Renegade with a Badge (11 page)

“You’re certainly taking good care of Ernesto’s car,” she commented wryly.

“I’m planning to drive it into the ocean in the morning,” Bobby replied. “If I can find the ocean.”

“Are we lost, then?”

“Probably not.”

Rafe shot Bobby another frown. “Cervantes is likely watching the main road into La Paz,” Rafe explained without looking at her. “That’s why we’re taking all these back roads. It takes longer, but it’s safer.”

“Plus, it’s much harder on the vehicle,” Bobby said cheerfully, “which is just an added bonus.”

“We’ll get something to eat in Pinchilingue,” Rafe said. His own stomach was still knotted up, but he imagined the princess had to be starving.

She was. It had been more than twenty-four hours since the buffet at Ernesto’s party. Olivia continued to stare toward the sea. Twenty-fours hours? That didn’t seem like any time at all, really. And yet her life had been completely turned upside down in that short time. She’d barely had time to think. About much of anything, actually.

But now that she had a moment or two, questions popped into her frontal lobe like rifle fire.

Like why a small village police force owned a fleet of expensive Land Cruisers. Olivia smoothed her hand over the buttery leather upholstery. And why that hadn’t occurred to her before now.

And why Ernesto needed fifteen men in uniform when Aldea Viejo was about the size of a San Diego housing tract—but with fewer people. He’d told her during those walks on the beach that his men were trained to catch the drug runners that used the coastline as a drop-off point between mainland Mexico and Tijuana. But she’d spent three weeks cruising up and down that coastline, and she’d never seen any of Ernesto’s men on the water.

Why hadn’t that occurred to her, either?

And another thing. Why in the world was she driving along the coast with two known outlaws, trusting them to get her to La Paz and on a plane home? She slumped back into her seat. Why didn’t she bail out of the moving car at the nearest gully and take her chances with the sea and the desert?

And why the hell did the surly one with the perpetually grim expression appeal to all those little fantasies she obviously had been storing up without knowing it about tall, dark and dangerous men?

What was that syndrome—? Stockholm Syndrome, in which captives imagined themselves attracted to their captors, no matter how absurd that attraction would seem in the course of their normal lives.

She had Stockholm Syndrome.

Only, she wasn’t technically Rafael’s captive. She knew he was rescuing her as much as he was holding her hostage. He was taking her to La Paz so she could go home, and in keeping her was ensuring Ernesto’s ire would never cool; endangering himself and Bobby and making certain they could never go back to Aldea Viejo.

She frowned at her reflection in the side window. There was another explanation, then. She wasn’t a stupid woman. She’d never before allowed her instincts or her emotions to rule her head. So why were they screaming at her now?

She shifted her eyes and stared at the back of Rafael’s head. His short hair stood up in spikes. He had the shiniest hair, she thought. Even after all they’d been through, it practically shimmered. She absently fingered the loose braid over her shoulder.

All her life, she’d taken the wisest course. Not always the easiest, by any means, but always the wisest. Every brain cell she’d ever owned was counseling her now, cautioning her, admonishing her. It was an audible roar inside her head.

But her instincts and her emotions told her something entirely different. They pleaded with her to look at the man sitting so rigidly before her. To really look at him. There was something more there than her mind could comprehend, and her instincts and her emotions seemed to have no trouble deciphering it.

She was exhausted with the struggle. Soon enough, she thought, it would be over. She’d be on a plane home, and Ernesto Cervantes, whatever part he played in this drama, and this Rafael person would go back to their wretched lives and their bitter vendetta—and she’d never know what happened to them.

With a little sigh, she toppled back onto the seat. “Wake me when we get to Pinchilingue,” she murmured, and fell asleep to the pitch and jerk of Bobby’s mad driving.

The familiar scent of the sea woke her. Olivia sat up in her seat and looked around. They’d stopped at a small cantina on the edge of a typical-looking Baja town. Olivia could hear the water.

Bobby leaned nonchalantly against the hood of the Cruiser. Olivia suspected that nonchalance was as much a cover as the determined cheer. Rafe was nowhere to be seen. She pushed open the door and stepped outside. Another smell assaulted her nose, weakened her knees. Meat. And tortillas. And spicy salsa. She was ravenous.

“He’d better buy a lot,” she said.

