Dreaming of a Hero (Heroes Series Book 2)

by Lyssa Layne

  “Are you all right?”

  Laughter bubbled up out of her. She didn’t find the situation particularly funny, but if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry. For a long time. He tipped his head and studied her. That made her laugh harder. She laughed until her sides ached and she couldn’t breathe. Mike looked at her like she’d lost her marbles, and maybe she had.

  Back home in Las Vegas she had a nice home, a good job, even a cat. Here she had one weird occurrence after another. Somebody didn’t want her around. She could take a hint. The minute Skeeter’s body was released, she’d head home and forget any of this ever happened. Her hysteria lessened, turned to giggles, then hiccups.

  Mike waited patiently. “Are you injured?”

  She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. That hurt and she blinked back sudden tears. “I think they’re jammed.”

  He took her hand in his larger one and examined her fingers with careful scrutiny. His concern touched her. He probably thought she was injuring herself just to get him to hold her hand. He let go. “I think you’re right. Not broken anyway. I’ll take you to the clinic when we get back.”

  She nodded. She wasn’t going anywhere but to a motel.

  “What happened?” He picked up the blanket. “What’s this?”

  She pointed to the nearly hidden cactus. “There.”

  He ran his palm over it. “How did that get there?”

  “You tell me.” She pointed up the wash with the hand that didn’t ache. “I came that way and I know I didn’t run into any Cholla or any other prickly plant.” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Somebody planted that there.”

  He didn’t deny it, or try to explain it away.

  Surprised, she couldn’t find more words. Did he know she spoke the truth? Was he responsible, or know who did it?

  He stood. “Where’s the saddle?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I only got this far.”

  “I’ll look for it.” He turned away and she climbed to her feet.

  “Not without me.” She trudged through the sand after him.

  A few feet from where she’d landed, the saddle lay upside down in the dirt. Like two wings pointing in opposite directions, the white cinch lay split down the middle. Mike knelt and picked it up.

  “This must’ve broke when he bucked.”

  Mallory, bending on the other side, had a different take. “It didn’t break. Somebody cut it.” She held up her side. “Look. Too straight for a break. If this was weak or ragged, there would be some roughened area where it had worn out. This is perfectly straight. And new. Someone did this.” She looked up and pinned her coldest stare on him. “I want to know who. And why.”

  He dropped his side and for a minute, she thought he was going to deny it. His shoulders sagged. “I don’t know.”

  “You agree then?” Her voice went icy. She’d had all she was going to take from this show of horrors.

  “Yes. I’d say someone cut this.”

  “Why?” She advanced and pointed at him. “No more lies, Mike. Don’t try to make me believe I don’t know what I’m talking about. Since I got here, there’s been one thing after another you have tried to make me believe is my mind playing tricks on me. But I’m not crazy. I know what I know.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “I’m not trying to make you think you’re losing it.”

  “Aren’t you? You tried to make me think I didn’t hear a horse being ridden off into the desert when I know I did.” She held up her injured hands and held them toward him. “You tried to make me think you came from the lodge when you very clearly came from the river. Then, when I saw Brent in Goldfield, you told me I didn’t. Why?”

  He had the grace to look ashamed. “I honestly didn’t think Brent followed us. And, yes, I was in the desert the night you fell in Cholla. I went to make sure there wasn’t any trouble and I heard you scream. I thought you’d think it odd, being out at that time of night.”

  She dropped her hands to her sides. “Did you also put cactus under my saddle blanket and cut the cinch? That’s more than making me think I didn’t hear or see something, that’s criminal. I could’ve been killed.”

  He shook his head from side to side. “No. I swear. I don’t know anything about that.”

  She wanted to believe him. He looked so miserable she almost softened. “But you do know who rode the horse into the desert the night before last, don’t you?”

  He met her eyes, and his were full of guilt. “No.”

  He stood in front of her and lied to her face.

