“Always. Doc Felton owns this land all the way to the river. Someday he’ll bring in a research team to investigate and document the site. But for the moment, we’ll guard its secrets. After so many centuries, a few more years won’t matter.”
Wind sailed past the high canyon walls and Tess’s hair fluttered over her cheeks.
T.J. looked away, scanning the slopes. Tess realized he was edgy, too alert. “You think someone’s out there?”
“No, but I want to get you back to the Blazer. Can you move?”
T.J. saw her grit her teeth, watched her fingers tighten. He hated having to put her through more pain, but they couldn’t stay there. He needed to get her back to town so Doc Felton could check her out.
“No choice?”
“Afraid not.”
Her mouth set into a thin line. “In that case, let’s go.”
As gently as possible, he helped her stand. When he saw how unsteady she was, he lifted her and carried her down the slope. Her body was rigid by the time he broke out of the shadow of the piñons, with the trucks just beyond. She had rare courage, he thought. He knew she hurt everywhere, but she hadn’t uttered one complaint.
“How are you doing?”
“Let’s just say I won’t be performing Swan Lake anywhere tonight.” Her hands were digging into his shoulders.
T.J. eased her higher, trying to rock with every motion to smooth his steps. That concentration was why he didn’t notice that the Blazer was leaning at an angle.
He snapped out a curse.
“What?”
The tires were slashed through, and the car was resting flat on its rims. They wouldn’t be going anywhere in his vehicle, he thought, scanning the slope below. Nothing moved. There was no sight of anyone slipping into the brush.
Damn and blast, who had done this?
He remembered Mae’s truck, which was just past a low rim of junipers. T.J. strode past his Blazer, then saw that the red truck had suffered the same fate. His hands tightened on Tess’s waist. He couldn’t keep her exposed, in the event they were being watched.
“How are you feeling?”
“Kind of funny. Floating.”
Not a good sign, he thought, sliding open the passenger door on the Blazer. Her eyes were closed, and she hadn’t seen the damage to the tires. He decided that was probably a good thing. He pulled out his phone and punched in the number of the radio dispatcher, giving terse directions to send someone up as soon as possible.
“Why did you say that?” Tess was studying him curiously.
“Something’s wrong with the Blazer.”
“Mae’s truck is just over the hill.”
“Looks like that’s not working so well either.”
“You didn’t try it.”
He settled her against his arm. “The tires have been cut.”
He felt her tense instantly. “Are they out there now?”
“Hard to say. You let me worry about that.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never expected they would be here.”
“We’ll deal with that later,” he said grimly. He was pulling a blanket over her, when a shell exploded down the ridge. T.J. sank down, covering Tess with his body while he scanned the trees below them.
“Was that a gun?”
“No doubt about it.” T.J. sat up, turned the key, and shoved the Blazer into gear. Even with ruined tires, he could make his way up to the blind face of the cliff and turn around so that the passenger door pressed up against the rock face. Then Tess would be protected and he would have a clear shot at anyone foolish enough to try to rush him.
He pulled down his rifle and loaded it, then drew it onto his lap. After that he checked his holstered pistol.
She was staring at him in mute fear as he picked up the radio and was put through to his deputy, Tom Martinez, who was on his way up.
“Keep your eyes open,” he said tightly. “A shot was just fired. If you see anyone on the road, I want a clear ID and plate numbers. And take precautions. This could be some cult or it could be vagrants. Don’t get out of your car without checking the scene, understood?”
He put the radio away, then reached to take Tess’s pulse. Sharp and jerky, just as he’d expected.
She swallowed. “Going hunting for bear, Sheriff?” There was a note of fear in voice.
“Just staying safe,” he said. “I noticed there’s a truck on its way up here.”
“A friend of yours?”
“I can’t say for sure.” He cut off her questions, holding the canteen to her mouth and dribbling water over her lips, then soaked his bandanna and laid it over her face. The rumble was growing louder by the minute.
