“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Just keep heading south. I will tell you where to turn.”
Pulling back onto the road, she followed the pavement south. A ways down the highway, the man’s deep voice rumbled to life.
“Turn here. Head for Tivoli.”
Carly made the turn and kept going. At the tiny grease spot in the road that was Tivoli, she was ordered to turn again, onto Road 35. The truck passed through farm country for awhile, then into an area of marshes, bogs, and swamps that was completely desolate. A good place to pick up smuggled cargo—or get rid of bodies.
Linc flicked Carly a glance and her gaze caught his. He read her unease, which matched his own.
Twenty miles from Tivoli, Cuchillo ordered her to turn down a boggy lane. Linc knew roughly where they were, knew the land around here was part of the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge. Proof of that in the form of a huge boa constrictor at least twelve feet long appeared in the headlights along the side of the road.
“Did you see that?” Carly asked as the truck drove past.
“Yeah. Lots of snakes out here. Gators, too.”
“Keep driving,” Cuchillo said.
The road petered out, dead-ending into a saltwater bay. Just beyond, the headlights reflected on dark, murky water stretching far into the night. Linc caught a glimpse of a big rubber boat pulled up on shore. Farther out, a powerboat disappeared into the darkness, heading back out to sea.
The smugglers had delivered their cargo. Whatever the hell it was.
“Pull up here and turn the truck around—and do not get stuck in the mud.”
There was a makeshift circular turn-around area. Carly pulled onto what appeared to be a solid-looking piece of earth and turned the truck around so it faced back the way they had come. So far she was doing a helluva job of handling the big rig. Linc was proud of her.
“Put on the outside lights and turn off the engine,” Cuchillo said. “Mosquitoes are as thick as dog hair here so leave the windows up, and do not get out of the truck.”
“Whatever you want,” she said.
Cuchillo climbed out of the cab, slammed the sleeper door, and disappeared toward the rear of the trailer. Linc had purposely left the roll-up door unlocked. He could hear the rattle as someone shoved it up, then the slide of something heavy being loaded into the trailer.
Carly leaned forward to look in the side mirror. “They’re staying out of sight behind the truck. What do you think they’re loading?”
He glanced into the mirror, saw only the sides of the trailer. “Something heavy. Could be drugs, could be anything.”
It didn’t take long to complete the job, whatever it was. The roll-up door rattled back down and the sleeper door opened. A whiff of marijuana seeped from Cuchillo’s clothes as he climbed into the truck, a can of bug spray in his hand. He sprayed the interior, ending the buzz of the annoying insects, and settled himself on the bunk.
“Start the truck.”
Carly cranked the engine. The truck came to life and idled softly.
“Where are we going?” Linc asked.
“Back the way we came. No tolls on 77 so no cameras. There is a convenience store in La Grange. You can take the wheel from there.”
Cuchillo yawned. “I need to get some sleep. Wake me when you get to La Grange. El Jefe is expecting me to call from there.” Apparently satisfied Linc wasn’t going to cause him any trouble or maybe just too stoned to care, he stretched his bulky frame out on the bed. “Do not do anything stupid or the boy gets killed.”
Linc looked over at Carly, whose eyes met his. They were heading back toward Dallas. The cargo could be anything—from drugs to a dirty bomb.
“It’s going to be okay,” Linc said softly as the truck rolled along and Cuchillo started to snore. “We’ll get Zach and head home.”
Carly nodded. But both of them knew they might never see home again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
At the convenience store in La Grange they all took a bathroom break, bought fresh cups of coffee, and returned to the truck. Linc climbed in behind the wheel.
