Just his luck.
T. J. McCall frowned at the electronic beep coming from somewhere in his dusty denim pocket.
Not the beeper. This time it was the cell phone.
He shifted the reins into one hand and soothed his bay gelding with the other, then dug for the phone. “What?” he snapped as wind whipped dust and twigs around his face.
“Is that all you’ve got to say to an old friend?”
The cowboy’s mouth tightened, drawing lines into his deeply tanned face. “If this is a prank call, you’re gonna be real sorry come sundown.”
“Prank call? You wound me.” Low laughter spilled over the line. “How soon they forget.”
“O’Mara? Damn, is that you?” McCall guided his quarter horse around a stand of prickly pear cactus and smiled.
“None other. How’s life at the little house on the prairie?”
“Wrong state. Wrong century.” T. J. McCall shoved back his sweaty Stetson and eased past a dry wash bordered by treacherous slip rock. “Wrong ecosystem.”
“Says you. What’s a cowboy know about ecosystems?”
“Hell of a lot more than a T-man from Georgetown.”
“You got a point there. What’s all that noise?”
“That’s not noise, it’s cattle. Three hundred prime Brahman steers to be exact, not that you’d know the difference. It’s time to move them down to pasture.”
“You really did leave it all behind, didn’t you?” Andrew O’ Mara was silent for a moment. Then he snorted. “Can you still shoot a match out of a matchbook at two hundred feet?”
“Maybe. I gave up smoking so who knows?”
Andrew O’Mara hesitated. “Listen, I’ve got something for you, McCall. It’s important.”
T. J. McCall stared at the ragged line of the mountains shimmering like smoke above the vast green floor of the Sonoran Desert. “Forget it, O’Mara. I’m out of the business.”
“No one as good as you were ever pulls out.”
“Wrong.”
“Anytime you want back in, I’ll make the call. You could have a Capitol assignment inside of a week. Probably Presidential in six months.”
The cowboy sat up straighter, the cell phone gripped in hard, work-worn fingers. “I said forget it, O’Mara.”
“Okay, I will. For now.” Andrew cursed softly. “Meanwhile, this is a favor, McCall. It’s personal.”
“Say again.”
“You heard right.” Wind hissed, shaking the green clusters of a dense palo verde. T. J. McCall wiped a dusty bandanna over his sunburned forehead and frowned.
The silence held. Both men knew that a line had been crossed, all the normal formalities broken. Personal meant someone near and dear was in trouble. Personal was something you never refused, because next time you might be on the asking end.
Damn, why did it have to be personal? T.J. thought in disgust.
“McCall? You still there?”
“Right here. I sure wish I wasn’t.”
O’Mara took a long, harsh breath. “I don’t like asking favors, but it’s my baby sister. I think she’s in trouble.”
“Drugs?”
“Tess? She gets high on two aspirins and a cold soda. No possible drug problems with her.” O’Mara chuckled grimly. “Not unless Starbucks coffee and Belgian chocolate have been upgraded to the controlled substances category.”
T.J. smiled, being the proud possessor of a fairly developed sweet tooth himself. “Alcohol abuse? Don’t tell me it’s some kind of man trouble.”
“No way. Tess’s idea of a hot date is curling up with the latest issue of The Wall Street Journal. Everything’s business with her.”
T.J.’s lips twitched. “Good to see someone in the O’Mara family has to work hard to make a living. All the same, I don’t see how I can help you.” T.J. grabbed his battered Stetson as wind whipped down from the high ridges. His eyes narrowed as he studied the line of thunderheads gathering in the west.
“Just hear me out, McCall.”
The cowboy rocked back in his saddle to the squeak of well-oiled leather. “You’d better talk fast. I’ve got a storm system moving in and three hundred restless cows nudging my tail. Right now they don’t look very happy. In a second this cell phone’s going to fade out of range and you’ll be stuck, since I’m not heading back to town until later in the day. Might be one or two days if this storm holds out.”
