Wild Wild Death (13 page)

No signal.

“Who the hel ever decided that this place should be a place?” I screamed. “Who would ever want to live here? Who would bother to put a road here?”

Since there didn’t seem to be any point in sitting there waiting for answers, I got out of the car, and as long as I was hopping mad, I kicked the front left tire.

Since it was already flat and I used the foot that wasn’t attached to the ankle that throbbed, there was no further harm done.

Groaning, I leaned against the car and looked around at the nothing that surrounded me. No people. No houses. No traffic. Nothing but scraggly sage bushes, rocks, and more dust. If I was going to get back to the semicivilization that was Antonito, I was going to have to hoof it.

I grabbed my purse, and since it was late afternoon, the blue windbreaker I’d left in my car the night of the bone heist, too. After just a couple days in this part of the world, I knew that once the sun went down, the air chil ed quickly. One last look in the backseat and the trunk, hoping for a pair of sneakers, and when I didn’t find any, I headed out.

It didn’t seem as if I’d driven on the dirt road beyond the gate for al that long, but getting back to the gate on foot took me forever. Then again, I was dodging potholes the size of some of the more elaborate gravestones back at Garden View, and more rocks that I swear were just waiting for me to make another bad move and twist my other ankle.

As for the one that was already twisted, by the time I got back to the gate, I stopped to rest it. No way I was going to sit in the dirt, so I leaned against the gate, swiping my arm across my forehead to get rid of the sweat. I would have stayed longer if some furry creature didn’t scurry by, just out of sight, but way too close for comfort.

The rest of my journey is best left undescribed.

Let’s just say it involved a whole lot more walking, a couple blisters, and a ride in a rusty pickup truck with a guy named Miguel, who in return for his kindness, asked for my phone number. What could I say?

Miguel was insistent and he said something about not letting me out of the truck until he had my number in hand. I could only hope that when El a started getting cal s from this part of the world (and in Spanish, too), she’d understand.

By the time we rol ed into Antonito, I was actual y happy to see the place. I thanked Miguel (fast) and slid out of the truck, my hair in my eyes and my clothes caked with what felt like half the dessert. If I was paying more attention to my surroundings and less to my ankle and where I was going to get some ice to put on it, I would have noticed the police car parked nearby. As it turned out, it wasn’t until I felt the familiar prickle of being watched that I realized I wasn’t alone.

Oh yeah, it was Mr. Gorgeous Cop, al right, and he tipped his wide-brimmed hat back on his head and looked me up and down with something very much like pity in his eyes. I can’t say for sure (what with the sweat and the hanging hair and al ), but I think he might have been smiling, too.

“Come on,” he said, opening the passenger door of the patrol car and urging me in. “It looks like we need to do some serious shopping.”

H

e final y introduced himself in the women’s clothing department of the twenty-four-hour Walmart in Alamosa, Colorado. He wasn’t just a cop, he was the police chief of the Taopi Pueblo, and his name was Jesse Alvarez.

Gorgeousness aside, Jesse wasn’t much when it came to fashion. At his insistence (and he was plenty insistent), I ended up buying two pairs of sturdy, off-brand jeans and four long-sleeve shirts.

“Perfect,” he said, “for scouring the desert, looking for whatever you’re looking for.”

Have I mentioned he wasn’t exactly the type who beats around the bush?

He found out soon enough that I could be equal y as stubborn. And that I had exacting standards. The stubborn part came when I completely ignored al the same old mumbo jumbo about the shaman and the throwing

of bones and how, thanks to some mysterious message from the Beyond, he knew I was searching for something important. Like I’d told Goodshot, I didn’t know Jesse wel enough. Not yet, anyway. Until I did, I had to keep my mouth shut. As for the exacting standards… wel , he learned about that as soon as he tried to lead the way to the shoe department. That’s where I drew the line.

I understood the reasoning behind a pair of rugged cowboy boots. Honest! I even liked the idea of having a kicky little pair in my closet. But from Walmart?

I thought not.

Lucky for Jesse (who never would have heard the end of it from me if he’d pushed too hard), he had a leatherworker buddy back near Antonito who specialized in handmade boots. Lucky for me, Buzzard McGraw not only stayed up late, but was something of a god when it came to tooled leather.

Jesse was pained and patient while I tried on boot after boot, but I refused to be hurried, and I was not about to settle. I final y chose a pair in goatskin.

Fawn-colored, calf-length. They were burnished with a flame pattern that hugged the top of the foot and shot upward, wrapping around the leg. The design was artistic and intricate, lighter around the edges, darker in the center. Perfect for creating the il usion of a slim calf. Not that mine needed it.

I envisioned a stiletto-heel version of the boot that, for al his skil , Buzzard had never imagined, but he was wil ing to make it just for me. Jesse insisted (there’s that word again) on the one-and-a-half-inch chunky Cuban heel already on the boots. Since my ankle was stil tender, I let him win this round.

I fel instantly head over heels. With the boots, not with Jesse. That would only come later, though I had an inkling of it every time he was near and little skittles of electricity played across my skin. My gut told me he was one of the good guys, but I’d been fooled before. Sexual attraction is a powerful thing, and when it’s crackling in the air, the line between reason and emotion is likely to get blurred. But during the night when my ankle throbbed and I tossed and turned and got up time and again to fetch ice from the creaking, clanking machine outside the motel office, I decided that if I stil got good-guy vibes from Jesse the next time we were together, I would take a chance and tel him why I was visiting the Great Southwest. He was a cop, he might be able to help. Of course, he was also a Taopi Indian, like Goodshot, and I couldn’t be sure how he was going to take the news of the body snatching. Then again, if it would help keep Dan alive, I was wil ing to take the chance.

