Desert Exposure (22 page)

He thought back over the past five minutes, and recalled his letter from the chief had been delivered in the same newspaper like a message. Mantis had raised the newspaper before slipping away. Did he have a message? If so, where would he deliver it? And when? Tonight, at the bar?

Stanton came to a stop beside him. “Who was that?”

“Nobody I know.”

“He looked kind of like a guy I know, Fernando. He’s local riff-raff.”

Michael steeled himself and kept his gaze lowered.
So that was it. Mantis had recognized Deputy Stanton
. It didn’t seem like the right thing to do, to tell Stanton that Fernando was his informant, although if they were going to work together he should disclose everything.
Not yet
. It was a gut level warning and he always followed those.

“Let’s eat, and then get out of here,” Michael said.

He tried to act casual, and strolled toward Rachel. But his adrenaline was pumping and his heart pounding. He’d wanted to give chase, but if Stanton knew the guy, and insisted on showing up on his doorstep—in the unlikely event that Mantis had a doorstep—it could totally spook him. Mantis would just fade off into the distance never to be seen or heard of again. And hell, he needed him.

Damn
. He wanted whatever news Mantis had. And he wanted it now.

Tonight couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Twelve

Rachel swiveled around on the bar stool and sipped on her beer. She still thought the place stunk worse than the Salton Sea, but she’d vowed to keep those comments to herself. From now on she’d work with Michael, and not follow her own crazy ideas. Michael knew what he was doing.

A rush of guilt flooded her thoughts. Was she relying on him too much? She always liked the next shiny thing whether she wanted or needed it, or if it was good for her. Grandpa had told her about that failing many times. Men, huh, they always thought they knew what was best for the women in their lives. She gave another slight huff, took a sip of beer, and shuddered.

“Excuse me,” she said, and beckoned Fred. “I’d like a chardonnay.”

He grinned. “Didn’t think you were into the suds.”

“It showed, huh?” Rachel laughed. “I tried to impress Dingo.”

“Yeah, well, we know where that gets us. Be yourself. You should know that from Cliffs. You’d see all kinds of fakes there.” He slid a stemmed glass of white wine toward her.

Rachel grimaced. “I do.” She dug ten dollars out of her purse, and slid it across the bar. “Keep the change.”

Fred grinned and walked down the length of the bar, cleaning up, refilling glasses, and chatting amiably as he went. The odor that rose up, and seemed to form a cloud above the dance floor, almost made her gag. At least with the sweetness of the wine on her tongue she could suffer in silence.

She glanced toward Dave Stanton. He gyrated around his dance partner, giving his best version of the redneck’s overbite, and the busty female played up to his every move. Good Lord. Had she and Dave looked that pathetic as a couple? She smiled, probably so. But Dave was good folk. A touch of tenderness washed over her. They would always be friends. No matter who, or what, came between them. After another sip of wine, she casually eyed all of the dark corners of the room. It had gotten late, and there’d been no sign of the praying-mantis-on-crack as Michael liked to refer to his informant.

A youngish woman who had obviously fallen on bad times, dressed in washed out black from head to toe, slid onto the barstool next to her. “Bourbon, on the rocks,” the woman called out to Fred, the words rattling from her throat like iron grating on iron. “My friend here is paying.” She gave a slight tilt of her chin toward Rachel.

About to protest, Rachel felt a hand clamp down on her knee.

She glanced into the eyes that a moment before had looked guarded, and now had widened and shone with the intensity of an unspoken message. The woman’s eyes lowered briefly as she looked toward Rachel’s knee, and Rachel followed her gaze. The woman’s hand, although small and bony, pressed with urgency against her knee. A small piece of paper was wedged between the woman’s hand and Rachel’s jeans, only one end of the note evident.

Rachel looked back up at Fred, who now stood stomach pressed against the bar and scowling at the thin woman. “Sure. Old buddies here,” she said cheerfully. “Order whatever you want, hon.”

Fred glanced from one to the other, shrugged, and walked over to the liquor bottles. Rachel figured he wanted the sale and therefore asked no questions. She took the note, and deftly slid it into her jacket pocket. She opened her wallet, drew out a twenty dollar bill and placed it on the bar. The dark bar, and the twirling blue-starred strobe light, didn’t allow for reading. Besides, she wanted privacy.

