On Wings of Deliverance Page 3

  His eyes narrowed. “Good grief. What a busybody.”

  Benny shrugged. “She asked if we were married. When I told her no, she assumed…Well, I said I was glad for her to chaperone.” She looked up at Owen, relieved to have this discussion out in the open. She didn’t want any misunderstandings. “Listen, Owen, my credibility as a single female missionary hinges on my reputation. I’ve got to make sure we’re not alone at night. Ever.”

  He stared back at her, his jaw shifting. “Okay. I guess I can see that. But for the record, you know I’d never…you know you can trust me, right?”

  She weighed her words carefully. “I don’t think you’d do anything on purpose, but…” She sighed. “Well, I know when a man is looking at me a certain way.”

  His mouth opened and she fully expected him to blast her for her conceit, but then his gaze unexpectedly wavered. “There’s nothing wrong with looking at a beautiful woman,” he muttered.

  Benny couldn’t help the little thrill of pleasure his words—and his confused expression—sent through her midsection. Oh, Lord, forgive me. I thought I was past that hunger for approval….

  She crossed her arms over her stomach. “That’s very sweet of you to say that, but I really need you to help me be…circumspect. Do you know what I mean?”

  She had to endure the intense blue-green gaze scanning her face, touching her lips. Finally, he smiled a little. “No looking, huh?”

  She shook her head. “And we’ve been in here by ourselves long enough. Go play checkers with Gustavo and I’ll get the first aid kit. I can’t have my pilot coming down with gangrene.”

  “Yeah, that would be inconvenient.” Owen pushed away from the doorjamb. Placing his hands over his eyes, he backed away. “Just call me See No Evil.”

  Benny laughed and headed out into the moonlit yard. A flashlight would have been nice, but they’d left that in the plane, too, along with Owen’s luggage and some stuff the Garretts had sent back to the States. Benny herself had no personal items whatsoever. She’d left in such a panic she hadn’t even had time to grab her purse.

  She shuddered, remembering the zip of the bullet whizzing over her head to plant itself in the concrete wall behind her. Had it really happened less than twenty-four hours ago?

  Now she had no cash, no credit cards, no ID, no phone—nothing but the clothes on her back. Getting safely across Mexico was going to stretch her faith and intellect to the limit.

  Owen Carmichael would never have been her first choice of escorts. Lord, why not somebody safe? Somebody a little less…charismatic?

  Pushing open the barn door that Owen had created from the boards he’d cut out of the wall, Benny poked her head inside. She could hear the animals rustling in their stalls. She wasn’t afraid of the little goat, but the idea of getting butted in the dark didn’t appeal, either. Hopefully he was locked in a stall for the night.

  If the barn had been shadowy in the daytime, it was positively Cimmerian tonight, and it smelled like…well, like a barn. A draft through the open door stirred the hay and she sneezed. Leaving the door open so the moonlight could filter in, she waited a moment until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. As hangars went, this one was on the cramped side. The nose of the plane loomed over her head to the left and she could barely discern the outline of the door panel in front of the wings.

  A moment later, she had the door open and managed to lower the steps. By the glow of the interior light, she climbed into the cabin. Sliding into the pilot’s seat, she laid her head back against the soft leather back of the chair. Astonishing, this sudden feeling of being enveloped by Owen. Even more surprising was the realization that she didn’t feel threatened. Just safe.

  She studied the instrument panel. Earlier in the day, she’d been too frightened to pay much attention to all those dials, knobs and switches. Clearly it would take a pretty good brain to operate a million-dollar aircraft like this. Owen liked to perpetrate a class-clown persona, but he had hidden depths. Well hidden.

  She grinned to herself. Okay, the first aid kit. He said it would be in the compartment between the seats. She lifted the lid of the box, which reached to about the level of the armrests. Its interior light revealed a couple of maps, a pair of sunglasses and a spiral-bound notebook. She dumped them all in her lap to continue digging for the first aid kit.

