Jana moved back against the rock, watching his approach, and as he grew from a child into an adult, his features became clearly defined. He was thin and his face, his clothes, his hair were caked with dust and sweat; he ran as if in great pain, blistered mouth open wide, the dry gasping of his breath audible in the desert stillness.
He came up to her, stopping several yards away, and knuckled his swollen eyes. He seemed to sway slightly, and Jana thought for a moment that he was going to fall. Compassion pressed at the edges of her anxiety, diminishing it. She relaxed somewhat, standing her ground; but she was still ready to bolt at the first sign of provocation.
“Who are you?” she said to him. “What happened to you?”
His mouth formed words, but he had no voice for them. He sank to his knees in the soft sand and braced his hands on his thighs, looking up at her. Relief and entreaty were apparent in his gaze, and the last vestiges of Jana’s wariness transformed into concern. Swiftly she caught up the bottle of mineral water — a little more than half full — and ran to where the man knelt watching her. She extended the bottle. He pulled it from her hands, making a sound that was almost a whimper. Head thrown back, holding the bottle in both hands, he sucked greedily at the neck of it. Water spilled out in his haste and washed away some of the thick dust on his lips, revealing them to be cracked and beaded with flecks of dried blood. Jana looked away.
He finished drinking, allowed the empty bottle to fall into the sand and drew the back of one sun-reddened arm gingerly over his mouth. Then, painfully, he pulled one leg under him and gained his feet, stumbling, finding his balance. Jana took an involuntary step backward, watching him now, but he made no move toward her. One corner of his mouth trembled, and all at once she realized that he was trying to smile.
“Can you talk now?” she asked him.
Soft, shuddering breath. “I... I think...” — testing his dust- and heat-parched vocal cords — “I think so.”
“How long have you been out there, under that sun?”
“All day. Years.”
“What happened?”
“My car quit running,” he said. “And I got lost. I’m not much of an outdoors man.”
“You should have stayed on the highway.”
“I wasn’t on a highway. I was out in the middle of nowhere. I’m a... rock hunter, you see. That’s my hobby.”
“You must be an amateur to go hunting rocks dressed the way you are.”
“Well... this is my first time on the desert.”
“Mine, too, as a matter of fact.”
“You don’t live in this area?”
“No. I’m just a tourist.”
“Are you alone here?”
Her tentative smile faded slightly. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just thought you might be. I saw the sun reflecting off your car, and then I saw you...” He ran a hand through his dusty hair, and looked beyond her to where the roadbed was visible through the rocks. “Where does that road lead?”
“To Cuenca Seco.”
“What about the other direction?”
“It’s a dead end.”
“How far to Cuenca Seco?”
“About seven miles.”
“Can you take me there? Right now?”
“Well...”
“I’ve got to get to a service station or a garage — some place that has a wrecker for my car.”
Jana considered it. He seemed harmless enough, an even worse tenderfoot that she was; and he hadn’t even looked at her as a woman, only as a savior, a beacon in a sea of arid heat. She couldn’t very well refuse him, not after what he had obviously been through today. He looked exhausted, and those blisters and skin cracks and sunburned patches needed medication. She was being too cautious — overreacting. This was the desert, not the streets of New York City. There was a different set of rules applicable out here.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll take you in.”
“Thanks, Miss—”
“Hennessey, Jana Hennessey.”
“Thanks, Miss Hennessey.”
“What’s your name?”
“Delaney,” he said. “Pete Delaney.”
Jana turned and began gathering up the blanket and the other things. She said, “You probably haven’t eaten all day, have you?”
“No,” he answered. “Nothing.”
“There’s some crackers and cheese in my bag. You’re welcome to what’s left.”
“Thanks,” he said again, softly, and followed her across to the waiting Triumph...
Twelve
Di Parma didn’t like what they were doing.
He didn’t like it one single damned bit.
What was the matter with Harry, anyway? He was acting like this was a picnic or something, sitting over there grinning in that funny little way of his, his eyes all bright. Vollyer was the best in the business, everybody said that, and he was a nice guy, too, and a friend. It was a real pleasure to work with him. You learned a lot from Harry, there was no doubt about that. But what kind of thing was this?
They had been on this damned twisting dirt road all day now, driving back and forth at ten miles an hour and all they had seen was some kid in a jeep chasing jackrabbits a half-mile from the county road — and him three hours ago. This guy, this Lennox, wasn’t going to show up around here, Harry was crazy if he thought that’s what was going to happen. The son of a bitch was long gone by now, he had made it back to that oasis or to the intrastate highway to flag down a car. Oh sure, Harry sitting there telling him about percentages and how you had to put yourself in Lennox’s shoes, but it still didn’t make any sense. Di Parma couldn’t see it at all.
What they should have done, they should have cut out. They should have hit the highway and driven straight back to the state capital and caught the first plane home. That’s what they should have done. So all right, the guy saw them make the hit. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as they had first thought. Lennox didn’t know their names, maybe he hadn’t even seen their faces clear enough to make a positive identification. Maybe he wouldn’t even go to the cops at all. A drifter like that, he wouldn’t want to get involved in any killing, he’d probably move out fast if he was a runner the way Harry kept saying he was. It was crazy to hang around on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. When the cops found the target’s body, they’d be leery of any strangers who had no good reason for being in the area. Christ, they were asking for it, they were just asking for it, it was crazy.
Di Parma reached down and turned the air conditioner up a little higher. It was hot inside the Buick, the bitch heat got through the windshield and through the other windows and the sun was so bright it was like having needles poked into your eyes after a while. He had a throbbing headache.
He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to be on that plane, he wanted to be home with Jean. He wanted to be in bed with her, holding her close, telling her how much he loved her. Oh Jesus, he loved her! He was crazy for her, to touch her, to be near her. She was beautiful. She was the most beautiful thing in the world. Her hair was like silk; he ran his fingers through her hair and he thought of silk and kitten fur and everything soft that he had ever touched. And her skin like rich cream and her body so perfect, and her laugh — oh, that laugh she had! Like music playing, sweet and low and warm. She loved him too, she told him that almost as often as he told her. She wanted to give him a kid. Imagine him with a kid; he’d never liked kids much but now he wanted one, he wanted to have one with Jean. A little girl. A little girl that looked like her, sweet and soft, and they would call her Jeannie, what else?