Fatal Refuge: a Mystery/Thriller (The Arizona Thriller Trilogy Book 2)

by Sharon Sterling

  The battered ambulance lumbered forward. The engine coughed and died. The vehicle continued its movement by momentum only. The headlights and dashboard lights blinked out. The rig was totally disabled but hadn’t yet come to rest while Kim and Verbale were tossed against each other and the dashboard. Kim tried to sit upright and gather her senses. Verbale now slumped against the steering wheel looking dazed. The gun was not in either of his hands. She couldn’t see in the dark but frantically felt around on the floor. Nothing.

  The ambulance rolled forward a few more feet and listed slowly toward the passenger side. If it landed that way, on the door, Kim would be trapped. She jerked open the door and tumbled out onto the ground. She stumbled, eyes straining in the darkness to make out her surroundings. No matter, this was her chance to escape. She turned in the direction they had come. Less than a mile away, one set of high beams appeared to be moving toward her across the desert. Lon in his own car, or one of the Yuma County Sheriff’s patrol cars? She started toward it.

  Without warning, Verbale’s dark silhouette appeared in front of her but his back was toward her. He, too, was looking at the vehicle trying to reach them. Did he have the gun? If not, she would take him on, finally, and beat him senseless. The thought inflamed her mind with pleasure. She wanted it, wanted to punish him, beat the last spark of life from his miserable body for what he had done to Jim, and her and before that, to Cindy. She couldn’t see his hands. Had he recovered the gun? Should she take the chance?

  Before she could decide, he turned to the left and crept away, up hill. The desert was faintly lit by a quarter-moon, silent except for metallic popping and groaning sounds from the disabled ambulance and faint hum of the approaching vehicle’s engine.

  Then Verbale’s voice. “Hey, Indian bitch! Where are you? Come on over here, I won’t hurt you. You’re my ace in the hole.”

  She sank into a crouch and willed herself to silence.

  “Didn’t you like it when I grabbed you? I felt your tits.”

  She held her breath.

  “Don’t you want me, Squaw? We’ll do it good here in the dark. I promise I won’t tell your boyfriend.”

  The taunts rolled off her back, meaningless as static on a radio. Either he had the gun or he was foolish enough to think he could beat her down in a one-on-one fight. She looked down at her feet to place them carefully and quickly, getting closer so his voice, still taunting, grew louder.

  She stopped and looked back to the approaching vehicle thinking, It’s Lon, coming to help me. But the lights were stationary now. She stared, willing them closer. They didn’t move. The rescuer’s vehicle had also been conquered by the desert.

  She stood, trying to catch her breath and rest but the pain set in, a dozen bumps, bruises, and scrapes nagging their hurts at her, pulsing into her woozy, pounding head. My vision should be better, she thought, even with nothing but the quarter moon to light the way. There seemed to be a fog in front of her eyes, dotted with pinpoints of light flashing like distant stars. The damned concussion. And I am thirsty, so thirsty.

  A whirring sound overhead startled her. She looked up but couldn’t see anything except night sky and stars. A large night bird? A distant helicopter? Then, whoosh! Instinctively, she squatted down. What was going on? Another whoosh and then a flash of light. Was she hallucinating? No, the light revealed desert landscape and other objects looming there. A saguaro or the silhouette of a man? She couldn’t tell.

  She waited for another sound and another flash, long minutes of dark and silence. Nothing. What should she do? She knew this area was the Yuma Proving Ground, where military weapons had been tested since the 1930's. She might be standing in a real danger zone. But Verbale was what mattered because if he had the gun he was the clear and more immediate danger. Where was he? If she stayed here another flash of light might reveal him but if she moved now she might walk right into him.

  Without conscious thought she stood, spreading her arms wide, and began to turn slowly in a circle, remembering Lozen and her prayers to the creator. A tingling in her fingers stopped her. There! She couldn’t see him, yet she was certain he was there coming toward her. Her arms dropped to her sides. Enough. Mentally she entered an alternate reality of invincibility, a trance state before an adrenalin rush. She would fight him, gun or no gun.

