“It was a she.”
“Did she look like a man?”
“Are you kidding? She was a real looker. Long blonde hair, pretty rich looking.”
Could that be the same woman? The one who clearly enjoyed looking like a man?
Tess knew what Pat would say: nothing there.
But he hadn’t seen her in the flesh.
“Anything else you can tell me about the woman?”
“She had a kid with her.”
Tess’s pulse quickened. “How old?”
“I dunno. Eleven, twelve, maybe? Kid had a yo-yo. About drove me nuts. A distraction, you know?”
It was her.
By now, the woman and boy were probably long gone. Why would they stay in Paradox? Tess would keep an eye out for them, sure, but she wouldn’t go looking. She’d have no reason to pull them over. They had not broken any law as far as she could tell.
Tess realized she was relieved.
Chapter Ten
Ten Minutes to Midnight
THE COYOTES ON the bajada were yipping again. No matter how often Sheriff Thaddeus “Bonny” Bonneville heard them, their manic, high-pitched shrieks set his teeth on edge. Been that way since he was a kid.
His coon dog, Ed, was waiting for Bonny to get up and walk down the hall to bed, but Bonny wasn’t ready yet.
Bonny thought about Bajada County’s one detective, Pat Kerney, and the deputy. They worked well together. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Bajada County had two detectives instead of one.
Bonny was surprised that Pat actually appreciated Tess McCrae’s help. Even a year ago, that would not have been the case. Although Pat was pugnacious as ever, Bonny had a strong feeling that his mind wasn’t on business anymore. Bonny thought he knew why. Pat’s priorities had changed.
Bonny, himself a widower, knew plenty of friends who’d lost their wives. Most of them wanted to get married again, and usually did so within a year. They liked being married so much they wanted to repeat the experience. In Pat’s case, his wife didn’t hadn’t died. She’d left him. But damned if old Pat wasn’t desperate to get himself back into holy matrimony as soon as possible. He’d courted just about every woman in town, including the new deputy.
Tess McCrae had put paid to that in a hurry. Rare ability, to shoot a guy down and be able to work with him the next day.
Ed whined, then lay down on the floor, inconvenienced but patient.
“In a minute,” Bonny said to the old dog. He punched in the home number for Harry McCrae, a sergeant with Las Cruces PD in New Mexico. Harry answered on the first ring.
“How’s my niece working out?” Harry McCrae asked.
“Oh, she’s fine,” Bonny said. “Remind me again what happened in Albuquerque?”
“Not much to tell. She found her husband in bed with a young woman and got mad, is all.”
“Way I heard it she trained her gun on them.”
“That’s what she testified to.”
Bonny was silent.
“She’s not like that,” Harry said.
“I know.” “Hair-trigger” wasn’t a term Bonny would use for his star deputy. He didn’t even know why he was bringing it up. He and Harry’d had the selfsame conversation when he’d thought about hiring her eight months ago. “She threw the gun out the window?”
“It hit the window and cracked the glass.”
“Misfired, as I recall.”
“Nobody was hurt.”
“Still.”
“What is it you’re getting at, Bonny? You regretting bringing her on board?”
“No, that’s not it.” Might as well give it voice. “I’m thinking of making her detective tomorrow. Am I doing the right thing?”
No hesitation at alclass="underline" “If you have the good sense God gave a goose, you’ll do it.”
Chapter Eleven
MAX AWOKE IN the middle of a conversation. It took him a moment to realize the conversation was not in his head, but nearby.
His head ached. He wanted to sit up but was afraid if he did, he’d vomit. So he lay there like an aching tooth, eyes squeezed shut. The conversation went on in his head, or around his head, or a few feet away.
“Look, Corey, I said we’d split it three ways. What more do you want?”
Max recognized the voice. Luther, the motel clerk. His host.
“Just sayin’, it don’t work out, who’s gonna be takin’ out the trash?”
“There’s no risk. It’s not like he’s some bum we picked up off the street. They’ll pay through the nose to get him back.”
“I’m the one’d be taking the risk. More risk, more remuneration is all. I can’t see you doin’ it. I’m the guy who risked my ass in Tikrit.”
“And I appreciate that, I really do. But we’re splitting it three ways. That’s only fair. Wait a minute.”
Max heard a scrape, the sound of boots on concrete. The air stirred above him, vile breath in his face. “You awake, Max?”
“He’s waking up?”
“Max, you awake, buddy?”
Play dead.
“You’re not fooling me,” Luther said. He dashed some cold water on Max’s face.
Max opened his eyes. It hurt to open them. Luther’s face loomed like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon, and his breath smelled like the lining of a birdcage.
Max squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. Dizziness followed. He was in a vortex, spiraling down inside the blackness.
After what might have been minutes—or it might have been hours—he was awake again.
“Maxie, oh, Maxie! Wakey uppy.”
Max opened one eye.
“That Coca-Cola has one hell of a kick, doesn’t it, man?” Luther said sympathetically.
“What was in it?” Max said, realizing his voice was slurred.
“Rohypnol.” Luther went out of Max’s line of vision and came back with a wet rag. “Look at all this puke! Can’t take you anywhere, I swear.” But his tone was merry.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ve been kidnapped.”
“I was, um…” Wished he could talk better. Wished he had better vision too. Something was wrong, spatially. Objects in relation to one another were larger or smaller than they appeared. Like Luther’s giant moon face, floating in and out of his airspace.
“Don’t worry, be happy,” Luther said, squeezing the rag into a bucket on the concrete floor. “This should all be over in a wink. No harm done.”
“The vomit?”
“No. The kidnapping. You’ll be snug as a bug in your bed with the lovely Talia before you know it.” Then he climbed up the fixed ladder on the wall, knocked on the ceiling, and disappeared through a trapdoor.
Max stared at the ceiling where Luther had disappeared, wondering if he was still dreaming. It felt like a dream—surreal.
He had to shake this. Had to get his mind back, now. If he really had been kidnapped, he should figure out a way to get out of here. He concentrated his gaze on one object after another until they began to make sense, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle filling in.
The room was claustrophobic. Faded turquoise walls curved like the insides of a culvert. Max was lying under an army blanket on a cot. Nearby, a bottle of water and some Lunchables sat on a card table. A large pipe snaked along one wall, ending in an ancient metal box. He noticed that the trapdoor in the ceiling once had a handle, but it had been sheered clean off.
He was in a bomb shelter.
HALF AN HOUR later, Max was still a little unsteady on his feet, but he made it up the steel ladder to test the door. He pushed hard, then pounded on it with a fist. Felt around to see if there was a secret catch, but the whole thing was out in the open—no frills. With the handle stripped off, there didn’t appear to be a way out. They must have fixed it so it would lock from above. Even if he overpowered Luther, Luther had to have someone above to open the trapdoor.