Watching the police vehicle’s lights become tiny dots in the rearview mirror, Randall patted Devlin’s arm. “Check the GPS. How far are we from our destination?”
She grabbed the cell phone. “It’s just around the next bend in the road.”
Making a face, he glanced at the mirrors. He’s too close. We need more time. Randall glimpsed his passenger, snatched the pack from the backseat, and dropped the bag onto her lap. “Get out.”
“Why?”
“You,” he navigated the bend and slammed on the brakes, “ask a lot of questions.” The car screeched to a halt, right-front tire on gravel to the right; the other three tires on pavement. “You know that?”
“Comes with the badge.” She grabbed his arm.
He eyed the taut lines on her stoic face.
“And I’m used to getting answers. Now, tell me—”
“You go find Paco, and I’ll,” Randall jerked a thumb behind him, “draw this guy away and meet you at...”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m...”
“...the river.”
“...not leaving you behind.”
He shook his head one time. “I have no intentions of being left behind. Now, get out. I’ll find you.”
After scrambling out of the car and slamming the door, Devlin shouldered the pack and thrust a finger at him, “You damn well better,” before bolting away from the car.
He smiled at her departing figure, his mind envisioning the strained look on her face from a second ago. What do you know? I think she’s warming up to me. His foot transitioned to the gas pedal, and the GTO sped away. Ten seconds later, glimpsing the police car’s flashing lights in the rearview mirror, Randall adjusted his position in the seat, “All right,” and pushed harder on the accelerator, “time to play.”
*******
ten minutes later...
3:09 a.m.
Cell phone in hand, observing the GPS coordinates, Devlin stepped out from a thicket, took two steps toward the river, and stopped. The image of an alligator popped into her brain, along with Steele’s warning: Though rare, they’ve been spotted in the Rio Grande.
She backed up and scanned both ends of the riverbank before squinting at the opposite side of the flowing water. Having stood at the fifty-yard line of her high school’s football field many times, performing cheerleader routines, she had a sense for the distance between midfield and a goalpost. That has to be fifty yards away...maybe sixty.
A branch cracked.
Spinning around, she drew her 1911 and aimed the gun at an emerging shadow.
Hands up, a skinny teenager came into the moonlight. “Hola...Senora Devlin?”
Devlin cast glances at the brush on either side of the boy and came back to him.
He patted his chest. “Paco...Senor Steele sent me,” he poked a finger beyond her shoulder, “to get you across.” The boy ducked back into the shrubs and reappeared, dragging a raft.
Watching the teen lug the craft to the water’s edge, she peeked at her Colt. What are you going to do, Jess, she bobbed her eyebrows, shoot a kid? She holstered her weapon.
Paco stood, looked in all directions, and faced her. “Where is Senor Noah?”
She cranked her head around and eyed the greenery. “That’s a good question, Paco.”
“Senora Devlin, you must go now...police on other side come soon...patrols.”
She pumped a hand his way. “Not just yet. We’re waiting for Senor Noah.”
“Not safe here. I see alligator,” Paco motioned, “upstream.”
Glancing down, Devlin stepped away from the water.
Five minutes of waiting and watching passed.
“Please, Senora Dev—”
Leaves rustled a hundred yards upstream.
Devlin whipped her head toward the source of the noise.
A man burst out from the bushes, “Go! Go!” and ran toward them, “he’s right behind me. I couldn’t shake him.”
Devlin and Paco pushed the raft into the water. She jumped in, grabbed a paddle, and slapped the water. The boy stepped a few paces into the current, gave one last shove, and retreated to the shore.
Fifty yards away, taking high strides, Randall waded twenty feet into the water and dove forward, knifing below the surface.
Thirty yards from shore, in between paddle strokes, Devlin heard another splash, near the area where Randall had disappeared. She heard Paco’s voice in her head: I see alligator...upstream.
Randall surfaced thirty-five yards from the inflatable and swam toward Devlin.
Drawing her Colt and clutching the weapon as she paddled, she scanned the smooth water. Seconds later, she spotted two nostrils and two eyes, ripples trailing behind, closing in on the lone swimmer. Tossing the paddle into the boat, she aimed the gun at the space between the nostrils and the eyes. Shots rang out before she could touch the 1911’s trigger. She flinched. Tiny splashes appeared between her and Randall.
Farther up the river, standing on the bank, the Mexican officer fired his pistol.
Randall dipped under the water.
Devlin redirected her aim and worked her gun’s trigger.
The sandy earth at the officer’s feet splattered his pants. He nosedived for cover behind a shrub.
Devlin located the alligator. The creature had changed course and was heading for her.
Ten yards away, Randall surfaced, gasping for air. He hit the water and pinwheeled his arms.
She fired at the approaching animal. The 1911’s slide locked to the rear.
More projectiles from the shore ricocheted off the river.
She thumbed the magazine release, jammed a fresh eight into the gun, and pressed the slide lock lever.
Randall was five yards away, the alligator five yards beyond him.
After firing a few rounds at the shoreline, Devlin emptied her pistol at where the alligator’s body would be, hoping to kill the thing or, at the very least, scare it away.
Randall clutched the raft.
She grabbed his shirt collar.
He pulled.
She lunged backward.
With one last kick, he propelled himself into the rubber craft, as he saw a set of jaws clamp onto the rear of the vessel, just out of reach of his feet. The boat jerked twice before the teeth disappeared from sight.
Devlin grunted when his full bodyweight came down on her. “Move,” she coughed, “over.”
Rising to a kneeling position, he looked left and right. “Move where? This thing’s barely big enough for one person.” He yanked the paddle from under her shoulders, walked forward on his knees, and took
