by Carolyn Hart
They couldn’t see, of course. The night was a wild melange of darkness and brief wavering light, slatting water and rushing rivulets, but they kept going, trusting to memory, to their years together, to a knowledge born of experience.
Serena strained to see whenever the lightning burned the night sky, but she found no trace of Will.
Should she have hurried faster, tried to follow him? But she had to trust her own hunch. She had to find Joe.
Usually, it took ten minutes to ride the broad flat trail that ended on a bluff overlooking the river. Tonight, she struggled through the wind and rain for almost a half-hour. Her hands were numb with cold by the time she reined in Hurricane beneath the cottonwood tree that bent and creaked in the wind. She dismounted, dropping the reins in front of Hurricane.
The storm’s fury struck her full force when she began her descent. Wind howled and shrieked around her. Rain pummeled her back. Serena edged carefully down, clinging to exposed roots and sharp-edged bits of rock.
She almost missed the cave mouth. It was even narrower than she remembered, an oblique slit in the rock face, half-hidden by a boulder.
Serena paused in the narrow opening. Darkness pressed against her eyes.
“Joe?”
She whispered and the light sound of her voice vanished into emptiness.
“Joe.”
She yanked the flashlight out of her pocket and switched it on. Dark shapes began to move above her, fluttering and turning, a band of bats startled into motion.
The flashlight beam dipped toward the back of the cave then froze like a stage spotlight until it began to bounce, throwing wild shadows against the walls, as Serena half-ran, half-stumbled the length of the cave to drop beside a still figure.
Serena’s hands trembled uncontrollably. The light wavered up and down but she could see clearly, too clearly. The back of Joe’s head looked soft and misshapen, and dark brownish splotches of blood spread thickly beside him.
She reached out, touched the hand curled so defenselessly. Cold. Cold and stiff.
Serena huddled beside him, her head pressed against her knees. She didn’t cry. There would be time later for tears. She sat in an agony of loss and horror.
If she hadn’t gone in to Santa Fe . . . Oh Joe, Joe . . .
Finally, she lifted her head and stared somberly at his body. It was clear now what had happened. Joe had taken Danny away from the hacienda, hidden him to keep him safe, left a message for Serena in the Kachina doll. But someone else found and read that message and came to the cave.
Serena stared at the bloodied back of Joe’s head. That told a story, too. The killer must have claimed Serena sent him, must have gained Joe’s confidence.
Serena worked it out. The killer came to the cave, talked to Joe, pretended Serena had sent him. Joe, glad perhaps to share the responsibility of Danny, must have revealed the boy’s hiding place. They turned to go, Joe leading the way, and, savagely, brutally, a raised hand slammed downward.
Stiffly, Serena started to get up. The flashlight dipped forward. Abruptly, Serena held it steady, focused the beam just beyond Joe’s outstretched hand.
Blood dries a dark brown.
Joe had almost finished his message. Thin uneven letters straggled away into a smear. But there was enough. ANASA and part of a Z. Joe had used his last weakening spurt of life to try and save Danny.
How much time, Serena wondered, did she have? Or had time already run out for Danny? Had someone stalked him as he waited for Joe to return to the cliffside dwellings built so long ago by the Anasazi, the Old People. The golden adobe ruins clung to the cliff, accessible only by a man-made footbridge or by a narrow rock bridge that curved over the canyon.
Time or no time, Serena had no choice. She must go. She was Danny’s only chance, slim as it might be. If she returned to the ranch, the killer would have plenty of time to find Danny and kill him, making it possible to rid the ranch of Serena, making it safe to use the ranch for every kind of smuggling.
When she came out of the cave, the storm took her breath away, the rain water blinded her. Another time she would have thought the climb back up the bluff impossible, but tonight her desperate determination to reach Danny propelled her up.
Hurricane stood waiting with his back to the sharply slanting rain. Serena mounted and turned his head toward the mountain path. He held back for just a moment, then, when she insisted, started forward.
