by D. V. Berkom
He jogged back to the truck, holstering his gun.
"I caught a whiff of the odor in the bedroom. Whoever was wearing it hasn't been gone long." Sam opened the door to the truck and slid into the driver’s seat. "Get in."
I hopped in and slammed the door shut. He threw the truck into gear, spitting gravel as we shot down the driveway. We slid to a stop at the highway. I scanned either direction, but this section of rural road didn't have streetlights, so my distance was limited.
Sam shined his door-mounted spotlight first left, then right. Seeing nothing, he turned onto the highway, strafing the bushes on either side with the light. They could have been hiding in a ditch or behind a tree. We’d never know.
My scalp tingled as a chill danced up my back.
They've been in my house.
***
Sam radioed the incident in to the office. Chief Miller’s brusque voice over the speaker telegraphed his concern.
"Watch to see that no one’s following you. Pick up her car and then follow her to Yarnell. Make sure she’s safe. Stay there if you have to."
"You paying?" Sam shot back.
"The taxpayers, Sam. The taxpayers."
***
I unlocked the door and threw the keys on the side table. I’d opted for the room with two queen beds, hoping for more space. There’s nothing worse than having to stay in one place for an extended period of time and not have enough room to change your mind. Sam took the room next door after making sure there was a door connecting the two.
"You hungry?" I asked.
Sam nodded. "I could eat."
"My treat. I’d hate for the taxpayers to pay for that, too."
We found a decent pizza place within walking distance, and ordered a pie with the works to bring back to the motel. At my request, we stopped and picked up a bottle of red wine. Sam opted for bottled water with lemon.
"How long have you been in law enforcement?" We'd decided to eat in his room, since it had a larger table.
"Eight years."
"You like it?"
Sam shrugged. "It's interesting."
I asked him a couple more questions and got more one- and two-word answers. After the third try, I gave up and we ate in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. Neither of us felt the need to fill in the gaps.
With my blessing, Sam ate the last piece of pizza while I sipped my second glass of wine. I liked to watch him eat. He had an economy of movement I found fascinating.
"You run, right?" I asked.
He nodded, swallowing his last bite before he replied. "Yes. Long-distance."
Wow. More than two words. I pressed my luck. "How far do you usually go?"
He shrugged. Silence.
I sighed and took another drink, writing Sam off as a closed book.
"What are you running from?" His eyes locked onto mine. I shifted in the chair.
"What makes you think I'm running?"
"You're living in Quilete, Alaska. Not much of a place for a woman in her prime." He took a drink of his sparkling water, watching me. I stared back at him.
"Well?" he asked, apparently expecting an answer.
"Death."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to die." It's possible I meant to be that sarcastic.
"Do you think you won't?"
"Die? No, of course I know I'm going to die. I'd like to delay it as long as possible."
Sam rose from the table, wadded his napkin and tossed it on his plate. "You can spend a lifetime avoiding death," he replied. "If I were you, I'd spend it living."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have contract killers trying to use you for target practice."
"I suspect the killers aren't your biggest problem."
"Really? And what would be, oh wise and omniscient one?"
"Trust."
"You're kidding, right? Why the hell should I trust anyone? Trust kills."
Sam looked at me with an expression that could only be construed as pity. Pissed, I tossed my fork and paper plate into the pizza box and brushed past him, headed for the door.
THREE
I found a movie on cable and watched it, alone. Around ten o'clock, Sam opened the door between our rooms and said goodnight, then retired for the evening next door.
I can't lie. It made me feel safer.
Later, as I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, I sorted out my next move. Life on the run was not something I would ever consciously choose. The consequences were too great. Every time I started to feel some kind of normalcy somewhere, things would change and I'd have to rip my new life to shreds, uproot everything and move on to the next place. It left me in a vacuum filled with only myself. I had no friends to speak of. I'd learned the hard way that getting close to someone could be lethal.
For them.
If I contacted my family, they'd use them to get to me. I hadn't spoken to my parents or any of my sisters in years. As far as I knew, they still lived in the suburbs in Minneapolis, still had the husbands and one-point-five kids. My sisters had never understood my need for adventure, expecting me to eventually settle down, buy a house down the street, have a family, yadda-yadda.
Not that my present circumstances were better. Sam had me pegged- I did have trust issues. With good reason. But he was also right about another thing. I could spend my life avoiding death. I needed to live.
I needed to leave.
***
The next morning, I called my mechanic to find out when the Jeep would be ready. Two days. Then I called Greg, the hotel manager, and asked him if I could keep the Blazer for a couple more days. He said it would be fine, since he had another vehicle. I thanked him, and Sam and I headed for Anchorage, calling Agent Pickering on the way to set up an appointment.
The DEA field office was on the third floor of a five story building in downtown Anchorage overlooking a parking garage. The agent at the front ushered us into a nondescript office. Brad Pickering sat at his desk reading, a Styrofoam cup filled with black coffee at his elbow. In his late fifties, his graying hair fell in a bushy wave across his forehead. He smelled like Old Spice and cigarettes.
