“Take 35 north toward Dallas,” Cuchillo instructed.
Dallas. She prayed they weren’t carrying a bomb of some kind.
They didn’t take time to fuel up. The truck held enough diesel to reach the city, still two hundred miles away, and return to Iron Springs. If they had to go farther, they could refuel along the way.
Carly leaned back in the passenger seat. Handling the big semi had become almost second nature, but after twelve hours on the road, she was exhausted. Though the night was beginning to gray toward sunrise, Linc seemed more alert than when they’d started.
He was gearing up, she knew, mentally preparing himself to handle whatever happened when they reached the drop-off site.
“When the highway splits, take the east route.” Cuchillo folded back into the bunk and seconds later, started snoring. The awful truth was, until Zach was returned, there was nothing they could do but follow his orders.
As the miles rolled past and Linc drove toward Dallas, Carly’s nerveskicked up, pushing away any sleepiness. The split in the interstate was only a couple of miles ahead. It was seven-thirty in the morning, the sun tipping over the horizon, traffic heavy.
Linc handled the truck with the ease of a veteran driver, moving in and out safely while holding a steady speed. With the thick Dallas traffic, Carly was glad he was behind the wheel.
Linc glanced toward the bunk behind the seats, saw Cuchillo was still asleep, and turned to Carly. “You okay?”
“Nervous.”
He nodded, looked back at the bunk. “You better wake him up. We don’t want to miss the turn to the drop-off site, wherever the hell it is.”
She sighed. “Could be anywhere.”
“I know. Be careful. Remember he’s got a gun.”
“Believe me, I haven’t forgotten.” Carly turned in her seat, leaned down, and barely nudged the man’s leg with her boot. “Cuchillo . . . it’s time to wake up.”
The big Latino jerked awake, muttering a dirty word in Spanish as he sat up in the bunk.
He glanced around, saw where they were. “Take 35 east. Be careful not to miss the exit.”
“Be easier if you just told us where we’re going,” Linc said.
“Irving. Just listen and do what I say.”
The directions got complicated after that, swinging the truck onto one freeway and then another. The heavy traffic kept them hidden in plain sight. Carly wondered if that had been part of Zapata’s plan.
More instructions were given and finally Linc pulled the trailer into an area of warehouses and transportation hubs filled with dozens of trucks. Being close to the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport, there was a lot of manufacturing in the area. She spotted the signs for a Frito-Lay plant and a UPS express freight center. Hard to believe they were bringing a load of smuggled goods into the middle of all this activity.
But apparently that was exactly the plan.
“Turn here.”
Linc turned the truck into an asphalt lot behind a food processingplant surrounded by a chain-link fence. The gate rolled closed behind them. Following Cuchillo’s instruction, Linc backed the rig up to a loading dock and turned off the engine.
“You will stay here while the cargo is unloaded.”
“Where’s the boy?” Linc asked.
“I will bring him to you.” The big Latino opened the sleeper door and jumped down to the asphalt.
Carly could hear the rattle of the trailer door rolling up. Seconds passed, then the scrape of the heavy cargo being unloaded. Glancing out at the side mirror, she caught a glimpse of something she hadn’t expected.
“People,” she said. “They’re climbing out of the back. He’s trafficking illegals.”
“And God only knows what else.”
An instant later, the sleeper door jerked open and Zach climbed into the truck.
