Chapter 5
The car came when the timer reached zero, exactly as Adrian had promised.
The headlights appeared before I heard the engine.
Across the flat lake bed, light traveled farther than sound.
Twin swaths of pale yellow crested the southern ridge, cutting through the gathering dark.
I didn't stand.
For one stupid second, I wanted to run into the headlights and force my husband to look at what eight hours in the desert had done to me.
I wanted to demand that he look at my torn knee and listen to me for once.
But the water had been tampered with.
The phone had no battery.
I stayed in the dark corner of the shed, my back pressed against the corrugated tin wall, and waited to see who got out.
The heavy diesel truck rolled down the dirt grade and parked twenty yards away.
The headlights cut off, plunging the wash back into the heavy, purple twilight.
Two doors slammed shut.
Their boots broke through the dry crust outside the shed.
In the cooling air, every step carried clearly.
"Check the saloon first," a voice said.
It was raspy, unfamiliar, and impatient.
"She wouldn't go far."
"She wouldn't stay in the open," a second voice answered.
I knew that voice.
Ruben.
He was the driver who had stood in my living room.
The man who had helped me carry folding chairs into the garage because he didn't want me lifting them alone.
Relief flared in my chest for a fraction of a second—a desperate, stupid hope that Adrian had sent someone I knew to bring me home.
Then the unfamiliar man spoke again.
"I don't care where she hid. Just find her. Sabine wants the ring."
"What about the body?" Ruben asked.
His voice wasn't warm or familiar.
It was flat, carrying the casual detachment of a man discussing a freight manifest.
"Leave it for the coyotes. Vescari never sees the rest."
The cold certainty I had felt all afternoon crystallized into ice in my veins.
I had wanted one name.
Now I had it.
Sabine.
The woman who had pinned my veil wanted my wedding ring taken from my body.
Sabine had ordered my death.
Adrian had delivered me to her.
Gravel crunched closer.
A bright beam from a heavy tactical flashlight swept into the shed, slicing through the thick, dusty air.
The light tracked across the empty milk crates, missing my corner by inches.
"Taryn?" Ruben called out.
His tone shifted instantly.
The cold detachment vanished, replaced by the quiet, reasonable voice of a friend.
"It's Ruben," he coaxed. "You can come out now. Adrian changed his mind. He realized Sabine lied about the route. He sent me to bring you home."
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.
It was the lie I had spent eight hours waiting to hear.
If I hadn't heard them outside, I would have stepped into the light.
I didn't make a sound.
I tightened my grip on the makeshift iron strip, the gray packing foam cutting into my palm.
I pulled my torn left knee an inch closer to my chest, ignoring the sharp spike of pain.
The temperature was falling, but the sweat between my shoulder blades had not dried.
My injured knee had stiffened during the wait.
I could no longer straighten it without pain.
Dust covered the front of my shirt and both knees.
The left knee of my jeans had dried almost black around the tear.
The flashlight beam swept across the concrete floor, stopping on the open utility box.
"Box is open," Ruben said, dropping the friendly act. "She was here."
Footsteps crossed the threshold.
The unfamiliar man stepped into the shed.
The beam of his flashlight tracked backward, moving away from the box and sweeping along the floor toward the back wall.
The beam stopped on a dark drop of dried blood.
Then another.
They were tracking the blood from my torn knee.
"She's in here," the raspy voice said.
The light moved along the trail, creeping methodically toward my dark corner.
"Taryn," Ruben said.
There was no warmth left in him at all.
"Don't make us drag you out."
I stopped breathing.
I raised the iron strip in my right hand, my knuckles white, waiting for the blinding beam to hit my face.
The flashlight stopped.
A black pistol rose beside it.
The man fired.
The shot struck the metal wall beside my ear.
The sound crossed the basin, hit the distant ridge, and came back thinner.
The bullet tore through the metal three inches from my head.
Rust and sharp bits of metal struck my left shoulder.
One fragment sliced through the sleeve, leaving a short line of blood beneath it.
My ears rang, a high and piercing whine that drowned out the howling of the desert wind.
"Run if you want," Ruben called out into the ringing silence. "The desert already killed you."