Borders of the Heart (20 page)

When the dust and pain settled, he opened his eyes and saw dirt and three pairs of boots. Slocum bent down on one knee and pushed his Stetson back. To keep Maria safe from Muerte and lose her to this bunch felt beyond irony. Beyond sadness.

“We need the girl. Tell us where you left her. We’ll take care of her.”

J. D. tried to lift his head and felt swelling under his eye and cheek. His ribs felt like he’d been run over by a truck, and he tasted blood. “You don’t have any idea what you’re doing,” he mumbled.

“I think we do. A million dollars split five ways will pay a lot of bills.”

“And who’s giving you the money? Have you thought of that? The guy who’s offering this is the one leaving a string of bodies. He’ll kill her. That’s what he’s going to do.”

“It’s none of my business what a man wants with an illegal.”

“You think he won’t kill you like he did the pastor? He’s not giving you a million dollars. He’ll gun you down like a dog and laugh on his way back to the hole he crawled out of.”

“Where is she?” another man said. “Was she on foot with you?”

The questions meant they were clueless. That was good. Had Maria seen the commotion and taken Ernesto back into the desert?

Another kick to the ribs. He rolled his face into the dirt and struggled to breathe. He wasn’t afraid of lying and had no moral objection to it; he just wanted to make it convincing.

“She’s headed to the border,” he said, gasping. “She’s probably past it by now. Somebody from her family picked her up in Tucson late last night.”

“Then why’d you come here?” Slocum said.

“My stuff is here.”

“He’s lying,” Kristofferson said. Another kick.

“We ought to call the sheriff,” the third man said.

“No sheriff,” Slocum said. “Cops get involved and we’ll never get the money. We’ll handle this.”

“Who told you about the reward for her?” J. D. mumbled.

“Carl heard about it from one of his day workers,” Slocum said. “Word spreads fast among ’em.”

J. D. pushed himself up to a sitting position, trying to breathe through the pain. “Where are you supposed to take her if you find her?”

“We find her first,” Kristofferson said, cursing him and angling for another kick.

Slocum held up a hand. “You want in on it? Is that it, J. D.? We’ll cut you in fair and square. A million six ways is still a lot of money.”

J. D. wobbled and stood, spitting blood in the dust. “How much would it be?”

Slocum looked at the others. “It was two hundred thousand split five ways, so I guess it would be a little less than that. Maybe one seventy-five?”

“One sixty and change,” said another man who had better computing skills.

“He ain’t going to give her to us. He wants the million for himself,” Kristofferson said.

“I’m just now hearing about it,” J. D. said. “If I’d have known she was worth that much, I’d have hired a limo and driven her myself.”

A couple of them laughed.

“It makes no difference now—she’s gone,” J. D. said. “She’s probably home by now. Back down to the farm where she grew up.”

“Farm?” Kristofferson said. “What are you talking about? She doesn’t live on a farm.”

“That’s what she told me.”

Kristofferson cursed and laughed. “Boy, she took you for a ride, didn’t she? She told you she lived on a farm? That girl is the daughter of a drug lord down there in Mexico. Probably up here running some of her daddy’s contraband. I say the more of them we get rid of, the better.”

J. D.’s head spun. The story about coming across the border, slipping into the desert—had it been a lie?

“Time’s wasting,” Kristofferson said. “Gonna be dark soon, and once it gets dark, there’ll be no finding her.”

“What’s your answer, J. D.?” Slocum said. “You in or out?”

“I’m in.”

THEY DROVE AS FAR
as they could into the desert, then continued on foot a little way.

“This is where I left her,” J. D. said.

“Carl’s our best tracker,” Slocum said, motioning to the man.

Carl knelt in the dirt. “Looks like two people went this way, toward the road.”

“Two?” Slocum said.

“Maybe three. Her and a couple of kids, judging from the footprints.”

They looked at J. D.

“We picked up a straggler a few miles back. Boy who got separated from his family. I left them here. But it was just Maria and the boy.”

“Where were you headed?” Carl said.

“I’m not sure. No, I’m telling the truth. We’d lost our wheels and had no money. We were taking it a day at a time, trying to stay away from the police and that other guy.”

“So you were going to steal a car from me?” Slocum said.

“No.”

“He ain’t telling the truth,” Kristofferson said. “I say we duct tape his hands and feet and stick him in my truck. I’ll get my dog and we’ll track her and the other wetback and turn her in for the money. The kid goes to the Border Patrol.”

“I don’t think we can trust him, Larry,” Carl said.

In the distance, more dust. One man thought it was the police. Another said it was Border Patrol. J. D. recognized the truck as Win’s.

“Carl, see if you can follow those tracks. The rest of you get in your vehicles and head to the road.”

“What about him?” Kristofferson said, pointing at J. D.

“I’ll take care of him,” Slocum said.

Win got out of the truck and Cooper hopped out as well and headed for the house. Slocum yelled after the boy but he had more sense than to stop.

Win shook J. D.’s hand and gave him a warm hug. When he pulled back, his eyes said there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Sorry about your farm truck,” J. D. said.

“That’s the least of my worries. I’ve been worried about you.”

