Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets. (25 page)

List rose from his chair and stormed over to the window. Demonio trailed him with his eyes.

Demonio grabbed Amalia’s hand resting on his shoulder. He did not miss her slight flinch when his skin contacted hers.
This one still fears me. Buena.

“Do we have a situation?” Demonio hissed at the mayor.

“Yeah,” snapped List, “we got some idiot riding his ATV out in the rain. On my property. People think they can come out here four-wheeling or horseback riding. Pisses me off.”

“Do you need me to take care of this … situation?” Demonio’s voice whispered like a snake through tall weeds.
How easy it would be to fillet this vermin … But not yet.

“No.” List shot him an angry look. “I’m going to my Tech Room and take a gander at the monitors to see what this fool is doing. Dawlsen should be showing up soon. Make sure things are ready for him.”

On his way out, List slammed the door behind him. Demonio stood, brushed imaginary lint off the front of his black shirt and returned his empty glass to List’s desk. He meandered over to the window and peered out.

In the window’s reflection, he watched the girl. She glanced at List’s desk and flipped her gaze back to him. A humorless smile passed across Demonio’s face.
This one wants to kill me.
The strength of the Skinwalker started to swell within him.

Wheeling, he pounced on the girl, grabbing her by the throat.
One-handed, he lifted her from the floor. She grabbed his arm and kicked at his shins, but to no avail. Demonio’s gazed pierced her. Her eyes grew big with fright. She gasped for breath.

“Listen to me,” Demonio said in a snarl. “I must leave for several minutes. I want you to stay in this room. Comprendido?”

She nodded the fraction of an inch his grasp permitted. He let go, and she collapsed to the floor, gasping and rubbing her damaged throat. An aching sob escaped her lips as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Don’t screw with me,” he warned her and slipped out of the room.

<><><><><><><><><><>

When the door clicked shut behind Demonio, Amalia suspended her tears and snorted a derisive laugh. She made him believe she cried like a weak little muchacha.
Que idiota!
Because of her pervertido uncle, she had learned how to cut and shuffle with men’s inherent stupidity regarding women. She swiped the faked wetness off her cheeks. In rapid Spanish, she muttered curses upon men.
But, this Demonio’s something else … not quite human. A monstruo.

Amalia’s gaze turned to the door. Demonio’s absence offered freedom.
Maybe my only chance.
Yet, if he caught her leaving, he’d kill her without reservation. She had witnessed his cold murderous rage at the cave. And overheard his murderous threats against others. Besides, he was going to kill her anyway.

She tiptoed over to the door and listened. No sounds. Cracking it open, she peered into the hallway. No one.
Now’s your chance. Correr.

But she had two things to do before she escaped this crazy casa. She tiptoed to the desk and snatched the sword-like letter opener
from the cut-glass penholder. She scratched several long lines into the desk’s surface. Then she plunged the letter opener into the chair’s leather backing and dragged it through the material. Now, time to find those two girls and escape with them. The uninjured one had been kind to her. Now she could return the favor.

The steely glint of determination crossed her face.
Besides, I need an English speaker.

She stepped into the hallway and eased the door closed.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Sheriff Anne Oakmann peered over Agent Clark’s shoulder, staring at the agent’s 17” monitor on her laptop. Two dozen video feeds from List’s house played on the screen.

She watched as DePute immersed himself into his role of ATV junkie playing in the rain. The treacherous hills in the background were mere gray phantoms.

One feed showed List exiting his office and heading down the hall until he was out of the camera’s range. Her stomach knotted. That man had caused law enforcement untold problems while evading prosecution for the last fifteen years. Slick pony-tailed lawyers always managed to get him off on technicalities. She was tired of him trampling over the people in her jurisdiction. .

Another feed revealed six armed men exiting the house headed towards the back lot.

Anne pointed at the feed, and Clark nodded.

DePute’s voice came over the radio. “This is Rider. Eye, tell me what you see. What’s going on?”

“Rider,” said Clark, “this is Eye. You have six barking dogs headed your way. They just exited the north side of the dog pound. Over.”

“Roger that.”

Rye’s voice crackled over the radio. “Rider, this is Crawler One. We are in position. I repeat. We are in position. Over.”

“Roger,” crackled DePute’s voice. “Time to find the backdoor. Over.”

The radios went silent in the dispatch room. Everyone crowded around Clark’s monitor to watch the events unfold.

Anne snapped her fingers. “I can put two horsemen on that ranch in half an hour. Give or take. Mostly give. We’ll miss the opening of the dance, but we can get there to mop up any wallflowers.”

She bounced looks between the federal agents. She held out her hand. “I can take the warrants so no lawyer screws us out of a conviction.”

“Do it.” Agent Clark leaned forward. “I will inform our team there will be backup. But they are to proceed as planned.” She looked at her watch. “Our window to capture List and Amo is beginning to close.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

Rye motioned for his group to follow him. They had hidden their vehicles on a muddy trail in a thicket of red barked madroño trees and pine-oaks a half-mile back. Crouched in a single file, guns at the ready, they crowded the fence line to List’s property.

“Careful,” he called over his shoulder to his officers behind him. He nodded at a sign on the fence. “We have an electric fence. Knowing List, it’s hot.”

He studied the desert inside the fence and an uneasiness nagged Rye’s thoughts. Though dotted with various acacia trees and some hackberry, the landscape exposed him and his people to List’s scrutiny. They had no knowledge of what they faced inside List’s house. How well armed were they? How many? But his wife and son were in danger, and nothing else mattered. Urgency forced him into playing this hand, no matter the cards dealt him.

Dee, hold on, babe. I’m coming for ya.

