The Desert Behind Me Read online

  The Desert Behind Me

  Shannon Baker

  Copyright © 2019 by Shannon Baker.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published by Severn River Publishing.

  Contents

  Also by Shannon Baker

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Also by Shannon Baker

  Thanks for Reading

  The Nora Abbott Series

  HEIGHT OF DECEPTION: Chapter 1

  HEIGHT OF DECEPTION: Chapter 2

  HEIGHT OF DECEPTION: Chapter 3

  HEIGHT OF DECEPTION: Chapter 4

  HEIGHT OF DECEPTION: Chapter 5

  HEIGHT OF DECEPTION: Chapter 6

  Read Height of Deception

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Shannon Baker

  The Desert Behind Me

  The Nora Abbott Series

  Height of Deception

  Skies of Fire

  Canyon of Lies

  The Kate Fox Series

  Stripped Bare

  Dark Signal

  Bitter Rain

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  For Dave.

  The voice I’m always happy to hear.

  Prologue

  Four Years Earlier

  With all the evil people in the world, why did she target him? People murder children, beat them, neglect them. Terrorists drive trucks into families. Lone snipers open fire in crowds. Instead, she attacked him. He wasn’t hurting anyone. He gave them money and gifts. They loved him. Why else would they come to him whenever he asked?

  But she stuck her nose into it.

  She ruined it.

  She’ll pay.

  His family is destroyed. Emily and Tabitha are robbed of a father. Their mother will never afford the lifestyle he provided. Unless she remarries. Oh God, what if his beautiful wife remarries and his daughters call another man Daddy?

  The cloying scent of lilacs mixes with the musty smell of damp earth. Through the new leaves and purple blossoms, the blonde hunkers over a textbook, nibbling on candy under the garish light of a cheap chandelier. She’s pretty, but a little older than he prefers. Doesn’t matter. This time it’s not about desire.

  He’d been waiting for this opportunity. Almost given up, deciding to take her from school or a track meet. She’s careful, this little one. She’s watched over closely by a loving and attentive family. Still, there’s usually a breach, if one is patient.

  He’s patient.

  And smart.

  And justified.

  He grins at the thought of her pain. Both the daughter and mother. The one will be over in a matter of days. The other will suffer agony forever. Guilt, despair, horror. His one regret is that she’ll never know why. She should understand it’s all because she interfered where she had no business.

  If she’d have stuck to traffic tickets, DUIs, and burglaries, her daughter would live.

  Silent footsteps carry him from under the window to the front porch. This is the part he hates but there’s no other way. The knife is sharp because he hates his own pain. With a quick flick, he slashes above his hairline. A head wound bleeds so gratifyingly.

  Holding the knife behind his back, he opens his throat and howls. He bangs on the door. “Help me! Please! Car wreck! My daughter!”

  The sound of feet scampering through thin walls. She’s probably thrown down that gnawed pencil into her open book. The porch light has already been turned on to welcome her mother later. She peers through the peephole, taught caution so well. Too bad it won’t help her tonight.

  The Academy Award should go to him, but again, no one will ever know. Except this child, and she’s never talking to anyone else again.

  1

  Look at me. Maybe I’m not cracking jokes or bantering, but I’m not hidden behind my front door. Or surrounded by white walls, people with white shoes squeaking on white floors. I count this as a good day and promise myself better days ahead.

  The exuberant energy of the Kino Elementary School fifth grade class rose from the playground. Hot desert sun sank through my black uniform and heat absorbed into my cap and beat on my bare neck where I’d tucked my ponytail under my hat.

  It smelled of hot pavement, sweaty kids, and the sage of the desert on the breeze.

  “It’s good to learn how to fight back if you’re attacked, but self-defense is more about preventing danger. Especially for us girls, who might not be as big as boys.” These children thought of the lesson as a game. I hoped they’d never learn what I carried in every breath.

  My partner, Patricia, fist bumped a chubby boy in baggy shorts. “You got it, Jose. Way to go!” Kids swarmed her, catching her enthusiasm like the flu.

  Though they were polite and attentive when I spoke or demonstrated a move, their affection gravitated toward Patricia. The kids might not warm to me as they once would have, but this afternoon marked real progress.

  Tara worried that being around the kids and teaching basic self-defense, especially this week, might be too hard on me. Mom did her best to persuade me not to take the assignment. So far, I’d maintained control, even if they’d never think of me as the fun one.

