On Wings of Deliverance Page 2

  Surrounded by screaming babies, worried mothers and fishermen with rotten teeth, she’d nearly booted him out without apology. But when he’d asked if she knew Celine Andrews, she’d handed the baby in her arms to Stacy Garrett and stepped outside.

  How could anybody have connected her to a woman she hadn’t seen since she was fifteen years old—and traced her all the way to the Yucatán?

  Lord, it’s me again. Please help me know what to tell Owen—and give him wisdom and skill to handle this problem with the plane.

  She made the mistake of looking out the side window. They had begun to yaw downward and to the right. Nothing but blue ocean below. Her stomach surged. “Owen!”

  “Hold on. The radio’s messed up. Must’ve got hit.”

  “We’re dropping!”

  “We should have enough fuel to clear the Gulf.” Owen winked at her. “Unless you’ve got your heart set on going for a little swim.” He laughed at her expression. “There’s a wide-open field a couple of miles inland, north of Veracruz. That’s where I’m headed.”

  “Can’t we land at an airport?”

  “Too far away. Hang on.”

  The plane began to buck like a mustang. Owen’s full attention returned to the controls. His jaw tightened as he operated the rudder pedals and control column.

  Benny’s teeth slammed together as the plane took a roller-coaster dip into a pocket of air. She wasn’t going to scream again. She wasn’t. Gripping the armrests, she closed her eyes. The ride became smooth for several seconds, then hit a corrugated patch that made the plane shake like a tambourine.

  Oh, God, have mercy on us. You know I don’t swim well.

  “You praying?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Just checking. Another few minutes and we’re on the ground. Grab those life jackets under your seat just in case.”

  Could one pass out from hyperventilation? She couldn’t remember ever being this frightened—even when the guy in the suit opened fire on her as she was leaving her room early this morning. She fished the life jackets out from under the seats and helped Owen into his. Fastening her own, she reminded herself how far the Lord had brought her. Her life was in His hands, and He could take it or give it back to her.

  Your will be done, Lord.

  She peeked out the window again at the jade-and-terra-cotta patchwork of coastal landscape below. Owen banked left and the plane stalled as they lost altitude.

  “Hey, who knew Mexico had this many trees?” He tensed. “You might not want to look right now.”

  “Owen! Look out!” Treetops zoomed at the plane.

  “Relax.” Limbs and leaves scraped the belly of the plane. “You’re in the hands of a—”

  She screamed as the landing gear came down with a fwump, snicking off the tops of a row of cypress trees. The right wingtip whacked into the trunk of a palm tree. Her stomach was somewhere around her eyebrows. The plane wobbled and skated clear of the trees, the wheels jouncing across somebody’s cow pasture. Another couple of wild bounces and they were taxiing.

  Owen applied the brakes, his muscles bulging with the strain of holding the plane steady on the rocky field. Benny watched his face, mesmerized by the fierce concentration in his narrowed eyes, flared nostrils and tight lips. Then she glanced out the windshield.

  They were headed straight for a barn.

  TWO

  Raymond Briggs tossed his navy suit coat across a chair and pushed the rifle case under the outdoor cantina table. Scowling at the pretty young waitress waiting to take his order, he yanked out another chair and dropped into it. Drowning his frustration in a shot of tequila would have redeemed some of this miserable day. Unfortunately, one did not order alcohol at ten o’clock in the morning in a conservative city like Villahermosa.

  “Agua embotellada, por favor,” he growled.

  The little waitress scurried inside.

  Slouching, Briggs unclipped the cell phone from his belt and stared at it. He’d rather face a mountain lion than have to tell his boss he’d let Bernadette Malone slip through his fingers.

  How could he have missed that shot? At least once a week, he’d spend a few hours at a practice range so he wouldn’t choke under pressure.

  He was a professional. Hidden in the thick vegetation on the outskirts of the camp, he’d waited patiently for a chance to catch the missionary alone. With his binoculars trained on her cabin, he’d seen her and another young woman walk toward a long Quonset-like building, which he assumed to be the cafeteria. Thirty minutes later, she’d returned alone and he’d had his chance. He should have been out of there, his mark dead and no one the wiser; he’d had a silencer on the rifle and he was a genius at disappearing.

