Maybe as the journey wore on . . .
The back roads they had been traveling for nearly two hundred miles covered thousands of acres of rural Texas landscape and passed through a dozen tiny towns. Turning south on 77 would be more of the same.
“We’re coming into Waco,” Linc said. “There’s a convenience store up ahead. I could use a cup of coffee and you’re probably ready to take that break.”
She nodded. “I’m definitely ready. Coffee sounds good.” She braked, began downshifting through the pattern, made a wide turn onto the side street, then pulled into the asphalt parking lot, which was big enough to accommodate the rig.
Jumping down from the cab, she took a moment to stretch the muscles in her neck, shoulders, and lower back, then locked the truck, and she and Linc walked into the convenience store. It didn’t take long to makea pit stop, grab a packaged sandwich and a candy bar for energy, along with a big paper cup of hot coffee.
When they reached the truck, Linc swung in behind the wheel and Carly climbed into the passenger seat. Both of them buckled in and Linc started the engine. They finished the sandwiches as the truck pulled out of the parking lot and headed farther south. Linc took the turn onto Highway 77, and they settled back in their seats.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, finishing his coffee as the truck rolled into the night.
“All right, I guess. I’d feel a lot better if I weren’t so worried about Zach.”
“They’ve got no reason to hurt him. We’re doing what Zapata wants. We aren’t going to give him any trouble.”
“Except for the video cameras and sound equipment in the trailer.”
“Zapata won’t be expecting surveillance gear. I checked it out and it’s very well hidden. No way will anyone notice.”
“I hope that rat bastard is there at the pickup site. I hope we get the proof we need to bring him down.”
Linc chuckled. “So do I, but I wouldn’t get my hopes too high. Once Zach is safe, we should at least have some of the evidence the FBI is looking for.”
She sighed. “I hope so. I want my life back, Linc.”
“I know you do, honey. We’re going to make that happen, I promise.”
Traveling well south of Waco at nearly ten o’clock at night, there were few cars on the road, just the occasional pair of headlights coming in the opposite direction or a vehicle pulling out of a driveway after the truck drove past.
“You sure you can’t sleep?” Linc asked. “Be good if you were fresh when we got to Victoria. We’ve got no idea how much farther we’ll have to go to get to the pickup site.”
“I know. Maybe once the caffeine wears off, I’ll give it a try.”
But an hour later, she was still wide-awake, still worried about Zach, and no way would she be able to fall asleep.
* **
As the miles rolled past, Linc grew more and more tense. It was after midnight, Victoria still thirty miles away. They should make the rendezvous on time, but until he drove into the truck stop and met up with Zapata’s man, he wouldn’t stop worrying.
Next to him, Carly was nodding off, her head against the window. He wished she had climbed into the bed in the sleeper, but he hadn’t suggested it again. It wouldn’t have done a lick of good and at least this way she was resting.
Another half hour passed. The lights of Vic’s Truck Stop burned into the darkness up ahead. As he started downshifting, Carly stirred, then jerked upright in the seat.
“Are we there? What time is it?”
“We made it a few minutes early,” Linc said. “Keep an eye out for Zapata’s man.” Pulling into the lot, he found a parking spot away from the big mercury lights illuminating several acres of asphalt, and turned off the engine. When no one walked up to the window, they climbed down to stretch their legs, went in and used the bathrooms, then headed back to the truck.
As they approached, a man stepped out of the darkness, big, with black hair slicked back and a bushy mustache. Linc recognized him as the man holding the knife on Carly when Zapata’s men had attacked her at the roadhouse.
“The woman drives so I can keep an eye on you,” the big Latino said, pointing his pistol at Linc.
“You don’t need the gun,” Linc said. “You’ve got the boy. We’re going to cooperate.”
The man just grunted. Linc remembered Carly saying his name was Cuchillo—knife—a name she’d heard the night she’d been abducted.
Jerking open the door to the sleeper compartment, Cuchillo climbed in and settled himself on the bunk behind the seats. Linc climbed into the passenger seat while Carly eased into the driver’s seat, fastened her belt, and started the engine.