“I’ll talk fast.” O’Mara’s voice hardened. “I’m sending her to you, T.J. Take care of her. If things work out the way I think, she’s going to need your help—along with a lot of luck.”
“Listen, Andrew, I don’t have time to—”
T.J. cursed softly as the answering voice broke into static. Wind whipped pebbles and dust, cutting off his vision just as a nasty-tempered steer named Diablo took a plunge toward a steep dry wash.
T.J. spurred his mount forward and tried to forget all about Andrew O’Mara and his irritating sister.
Tess looked up from her map and gave a long, silent whistle.
A rolling sea of green stretched before her beneath the blazing sun. Low trees and dense shrubs straddled rocky washes on both sides of the highway. To the north and south jagged mountains rose to a blinding turquoise sky. Silence clung to the high canyons and light shimmered on rugged, red rock cliffs.
Where she was sitting was a long way from Boston. Actually, it was a long way from anywhere.
She rolled down her window and gasped. Hot, dry air filled her lungs, rich with an exotic blend of sage, juniper, and blooming rosemary. So now she knew what the desert smelled like—fragile, exotic, and full of life, a universe away from the carbon monoxide and sea tang of Boston.
Wind rushed down an arroyo, spinning eddies of sand that hissed around the wheels of her Mercedes. For a moment the road before her was hidden in a veil of pebbles and twigs of dried sagebrush. She slid from behind the wheel and stretched slowly. Her shoulders ached and her new boots were dirty, but she was enjoying the trip more than she’d thought she would. The bright sun and hot weather suited her. So did the sense of high adventure.
She fingered her jacket guiltily.
It hadn’t been all that expensive. Besides, she’d bought it before she’d discovered that the money in her bank account might not be hers to spend.
But for four days now her brother’s suspicions had gnawed at her. She wondered if someone was tracking her right now.
Impossible, she thought. No doubt Andrew was simply being overcautious. She expected that when she finally reached Almost, there would be a jovial message from him assuring her that everything was fine and she could turn around and head home.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw something flash behind her in the deserted line of asphalt snaking back into New Mexico. Tess looked back, frowning. Was it a chrome hood ornament? The shimmer of a rearview mirror?
The uneasiness that had plagued her over the long drive raced into full-fledged panic at the thought that she had been followed here. But how? There had been no other cars on the road since she’d left the interstate.
A black RV lumbered out of the whirling dust to the west and swung wide onto the highway. Tess jumped back into her car and locked the doors. She had just started the motor when the huge vehicle fishtailed to a noisy halt in front of her, blocking the road.
A man poked his head out of the driver’s window and shoved back a pair of mirrored sun glasses. “Nice car.”
Tess cautiously lowered the window a few inches. “Er—thank you.”
“Mercedes Cabriolet. Pretty damned snappy. Must have cost a bundle.”
Tess fingered the gear shift. She was ready to shoot into reverse when she realized a cactus stood right behind her. She nodded uneasily, painfully aware that she was alone in the middle of nowhere, and this man was a complete stranger.
“Three-point-two-liter V-6 engine. Leather seats, I bet.” The driver poked his head out farther, studying Tess intently. “Not from around here, are you?”
“No.”
“You headed for Tucson?”
“Er—no. Albuquerque,” Tess lied.
“In that case, you’re headed in the wrong direction. This road goes west.”
Tess gave a noncommittal shrug. “I guess I missed a turn back there. I’d better get going. I’ve got people waiting for me,” she lied. “Maybe you could just move your RV so I can—”
His eyes narrowed. “How long since you left L.A.?”
“A few days.”
The driver shaded his eyes, staring at the tangle of lace underwear spilling out of the bag on the passenger seat.
Nervously, she shoved the lace camisoles down out of sight, then pulled her jacket across them.
“Did you hear about the food riots?” His eyes took on a bright, almost fanatical gleam. “We read all about it on the Internet last night. Stick around and watch technology flame right into oblivion.”
Tess had occasionally listened to the radio on her drive, but she hadn’t heard anything about food riots or power grid failures. “Everything was fine when I left.”
