Chapter 3
07:57:40.
The digital numbers on the black timer flickered, bleeding away another second of my life.
I didn't stand in the sun to watch it.
I carried the phone and timer into the thin strip of shade beside the false saloon porch first.
Then I dragged the leaking jug over by its handle, keeping the pinhole turned upward.
I went back for the second jug.
When I had everything in the shade, I sat back in the dirt.
A dark patch of wet sand was already spreading beneath the base of the first jug.
It had felt too light when I dragged it.
Half full at most.
Water was also dripping steadily from a tiny, perfect pinhole near the bottom seam.
Each drop made a dark mark in the pale dust.
The edges began drying before the next drop landed.
Someone hadn't just punctured it.
They had emptied half of it first.
I didn't waste time cursing.
I just lifted the jug, turned the pinhole toward the sky to stop the leak, and drank from the spout.
The water was warm and tasted of hot plastic, but it was clean.
I drank until the frantic pounding in my chest eased, forcing myself to stop before I made myself sick.
The plastic handle cut into my fingers.
Fine white dust filled the grooves around my wedding band and dulled the diamond.
Sweat darkened the back of my shirt, then began drying almost as quickly as it formed.
A white line of salt gathered along the collar.
I set the jug carefully against the porch step, keeping the hole facing upward, and reached for the second jug.
It wasn't leaking.
But as my fingers wrapped around the cap, the plastic safety ring snagged on my skin.
It hung loose.
Someone had cracked the factory seal and pressed it back into place.
I tipped the jug until the liquid rose into the open neck.
It was pale green.
I set it back down in the dirt.
Whatever it was, I wasn't drinking it.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and reached for the yellow satellite phone.
I turned it over and popped the back latch.
The battery slot was completely empty.
I pressed the power button anyway.
I stared at the blank screen, my thumb pressing down so hard my knuckle turned white.
I still wanted the screen to light up.
I wanted to hear Adrian's voice and know he hadn't planned this.
Nothing happened.
I set the dead phone beside the timer.
If I got out, I wanted it with me.
Adrian had left two jugs and a phone.
He had looked me in the eye and promised a car in eight hours.
He meant to frighten me.
He meant to break me.
But a pinhole, a tainted jug, and a hollowed-out phone weren't a test of loyalty.
They were an execution.
Sabine had sat in my production trailer just yesterday, drinking my coffee while the air conditioning hummed around us.
I had been exhausted.
I had finally broken down and told her the truth.
I told her I couldn't live in the shadow of Adrian's armed guards anymore.
I told her about the Fallon lease.
She had reached across the small table, squeezed my hand, and looked me right in the eyes.
"You're brave, Taryn."
By sunset, Adrian had the lease.
I had thanked her before she left the trailer.
Sabine had betrayed me once.
She had also been the last person to touch the phone before Adrian drove away.
That gave me a reason to suspect her.
It didn't give me proof.
Ruben had handled the water.
Any one of Adrian's men could have placed the arrows.
I wanted one name to hate.
All I had was a trap.
My knees protested when I stood.
I had been sitting in the shade for only a few minutes, but the heat had already begun to drain the strength from my legs.
Dust stuck to the damp fabric at my waist and turned the pale blue cloth gray.
Copperglass Wash was a dead movie set.
Beyond the fake wooden church and the rusted water tower, the ground broke into harsh, uneven ridges and dry dirt channels.
Fifty yards away, something bright caught the glare of the sun.
Two strips of bright yellow tape had been staked into the dirt in the shape of an arrow.
Yellow was the exact color I used to mark a safe road for heavy trucks on my film sets.
I walked out of the shade, keeping my boots on the firmer ground along the edge of the wash to save energy.
The dry lake bed had a thin crust.
It cracked beneath my boots, exposing softer powder underneath.
Every footprint remained behind me.
When I reached the scrub bush, I stopped.
The tape was too bright and clean.
It hadn't been bleached by the Mojave sun or scoured by the wind.
It couldn't have been there long.
I looked up at where the yellow arrow was pointing.
It didn't point south, back toward the old highway access road.
It pointed directly toward the northern canyon.
Heat shimmer bent the canyon walls.
The yellow arrow seemed to float above the ground until I came close enough to see the fresh tape.
I knew that northern canyon.
The old mine shaft opened straight into the ground just beyond the bend.
The edges were unstable, and you couldn't see the bottom until you were almost on top of it.
If I followed the "safe" marker, they would find my body at the bottom of the shaft.
They would tell Adrian I panicked.
They would say I wandered off to find help and got lost.
I stood in the sweltering silence, staring at the bright yellow tape.
Whoever had taken my water and phone had also laid out a road to my death.
I looked farther up the dry wash, squinting against the white glare.
A second yellow arrow waited fifty yards ahead.
It pointed toward the mine.