  Whoosh! Whoosh! Two flashes of pale blue light, sparks, then two pillars of fire. She gasped and stared as columns of yellow and then blue flames danced against the dark sky. While she watched they revealed their fuel. One fiery pillar consumed a six-foot tall saguaro with a mechanical object embedded in its spiny flesh. The other pillar of fire engulfed a six-foot tall man, his arms straight up in the air, waving, jittering, then collapsing onto himself, down to the ground, a pile of smoldering flesh and bone. The stench of burning plant, human flesh, plastic and metal filled her head and sent her, too, spinning to the harsh desert floor.

  • • •

  “She’s over here!” Kim opened her eyes, closed them again quickly against the flashlight beam. She looked up again through slitted lids. Lon!

  She blinked and whispered, “Thank you for coming.”

  “You're safe now, that’s all that matters,” he said, and cradled her body closer. She felt her muscles relax into his but still puzzled, she looked around trying to orient herself. It was dark, stars winking in the sky, but so many man-made lights, so many sounds. A deputy approached. Seeing Kim he repeated Lon’s call, “Over here,” and waved his flashlight. Slowly, wary of becoming dizzy, Kim sat up more and turned her head to look around. The scene was incomprehensible.

  • • •

  Chapter Forty-Two

  She turned on her side to face him in the bed and caressed Lon’s naked legs with the arch of her foot. It was Saturday, a day off for him and one of her last recuperation days from work. She said, “I don’t remember much after that until after we left the hospital and got home. I remember Zayd fussing over me. He wouldn’t leave me alone, trying to lick every cut and scrape on my body. Finally you got me into that hot bath. It hurt like hell, but it helped.”

  “I’m surprised you remember that much. I think your brain was still addled. When we got you to the E.R., you wanted to check out A.M.A.” He stroked the hair back from her forehead, avoiding the bandage that covered three sutures.

  “Yes, I knew I had a. . .”

  “Yeah, a ‘little’ concussion. How is that different from a ‘big’ concussion?”

  “Actually, a mild concussion which is different from. . . Oh, never mind. Just don’t scold me, Lon. I know it wasn’t smart to try to leave the E.R. against the doctor’s advice. They did the CT scan and I’m fine.”

  “Yes, you are fine.” He leaned over and kissed her lips. As if reluctant to leave them, he gently pulled her lower lip with his front teeth before releasing her. Eyes still closed, she responded with a hum of appreciation, “uummm.”

  Abruptly he propped himself up on one arm to look down at her with the intense blue/green eyes that tolerated no falsehood. “But are you ready to go back to work on Monday?”

  “Yes, of course. Nothing’s changed about work – or my feelings about it. But I need to know what happened out there at the Proving Ground. What went on during the time I was unconscious? You can help me with that, can’t you?”

  He leaned against the headboard and started to speak, but now she was staring at his upper body, the golden brown hair on his chest, the curve of his shoulders and biceps; then she put her hand out to stroke his forearm. His eyes acknowledged her desire and honored it. He made love to her again, slowly, tenderly.

  Afterward she started to ease out of bed, but Lon’s arms around her naked waist pulled her back. “Hey, I thought you were asleep,” she said.

  “The ungrateful, unimaginative man falls asleep after lovemaking. Those of us fortunate enough to bed a goddess are neither.”

  “And why do you fortunate ones remain awake?” She eased back under the sheets.

 
“To anticipate more heavenly bliss.”

  His face so close to hers gave her the gift of knowing intimately its every texture and angle, his eyes and mouth soft and moist. “Ah, heavenly bliss, such as an encore?” She kissed his cheek. “I’m not sure I could endure more bliss right now. I still have those unanswered questions, remember?”

  He groaned but rolled out of bed, went to the dresser to pull on underwear then came back to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “Okay, back to the Proving Ground. I’m not supposed to know this, so of course neither are you. What the Army and Air Force are doing out there is supposed to be top secret. But the Deputies and I saw more than the project officers ever expected to be seen.

  “There were other civilians, too, weren’t there?”