He stood and everybody shook hands. "Have a seat." He indicated the two chairs near the desk. "Luis Gonzales called me with the details of the case. Sounds like the shit's hit the fan."
I put my pack on the floor and sat down. Sam remained standing.
"You could say that. I thought I should check in with you in case I can give you any information that might help you track these guys." I crossed my legs, trying to get comfortable. "Since, apparently I brought them here."
"I remember the case, followed it closely. Everybody in the DEA did. John Sterling was one of our own, gone to shit." He shook his head. "Not the best P.R." He looked directly at me. "If I learned one thing through the years, it would be to never trust anybody. Sterling was one of the best. He was smart, too smart, and he got greedy. Roberto Salazar and Vincent Anaya were already there. These people don't mess around."
"They blew the safe house where I'd been staying. Luis and I were the only survivors."
"Yeah. Luis mentioned that. Kate, I'm not going to lie to you." Pickering leaned forward, forearms on the desk. "You need to think about getting out of Alaska. They tracked you here, and yes, they could track you again, but you're better off leaving. Alaska's big, but essentially it's a small town. Word gets around. It won't be hard for them to find you."
I'd come for confirmation, and here it was, my stark reality. "So you're saying there's not much you can do."
Pickering looked from me to Sam, back to me. "I'm sorry. Leaving's your best option. These assholes don't care if there's collateral damage. Anyone gets in their way, they'll kill them. You think your life stinks now? You don't want that on your conscience."
Oggie's memory came flooding back. Too late, I thought.
He leaned back, his lips a thin line. "I know you don't want to hear this, but nobody can spare resources to try to track down a cou
ple of suspected contract killers who you say murdered someone. As of this morning, there's no case- no body and no missing persons report. The DEA's indebted to you for your testimony, but you chose not to go into Witness Protection." He raised his hands and shrugged. "No one will touch this, Kate. I'm sorry."
I grabbed my pack and stood, feeling the anger starting to rise. "I figured so. But it's always best to get it straight from the horse's-" I paused, "-mouth."
Pickering narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if I'd just insulted him. I wasn't about to confirm his suspicions. And really, it wasn't his fault. My mood had tanked and I felt like taking it out on the closest person.
"I appreciate your time, Agent Pickering. Have a nice day."
Throughout the whole exchange, Sam had remained silent. He nodded at Pickering and left with me. We walked out of the building into the steel gray day, back to the SUV. I was in a dark mood. Sam stayed close, but gave me space. He started the engine, switched the heater to high and pulled into traffic. I brought up an airfare app on my phone and bought a plane ticket to Honolulu, scheduled to leave on Friday. I figured I'd be able to tie up loose ends by then. If Miller hadn't caught the shooters by then, he probably never would.
The thought of seeing my friend Gabby again brought a smile to my face. It had been a long time since I'd been on the North Shore. Thinking about the warm, tropical breezes drifting across my skin and the heady scent of pineapple saved me from having a full-on anxiety attack.
If I kept my mind off of what was actually happening, I'd be fine.
The Jeep would probably be an easy sell, since it was a four-wheel drive, but I knew Greg would take care of things if someone didn't buy it right away. I'd already paid my rent for the month. My landlady would more than likely keep the deposit, but there wasn't a lot I could do about that. The furniture came with the house, so no worries there. Other than those two things, I didn't have much else I needed to do.
It paid to travel light.
***
An hour later, we were back at the Dew Drop Inn. After a brief nap, I showered and changed, and knocked on the door between our rooms to see if Sam wanted to join me for an early dinner. There was no answer. Worried that I didn't get a response, I stepped outside. The curtains on his window were partially open, and I glanced inside. Sam sat cross legged on the bed, his eyes closed, still as stone. I tapped on the glass. He didn't twitch.
The temperature was beginning to drop, and I hadn't worn my jacket, so I went back to my room and turned on the television for company. I checked the clock: four-thirty. If I didn't hear movement in the other room by five, I'd try knocking again. Half an hour should be enough quiet time for anybody.
When five o'clock rolled around and I still hadn't heard anything, I put on my coat and shoes and walked next door. This time, Sam stood in the middle of the room with his back to me, bare to the waist. He'd moved the bed against the far wall, leaving space between him and the door. His dark hair hung loose to the middle of his back. Before I could blink, he'd executed a perfect reverse roundhouse kick, followed by several other moves. Fascinated, I watched him as he continued practicing.
"Honey, what are you doin', stalkin' somebody?"
I jerked back at the sound of the woman's voice, and came face to face with a statuesque redhead dressed in a full-length, lime green coat and a pair of furry mukluks, carrying a hot-pink Hawaiian print makeup case. A thin black cigar dangled between her lips and her green eyes danced with amusement. She lifted her hand and tapped a blood-red acrylic nail to her temple.
"I-it's not what you think-" I stammered.
Her laughter echoed off the brick wall.
"Of course it is, darlin'- in all my years in this god-forsaken frozen tundra, everything is always what it looks like."
I smiled, embarrassed, and nodded toward the window. Sam hadn't paid any attention to the voices outside his room and continued practicing. Red leaned over and let out a low whistle.
