“Okay.” He opened the gate.
Keeping an eye on the rearview mirror, I drove off, muttering, “Don’t call Uncle Saul. Don’t call Uncle Saul.” I blew out a relieved breath when he closed the gate.
I headed west. It would take me about eight to ten hours to reach Uncle Ben’s bunker. Once Quinn realized I was gone he would call Uncle Saul or my father, and it would get interesting.
Forty minutes later, I turned north onto Highway 77 and was forced to slow down to avoid all the potholes. Damn. I hadn’t realized the road was this bad. The last thing I needed was a flat tire.
“Where are you?”Quinn demanded in my head.
Rats. He had arrived early. I strengthened my mental shields and ignored him.
“Answer me!”
Not a chance in hell. I was pretty sure he wasn’t strong enough to breach my shields.
Quinn probed my mental defenses.“I will find you.”
Now he sounded like Battle Commander Kaelen. I eased around a huge hole. At this rate, it was going to take me two days to just get to Nevada.
The pressure in my head vanished.
Hmmm. Was he giving up? Not a chance. Who would he call first? Dad or Uncle Saul?
A horrific clanking noise sounded from the engine. “Shit!” I had left my satellite phone behind, and I knew nothing about fixing cars. “C’mon. C’mon. Just get me to Show Low.”
“You stole Uncle Saul’s old truck,”Quinn announced smugly.
I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it, sorta.
“There’s a reason Uncle Saul doesn’t drive it. It needs a water pump.”
There was a horrible grinding screech and a geyser of steam suddenly sprouted from under the hood. “No! No! No!” The truck went into a series of sickening little lurches, gave a hissing gurgle and died.
“It’s going to be a hundred and eight today. Enjoy your walk,”Quinn said sarcastically.
God, did I want to hit him. I restarted the engine. There was an ear-shattering screech, the truck crow-hopped about fifty feet, shuddered and died again. I banged on the steering wheel. “Sonovabitch!”
Through the windshield all I could see was an endless vista of cactus, sand and sagebrush. Damn.
Jake announced in my head,“It’s never a good idea to piss off Quinn.”
“He’s a prick and I’m not working for him.”I stuffed the water and trail mix into my bag and started walking.
“You’re a kid, you don’t really have a choice.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Jake sighed.“He’s calling your father.”
“Gee, I’m shaking in my boots.”The sizzling caress of the sun turned my hike into a nightmare. What little breeze there was felt like it came straight from hell. I eased my sweat-soaked T-shirt away from my body. Maybe working for Quinn wouldn’t be so bad.
“Tired yet?”Quinn inquired.
I gave him a mental one-fingered salute and wiped at the sweat slithering down my face.
Through the quivering waves of heat a weather-beaten building appeared like some kind of mirage. The rusted sign proclaimed: Pedro’s Cantina.
Every nerve in my body coiled with tension at the sudden awareness of danger. I frowned. There had to be at least a dozen fancy armored vehicles in the parking lot.
