John was ex-military and was attempting to go into Mexico to save their son. Jane met them at the hotel where she was staying and joined them during dinner. When they found out why she was going to Mexico, they quickly tried to dissuade her. Seeing that she wasn’t going to give up, they attempted to help her by John including her in his plans. It was dangerous, but it just might work. At least it was better than what she had planned—heading straight to Peñuela and demanding to see Bailey.
Sandra remained behind, giving Jane the chance to enter Mexico unnoticed. John and Jane crossed the border with her pretending to be his wife. The guards didn’t even blink at the identification she had presented to them after she slipped them a handful of cash to ignore the lack of similarities between her and the picture.
Once across the border, they were staying in the same hotel John’s son had used when they were dragged out of their room in the middle of the night. John was taken away in a heavily armed Jeep, while Jane was escorted to a small house that contained several other women.
The three days she was forced to spend there were horrifying. She repeatedly witnessed women being dragged out after men came in and surveyed them.
She was about to lose hope when the door was thrust open, and John appeared in the doorway. She quickly stood, moving toward him and remaining silent as fear screamed through her veins. After she followed John to the same Jeep they had left in three days ago, they climbed in and took off.
Inside the Jeep, a man dressed in military fatigues was driving while another stood in the rear with a rifle. John sat in the front seat next to the driver, and a tanned man she knew to be John’s son from the many pictures Sandra had shown her sat next to her.
They were heading back to the border, and while her nerves were relieved to be going home, her anxiety rose as she realized she was leaving her sister behind.
After they left the city, John reached for a canteen of water, handing it to her in the backseat. She took a long drink of the warm water then offered it to John’s son, only to receive a shake of his head.
When she reached forward to hand it back to John, he took it and smashed it down on the head of the driver. The Jeep lost control as the driver spun out, trying to hang on to the steering wheel John was attempting to wrench from his control.
Jane clung to the seat in front of her for dear life, terrified she would be thrown out.
As the fighter behind her loosened his hold on the Jeep, bringing his weapon up to fire, Jane saw John’s son reach back and push the guard out of the back of the careening vehicle. Just as the yell sounded from the falling man, the driver managed to bring the Jeep to a stop and then fought with John in the front seat. Jane watched as John’s son leaned forward, putting the fighter in a chokehold from behind until he stopped moving.
“John!” Jane screamed, seeing the man who had fallen out of the back running toward them.
John reached over to the opposite side of the driver, pulling his weapon free. With one smooth move, he twisted in his seat bringing the pistol up. John aimed to miss his son and fired, several pops came from the pistol, and the fighter fell to the ground.
Everyone sat frozen for several seconds before John and his son jumped from their seats.
“Hurry, Jane. We don’t have long.” The men pulled the dead driver from his seat, taking off his clothes. Jane couldn’t understand what they were doing. “Get your clothes off. I’ll stash them in my backpack,” John ordered.
The urgency John showed didn’t give her time to feel shy about disrobing in front of the men. Taking off her clothes, she threw them aside before pulling the khaki trousers up her hips. They were long on her yet not too bad. Her fingers trembled so badly she barely managed to lace up the boots they threw toward the pile of clothes laying on the ground. Grabbing the large shirt, she quickly buttoned it closed. The last part was the cap, which she clumsily put on.
“Try to hide your face as much as possible,” John said, studying her critically.
John’s son went to the dead guard lying on the ground next to the one John had shot. He picked up the gun and handed it to Jane along with the canteen.
“Do you know how to shoot?”
“No,” she said, holding it cautiously. John took it from her, giving her a series of instructions she knew she wouldn’t be able to remember.
“I tried to find out what I could about your sister. As far as I could piece together, you might still be able to find her in Peñuela. This is as far as Matthew and I can go, though. We’re getting our asses out of here. Do you want to come with us?” He handed her the backpack he had stuffed her clothes into.