Showdown in West Texas. Amanda Stevens

and ready. Or until you fire me.”

      “You know I’m not going to fire you,” Frank said wearily.

      “Then let me stay and do my job. You won’t have any more trouble. Not from Sergio. I’ll make sure of that.” She turned to Cage with a weak smile. “Sorry about the floor show.”

      He shrugged. “We’ve all got problems.”

      “Another beer?”

      “I need to find a phone first.”

      “There’s a pay phone in the back.” She waved a hand in the general vicinity. “Need some quarters?”

      “I’ve got a credit card, but thanks.”

      She picked up his cell phone and slipped it into the pocket of her apron. When he lifted a questioning brow, she grinned. “Insurance, so you don’t get the bright idea of skipping out on your bill.”

      “She’s only half joking,” Frank said.

      “Don’t worry, I’ll be back. But you do realize that thing is pretty much worthless around here.”

      Cage knew he was the focus of attention from the men at the table, and he sized them up as best he could from the corner of his eye as he headed toward the back. Three young Hispanics and two middle-aged Caucasians. All thugs, by the looks of them, but Cage wasn’t about to involve himself in whatever shady dealings they were plotting. All he wanted to do was get his car running and make tracks for El Paso, the sooner the better.

      He located the phone and punched in a series of numbers, including his credit card number. The dark-haired man—Sergio—brushed past him on his way to the restroom. Cage caught a glimpse of a nasty-looking scar that curved around the man’s throat before he disappeared through the door.

      Cage had seen a scar like that only one other time—on an ex-con who’d had his throat slashed in a prison brawl.

      He stared after the man for a moment, then turned back anxiously to the phone when his party answered on the other end.

      “It’s Cage.”

      “¿Qué pasa, tío?” Andy Sikes drawled jovially. “You already in town?”

      “No, that’s why I’m calling. I’ve run into a little trouble on the road.”

      “What kind of trouble?” Andy asked suspiciously. The two men went back a long way, far enough that Andy was a little too familiar with Cage’s track record.

      “My car broke down. I’m about a hundred and eighty miles from El Paso in a little Podunk place called San Miguel. Doesn’t look good about making that four o’clock meeting.”

      “Damn it, Cage—”

      “I know, I know, you went out on a limb to set it up for me—”

      “Jumped through hoops is more like it. It’s not just your ass on the line here. If you don’t make that meeting, my boss is going to be muy ticked off, and that’s putting it mildly.”

      “I hear you. But there’s nothing I can do but wait for a part. If I can get on the road within the next hour, I may still be able to make it. It’d help, though, if you’d run a little interference for me.”

      “Stall, you mean.”

      “Just for an hour or so.”

      Andy’s exasperated sigh came through loud and clear. “I’ll do what I can, but you get your ugly hide to El Paso if you have to sprout wings out your butt and fly here.”

      “I will. And I owe you one, okay?”

      “No, you don’t. Let’s just call it even. After all, if I hadn’t thrown that illegal block sixteen years ago, you might be playing for the Cowboys instead of hustling drill bits for that pendejo you call a brother-in-law.”

      “Water under the bridge. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

      Cage hung up and looked around. He hadn’t seen Sergio come out of the bathroom, but he tried the door anyway. It was unlocked and he went in to wash up.

      As he stared as his own reflection—the gaunt face, the receding hairline, the tiny grooves that had begun to fan out at the corners of his eyes—he thought again of his father. Maybe he was starting to understand a little of the old man’s desperation.

      Not much liking what he saw in the mirror, Cage turned on the faucet, and after washing his hands, splashed cold water on his face.

      As he was drying off, he noticed that the window was open, and it occurred to him that the reason he hadn’t seen Sergio come out of the bathroom was because he’d gone through the window. Evidently, he was giving someone the slip—

      A woman’s scream brought Cage’s head around with a jerk. In two strides he was across the room and flung back the door a split second before another sound registered…the steady spit-spit-spit of silenced weapons.

      In the space of a heartbeat, Cage took in the bloody massacre as he stood there in the doorway. Two of the men at the table were slumped over in their chairs and a third had fallen to the floor. The fourth had tried to crawl toward the door and now lay twitching in a deepening pool of red.

      Cage saw a bloody hand protruding from the end of the bar, and he recognized Sadie’s pink nail polish. She was clutching his cell phone. Two crimson splatters on the wall behind the bar marked the spot where she and Frank had been caught by the bullets.

      The gunmen were still inside the bar. They were young white guys, unmasked, dressed in jeans and T-shirts. As one of them pumped another round into the man on the floor, the shooter nearest the bar looked up and caught Cage’s eye in the mirror. His reflexes seemed almost supernatural as he spun and fired in one fluid movement.

      Cage jumped back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

      During the hospital stay after his shooting, he’d often wondered what would happen if he found himself again on the wrong end of a loaded weapon. Would he freeze up? Beg for mercy? Roll over and play dead?

      Now he had his answer. Instinct and training wouldn’t allow for any of those things.

      Cage did the only thing he could do. He dove through the window and ran like hell.

      Chapter Three

      Keeping to the alleys and using the buildings for cover, Cage made his way back around to Main Street.

      He had in mind to locate the sheriff’s office, constable, or whatever manner of law enforcement was to be found in a place that size. Even a town as tiny as San Miguel would have some kind of peace officer, who in turn would be able to summon the state police or highway patrol to provide backup. Without a weapon, Cage was pretty much useless.

      Still, he hadn’t given up on the notion of finding a way back inside the bar. He couldn’t desert Sadie and Frank without knowing for certain they were dead, and he also didn’t like the idea of leaving his cell phone. It would be too easy for the bad guys to trace it back to him. Right now, anonymity was on his side. The gunmen couldn’t possibly know who he was.

      Cage eased around the corner of a building. One of the shooters stood just outside the bar while the other was still presumably looking for him. Cage ducked back and flattened himself against the wall.

      After a moment, he glanced around the corner again. A squad car raced up the street and slid to a halt at the curb. A man in a khaki uniform and aviator glasses got out and propped his arm on the open door. After he and the gunman conversed, the cop strolled leisurely over to the bar and glanced inside.

      So much for getting help from the state police, Cage thought grimly.

      As he continued to watch, the second gunman came jogging out of a nearby alley. While the three conferred, another vehicle pulled up behind the squad car.

      Cage recognized the expensive SUV. It was