Badlands by Jill Sorenson

it could be triangulated. The government might scrutinize all communication signals from the same basic area, and there was nobody else out here. He drove twenty more miles to the town of El Centro, pulling over at a dusty truck stop.
    Shane got out and glanced around to make sure the coast was clear before dialing. Dirk waited in the backseat, an impatient look on his face.
    “This is Jorge Sandoval.”
    Shane had planned for Owen to make this call. It was the only reason Shane had brought him along. He didn’t trust Gardener to do it right, so now his only option was disguising his voice. “Do you have the money?”
    Jesus. He sounded like Cookie Monster.
    “I want to speak to my daughter,” Sandoval demanded coolly.
    His attitude pissed Shane off. “You think you’re in charge?”
    “You’ve made it abundantly clear who’s in charge.”
    The way he said it suggested the opposite was true. Sandoval was a Mexican puppet, as far as Shane was concerned, but the man enjoyed a position of wealth and power. All men wanted those things.
    “I have the money,” Sandoval said. “Please, put Penny on the phone.”
    “We need a goodwill gesture first,” Shane growled. “Drop out of the race. Make a formal announcement. When we hear the news, we’ll get back to you.”
    He hung up before Sandoval could reply. The men Shane worked for had financial and political motivations. They’d take Sandoval’s money, but they also wanted a different puppet in the White House. It didn’t matter to Shane. He couldn’t care less about politics. He’d been chosen for this job because of his connection to Owen.
    Climbing behind the wheel, he continued a few more miles to a parking garage. He had a getaway vehicle stashed here. He’d kept it secret from the other guys. It was always good to have a solo escape plan. Although he’d recruited everyone on the crew except Roach, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t double-cross them.
    Shane cleaned his prints off the cell phone and gave it to Gardener. “Take Brett to a hospital in Mexico. Before you cross the border, make a phone call. Dial a number from a billboard, any random number. Hang up when they answer. Then wipe the phone and ditch it in a trash can.”
    Gardener stared at him in disbelief. There were three glossy, purplish knobs on his forehead. He reminded Shane of the dead fish on Salton Sea Beach. They washed up in stinking piles, their eyes foggy and jaws gaping open.
    “You got that?”
    Gardener nodded, accepting the phone. Shane made him repeat the instructions twice. “How long should we stay in Mexico?”
    “Until you get word to come back.”
    Dirk shook his head in protest. “Brett can’t get operated on by a border doctor, man. They’ll cut off his foot with a rusty knife.”
    Shane doubted it, but he didn’t really care.
    “We can find a hospital in Arizona and say he shot himself.”
    Even in Arizona, people asked questions. Who were you with, what were you doing. All it took was one slip, and Brett wasn’t a practiced liar. Unlike him. “They’re going to Mexico. Boss’s orders.”
    “How the hell are we getting back to camp?”
    “I have a backup vehicle parked here.”
    Dirk swore under his breath. He said a tearful goodbye to Brett while Shane gathered his belongings and got out. They stood and watched the SUV drive south, toward the border crossing in Calexico.
    “This is fucked up,” Dirk said.
    “Yes.”
    “You should have sent me into the cave instead of him.”
    That might have ended more violently. Dirk had no finesse with guns or women. “It was a simple task.”
    “Yeah? You didn’t tell anyone your brother was a psycho.”
    Shane had to admit he’d underestimated Owen. He’d always seen his little brother as skinny and weak. Gentle but ineffectual, like their mother. As a child, Owen had felt sorry for the dying fish on the shore, throwing them back in to the toxic sea. Once he’d tried to save an egret that got stuck in the