Badlands. Jill Sorenson

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      A few minutes later, they loaded into the SUV and followed Penny’s tracks. She’d stolen Gardener’s boots—clever.

      They lost her trail quickly. She’d left the softer terrain of the wash and traveled across the hard-packed hills. Shane parked the SUV and got out, muttering under his breath. Going after her on foot would be a hassle. Penny couldn’t outdistance them with a child in tow, but if she found a good place to hide, she had a chance of evading them.

      She could also die from heat and dehydration. Fear stabbed Owen’s chest. He didn’t know whether to root for her or not. She might be safer with them.

      Shane searched for a sign of her while the rest of them waited in the SUV. He cursed and kicked a cactus, annoyed with it for getting in his path. Then he looked south, his eyes narrow. “Let’s check out the mud caves.”

      Owen wasn’t familiar with every inch of terrain between here and the border, but he knew the mud caves. Situated a few miles away, the domelike structures offered a network of tunnels and caverns, formed out of dried clay. Beyond the caves lay a five-palm oasis with ample shade and a seasonal pool of water. From there it was a half-day’s hike to the old railroad, which led back to civilization. If Owen got the opportunity to break free, he could orient himself and survive out here. He could guide Penny and Cruz to safety.

      Shane drove south and parked as close to the mud caves as possible, walking the final mile. The early-morning sun was already blasting heat. Living near the coast for so long had thinned Owen’s blood. Eighty degrees felt like a hundred. They were all sweating as they approached the cave’s entrance.

      One by one, they stepped out of the harsh sun and into the cave’s cool, dark recesses. It was almost like entering an air-conditioned room. Owen squinted into the cave, letting his vision adjust to the lack of light.

      Dirk bent to pick up a scrap of fabric on the dirt floor. He brought it to his face and inhaled, as if sniffing panties. “This is hers.”

      Shane inspected the blue-green material and turned to Owen. “Call out to her.”

      Although his body still ached from last night, he hesitated. He’d take another beating before he betrayed Penny.

      His brother drew the 9 mm from his waistband and pressed it to Owen’s cheek. This wasn’t up for discussion. “Do it.”

      “Penny,” he shouted, his voice hoarse with anger. Most of it was directed at Shane but some bled inward. He’d been warring with these feelings his entire life. This sick, dysfunctional mixture of love and hate. As much as Owen loathed his father, he’d also sought his approval in many ways. He’d learned welding, his father’s trade, to earn a rare pat on the back. He hadn’t wanted to be like his father, but he’d wanted be liked by him.

      That desire had never quite faded.

      He was furious with Shane for picking up where their dad had left off, and with himself for being unable to break this vicious cycle.

      Penny didn’t answer his call. She might not be able to hear him. She might not even be inside the cave anymore. Some tunnels went on for miles and offered multiple escape routes. Others were dead ends.

      Shane returned his gun to his waistband, his eyes moving from Dirk to Brett. They were brothers, too, Owen realized. The younger, smaller Brett was a criminal-in-training.

      “Give Brett your piece,” Shane said to Dirk.

      “What for?”

      “I’m sending him in. They might be hiding in a narrow space. He’ll fit through the tight spots easier than you.”

      Dirk handed his weapon to Brett, seeming to be disappointed. He wanted to hunt down Penny and terrorize her himself. “How will he get her out?”

      Shane sucked on his lip, thinking. “Owen, you go first. Make her come to you.”

      “And if she won’t?” Brett asked.

      “Tell her you’re going to shoot Owen in the head.”

      Brett’s mouth went slack. He wasn’t as hardened as Dirk, or as macho. “O-okay.”

      “If she still doesn’t come out, shoot him in the foot,” Shane conceded. The guy who’d pulled his punches last night was gone, replaced by the cold-eyed sociopath who’d choked Owen into submission. His brother was good at intimidating people, staying in control. He could flip the switch between charming and cruel in an instant. Penny’s actions had challenged his authority—and this was payback.

      Dirk smiled at Owen, enjoying the tension.

      “You two, walk around the perimeter,” Shane said to Roach and Dirk. “If you find another entrance, guard it. I’ll stay here.”

      They followed his instructions, leaving the mouth of the cave. Brett trained the gun on Owen while Shane removed his cuffs. Owen needed free hands to navigate in the dark. Between the twisted tunnels, armed escort and men blocking the exits, he’d be a fool to try running away. Or so they thought.

      Owen rubbed his chafed wrists, his blood pumping with adrenaline. He wasn’t going to let an amateur like Brett shoot him in the foot. He’d take advantage of any opportunity to escape. He’d create an opening if he had to.

      Shane had brought supplies from the SUV’s glove compartment. They had walkie-talkies and flashlights. Brett clipped the walkie-talkie to his waist and held a mini-flashlight in his teeth, gesturing for Owen to precede him. The setup wasn’t ideal. Owen’s shoulders kept blocking the beam of light. Brett wasn’t stupid enough to let him hold the flashlight, so Owen crouched as low as possible, picking his way forward.

      He was comfortable in this kind of setting. Dark, confined spaces didn’t bother him, even after his experience in the earthquake. Neither did heat, usually. During his firefighter training, he’d endured both better than most students. He’d grown up near the badlands, in Salton City. High temperatures and harsh conditions just reminded him of home.

      They came to a fork in the tunnel. Owen stopped and listened, detecting the faintest hint of wind. He couldn’t wait any longer. If they reached the end of the cave before he had a chance to strike, all would be lost.

      “Bats,” he shouted at the top of his lungs, flapping his arms around.

      Brett looked up at the ceiling of the tunnel, where there were bats. Sleeping bats, tucked up and motionless.

      Owen seized the moment of distraction. He grabbed Brett’s right wrist and slammed it against the cave wall, knocking the gun loose from his grip. It clattered to the floor, along with the flashlight from Brett’s surprised mouth. Owen couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t need to. He drew back his arm and punched Brett in the stomach with full force. The air rushed out of him in an audible whoosh.

      Brett doubled over, as men who’d been gut-checked often did. Owen grabbed Brett’s head and brought it down on his raised knee, crushing the small bones and cartilage in his nose. The blow was delivered with enough force to knock him out, apparently. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

      Owen scrambled for the gun and flashlight. He also took Brett’s walkie-talkie. Then he crept forward, his heart hammering against his chest. “Penny?” he called out, unsure which direction to take.

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