Bobby, as she knew he would, smiled broadly.

“We’ll drive off to a quiet spot and cook him if he doesn’t. Rafe tacos.”

Olivia shook her head, but couldn’t stop the smile that slid over her face. “You are so weird.”

“Do you have to use the facilities?”

Olivia glanced at him. For a smuggler and an outlaw, he was certainly well spoken.
Facilities?
It was almost absurd to call any bathroom between Rosarito and La Paz anything so genteel as the “facilities.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Come on.”

“I know how to go by myself.”

“I should hope so,” he said, shuddering. He looked horrified, and Olivia had to smother another smile.

“You just want to keep an eye on me.”

He slid her a sideways leer. “Sort of.”

She wasn’t falling for it. “I won’t call Ernesto, you know.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“And I won’t call the police.”

Bobby looked around, chuckled. “I doubt there’s any to call.”

Olivia shook her head. “All right. Just come on, then. I want to wash my hands.

She used the bathroom at the back of the cantina, while Bobby dutifully stood guard outside. Whistling.

The “facility” was spotlessly clean and, unfortunately, had a mirror. Olivia stared at herself, dumbfounded. Not in her entire life, not once, had she ever looked so…awful.

Her hair was filthy, her clothes were worse. Her face was tracked with dirt and tears and small, vivid scratches. She dragged her fingers down her cheeks in shock. She was going to have to come up with one hell of a story to explain this when she got home.

Using the trickle of water that flowed from the sink faucet, she made what reparations she could to her face and hair and hands. She stared in dismay at the rest of her. The bottom of her dress was ragged where she’d ripped the bandage for Rafe’s ribs. Her knees were dark with dirt, her ankles white with salt and sand.

And her feet. She groaned out loud. Her feet were encased in thick black socks that slumped forlornly around her ankles, and were stuffed like sausages into frayed and broken sandals. The sandals had come unbuckled somehow, but her feet were so swollen she hadn’t even noticed.

No one in their right mind would let her on the plane looking like this.

Bobby pounded on the door of the bathroom. Olivia jumped at the sound.

“Are you done?”

“Is the food ready?”

A slight hesitation. “Not yet.”

“Then I’m not done.”

Olivia heard a bark of laughter and rolled her eyes. “Lunatic,” she muttered under her breath.

After a minute, another knock came. “Food’s done.”

Olivia took a last look at herself. She’d made her dress much worse by attempting to sponge it off, but at least she had been able to wash herself and rinse out her mouth. She felt marginally better. Smelled infinitely better, she thought.

Bobby escorted her dutifully back to the Land Cruiser. The food was in a brown paper grocery bag on the front seat. Rafe was still nowhere to be seen.

Olivia dug into the food herself, handing Bobby a fat burrito, taking a taco for herself. She ate steadily for a minute, then asked around a bite, “Where is he?”

“He’s making some phone calls,” Bobby said.

Olivia stared at him. “Phone calls? Who is he calling?”

Bobby smiled. “You think just because we live an alternative lifestyle, we don’t have people to call?”

“Alternative lifestyle?” Olivia nearly choked on her last bite of taco. “I’m assuming that means something different here than it does back in California.”

Bobby tipped his head back and roared with laughter. “I hope so, too,” he said.

Olivia watched him carefully, her eyes narrowing. He got that, did he?

“Bobby, where are you from?”

“Originally?”

“No, since last night. Yes, originally.”

“Tepehuanes, in Durango.”

“You were born there?”

Bobby nodded, rummaged around the sack for a taco. “Born and raised.”

“That’s funny. I know someone in Tepehuanes. He’s about your age, in fact.” She picked a name out of the air. “Tomas Escovar.”

Bobby opened his mouth, bit off half the taco. He chewed slowly, watching her. “Don’t know him,” he said after he swallowed.

“That’s funny,” Olivia said, her eyebrows raising. “He’s the doctor in the clinic there. Tomas Escovar? You’ve never heard of him.”

“There is no clinic in Tepehuanes.” Bobby shook his head, smiling. “You’re not very good at this, Doctor.”

Olivia frowned at him. “Well, it’s my first time.”

“Tomas Escovar? You could have come up with something better than that. How about Juan Sanchez? Or Jesus Martinez?”