  There it was, a white metal box with the traditional red cross on top. She opened it and removed the antibiotic ointment, as well as a couple of adhesive bandages, then put the box back in the bottom of the compartment.

  She examined Owen’s aviator sunglasses before returning them to the console. Expensive. Quality eyewear must be a necessity for a pilot. She started to put the remaining two items in her lap back into the console when a photograph fell out of the notebook and slipped to the floor. Sticking the maps in a niche beside Owen’s sunglasses, she reached down to pick up the picture.

  She turned it over and caught her breath. “Oh, my….”

  It was a snapshot taken the day of the swimming expedition. She’d let a couple of the little girls bury her feet in the sand and Owen had captured her close-up, with her head thrown back, laughing.

  He was quite a good amateur photographer, and he’d shown her the other pictures he’d taken of the children that day. But she hadn’t imagined he would stick this one in a notebook and bring it all the way to Mexico.

  Her heart thumped a little. Just how deeply engaged were his feelings for her?

  THREE

  Chief Justice of the Tennessee Supreme Court, the Honorable J. Paul Grenville III, had pulled his Harley into one of the historic roadside parks along I–20 to Memphis. He sat on a picnic table with his cell phone pressed to his ear. On his way home from Nashville for the weekend, he’d stopped to check up on a certain international project.

  “What do you mean, you missed her?” In his agitation, he dropped his helmet and it went bouncing against some Confederate soldier’s headstone. Probably one of Grenville’s ancestors. He was related to half the state of Tennessee.

  The voice on the other end of the cell connection surged and dropped out. What good was the North American Free Trade Agreement when you couldn’t even get a good cell connection with employees in Mexico?

  “—didn’t get close enough for a clear shot,” he finally heard. “They took off, headed across the Gulf.”

  “Took off? You mean in a boat?”

  “No! Some big blond guy had a Cessna freight plane parked on the beach. There was a kid there, too, but he drove off in the girl’s Jeep before I got close.”

  “You checked out the plane, right? Where did it go?” Grenville picked up his helmet and paced along the concrete sidewalk edging the cemetery. Briggs had been in his employ for nearly twenty years, since the days when Grenville had been on the Tennessee Court of Appeals. Briggs was methodical, thorough and ruthless. In a word, invaluable.

  “Of course I did. Turns out he’s an off-duty Border Patrol agent on a supply run for some missionary outfit out of Laredo. I figure that’s where they’re heading.”

  “Make sure.” Grenville mounted the bike. “Get the flight plan and intercept them when they land. It would have been a lot easier to get her before she reached the States.”

  “I know.” Briggs made a disgusted noise. “She really fooled me during the interview. I thought I had the wrong woman until I poked through her stuff while she was out of the room.”

  “You better get something straight right now, Briggs. This girl is young, but she is not stupid.” In fact, that had been the thing that most attracted Grenville once upon a time. “I’m counting on you to keep her from scotching this appointment.”

  “You know I will, sir.”

  “And Briggs—”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “The pilot has to go, too.”

  Grenville ended the call and sat there a moment, contemplating the budding greenery in the woods behind the cemetery. He had sacrificed too much to let some little ex-hooker r
uin his chances at one of the most powerful posts in the judicial branch of government.

  Gustavo snored like a B-52 bomber, and Owen woke up with a crick in his neck from trying to keep his ears covered while sleeping on a tile floor with nothing but his arm for a pillow. He and Eli had camped all their lives, so roughing it wasn’t a problem. Still, he’d found himself tossing and turning all night.

  The look on Bernadette’s face when she’d come in, armed with ointment and Band-Aids, would probably give him nightmares for months. Demanding to see his thumb, she’d squirted half a tube of medicine on him and nearly cut off his circulation with a bandage. Then she’d disappeared behind the curtain, where she and Señora de Oca would sleep.

  He couldn’t understand her sudden agitation. After the crash landing, she seemed to have settled down, almost enjoying the impromptu bed-and-breakfast scenario. Maybe she was worrying about whoever had shot at her in Agrexco. One way or another, he was gonna have to find out what that was all about.