  But the sting of a mosquito had made him twitch, sending the bullet into the cabin wall. Startled, the woman stood there for a split second. Then, just as he reloaded the chamber, she’d darted toward the old Jeep parked by the door.

  Ray kicked the gun case at his feet. How was he going to explain the behavior of this crazy young woman? Why would she drive away from the other individuals in the camp? Dumbfounded, he’d knelt for precious seconds with the rifle held to his shoulder as the Jeep sped toward the main road. Arrogantly sure of his aim, he hadn’t bothered to sabotage her vehicle.

  The waitress returned with his bottled water and Ray gave her a few pesos, silently cursing himself, cursing the woman, cursing the humidity that made his shirt stick to his back. By now, he should have been in Cancún enjoying a short vacation before returning to the southwest Tennessee heat.

  Thumb on speed dial, he hesitated before dialing the number. The judge was going to go ballistic.

  He lined up defenses in his mind like toy soldiers. How could he have known there was a plane sitting on the beach less than five miles away, with a pilot getting ready to take off? Assumptions, as it turned out, had been the source of his every mistake.

  Mistakes for which he was going to pay a major price.

  His hand clenched around the phone, his thumb pressing the dial button. “Hey, boss.” What a relief to get voice mail instead of the powerful pit bull who could put a knot in his stomach with nothing more than silence. “It’s me, Briggs. I, uh, I got bad news. The girl got away. I’m not sure how much she knows, but I’m going after her. My plane leaves in an hour. Cell reception’s kinda spotty down here, so you may not be able to get me right away. I’ll call you when I hit the States. Don’t worry. She’s as good as dead.”

  Owen reviewed his options, both of which called for what his mother referred to as bowling language.

  He could turn the plane and mow down a couple of cows.

  Or he could crash into the barn. The Cessna was sturdy but not indestructible. Mission Aviation Fellowship functioned largely on donations, and it killed Owen to think about how much repairs would cost.

  So he’d just have to stop it.

  Ramming his feet down on the brake pedals, feeling the aircraft shudder, he held on to the control column for dear life. The crooked, gaping boards of the barn loomed, closer and closer, until he could almost smell the manure and hay.

  He braced himself for impact. Benny had thrown her hands over her face, but at least she had stopped screaming.

  God, I need help! Come on, come on, please help me stop this plane.

  The plane skidded for another heart-stopping second or two. They rammed into the barn, with the nose of the plane tucked into the open front door. An odd noise crunched in the right wing as it came to rest against the outside wall.

  Trembling, Owen stared into the dark recesses of the barn. “Wow. That was close.” A couple of chickens squawked.

  “We’re not dead, are we?” Benny lowered her hands.

  “I don’t think so. If this is Heaven, I’ve got issues with the management.” He took off his headphones. “Are you okay?”

  “Um, yeah.” She unfastened her seat belt and took off the life jacket. “Good thing we didn’t need these.”

  Owen
grinned. “Remember when we took the de Cristos kids swimming last summer?” Benny had gotten too far away from shore and couldn’t dog-paddle back; then when he went after her, she’d nearly drowned him. For such an accomplished lady, Bernadette was a terrible swimmer.

  Who also looked great in a swimsuit, even a style pretty much in line with his grandmother’s taste.

  “I remember.” Benny scowled. “You put a fish down my back.”

  “It was a two-inch minnow, and he was more traumatized than you.”

  “Oh, so you think fish abuse is funny.” Her eyes were twinkling, though, so maybe she was getting over the shock of their forced landing.

  “So what do you say we break out of this joint? Find out who this plantation belongs to.”

  “I don’t think I can get my door open.”

  “Okay, then come this way.”

  The double-decker Cessna Combi-Bush was designed with the cockpit high above a deep freight compartment. Owen jumped to the ground, turned and reached for Benny’s waist. She put her hands on his shoulders and let him set her lightly down.