“You don’t think it’s one of them, do you?”
Both of them knew who she meant. T.J. didn’t try to pretend otherwise. “Hard to say, but I’m taking no chances.” He stared down the hill at the dust rising in scattered plumes. “I’ll leave the canteen here with you.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just a few feet up into those rocks.” To a place where he’d have perfect aim at anyone climbing the narrow path. “No one can get into the car without getting past me,” he grated.
The truck’s rumble grew louder, blocking out the wind.
“Go on, McCall. I’ll be waiting.”
He slid outside, then crouched low, making his way to a small fissure in the rocks that gave him a clear view—and a place to rest his rifle, should it be necessary. With his binoculars, he scanned the slope again and saw a truck halt at the edge of the wash near the road. He squinted as a man emerged, his features shadowed by a black Stetson.
The driver said a few words to someone in the truck, then turned, one hand shielding his eyes as he looked up in the foothills.
Light reflected off metal. Field glasses possibly.
T.J. watched the man shove back his hat and scratch his head. There was something familiar in the gesture.
Suddenly, it struck him. The driver was Tom Stoner, who owned the Lazy C Ranch beyond the river. T.J. climbed up the rock, waving his arms broadly. Then he squeezed off one shot in the air for good measure.
Metal flashed again and T.J. saw the old rancher surveying the boulders where he stood. T.J. gave another broad wave of his hat, grinning as the old man climbed back into the truck and headed upward.
When the leathery-faced rancher jumped out of his truck, he stared at T.J. with concern. “I thought that was you, Sheriff. I picked up your conversation with Tom Martinez on the CB and thought you could use a hand. Something wrong with your Blazer?”
“Tires slashed. Same with Mae’s Explorer.”
The rancher scowled at the stark line of cliffs. “Slashed? Now, who would do a fool thing like that?”
T.J. chose his next words carefully. “It could have been a vagrant. Maybe someone is dug in up here and doesn’t want visitors. I’ll check it out later. Ms. O’Mara fell and she’s in no state to walk to town. Can you give us a ride back in the truck?”
“No problem. I was on my way to town anyway. One of my workers went and cut himself with a saw and I need to get him to Doc Felton.”
T.J. saw the man leaning sideways in the front seat. “Give me a minute to get Tess down here.”
“Is it safe?” she asked with a bleak smile as he sprinted toward her.
“Better than safe. The truck belongs to Tom Stoner, a local rancher. He’ll drive us back.” He helped her slowly to her feet, noting the lines of strain at her mouth.
After a terse introduction, he settled Tess on the front seat and squatted behind it. Soon Tom was rambling on about grazing rights and stock prices. T.J. looked out the back window at the slope behind them. Nothing moved in the piñons. Only a hawk soared above the cliffs, gliding on the high currents. Only shadows dappled the worn, weathered rocks.
But as they slowly drove back down the pitted wash, light touched the roof of the cave, shimmering around the broken walls and roofless, slanting towers.
> All wrong, he thought. There should have been movement and laughter and activity—anything but this bleak silence. Something pricked between his shoulder blades, almost like a memory.
But he forced his head to turn away and shoved that uncomfortable sense of awareness from his mind.
Doc Felton was waiting in his office when they reached town, thanks to a call on the rancher’s cellular phone.
Tess was determined to hobble into the doctor’s office, but T.J. scooped her up in his arms and carried her past a line of interested bystanders into the waiting room.
“I heard you have some nice bruises, young lady. Let’s be certain there’s nothing more,” Doc Felton said as T.J. settled her in an examining room.
“Well, what do you think?” T.J. demanded.
“You just brought her in, boy. I don’t think anything yet.” Doc Felton shined a light into Tess’s eyes, checked her pulse, then asked her to raise each hand in turn.
“So?”
“Be quiet,” the doctor snapped. “You want me to make him leave?” he asked Tess.
“No, it’s all right.” She flushed as T.J. gave her a narrowed look.
