Chapter 6
NADIA
PRESENT DAY
They drove for several hours through the winding streets of unfamiliar neighborhoods.
Thomas was being cautious. He wanted to make sure they weren’t being followed.
Still, the prolonged journey and the uncertainty of what would come next only amplified her unease.
She was already jittery, doing her best to stay present and not get lost in her head.
But she didn’t like unknowns. There were too many factors at play here, and the satellite news broadcast they were listening to about Fernando Ruiz’s escape only made it worse.
The media was speculating. She needed facts. And she was starting to feel unhinged.
She turned off the radio as Thomas pulled into a Walmart parking lot. “What are we doing?”
“We need supplies,” he explained. “Pick out some clothes for yourself. I’ll get phones and food.”
“How long do you expect we’ll lie low?” she asked, nerves stretched thin.
His jaw tightened. “Several days, at least.” Was he serious? She couldn’t afford days off. When she just glared at him, he said, “I like to be prepared.”
That was evident when they checked out after a hurried shopping spree.
Thomas paid in cash with a handful of bills from the duffel bag.
Everything but the groceries went back into that bag when they returned to his car.
Sneakers for him which he’d swapped his house shoes for and a weekend getaway’s worth of yoga pants and sports bras among other articles for her.
As he packed, her attention drifted across the intersection to a used car lot.
“Got enough in there to buy us a new ride?” She nodded at the duffel and tilted her head toward the lot.
“Good eye.”
Thomas pocketed more cash, and after some haggling with the saleswoman, Nadia found herself the new owner of a 2014 gray metallic Ford Fusion sedan with 199,000 miles. It had been her idea to put the car in her name and keep his off the paperwork. The cartel was looking for him.
After transferring their groceries and supplies, Thomas left his Tesla in the Walmart parking lot and drove the clunker to the safe house, a single-story ranch in a dated neighborhood of concrete driveways and towering palm trees, toothpicks spearing the clouds like soufflé bites on an appetizer dish.
The sun was setting when they arrived, casting the house in shadows.
He parked on the street. “Wait here while I check inside.”
Not one for following orders, Nadia gathered up the groceries and approached the porch just as Thomas returned to the front. She met his annoyed scowl with an arched eyebrow.
“All clear.” A clipped nod betrayed his tension.
“I figured it would be.” She moved past him into the house. It wasn’t like the cartel knew their destination.
The safe house was old with outdated furniture, dim incandescent lighting, popcorn ceilings, and thick curtains drawn over the windows, which she thought was odd.
She might only be a designer and not a highly skilled secret government agent.
But those curtains should have been the first thing to go when the government bought the place.
The panels covering the patio door to the backyard were perfect for an intruder to hide behind.
Nadia shivered at the thought and went into the kitchen.
She started unpacking the groceries as she struggled not to dwell on the fact she’d be looking over her shoulder for a while after what had happened today.
The front door slammed and she jumped, only catching her breath when she heard it lock.
Thomas returned with the duffel, dropped it in the family room off the kitchen, and went straight for the glass slider. “I parked on the street behind us,” he said, yanking open the curtains and unlatching the door.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t want to call attention to the house. Keep the lights low or off if you can.” He strode out into the back.
For once she wasn’t going to complain. As much as she didn’t like getting caught up in whatever beef the cartel had with Thomas, his paranoia was keeping them alive. She followed him outside to see what he was doing.
The backyard was a patch of dead grass and a concrete patio with an old glass-topped table and metal chairs.
Dusk painted the sky in hues of purple and orange, and barbecue smoke wafted from a neighboring yard.
Everything appeared normal except for Thomas.
He walked the yard’s perimeter, peeking over the fence.
“What were you doing?” she asked when he returned to the house.
“Looking for escape routes.” He shut and locked the glass sliding door and drew the curtains again.
Under normal circumstances, she would have rolled her eyes and accused him of watching too many action movies. Right now though, she needed more information. Knowledge kept her grounded.
She turned on the TV and searched for the news, landing on a station broadcasting an update on Fernando Ruiz.
The anchor’s voice filled the room. “Earlier today, Fernando Ruiz, the notorious leader of the Hidalgo Cartel who was serving a life sentence, escaped after his transport vehicle was involved in a deadly accident. Ruiz was being transferred to the Rio Grande Secure Confinement facility when a semi-truck collided with the prisoner transport van while driving southbound on U.S. highway 385. Both drivers and two guards perished in the accident. A third guard has been transported to a local hospital and is in critical condition. We’re live at the scene with Les Daniels, who has more on this developing story.
