Texas Outlaw (Rory Yates #2)(72)

The passage forks from time to time, but we stick to the largest corridor. The smaller forks might narrow to a point where we can’t get through.

I let Ariana lead the way, as I spend most of my time looking behind us, with my gun at the ready. I expect Mr. Broken Nose to come around a corner at any moment, spraying bullets.

“Shit,” Ariana says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I turn to see what the problem is. The passage we’re in narrows to a point where the gap is no more than four to six inches. Not even Ariana can fit through it.

We’re stuck at a dead end. The only way out is to go back the way we came or to look for another route through the labyrinth. Either option will bring us face-to-face with our pursuer.

I put my finger to my lips, and Ariana and I wait in silence. We can hear Mr. Broken Nose’s footsteps, not far away. He’s moving in spurts, which tells me that at each curve he’s hiding and then bursting from cover with his gun ready, like a soldier clearing an abandoned building.

I aim my pistol at the curve he’ll come from. It’s only ten feet away. Close quarters. I’ll have a split second to kill him before he pulls the trigger and fills the whole cavern with ricocheting lead.

Down here in the canyon, the temperature is ten degrees cooler than out in the sun. The silence is overwhelming. I can hear my own heart, my own breathing.

Distance is hard to judge in the canyon, but it sounds like the footsteps are on the other side of the curve. I need to fire at the perfect moment. Too soon and I’ll alert him. Too late and he’ll open fire first.

In a blur, he bursts from cover, his rifle aimed directly at us. I lock my sight on his face.

I hesitate.

So does he.

He and I are frozen, each with the other in his sights. If he squeezes the trigger, maybe I can get a shot off. If I fire, all he has to do is tense his finger and Ariana and I are both dead.

But neither of us shoots.

“Hey, McQueen,” a voice calls from far away, maybe the entrance of the slot canyon. “Any sign?”

Without taking his gun off me, Mr. Broken Nose shouts back, “No. It’s a dead end in here. They must’ve gone another way.”

“Get your ass back here, then. We need to report to Mr. McCormack.”

“Be there on the double.”

With that, Mr. Broken Nose—or McQueen—lowers his rifle.

I lower my pistol.

We stare at each other and have a moment of understanding. He knows I could have shot him on the hillside. So he’s letting me live now.

He owed me one.

But now we’re even.

I have no doubt that if he has me in his sights again, he won’t hesitate to kill me.

I nod as a way of saying thank you. He turns and disappears into the canyon.

As we hear his footsteps retreating, Ariana and I collapse onto the canyon floor, exhausted and in shock. My limbs are suddenly jelly as the adrenaline empties out of me. I feel faint. The sandstone walls spin. Ariana throws her arms around me and sobs, and I hug her back like I’ve never held anyone in my life.

Holding on to her is the only way I can believe that we’re still alive.





Chapter 90



WE DECIDE TO hide in the slot canyon until nightfall before moving.

We have nowhere to go.

No plan.

No good options.

But we can hear what’s happening outside. More ATVs have arrived, and they seem to be crisscrossing the hillsides, looking for us. We hear the engine of the tanker truck start up and the sound of it pulling away. More trucks arrive, which, by the sound of them, are tow trucks picking up the two destroyed F-150s.

“They’re trying to get rid of all the evidence,” I say.

What I don’t say is that they’re certainly picking up all the bodies, too, including Dale and Kyle. It makes my heart hurt to know that these men—both of whom died trying to do the right thing—might never get a proper burial.

Which reminds me how close I came to being with them.

“You saved my life,” I say to Ariana. “Thank you.”

She nods. She seems shell-shocked, crouched in the shadows with her arms wrapped around her legs. I move to sit next to her, my back against the sandstone wall, and try to offer some comfort.

“You did good today,” I say. “You handled yourself under incredible pressure. You’d make a good Texas Ranger.”

“If we survive,” she says, “I’ll give it some thought.”

Her tone is cynical, but her lips curl into the hint of a smile. She may be accepting my compliment or realizing her own strength. The crucible we faced today was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced and should have dispelled any doubt Ariana had about how she would handle herself in the line of fire.

As the sun moves across the sky, the beams of light coming from the top of the canyon move to new angles, changing the hue of the sandstone walls. The surface of the rock looks like brushstrokes of a painting, a mixture of orange and brown and, as sunset approaches, a bloodlike crimson. In our hideout, there isn’t much to do but sit in the shadows and think. What happened keeps playing through my mind in blurry, confused images. The chain of events seems fuzzy now—everything happened so damn fast—but I get flashes of thoughts that tie everything together.

Dale’s mouth exploding with blood.