Wonderful horse. Gallant, courageous, superb horse. Soon they were flying through the darkness, both of them straining ahead, the rain and thunder and jagged streaks of lightning surrounding them like a devil’s chorus. As they climbed higher, moved up into the fir-thick forest, the trees absorbed the violence of the rain but the lightning danced and crackled in the tree tops. Off to the left, a tree blazed. Serena’s yellow poncho glistened in the smoky light.
She made the turn that led up to the cliff houses and knew the hardest part lay ahead. She didn’t dare use the rope bridge. She would be too vulnerable, too open to attack.
That left the rock bridge.
Once she paused, thinking she heard movement behind her, but strain as she might she couldn’t distinguish any sound from the creaking of the trees and moaning of the wind and almost incessant roll of thunder, deep and heavy as wagon wheels crossing a wooden bridge.
She slowed Hurricane to a cautious walk as they neared the canyon. Abruptly, Hurricane stopped. Serena knew they must be near the precipitous cliff edge. She dismounted and risked a quick look with the flash. Yes, there was the edge only feet away. She turned the light off and welcomed the night’s embrace. A killer moved somewhere near her. Light could betray her.
It was obvious, of course, why the killer had to wait until tonight to go after Danny. He had managed to break away from his search group this morning to find Joe, but there hadn’t been time to go after Danny. Besides, one of the search parties might see him and he couldn’t afford to be glimpsed near the cliff dwellings. The search parties must have checked there today, but Joe would have told Danny to keep very quiet, and there wouldn’t have been time to look in all the hundreds of rooms.
Once the killer murdered Joe, he had felt secure in the knowledge that only he knew Danny’s hiding place. He could wait for the cover of night to slip up the mountain to the cliff dwellings.
He hadn’t counted on the ferocity of the storm.
Or on Serena.
There still should be time. If she could reach the canyon before him or soon after . . .
Serena hesitated at the cliff edge. Far below water roared as it churned through the narrow canyon, bubbling and swirling, a roiling implacable mass. She must decide what to do about Hurricane. He couldn’t make the descent, not in the rain and dark, though the intensity of the storm was beginning to lessen. If she hung the reins down in front, he would wait until she returned. But she needed desperately to get word to Castle Rock. Reaching up, she rubbed Hurricane gently behind an ear.
Could he possibly understand what she wanted him to do?
It was worth a try.
It meant turning the light back on, keeping it on interminably long seconds. When she finished, she looked at it and wondered if anyone would ever see it.
It depended upon how closely they looked at her saddle. But a riderless horse occasions a close look. That had to be her hope. She stared down at the saddle, at the word Anasazi scratched across the leather. The metal tip on the end of her reins had gouged out the letters that straggled unevenly against the dark wet leather.
ANASAZI.
All right. She slipped the rifle out of the holster, patted Hurricane one more time, then lifted the reins, tied them in a loose knot over the saddle horn, turned him to head down the trail, and slapped him gently on the rump. “Go home, Hurricane, go home.”
The horse moved a step or two away, then looked back over his shoulder. She slapped his rump again. “Home, Hurricane, home.”
He began to move away and then he was gone.
Soon she must cross above that violently rushing water.
That moment came sooner and was worse than she expected.
A natural bridge spanned a fifteen-foot wide chasm. Serena could remember clambering over it, like a monkey in a ship’s rigging, when she was little and they came to the cliff dwelling for picnics. But those were sunny days and the rock was dry.
She risked a full sweep of light over the bridge then wished she hadn’t. It glimmered mistily, the stone glistening with wetness. The rain fell now in a gentle sweep, making the rock glassy and dangerous to hold, slick as mica.
She didn’t point the light down into the canyon. She didn’t want to see the foaming hurtling water.
She stuffed the flash back into her poncho pocket and stood thoughtfully, holding the rifle.
She needed both hands to cross.
But a merciless killer was somewhere near, perhaps waiting on the other side, perhaps coming up hard behind, hurrying to remove the obstacle to his domination of Castle Rock.
