Rider on Fire & When You Call My Name: Rider on Fire / When You Call My Name. Sharon Sala
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shoulders slumped. “I hate this.”
“I’m not all that excited about it myself,” Mynton said.
Sonora nodded. She wasn’t the kind of person who let herself be down for long. If this was the way it was going to play out, then so be it.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do as you ask,” she said.
Mynton stood up and then walked around his desk until they were standing face-to-face.
“You don’t apologize,” he said shortly. “You don’t ever apologize for doing your job and doing it well. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there anyplace special you can go?”
She thought of the hallucination she’d had in Mexico—of the house surrounded by a forest of green and the wind chime hanging on the porch. It had seemed so perfect. If only it had been real, she’d already be there.
“Not really. I’ll think of something, though.”
“Find a different mode of transportation. We don’t think Garcia is in Phoenix yet, but once here, it won’t take him long to find out where you live. I don’t want you to be there when he arrives. As for leaving Phoenix, you can be traced too easily by credit card. Also, I’d skip the airports and bus stations.”
“Well, damn it, sir, since my broom is also in the shop, what the hell else do you suggest?”
Mynton’s frown deepened. “Use your imagination.”
“This is a nightmare,” Sonora muttered. “Just do me one favor.”
“If I can,” Mynton said.
“Find Miguel Garcia,” she added.
“And you stay safe and keep in touch,” he added.
A few minutes later, she was gone.
By the time she got home, she was exhausted. However, there were plans to be made. Mynton wanted her to get lost. He didn’t know it, but she’d been lost all her life. Dumped on the doorstep of a Texas orphanage when she was only hours old, Sonora had grown up without a sense of who she was or where she was from. When she was young, she used to pretend that her mother would suddenly appear and whisk her away, but it had never happened. Life for Sonora was nothing but one kick in the teeth after another. She didn’t believe in luck, had never believed in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny and trusted no one. What had happened on their last case had been unexpected, but she could handle it. All she needed to do was get out of town.
Transportation was no problem. She knew exactly how she would travel. All she needed to do was call her old boyfriend, Buddy Allen, and have him bring back her Harley.
She stripped down to a bra and panties before she sat down on the side of the bed. She rubbed the back of her neck with both hands, wishing she had time for a massage, but that was too public for someone who needed to lay low.
She picked up the phone and dialed Buddy’s number. Although it had been more than six months since they’d quit seeing each other, they were still on good terms. Sonora had been gone too much to commit herself to anyone, and Buddy wanted more than a once-a-month lay. The decision to quit trying had been mutual.
Still, as she waited for Buddy to pick up, she couldn’t help but wish she had a little backup in her personal life.
Buddy answered on the third ring. “Heelloo, good lookin’.”
“Did you know it was me, or is that the way you always answer your phone?” Sonora said.
Buddy laughed. “Caller ID and yes.”
This time it was Sonora who chuckled. “Some things never change…you being one of them,” she said.
Buddy sighed. “Did you call to chastise me for being male, or can I talk you into a round of good sex for old times sake?”
“No on both counts. I called because I need my bike.”
Buddy groaned. “Aw, man…not the Harley.”
“Sorry, but I need it,” Sonora said shortly.
The smile disappeared from Buddy’s voice. “Are you in trouble?”
“Not if I get out of town quick enough.”
“Damn it, Sonora, why do you do it?”
“Do what?” she asked.
“You know what. There are a hundred careers you could have picked besides the one that you chose, and none of them would have been dangerous.”
“Can you bring it over?” she asked. “I’d come get it, but I don’t want to advertise my presence any more than necessary.”
Buddy sighed. “Hell, yes, I’ll bring the Harley, serviced, gassed up and clean. When do you need it?” he asked.
“Yesterday.”
Buddy cursed and asked, “Do you need to leave before morning?”
“No. It can wait until then, but early…please.”
“Thanks for nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll be there before 7:00 a.m. Will you make me some coffee?”
“Yes.”
“And maybe some of your biscuits and gravy?”
“No.”
He sighed. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I’m not blaming you for anything,” she said. “Never have. Never will.”
“I know,” Buddy said, and knew that she was no longer talking about the bike. “See you in the morning.”
“Okay, Buddy, and thanks.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Buddy said, and hung up.
With that job over, Sonora walked to the closet, then grabbed her travel bag and quickly packed. She thought about where she might go and then went into the living room, found an atlas and carried it to the kitchen.
She opened the pages to the map of the U.S. and then just sat and stared. One line seemed to stand out from all the others. She fumbled in a drawer for a yellow highlighter, then popped the cap. Her fingers where shaking as she held it over the map. Something rattled behind her, like pebbles in a can. She ignored it and began to mark.
Without a thought in her head, she began drawing a line north out of Phoenix toward Flagstaff, then across the country until she came to Oklahoma. The line ended there.
She paused, frowned, then shook her head, certain she’d just lost her mind. Still, she left the atlas on the counter as she went into her bedroom.
She showered quickly, afraid that the vision would come back. Even after she crawled into bed and closed her eyes, she was reluctant to sleep. Finally, she rolled onto her side, bunched her pillow under her neck, then grabbed the extra one and hugged it to her. It was an old habit from childhood, and one she rarely indulged in anymore. The simple act made her feel childish and helpless and Sonora was neither of those.
Somehow she slept, and woke up just after six. Time enough for a quick shower.
True to his promise, Buddy showed up right before seven.
She met him at the door with a to-go cup of coffee.
“Good morning,” she said, eyeing his tousled hair and unshaven face. “Thanks for bringing the Harley.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, then dropped the keys in her hands, handed her the helmet and took the coffee, downing a good portion of it before he spoke again. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what’s going on?”
She shrugged. “Someone wants me dead.”
“Son