Les, what do we know about Ruiz’s escape? ”
“Well, Maureen, it was quite a chaotic scene here earlier with helicopters and multiple law enforcement vehicles, the U.S. Marshals Service combing the surrounding area. But behind me now, the van and semi-truck have been cleared, and the highway reopened. Up until an hour ago, the entire scene was taped off as federal authorities investigated exactly how Fernando Ruiz managed his escape. As you can see around me, there is nothing for miles, no visible structures that we know of he could have hidden in. Authorities suspect Ruiz slipped away during the confusion of the accident and may have possibly hitchhiked his way out of there or had been picked up by an unsuspecting Good Samaritan. It is unclear what injuries Ruiz suffered, if any.”
“Wouldn’t Ruiz have been shackled to the vehicle?”
“He was. He’d been outfitted in what the authorities call a three-piece suit which consists of handcuffs connected to a waist chain and leg irons. It’s unclear how Ruiz managed to free himself of his restraints, or if the impact dislodged the locking mechanism.”
“What about the surviving guard, Ben Manning? Has he been questioned?”
“Not yet. Reports coming out of the hospital state he was unconscious when he arrived by helicopter and went straight into surgery. It’s my understanding his injuries are severe and it’s unclear he’ll pull through.
His wife is at the hospital now, and I’m sure they’re doing everything they can for him.
Authorities are eager to know what he might have witnessed. ”
“Assuming he remembers the accident.”
“Yes, there is that,” Les confirmed.
“Our thoughts and prayers are with him and his family. Do we know why Ruiz was being relocated?”
“Full details have yet to be disclosed since this is an active investigation. But prisoner relocations aren’t uncommon. They’re done for various reasons that include security concerns and overcrowding. High-profile inmates like Fernando Ruiz are often subject to stricter security protocols.”
“Where does the investigation go from here, Les? What can we, the American public, do?”
“Right now all eyes are on the U.S.-Mexico border. If Ruiz makes it across, it’ll be a major challenge to recapture him. Authorities are asking anyone who might have witnessed the accident or know of Ruiz’s whereabouts to call their local law enforcement.”
“Thank you, Les. We’ll be sure to keep our viewers updated.
A nationwide manhunt is underway. Fernando Ruiz is considered armed and dangerous.
Do not approach him on your own. Any possible sightings should be reported to your local authorities.
” Maureen Curry addressed the camera. Her segment concluded and the broadcast switched to report on the day’s sporting events.
Nadia turned down the volume. Her hand shook and she put down the remote. “Not the news I wanted to hear.” Ruiz was on the run. He could be hiding anywhere.
“Agreed.” A muscle in Thomas’s jaw subtly twitched, the only indication he gave that the news had rattled him. Then his face darkened.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Kane once told me that if anything happened to Ruiz, his sons would unleash hell.”
“Do you think that’s what happened at your house? What could be happening now?”
“Don’t know. But it doesn’t hurt to be overly cautious. Here.” He activated one of the burner phones and gave it to her.
“Thanks.” She put the phone in her pocket, comforted that Aimee was just a text away.
He stared at her face, his eyes narrowing as he gently touched her cheek. She hissed at the bruising burn the slight pressure of his fingers brought on. Despite the sting, she was acutely aware of how close he stood. Warmth radiated off him in the cool house.
“You should take care of that.” His voice was low, almost tender, and she felt a tightening in her chest at the unexpected intimacy of the moment.
His face was inches from hers, his breath against her skin.
The temptation to lean into him was compelling despite the fear and anger radiating through her, or the oncoming crash that would hit her shortly from the depleted adrenaline.
But she’d been ignoring her wound since it stopped bleeding. Compartmentalizing it with all the other events of the day. Now that he’d brought attention to it, her cheek throbbed, the open wound stinging.
“There should be a first aid kit in the bathroom,” Thomas added. “I have one if there isn’t.”
She nodded, knowing she couldn’t put off cleaning the laceration any longer without risking infection. She headed to the nearest bathroom, acutely aware of Thomas’s intense stare following her retreat.
She closed the bathroom door, her fingers lingering on the lock, a flimsy barrier against the violence that had erupted earlier and the unpredictable hours ahead. The only thing she did know was that nothing would ever be the same with her again.
Her secrets, all of them, were unraveling.