Badlands. Jill Sorenson

flashlight, inspecting the interior. What an amazing stroke of luck.

      “It’s a cave,” Cruz said, excited.

      “Let’s explore.”

      They stepped through the opening, which widened out to a large area before narrowing again. The passage zigzagged along for several hundred feet. Penny had to turn sideways in some areas, and duck in others to avoid bumping her head. When they came to a fork in the path, she veered left, choosing the tighter squeeze. She dropped to her hands and knees, inching forward with the flashlight in her mouth. Cruz crawled behind her. They reached a section she could barely fit through. It opened up to a small room with a skylight.

      She didn’t think the men could reach them here. She couldn’t get out, either, because the hole in the roof was tiny. But the little window comforted her, making the hiding place seem less tomblike and claustrophobic.

      Penny hated enclosed spaces, for obvious reasons. “Here we are.”

      “We can stay?”

      She nodded, resting her back against the wall. “We have to be very quiet.”

      “Will they come looking for us?”

      “Maybe.”

      They shared the corn nuts, which weren’t actually nuts, but roasted corn kernels, called elotitos in Mexico. She tried not to drink too much water, though she was thirsty. The canteen might have to last several days.

      “Why do they want to hurt us?”

      “They want money,” she amended.

      “For what?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Do they touch kids?”

      “I don’t think so,” she said, disturbed by the question. She’d told him about child molesters out of necessity. He had no fear of strangers, no shyness. One day he’d wandered off in the library when her back was turned. After a frantic search, she’d found him talking to a friendly older man. Later, at home, she’d explained the danger.

      She doubted any of the kidnappers were pedophiles, but the threat of rape had felt very real to her. A woman of color surrounded by racist gang members was at high risk. She thought about the way Dirk had manhandled Owen, with threatening postures and suggestive insults. These men weren’t above using sexual violence as intimidation.

      She felt another pang of guilt for leaving him. This was all her fault. He wouldn’t have taken this job under normal circumstances. Her father had probably appealed to his sense of chivalry, claiming she required special protection.

      If she hadn’t been such a coward and a pushover, none of this would have happened. She should have moved away from home three months ago, when she graduated. Or sooner, before her father announced his candidacy. She hadn’t because her father claimed it wasn’t safe. He’d insisted on enrolling Cruz in a private Catholic preschool for the same reason. After he offered to pay full tuition, how could she refuse?

      Her father doted on Cruz, spoiling him with expensive gifts. He was like the son Jorge had always wanted. And Cruz needed a man in his life, so she didn’t complain. If her father had his way, Penny would marry a young conservative—Cuban, perhaps, because there were so few Mexican-American Republicans—and move in next door.

      She should have stood firm and been more independent. She should have told her father flat out that she had feelings for Owen.

      Now it was too late.

      She couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing him again, never asking for another kiss. With a strangled sob, she touched her trembling lips, trying to recapture that tender moment. Her fingertips tasted like salt and something else, a dark tang. With horror, she realized that she had dried blood on her hands.

      “I’m scared,” Cruz said.

      “So am I,” she replied, hugging him close.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      “GET UP.”

      Shane woke Owen by kicking the bottom of his foot. He wrenched his eyes open, studying the tan nylon tent fabric inches from his nose. Dirk had dragged him inside last night, where he’d drifted in and out of consciousness. His mouth was dry and his throat ached. His midsection, which had taken the brunt of the blows, felt like raw hamburger. When he tried to raise a hand to his face, he encountered resistance.

      Handcuffs. Now they were in the front.

      Shane was standing outside the tent, smoking a cigarette. His motorcycle mask was pulled down to his neck. He had a 9 mm tucked into his waistband.

      Owen’s stomach roiled at the smell of tobacco. He groaned, trying to piece together the events from the night before. His brother had attempted to kill him, or maybe just scare him into believing his life was in danger. It had worked; he was scared. He’d only been knocked out once before, after the earthquake. Waking up under a collapsed freeway with a band of escaped convicts, himself included, had been pretty fucking horrible. Getting strangled by his own brother, even more so.

      “Your bitch ran off with her kid,” Shane said.

      Owen blinked a few times, processing the information. He was glad Penny had escaped, but the badlands was a treacherous place for a woman and child with no shelter or supplies.

      “Don’t call her that,” he said, rolling over and crawling out of the tent.

      “A bitch or yours?”

      He winced at the early-morning light. “How did she get away?”

      Shane took another drag. “Went to pee, grabbed a rock and bashed Gardener over the head with it.”

      Owen spotted Gardener on the other side of camp. He had a purple goose egg on the left side of his forehead, and he looked nauseated. Owen had to give Penny credit for a simple, effective attack.

      While the crew got ready to search for Penny and Cruz, Owen studied each member, memorizing as many details as possible. Most of them were wearing hats and sunglasses, with handkerchiefs over their faces. Next to Shane, Dirk was the strongest, medium height and loaded with muscle. Sometimes that kind of bulk could slow a man down, but Dirk’s movements weren’t clumsy. He was armed with a handgun, like Shane.

      Gardener was the weak link, even before his injury. He had hound-dog eyes, a receding hairline and a rounded gut.

      The other two men, Brett and Roach, were in between. Brett was small and wiry, tough like a bullfighter, with dusty-blond hair. Roach had longish dark hair. He was taller than Dirk, almost as tall as Shane. His pale skin and slouching physique gave Owen the impression that he played a lot of video games.

      Owen rated them by threat level. Shane was a five, despite their family connection. Dirk, four; Brett and Roach, three; Gardener, one.

      No one tried to guard Owen as he found a rock to urinate behind. He couldn’t get far in handcuffs and wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. Not without Penny and Cruz. He helped himself to a jug of water, rinsing the old blood from his mouth before taking a drink. Then he eased his shirt back on to his shoulders and fastened the single remaining button. Bruises were already beginning to form on his battered torso.

      A few minutes later, they loaded into the SUV and followed Penny’s tracks. She’d stolen Gardener’s boots—clever.

      They lost her trail quickly. She’d left the softer terrain of the wash and traveled across the hard-packed hills. Shane parked the SUV and got out, muttering under his breath. Going after her on foot would be a hassle. Penny couldn’t outdistance them with a child in tow, but if she found a good place to hide, she had a chance of evading them.

      She could also die from heat and dehydration. Fear stabbed Owen’s chest. He didn’t know whether to root for her or not. She might be safer with them.

      Shane searched for a sign of her while the rest of them waited in the SUV. He cursed