The skin of his arms is cold and clammy. There’s an exit wound just below his collar bone—I’m able to see it because his shirt is ripped open there—and that’s good I guess, but he’s still losing a ton of blood.
The agents are running, and I steel myself for the possibility that they’re in the cartel’s pocket. They’re close enough for me to see their faces. One is short and broad, with red hair and freckles, and the other one is slim, with buzz-cut blond hair. Both are frowning. Both lower their guns as they get closer. I scramble for our passports as I let emotion wash through me.
“Ma’am, I’m Agent Frank Burns with the United States Border Patrol,” the blond says. “Identify yourself.”
I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, I start crying. It’s adrenaline crying, so the tears come easily and quickly overwhelm me. Sobs punch through me, and Evan groans as I jar him. The idea that I hurt him makes me cry harder.
When they’re so close I can see sweat beads on their faces, I thrust our passports at Agent Burns and grab Evan closer. “You’ve got to help us! We were coming through the checkpoint and…oh my God, these people shot my husband! He’s bleeding really bad, please! You’ve got to help us now!”
Agent Burns glances over Evan and I, then opens one of the passports and frowns at it. My heart rate does double-time and I get a dizzying head rush. As his bushy eyebrows draw together, he sticks the passport between his teeth and opens the other one, like we’re at a traffic stop and we have all the time in the world. After a long look at the second passport, he shoves them both into his partner’s hand. Behind them, the ragged hum of the helicopter’s blades shifts its tone a little and I worry it will leave.
The redhead takes both passports and opens the top one. I sob harder, letting myself get lost in the fear that they won’t help us.
I’m confused when the redhead cracks an ironic little smile. “Carlson?” His eyes search his partner’s face as my heart thuds in my chest. Carlson. Why did he say that name! Do they work for him? Oh my God.
Agent Burns turns his brown eyes to me and wiggles one eyebrow. “Cross Carlson, huh?”
I blink at him, not having any idea what he means.
He nods at Evan. “He wouldn’t by any chance be the son of California’s Governor Carlson, would he?”
The governor of California? His son? My brain is moving in slow motion. Are they asking me if Evan is Drake Carlson’s son?
I shake my head. Tears are pouring down my cheeks.
“Is he…” I shake my head again. I have my mouth open to say of course he’s not, and then I picture Drake’s face. It was harder and older and his eyes weren’t blue, but Drake had such a pretty mouth. Like Evan’s.
“Oh my…yes.” I hiccup a sob before I can get another breath, and then I’m nodding frenziedly. “Yes, he is. He is, and that means you have to help us! You have to take us to a hospital! Right now!”
The redhead frowns, looking me up and down like I’m a bug he wants to squash. “And you’re the wifey?”
“I’m his wife,” I grit. The words feel like barbed wire in my throat. “Now will you help me get him to the helicopter? We don’t have time to wait!”
Agent Burns looks me right down to the bones. “If you weren’t who you are, we’d bring you in for questioning, Mrs. Carlson. You look a hell of a lot like a woman who’s wanted for murder in Guadalupe Victoria. Tied up with the Cientos Cartel. I bet that’s why they shot your husband.”
I nod my head, playing on the confusion that’s bursting in my chest. Confusion about Evan, but the guard takes it as confusion over what he’s saying.
I flick my eyes to his again, and he shrugs. “Bring ‘em in, Arnie.” My knees are shaking with relief when he turns back toward the chopper. Evan moans, and the redhead, Arnie, comes around to Evan’s other side. Evan is—
No, not Evan.
CROSS!
The man clinging to my leg is Cross Carlson, playboy, black sheep son of Governor Drake Carlson.
He moans as he’s hoisted to his feet and draped over Arnie’s broad back. The agent starts toward the helicopter, but I can’t seem to get my feet to move.
Cross Carlson. My Evan is a Carlson.
I hold my head, feeling like I’m going to pass out. When I think about the governor sending someone to find me after two years—sending his own son—I almost want to give myself to the cartel.
It’s NOT ENOUGH, I want to scream. It’s not enough that Drake sent someone to save me now! That he finally realized the mistake he made with me. It’s not enough! After what happened before I left Jesus…