Serena reached inside the slicker, undid her belt and pulled it off. She threaded it through the trigger guard of the rifle, closed the belt, and slipped it over her head so the rifle hung down her back.
Edging out onto the rock, she felt her boots start to slip at her first step. Dropping to her knees, she reached out with her hands and carefully began to inch out, moving slowly, steadily, trying to keep her muscles loose, hearing the hideous roar that seemed so near. She reached the highest point of the arch, started down the other side.
Beneath her the water swept by with the roar of an avalanche.
She was within reach of the other side when the ridge of rock she clung to began to move.
There was no time to scream, no time to pray, no time to envision the horror that awaited her, the strangling maelstrom of water that would bludgeon her against the canyon walls.
Her fingers dug into the slippery rock face, but she was sliding, and then she plunged over the side. The fall tilted her backward. Before she could scream, she felt as if her chest were caught in a vise, and then she realized that, incredibly, she wasn’t falling any longer.
Serena dangled over the roaring water. It took her a long moment to understand that an up-thrust limb from a dead tree had speared through the loop of the belt and caught her as neatly as a horseshoe locking onto a post. She reached out, grabbed the tree limb and clung. When she stopped trembling, she loosened the fastened belt, catching the rifle. Maintaining her hold on the limb, she once again hooked the rifle to the belt, closed it, and slipped the loop over her shoulder. Now it was time to climb. She pulled from one bush up to the next and finally clambered onto the ledge beside the rock bridge.
She lay there for a long moment, gathering strength, then rose and began to move along the narrow ribbon of rock that led around a bluff to the cliff dwellings.
She knew the way. She had been here many times as a little girl with Julie and Will and Uncle Dan, scampering along the tops of the houses. On sunny days the cream color of the adobe houses merged into the dusty golden-red of the cliff. The overhang protected the houses from above and the sheer drop beneath protected them from the canyon floor. On a summer morning with the cicadas singing, the cliff houses hung between sky and ground, a child’s dream of sanctuary.
Serena walked very quietly. The only sound came from the throaty roar of the water in the canyon below. The rain swirled in a gentle mist now. The storm was over and soon the high waters would recede as quickly as they had come. Now only a gentle drip from the houses made a light sound. Beyond that, silence stretched as thick and heavy as the black night sky. She stepped slowly around the curve of the cliff. The houses began just past here. It was quiet and dark, not a sign of life anywhere.
Then Serena jolted to a stop. A gritty scraping sound. Someone moved quietly, oh so quietly, along the second tier of houses.
A voice sounded above her and Serena’s skin prickled.
“Danny? It’s hard to find my way in the dark. Where are you?”
It sounded just like Joe Walkingstick, a tenor singsong with a drawl.
But Joe was dead. Joe lay stiffly in a cave down near the river, the back of his head misshapen and bloody.
“Danny, it’s me, Joe.”
“Danny!” Serena shouted. Her voice rang clearly between the canyon walls. “Danny, don’t answer. It isn’t Joe. Joe’s dead.”
Danny’s clear thin voice sounded just feet from her. “Serena, where are you?”
“Danny, be quiet, be quiet!”
Serena began to run. If she could reach Danny first, well, they could hold off an army. Please God, she willed, don’t let him call out again.
The only sound came from the scuff of her boot heels as she ran carefully along the top of the second tier of houses. When she judged she must be close to Danny, she stopped and whistled softly, making a silvery liquid sound like the faraway call of an owl. From almost beneath her feet she heard her answer whoo-oo, whoo-oo. She took a few more steps, knelt, and patted the adobe roof until she found the opening. “Danny, are you here?”
“Yes. Serena, what did you mean? What’s happened to Joe? Where…”
“Shh. I’ll tell you . . .”
The light came directly at her, shocking her into immobility, blinding her for an instant.
He kicked the rifle out of her hands. Serena tried to lunge after it.
“Hold still, Serena. Or I’ll shoot Danny.”
He spoke in his own voice now. He said it almost casually, as if it didn’t matter very much.
