see Cyrus Leeman chatting with the Border Patrol agent Tony Rogelio in front of the bank as he eased his truck to the curb. Rogelio gave him a nod and drove away in his own vehicle. Once again, Booker wondered if the agent was a man to be trusted. He tamped down the worry and started across the sun-baked sidewalk.

Ace dutifully followed Booker out of the truck and stood in a shaded spot.

Leeman cocked his head in between sips of water from a bottle. “Mr. Scott.”

Booker wondered why the wiry man didn’t ever seem to sweat, not even on the bald spot that gleamed in the sunlight. He nodded and continued past until Leeman stopped him.

“How are things going on the ranch? Heard you sold off some of your stock and two horses.”

Booker turned to face him. “Not your business.”

Leeman smiled, showing perfectly straight teeth. “Just being neighborly.”

“Neighborly?” Booker felt his self-control snap. “You want my property and you’ll do whatever it takes to get it. Don’t need neighbors like that.” The dog picked up on the tension in his owner’s voice. He straightened, ears stiff and body tense.

Leeman shot the animal a wary look and capped the water bottle. “Is your dog friendly?”

“Most of the time, but he’s a real good judge of character.”

Ace kept intense eyes trained on Leeman.

He shrugged. “Now really, Scott. You are paranoid. Why would I want that useless piece of land? There’s no easy water access. Can’t even mine on it, anyway.”

Booker clenched his fists to keep from punching Leeman in the gut. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Environmental protection isn’t my main concern. That was your girlfriend’s bailiwick.”

“Not my girlfriend and again, not your business.” He’d thought she was his girlfriend, but he’d been wrong, so wrong.

“How are those bats, anyway? Keeping a good watch over your opal mine?”

Booker straightened his baseball cap, buying a moment to steady himself. “You work hard to be that obnoxious or does it come natural?”

Leeman laughed. “Miss Teel’s article about your bats was well-received. I believe her research team was given a handsome grant.” He looked casually away for a moment. “She’s coming to town, you know.”

He struggled to take it in. Anita was coming back? The anger and bitter disappointment flared as intensely as it had four months earlier, when he discovered who she really was. He kept his face controlled in spite of the feelings that coursed through him like a swiftly moving stream. With every ounce of remaining control, Booker turned away from Leeman.

“Stay, Ace,” he told the dog, and pushed through the bank doors.

Leeman was goading him. Anita had no reason to come back to Rockridge. She’d done her work, saved the world and left his heart in the dirt.

He shot a look back at Leeman, who still had the remnants of a smile on his face as he backed away from the dog. Anita wouldn’t come back. His heart seemed to have developed an unsteady rhythm.

Would she?

The oppressive desert heat pressed down on Anita as she neared Rockridge in the battle-scarred Dodge she’d rented. It seemed hostile already, this place that hid her brother somewhere, in some sizzling corner. From the airport, she’d placed one frantic phone call to Wild World Magazine. The secretary confirmed Drew hadn’t been heard from in several days. The second phone call went to the police. Their professional coolness infuriated her as it had when she’d called the first time from the Seychelles. This was her brother they referred to with such detachment. She made arrangements to meet with them as soon as she arrived.

The road reflected the summer heat back at her in angry waves. The Dodge seemed to feel it too: the engine rattled and coughed, causing her to slow to a crawl several times.

Her stomach finally convinced her to pull into a dust-covered diner. She ordered a sandwich to go and waited while they prepared it. As she collected the bag and paid, she noticed a truck pull up by the side of her rental. The driver, whose face was concealed by sunglasses and a baseball cap, peered in the side window.