by Susan Slater
He reached for the binoculars. Two could play this game. He realized that he didn’t care if he did piss off Mr. Eklund. He hated being lied to, given some kind of cat-and-mouse run-around. He switched off the engine and, with the field glasses swinging around his neck, eased out from behind the wheel.
He marveled at the stillness. Flat land, livestock, fences. Nothing human. But he had the prickly hair on the neck feeling that he was being watched. He leaned against the top rail and took a bead on the house. Quiet. Might have been a flutter at a window on the second floor. Then again, maybe not.
Movement at the side of the house caught his attention. Coming from the back, someone was walking toward what was probably the pool. Iris. And if she wasn’t naked, she had on the tiniest string bikini he’d ever seen. He knew he was meant to fog up the lens, get a hard-on just looking, take his mind off what he might have seen. But Miss Iris wasn’t his type.
He turned back to the strand of poplar. Nothing. Better call it a day. Might be the kind of case that nighttime gave up more clues than daylight. He could come back this evening. Jerk. He could get shot, too. Wasn’t this one of the reasons he’d opted for a desk job? Stay out of the line of fire. Coast to retirement, get out at sixty after warming a seat the last ten years, giving seminars, training some crack-ass team of agents to do field work? A smile spread across his face. He’d go back to the motel and think it over, but he was already pretty sure he’d be back out here after sundown. Habit was a powerful thing.
***
Three Coors later the grease had congealed along the side of the steak platter and Eric had heard twenty-two years’ worth of living in Tatum, New Mexico. Yeah, he was the ticket out, all right. Only thing left around here that could make a girl some money was the Ranch, across the state line near Plains. Not an option if you had three brothers.
Andy had a friend who worked at the Ranch. And she said it reverently, not like it was a glorified whorehouse, but a privilege her friend richly deserved.
“One summer a whole bunch of Japanese businessmen took the place over. They were throwing around one thousand dollar bills until somebody from Dallas, you know, immigration or someone like that, put a stop to it, sort of suggested they move on. I’ve never even seen a one thousand dollar bill.” She paused to sip on her Southern Comfort and Coke. “I went out there once, on kind of an interview. It’s just three big double-wides behind an old farmhouse. It doesn’t even look like you think it would.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, velvet everywhere, crystal chandeliers.”
“So, what do they have?”
“A big room with cubby-holes. Floor to ceiling. Then another room with hot tubs.” She turned to face him. “You know a lot of their work is therapeutic, massages, steam baths, custom-mixed lotions, stuff like that.”
I’ll bet, he was tempted to say, but didn’t. He was saved any further discussion of the Ranch’s decor by Andy saying her nose needed powdering. He stood to let her out of the booth. And then he saw him. For that split second, their eyes locked in the mirror behind the bar. Recognition? Eric couldn’t be sure. There was something. The man was a gorilla, massive, thick neck; his jacket was ill-fitting but an important item if you were trying to conceal something like a gun. Eric could see the outline of it as the man bent forward to pull his drink closer. Some pretty good sized revolver? Semi-automatic?
No. This was stupid. Paranoid. Who would be after him? Andy’s father? He almost laughed. Forty and he could get decked by an irate parent. He just knew for certain that it wasn’t a setup by Billy Roland. He’d made a bargain with that lawyer and kept his word to the old man, covered for him.
Eric relaxed. The man at the bar seemed intent on studying the burned-in brands displayed in the wood beam above the cash register. One man carrying a gun and glancing his way didn’t make an armed assassin. Not that it wasn’t important to be on your toes, but it was a little too egocentric to think someone wanted you dead. He’d waited seven years for this day. He needed to start enjoying it.
The band was tuning up, and the lead singer, dripping sequins and fringe, settled herself on a stool facing the audience. Long red hair cascaded down her back and swept below her ass; her full thighs were encased in doe-soft white leather; she looked his way and waved. He nodded and held eye contact a minute. God, women could be so beautiful in these backwash places. Or was he reacting from deprivation?