"My, my, he is worth stalkin', isn't he?" She made a smacking sound with her lips and shook her head as she turned to me. "Is he yours?"
"No," I said, surprised at the disappointment in my voice.
Red grinned as she sneaked another peek in the window. "Not yet, you mean." She pulled the slim cigar out of her mouth and exhaled a cloud of smoke. Then she turned and gave me a once-over.
"Honey, if I were you, I'd get that man between my thighs and ride him hard until the sun comes up." She glanced at the ever-present darkness and sighed. "Lord knows, that'll give you both plenty of time."
Red patted my cheek, and then strode past me, taking the steps down to the parking lot. She reached the bottom, then stopped and looked back to where I stood on the second floor. With a hand cupped to her mouth, she stage whispered, "Remember, Life is short, darlin'. You gotta live."
Now where had I heard that before? I turned back to the window as the door opened and Sam walked out.
"Who were you talking to?" he asked, looking over the metal railing. Red had already disappeared.
"Some motel guest."
He watched the parking lot for a few more seconds, and then turned and motioned for me to follow him into his room. He shut the door and grabbed a navy blue t-shirt off the bed, shrugging it on.
"We're getting takeout. The less you're seen, the better."
"Fine." My reply held more heat than I'd intended. I still felt foolish for watching him.
We ordered Thai and found a movie on cable that we both could agree on. The only comfortable place to sit and watch it was the bed, so we each took a side, using the headboard for a backrest.
My attention drifted and I found myself watching him out of the corner of my eye, intrigued by his ability to remain motionless for long stretches of time. I let my mind wander and had to pull back when I realized my thoughts tended toward the erotic and included him.
I sat up straight and crossed my ankles, folding my hands in my lap. Sam glanced at me.
"You don't like the movie?"
"No, it's fine. I'm just restless." And horny, I thought. I hadn't let my libido out to play in a long time, and here I sat next to a sexy, available man who was supposed to protect me, on a bed, in a motel. How the hell else was I supposed to respond? Red's comments didn't help, either.
I started to slide across the bed, intending to go back to my room, when he placed a hand on my arm.
"Don't go. I'll turn off the movie." He aimed the remote and clicked the television off. I slid back onto the bed, wondering what was on his mind, half-hoping I knew.
"You can't stop the dialogue in your head, can you?" His dark eyes searched mine.
"Only when I sleep." My libido had now left the building. I started for the door.
"What if I could teach you how?"
I stopped, halfway off the bed and turned to look at him, intrigued. "Yeah? Good luck with that."
"Get comfortable and close your eyes. I'm going to bring my hands up like this-" I slid against the headboard, and he cupped his hands over my temples. I felt a gentle buzzing flow through my head. I opened one eye.
"Close."
I did as I was told and a feeling of incredible peace enveloped me, relaxing every muscle in my body. The idea that my life was in danger floated in the background, as though it wasn't important.
"Damn. If you could bottle this, you'd make billions."
"Shh. Just enjoy it. I'll show you how when I'm done."
FOUR
My eyes flew open. At first I didn't remember where I was. Sam's deep, even breathing told me he was asleep next to me on the bed in his room. I rolled onto my side to watch him.
He was even sexier asleep. He lay on his back, one hand across his stomach, the other tucked under his head. The smooth skin of his face and lips begged for my touch. At least, that was my story. I trailed my finger along his jaw, tracing a delicate line under his ear.
His hand shot up and captured mine in an iron grip. At the same time he spun me onto my b
ack and straddled my hips, pinning my arms over my head. He paused for a moment, his eyes burning through me, searching. Then he lowered himself until his lips barely brushed mine. I arched my back and parted my lips in invitation, lifting my chin and closing my eyes. He let out a low growl and nuzzled my neck. I strained against him, trying to loosen his hold, but he wouldn't budge. Raising my head, I nipped at his neck. He returned the effort with a penetrating kiss.
He backed off the foot of the bed and tore his t-shirt off. I met him there and grabbed his belt, unbuckling it and unbuttoning his jeans as fast as humanly possible. As I pushed them past his hips, his erection sprang to life.
Now it was my turn to growl.
He took hold of my sweater and tugged it over my head, unhooked my bra and threw me backward onto the bed. I slipped out of my panties and pulled him down on top of me, relishing the feel of him, wanting him to do things to me I didn't have the words to describe.
Luckily, I didn't have to say a thing.
Later, when I recovered my ability for speech, I told him what had happened in Mexico. The words poured out of me, and to his credit, he listened with no judgment. I didn't stop until I came to the murder at the trail. We sat in silence, both of us absorbing the moment. I'd never told anyone everything, always holding important details back that I thought could get me, or them, killed. I was both relieved and afraid. Afraid he'd turn away, unsure what to make of me.
Relieved to finally have the whole thing out in the open.
As a sort of quid pro quo, he told me about his childhood. He'd been chosen by the village shaman as an apprentice. There was only one response allowed a child in that situation, and he embarked upon a rigorous, sometimes mind-blowing education. At sixteen, he rebelled and ran away from his village and the shaman, eventually finding work as a long-haul trucker.