Serena crouched unmoving. Slowly she turned to face the bright beam of light and the dark shadow that stood behind it.
“Hello, Peter.” She spoke quietly, as if they stood in the den, talking of weather or cattle or fencing. Slowly, she stood upright. She cradled her right wrist in her left hand. It hurt terribly from Peter’s kick. But that didn’t matter. “I should have known it was you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said pleasantly, “I was rather clever about it all.”
“You are the smuggler.”
“Of course, my dear. Who else would have the wit to plan it all?”
Oh Jed, she thought heartbrokenly, I thought it was you. Jed, I’m so sorry, and now I will never have the chance to tell you how much I care, how wrong I was. “You’ve almost ruined the most important delivery of all, Serena. I can’t have that.”
“I don’t suppose you can.”
Did she see something moving in the darkness behind him? Was there a blacker shadow there or was she only hoping? If she could keep him talking . . . “The most important delivery?”
“Eighteen million dollars’ worth of cocaine, Serena. Think of it. Eighteen million dollars.” His voice caressed the words. “Eighteen million dollars. I can buy the world.”
Cocaine. Bloody snow. The innocent looking white crystalline powder that comes into the United States on the blood of innocent people, creating a traffic that destroys anything in its path.
“That’s why you killed Uncle Dan.”
“You’ve figured that out, too?” His voice was harder now. “You know something, Serena, you’re too smart for your own good. Way too smart.”
“You tried to stop me,” she said quickly, hoping to hide behind her voice the tell-tale sounds of movement behind him. “You put the rattler in Hurricane’s stall.”
“It would have made a nice accident.” Suddenly he lunged toward Serena and abruptly she was in front of him, held hard by one arm. A cold hard circle of metal pressed behind her right ear. “Don’t move, Shelton, or I’ll blow her head off.”
The arm that pinioned her still held the flashlight. It p
ointed now where he had stood, limning Jed in the bright circle of light.
“Quite a party we’re having here,” Peter said a little breathlessly. “So you’re a narc, Shelton. I thought you were. But you came after the wrong man tonight.”
“Let go of her, Carey. You’re surrounded.”
“Oh?” Peter’s voice was amused. “Somehow, Shelton, I don’t believe you.”
The lights came on then, a half dozen of them, all locked on her and Peter.
She twisted her head to look at him.
Peter’s face was oddly expressionless. Somehow that was even more frightening.
“Let go of her,” Jed shouted.
“Sorry, old man. She’s coming with me. All the way.”
Peter began to move her ahead of him toward the edge of the cliff. When they stood at the very rim, Peter called out, “I must have free passage. If not, I’ll throw her in.” He paused and they all could hear the rumble of the surging water. “Don’t think you can shoot me first. We’re right on the edge and she’ll go over.”
“You can’t get away with it.” The sheriff’s deep voice echoed against the canyon walls. “We’ll get you.”
“Maybe so,” Peter’s voice was light and pleasant and unruffled, “but Serena will be very, very dead.”
Serena could feel the thudding of his heart, the tension in his body.
Suddenly Jed yelled, “Oh no, oh God no!”
It was like being caught up in a riptide, flung out of control, powerless. She and Peter were slammed back from the edge, then they were thrashing in a melee. She heard a low ferocious growl and realized that Will had wrapped his huge arms around both of them and thrown them heavily back from the edge.
Peter’s grip on her abruptly slackened. She rolled free from the flailing arms and legs and suddenly, blessedly, Jed was there, holding her and saying over and over, “Serena, Serena, Serena.”
“Watch out!”
The shout sounded at the same time as the pistol shot.
Serena struggled to see from out of Jed’s protecting arms.
The lights still pinioned Will and Peter against the red ground. Will’s huge arm crooked around Peter’s neck, tighter and tighter, but Peter still held the gun and blood welled from Will’s side. Still, Will held on, tighter and tighter, drawing Peter’s head back and back and back. Then it was over, Peter’s hand lolling lifelessly against Will and the hand with the gun falling limply to the ground.