Texas Takedown. Heather Woodhaven

       ONE

      Isabelle Barrows was hopelessly lost, caught on a winding path bordered by two wooden fences. Signs on either side read Pardon Our Construction. Without the six-foot-high fences, it would’ve been a pretty area with historic homes to view. Too bad she wouldn’t see the result. She’d be back home from the conference within the week.

      No wonder the walking feature in her maps application was considered beta because it’d led her on a convoluted route. The still tree branches that hung over the walkway offered her some shade. Sweat trickled off her brow. People had told her humidity in Texas would be intense, but she’d shrugged it off. She lived on the Oregon coast. She knew humidity, thank you very much. How wrong she’d been. Texas humidity was an entirely different beast. The air felt heavy against her skin.

      Isabelle exited the app and pulled up a different map of the area. She had to be somewhere near Hemisfair Park and not too far away from San Antonio’s River Walk.

      A twig snapped. She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the sound. A man in a dark gray shirt and black pants turned the corner. Isabelle smiled, but the man’s steely gaze remained void of emotion as he quickened his pace toward her.

      The fences designed to keep tourists safe from construction now seemed the opposite. How fast could she scale one if needed? She lengthened her stride and straightened her spine, hoping to exude confidence.

      Her dad had taught her that criminals preferred to avoid confronting sure-footed people. Besides, maybe she misread the man’s intentions, and he was just late for a meeting. Her neck tingled. But should she call the police on instinct alone?

      Isabelle lifted her faux leather messenger bag off her shoulder and slipped it diagonally across her torso in case she needed to run or vault a fence. The weight of the laptop inside the bag pressed against her hip, but it wasn’t enough to slow her down.

      Up ahead the fences stopped, and the path opened into a park. She pumped her arms, no longer caring how foolish she might look to the man behind her. His breathing reached her ears. He was keeping up with her.

      Not a good sign.

      Another path intersected diagonally. Up ahead, waiting underneath the shade of a tree, a man in a brown shirt and tan pants straightened. Oh, good. A kind stranger who could help her if she needed it.

      Isabelle offered a cursory smile. The stranger narrowed his eyes and strode toward her, exactly as the man behind her had done. A shiver ran down her spine.

      She twisted and hustled in the general direction of the tourist area by the River Walk. No matter that it led her away from her own hotel. Her lodging was on the outskirts, away from the attractions. But right now, she wanted to be around people, lots of them.

      In late afternoon at the end of August, the temperature and humidity seemed to keep everyone indoors. She scanned her surroundings and saw only trees, park benches and several other paths. Even a street would have been welcome at this point, but she had no idea which direction would lead her to one without taking time to look at a map.

      The Mexican Cultural Institute to her left sported a Closed sign, or she’d have darted in there. The area opened slightly, but she was surrounded by more closed buildings on each side except for the stairs leading down, presumably to the River Walk.

      She glanced over her shoulder. The men were side by side, walking behind her. They knew each other? Their eyes locked on hers as if homing in on a target.

      She pushed off her toes and started to run. They followed suit. She was trapped inside her worst nightmare.

      The memory of her dad’s countless air-force lectures moved to the forefront of her mind. “You’ve crashed in enemy territory,” he’d drill. “What’s the first thing you do?”

      “Establish and maintain communication with friendly forces, sir,” she’d respond.

      Isabelle held down the button on her phone until it vibrated, ready for her command. “Call the police,” she shouted. Her fingers, slick with sweat, tightened around the phone as she pumped her arms.

      Her hard-soled flats tapped on the steps. The thin guardrails lined the rock walls on either side of the curved staircase. It sounded like a stampede coming her way as the men’s footsteps echoed off the rock.

      She jumped the final three steps onto a thin sidewalk that curved along the water. Except this wasn’t like the rest of the River Walk. It was an artificial cave formation. Stones the size of basketballs were placed strategically throughout the underground pedestrian area.

      She sprinted along the canal, pressing the phone against her ear. “Hello?” She hadn’t taken the time to press the speaker function. It didn’t seem worth the two seconds of focus it would’ve taken her to find the right button.

      A ringing hit her ears. “Pick up, pick up.”

      “What is your emergency?”

      “Two men are after me.” She panted.

      “What’s your location?”

      The area resembled an empty cement cave that opened a short distance ahead. About a block away, another set of curved stairs led to a bridge and what looked like a hotel. “I don’t know. A grotto-looking thing near the River Walk. It’s behind a shiny skyscraper.”

      Her lungs hurt from the effort of sprinting and talking. She chanced a look. The men had split up. One man was on the opposite side of the water while the other was behind her. Up ahead, the two sidewalks converged. The truth hit her in the gut. If the man on the other side sped up, he’d be able to trap her. “They’re gaining on me. Can’t you use GPS?”

      “Yes, ma’am, but the accuracy—”

      Isabelle didn’t take the time to listen. She dropped the phone into the front pocket of her bag but left it on. She couldn’t keep up her speed without using both of her arms.

      A few doors and glass windows lined the rock walls. She sprinted to one door, but it was locked. The rest of the windows were dark. All empty. She’d been told this was the slow season, but she’d had no idea it’d be deserted. Her throat burned as she pushed her legs to go faster. The man on the opposite side would beat her at this rate. Her flats barely stayed on her feet as her soles slapped against the concrete.

      She rounded the corner and gasped. The sidewalks didn’t simply merge as she thought she’d seen. She would be forced to cross a path surrounded by water to get to the other side, but she had no choice or the man behind her would catch her.

      She ran into the middle of the path and froze. One man stood, hands out, ready to grab her, on the other end. The other approached from behind. And on either side of her there was nothing but water.

      She was trapped.

      The first assailant rattled off a couple of sentences to the other one in a language she didn’t recognize. Her breath caught. What were they planning to do with her? The man in front of her pulled out a shiny knife. An involuntary shudder ran down her spine.

      The memory of her dad sitting at the dinner table counting on his fingers played in the back of her mind. “Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape,” he’d rattle off over and over. “Understood, Isabelle?”

      She curled her hands into fists and widened her stance. She inhaled and pulled in her core muscles. The reality was, she couldn’t fight two men at once. She glanced at the water. Diving without knowing the depth could be equally dangerous, but what worried her more was the laptop in her bag.

      The flash drive doubling as a two-sided jeweled heart around her neck would likely survive with an overnight stay in a bowl of rice, but her laptop wouldn’t fare nearly as well. She’d have