His next words confirm my thoughts. "I knew you wouldn't go for it. I told Martinez. You are a selfish bitch. Max is only one of a string of lovers. He's not important enough to you to risk your own skin."
I slap his face so hard he loses his balance and falls backward, landing on his ass in an unceremonious heap. He's back on his feet in an instant though, and his hand dips again into his jacket.
I grab it and twist. "You want my cooperation?" I snarl. "Better treat me with a little more respect."
He tries to pull free but I bend his hand backward at the wrist while removing the gun from the clip on his hip. I toss it to Williams.
When he has it, I release Foley. He doesn't know whether to rub his bruised cheek or to nurse his aching wrist. His ego prevents him from doing either. He glares at me in furious rage but doesn't say anything.
Smart.
Williams' thoughts are furious, too, aimed not at Foley, though, but at Culebra and at me. You are intent on doing this?
Yes. If Foley makes it back, be sure he never gets a chance to spend all his blood money.
Williams doesn't yield the intensity of his disapproval, but he does nod.
I glance at Culebra who nods, too, that he is ready.
I blow out a ragged breath. "Okay, Foley. You've got me. Let's go."
Foley stares at me in disbelief. "You'll come?"
He's so obviously surprised, I can't help but laugh. "You are a moron, you know that? If you didn't think I'd come, why all this?" I wave a hand. "You exposed yourself to a police chief and a deputy. What did you think would happen if I refused? You could go back home and we'd pretend nothing happened?"
His eyes shift away.
"Oh," I answer for him. "I get it. Martinez will pay more for a live Anna than a dead one. You didn't get Max, so I'm the consolation prize. Explains what happened in Palm Canyon."
His expression hardens and I know I'm right. I look over at Williams. "Better start making the case against this idiot for the shooting in Palm Canyon as soon as you get back to San Diego. Not that I expect Foley is planning to cross the border again. Not under his real name anyway."
But Foley's face shows no emotion except a deepening frown of growing impatience. "Are you going to shut up anytime soon? I'd like to get out of this dump."
The temptation is strong to whack him again. But he's right. The sooner we get on the road, the sooner I can do something for Max. I don't bother to say anything else to Williams or Culebra. It's all been said. I motion for Foley to lead the way and he does, casting one hesitant glance backward to assure himself Williams is not going to stop us. When he's confident that the way is clear, his back straightens, his walk becomes a swagger and his face takes on an expression of smug calculation.
He thinks he's won.
He has another thing coming.
CHAPTER 38
FOLEY IS DRIVING A BIG SUV, SHINY BLACK IN THE diffused light of approaching dawn. The windows are tinted. He doesn't bother to see if I'm actually going to get in. He leaves me to open the passenger door while he crosses confidently to the driver's side.
When I'm inside, he cranks over the engine and pulls away. For the first few miles, he keeps a close watch on the rearview mirror. As we get farther from Beso de la Muerte and no headlights reflect in the mirror from a tail, he relaxes a bit in the seat. He glances over at me. "Guess you aren't worth much to your friends. They aren't even trying to follow."
I ignore the remark. "Where are we going?"
He just smiles.
I settle back in the seat. "So, how did you and Burke get together anyway?"
A sideways glance. "Mutual friend."
"Ah. Martinez, right? He has some interest in the black arts does he?"
Foley chuckles. "I think it's crap. But he and his crazy mother believe in that stuff. After I told him you'd dissappeared from San Diego for real yesterday, he said Burke knew she could find you—could 'summon' you because she had some friend of yours. He paid Burke a shitload of money to lure you to that freak show. He really wants you bad." A smirk touches his mouth. "It worked. I'll give them that."
"You don't have a clue, do you?"
He snorts. "About what?"
"You think last night was all pyrotechnics and special effects. If Burke had succeeded, you would have been demon food. It almost would have been worth it."
He laughs. "Yeah. Right. I do have one question for you, though. What were you on? Speed? Angel dust? You got scary looking for a minute. And strong. And you beat it out of there so fast I couldn't even catch you in the car. Lucky Burke knew where to find you."
Yeah. Lucky.
I put my head back and close my eyes. It will give me such great pleasure to show Foley how really scary I can be.
I wonder if Culebra can track the car the way he said. But it doesn't really matter. I'm on my way to Max. The only thing I ask is that he still be alive when I get there.
We stay on the main road for a mile or two from Beso de la Muerte. Even pass the wreck of my rental car. But not too far after that, Foley yanks the wheel sharply to the left, cranks into four-wheel drive, and we off-road it into the desert.
I turn an inquisitive eye toward him. "Where are we going?"
He keeps his eyes on the road. "You'll see soon enough."
He has both hands firmly on the wheel, fighting the car whose name, TrailBlazer, was not meant to be taken literally. I brace myself with one hand on the dashboard and the other on the door to keep my head from hitting the roof. Even the seat belt does little to lessen the pounding. The only good thing is that if Culebra really is following, these tracks will be easy to spot.
"Now that we're alone," I say, my voice bouncing along with the bucking car, "you can come clean. You have been following me, haven't you?"
Foley glances at me. "I told you. I haven't been following you. Why the hell would I? I didn't know Martinez was gonna want me to bring your ass in 'til yesterday."
"I don't believe you. You wanted Max. You thought I'd lead you to him."
He shakes his head. "I actually believed you when you said you hadn't been in touch with him. Are you telling me you were lying? What a surprise. Anyway, right after I left you, I got a message from Martinez. He told me Max was on his way to Mexico. He was waiting for him to cross the border. Bad luck for me that he got to him first." He snickers. "But we made another deal."
I don't have to ask for whom. But Max was with me for an hour or so after my meeting with Foley. How did Martinez know where he was headed? Guilt tightens my shoulders. If I hadn't left when I did, I might have known what Max had planned. Or could have kept him with me.
Have I done anything right the last few days? It doesn't feel like it now.
A dust cloud rises from the rim of a hollow ahead of us. Suddenly monotonous desert sounds, the chatter of insects, the cries of animals and birds, are drowned out by the din of a helicopter engine.
I glance over at Foley. "Martinez has spared no expense, has he?"
Foley grunts a reply. "Don't know why he bothered. He should just let me shoot you and be done with it."
"And Max? You'd let him shoot Max, too?"
He shrugs. "He knew the risks."
His nonchalance about Max's fate—the fate of a fellow law enforcement officer no less—quickens my anger, but I hold it in check. Foley will feel the force of it soon enough.
The helicopter is a small one, painted a gunmetal gray.
The rotor turns in a whirl of speed that kicks up dirt and sends it spiraling into the air. I can see the pilot at the controls, head turned to watch our approach. The sun has not yet risen fully in the sky, but his eyes are shielded by the requisite Ray-Ban Aviators favored by pilots—I glance over at Foley—and evidently, Feds. He's wearing an identical pair.