  “They called in some military security men who were still in their civvies. It wasn’t hard to figure out what they’re doing. They’re testing drone-mounted laser weapons to shoot down mechanical drones. And I don’t mean over in Syria or Iraq. There’s illegal drone activity right here in the States threatening civilian air craft and who knows what other targets. They see it as a real threat.”

  “Drones to shoot down drones. I guess that makes sense. Was it the drone or the laser that killed Verbale?”

  “I can’t say for sure. It was probably the laser, from the way you described it to me. By the time I got there, he was nothing but a pile of stinking ashes. Of course it was an accident. I mean, the laser was targeting the drone.”

  Kim nodded, able to make more sense of what she remembered.

  “You and Verbale sure raised hell out there that night. If he hadn’t been. . .dead. . .and if you hadn’t been injured, you might still be sequestered on base getting grilled by the FBI, the NSA, CIA – the whole damn alphabet.”

  “Oh, so I’m supposed to be grateful for trashing my rig, getting tossed around like a cork in a washing machine, battered and concussed?” He smiled, kissed her and the subject was closed. It was enough for her to take in for the moment.

  They showered together and prepared to go out to dinner. Kim pulled on a yellow cotton dress, smoothed a little gloss on her lips and started to brush her hair but she was still preoccupied and pensive.

  Lon must have sensed her distraction. He hugged her from behind and said, “You know you did everything right, Kim. That’s why you survived, concussion and all. He would have killed you the minute he decided he didn’t need you.”

  “I know. I just wish I could have stopped him before he hurt Jim.”

  “Jim will be okay soon enough.”

  “They’re releasing him from the hospital to a rehab facility tomorrow. He needs some physical therapy to get the strength back in his leg.” She put her hairbrush down and turned to hug him. “I knew you would come.”

  “What else could I do? You are the most important thing in the world to me.”

  They dined that evening at Romero’s Riverside, the best Mexican restaurant in town. They lingered over coffee and a shared dessert, flan garnished with caramel sauce and fresh fruit. After the last bite Lon sat back in his chair smiling.

  “That’s a self-satisfied look,” Kim said. “What other marvelous things have you been doing lately?” She raised an eyebrow, up and up again, and he knew she was referring to their time in bed. He laughed.

  “Well, in addition to your recovery, I’m celebrating the end of the Debbie Smith case.”

  “That was quick!”

  “Detective Reed and I found evidence in Verbale’s house, his little trophies from her body. Along with his DNA they collected in her home, that clinches it.”

  “Wonderful. But what about Cindy Cameron? We know he killed her. Allie said when she lied to him about a warrant being issued for the murderer, he gave the clearest set of guilty tells she’s ever seen.”

  Lon dropped the spoon he was using to stir his coffee. “And that’s what almost got you killed!”

  “Lon, she feels terrible about it. She couldn’t have known what he would do or that it would involve me. She said she’s the queen of unintended consequences, and that was the worst consequence of them all.”

  He didn’t respond except to shake his head. He signaled for the waiter and paid the check. They walked out into a mild, breezy night hand in hand. He pulled her close and they continued to the car, arms around each other’s waist. He opened the door for her then hesitated. “About Allie,” he said. “If she’s your friend then I guess she’s my friend by association.”

  “A friend once-removed.” She gave him a quick hug.

  He continued. “We were talking about Cindy before. Her case and Smith’s are officially open, but we’ve stopped working them. DNA on the sneaker came back. Verbale’s was on the inside. There is such a thing as conviction in absentia but I don’t think they can convict a dead man. Let them do their legal contortions over it. Let’s just be glad he is dead.”

  “I’m more glad they found that rifle in his closet. Knowing he’s the monster who tried to kill Zayd – and me – means I don’t have to watch my back and you have no more excuses for worrying about me.”

  The conversation stuck in Kim’s mind, provoking old lines of thought. When they reached Lon’s home she settled Zayd for the night and changed the sheets on the bed. They watched the late show but when they lay down to sleep she couldn’t stop her mind from churning. After hours of listening to Lon’s soft breathing, hours of feeling warm and grateful but still fighting her thoughts, she turned and glanced at the clock on the bed stand. Four a.m. No use. She sat up in bed and said, “I didn’t enjoy seeing Verbale die that way.”