Olivia chewed on her bottom lip, considering. “Those names are too ordinary. I wouldn’t have known whether you were lying or not.”

Bobby lifted a shoulder. “You still don’t. It would have been worth a try.” He ate the rest of his taco in one bite.

“I guess.” Olivia sighed, took another taco from the bag. The tortilla was warm and soft. “These are good. Do you know this place?”

“No.”

“You have never been here before?”

Bobby gave her a patient look. “No.”

“Do you go into La Paz very often?”

“No.”

“Because it would take too long on your motorcycles?”

“Dr. Galpas?”

“Yes?”

“What is it, exactly, you want to know?”

Olivia worked her lip a little more. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m leaving Baja in the morning, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“And I’ve already said I won’t go to the police, or to Ernesto.”

“And we appreciate that.”

“But, Bobby, I just don’t think I can go home without…knowing.”

“Knowing what?”

Olivia levered off the bumper of the truck and began to pace. “I don’t know. Why you never speak a word of English, but somehow make jokes that sound vaguely American? Why you live on the beach and ride dirt bikes around and tweak Ernesto Cervantes by stealing from him when he clearly outguns you and out-mans you?”

Bobby’s chest puffed out. “Out-mans us?”

Olivia shook her head. “You know what I mean. And why you both seem so smart and capable, and still do something so stupid and dangerous for a living. Why Rafael—” She stopped abruptly.

Bobby smiled at her. “Why Rafe, what?”

“Why one minute he appears to be this horrible hardened criminal, and the next he’s risking his life and yours to get me to La Paz, and he looks at me as though he’s hurt that I think less of him for running drugs across the border.” She met Bobby’s eyes. “I’m a scientist. Everything in my world makes sense, even when it all seems like random data and inexplicable, unrelated occurrences. None of this makes sense, Bobby. You don’t make sense, Rafael doesn’t make sense, and the way I feel certainly makes no sense.”

Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know how you feel, Doctor, so I can’t tell you why it makes no sense to you. But I can tell you, we’re doing what we have to do down here.”

Olivia put her hands on her hips. “Right there!” she exclaimed. “What you said right there! What do you mean, ‘down here’? Down here from Durango? This is
up here
from Durango. See?”

“Bobby!”

Olivia whirled to face Rafael. He was glowering at his partner. “That’s enough,” he said through his teeth.

Bobby grinned. “She coerced me,” he said.

Rafe walked over and opened the back door for Olivia. “I’ll bet.” He looked at Olivia. “Did you eat?”

“Yes. It was—”

“Use the bathroom?”

Olivia huffed out a breath. “You guys are certainly—”

“Did she?” he asked Bobby curtly, leaving Olivia with her mouth open.

He’d better stop interrupting every sentence, or she was going to have to take steps, Olivia thought.

Bobby lifted his shoulders, amused with both of them. “I guess so. I didn’t go in with her.”

Rafe turned back to Olivia. “Get in.”

“You know—” she began menacingly.

“Get in, Olivia. Right. Now.”

Olivia squinted at him. “That’s not going to work on me forever, you know.” But she got in the back of the Land Cruiser.

Rafe shut the door and motioned Bobby to follow him. They walked several paces away from the vehicle. Rafe turned his back to Olivia, who he knew was watching them avidly from the backseat.

“Arrieta says Cervantes has something big coming in, night after tomorrow.”

“How big?”

“Four hundred kilos of rock, maybe more.”

Bobby whistled long and low.

“He’s getting word through to Cervantes that we know about it, that we plan to pick up our ‘share’ at the drop-off.”

“How’s he doing that?”

“Through one of our guys on the inside.” Rafe looked up as a patron left the cantina, waited patiently for him to pass. “I don’t know how they pulled it off, but one of the
federales
was driving Cervantes around today. They got to within about fifty yards of where Olivia and I were. If it had been any of Cervantes’s men, I think we would have been bagged.”

“You think Cervantes will bite?”

Rafe glanced back at Olivia. “I think he’s pissed enough now, yeah,” he said wryly.

Bobby followed his gaze. “She’s been convenient, hasn’t she.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Bobby gave Rafe a steady look. “It means she came along and worked things up a little in Cervantes’s tidy little world. It means we were making a little slow progress during the past three months, and a lot of very fast progress the past twenty-four hours. It means she’s helped the investigation.”