Roswell's Secret

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Don’t shoot.” He struggled to sit up and the desert began to spin.

  “Slower,” Lucy cautioned. She helped him to a sitting position and handed him the bottle of water. “No morphine, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember. How long have I been out?” “Forty minutes. It’s seven fifteen.”

  Dean tried to stand. The fact that Lucy stopped him by pressing her hands on his shoulders pretty much summed up how desperate their situation was.

  “We’re not making the seven-thirty opening, cowboy. You might as well slow down and think of a plan B.”

  Dean leaned back against the rock and let the weariness wash over him. She was right of course. Too bad he didn’t have a plan B.

  “Have more water. Maybe you can think up one.”

  “Are there cartoon bubbles above my head again?” But he accepted the water and drank deeply. His eyes never left hers as he finished it off. “How you holding up, Lucy?”

  “Better than the dead guy in the bushes.” Lucy handed their phone to Dean, which showed a picture of the shooter. “I also took DNA samples and fingerprints. Then I dragged his body a little farther off the trail. He had no identification on him. I did find this.”

  She handed Dean a small satellite phone.

  “You’ve been busy, Doc. Nice work. You took his weapon?” She nodded. “Broke it down and stowed it in our pack.” Dean shifted to pull his ball cap down, then realized he wasn’t wearing one.

  Lucy smiled at the gesture.

  “All right. The phone will probably be a dead end. They will have realized something’s wrong when he didn’t make contact. By now all records have been wiped clean, but we’ll get it to Martin anyway.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We walk out of here like we’ve been enjoying an early morning hike.”

  “What about the bodies?”

  “I scoped this preserve out two weeks ago. Trails were empty on weekday mornings. No one will stumble across the guy on the ridge, and the one you pulled off the trail won’t be a problem for a few hours.”

  “Someone will find them eventually though.”

  Dean struggled to stand, leaning against Lucy until he found his equilibrium. “I’d bet good money that whoever sent these two here had tracers injected in them. Someone will be after their bodies tonight. Or they won’t.”

  “They would leave them?”

  “We’ll alert Martin. If the bad guys don’t pick them up, we will. It wouldn’t be the first time a man or woman has been left behind. If no one picks them up they can count on animals to take care of any evidence.” Dean zipped out of his flak jacket. He couldn’t help smiling as Lucy did the same. “Have I ever mentioned how swell you look in a bulletproof vest?”

  “Do you flirt with all your doctors, Agent Dreiser?”

  “Only the good looking ones.”

  They stuffed the flak jackets into the pack. With the added weapon, Lucy had trouble picking it up. Dean made a motion to carry it, but one look from his doctor had him backing off.

  “Maybe I should go and check the other guy,” she said. “He could have some identification, some clue as to who these people are.”

  “Don’t count on it. These people were professionals. You found no I.D. on this one, there won’t be any on the other one either.” He entwined his good hand in hers. “We need to get out of here and back to Roswell. Our priority stays the same— alert Martin and maintain our cover.”

  “You also need to start on antibiotics as soon as we get back.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You scared a year off my life. You know that, right?”

  “It was a test of sorts.”

  “Is that so?” He stopped on the trail and pulled her to him. Reaching up he touched her face, allowed his hand to follow her hair down her back. The thick braid disappeared beneath the pack that was too heavy for her. This mission, the weight of it threatened to crush them. It would take the two of them to carry the burden of it. Standing there in the morning light with the bodies behind them and more questions in front of them, they both realized the odds of their winning slid further away each moment.

  She cocked her head and gazed up into his eyes. “What kind of test?”

  “A check out the new doc under pressure test.”

  She pierced him with eyes capable of melting the toughest old heart. In fact, they had.

  “Are you going to tell me if I passed?”

  “Sure. It’ll depend on if I survive your doctoring or not.”

  They ambled down the trail, their pace slow at first, but gradually increasing until it resembled something approaching normal. For all the world, the morning began to take on the feel of an average summer day—a guy and a girl out on a morning hike. Forgetting the two dead guys behind them, the hole in Dean’s arm, the bio-weapon in the desert, and the thousands of lives at stake. All that aside, they could have been any other man and woman in the midst of falling in love.

  LUCY DROVE THE TRUCK back to Roswell. Dean didn’t complain about her driving, maybe because he had once again passed out. He woke up when she shouted their order into the fast food drive-through speaker.

  “Breakfast of champions?”

  “I’m lowering my standard for you, Dreiser.”

  He smiled, sat up in the seat and dove into the bag she passed him. They had devoured the egg sandwiches, hash browns, and orange juice before she’d driven the remaining six blocks to Josephine’s.

  “Explain to me, again, why we don’t have any coffee,” he mumbled.

  Instead of answering, she set the brake and gathered up their trash. She wanted to ask how he felt, but a few stragglers were walking to their cars, leaving for work. They did not need to overhear her questioning him about his vitals. So she stayed a few steps in front of him, scoping out the bushes for terrorists.

  Once in Dean’s room, they removed their weapons—placing them within easy reach of the bed. Dean sank onto the mattress, not bothering to turn down the covers. Lucy started the water in the shower.