Horny. That was it. That was what was wrong with him. There was nothing like getting laid to put things in perspective. Actually, no better way to start the first day of the rest of your life than with a bang. The cracked leather back seat of the Caddy was beginning to look pretty good.
Andy was motioning to him from the edge of the dance floor as the vocalist began a slow pulsating tune that had been popular a few years back. Walking toward her, he noticed how young everyone looked; mean age had to be twenty-five. Even the bartender wasn’t more than thirty. It was like an entire generation of people had sprung up from nowhere. Seven years had been a long time. But then, two million was a lot of money.
Andy put both arms around his neck and folded her body into his. Holding her like this wasn’t helping him put off his decision to get laid. But from the looks they were getting from some of the single women about Andy’s age, Eric knew it was important for her to show him off. Even the man with the gun was dancing. Must be a local.
Andy felt good against him. Smelled good against him. If he had to take a guess, he’d say she wasn’t wearing underpants.
He didn’t encounter any elastic as he slipped an index finger under the cuff of her shorts. He liked that. He had found it exciting behind the kitchen; he found it exciting now. As the band struck up a lively rendition of “Cotton-eyed Joe,” Eric grabbed Andy’s arm, steering her toward the booth.
“Let’s get out of here. I can think of a couple things I’d like to do that don’t require a crowd, and music’s optional.”
“Am I going to like these ‘things’?” A teasing smile played at the corners of her mouth. She tipped her head back and on impulse, Eric covered her mouth with his, letting his tongue barely push between her lips. It wasn’t a kiss as much as an invitation. Leaving his hands clasped behind her head, he pulled back to read her expression. Just what he had hoped for. God, how he loved women to meet him head on, matching his own raw wanting. Andy grabbed her purse from the booth and hung onto his arm as they worked their way toward the door.
***
No motel used individual air-conditioners anymore. Their inefficiency was staggering. Dan pulled off the tight boots, stripped to his shorts, and fell back prone on the bed, letting the window unit blow full force over his body. He could have stayed in Roswell, at Carolyn’s. She had offered. But knowing his sister, it was probably more gesture, the right thing to do, than anything she really expected him to take her up on.
Carolyn had married well to rancher, entrepreneur, oil-rich Phillip Ainsworth. Ski-bum handsome, Yale graduate, native of Roswell, bright enough to recognize blind ambition in a mate. Dan had wondered twenty years ago how Carolyn would ever survive in a town like Roswell. But it hadn’t taken her long to groom her ticket to better things. And she’d done a good job of it. Phillip was a force in the state, charter member of a good ol’ boy network.
She and Philip wouldn’t be back from Santa Fe until next week and then only to kick off some fund raisers for her husband’s newest project, a series of down-home Bar-B-Ques for the next Governor of New Mexico. Jason, the only nephew, was at school, so it would have been just him and Dona Mari, the Mexican housekeeper/nanny who was a self-proclaimed herbalist and whose last cleansing had left him with two days of the trots. No thanks.
Was he looking forward to seeing the future First Lady of New Mexico? Yes, out of guilt. Not really, out of truth. Dan knew she’d be totally wrapped up in this newest adventure. Carolyn was born to be First Lady of something. Dan rolled over. He had about three hours until sundown, a nap, a sandwi
ch in the coffee shop, and then a little night work. He wadded the pillow under his head and closed his eyes.
The first rolls of thunder sounded like cannon fire. He sat straight up, dazed and apprehensive before he got his bearings. Was there anything worse than sleeping in a strange bed? A peek out the window showed patches of blue sky with some ominous gray-black clouds threatening to the west. The digital clock turned over six thirty-nine. Time to get going.
How could anyone ruin a toasted cheese with chips? The waitress was apologetic but didn’t offer to make it good. Daniel left her a couple bucks anyway and walked outside. God, he was cranky. A lumpy bed, humidity you could cut with a knife—he stopped himself. Yes, those were reasons, unpleasantries, but wasn’t he bugged the most by knowing he was going snooping? Taking a chance on being caught where he wasn’t supposed to be?