  He sat up, stretching, and looked at the backlit dial of his watch. Not quite 5:00 a.m. and Gustavo was already gone, apparently outside tending to his animals. Maybe there would be eggs for breakfast.

  There wasn’t much light yet in the dingy little living room; Mariela had unplugged the Christmas bulbs before following Benny to bed, and the sun barely glowed around the edges of the thick polyester curtains hanging in the windows. Owen had a sudden overwhelming urge to get out of this place. He’d have been happier spending the night in the plane, but leaving Benny alone wasn’t an option. Though Mariela and Gustavo de Oca seemed like nice enough people, he felt better knowing Benny was just on the other side of that curtain.

  Pulling on his boots, he wondered if she’d slept well. No looking, he reminded himself as he glanced at the curtain. He quietly let himself out the kitchen door.

  He walked down the hill toward the barn, intending to inspect the plane before Benny got up and around. A thorough examination revealed that, besides the holes in the fuel tanks, which he could have patched, the right wing had a long crack near the fuselage. Without the tools or materials to fix it, he felt like a surgeon diagnosing an inoperable tumor.

  Getting Benny safely home in a reasonable amount of time was going to be a challenge. He didn’t have much cash, and the border was a long way off. Laying a hand on the cool steel belly of the aircraft, he spent a few minutes praying for wisdom.

  Feeling immeasurably stronger, he went searching for old Gustavo and found him inside the barn, feeding the goat. The little billy gave Owen a disdainful bleat, then went back to his hay.

  “Good morning, Gustavo.” Owen leaned over the top of the stall. “Thanks for your hospitality.”

  “It’s nothing.” Gustavo propped his hands atop his pitchfork. “We don’t see many Americans out here, so you must excuse my rudeness yesterday. I thought you might be drug traffickers running from the law.”

  Owen smiled at the irony of that remark. “Not a chance. Do you have any idea where we might get hold of a car?”

  “Now that,” Gustavo said, “is a large problem. As I told the señorita last night, all I have is my truck, and my closest neighbor is twenty kilometers away. Unless—” he scratched his whiskery chin “—unless you want to ride my mule up to Poza Rica. My cousin Jorge runs a used-car lot and I’m sure he’d give you a good deal.”

  Owen thought of several objections to that plan, not least of which was Benny’s desire to stay away from cities. Still, their choices were limited. “Couldn’t you drive Benny and me to Poza Rica? We’d be glad to pay you—”

  But Gustavo was shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave right now. Lajuana is due to drop her calf. She had trouble last time.”

  Having grown up around horses, Owen understood the concept of protecting one’s livestock. Still, the prospect of riding a mule twenty miles struck him as a bit over the top. “But won’t you need your mule?”

  “It is only mid-March.” Gustavo shrugged. “I won’t plow for another two weeks, at least. You could leave Sunflower with Jorge. I will drive up to get him later.”

  “Okay, then, how about letting us borrow your truck? I’ll pay someone to drive it back to you. The plane’s good collateral, don’t you think?”

  “I need my truck.” Gustavo picked up the pitchfork and went back to work, the subject obviously closed. “If you don’t want to take Sunflower, you can walk.”

  Owen glanced over his shoulder at the busted-up plane, then at the swaybacked mule, contentedly munching oats in its stall a few feet away.

  Oh, how the mighty are fallen.

  Benny was scrambling eggs on Mariela’s ancient stove when Owen came in the back door, carrying a bucket of milk. He plunked it on the table and walked up behind her. “I was hoping somebody would have breakfast going. That smells good.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. With golden-brown bristle covering his jaw and a sleepy droop at the corners of his eyes, he looked a little worse for wear. “Where have you been?”

  “Negotiating a deal with Gustavo.” He reached over her shoulder and snitched a strip of bacon.

  “What kind of deal?”

  He leaned on the counter and licked grease off his fingers. “Let’s just say I didn’t get the better end of it. More specifically, my end may wind up whooped.”

  Benny had to giggle. “That sounds ominous.”

