Read Online Torched: A Thriller by Daniel Powell - Free Book Online
Authors: Daniel Powell
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human body flying over the car’s hood.
She looked at
Chaco.
He took the keys
from Buddha belly. “Gracias, amigo.”
“De nada. Three
days, friend. Three days, sí ?”
“Yes. Three days,”
Chaco said. He pulled the passenger door open and Terri slid inside. It smelled
like dust and cigarettes.
Chaco tipped
Buddha belly a final salute before climbing behind the wheel and turning the
key. The Beretta coughed a few times before belching a cloud of blue smoke.
Chaco goosed the gas pedal and cleared the muffler before inching it toward the
front gate, where the two young men now waited to secure it behind them.
“Jesus, Benny,”
Chaco muttered of their mutual acquaintance, “how the hell do you know these people?”
He tried the
blinkers and the brakes; he tested the acceleration.
“What do you
think?” Terri said.
He shrugged.
“What are our options? It’ll have to do.” He tapped his watch. “We have three
days, and these guys don’t play. This piece of shit isn’t worth a hundred
bucks, but they’ll kill us if we don’t get it back here in that time. Come on.
Let’s go make our pick-up.”
Terri nodded,
suddenly nauseous as her body filled with adrenaline.
It was time.
They cleared
Cerritos quickly before nosing the Beretta onto a dusty country road, the iPad
in her lap guiding them ever closer to their destination.
FOURTEEN
Vivian felt so
much better to have unburdened herself. Rather than hurry the day along, she
and Miguel were content to relax in bed, sipping their coffee. She read from
her Coelho novel while he paged through a catalog of kitchen equipment.
“Thank you,” he
finally said, placing the catalog on the nightstand. He leaned over and hit her
with that smile that melted her a little bit more each time.
“For what?”
“For being
honest with me. It couldn’t have been easy, and I’m glad to have your trust,
Vivian. It means a lot to me.”
She shifted her
weight, draping her thigh over his. “Oh, yeah? Care to show your gratitude
another way?”
His hands played
over her skin, and he kissed her gently. “Shower?”
“Shower.”
They retreated
to the bathroom, perfectly oblivious to the figures converging on the little
bungalow from the depths of the Mexican jungle.
***
“Be confident,
Terri. You’ve got to mean it if you’re going to do it. If you second guess
yourself, you’re done.”
She studied the
kit in her hand. “Okay, okay, okay. I can do this. I can do this.”
A sudden smile
brightened her features. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he
replied.
“ Chaco ?
What’s that all about?”
“Short for
Chacon. My grandfather’s name. What—you thought I was named after some ice
cream treat back in the States?”
Terri cupped a
hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter. Chaco’s grin was bright for a moment,
but it vanished when the bungalow’s front door snapped open and his target
started toward them.
“Go, Terri!” he
whispered. “Don’t you dare come back outside when you’re finished. Understand?
Let me come to you.”
“Okay. Good
luck, Chaco,” she replied.
He nodded and
was off, a blur in the brush, his gun at his side.
She went the
other way, her pulse spiking as she honed in on the veranda shading the tiny
back stoop. She stole through the palmetto, dashed briefly into the
sunlight—utterly exposed—before sprinting to just beneath the kitchen
windowsill.
She heard
movement inside—the muted thud of cabinets and the clinking of dishes. She
closed her eyes and conjured those persistent images (Sheldon’s casket, her
daughter’s mangled hand), steeled her nerves and silently turned the doorknob
before slipping inside.
***
Chaco watched
the man preparing for his morning’s work. He was tall and lean, but Chaco
thought he matched up fine with him—at least physically. Everything else about
the guy Terri called “Miguel” was a mystery.
He slid his
hands into leather gloves. He had a pair of shovels, a
She looked at
Chaco.
He took the keys
from Buddha belly. “Gracias, amigo.”
“De nada. Three
days, friend. Three days, sí ?”
“Yes. Three days,”
Chaco said. He pulled the passenger door open and Terri slid inside. It smelled
like dust and cigarettes.
Chaco tipped
Buddha belly a final salute before climbing behind the wheel and turning the
key. The Beretta coughed a few times before belching a cloud of blue smoke.
Chaco goosed the gas pedal and cleared the muffler before inching it toward the
front gate, where the two young men now waited to secure it behind them.
“Jesus, Benny,”
Chaco muttered of their mutual acquaintance, “how the hell do you know these people?”
He tried the
blinkers and the brakes; he tested the acceleration.
“What do you
think?” Terri said.
He shrugged.
“What are our options? It’ll have to do.” He tapped his watch. “We have three
days, and these guys don’t play. This piece of shit isn’t worth a hundred
bucks, but they’ll kill us if we don’t get it back here in that time. Come on.
Let’s go make our pick-up.”
Terri nodded,
suddenly nauseous as her body filled with adrenaline.
It was time.
They cleared
Cerritos quickly before nosing the Beretta onto a dusty country road, the iPad
in her lap guiding them ever closer to their destination.
FOURTEEN
Vivian felt so
much better to have unburdened herself. Rather than hurry the day along, she
and Miguel were content to relax in bed, sipping their coffee. She read from
her Coelho novel while he paged through a catalog of kitchen equipment.
“Thank you,” he
finally said, placing the catalog on the nightstand. He leaned over and hit her
with that smile that melted her a little bit more each time.
“For what?”
“For being
honest with me. It couldn’t have been easy, and I’m glad to have your trust,
Vivian. It means a lot to me.”
She shifted her
weight, draping her thigh over his. “Oh, yeah? Care to show your gratitude
another way?”
His hands played
over her skin, and he kissed her gently. “Shower?”
“Shower.”
They retreated
to the bathroom, perfectly oblivious to the figures converging on the little
bungalow from the depths of the Mexican jungle.
***
“Be confident,
Terri. You’ve got to mean it if you’re going to do it. If you second guess
yourself, you’re done.”
She studied the
kit in her hand. “Okay, okay, okay. I can do this. I can do this.”
A sudden smile
brightened her features. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he
replied.
“ Chaco ?
What’s that all about?”
“Short for
Chacon. My grandfather’s name. What—you thought I was named after some ice
cream treat back in the States?”
Terri cupped a
hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter. Chaco’s grin was bright for a moment,
but it vanished when the bungalow’s front door snapped open and his target
started toward them.
“Go, Terri!” he
whispered. “Don’t you dare come back outside when you’re finished. Understand?
Let me come to you.”
“Okay. Good
luck, Chaco,” she replied.
He nodded and
was off, a blur in the brush, his gun at his side.
She went the
other way, her pulse spiking as she honed in on the veranda shading the tiny
back stoop. She stole through the palmetto, dashed briefly into the
sunlight—utterly exposed—before sprinting to just beneath the kitchen
windowsill.
She heard
movement inside—the muted thud of cabinets and the clinking of dishes. She
closed her eyes and conjured those persistent images (Sheldon’s casket, her
daughter’s mangled hand), steeled her nerves and silently turned the doorknob
before slipping inside.
***
Chaco watched
the man preparing for his morning’s work. He was tall and lean, but Chaco
thought he matched up fine with him—at least physically. Everything else about
the guy Terri called “Miguel” was a mystery.
He slid his
hands into leather gloves. He had a pair of shovels, a
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