But, damn it, they hadn’t given him any alternative.
Why was it every time he was in this neck of the woods, the words to country western tunes played in his head. A little number by Johnny Paycheck was drowning out everything else right about now. He slammed the door to the Tercel harder than he meant to.
It was a great night if the rain would just hold off. No moon. Light wind. He couldn’t have ordered anything better. He studied the map to the Double Horseshoe. He had an hour’s drive ahead of him; he’d better get going.
***
The crowd spilled out of the Bar and Grill into the parking lot. A couple of discussions had turned ugly. But so had the weather. Blinding flashes of light bounced against the horizon, branching jaggedly to the sides. A series of nature’s sonic booms rattled the bar’s single-pane windows. The rain, heavy all around them, was just beginning here. Big splats of water hit the cement sidewalk, sending up an aroma of dust and limestone.
“We’re going to have to run for it.” Eric pulled Andy closer, and they darted from under the protective overhang. The air hung charged and heavy; wet slaps of raindrops stung their arms. They reached the Caddy out of breath, both scrambling to roll up the windows. Pulling Andy toward him, Eric leaned back against the leather.
“Front row seats if you like a light show.”
The rain was just a loud spattering of drops, but the lightning illuminated the entire parking lot. And that’s when he saw him. Again. Local or not, this guy was more than just curious. He’d started fiddling with something on the dash of his Dakota when he saw Eric look that way, but he was tailing them, pure and simple. It wasn’t coincidence. Eric didn’t like the feel of it. Had he been a fool to trust Billy Roland? Was this guy some hired goon?
“If you really had to run this old tank top-out, what would she do?”
“A hundred.” Andy hadn’t hesitated but watched him closely.
“How well do you know the back roads in this county?”
“Is that a personal question?” She pouted, then offered a small flirty smile. Andy was sitting upright facing him, her back against the dash.
“Maybe.” He grinned. No use upsetting her by something that still might be just a figment of his imagination. “If we needed to ditch somebody, think you could do it?” He had her full attention now.
“It’d be easy.” She started to turn her head in the direction of his gaze. Roughly grabbing her chin, he turned her back to face him.
“Can’t let on we suspect anything.”
“Who is it?”
“Damned if I know.”
Actually, he thought he knew. How could he be so naive as to think he could do a favor, pay with seven years of his life and then be left to enjoy two million dollars? He had even entertained the idea of arranging to have a gun waiting when he got out but had thought it too risky. A gun in the possession of a felon could turn a routine traffic stop into a major event. He wasn’t planning to stay in the States any longer than he had to. A gun could be purchased later.
“I think we need to change our plans. If I wanted to rent a plane, is the closest small airstrip still the one at Lovington?”
“Aerowest Charters. If they aren’t open, we could try Hobbs Field.”
“How long will it take to get there?”
“Maybe an hour.”
Eric checked his watch. The storm might give them some time. Time to dump the Caddy and become inconspicuous. Then if they had to wait until morning to rent a plane, they’d be okay. It didn’t look like the tail was too eager to move. Probably put off by Andy’s being there.
“Wait at the top of the drive until I tell you to pull out on the highway.”
Andy nodded, pumped the gas, and slipped the old car into gear. Slowly inching forward, they wound their way out of the lot, stopping for cars of locals turning in to park and begin the weekend. Eric had turned the rearview mirror to check the Dakota. He wasn’t disappointed. It was pulling out.
“Which way is the closest turnoff to a back road?”
“To the right. About five miles down we’ll intersect County Five. There’s a maze of section roads that cuts through four large ranches. We’ll be okay. The roads are graveled.”
Eric smiled. He liked the way she had jumped right in. No questions. Just an escape plan. He was at her mercy as much as the tail.
“Let’s do it.” He had to yell. The rain was washing over the car in waves now. “What do you call these? Toad Stranglers?”
She didn’t respond. She was intent on turning at the top of the drive. The water was already making the traction tricky for the big rear-wheel drive vehicle. The sliding didn’t instill confidence, but the headlights of the pickup following them didn’t either.
