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“From what I saw, she needs to take better care of that boy,” Mrs. McMurtry said before he could clear the door. “What happened this afternoon was awful.”
“She’s a good mother,” Preston said, then had to ask himself why he’d immediately jumped to Emma’s defense. She’d stranded him with a kid who had a debilitating disease without even warning him of the danger.
Preston couldn’t forgive her for that; he still felt angry. But not angry enough to leave her to the mercy of a man like Manuel.
“She seemed terribly nervous when she left,” Ms. McMurtry added. “Do you know what she’s so afraid of?”
Preston thought of Manuel over at the hotel. “There’s a man in town looking for her,” he said. “There’s no telling what he might say to you, but don’t believe a word of it. He’s dangerous. If he comes by asking about her, tell him she shared a room with some trucker who told you he was on his way to Vegas.”
Her light eyes narrowed as she sized him up. “How do I know you’re not the bad guy?”
“If I was the bad guy, I would’ve taken her with me earlier.”
She thrummed her fingers on the counter. “Sounds like you should have. Sounds like you regret leaving her.”
Preston didn’t bother to deny it. “I do. Now I’ve got to find her before he does.”
“Mr. Holman?” she said.
He glanced back a final time to see her smile. “Good luck.”
EMMA SAT with Max against the back wall of the mini-mart in the shade of a small bush. Max held a diet soda and seemed to have cooled down, but he still wasn’t talking much. Certainly not like normal. Emma wasn’t sure if his blood sugar was too high or too low—either extreme could cause moodiness—or if his sudden melancholy resulted from what she’d told him earlier.
“You okay, buddy?” she asked.
The straw in his soda scratched the plastic lid of the cup as he toyed with it. “Yeah.”
“Don’t you like your drink?”
He shook his head. A cola was the only diet drink most places carried, and diet cola wasn’t especially popular with five-year-olds. Max preferred orange soda or root beer.
She ran her hand over the short bristles of his fine hair. “Do we need to test you? Are you going low?”
“No.” He wrinkled his nose. “It stinks back here.”
Emma didn’t appreciate the smell of rotting garbage coming from the trash bin a few feet away, either. But, as much as possible, she’d wanted to stay out of view of the highway.
Craning her neck to look around the corner, she frowned as she studied the road. Going through the rest of the cars-for-sale ads, she’d actually found someone who sounded intrigued by her strange offer. A woman by the name of Amelia Granger was supposed to meet her at the gas station to take a look at the earrings and show Emma the car she had for sale. But Amelia should’ve been here by now.
Would she like the studs? Would she agree to the trade, let Emma and Max drop her at her house and drive away?
Only time would tell.
The minutes dragged on. While Emma felt safer staying behind the building, she began to fear that she’d somehow missed Amelia. It’d been more than an hour since they’d spoken on the phone.
Deciding to call her again, she stood and brushed off her new khaki shorts.
“Where are we going?” Max asked, hopping up behind her.
“To the phone booth out front.”
His shoulders sagged. “Again?”
“This time it’ll be quick.” She motioned for him to follow her, but as soon as they rounded the building, Emma spotted a black Hummer parked at the gas pumps.
She didn’t need to see the personal license plate to know it read Rodriguez-1.
She reached for Max’s arm, to pull him out of sight, but he’d already spotted his father’s car.
“Daddy’s here!” he cried, and started to run.
Emma’s heart leaped into her throat. “Max, no,” she whispered harshly. She couldn’t see anyone inside the Hummer, or near the pumps. Manuel had to be inside the store. But even if he was, he wouldn’t be there long.
“Max!” Emma called again.
When he didn’t stop, she darted after him. She’d taken off Preston’s sunglasses while sitting in the shade, and the sudden brightness hurt her eyes. The hot tar filling the cracks moved beneath her feet with the consistency of Play-Doh; she could feel the heat rising from the blacktop. But all of that barely registered. She had to get her son. Keeping her gaze firmly affixed to the back of his head, she closed the distance between them, but she seemed to be running in slow motion.
At last she felt the cotton of Max’s shirt beneath her grasping hand. She grabbed hold and managed to stop him, had nearly scooped him into her arms to head back the other way, when she heard the sound of an engine coming up from behind.
A glance at the mini-mart told her Manuel was on his way out. He stood just inside, his head bent as he did something to whatever he held in his hands. In a split second he could look up and it would all be over….
A brown minivan pulled into the lot, between her and the store. Tires screeched as the driver threw on the brakes and popped the transmission into Park. Then a door flew open and Preston got out. With a cry of surprise, Max was snatched from her and tossed inside.
“It’s him,” she managed to say.
“I know. Get in,” Preston snapped as he jumped behind the wheel.
Emma scrambled into the back after her son, and the next thing she knew, they were careering onto the highway.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MANUEL SQUINTED through a pair of Oakley sunglasses at the back of the old van that had just torn out of the lot. What had happened? Had someone crashed into his car? Had he been robbed?
Hurrying over to his Hummer, he checked his license plate to see that his registration sticker was still intact, then looked inside. Nothing had been ransacked. Nothing was missing.
Strange…or maybe not. He’d never understand the stupid rednecks who lived in this godforsaken desert.
With a shrug, he pulled a cigarette from the package he’d just opened and leaned against the car to light up. When he got hold of Vanessa, he’d make her pay for all the trouble she’d caused him. He was tempted to dwell on exactly how he’d make her pay, but he needed to concentrate on what to do next.
He sucked the nicotine deep into his lungs, then slowly exhaled. His first impulse was to follow Hector to Vegas because he wanted to recover Vanessa and Dominick himself, or at least be on hand if Hector found them. But there was something about Vegas that didn’t feel right. When he’d left the Hotel Nevada, he’d overheard two people talking about a diabetic boy who’d had an insulin reaction at the Starlight. Thinking it might be Dominick, he’d rushed over to the motel. Sure enough, according to everyone around, Vanessa and Dominick had been there. They were gone when he arrived, but after telling him his son was okay, the manager mentioned the trucker. Only she’d given him a completely different description than the waitress at the hotel had. Why?