The man scowled. “Like hell. We’ve heard reports from northern Canada up through Alaska. They’ve had RTU failures on the offshore oil rigs, and shipping was closed down tight.”
Tess stared in amazement. “They must not have reported that on the radio.”
“Hell, no. Got to keep people quiet. Got to make things seem safe.” He made a sharp gesture with one hand. “Damned government says jump and the press can’t move fast enough. The big cities are going next. Damned scavengers will be roaming the country like animals. You got a rifle with you?”
Tess swallowed hard. “Gee, I knew there was something I forgot to pack. I only took my pistol and ammo.”
His eyes focused, probing Tess and the dusty car. “You sure you’re not lost?”
“Not a chance. I know these roads like the back of my hand. But my friends are waiting, and I don’t want to be late, so I’d appreciate it if you’d back out of my way.”
He didn’t move. “Real nice car,” he drawled. “Pretty lonely place for a woman to be driving a sporty little thing like that.”
Tess felt her heart slam against her chest. “Heck, no. Me and my pistol, we’re a team. Nobody’s going to mess with us.”
He smiled as he opened his door.
Tess didn’t wait any longer. Her hands were shaking as she whipped backward and made a ragged U-turn, taking off the edge of a cactus and a chunk of paint in the process, and then sped down a narrow dirt road with her gas pedal to the floor. The Mercedes banged along the lonely road, washboard grooves making her teeth rattle. She took a quick glimpse at her map, then made a hard right onto a single-lane paved road. She checked the mirror and gave a sigh of relief when she saw that the RV had disappeared. Only then did real panic kick in.
Her hands began to shake so hard that she careened off the road into the dirt, while gravel spun up in a cloud. Suddenly the rear tires hissed, then mired down tight.
Tess slammed into reverse, her back tires smoking as they spun up dry sand and slip rock. She shot the gear into low and gunned the motor, her foot to the floor.
No luck. The tires screamed, but the car didn’t move.
Finally Tess shoved the car into park and got out, staring down at the front wheel buried up to the axle in powdery sand.
Stuck solid.
Just perfect.
She turned, glaring out at the horizon. She was miles from any major city, the victim of a map that was probably years out of date. Behind her a dirt road snaked over boulders and twisted hills, shimmering in a heat haze like one of the vintage movies she’d loved.
It would have been wonderful if she had been sitting in an air-conditioned theater enjoying the view, instead of breathing CO2 fumes and sand particles. She stalked around to the back and kicked the dusty rear tire, wincing as she nearly broke her toe. What was she going to do now?
Wind shook the velvet leaves of a mesquite tree, and somewhere nearby a cactus sparrow twittered from a sage bush, mocking her misery.
Tess’s shoulders slumped. The Mercedes couldn’t move without help. Given the endless miles of desert around her, walking definitely wasn’t an option.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tess saw a brown shape slide out of a tangle of bushes above the wash, ears erect and long tongue lagging. Every movement of the spare body was economical and wary.
A coyote.
An honest-to-heaven, in-the-flesh coyote. Now, that was something you didn’t see in Harvard Square or Copley Place.
Tess clenched her fists. She was gritty and thirsty and hot, several hours from any sizable dot on the map, and whining wasn’t going to help her get out of the wash. She had a cell phone in the car, but it hadn’t worked since St. Louis, and Tess hadn’t had a chance to stop to have it repaired.
She drummed her fingers on the hood of the car, watching the coyote.
The animal stood frozen, thirty feet away, face to the wind and ears erect. Its keen eyes tracked her, then the coyote turned abruptly to the mountains, jumping across the arroyo. His paws dug briefly into the sand before finding traction in a narrow strip of scrub and wild-flowers.
Tess stood up sharply. Traction. That’s what she needed.
She scanned the backseat and saw her new suede jacket. Even one tire track would mark the fine leather, but she had no choice. Tess drew a long breath. Never mind that it had cost her a month’s salary. She could buy another one—assuming she managed to get out of the wash alive.
