Rider on Fire & When You Call My Name: Rider on Fire / When You Call My Name. Sharon Sala

the motel.

      “Hey, lady! Are you okay? I saw you trip and fall but I was all the way down at the end of the walkway. Couldn’t get here fast enough to do you much good.”

      Sonora shuddered, then brushed at the knees of her pants and dusted off her hands as she looked up at the man standing at the head of the stairs. He was short and stocky with a bald head and a red beard. An odd combination of features for the guy, but he seemed harmless.

      “I’m okay,” she said. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I’m fine, but thanks.”

      The guy nodded, then took a couple steps backward before turning around and going back down the hall to his room.

      Sonora unlocked her door and went inside, hung a do-not-disturb sign on the outside of the doorknob, and then carefully locked the doors. It took even less time to undress, and moments later, she fell into bed.

      The hallucination she’d just had was still in her mind, but she shrugged it off. She couldn’t be bothered with worrying about some stupid daydream with Miguel Garcia still on the loose. With those thoughts in her mind, she fell asleep.

      Chapter 4

      Sonora crossed the Arizona border into New Mexico just before noon the next day. Traffic was already thicker on I-40, as well as on the access roads. A digital message on a bank near the interstate gave a temperature reading of 98 degrees. With the amount of traffic and exhaust fumes heating up the pavement, Sonora could add another ten degrees of heat to that reading and know she wasn’t off by much.

      She’d already made a decision that traveling in the heat of the day in this part of the country wasn’t smart. So she took the next exit off the interstate and found a motel.

      Within minutes she had a room on the ground floor. She left the office and rode her bike to the parking place in front of her room. When she dismounted, she realized her hands and legs were shaking. Too much heat and not enough water, but she was about to fix that. She locked up her bike, shouldered her bag and unlocked the door to her room, gratefully inhaling the artificially cooled air inside as she entered.

      She went to the bathroom to wash up, and drank a big glass of water while she was there. There was a café on the other side of the parking lot, which she planned to visit, but not in this hot biker leather. When she came out of the bathroom, she took off her pants and vest, tossed her shirt aside as well as her biker boots for some cooler clothes and tennis shoes.

      She stretched and then bounced once on the bed, testing it for comfort. She scooted all the way up on the mattress, then stretched out—but only for a minute. She noticed the red LED light on the smoke detector was working and closed her eyes.

      When she woke up, it was after 10:00 p.m. She groaned as she rolled over and swung her legs off the bed.

      “Oh, great, I didn’t mean to sleep so long.”

      She stood up and went to the window. It was pouring. She probably wouldn’t sleep tonight, but she could eat, and her belly was protesting the fact that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

      Grabbing a clean T-shirt and jeans from her bag, she dressed quickly and slipped her wallet in a fanny pack before she left.

      Despite the rain, the smell of charcoal and cooking meat was heavy in the air. Her mouth watered as she made a dash across the parking lot and into the café.

      “Ooh, honey, come in out of that rain,” the hostess said as Sonora dashed inside. “Are you by yourself?” she added.

      Sonora nodded.

      The hostess picked up a menu. “This way,” she said, and led the way across the floor to a booth in the back. “This okay?”

      “Perfect,” Sonora said, and meant it. Being at the far end of the room with a clear view of the door was a good thing. The fact that she was close to the kitchen didn’t bother her. She wasn’t looking for ambiance, just food.

      She ordered iced tea, salad and chicken alfredo, then opened a package of crackers and began nibbling on them while she waited for her food to arrive. Lightning flashed outside, momentarily lighting the parking lot. Lights flickered, then went out. A communal groan of dismay sounded throughout the seating area while cursing could be heard in the kitchen.

      Sonora automatically felt for her fanny pack, making sure her wallet was in place. Before she could relax, there was the sound of falling furniture, then a woman’s shrill scream.

      “Help! Help! Someone just stole my purse!”

      Sonora was on her feet without thinking. She heard running footsteps coming toward her. The way she figured it, the only person running in the dark would be the perp.

      She moved instinctively and heard, more than saw, him coming. What she did see was that the shadow coming toward her was well over six feet tall. Using one of her kickboxing moves, she caught the running man belly high. She heard him grunt, then heard him stagger into a table and some chairs. She spun on one foot and came back around with another kick that caught him in the chest and ended up on his chin.

      He went down like a felled ox.

      Lights flickered, then fully came on as power was restored.

      The woman who’d been robbed was still screaming and crying.

      The hostess who’d seated Sonora saw the man on the floor, then eyed the tall, dark woman she’d just put in the back of the room and pointed. “Lord have mercy, honey! Did you do that?”

      “Call the cops,” Sonora said.

      The man on the floor moaned and started to roll over.

      Sonora put her foot in the middle of the man’s back and pushed. “Uh-uh,” she warned. “You stay right where you are, buddy, or I’ll snap your spine faster than you can blink.”

      “Damn, lady. My belly hurts bad. I think you broke my ribs.” The man moaned.

      Soon the squall of approaching sirens could be heard. The perp moaned again.

      The police came in the door, followed by a pair of EMTs.

      The hostess waved them over. “Here! He’s here!” she yelled.

      Sonora quickly exited the café through the kitchen, looking wistfully at the food as she ran through. The last thing she needed was to call attention to herself, and she’d done that big time by stopping the perp. The police would have wanted to see her name and ID. Having them identify her as DEA was completely opposite to what she was trying to do—which was get lost.

      She hunched her shoulders against the rain and walked out into the parking lot. Quickly she crossed the street to a pizza place on the corner.

      “One more time,” she muttered as she hurried inside.

      “Sit anywhere,” a waitress said as she hurried by with an order. “I’ll be right with you.”

      This time, Sonora settled in at a booth near the front door and then leaned her head against the glass as she looked out into the night. She was alternating between sausage or mushroom pizza when another flash of lightning sent her back into the black hole that had become part of her mind.

      * * *

      The older Native American man was sitting at a table with his back to Sonora. She wanted to go around him and see what he was doing, but she found herself unable to move.

      “Why am I here? What the hell do you want?” she yelled.

      Either he didn’t hear her, or he was ignoring her.

      The man stood up slowly, then walked away, revealing a small piece of wood and a pile of wood curls.

      He was carving something, but whatever it was, it was little more than an outline in the wood. Her gaze slid from the wood to the man. He was shaking pills from a bottle into his hand. There was a strange expression