  She frowned a bit when he didn’t immediately step back. Boy, she didn’t like to be touched. He wondered if more than water panic had been behind that scene at the river last summer. She’d fought him like a wildcat, even when they were safely in shallow water.

  Suddenly, something bumped the back of his legs hard enough to buckle his knees.

  “Mba-a-aaa!”

  Owen looked down to find a small gray goat backing up to butt him again. “Hey!” He dodged, pulling Benny with him.

  She laughed. “We invaded the earthling’s territory.”

  “Looks like.” Owen danced to avoid another thrust of the underdeveloped horns.

  Benny didn’t seem concerned. Standing in a shaft of dusty sunlight, she absently reached down to pet the animal’s nappy head as she surveyed their surroundings. “How’re we gonna get out of here? The plane’s blocking the door.”

  “I’m surprised we didn’t knock the whole barn down.” Owen looked up to examine the tin roof. It was apparently sturdier than it appeared.

  “Look, there are a bunch of loose boards over here.” Bernadette walked over to the corner and started shoving at the walls.

  “Watch out! You’ll have the place falling on our heads.” Owen followed her and saw that she was right. With one good kick, he could open a space big enough for them to slip through. “Stand back, I’m gonna—”

  “¿Quién está?” demanded someone outside the barn. “¡Voy a disparar!”

  Benny’s big dark eyes widened. “Did he just say he’d shoot us?” She peered through a knothole in the wall and said in Spanish, “Please, señor, we’re Americans! We had to make an emergency landing, but we won’t hurt you. Can you get us out of here?”

  The voice growled out a series of Spanish words. Then the boards in front of them began to splinter and fall away from the outside. Owen and Benny found themselves staring into the myopic brown eyes of an elderly Mexican gentleman carrying an equally ancient shotgun. He had apparently used it to pry loose the wall.

  “You are scaring my chickens,” he said in surly Spanish, moving back so Benny could squeeze through the narrow opening. “I should charge you a hundred pesos’ compensation.”

  “Reckon he’s gonna send ’em to poultry therapy?” Owen sucked in his breath to follow Benny.

  She gave him a quelling look, then batted her long, curly lashes at the farmer. “We are so sorry for the inconvenience.” She glanced at the plane, stuck in the doorway of the barn for all the world like an alien spacecraft in an Ed Wood movie. “We’ve got a problem with the fuel tanks, and one of the wings is broken. We can’t move it right now. If you would be so kind as to let us leave it here until we can have someone come repair it, we’ll be glad to pay you a storage fee.”

  “How am I supposed to get in to feed my animals?” The farmer folded his skinny arms without lowering the gun.

  Owen decided he’d been quiet long enough. “You’ve got a nice new opening started right here. I’ll help you straighten it up and build a door.”

  “I won’t pay you one peso.” The farmer’s gaze fell on Benny’s face and softened. “However, my wife will give you a good dinner before you—” he glared at Owen “—go away.”

  Owen had no desire to impose himself on the farmer’s dubious hospitality any longer than absolutely necessary. He pulled Bernadette aside.

  “The least I can do is repair the old guy’s chicken coop. While I’m doing that, why don’t you sweet-talk him into giving us directions to Poza Rica?”

  “But that’s a big city. I think we should avoid crowds. We need to go around—”

  “All right, all right. I’ll let you make that call. But sooner or later, we are going to talk.” He searched her face. Avoiding his eyes, she stood there with arms folded and one toe drawing circles in the dirt. Owen had never had any patience for puzzles. “Benny—”

  “Okay, Owen.” She sighed. “I owe you an explanation. But not now.” She glanced at the farmer, whose gray brows beetled in patent suspicion. “You fix the door and I’ll see if I can come up with some other mode of transportation.”

  Benny turned her beautiful smile on the farmer, who unbent enough to lower the muzzle of the gun to the ground. With Benny jabbering in enthusiastic Spanish, the two of them headed toward a small adobe house sitting on a lumpy hill about a hundred yards away.

  Owen slipped back into the barn and climbed into the cockpit of the plane. Benny wouldn’t like it, but he was going to try the radio again. They’d taken off without filing a flight plan and he had to let somebody know what had happened. Otherwise, people were going to worry.