  We’d been assigned one of the volunteer student aides from the high school. A leggy blonde with a sweet smile. I couldn’t help but steal glances at her, even though each time was like a knife to my heart. She helped out two little girls in rumpled shorts and messy hair. Obviously not the most popular girls in the fifth grade, the young volunteer’s attention made them glow. The giggles from the three of them eased my discomfort a little.

  Across the playground a Pima County sheriff’s deputy worked with the younger group. Like Patricia, he seemed easy with the kids and they loved him. A Latino man, he was tall, broad shouldered, and had a teasing, confident attitude.

  “Officer Jamie?” The four-and-one-half-foot-tall, tow-headed girl, all arms and legs, tapped me on my arm.

  My muscles contracted, jaw clamping down for a split second before I registered the touch was no threat. “I’m an Arizona Ranger. You don’t have to call me officer.” I’d so
unded stern and she hesitated.

  Patricia caught my eye. Vivacious and magnetic, Patricia was everything I wasn’t. We’d worked together often, as members of the all-volunteer Pima County Arizona Rangers unit. She’d been open and friendly, and I’d supplied her with the most basic details about me. She didn’t seem to care if I responded with less transparency.

  With conscious deliberation, I smiled at the girl in front of me and lifted my voice. “Officer is fine, too.”

  She met my smile, her teeth covered in braces, with bright pink bands. “I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”

  Swishing blonde ponytail, gangly limbs, a posture of such confidence she’ll conquer the world. Someone else’s pride and joy. Another mother’s child. Not mine.

  I waited for the tide to rise up and carry me off. Sadness pierced a hole into the warmth of the day, then faded to a dull ache. But I held together, no washing away.

  With a breath to clear my head, I softened my face. “Show me your moves.”

  I placed my hands softly around her neck and she brought her arms up, knocking me free. “Like this?”

  “Exactly.” I raised my hand for a high-five. She slapped my hand in triumph, then ran back to her friends. The spontaneous gesture felt foreign, but good.

  A real smile hit my face as I watched her practice with her friends. Movement caught my attention. My smile disappeared.

  Across the playground, on the other side of the chain-link pocked with blue and red Solo cups outlining KES, a man watched the group.

  Something about him. He wore pressed slacks, a blue golf shirt, a beige ball cap pulled low. More formal than usual Tucson attire, but not crazy. Nothing to alert me, except maybe the way he thrust his chest out, or the intense focus of his gaze, even if I couldn’t really see it from the hundred yards that separated us. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck flagged and an electric shock jolted me.

  The blonde helper with the two messy girls followed my attention. I must have looked alarmed, because her eyebrows cocked in curiosity. The man lifted his hand and waved, his white teeth flashed in a smile that sent a chill ricocheting down my back like a pinball.

  I couldn’t place the memory that hovered in my peripheral vision and I didn’t pull it any closer.

  I feel the darkness. See the moment of shock in his eyes when they focus on me. Then the smile in the night. Like a ghoul.

  My handcuffs brand my palms with cold, and the orange glow of a street light casts telephone poles in black shadow. Frosty air stings my face.

  Disgust clogs my mouth and tastes like ashes I want to spit onto the cracked pavement.

  All I can do is haul him in. I hope they lock him away for a long time.

  The memory dissipated and left me feeling sick. Where had I seen that smile? I couldn’t go after him because of the children surrounding me. Had Patricia spotted him, too?

  She stood in a crowd of children, all clamoring for her dazzling smile. Patricia wasn’t watching the man on the sidewalk. She seemed disconnected to the children crowding her. Her lopsided grin and unfocused eyes on the school building surprised me. She swayed, acting like Dad on those long-ago Saturday nights, before Mom ordered him to bed.

  Drinking on the job? That made no sense. One glance spared for the grinning man while I rushed toward Patricia. His shoulders pulled back and his chin raised in a stance like a hero. He tipped the brim of the ball cap. That’s all the time I had for him as Patricia wobbled to the right, stumbled and staggered to the left.

  The kids around her laughed, as if she clowned for them.

  “Patricia!” I raced into the sea of little bodies and latched onto Patricia’s shoulders as she tilted, just in time to break her fall to the concrete. Her eyes closed and she mumbled unintelligibly.

  With only a flick of my head and a shout to alert the teacher’s aide, I yelled over my shoulder. “Call 9-1-1.”

  I patted Patricia’s black uniform pockets. “Where is it?”

  She swatted at me with feeble effort; her words sounded like she spoke through mud.

  “Come on,” I mumbled. “You always have it.”