“Don’t waste your time being worried about him,” Slocum interrupted. “He’s the reason people have died.”

“Nonsense,” Win said. “He was trying to help. He was a Good Samaritan.”

“He’s a good-for-nothing,” Slocum muttered. “Get in the truck and we’ll hunt.”

“J. D. can’t stay here,” Win said. “The police are on their way.”

Slocum scowled.

“If I’m arrested, I can’t help find her,” J. D. said. “I’m no good to you behind bars.”

Slocum took off his hat and slapped it against his leg. J. D. saw him then, a small man with a dream that had been handed down like a secondhand pair of boots, worn and fitted by someone bigger than he was.

Slocum looked at Win. “Take him. I’ll deal with the boys and the law.” Then, to J. D., “If we find her, you don’t get your share.”

J. D. didn’t argue. Win put an arm around him and pulled him toward his truck. The engine fired and they pulled away. “Maria and the boy are safe. They’re at the house.”

“How did you find her?”

“Cooper led them to the road.”

How had the boy known?

“What about you? How did you get here?”

“Carl’s wife called Iliana and said something was happening at Slocum’s farm. I came as fast as I could. I stumbled onto them by the roadside.”

“Did you call the police?”

“I didn’t.”

“So you lied to Slocum?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I had to get you away. God forgive me.”

“Slocum’s going to tan Cooper’s hide when he finds out he helped her escape,” J. D. said. He told Win what he’d heard about Maria’s connection with the cartel. “Do you think she’s the daughter of a drug lord?”

“You’d be a better judge than me. You’ve spent more time with her. But deception can be alluring, especially from a beautiful face. I was afraid we weren’t getting the entire story.”

“Yeah, I know. But she talked about that town like it was her own people. Like she really cared. She threw in God, too. Talked about the pastor from the church . . .”

Win’s voice lowered and with sadness he said, “You heard Ron Barfield was killed.”

J. D. nodded. “I was with him last night.”

“So it’s true. You were there.”

“Yeah, my fingerprints are all over the place. He let me sleep in his office. I sat across from him and he told me about the church and what they were trying to do. The trips they took across the border. I think I got him in trouble.”

Win shook his head. “I can’t believe he’s gone. With all the violence, all the chances he and his men took traveling south, to be killed in his own church . . . They’ll think you had something to do with it.”

“Just another part I hope I’ll have the chance to explain.”

“There’ll be a big hole left by Ron. He was a leader of men.”

“Who’ll take his place?”

“God will provide. Someone will step up to fill the gap.”

They pulled up to Win’s house and saw Ernesto on a tire swing in the backyard. He still wore the same dirty shirt from the desert, pant legs frayed, but he was holding a soda bottle in one hand and a squirt gun in the other, swinging like he owned the place.

“I put it up for the grandkids,” Win said.

“You don’t have grandkids.”

He smiled. “I’m a man of faith. I can dream.” He turned off the ignition and pointed at Ernesto. “I’m glad you didn’t send him back to the desert.”

“You should thank Maria.” J. D. cursed. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Nothing’s what it appears.”

“You mean, like you?”

J. D. stared at him.

“You are not what you appeared to be either. We are just now learning things. The police gave us information you never gave. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Didn’t know you wanted a press release. I didn’t know I had to tell my life story for you to be my friend.”

“We are your friends. What happened in your past does not define you. We knew you were a good man. But you didn’t trust us.”

“Maybe I would have told you after some time.”

“Perhaps,” Win said. “But how long were you going to wait?”

The two of them got out and walked toward the house. Win stopped and turned to J. D. “No one can accuse you of having a hard heart. I know you care about Maria. Your heart is good. And you are our friend.”

Maria sat at the kitchen table eating something Iliana had made for her and Ernesto. When she saw him, her smile brightened the room. She hugged him but he went limp at the embrace.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“I think you know.” He took off his hat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Who you are. The reason you came up here.”

She studied him, then glanced at Win. “I’ve told you everything that happened when I came across the border.”

“Really? What about growing up on a farm and going to the beach?”

“That is true. Our family lived on a farm, and we traveled—”

“I don’t recall the point where you mentioned your dad was a drug dealer. You left that part out. Unless you were farming marijuana and cocaine.”

She stared at the floor and her hair covered her face.

“That’s how you came to know Muerte, isn’t it?” he said. “That’s why your brothers died. The Zetas or some other cartel got them.”

She nodded. “Their bodies were discovered by local police. We were told it was the Zetas, but I think it was Muerte. I know it was.”

“Still doesn’t make sense you’d lie to me.”

“Please, don’t be angry.”

“Excuse me if I get testy, but that seems like important information. It would have helped while we were dodging bullets.”

“It would have made no difference. I never lied to you. I told you who he was.”

“But you didn’t tell me who
you
are. Who your father is. That changes everything.”

She spoke vacantly as if her heart wasn’t in it. “I don’t agree with what my father does.”

“But you lived with him. You enjoyed the fruits of his labor.”

“I told you that I want to help the town—”

“Right. All the people in shallow graves, beheaded, hands cut off, the violence and shootings. You’re for the people. You want to change things. Seems strange you couldn’t divulge who Daddy’s little girl was, the one with the secret decoder ring.”

