Page 77 of Blood Revealed

That’s when I hear a low whistle and know he gets it, the magnitude of what we’re dealing with. “We need to arrange a meeting spot.”

Raif and I both grow quiet as we think about the best way to approach the situation. At least I’m thinking about the best way to approach it. I can’t be one hundred percent sure about him. I chew on the inside of my lip a bit longer until an idea hits. “There’s a cowboy here. He’s got a ranch twenty miles outside of Halfway. Maybe—”

“Put him on the phone, baby.”

Puffing my chest out, I leave my little corner to walk over to the cowboy. “Here,” I say. “I got ahold of my people. Talk.”

I don’t want to tell the cowboy that the guy he’s talking to is my husband because he clearly sauntered over to try to pick me up. He might not be willing to help if he knows I’m off the market. I want to think he’ll help simply because it’s the right thing to do, but in my experience, there’re far less men with solid moral compasses in the world than ones with. I cross my fingers this guy’s compass is solid.

After a few excruciatingly long minutes of talking, the man holds the phone out to me. “Here. he wants to talk with you.”

“Thanks,” I say with a smile. Then to Raif, “What’s happening?”

“Okay. Guy seems on the up and up. Obviously without being vetted, I can’t know for sure. We’re making the initial meet at his place tomorrow at noon. Can you get there?” Raif gives me the name of the ranch and any crossroads since my little flip phone doesn’t have GPS.

“I can get there.”

“You safe, baby? I’m going out of my fucking mind here.”

“Yeah. I’ll be okay. Just, Raif”—I take in a breath—“don’t be late, okay?”

“Promise, baby.”

We hang up because I only have so many minutes right now and since I called his cell, this number, even though it’s a burner can ping off the closest towers giving a location to anyone who might be looking.

Before I leave, I suck back the Coke I paid for and smile at the cowboy. “Thanks,” I say with total sincerity. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he replies, tipping his hat again.

From there, I run back across the street to grab Carmen. We wait a bit longer, sharing a small box of Hostess cupcakes that we purchased extra. We each buy a water, too and take an extra ten minutes to make sure we won’t be followed—you can’t be too safe. Any one of those men inside the bar could be connected to the flesh trade.

Carmen and I take our couple of grocery bags, set them in the baskets of our bikes, and ride off opposite direction from where we need to head in the small chance that someone from the bar is watching. We double back around, riding over the flat, dusty soil behind the bar, keeping off the road until we’re far enough away to not be seen.

Good thing we bought those waters. We need them. Nicola’s out front of the trailer we’ve been staying in, wearing a groove in the dirt with her pacing. “Where the hell have you been?” she shouts at us like a mother who lost track of her kids.

“You know what we were doing,” Carmen says.

“Had to make sure we weren’t followed,” I explain more. “Had to talk to a few people in town. We left town riding away from here and doubled back.” I get her fear. Totally get it. We need to get a van and more cash to buy gas, food, and sundries here at the safehouse. Raif and the boys’ll need to pony up the money.

The rest of the day goes by without anything weird or out of the ordinary happening, and I know, because I keep an eye out for any sign—an off shadow or sound—until I crash for the night.

The next day I’m dressed and ready to go by 9:30 because I don’t know how long it’ll take me to pedal out to Buckin’ Bronc Ranch, the cowboy’s ranch that he agreed to let us use as the meet spot yesterday.

“Let me go with,” Carmen begs, but I can’t give her this.

“We don’t know if it’s safe and I can’t risk you. Raif and I make the meet, we’ll come for you and the other women. Move you out under Lords’ protection to get you guys home.”

“But—” she begins to protest. I press my hand over her mouth to stop her, then give out my hugs in case the tides don’t turn in my favor.

I turn to the group before I leave. “We’re away from Escalante, but we aren’tthatfar away. Who do we trust?” I ask. “You think the Sheriff in these parts is just clueless to the type of trade going on in his neck of the woods? What about any of the guys in that bar? Do we know for sure they’re all good guys? We have to assume every man we see in on Escalante’s payroll. I don’t even know about the cowboy, but I’m willing to take the chance because there are men I do trust. Men that would give their lives for me or any of us.”

Some of the women wear hope, some fear. I leave those as my parting words, running out the front door to keep them from seeing the tears falling from my eyes.

I’m surer of balance on the bike this morning. The sun’s already shining, heating up the western landscape. As this area lacks the traffic of most areas of the country, the ride goes relatively smooth. I make it to the outskirts of the ranch in two hours and hang back in the shadows to check it out.

There are several cowboys loading hay bales from truck beds inside barns and doing other such cowboy activities that appear to keep the ranch running. It appears safe and I’m about to make my approach when one guy catches my eye. I drop the bike and drop down to hide in the tall grass. He leans against the side of one of the big red barns, lighting a cigarette. And maybe he’s just on a break, but there’s a glint off the toe guard on his boots that reflects the sun. A glint that none of the other working men have coming off their boots covered in dust and dirt.

With so many men doing chores, he keeps just out of range of the working men. My gut wrenches as my brain screams,Abort, abort, abort.

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