Page 21 of Dina's Favorite Mistake

“The rest of your family?”

Beto hesitated. “Lola did, at first, but she was so young when it happened. She didn’t know any better. She and Dina patched things up years ago.”

“And your mother?”

Beto sighed. “She says she doesn’t, and I do believe she’s forgiven Dina for bringing Diego into our lives.”

“But?”

“My mother isn’t one to forget so easily.” Whatever Beto what was going to say next was forgotten. He looked in the rear-view mirror and frowned. “That’s strange.”

“What?” Steve turned in his seat and immediately spotted the headlights behind them. “One of your workers? Someone leaving your fields late?”

“Not in a Land Rover,” Beto replied stiffly.

“You’ve got good eyes,” Steve remarked, unable to identify the make from that distance in the dark. He brushed his hand over the hidden holster under his lightweight jacket. “You carrying?”

“Glove box.” Beto briefly glanced his way. “I hope you’re not planning on a gun fight out here. I’m a terrible shot.”

“Good to know,” Steve muttered as he dug his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. He glanced at the screen and cursed. “Shit. I’ve got no signal.”

“Try mine.” Beto handed over the unlocked phone.

“No. Nothing.” A dark pit twisted in his gut. Was this a coordinated attack? Was someone using a signal jammer?

“Hold on!” Beto’s warning came a split-second before the Land Rover slammed into the back of the truck. Steve lurched forward, barely escaping a terrible blow of his forehead against the dash, and remembered why lap belts had been replaced with three-point belts.

Gunshots cracked, and bullets clanged and ricocheted off the truck’s bed and roof. As Beto cursed like, well, a sailor, Steve twisted in his seat and retrieved his weapon. He didn’t want tofire it in a closed cab, especially not that close to Beto’s ears. The last thing either needed was to be rendered momentarily deaf when being chased.

Luckily, the old truck had a sliding window along the back of the single cab. He pushed it aside, frankly shocked it actually moved considering all the rust and salt accumulated on the track, and stuck his pistol through it. Giving Beto a quick warning, he said, “Keep it steady.”

Steve fired twice, striking the windshield directly in front of the driver. He must have hit his mark because the Land Rover swerved wildly from side-to-side before flying off the road and into the low ditch on the right. “Slow it down and whip a U-turn.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Beto showed tremendous control as he eased his foot off the accelerator and brough the truck around so they were facing back toward the estate and the wrecked Land Rover. He didn’t panic or raise his voice. “What now?”

“Wait here.” Steve grabbed Beto’s gun from the glove box and handed it to him. “If they come at me, you drive straight back to the estate. Empty that clip into the Land Rover as you drive by.”

“I’m not leaving you here!”

“Your family is back at the house, and they’re in danger. You leave me here, and you save them.” Steve hopped out of the truck, gun drawn, and advanced on the crash scene. He approached cautiously, keenly aware that he was unprotected and likely to die if hit with a bullet at this close range.

Gingerly, he stepped off the road and walked down into the ditch. The driver of the Land Rover was obviously dead. He was hanging out the busted window, one arm flung high and clearly broken. A cheap handgun gleamed in the moonlight, and Steve kicked it aside.

With his gun trained on the cab, he realized the passenger door was open. Smears of wet blood discolored the dash andstained the seat. Whoever had been sitting there, probably firing a gun, was hurt and badly.

Certain the passenger couldn’t have gotten far, Steve cautiously walked around the front of the truck. He reached the passenger side and glass crunched under his boots. The light from the interior of the vehicle helped him find and follow a blood trail to a fence.

He hesitated only a moment before vaulting over the fence. Wishing he had a flashlight, he picked his way across the open ground, trying not to fall in any holes or step on anything dangerous. He wasn’t very informed on all the wildlife out here, but he suspected the same things that could kill him in Texas were lurking here, too.

A pained groan echoed in the night. Steve froze and lifted his weapon, training it left and right as he searched for the source of the sound.

There. Another groan. This one weaker.

Steve stepped closer to a brushy heap and found a bloody sneaker. He followed the line of the leg to the battered body of a young man curled on his side, hyperventilating and clutching his stomach.

“Are you armed?” Steve asked in Spanish, not giving the guy a chance to kill him. “Do you have a gun?”

“No. No. No gun.” The guy moaned pitifully. “My stomach! It hurts! I need a doctor!”

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