Mercy Killing (Affairs of State Book 1) (21 page)

“You are beginning to sound like
him
,” Maria muttered. But nothing was capable of crushing her high-flying spirits now. “It was so-o-o easy though. I don’t think anyone suspected I was girl.”

“You are an excellent actress.” Mercy reached over to pat her arm. She was glad to have given Maria a few hours of personal freedom. But she’d feel better once she had her back inside the hacienda's gates.

She had covered for their absence by telling Sebastian's housekeeper that she’d be out in the hills for the day, painting. Maria had begged off from her studies, telling her tutor she was ill and her father had given his permission for her to spend the day in her room, working undisturbed on her art projects. Mercy had asked that her car be brought up from the garage to a rear door, ostensibly to load art supplies. She’d helped Maria slip unseen into the car then duck down under a tarp as they passed out through the gate.

If someone checked on the girl and didn't find her in her room, Maria could always claim to have been out in the stables or the garden. The property was enormous, a small village unto itself.

For several miles along their return route, Maria stared out at the darkening landscape. The temperature had been excruciatingly high all day. The world smelled as if it had been baked to a crisp in a huge furnace. Finally the air was cooling by degrees as the sun settled lower on the horizon into a coppery pool.

Marie turned to her. “Do you really have to leave tonight? Weren’t you having fun, Mercy? I was having fun.”

Mercy grinned at the road ahead. “It was great, truly. I like being with you.”

She steered down a hill toward the river and around a sharp curve. Her mind was on their adventure, slowly shifting back to her real reason for being at the Hidalgo ranch. Was there any way of using to her advantage the hour or two remaining before she left? If she could pry loose even one piece of information to give Clay. . .

She was so focused on her own thoughts she didn't see the dark shape blocking their lane until it was too late.

Maria screamed. “
Cuidado
!”

Angled halfway across the road, its front bumper buried in a spiky clump of aloe, sat a long, closed-bed lorry.

Mercy slammed her foot on the brake. Her seat belt tugged taut across her chest. Jerking the steering wheel hard to the left, she barely missed hitting the back end of the truck. She spun the wheel hard to the right in case a car was coming the other way, but no headlights appeared through the dusk. They hadn’t hit anything yet, but were still moving at highway speed.

The little convertible continued spinning, past 360-degrees, and finally squealed to a stop in a cloud of red grit.

Mercy coughed, waving a hand in front of her face to disperse the dust. “That was close.” She turned to Maria. “Are you all right?”

The girl gulped and nodded, her eyes enormous. “Why would anyone park a truck like that? It’s so dangerous.”

“That’s probably where it broke down. The driver must not have been able to get off the road.” In fact, given that he hadn't put out any warning flares, he might be sick or have suffered a seizure or heart attack. She wouldn’t have been surprised, in this heat. In which case he’d still be in the cab.

“Mercy?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I think that’s one of our trucks,” Maria said.

Mercy unclasped her seatbelt and twisted around in her seat for a better look. The huge truck, the size of a moving van, was now behind them. “Are you sure? One of Rancho Hidalgo’s?”

“
Si
. That’s our crest on the door panel.”

It was true. The Hidalgo eagle clutched a snake in its talons, wings spread across a gilded letter H. She'd seen the same symbol displayed on the hacienda’s gates.

Warring voices bickered in her head:

Check the cab. The driver might need help.

No! Keep driving. Don’t get out of a car on a deserted highway.

But if someone is hurt…

This could be a trap!

She suddenly wished she had an embassy car with its bullet-proof glass and armored side panels.

Maria stared at the cab. “I don’t see anyone behind the wheel.”

Mercy hit the button on the dash to raise the convertible’s roof over them. It offered limited protection, but anything between them and the unknown seemed better than nothing.

“Do you think the driver is sick or something? No, that can’t be,” Maria corrected herself. “My father always sends two men—a driver and a guard.”

Oh, God.
Mercy looked down the road. No other cars in sight, in either direction. Did the police patrol this far out from the city?

“We have to see if they need help.” Maria reached for her door handle.

“No!” Mercy shouted. She grabbed Maria’s arm. “We’ll call for help while we drive.”

She put the car in gear. If anyone other than Maria had been in the car with her, she might have risked investigating. But she couldn’t jeopardize the girl’s safety.

“Take the cell phone out of my purse. We’ll alert the police. They’ll send a car.”

But as Mercy pulled away, she glanced up into her rearview mirror and saw something moving in the red glow of her taillights.

Braking, she stared at the reflection.

A hand stuck out at floor level from the rear of the truck’s cargo compartment. It gestured wildly, looking not unlike an
Adams Family
“Thing” when excited.

Mercy threw the car into reverse and backed it up, her heart hammering, feeling as if it might shatter her ribs.

Looking around and still seeing no one, she snapped open the glove box. She took out the gun she'd told herself she would never, ever use.

“What are you doing?” Maria stared at the pistol.

“I'm going to check this out. You are staying in the car with the doors locked, young lady. Understand?”

“But I want to—”

“Do as I say, Maria,” Mercy ordered. “Stay here and call the police. Tell them where we are. Tell them to send a car immediately.” The girl stared at her, looking dazed. “Do you hear me, Maria?”

“
Si
.” More a whimper than a word.

Mercy climbed out then slammed the driver’s door shut after engaging the lock from inside the door. She checked to make sure the gun was loaded. It was. “Do you know how to drive a car?” she shouted through the closed window.

Maria started to shake her head then said, “A little.”

“A stick?”

