Luca sat behind the wheel in their car. She didn’t like it. He was vulnerable, and though he was one of the toughest people she knew, he was injured. If the person in the truck was Ricardo, he could walk up and fire a gun into the driver’s side. Her mouth went dry, and she tightened her grip on the soccer-ball-size rock she’d eased to the edge of the slope, praying Tate’s desperate plan would work. Her eyes watered as she peered across the bleached landscape, trying to spot where he’d gone. In spite of his leg and the head injury, he had quickly disappeared into the rock maze after he’d helped her shimmy the rock into place and tuck herself out of sight. The truck was close now. She could see the glint of sun on metal as it approached the final curve. She leaned forward slightly, hands pressing the rock. The truck pulled to a stop. Her fingers were slick with sweat. She blinked against the dazzle of the sun.