  Lon stirred. She said it again, louder. He turned over to look at her, brushing his face with his hand. “What? What did you say?” She repeated the words. He sat bolt upright. “Why would you say that? Who said you enjoyed it?”

  Kim’s lips pressed together into a straight line. “Maybe that I should . . or would. . .or. . .”

  “Whoa. Let’s talk about this.” Lon rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took her hand. Together they got out of bed and padded into the living room, she wearing only bikini panties, he in pajama bottoms. He pulled her down onto the worn leather sofa where a few months before they had made love for the first time. He didn’t question her. He looked into her face and waited.

  “Sure, I like the excitement of being an EMT,” she said. “But I don’t have the love of blood and gore that some of the techs do. The adrenalin rush comes one time in ten. The other nine times it’s just a challenge. I like it because I’m helping someone, not enjoying someone’s pain. I like it because I’m using important skills and I’m active instead of sitting at a desk all day.”

  Lon had no idea where that had come from or where she was going. He just nodded.

  “I did lose it when he. . .when Verbale pushed Jim out of the ambulance. I wanted to kill him but I don’t think I would have.” She stopped. For the first time since sitting down she looked at him. His face was open, his eyes alert and accepting.

  And so it came out. She talked about being victimized by a pedophile, about how, why and who had shot her in the thigh, about her fears and shame and about “…collective karmic guilt – that’s what Allie calls it.”

  An hour later she stopped talking in mid-sentence. She shrugged her shoulders, sighed, and leaned into him. Lon embraced her, kissing her face many times.

  “Thank you. You listened.”

  “Of course I did, to every word. Thank you for trusting me because now I understand so much more about who you are. I get how you’ve come to this place in your life and I’m grateful as hell that I’m here with you. You’ve carried a heavy load since you were a kid. First your struggle with your Apache ancestry then the molest. It’s more than anyone should have to deal with.”

  “I know others who’ve dealt with worse, Lon. We all have our demons.”

  “I’ve known for a long time that there were things in your past you needed to let go of.”

  She raised her chin to loo
k into his eyes. “Yes, and I have. But I want to go home soon and talk to my parents, my mom, see my friend Crystal. Will you come with me?”

  “The ‘meet the parents and best friend test’. I’d be delighted, thank you.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it.

  “And there’s something else I need to do now. I need to go back to where I found Cindy’s body.”

  “Go back to Kofa?” Finally Lon was surprised. “Why? You went there with Allie and Sara Cameron. How can going again help you?”

  “I’m not sure. But Cindy’s mom went there for what Allied called closure. I think it helped her. I want closure, too.” She eased out of his grasp and stood.

  Now she could see Lon resisting. “What? It’s – it’s not even dawn yet. Let’s take some time to get ourselves together and go this evening.”

  “It doesn’t matter when. I’m going.”

  “Then I’m going with you. And Zayd.” He stood, as if the matter was closed.

  “I could be out there for hours, Lon. I can’t say when but I’ll know when it’s over.”

  “Then that’s when we’ll come back with you,” he said.

  • • •

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Sara has found a new place to park for the night, fearing they know about Betty’s Kitchen and will look for her there but she no longer feels safe and at peace anywhere. Memories of the attacker who tried to strangle her haunts her in dreams that come during sleep and in waking hours. Even memories of the would-be do-gooders at the Clinic are no longer reassuring.

  It is early morning and she is drifting in the space between wake and sleep. The river, she thinks or dreams, she isn’t sure, the Colorado, the force of nature, the giver of life, the tamed and used and fought-over and damned and diverted and polluted and exhausted, depleted, indomitable river. The river and I flow. On the river I float. I and the river. I am the river.

  The first rays of sun find their way through the windows onto her face. She abandons the dream, stirs from the bed of the truck, crawls through to the front, unlocks and opens the door. The river’s murmur is almost inaudible but bird calls are clear and jubilant. By mid-morning their chorus will reach a symphonic finale.