  A body squeezed in next to me. The Pima County deputy leaned toward her. He grabbed her chin. “Pete. Hey, look at me.”

  My fingers tapped a bulge in her pants pocket and I fished out a plastic pouch the size of a man’s thumb. I bit the top off and a drop of sweet berry paste colored my tongue. With the pouch aimed at her lips, I directed the officer holding onto her chin. “Open her mouth.”

  He kept talking to her. “Pete. Hey.”

  The blare of an ambulance siren grew louder. “Open her mouth,” I shouted again.

  He turned dark eyes to me, noticing me for the first time. He looked confused as he scanned my face and then the plastic pouch. Finally, he seemed to understand. He pulled Patricia’s chin down. I thrust the opening of the pouch between her lips and squeezed.

  She wagged her head and spit out the goop.

  The kids ewwwed at the slobbery pink paste dribbling down her chin.

  I swiveled around to make eye contact with the aide. It only took a second for her to read my meaning and she grabbed hands of the two closest kids. “Let’s back up and give them room.”

  With my face close to Patricia’s, I clamped her mouth shut. “Swallow it.”

  Fingers gripped my shoulder and yanked. I resisted and wrenched free, then realized the EMTs were trying to get me out of the way. I scooted back so the EMT could do his job. “She’s diabetic. I think she’s in insulin shock.”

  The county deputy shot me a puzzled look before he too moved aside for the second EMT to get to work.

  The teacher appeared, a young woman probably a year or two out of college. She stood hands to her mouth, eyes bright and teary. Maybe next time something like this happened, she’d be better equipped to handle it, but today, she needed help. The kids clumped around her, creating confusion. The blonde aide tried to assert authority, but her soft voice and lack of experience were no match for a panicky teacher. Some of the kids started to cry.

  I clapped my hands. “Okay, let’s line up by the swings so the emergency responders can help Ranger Sanchez.”

  Only a couple of the kids turned their heads toward me. The teacher stared at Patricia.

  The young aide spread her arms and corralled several youngsters. “Listen to the Ranger. She wants us to go over here.”

  Patricia’s eyes closed and she lay still. The first EMT spoke in a loud, commanding voice. “Ms. Sanchez. We’re going to help you.”

  The deputy must have told them Patricia’s name. I hadn’t been aware they knew each other. Patricia and I had arrived much earlier than the deputy for this law enforcement appreciation day at the grade school. Our two-hour stint involved speaking about the Arizona Rangers, a civilian auxiliary that assists law enforcement. We talked about stranger danger and self-defense training to get the kids involved and interested. The deputy’s session had something to do with an investigation where he’d staged a burglary scene on the playground.

  The deputy, with a friendly face and a commanding presence, stood up, and with calm authority said, “You’re all under arrest. March single file to the swings.”

  He hadn’t raised his voice. In fact, he spoke much quieter than I had. The kids scrambled away from Patricia and hurried to the swings.

  The aide scurried behind them, her voice high-pitched, on the verge of laughter, and it worked to distract the kids into feeling like they played a game. “Hurry, hurry!”

  Even the young teacher snapped out of her paralysis and made a stab at establishing order. “Let’s go.”

  The deputy caught up to me. “Call Deon. I’ll get the kids settled.”

  “Deon?”

  He shook his head, puzzled. “Pete’s husband.”

  I knew Patricia was married but not his name. She had kids, but I hadn’t asked for details. In another lifetime, I’d have known their names and ages. We’d have shared babysitting and pool
days. I was getting better, but I hadn’t yet made the leap to friendship. “I don’t have his number.”

  He reached for his phone. “Got it.”

  By now, the kids were stretched out at the edge of the pavement as if in a pint-sized police lineup. The teacher stood in front, right arm raised and hand flat. A signal, I assumed, for the kids to be silent and still.

  Movement on the other side of the chain-link raised the hairs on my neck again. The guy in the blue golf shirt watched me. From this distance the details of his eyes and smile should be impossible to see. Yet, familiarity sliced at me with an edge so sharp I slapped a hand over my chest at the pain.

  The deputy stuffed his phone into his pocket. “Deon is on his way to Tucson Med Center. Go with Pete. I’ll talk to the kids about emergency responders. A real object lesson here.”

  The guy on the other side of the fence watched me, another ghoul from a hidden memory. I said, “We should get the kids back inside.”

  The EMTs had Patricia on a stretcher, still talking to her. They wheeled her toward the gate into the parking lot.