“There’s plenty of legitimate campsites in the area. There are national parks all over southern Colorado.” Callie walked slowly around the small clearing. The ground was hard, and it hadn’t rained in days, so there was very little chance of good tracks. Still, Nate would guess there were at least three people who had spent the night in this space, maybe more. The grass was dented in body-like outlines in several places. They hadn’t started a fire, but they left small clues that non-woodland creatures had visited.
The grass was disturbed, and the shrubs had broken branches. Nate quickly counted several cigarette stubs. It looked like this group rolled their own, and judging from the slight smell coming off one, it wasn’t just tobacco they were smoking.
“I’m getting nothing, Mel.” Callie was pointing the Detector 4000 at the campsite. The little device was humming, and a green light was blinking.
Mel scratched his head. “Really? You think it was just teens?”
Callie shrugged. “Guess so.”
“Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have guessed. Aliens are real health conscious, if you know what I mean.”
Nate knelt down and used a pen to sort through the pile of butts. A few had little red marks. Lipstick. He was doing a mental count when a smell hit him. His hands froze, and he turned to the left. That was where he saw it. On the ground before him, there were little drops of black in the dirt, a pool of iridescent darkness. Motor oil.
He went cold at the sight.
“Mel, you heard anything that sounds like a bunch of motorcycles?” He kept his voice even and calm when what he wanted to do was scream.
“Oh, sure, there was a bunch of them a couple days back.” Mel gestured toward the road. “They came through wearing all that crap they wear. Why do they wear so much leather? I would think it would get hot.”
They wore leather because it protected the skin better than anything else. They wore leather because it looked cool, and looking badass was very necessary when running with the “one percenters.” Nate knew that if a biker looked weak, he didn’t last long with The Barbarians. He had the scars and the tats to prove it.
“You get a look at their vests, Mel?” Outlaw bikers wore three-piece patches on their vests. It identified the gang they were with. Nate would know. He’d worn the Barbarian MC patch for almost four years. God help him if they had caught up to him. And God help Zane.
“I didn’t right notice, Sheriff. You see, I’m all about aliens, and these fellows were obviously human. They certainly smelled human, if you know what I mean. Those boys could use a bath.” Mel looked around. “Well, I guess I can get back to working on the bunker then. I was worried I might not have enough time.”
Nate stood, utterly frustrated. “Is there anything else you remember? How many of them were there? What kind of bikes they were riding? Did they have women with them?”
“Wow, that’s a lot of questions, Sheriff.” Mel seemed to consider the queries for a moment. “Now, as I remember it, there were a bunch of them, but not too many. They had a couple of women, but they were real tough looking. As for what they rode, well, they rode motorcycles. It was real loud, too. Hey, Callie, you think the loud motorcycles might have scared off the aliens?”
Callie opened her mouth to say something, but Nate had had enough.
“There are no aliens,” he gritted out the words as he yanked the Detector 4000 out of Callie’s hands. “This is a video game remote. They’ve been placating you for years, but I won’t do it. There’s too much serious shit going on to spend my afternoon traipsing through the woods to make you feel better.”
Mel frowned. “Well, I ain’t feeling better now.” Mel leaned over and talked behind his hand. “I think they got to the sheriff, Callie.”
“Something got to the sheriff.” Callie was shooting daggers his way.
Nate wasn’t taking it. He kicked at the dirt with his boot. What the hell was he doing? He was standing around with a kook when he should be…damn it. What was he going to do? Even if he could find the bikers who had spent the night here, he could write them a ticket, but that was about all. He wouldn’t be able to arrest them. If the Barbarians had come to Bliss, they would be careful to hide. They would be careful not to do anything that would put them at a disadvantage until they were ready to strike.
“Sheriff?” Callie looked at him, her mouth a little surprised O. “Are you okay?”
Mel was shaking his head. “This is what they do, Cal. They probably probed him. He’ll have trouble going to the bathroom for a couple of days.”
“Damn it, there are no aliens.” Nate took a firm stance. “And don’t call the station again. The next time one of us gets called out here under false pretenses, I’m going to fine your ass. You understand? You call in again, and I’ll write you a big ticket.”
Mel took a step back. Nate could see the fine tremble in his hands. “That’s the next sign. The aliens will come after our currency. I knew it would happen.”
Nate tossed the Detector to the ground and walked out of the clearing. He could hear Callie talking to Mel, soothing him with that soft voice of hers.
He could use some soothing. Callie smoothed things over for everyone. He couldn’t miss the way everyone in this crazy-ass town came to Callie Sheppard when they needed something. She spent most of her time building her friends up or talking them out of doing silly things. But did she have time for Nathan Wright? Hell, no. She would spend hours making sure that Mel felt secure, but could she spare a minute for her boss? Had she ever brought him cupcakes? She did it for Logan. Had she ever asked him out to lunch? Hell, no.
Nate was aware he was barreling through the woods with all the grace of a bear on a rampage. He hadn’t exactly invited friendly gestures from his secretary, but that didn’t matter now. He was fully in “woe is me” mode, and he didn’t really want to come out of it. It felt good. He’d spent so much time worrying about Zane that feeling bad for himself was freeing.
“Hey!”
He stopped in the middle of the path, aware of the thrill that went through him. Callie was yelling at him. Her voice was filled with fire and begging for a fight. Damn if he didn’t want to give her one. Nate whirled on her and was perfectly satisfied when she stopped in her tracks.
Callie stood stock still for a moment. He saw her take a deep breath before she got brave on him. “What the hell was that about, Nate? Do you really have to act like such a…a…jerk?”
He loved that little hitch in her voice. She was so proper. “What’s wrong, baby? You can’t cuss? Say what you mean.” He invaded her space. He knew he was on the edge, but he couldn’t quite pull himself back. Those years were weighing heavily on him. The very smell of motor oil had brought back too many bad memories.
“I choose to keep my language free of dirty words. And you were a jerk.” She held her ground. He was counting on that.
He towered over her. “I was an asshole, baby. I was a motherfucker. I was a dick. I was all of those things. I was also right. Things are gonna change around here.”
Her jaw set in a stubborn pout. “Oh, really? The great Nathan Wright is going to come in and teach all of us yokels how the world works?”
“Damn straight.” Somebody needed to. As far as he could tell, no one in this town ever bothered to take their head out of their ass. They were all worried about their art or hurting someone’s feelings. He’d heard an awful lot about karma since he started walking the streets of Bliss. And no one made him feel more like a dumbass than Callie Sheppard. She’d spent her time lecturing him on how Bliss worked. He wasn’t supposed to give tickets to Henry and Nell for not having the proper permits when they stopped traffic on Fridays with their silly mime project. He wasn’t allowed to arrest the nudists. He wasn’t supposed to “display a threatening presence,” and she’d told him to smile more. What the hell was that supposed to mean? She was trying to reduce his job to some sort of happy, glad-handing politician, and that wasn’t going to happen. “I’m going to force this backward ass town to realize that it isn’t in a bubble. Bad shit happens, darlin’, and you can’t fight it with a poem or a goddamn piece of pottery. You sure aren’t going to keep this place safe by holding hands and singing ‘Kumbayah.’”