Page 40 of Shadow Man

I exit the village a hell of a lot quicker than how I entered it, managing to circumnavigate a route that requires dodging stray livestock before I’m flying over the fucking potholes again with a trail of angry engines a couple of hundred yards behind. Thanking God I’m driving a decent car and not a….

Renault.

Jesus.

Christ.

Was that her?

I’m pushing ninety as I fly out onto the main road and stay that way until I spot a couple of lone farmhouses up on my right. Killing the headlights, I turn into the courtyard of one and wait a couple of minutes for the cavalry to pass, and then I’m rolling backward and heading in the opposite direction.

I have Gomez on the phone before I’m hitting top speed.

“What make of car does she drive?” I demand.

“Who?”

“The Martinez girl. What car?”

“Hang on…” The line goes dead for a moment. “Red Renault. Why?”

Fuuuuuck.

“Get a call out to every bent cop andsicarioyou know. Check motels, bars, gas stations, hospitals… I want it located. Start with a forty-minute radius from Santa Perdito and work outward.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, Señor?” Gomez sounds pissed, but I’m about to make his day a whole lot worse. Alejandro Fernandez is going to be screaming for both our heads.

“We have a big problem,” I tell him grimly. “Hold that thought while I get Santiago on the line.”

16

Anna

My world is upside down. Nothing new to me there... Still, I’m used to my head and my heart feeling the spin, not so much the rest of me.

I blink, and then blink again, trying to make sense of my crumpled metal box. We must have flipped over. My head is wedged against what’s left of the door panel and the seatbelt is cutting off the circulation in my shoulder and chest.

Outside, the night is eerily quiet, save the hissing of a dead engine leaking oil and gas all over the asphalt that’s inches away from my face.

How long was I out for?

It’s still nighttime—that great pretender with its air of calmness and its false crescent moon. The road is still empty. The only light is coming from a vehicle parked behind the total wreckage that used to be Vi’s car.

Vi.

“Hey,” I whisper urgently, trying to turn my head to shake her awake, but my body’s too twisted up. “Vi, talk to me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” comes an answering croak, followed by a muffled thud as she releases her seatbelt and falls to a heap on the roof-stroke-floor. “Hijueputa!You’re a worse driver than I am, Anna.”

“Was it them? Did they hit us from behind?” I brace myself as she reaches for my seatbelt fastening too. “Crap!” A second later, I’m making my own crumpled heap beside her, landing awkwardly on what’s left of the steering wheel and bruising my lower ribs. Right away, my stomach starts roiling from the stench of gas fumes.

Nothing’s broken. I can tell that much. But there’s a nasty gash on my arm and it’s turning everything around me wet and red.

“Shhh,” hisses Vi. “Someone’s out there.”

She’s right. There’s a man’s voice. He’s speaking in rapid Spanish and it’s coming from close-by. Two shoes appear next to the broken passenger seat window of our topsy-turvy car, but he doesn’t bend down to check on us.

Bastard.