Ian didn’t, but he was blocking the bandit’s only escape route. They were going to fight no matter what. He was confident in his close-combat skills, so he wagged his fingers in a come-at-me gesture.
The man advanced, slashing the air near Ian’s midsection. Ian evaded the swipe and grabbed his wrist, shoving his arm up over his head. His opponent stumbled backward and went down, but he took Ian with him. They rolled across the grate, locked in a deadly embrace.
Ian landed on his back, which wasn’t where he wanted to be. His right hand was busy, so he struck with his left, landing several hard blows to the bandit’s temple and ear. Blood trickled down the man’s tattooed cheek. He growled and returned the favor, punching Ian in the throat. Ian coughed at the searing pain, unable to draw breath. His grip loosened. Lights flashed before his eyes.
Huh. Guess he should’ve used his gun.
Someone, maybe Maria, kicked the bandit in the ribs. It was just enough to break them apart. Ian scrambled to his feet, staying low. The bandit squared up across from him, still in possession of the knife. His face was bloody, gaze unfocused.
“Ian!” Maria screamed.
He felt a looming presence behind his head. He got down on instinct, ducking a split second before they entered the tunnel. The clearance was about five feet. It struck the bandit with full force and flung him far into the night.
Then everything went dark and still, and the only sound was the train rushing over the tracks.
Chapter 12
For several minutes, Maria was too afraid to move.
She was almost too afraid to breathe.
They went through the pitch-black tunnel and came out on the other side. She curled her knees to her chest and looked up at the starry sky, humbled by the turn of events. It could so easily have been Ian, rather than her attacker, who fell to his death.
She snuck another glance at him. It was difficult to read his expression in the dark, but she could sense his tension. He wasn’t amazed that they were alive. He was angry that she’d been in danger. When she placed her hand on his arm, he flinched. She squeezed once, comfortingly, and let her fingers drop. She wasn’t going to try to talk him out of his feelings. He had every right to be upset. He could have been killed by that psychopath. She’d told him she was leaving the cargo station, and then she hadn’t. He thought she’d lied to him. Of course he wasn’t happy with the situation.
She wasn’t happy, either. She was in love with him. Head over heels in love with him.
Maybe she’d been in love with him this whole time. When they first met, she’d loved his voice. She’d been stuck in a hospital bed for an entire week. He’d visited her every day. She’d had headaches and blurred vision, so she’d kept her eyes closed. She’d just listened to him talk, enjoying his company. He’d always been an intriguing mix of strong and gentle.
The second time they met, he’d been harder. Darker. Working undercover as a junkie had whittled him down to muscle and bone. He was so dedicated to his job, so lost in the role. He was the type of man who took everything to heart. She knew that he blamed himself for everything that went wrong at the Hotel del Oro, including Sonia Barreras’s death.
And now Maria had created more trouble for him.
The other bandit moaned, regaining consciousness. She’d forgotten he was on the train. One of the men emptied his pockets of the money he’d taken and distributed it among the passengers. He gave her portion to Ian, who kept it. A few minutes later, the bandit climbed down the ladder and jumped free of the tracks. No one tried to stop him. Justice had already been served.
They rode on, deep into the night. She wanted to put her arms around Ian and comfort him, but she didn’t think he’d accept the gesture.
“I saw the police,” she said finally. “That’s why I got on the train.”
His brow furrowed. “They weren’t looking for you.”
“I’m afraid of them.”
“Why?”
She was reluctant to speak of the traumatic experience. He knew that she’d been raped and beaten, but she hadn’t told him who the perpetrators were. There was no reason to, because he couldn’t investigate the crime. It had happened on the Mexican side of the border, out of U.S. jurisdiction. “The men in the desert were federal police.”
He jerked his head toward her. Not stunned; he was too worldly for that. He was concerned. “How did they get you?”
Tears sprang into her eyes at his reaction. He didn’t express any doubt. He accepted what she said as truth. Perhaps his opinion of her country’s lawmen was low, but he also seemed critical of his own. He hadn’t enjoyed being a border patrol agent. He didn’t follow anyone or anything blindly.
And yet, he believed her.
He believed her.
She took a deep breath, unsure where to begin. “I saved for three years to pay for a trip across the border. The coyote we used was recommended by a family member. They said he could be trusted with women and children. We needed the money, so I went. I took the bus from Taxco to Tijuana.”
“Did you want to go?”
“Oh yes. Ever since I was a little girl. In Mezcala I can only make pottery, sell pottery. I wanted to do bigger things.”
His lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Like what?”
She smiled back at him. “My father worked for a traveling circus one year. He was good with animals because he grew up on a farm. He showed me pictures of the girls on the trapecio.”
“Trapeze?”
“Yes. He brought me a baton to throw in the air. I practiced every day in the backyard, in front of an audience of chickens. I dreamed of coming to America to fly in the circus.” She shook her head at the silly idea. “Qué ridiculo, ?no?”
“It’s not ridiculous. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little.”
She didn’t tell him that she’d dreamed of joining the circus at eighteen, not eight. “I thought walking through the desert would be easier than riding the train. It was not. We had to walk all night before we reached the border. Then the federales found us.”
“What were they doing there?”