  His brother, for example. Eli was a Border Patrol agent, too, and hadn’t been wild about Owen taking this little jaunt. The prototypical big brother, Eli had become a total worrywart since a month ago, when he’d taken on a wife and a couple of kids.

  As if flying medical supplies across the Gulf of Mexico was any more dangerous than chasing illegal aliens and dope peddlers through the desert.

  Settling into his seat and adjusting the headphones, Owen paused in the act of flipping the radio on. Come to think of it, things had turned a little dicey in the last few hours.

  Oh, well. Eli would just have to get over it.

  After supper, Benny sat beside her hostess on the sagging sofa in the family room, where the only light came from an oil lamp and a string of multicolored Christmas bulbs strung along the ceiling. Mariela, a tiny butterball of a woman distinguished by a gray-streaked black bun and an enormous wart on the side of her nose, had given them coffee and empanadas for dessert.

  Benny wished she’d had a video camera to record Owen dealing with Gustavo and Mariela de Oca. Over a simple meal taken at their kitchen table, Owen had piled on lavish praise for the good señora’s frijoles and tamales until she wouldn’t hear of her guests continuing their odyssey without a good night’s sleep. Furthermore, he’d apparently done such a good job with the barn door that even crusty old Gustavo was ready to apply for membership in the Owen Carmichael fan club.

  Trying not to wince as she sipped the strong coffee, Benny watched Owen playing el juego de damas—checkers—on the bottom of a cardboard box with their host. Gustavo sat cross-legged on the tile floor, while Owen reclined on his side, his long legs taking up most of the floor space. He could make himself at home in any situation. He’d make a wonderful missionary.

  “Your husband is a handsome young man.” Mariela straightened her flowered housedress. “You have been married for long?”

  Benny choked and wiped coffee off her skirt. “He’s not my husband.”

  Mariela frowned. “But you travel together without a chaperone?”

  How wonderful to meet a lady with scruples as antiquated as her own. “We’re traveling together sort of by accident. We’d planned to reach our destination before dark. I’m happy you and Gustavo can be our chaperones.”

&nbs
p; Mariela pursed her lips. “For one night. What will you do after that?”

  Benny shrugged. “Owen’s a gentleman. I never have to worry about him.” She lifted the coffee cup to shield her face but couldn’t help glancing at Owen. There was something powerful and magnetic about the way he’d looked at her while he was in Agrexco this week. His usual teasing expression had been thoughtful. As if he saw into her thoughts and feelings.

  Thoughts and feelings she hid pretty carefully. After all, she wanted to present an impression of a godly young Christian woman. Which was, of course, exactly what she was.

  Lord, with Your help, I’ve escaped so much tragedy, she thought as she watched Owen jump three of Gustavo’s black checkers. Why? Why let that man stir it up again? So many men in her life had sent her down destructive paths. She couldn’t help lining Owen up with the lot of them, measuring to see how he fit.

  He suddenly grinned at something Gustavo said and Benny hastily dropped her gaze to watch him jingling a handful of checkers. He had beautiful hands—long, deft fingers with neatly trimmed nails—and he wore a big college class ring with a blue stone on his right hand. She noticed a gash across his thumb, probably from his impromptu carpentry work that afternoon. He could do pretty much anything that came his way.

  She stood up. “Owen, is there a first aid kit in the plane?”

  “Sure, it’s in the cockpit, in the compartment between the—hey, where are you going?”

  “Your thumb’s bleeding.” She handed her coffee cup to Mariela, who blinked in surprise. “I’ll be right back.”

  Owen caught up to her as she pushed open the screen door. “I don’t want you going out there by yourself.”

  She paused, wishing he’d stayed put but not entirely surprised that he hadn’t. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s dark. And…there’s a killer goat out there.”

  “Ooh. You’re gonna protect me from the big bad baby goat?” She patted her chest as if overcome. Owen grinned and she smiled. “Look, Mariela already thinks we’re into scandalous behavior. We need to be careful.”