She said something under her breath and he wanted to slap her, shake her, anything to wake her up. Instead, he walked to the door.

“I thought if I told you, you wouldn’t help me,” she said to his back, her voice strained. “I thought you would leave. I didn’t think you would understand.”

“Well, now I understand,” he said, turning back. “You used me to get what you wanted. Safety. And if I had died, you would have found some other schlub, wouldn’t you?”

She wiped a tear away, like swatting a fly, and sat at the table, putting her head in her hands. “I thought you helped because you cared.”

“I did. I helped because I believed you. That you were a farm girl who cared about her people. Little Miss ‘Save my town from the bad drug guys. My brothers were killed and I don’t want that to happen again.’ The good girl fighting the evil cartel.”

“I’m not a good girl, but the rest is true.”

“Then you added all that Jesus talk. ‘God gave me a dream.’ I bought it. And your scheme is getting more costly for
real
people of faith like that pastor.”

Maria looked at Win.

“Pastor Ron was killed early this morning. He had been with the police most of the night, evidently.”

She turned and held J. D.’s gaze as something welled in her eyes. “Is that what you think? That I tried to trick you and get the pastor killed?”

“I don’t know what to think. Who knows what else you’re holding back.”

“I was afraid you would judge me like all the others in your town. You call us names. Illegals. Wetbacks. We are not human to you, just animals crawling through the desert.”

He gritted his teeth. “I never treated you that way!”

“No, you were kind to me. You risked your life.” Her voice softened and it did something to his anger, though not much. “But I was afraid you would turn on me if you found out. The further we went, the more time we spent together, the more I wanted to tell you. I felt bad that you didn’t know. When I went with the church people, I was glad I did not have to deceive you. . . .”

“So you admit it—you were deceiving me.”

“I was letting you think what you wanted. But I was also sad that you would learn the truth from someone else. Or from some newspaper report after I died.”

“You didn’t trust me. That’s what it comes down to. Did you ever really talk to your father on the phone? When we stopped at the gas station, was that real or a ruse?”

“It wasn’t my father. I called the pastor. He connected me with the others. I’m sorry.”

He moved to the table and knelt on the floor. Her clothes were still dust-covered but her eyes were moist and pleading. “Are you mixed up in your father’s business? Are you dealing, transporting? Is that why you came here?”

“No.”

“But you used to?” J. D. said. “You were part of the business.”

“I helped my father. It was mostly behind the scenes, setting up meetings, making phone calls. I took the place of my brothers. And the deeper I moved into that world, the more troubled I became. I was just as caught as my father and Muerte.”

“What happened?” Win said.

“I heard the truth,” she said. “Ron and the others came and spoke of God’s love, how we can be forgiven and find freedom in the power of Jesus’ name. Their love was real. It was what I had been looking for all my life.”

The room fell silent except for the running water in the sink and the clink of porcelain as Iliana moved dishes.

Win stepped forward and put his hands on Maria’s chair. “Instead of a daughter of a criminal, you became a child of the King.”

“Yes. But I couldn’t tell my father. I couldn’t reveal this to Muerte and the others. I had to keep working until I could find a way to tell the truth. I wanted him to have a new heart. If my father and the others experience forgiveness, what it feels like, how it can change a hardened heart, there is no way they could resist.”

“They can resist if they’re blinded by the enemy,” Win said. “But you’re right, this kind of love has the power to change anybody.”

“I discovered Muerte was trying to take over,” she continued. “He was planning something with another cartel. I told you this, J. D.”

“So you coming here, volunteering for that job, was really about protecting your father?” J. D. said.

She shook her head. “No, I was a new person, but trying to escape. I wanted to break free from the business. When Muerte organized a shipment, I discovered it was part of the plan with the other cartel, and I volunteered. I asked my father to intervene. He ordered Muerte to let me go.”

“Then Muerte organized a welcome party for you.”

“Yes. He must have believed I knew his plan. That’s why he wanted me dead.”

“You’re sure you don’t know the plan?” J. D. said.

“No. And my fear is he will act before anyone can stop him.”

J. D. glanced at Win and saw worry. His face was a map of deep lines cut and drawn in his sun-darkened skin.

“You both have the same story,” Win said.

“How’s that?”

“You’ve withheld information from people who care most. That’s why you’re upset. You see yourself in how she treated you.”

“I didn’t know you’d taken up psychology.”

Win ignored him and kept plowing through his soul. “Your lives are a mirror. Until you trust, it’ll be hard to move forward.”

“This is different,” J. D. said.

“Is it?” Win said. “You are not the son of a drug lord, but you have secrets. Things that would have helped us understand. Maybe we could have helped you.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you my life story. Does that make you feel better?”

“J. D., don’t get upset.”

“My wife died in my arms. Afterward I came here to learn to farm so I could honor her memory and live what she didn’t get a chance to. And try to forget. I’m sorry I didn’t spill all that when I first met you.”

“You don’t have to apologize—”

“No, obviously I do. You want me to keep going and tell you the name of the hospital where she died and the type of radiation she turned down?”