T.J. jammed his hands into his pockets. “For the record, neither of you are getting me to leave.”
The doctor ran a hand along Tess’s neck and shoulders, probing gently for signs of trauma, while T.J. watched in growing impatience. “Is anything broken?”
“I don’t see any signs of concussion and Ms. O’Mara’s vital signs appear to be normal. She has some superficial scrapes but nothing serious. That being the case, I’m going to have a look at Tom Stoner’s man, who needs stitches.” He frowned at T.J. “Why don’t you go attend to some police business and let Ms. O’Mara get her bearings?”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” Doc Felton crossed his arms. “In this room, I’m the law. You’d better remember that, Sheriff.” He waved T.J. out, then nodded at Tess. “Now, you, my dear, are going to close your eyes and rest. Doc Felton’s orders.”
“So what do you think really happened?” Head bowed, Tom Stoner paced back and forth, frowning down at the oleander bushes outside Doc Felton’s office.
T.J. hesitated to mention the gunshot he’d heard. “Have you seen anything odd in those foothills lately? Strange activity or people who don’t belong?”
“We get vagrants now and again. Sometimes they come in from Mexico and move on north.” The rancher’s face reddened beneath his deep tan. “Lately I’ve seen only those damned survivalists. They tear around the desert in their dune buggies and campers, frightening my cattle. Last week I found a heifer down in a box canyon with her neck broken. Someone should run that whole outfit off, if you ask me.”
“They’ve got a right to be on the land they purchased, just the same as we do,” T.J. said dryly. “It’s called the American way. Now, if they’re on public land, that’s something else.”
“Reckon they were,” the rancher said slowly. “I saw them out beyond the Needle yesterday. Looked like they might have been building some kind of temporary camp up there.”
T.J. stored that away for future reference. “Anything else you’ve seen up there?”
“Couple of dead coyotes, I guess.”
“When?”
The rancher squinted down the street and scratched his jaw. “Two—maybe three days ago.”
“Any idea what killed them?”
The old man shrugged. “Didn’t check. I figured it was a snake or some kind of disease. Why?”
Carefully T.J. toed a line in the dirt. “Miguel found two dead coyotes up there last week. He thinks it might be some new kind of poison.”
“Sounds like nasty stuff.”
“Maybe your foreman could bag up one of those carcasses and bring it in. I’d like to run a few tests.”
“I can send someone up right now.”
“No need to do it this second,” T.J. said. “I’m going back up myself to take a look around.”
“Don’t blame you. Can’t imagine anyone fool enough to tangle with you.” He shook his head slowly. “Could be those survivalists. They must have ten or twenty children in that camp up there, and not a doctor or teacher in sight. Probably breaking a dozen laws, taking drugs and Lord knows what else.”
T.J. shoved back his hat, his eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you’ve seen signs of drug use or sale up there?”
“Hell if I know. Just seems that someone’s always coming or going.” The rancher shook his head. “But that hasn’t bothered you before, Sheriff. Makes me wonder if you haven’t already taken sides.”
“No one’s taking sides here, Tom.”
“No?” The old man sniffed. “Sure could have fooled me. Why not just hand them the keys to the courthouse while you’re at it?”
T.J. tried to contain his irritation as the man walked stiffly back to his truck.
Tom Stoner was known to be wary of outsiders, but he was no kook, and two more dead coyotes couldn’t be explained away as an accident. A visit to the survivalist camp would be his next priority.
But first he was going to recheck the wash. He hadn’t imagined that gunshot.
He waited only long enough to hammer out instructions to Grady, who was going off duty in ten minutes. “Will you keep an eye on Tess for an hour or so while Doc finishes checking her out? I want to go back up into the hills. This time I’m borrowing a mount from the Bar W and going in from the west. No truck can cover those hills as well as a horse.”
“No problem, Sheriff. You think you can find out who slashed your tires?”
“I mean to try.”
