the Acura. He found a good spot about a quarter mile from the end of the dirt driveway: a trash area with two large Dumpsters. Shane rolled the car in between the two metal bins and shut off the engine, then reached up and pulled the bulb out of the dome light on the headliner. He had long before removed the plastic cover for easy access. He stuck the bulb in the ashtray, then both of them quietly opened the doors and slipped out of the car.
'Okay,' he whispered, 'I'm taking point.'
'Will you cut it out with the John Wayne bullshit? Let's just move on this together.'
'No,' he said sharply. 'I want you back twenty yards at least.'
'Why? Because you're afraid I might stop one?'
'Yeah,' Shane said.
'Or is it because, if you find Jody, you're gonna take him out and you don't want a witness?'
Shane gave her such a withering scowl that she shrugged. 'Just asking.'
They headed down the drive with Shane out front, limping badly but keeping about twenty yards of separation. When he came to the end of the road, he kneeled down to check the surroundings. Pain shot up his leg.
There were two horse barns, some stables, and three houses in a cluster next to a training corral that contained a center turnstile. Long metal bridle poles used for breaking horses carouseled out from the turnstile. There were lights on in the main house and a couple of spots on light poles over by the corral that threw a dim glow over the entire front yard. Two empty cars were parked by the main house.
Then Shane saw the big blue and white motor home. It was under some shade trees, about thirty yards to his left.
'Jody's here,' Shane whispered to Alexa, who had moved up and was just kneeling down beside him.
'How do you know?'
He pointed at the thirty-seven-foot, double-axle rig. 'That's his. We used it to go to Palm Springs, dropped it in the Valley before we left for Aruba.'
'How did he get that monster down this narrow, winding road?' she asked.
'You're right. There must be another way in and out of here.'
'What're you gonna do?'
'There used to be an auto-mag in that rig before we left town. It was Victory Smith's. Maybe it's still there. I'd like to get my hands on it. Not that I don't love these little Spanish Astras,' he said, smiling.
'Shane,' she said softly. 'I think…'
'I know, wait for the sheriff. Tell you what, why don't you go back up the road and flag him down when he gets here.'
'Right. Great idea, dick-brain.'
Shane didn't respond but moved off, heading toward the motor home.
He was thankful for the quarter moon that gave a little light but didn't flood the yard. He crept along the perimeter, out of range of the corral lights, hugging the moon shadows until he was at the back of the motor home. He paused to listen, heard nothing and snuck up the side, pulled Alexa's Astra, thumbed off the safety, and tried the door handle.
Unlocked.
Shane pulled open the metal door and looked back. Alexa had moved up behind him to take a cover position at the rear of the vehicle. She had her gun in both hands, held slightly up in a range-ready firing stance. From there, she was in a good position to protect his back. He nodded at her, then carefully climbed up the three steps into the motor home.
Sandro Mantoor was inside…
He had been hacked to death, then dismembered. His head was sitting in the sink, staring with lifeless eyes at a spot about a foot over Shane's head.
'Fuck,' he whispered, afraid to inhale, swallowing hard to keep his stomach bile down. The carnage was almost impossible to absorb. Blood squished in the carpeting under his feet. He found Sandy's arms on the double bed; his torso in the stall shower. Then he heard movement behind him. He spun and aimed the Astra at the door.
Alexa's face poked through the opening, looking in at him. Shane hurried to keep her from coming inside. He met her at the threshold, blocking her view of the mutilation, quickly pushing her outside and closing the door behind him.
She saw his pale expression. 'What is it?' she asked. 'What's in there?'
'He… He…' Shane stopped, took a deep breath. 'It's a mess in there. You don't wanna see it. He butchered a guy-Sandro Mantoor. He's in pieces all over the place. Head's in the fucking sink.'
'God, no…'
Shane was shaking now; his wounded leg felt weak and was beginning to go numb.
'When you're on backup you're supposed to cover the exit line, not come inside,' he said, anger replacing shock.
'I think I saw somebody coming out of the house a minute ago. He went into the barn carrying a valise.'
'Was it Jody?'
'I don't know. I couldn't tell. Too far away.'
'I'm gonna get closer. This time, back me up, okay? Don't move in unless something goes down.'
He took off toward the house, his heart pounding. It took him almost five minutes to reach the west wall because he was favoring his left leg and because he had to stay wide to keep out of the light coming from the two poles by the corral. He hugged the perimeter of the yard before finally reaching the side of the house. He stood and peeked through the living-room window.
Papa Joe Mondragon was sitting in a chair, facing a wall. His head was slumped over, and he looked as though he was sleeping. Other than Jose, the room appeared empty. Shane made a slow circuit around the house to get to the east-side window, which would allow him a better view.
When he got there, he wished he hadn't. Jose's face had been beaten to a red pulp. He looked as if he was still breathing, but blood was running down his chin, dripping and staining his collar and crotch.
Shane wondered how Jody could have gone so far out of control.
Suddenly, cars were coming down the road. He turned around in time to see two Sheriff Department black- and-whites barreling into the yard. They weren't using sirens, but drove in with their gumballs flashing, throwing colored light all over the place.
Before Shane could plan his next move, two shots rang out-flat, barking sounds that came from the direction of the barn. One of the sheriffs who had just gotten out of his car went down immediately and started screaming in pain.
The sheriffs cars' bar lights strobed red and blue patterns across the front of the barn. Then Shane saw Alexa moving toward them, holding up her badge.
'Stop, throw down your weapon!' the second sheriffs deputy yelled at her, leveling a riot gun at her over his door.
'LAPD,' she shouted, but kept coming.
'Throw down your gun. Get facedown on the ground!' the sheriff yelled back.
Now Shane heard a horse galloping. He turned and faced the sound but couldn't see anything, so he made his way around the side of the barn just in time to see a fleeing dark shape. The rider's head was low on the horse's neck, behind the mane. He spurred the animal on, galloping fast down the narrow trail, into a riverbed that was framed by narrow canyon walls.
Shane made a limping run across the open space toward the barn door.
Two more shots rang out. Then he heard Alexa scream, 'No! He's a police officer.' But the sheriff opened up on Shane anyway. Bullets whizzed all around, pinging and ricocheting off nearby farm equipment and thunking into the soft wood of the barn walls.
Shane dove inside the barn and slammed the door shut. The building was huge, with stalls on both sides. Shane had never been much of a horseback rider, limiting his saddle time to a couple of weekends at a dude ranch in Arizona, where he'd been more interested in his date than in any of the swayback nags stabled there. He grabbed a halter off a nearby hook, then opened the nearest stall containing a horse. It was a large chestnut bay with a black mane and tail. He wrapped the halter around the horse's neck and tied it to a corner post, found a bridle