Waterfalls of rainwater poured off his helmet and soaked him. Winds drove the relentless rain into his face. Yet the discomfort only added to his resolute determination.

A dead tree, unable to withstand the storm, had toppled over, crushing the barbed wire and providing a route over the fence. A treacherous access, especially with the buffeting winds, but an access nonetheless.

“Eye, we found means to infiltrate the fence.”

“Roger. Proceed with caution.”

Easy for you to say. You don’t have to cross this live electric fence lying in a growing pool of water.

Clark spoke again, “Wait, Crawler One. Voice has an urgent message for you.”

What’s Gabby want now?

“Crawler One this is Ga … uh … Voice. The Yuma ME office just faxed us an update on our ME shooting. It appears the bullet they extracted from his … from him was fired from the gun of someone we know.”

“Who?”

She paused. “Barend Jilt.”

Rye whistled.
This just keeps getting better and better.

<><><><><><><><><><>

“Mom.”

The voice of a child whispered into her ear. The child sounded … scared.
Why?
A hand on the shoulder shook her. Dee did not want to leave the comfort of the darkness. Her skull throbbed, and when she tried to talk, her jaw exploded in hot pain.

“Mom.”

Still hushed but more urgent. She knew that voice.
Who?
With a shock jolting her to consciousness, she recognized the voice.
Manny
.

“Mo-om, wake up.” The hand on her shoulder gripped her tighter and shook harder. Dee opened her eyes to a lighter darkness.

“Manny … where …” her voice croaked. She touched the side of her swollen face.

“The bad men brought us here. It’s by the house. It’s a stable, I think. But there aren’t any horses around.”

She wanted to reach out and hug the fear out of him. Then she remembered. “The others?”

“They’re in the stall next to us.”

Dee rolled over on her back, mostly to escape the dank rotting smell of the ripened straw, dirt, and manure filling her nostrils with every breath. A moan escaped from deep in her throat.

“Mom, you okay?”

She ignored his question. Didn’t want to cause him any more stress. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and she could barely make out her son’s form. “What …?”

“That jerk-off that punched you. I wanted to rip his heart out, but one of his men knocked me down and put plastic cuffs on me.”

Anger colored over her son’s fear.
Good. I’ll need that Dawlsen determination if we’re to survive.
“I appreciate it, son. You did good. It takes a real lowlife to hit a kid.”

She opened her arms, and Manny cuddled next to her. She smiled at his nearness, at his smell as she enclosed her arms around him.

“Mom … I think Dad’s coming.”

Dee remembered the Mexican’s words before he punched her.
That’s another one who will pay.
“We have to warn him. This is a trap. They want to kill him.” Dee wanted to offer her son some comfort. “I love you,” she told him in a quiet whisper.

“Me too. We gotta get out of here,” Manny said. Even in the gloom, she could see his face go stone cold with resolve.
He looks just like Rye.

“Wait,” she said. She felt soooo tired.
Just give me a comfortable bed with a thick quilt. But not yet.
“There is one thing we need to do.”

“What?”
That voice is Rye all over.

“Remember at church last week. What did the pastor preach on?”

She sensed more than saw Manny shake his head. “What’s that got to do—”

Dee reached out and touched a finger to his lips to quiet him. “Prayer. We need to pray for your father. That God will protect him.”

Johnny Batts crouched under a rocky outcropping behind List’s property. Though rain poured over the overhead ledge, this niche mostly kept him out of the weather and provided decent cover to scout List’s property. Using night binoculars, he witnessed DePute’s antics below him.

“Be careful, kid.” Turning his head sideways, he spat out a stream of chewing tobacco then dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.

Several three-burst gunshots rang out. Jerking the binoculars in the direction of the gunfire, Johnny spotted a squad of List’s men heading for the ATV. Crouched over like military, they spread out with practiced precision.

“Dang-it. Pros.”

Johnny swung his binoculars back to DePute.

“Get outta there. Now,” Johnny said under his breath. As if Johnny’s words traveled telepathically, DePute jerked the ATV 180 degrees and dashed for the creek bed. Raging roiled waters attacked its banks.

“Don’t do it, kid,” Johnny growled.
Them waters’ll sweep you away in a heartbeat.

DePute dodged boulders along the creek’s edge, turned right at the creek’s edge, and drove into a gully out of sight.

“Why’d you do such a fool thing?” He wanted to spit another wad of tobacco but refused to take his eyes off the unfolding scenario.

DePute reappeared among a tumble of large rocks further up the hill. Moments later, the young cop stopped the ATV, gathered some things and vanished into a crack in the rock. Johnny cackled until he began coughing. The kid cop had just compromised the mayor’s escape route.

“Johnny boy,” he addressed himself, “it’s time fer you to enter this hoe-down. Hoo-rah.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

Tip-toeing down a dark hallway, wood floor cool on her bare feet, Amalia heard footsteps coming her way. Panicked glances unveiled her best option. She ducked into an unlocked room and peered through the crack in the door. Moments later, three men with some kind of rifles turned onto her hallway, so she eased the door closed. She held her breath while they marched past her door.

After their footfalls faded, she stepped into the corridor and peered both directions. She gnawed her lip … hesitant for a moment … then hurried in the opposite direction of the patrol.

The hall ended into a living room. Amalia scanned the area, relieved to find it empty. Her mouth dropped at the display of wealth before her. Several large screen TVs. Entertainment equipment. Paintings
of cowboys and Indians. Western-styled furniture. She crinkled her nose. The room smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke.

Americanos are so rich. One of these paintings would feed a Mexican family for a year. And these TVs … the sale would buy medicine to keep a village of niños alive.
She shook her head. This Americano dwelt in luxury she knew came from the sweat and blood of her people.
Señor List, Dios will make you pay.