Grady looked genuinely stunned. “You don’t suspect someone from Almost?”
“I’m suspecting anyone and everyone until I know different. One more thing, Grady. No matter what she says, don’t let Tess out of your sight, not for a minute. Don’t leave anyone alone with her either.”
Grady scratched his head. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re saying here, Sheriff.”
“Just what it sounds like. Either someone has followed Tess here, or it was someone from town. I’m not taking any chances one way or another.”
“I don’t like it.” Grady rubbed his jaw. “These are people I’ve lived with for years. I don’t like looking at them and wondering what they might be hiding.”
“You think I like it?” T.J. jammed his hat down hard on his head. “But that’s the way it is, understand?”
Grady suddenly straightened. “What about me? Why aren’t you considering me a suspect? I was out on police business most of the morning. I had time to follow you up to the ruins.”
McCall gave a crooked grin. “I’m not worried about you, Grady. In that broken-down truck of yours, the whole town would have heard you coming and going. Besides,” he called over his shoulder, “you’re such a bad shot that if you tried to aim east, the bullet would still end up somewhere in California.”
T.J. reined in his horse at the edge of the piñon forest an hour later.
He sat easily in the saddle, getting a sense of the terrain and all the places a man might hide without being seen. He took a slow swallow from his canteen, then replaced it carefully.
Late afternoon sunlight streamed over the canyons as he turned his horse in a wide loop. He meant to cover all the narrow side canyons and the foothills near the ruins. He was looking for anything and nothing, knowing that preconceived notions about what he might find would cloud his search.
At the edge of a dry wash, he dismounted, inspecting the ground carefully. He saw the marks made by Tess’s boots beneath an ancient piñon. Now, why had she left the trail there, he wondered. How had Tess known about this path when even he and Doc Felton hadn’t known it was there?
Farther up the wash he came across a narrow, heavily overgrown path that wound up the slope to the cliff. He followed the tracks and cursed as they vanished into a rocky ridge that led out of the wash to the north, disappearing behind boulders and piñon. Once again, he felt te
nsion build in his neck.
A twig snapped not far away. T.J. spun around, gun level, scanning the area.
A deer turned and vanished into a thicket.
Cursing his rampant imagination, he holstered his gun and picked his way upward where the dry creek fanned out into a promontory that gave a perfect view of the valley. He covered the rocky slope on foot, studying the terrain. A flash of color caught his eyes. Bending down, he found a spent brass rifle shell: 30-06 caliber. He raised the shell to his nose and sniffed.
Fresh—fired within the last couple of hours.
Carefully, he wrapped up the casing and slid it into his pocket, hoping that the forensics team in Tucson could give him more information, though he knew it was unlikely. Virtually every hunter in America would have a 30-06. His only chance of identifying the person who fired at them earlier would be to find the gun itself and match the markings on the spent shells.
Muscles knotted along the back of his neck as he straightened and stared into the sunlight. Someone could have stood right here and surveyed the whole valley, unseen. With a good rifle and decent aim, there was no reason they should have missed either himself or Tess.
But they had.
Why?
One thing was certain. Tess wouldn’t be leaving his side from now on.
McCall was about to make his way back down the talus slope when he saw a shape beneath a patch of sage and low trees. Pebbles scattered as he jumped down, pushing aside the greenery to scan the ground beneath.
His eyes glittered with anger at the sight of a mother and three coyote pups. All dead.
15
Questions left T.J. with a sour taste in his mouth and a bad temper as he strode into Doc Felton’s office. He bypassed the curious receptionist and headed straight back to the exam room Tess occupied.
After one knock, he pulled the door open, his gaze homing straight in on Tess. He took one look at her drawn, pale face and decided to dispense with his questions—for now.
T.J. wanted to gather her close, wipe away her pain and uncertainty. Of course, he also wanted to give her a thorough tongue-lashing for putting herself in danger.
2000 Kisses Page 18