  “I’ll say. Old Gustavo wouldn’t part with his truck, so it looks like Sunflower and I will be taking a little field trip.”

  “Sunflower? Who’s that?”

  “Not who—it. Sunflower’s a mule, my transportation to Poza Rica. I’ll ride up there, buy a car from Gustavo’s cousin Jorge and come back to get you.”

  Benny stared at him. He looked perfectly serious. “You’re not leaving me here.”

  He cocked his head. “Benny, I shouldn’t be gone more than a day—two at the most. Mariela will take good care of—”

  “No, I’ll go with you. That will save time.”

  Owen’s blue-green eyes lost their sleepy look. “What are you afraid of? You know we lost the guy in the Land Rover. There’s no way he could catch up to us.”

  “They’ll know we never made it to Laredo. Anybody can look up a flight plan.” Shivering, Benny turned off the stove and shoved the pan full of eggs off the burner.

  “I didn’t have time to file a flight plan.” Owen took her by the shoulders when she would have turned away. “Bernadette, who’s after you? Is it more than just this one man?”

  She stood stiff under his hands and looked at the strong brown column of his throat. “I’m not sure.”

  “This is insane.” Frustration laced his voice. “How can I protect you—and myself, for that matter—if I don’t know what we’re running from?”

  He was right. It wasn’t fair to keep Owen in the dark, but if she told him about Paul Grenville, Grenville would do his best to kill Owen, too. On the other hand, she refused to lie.

  She made herself relax. “Okay, you’re right. It’s silly to worry like this. Go ahead and take the mule to Poza Rica.”

  Several seconds ticked by. Benny felt Owen’s big, gentle hands tighten, the thumbs on her collarbones and palms cupping her shoulders. When she looked up at him his expression speared her to the heart.

  “You’ll be gone when I get back, won’t you?” His lips pressed together as he let her go. “I can’t believe you have so little regard for me.”

  Benny caught her balance against the table. “Owen, you don’t understand who these people are. I care for you too much to let you—”

  “You care for me?” Owen uttered a harsh laugh, the kind she’d never imagined him capable of. “Then trust me with the truth.”

  She put her hands to her face and closed her eyes. “Okay, listen. Here’s all I can tell you now. When I was very young, I had some bad experiences and they’ve come back to haunt me. I have to get to Memphis to see an old friend, find out what she knows.”

&nbs
p; After another moment’s silence, Owen sighed. “Why not call her?”

  “We’ve just been in touch by e-mail because I’m afraid my calls can be traced. I have to see her in person.”

  “Memphis,” Owen muttered. “I thought we were going to Laredo.”

  Benny lowered her hands. “Will you help me get back to the States? Without asking questions?”

  He shook his head. “You are a crazy woman, you know that?”

  “I know. Please, Owen?”

  “Like I could ever say no to you.” It wasn’t a question.

  After breakfast, Owen saddled Sunflower with Gustavo’s old-fashioned tack, then mounted the mule with the confidence of long practice. Getting Benny situated was a bit trickier.

  At least he’d talked her into trading in her full, flowery skirt for his extra pair of jeans.

  “Come on, Ben,” he’d teased, “you’ll have saddle sores on your saddle sores if you try to ride in a skirt.”

  So she’d rolled up the legs three or four times and tied them at the waist with a leather strap Gustavo had lying around the barn. She actually looked pretty cute, in a countrified kind of way.

  “Okay, now stand over on the left side of the mule—watch out! He’ll kick if you get too close to his rear.” Owen was sweating already; he could just imagine what the heat would be like this afternoon. He’d give anything for his straw cowboy hat or even his Border Patrol headgear.

  Benny looked up at him, hands on hips. “How’m I going to get up there?”

  He extended his left hand. “Okay, put your left foot—no, your other left foot,” he said with a grin “—in the stirrup. That’s it. Now grab my wrist with both hands and I’ll pull you up. Hang on. Here you go!”

  She swung up easily, fitting neatly behind the deep, old-fashioned cantle of the saddle.

  “I did it!”