***
Damn. Dan was lost. And there wasn’t a snowball’s chance that he even had the slightest idea where he was. In the middle of nowhere everything looked alike in broad daylight, the dark had him totally turned around. Dan pulled over to the side of the road. He must have missed the marker. He needed to find County Road Number Five. Stay on it for thirty miles before turning to the right. He double-checked the map.
The start of the downpour caught him by surprise. He flipped on the wipers but realized they were useless. He’d have to wait it out, couldn’t go anywhere in this anyway. He left on the park lights, pulled a roll of Life Savers from the glove compartment and leaned against the steering wheel. A nap? Or contemplation? He chose the nap. If he had to think too much, he might see what he was doing as idiocy.
***
“You okay?”
There was no going a hundred in a blinding storm, but Andy had pushed the old tank up to fifty. Her arms were rigid, hands gripping the wheel.
“I don’t want to miss the turn. According to the odometer, we’ve gone five miles.” Andy slowed, intent on the right side of the highway.
“There. Thirty feet. County marker.” Eric was pounding the windshield with his index finger. Parking in high school hoping to grope and get groped hadn’t made him this excited to see a county road.
“Got it.”
The Caddy left the highway and slipped and swished down a short incline before leveling out onto a narrow but seemingly stable stretch of gravel. The road was slightly elevated with steep edges that allowed for good drainage. The rain seemed to be slowing. Eric rolled down the window. Squinting into the wet and wind, he watched behind for some sign of the tail. The flicker of headlights was no more than a half mile back.
“Too close.” Eric eased around to face Andy. “I think we need a Plan B.”
He watched as she chewed her lip. He could tell the fun was gone. She looked scared and couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice.
“Let me think. Past Elm Creek Bridge there’s some silos. An access road makes a big U around the back. We could pull in and wait till he goes by. It’ll work if I can see with my lights off.”
Why not? They probably didn’t have much of a choice. Eric was beginning to curse himself about the lack of a gun. The worst of the storm seemed to have passed. There was just enough rain to keep the wipers on.
“How far to the bridge?”
“Maybe a half mile.”
The high beams were blinding and coming up fast. He was able to make out the hood ornament. The truck was practically on top of them.
“Do you think this guy’s really dangerous? Maybe if we just pulled over?” Andy looked terrified.
“I think we’re past having a friendly chat.”
The first bullet ricocheted off the fender, making a loud ping. The second found the left rear tire. The Caddy listed but kept going on the rim.
“Floorboard her,” Eric screamed. He could see the bridge.
“I’m sorry. They said they wouldn’t hurt you…they just wanted to talk….” Andy sobbed and fought to control the steering wheel as the Caddy fishtailed violently.
With a jolt the front wheels connected with the bridge planking, bucking both of them into the unpadded roof overhead. The low guard rails caught the swing of the Caddy first on the left, then on the right.
Eric lunged for the wheel. Andy was no longer in control, her body slumped against the driver’s side door, her head bouncing off her chest. He screamed her name, but the sound got lost in a thunderous roar as the car was thrust upward, suspended above the bridge before being plummeted downward. They were being pushed by a solid wall of water that was rolling the Caddy on the crest of a thirty-foot wave. Andy’s body hit him in the side; the back of her head caught his nose. It was the last thing Eric remembered.
Chapter Two
“Assholes.”
First the Caddy had gone by doing eighty with no headlights, then a Dodge pickup. It was the pickup that had forced Dan onto the soft shoulder. Thank God the Tercel’s front-wheel drive kept him out of trouble. Kids. He hadn’t missed anything. Only his sister thought parenting was a sacred calling. He thought it was more like an obligation you were lucky to live through. But then that was just another way he differed from Carolyn.
He cracked the window. The air smelled fresh. He breathed deeply and switched on his high beams. A ride in the country wasn’t too bad after a good hard rain. He’d just passed a marker. He was on County Five.