  Mallory’s stomach churned and she forced down nausea. Why wouldn’t he tell her the truth? He seemed so decent, but he wasn’t who he appeared to be. If he was willing to lie about that he was probably lying about sabotaging her saddle. She didn’t know what to think. He had kissed her last night. He had wanted to sleep with her. If only he’d come clean. She stumbled back a step and he reached to catch her. She raised her hand, palm out. “Don’t.”

  He frowned and picked up the saddle.

  As he turned away, she called after him. “There’s something else.”

  He looked her direction. “What?”

  “There’s an abandoned Jeep just up there. That’s what I was running from.” Standing in the middle of a wide, sandy arroyo, she felt foolish. But her intuition had told her something was wrong and she believed what it told her.

  “Probably just a sightseer who took a walk.” His slight smirk suggested he thought she had overreacted. She knew she hadn’t.

  “I don’t think so.” Her tone told him she meant it. “I think something’s wrong.”

  “Like what?”

  She didn’t want to say it. “I’m not sure, but there’s something wrong. I know it.”

  “What are you saying? Spit it out?” His whole attention was focused on her.

  She swallowed. “I think someone’s dead.”

  “What?” His eyes opened wide. “Why?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I just sensed it.” She waved toward the horses. “He did, too. At least something made him very nervous up there.”

  “Zorro probably just wanted to get back to the other horses. Besides, you’re in no shape to ride anymore.” Clearly, Mike didn’t want to go.

  “Would you just take a look? Please?” She walked toward the horses. “Never mind. I’ll call the sheriff myself when I get back to the lodge. Maybe he’ll listen to me.”

  “No,” Mike said quickly. “I’ll go. Can you handle Geronimo? I’ll ride Zorro bareback.”

  Although she wasn’t thrilled to jump back on a horse, Mallory knew she wouldn’t rest until she set her mind at ease. Mike held the Appaloosa’s reins until she mounted, then he adjusted her stirrups. Seeing she was set, he swung up on the pinto’s broad back.

  ~*~

  Mike dismounted and handed his reins to Mallory.

  As much as he didn’t want to believe his gut, it told him she was right. This didn’t look right. He looked in the Jeep and saw a jacket, boots and a bottle of water that had been left open. No one familiar with the desert left water sitting around to evaporate—not even in February. Maybe an out-of-state tourist had wandered off and got lost.

  He didn’t buy it.

  The highway was less than half a mile away, and the ranch a bit further in the opposite direction. If the guy passed the ranch the Salt River would’ve fenced him in. If he went toward the highway, he’d end up in Mesa. The other way was a little different, but anyone with any brains would see they were headed toward the mountains.

  Walking around to the back of the Jeep, Mike saw an Arizona license plate. Whoever owned the vehicle was from the state, if not the area. He reached in and opened the glove box. A plastic folder and a screwdriver were the only items. He picked up the folder and looked through it. Along with a current insurance card, there was registration for the Jeep registered to Wendell A. Wallace. Nobody Mike knew. He replaced the items and looked at Mallory. She’d stay
ed mounted. Her big doe eyes were wide, her lips tight. She held the saddle horn with her good hand, and even from a few feet away he could see her white knuckles.

  “Someone you know?” Her voice trembled. She was really shook up.

  “No.” He shut the glove box and moved away.

  She pointed. “Look.”

  He glanced where she pointed. An old shovel lay in the sand, its point still half stuck in the ground. Mike walked closer and his skin prickled. He was picking up some bad vibes. Nonsense. The last couple of days had been rough and he was tired. He bent to pick up the shovel and that’s when he saw the shoe.

  Buried in the sand, a few feet from the shovel, only part of the side stuck out of the dirt. He swallowed hard and straightened. He moved another step. A foot up from the shoe, he glimpsed denim. It looked like a pair of jeans, but he couldn’t be sure. As his gaze swept across the area, he spotted skin. Fingers. Dirty, broken nails.