“
Si
. Tractors, on the ranch.”

Mercy nodded. “If anything happens to me and I can’t get back to the car, I want you to drive as fast as you can straight back to your house. Stop for nothing and no one. Got it?”

“But I can’t leave you!” Maria wailed.

“You may have to.” If this was a trap, it was her mistake for bumbling into it. She wouldn't let Maria suffer because of her poor judgment.

Mercy leaned closer to the window. She gentled her voice. “Do as I say, Maria. It’s important.”

The girl nodded, her eyes darting from gun to truck to keys dangling in the car's ignition.

26

Mercy sucked down a shaky breath and moved toward the lorry, one cautious step at a time. Her nostrils pinched at the sharp metallic stench of diesel fuel. She wished for headlights to appear down the road. Any help, any witnesses—that’s what she needed. She hoped the police would respond quickly to Maria’s call.

The sun had set completely now. The only light now from a horizon-hugging orange moon and the Merc’s headlights. Two brilliant white beams splashed across the desert until darkness finally swallowed them.

Mercy glanced back at the little Mercedes. The interior light was still on. Maria had already moved into the driver’s seat and was talking on the phone.
Good girl
.             

A strange, garbled noise made Mercy jump.

She stared at the truck. The sounds replayed louder, echoing faintly from inside the cargo area. A chorus of voices muffled by metal walls.
Voices?
Were there people in there? The hand—she was certain it was a hand now—drew frantic
come-here
motions in the air.

Mercy broke into a run, heart racing, a chilling acid sweat breaking out on her upper lip. What the hell had happened here? Had a gang stolen the truck’s cargo and locked the driver and guard inside? But there seemed to be many more than two voices.

From closer up she could pick out a few words in Spanish, louder now.

“Out, please!”

“God help us!” a woman’s voice shrieked.

“Open the doors.”

A terrible thought crossed her mind as she hurtled the final few feet toward the truck’s rear doors. How long had whoever was in there been trapped? The sun had scorched the valley all day. Even now, as night settled in, the dusty red earth radiated stored energy, baking the bottoms of her feet through her shoes’ soles.

Mercy reached out, her hands breaking her headlong rush at the metal doors. The surface was still painfully hot to the touch.

Fists—she imagined they were fists—started pounding from inside the compartment until the night vibrated with the thunderous din. There had to be at least a dozen people inside, she thought. Had to be!

Mercy frantically ran her hands across the formidable arrangement of bars and latches that crisscrossed the rear end of the vehicle. Finally she located a rusty, fist-sized padlock that seemed to hold the bolting mechanism in place.

She tugged, but her efforts were useless. “You’ll be all right. I’m going to get you out!” she shouted. “How many of you are there?”

The answering screams were unintelligible.

Mercy gave up trying to manhandle the lock. She ran forward to the cab. No sign of driver or guard—alive or dead. Hauling herself up into the driver’s seat she searched under the seat, in glove box and every cubby and corner. No key. Nothing she could use to pry open the lock or work free the door hinges.

Sick at the thought of the sweltering heat that must have built within the closed cargo bay, she ran back toward the doors. The truck appeared to be equipped with refrigeration to keep cattle humanely comfortable on their final journey. But without the engine running, the cooling system wasn’t working.

Mercy cast about for a way to break in. She had no tools in the car other than those necessary for changing a flat. A crowbar? The jack? She stared at the massive hinges. Hopeless.

“The police are coming!”

Mercy spun to face Maria. “I told you to stay in the car.”

“Someone’s stuck in there?” Maria stared in horror.

“
Aye, los moribundos
!” a woman’s wail cut through the night. We are dying. “
Mi bebe!
” My baby.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Mercy stomped back and forth across the pavement, her head screaming:
This is a Hidalgo truck. This is your doing, Sebastian!
It had to have come from the ranch, or somewhere on the property. Was he transporting illegals who had paid for his service? Or was this a cargo of slaves like Clay had told her about? Did it really matter? She’d hoped for evidence, and now she had it. But not for all the world would she have wanted it this way.

What was she supposed to do now? The police might take hours to reach them. Human beings were literally cooking in there. She looked down at the gun still in her hand. She’d forgotten it was there.

“Stand back,” she told Maria, “behind the car. I’m going to try to shoot off the lock, but the bullet might ricochet and hit one of us.” Or, she realized, pierce the metal sheeting of the lorry’s doors and hit someone inside. She had no idea, no experience with this sort of thing. A few hours’ practice at a firing range didn’t prepare you for this. “Tell them to stand as far away from the doors as they can.”

Maria translated then quickly backed away.

Mercy gripped the revolver, one hand clasped over the other, arms extended, elbows locked. She aimed at the keyhole.

Two deep breaths. Hold the third.
Mercy pulled the trigger.

The zing of a bullet striking steel echoed across the desert, but the lock remained intact. She fired again. And again. The sound deafening.

The fourth shot split the bolt. She pulled it off, tossing it into the dirt. Maria rushed to join her, clambered up onto a footpad above the rear bumpers, as if she knew she’d need the extra leverage to shift the long metal bolt. With effort, they slid back the heavy rod holding the doors shut.

Scuffling noises and frantic shouts erupted from inside. The doors exploded outward. An indescribable stench—excrement, blood, vomit—struck Mercy. A solid wall of fumes, forcing her back.

From the cave-like interior tumbled a fetid mass of bodies. Some leaping to their feet as soon as they hit the ground. Others, not moving at all, merely shoved out through the doors by people behind them.