She spread the coat over the sand behind her rear tire, backed up slowly, then jolted forward with her wheels spinning. Sand and gravel scattered, but the car didn’t pull free.
Too much weight.
Tess inspected the packed seats and hurled two heavy suitcases out the window. Sweaters, overcoats, and tailored business suits spilled out on impact, scattering over the sandy earth.
Whispering a prayer, she hit the gas again and sat frozen while the engine whined. She tried not to envision her bleached bones littering the lonely wash, discovered by some backpacker from Tucson a year or two later.
The back wheel rocked, then bit into her coat. The car shook and leapt up the sandy grade. Tess gave a shriek of joy and climbed entirely back onto the road before coasting to a halt.
Silence lay heavy over the wash. Her hands shook as she picked up her jacket and suitcases, then checked her battered map. Her next major turn should take her to Almost. If she was very lucky, she might arrive in time for lunch.
Tess slid behind the wheel and looked south, where a paved road crested the rise. Far in the distance she saw a dark outline.
Masonry walls.
Ruined roof beams.
She sat up straighter. Her heart did a jerky dance as she was struck by a sense of blinding familiarity.
Impossible.
Dust rose, blocking her view. When she looked back, the ruined walls were gone, lost in rippling waves of heat, as if they had been no more than a mirage.
He watched, high on a jagged ridge.
His face was deeply lined, the color of the weathered sandstone where he crouched, his body insubstantial in the shimmer of midday’s heat. He made no sound, staring south, where a retreating car sent plumes of dust across the road.
Somewhere a coyote howled from the chaparral. The old man did not move or raise his eyes from the car sliding behind a hill, not even when the first coyote’s cry was met by another and another.
He smiled at the sound.
So the “little wolves” were still here, guarding these bare slopes. Perhaps it was just as well that they favored the higher ground where shadows raced beside ancient saguaros. Here there was no one to threaten or chase the wild creatures. Here there were only ghosts, shadows cast by ruined walls built by civilizations long vanished into dust.
He studied the clouds as wind brushed the mesquites. With a sigh he straightened his shoulders. She had come back, bringing darkness in her wake, j
ust as she had long before. His fingers dug into the dirt as the coyotes raised their unearthly lament to echo off the high cliffs.
He turned away.
Veiled in the changing light, he began a chant older than the ruined walls above him, raising the sound to the sky until power rang through his chest. He could challenge or assist, control or deceive. A new millennium had come, but he knew that men’s hearts did not change. Greed, envy, and fear walked just as they had centuries before.
Those who lived here spoke often of history and legend. Now they were about to learn that legends always had their cost.
“What do you mean the money isn’t there? What kind of game are you playing?”
“It’s not there. I’m looking at my account right now, dammit. Your last eight deposits are missing!”
“That’s impossible.” He had coded them himself.
“Tell that to the man who’s flying in tonight from Seattle.”
“That’s not necessary,” he replied in a deadly cold voice. “We’ll find the problem and take care of it from our end. We always do.”
“Damn straight, we’ll find the problem. But if you’d like to stay alive, you’ll find it for us first.”
The phone clicked off.
He stared at the receiver.
He hadn’t made a mistake. Had he?
4
Sheriff Jackson McCall was almost asleep.
His chair was cocked to forty-five degrees against a split-rail fence in front of the sheriff’s office.
“T.J., you there?”
The tall cowboy, known as T.J. to his friends, scowled and shoved his Stetson lower on his head. He’d been up most of the prior twenty-four hours running down stray stock from a neighboring ranch and he wasn’t overly pleased to be roused from a colorful dream involving palm trees, cool water, and a dozen nearly naked women in red sarongs.
His handset buzzed again. “T.J., I know you’re there, and I know this blamed radio works, so you’d better answer me.”
The sheriff of Almost, Arizona, didn’t move a muscle beneath his battered Stetson. “What is it, Grady? Another hitchhiker with a sign warning us the world has ended?”
2000 Kisses Page 5