  He jerked.

  It hit him.

  The hand was attached to a body. A dead body.

  “Mallory,” he said in a tight voice, “you were right. There’s someone here.”

  He heard her scramble to dismount, tie the horses and run to his side. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the hand. It was if he stared at it long enough, he could make his brain believe it. Three days, two dead bodies. She grabbed his sleeve.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “We better get somebody out here.”

  “Who? The sheriff?”

  “Yeah.”

  Like him, she couldn’t quit staring. “I knew something was wrong. I felt it.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He reached in his pocket and dialed 911. After explaining, and giving directions, he hung up. “They’ll be here soon.”

  “Who do you think he is?” She backed away. “And what do you think happened to him?”

  Mike looked at her. Her eyes were wide and wary in a pasty white face. She looked terrified. Of him? Did she think he had something to do with this? He wasn’t a killer. Couldn’t she see that? After the last couple of days who could guess what she thought of him. She thought he tricked her into going into the desert, among other things. He had to admit he hadn’t made the best impression. But if she suspected him of killing someone, he had serious problems.

  “I have no idea.”

  Flashing lights lit up the early evening sky.

  In a minute, two four-wheel-drive Blazers, followed by an ambulance, all with the Maricopa County insignia on the doors, bounced up the wash.

  Mike straightened. It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mike watched a female deputy cordon off the site, then snap photos around the body and the Jeep. Two big men leaned against the ambulance and waited to be summoned to help with the body. Mallory stood near Mike. He wanted to put his arm around her, but he knew the action wouldn’t be welcomed.

  Sheriff Bodine placed his fists on his hips and spit in the sand. “Who found him?”

  “I did.” Mike looked him in the eye. “I went to take a glance at that shovel over there. That’s when I spotted the shoe. I saw the jeans, then the hand.”

  “What were you doing out here?” The sheriff directed his attention toward Mallory. He dug a pen and small notebook out of his shirt pocket.

  She stepped forward. “I was riding on the road up there,” she pointed, “and I noticed something red in the bushes. I couldn’t tell what it was, so I came down here. Something spooked me and I went for help.”

  “What do you mean ‘something spooked you’? Did you see someone?” The sheriff made a note, then stared at her through almost-black mirrored sunglasses.

  “No. There wasn’t anyone around. Not that I saw anyway. I don’t know what bothered me. Just a feeling. The horse was creeped out, too.” She rubbed her arms with her hands.

  “Where were you?” Sheriff Bodine asked Mike.

  “I live at The Jumping Cholla, just over the hill. I was there when Miss James initially found this guy. She went riding alone, and I grew concerned when she was gone for quite a while. I came to look for her. She told me about what she’d seen and wanted to take another look. That’s when we found him.”

  “You said ‘him’? You know something I should know?” Sheriff Bodine made a note.

  “I looked in the glove box for I.D.,” Mike said. “There’s a registration and insurance cards in there with the name Wendell Wallace on them. I assume they belong to this guy.”

  “Take a look.” Bodine told his deputy and tipped his head toward the Jeep.

  The young woman leapt to obey. In a second she came back carrying the plastic folder and handed them to Bodine with white gloved hands. “Do you want me to uncover the corpse now, sir?”

  “In a minute.” Bodine opened the folder and scanned the documents inside. He handed them to the deputy. “Run these.”

  She dashed to her Blazer and picked up the two-way radio. She returned in a few minutes with a frown. “Wendell A. Wallace, sir. Single white male. Age twenty-seven. Missing since January two of this year. The mother put out a missing person’s report on January four. He told her he was going to Apache Junction, then to the desert to check a site and never returned.”

  “What kind of site?” Bodine asked.

  “Buried treasure, sir.” The deputy didn’t blink. “He worked part time at a nursing home. Spent every spare minute looking for lost treasure. He scored a couple small hits. It was in the news last year.”

  “Dig up the body. Let’s see what we’ve got,” Sheriff Bodine ordered.