The next morning my mind was made up and I was feeling better about life in general and my chances of helping Dan in particular. I was wearing the boots and they were dreamy, and comfortable, too. Turns out they provided perfect support for my tender ankle. I would have been on top of the world if I also wasn’t dressed in those utilitarian but woeful y unfashionable jeans along with a blue-and-yel ow-plaid shirt that made me look like an extra in a high school–theater production of
Oklahoma
.

I limped a little closer to and then farther from the mirror atop the lopsided dresser in my motel room, trying to get a better gander at myself so I could decide if I was going to go for practicality or chuck the whole down-to-earth look and opt for my sandals, the whole down-to-earth look and opt for my sandals, skinny jeans, and a tank top when I heard shuffling outside on the balcony that ran the length of the second floor of the motel.

I turned around just in time to see a shadow block the sunlight streaming in under the door. It moved quickly, and the next thing I knew, there was a single sheet of folded paper laying on the stained carpet. I raced to the window but I was too late. Whoever had been there was already gone.

For a minute, I stared at the paper. Which was sil y, of course. I’d already figured it was from Brian the ghostbuster turned kidnapper. I already knew it was going to say something about Dan and the bones and—

My gulp echoed in the silence of my room, and the sound was enough to get me moving.

I reached for the paper, unfolded it, and read.

Dan 4 the bones

He still has a chance

But if u involve the cops

he will be dead 2 day

So I wasn’t crazy when I thought someone had been watching me. Brian, and he’d seen me with Jesse.

Good guy or not, it didn’t matter now. No way I could confide in Jesse.

He will be dead 2 day.

Just thinking about those words, my stomach went cold and my knees buckled. I sank onto the bed, but only for a minute, because that’s when I came to my senses. I was the only one who could help Dan. I couldn’t let him down. I had to find those bones, and I had to do it quickly. Before Brian and his alien buddies did something real y stupid.

I

would get right to work, right after I took the clothes I’d worn the day before over to Tom’s Laundromat.

The way I had it planned, while my dust-caked jeans were washing, I’d head over to Taberna. One of these days, I was bound to find Norma behind the bar. See, I remembered how she’d brought a pitcher of beer to the aliens even before they’d ordered it, and how her hand had brushed Brian’s arm when she delivered the beer.

Oh yeah, Norma and I, we needed to talk.

I wadded my dirty clothes into a bal and headed across the street, and I was just pul ing open the door to the Laundromat when a car pul ed up alongside the cinder block building. Police car. With you-know-who driving.

I thought about that note that had been shoved under my door, the one that was burning a hole in the pocket of my no-name jeans, and even though I told myself it made me look weak and worried, I couldn’t help it. I glanced around, wondering as I did if Brian had his eyes on me and, if he did, where he was watching from. I wasn’t about to take any chances.

When Jesse’s window slid open, I hotfooted it into the Laundromat.

There was no back door so it wasn’t exactly like I could avoid him completely, and that was too bad. I knew Jesse would come inside. He was a cop, after al , and cops don’t give up easily. By the time he walked in, I’d already bought a packet of laundry detergent from a vending machine against the wal and thrown my clothes into a washer as far from a window as it was possible to get.

Jesse stopped just inside the door and looked me over. Since I was pretending to be busy watching the washing machine fil , I couldn’t actual y see this, but I could feel his eyes, everywhere they touched me. When I went right on ignoring him, he stepped closer. “Nice shirt,” he said. “My mom has one just like it.”

“Oh, thanks a bunch!” I threw my hands in the air, spun to face him—and caught the smile on his face right before he fought to hide it. “You got me,” I said, turning back to the washing machine. “You knew you would, talking like that.”

“But my mom real y does have the same shirt.

For what it’s worth…” I heard his boots scrape against the beige linoleum and the long, low whistle that spoke louder than words. “You look a hel of a lot better in it than she does.”

I pursed my lips to hide my own smile.

“If I didn’t know better”—Jesse tipped his head back toward where he’d left his cruiser—“looked to me like outside there, you were trying to pretend you didn’t know me.”

There was nothing wrong with the machine, but I opened it anyway, rearranged the few things in there splish-splashing around, then closed the lid. “Why would I do that?”

“Just what I was wondering.”

I knew Jesse was close, because the air heated and my temperature shot up along with it. I kept my hands flat on the washing machine in front of me and gave a little shrug that I hoped didn’t draw too much attention to my bustline. “I guess I just don’t think we have al that much to say to each other.”

“Oh, I get it. Love ’em and leave ’em, eh?” When he chuckled, I looked up at him. “You got the boots you love, now you don’t need me anymore.”

“Maybe.” Somebody had left a basket of clothes on the washer next to the one I was using and far be it from me to touch other people’s clothes. I pul ed out the towels, anyway, and one by one, folded them.

“I didn’t come looking for you yesterday, you were waiting for me when I got back here to Antonito. And you’re the one who insisted we go shopping. So we went shopping. So maybe you’re right.” Could I sound convincing enough? I hoped so. I raised my chin. “Now I don’t need you anymore.”