  Laying out a towel and soap, she returned to find Dean nearly asleep.

  He opened one eye. “I know you got the small room, but if you’ll search it, I think you’ll find your own shower.”

  She perched on the bed’s edge and touched the face that had become as familiar as her own. “Your biggest risk is infection. You have to take a shower and cleanse the wound.”

  He answered with a groan.

  “I’ll help you undress.”

  “You’re saying that, so I’ll do what you want.” But he sat up, and he didn’t resist when she unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it off his shoulders.

  “I need to cut off this t-shirt, Dean.” She rested her forehead against his, kissed his lips, let her fingers run down the length of his chest.

  “You’re not cutting off my shirt.” His bluster was all gone though, and they both knew it.

  “It’s covered in blood. You can’t raise that arm over your head, anyway.” She trailed a path down his neck with her fingertips, then captured his face between both of her hands. “You can argue and the shower will run out of hot water, or you can let me cut it off.”

  “Scissors are in the desk drawer.”

  She cut away the fabric, peeled the blood-soaked material from his arm. When he stood, and she moved to help him pull off his jeans.

  “I think I’ve got it from here.”

  “I’m a doctor, Dean.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve got this.”

  “Right. Of course.” She stepped away, but he pulled her back, kissed her once.

  “I’m going to my room to get more medical supplies. Cleanse the wound with the new bar of soap, then rinse by squeezing water from the cloth I set on the soap. Don’t hold it directly under the water.”

  “You did a good job, Doc.”

  She nodded, wanted to believe him. Once in her room, she kept thinking of other things he might need. Then it occurred to her Martin might have sent a mes
sage. She gathered all the medical supplies and the laptop and hurried back into Dean’s room.

  He was sprawled across the bed, the bed sheet covering him, and he was sound asleep.

  She worked her shift, and told Sally that Dean might have the flu.

  Every time the door to E.T.’s opened, she jumped. Hopefully he’d have the sense to stay in bed at least twenty-four hours, but she doubted it.

  At the end of her shift, she bagged up some food, and headed back to his room.

  He was still out, so she ate and watched him sleep. It reminded her of the long nights she’d spent as a resident. When she didn’t think she could keep her eyes open any longer, when she’d monitored him all night, and he still showed no signs of fever, she stood, stretched, and admitted to herself he’d be fine.

  Knowing only a hot shower would revive her, but still not willing to leave him, she went into his bathroom, but left the door cracked. She’d hear him if he called.

  The hot steam worked away the knots in her shoulders.

  But her mind was spinning. Was she really falling for Dean Dreiser? He was the agent in charge, on her first field mission. She needed to maintain a professional distance. She needed to remember that she was a doctor, and she needed to focus on the threat they were facing.

  He had taken a bullet for her.

  The thought rang through her mind, her body.

  He had risked his life for her, and he would again. Her mind and heart cleared. She understood the solace they sought went beyond what a man and woman normally offered one another. No doubt, partners had been caught up in love affairs before, but had they faced a terror of the scope that now lurked beyond these walls?

  The truth struck her even as she stepped out of the shower and toweled herself dry. They had little chance of survival. The doctor in her accepted the fact as calmly as it would look at Ebola under a microscope. Between the bio-weapon they faced, and the terrorists who knew no limits and didn’t play by the rules, their odds of survival shrank with each tick of the clock. It reminded her of Marcos’ stories of sniper patrol during his first few weeks in Iraq. She finally understood what her brother had endured.

  And she recognized the value of the bond she shared with Dean. Even as she administered the injection of antibiotics she had brought and re-bandaged his arm. Even as he tumbled off into another deep sleep, and she curled into the chair beside him. The truth stared at her with the same clarity as the hands on their bedside clock. They had each other—and they only had each other.

  Ω

  Dean woke to a blaring alarm and a note on the bedside table.

  Your shift starts in an hour. I left coffee and food in the microwave. Lucy.

  He ran his hands through his hair, stumbled to the bathroom, and found himself staring at the shower.

  Turning the thing on full blast, he wrapped his arm in the plastic wrap she’d left beside the shower, and stepped into it, not bothering to wait for it to heat up. The cold did little to clear his mind or improve his mood. Had he kissed Lucy? What had he been thinking? He’d been an agent for ten years, and he’d done a lot of foolish things, but he’d never been stupid enough to become involved with his partner while on an active op.

  Of course he’d never had a partner like Lucy before either.

  Stepping out of the shower, he winced when he bumped his left arm against the bathroom door. Stripping off the plastic, he gripped a corner of the tape and yanked off the bandage. He stared at the stitches Lucy had neatly sewn.

  “She’s a good doctor,” he argued with the man in the mirror.

  Unsure how else to justify his behavior, he bandaged the arm with a fresh dressing. Within thirty minutes, he devoured the coffee and sandwich he found in the microwave, dressed for work, and drove the old truck around the block to E.T.’s.

  Walking into the bar, the first thing he noticed was Sally behind the grill. “You running the grill tonight?”

  “No, Dreiser. I’m standing back here, because the view’s better. How’s your flu?”

  Dean didn’t miss a beat. “Not as bad as I thought.”