  The deputy motioned to the EMTs and they joined her at the site.

  The sheriff, Mike and Mallory watched as the deputy and EMTs began to dig with small hand-held spades. First, the feet appeared. The body wore an expensive brand of high-top athletic shoes. Unless this woman had very big feet, these belonged to a man. Moving up, the legs were unveiled next. By the shape, Mike knew they were male.

  Mallory swayed and he put a hand on her shoulder.

  The trio dug more.

  Back pockets. No logo. Then a plain brown belt. This guy hadn’t been dressed to impress. He’d been in work clothes. Slowly, a pale blue work shirt came into view. Slim waist spread into wide shoulders. No doubt about it. This was a man. He rested on his stomach, arms splayed out, hands spread as if to break a fall. No watch and no wedding ring.

  The deputy wavered and looked up at Bodine with questioning eyes. He jerked his head. “Finish it.”

  She took a breath Mike heard two feet away and continued. As the sand lifted, a dark stain covered the collar. Blood.

  Mike wanted to look away.

  He couldn’t.

  He turned his head to see Mallory and she had a deer-in-the-headlights look—big, staring eyes, slightly flared nostrils, pinched lips. Probably much like his own expression. One of the EMTs grunted and Mike turned his head that way. They had finished.

  The first thing Mike noticed was the amount of blood. Gallons of it had spread from the back of the dead man’s head and flowed into the ground under him, staining it black. Mike had to assume the poor bastard had once had a head. He no longer did. Somebody had bashed him with something so strong his skull and brain exploded like a smashed watermelon.

  Mallory gagged. She turned and ran for the nearby Palo Verdes. The sound of her retching carried over the still air. The female deputy looked green around the gills herself before she staggered to her feet and fled to the bushes.

  Mike’s own stomach churned and he forced himself not to puke along with the girls.

  The two EMTs didn’t seem fazed, nor did Sheriff Bodine. They looked at the body with detached, clinical expressions. Mike tried to copy their attitude but failed miserably. He knew he looked like a sick dog. He felt like one.

  “Take some film,” Bodine told the blonde deputy as she came back. He waved two fingers between the EMTs. “And you two turn him over when she’s done.”

&nb
sp; Flashbulbs lit up the dying light. When the deputy had taken enough shots to satisfy Bodine, he nodded at the EMTs and they flipped the dead man to his back.

  If the rear of his head was terrible, the front was worse. His face was indistinguishable under a thick coating of dried, black blood. Under it, his open eyes stared at them and his mouth was frozen in an O. His shirt, stained almost purple, from neck to stomach, stuck to his bloated body.

  Mike had seen enough. He turned away and walked over to Mallory. She stood by the horses, her hand on Zorro’s neck. “You okay?”

  She shook her head and didn’t speak.

  “Try to stay strong. Hopefully, we’ll be able to leave shortly.”

  Her gaze was riveted on the body as the EMTs rolled him onto a sheet, wrapped him, and carried him to the back of the ambulance and stored him there. They jumped in and pulled away without lights.

  “The only place I’m going is to a hotel, then back to Vegas.”

  Before Mike could reply, the sheriff joined them. “Looks like you sure enough discovered Wendell Wallace. We won’t know for sure until we run fingerprints. We found a driver’s license in his pocket, and it’s probably the right guy, but I want to be positive before I call it.”

  Mike waited without comment.

  “Do you have any idea what this Wallace might be looking for out here? This is quite a ways from Apache Junction. About fifty miles from where he was headed. That’s more than a little swerve. Quite a detour.” Bodine spat again.

  “I told you I don’t have a clue,” Mike said. What was Bodine driving at?

  “This is your property, right?” Bodine swiveled his head. “How far?”

  Mike pointed. “To the highway this way, the Salt River the other. The road you came in on is the south border.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “And the north side goes about a mile that way. I’m surrounded by public lands beyond that.”