  Nadine set her tray on the bar top, “Three Buds please, Paul.”

  The older man started to pull out the Buds, but Dean stopped him. “I’ll take care of it. You’ve been on all day. Go ahead and clock out.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

  “You have a hot date, Paul?” Dean smiled at Nadine as he placed the bottles of beer on her tray.

  “Nope, going to the desert. Haven’t you heard about the sightings?”

  Nadine rolled her eyes and turned to go. “Guess I missed that memo. Someone see something?”

  Emily rested on a barstool, “Two Coors, Dean. Every customer in here tonight keeps yapping about those supposed sightings.”

  “The only sighting I care about is your backside sitting on a bar stool when it’s not break time,” Sally barked from the kitchen.

  As they all stared at her, she grabbed the latest order off the cook’s ring and stormed back to the grill.

  “Please bring Jerry back soon,” Emily groaned as Dean placed the Coors on her tray.

  Dean started to ask Paul what sightings he meant, but the man had left. He turned back around to ask Emily, but she’d been replaced by Lucy.

  “Oh, hi. I thought you were Emily.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Dreiser.” Lucy grinned and slid onto a bar stool. “I need three Coors and a single shot of bourbon with a side of ice.”

  “Coming up,” he said.

  But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He stood there mesmerized by the sight of her. She looked as good in a waitressing uniform as she did in a flak jacket.

  “Something wrong? Do I have ranch on my uniform or something?” Lucy started patting down her clothes, looking for an offending spot.

  Dean felt the heat creep up his face. He hadn’t felt this confused since he’d been caught kissing Jeina Potts in fourth grade. Pulling the beers from the cooler he changed the subject.

  “What sightings?”

  Lucy checked the grill window to be sure Sally couldn’t hear, then leaned across the bar. “According to half of Roswell, the little green men are back.”

  “Huh?” Dean poured a double shot of the bourbon instead of a single, but placed it on Lucy’s tray anyway.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty strange. The reports vary a bit, but they all agree the lights appear in the desert near the Mescalero Indian Reservation. The Indians say it’s the old ones, coming back to fulfill the prophecy to rise up against the white man. Whatever it is, the sightings started sometime after midnight and ended before four this morning. Flying saucers, strange lights, the whole bit.”

  Lucy picked up her tray to go, but paused to give him one of her soul-searching looks.

  Dean nodded to convey he felt fine. She had stepped away, maneuvering through the crowded bar, which Dean realized was busier than normal, when the door opened again.

  Sheriff Eaton didn’t pause as he crossed the room. He took one look at Lucy, then headed straight for the bar. His hand remained on his sidearm.

  In a low, but clear voice, he said, “Dreiser, you’re under arrest.”

  LUCY’S PULSE KICKED up to double-time as she watched the way Eaton walked over to Dean and squared off. She couldn’t hear what he said over Bubba and Billy, but she could tell from the set of Dean’s jaw whatever it was didn’t make him happy.

  When Dean grabbed Emily to cover the bar and stepped out the back door, Eaton remained close behind him. Too close.

  “I’ll be right back with your drinks, boys.”

  “Don’t go yet, Lucy. This is the interesting part. See, the UFO hovered in the sky above where we parked. It was bigger than a Volkswagen Beetle.”

  Lucy had stepped away from the table when Colton grabbed her wrist. His hand was big and muscular and hairy, there was nothing boyish about it.

  “Bubba hasn’t finished yet, Lucy. It’s rude to walk away when someone’s talking.
”

  Instead of trying to twist away, Lucy stepped closer. Close enough to smell his sweat and the odor underneath, an odor she could only describe as meanness. Something she recognized from walking with her father on the streets of Boston. Some things smelled the same no matter where you encountered them.

  “You might want to let go of my wrist.”

  Bubba and Billy stopped midsentence, deciding it was safer to pick up their beers and concentrate on emptying them. Colton did what came natural. He stood up and loomed over her, giving Lucy the exact vantage point she had hoped for. She rammed her knee into his midsection, and, at the same time twisted her arm back and away.

  The big guy released her wrist and hit the floor, holding his stomach. “What did you do that for?”

  “Do we have a problem, boys?” Sally was standing beside the table, before Lucy even realized she had left the kitchen.

  “No problem,” Lucy said. “Colton fell. I’d like to take my break now.”

  Colton dragged himself back onto his chair, refusing to meet either woman’s eyes.

  “Hang on a minute, Lucy. Do you have a problem with the service here, Colton?” Sally’s voice dared him to give her a reason to show him the door.

  “This beer isn’t even cold.”

  “You’re welcome to go somewhere else.” Sally leaned on the baseball bat she had brought with her, studying them as if she could figure out what had transpired between them. Finally, she nodded at Lucy. “Go on and take your break. Make it short though. We’ve got a full house tonight.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lucy fled out the back door, before Sally could change her mind. She stepped out into the night. Even in the alley’s near-darkness, she had no trouble finding Dean and Eaton.

  The sheriff had Dean down on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back and was reading him his rights.

  Dean shot her a warning look. “Stay out of this, Lucy.”

  “Why are you arresting Dean?”