“I’m going to the restroom,” Rachel said to the woman. She hadn’t uttered another word but sat beside her rigidly, her chest barely moving, as she eyed the liquor bottles and waited for the drink. Rachel hesitated a moment. The woman looked painfully thin. Maybe she should offer to buy her a hamburger.

The woman looked up and glared, as if to ask, “What the hell you lookin’ at?”

Rachel slid off the barstool and moved away. Maybe she’d feed her when she returned from reading the note. The least she could do was offer. Michael looked her way and continued with his song. She didn’t break her step, or wave.

Stanton danced close by. “You leaving?” he asked, and grabbed at her elbow.

“Nope. Ladies,” Rachel said, and shucked off his sweaty hand. His entire face and neck were damp.

“You should dance,” the busty young woman said, and then flashed Rachel a smile.

Stanton worked his moves, and the woman seemed to be having a good time. If she raised her arms any higher though, those babies were going to pop right out of her dress; if you could call the strapless mini a dress.
Hope she brought a coat.
It would be cold at midnight. And she knew Stanton wouldn’t be leaving with the woman because he had a date with Michael. Rachel stepped back from all that sweaty energy and pointed down the narrow hall. “Got to go.”

Dave nodded, twirled his partner in an awkward movement, and then grinned at Rachel. “You’re next.”

She smiled and gave him a flip of a wave. “Sure,” she muttered, and hurried away to read the message that threatened to burn a hole in her pocket.

****

Michael strummed the guitar. He belted out the lyrics, on auto pilot, while he watched the back of Rachel turn down the hallway. Mantis had not shown up yet. He wondered about that.

Was his informant in trouble? Had he been detected?
Sweat beaded his brow and his upper lip, and his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. In part because he’d given a favorite number everything he had, but mostly because he worried for Mantis’ safety. He’d noticed the slight interaction between the skinny chick and Rachel. And Fred hadn’t looked too happy about the woman fronting up to his bar.
Why had Rachel paid for her drink? Did they know each other? He could still see the top of Rachel’s head. She didn’t stop at the telephone.
Damn
.

The woman tossed down the brown liquid in her glass, shook the ice cubes and drained the last few drops. She stood, tossed what he guessed was a dollar bill on the bar, pocketed Rachel’s change, then darted through the crowd to the main entrance. She was so skinny she could be Mantis’ sister. And the way she grabbed that change…

Michael pulled in a deep breath. The tune finished, and he leaned closer to the microphone. “Take a break, you crazy dancers. I’ll be back in five.”

He strode down the hall, having managed to bypass Stanton, and stood peering at the notice board near the telephone as if waiting for his turn in the men’s room. The door to the ladies room opened. Rachel raised her eyebrows slightly, and walked toward him. She looped an arm around his shoulders.

“Want to go outside and make out?” she said, and nibbled his ear lobe.

A sudden rush of heat hit his groin, but he tried to ignore it. “Who was that woman?”

“She’s gone?” Rachel asked. She craned her neck to look down the hall.

“Took your change,” Michael said.

She laughed, showing her neat, white, foxy teeth, and her eyes sparkled. Her red hair had slipped partially from its ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed. He tugged on one long curl. “I’m a mess. I should have tidied up when I was in there.” She pointed to the ladies room, and tried to push her hair back into place.

He’d never seen her look more beautiful. And if they didn’t get away from here soon he’d be devouring that sweet mouth. A couple of women rushed past them, chatting loudly while on their way to the ladies room. A guy waited behind him for his turn in the men’s room.

“Come on,” Rachel said loudly. “This is my five minutes, and I want you all to myself.”

He shrugged. “It’s all yours,” he said to the guy waving toward the men’s room door.

The women turned, snorted their approval, and grinned as Rachel dragged him to the back door. Michael was not about to fight her off.

Once outside, hidden in the shadows of the hulks of rusted cars, she grabbed at his collar with both hands and pulled him into a deep kiss. “Left pocket,” she said, coming up for air.

He pulled her tighter, feeling the softness of her breasts against him and the silkiness of her skin. He snagged her bottom lip gently with his teeth, and sucked hard. Her breath came in warm bursts puffing gently against his lips. She pushed him away. “Piece of paper,” she said, and rained tiny kisses over his face. “Message from Mantis.”

Michael’s blood heated. He heard the rush, the pounding of it in his ears. Rachel had him all charged up. Adrenaline mingled with a sense of alarm, and the need to read the note. Much as he didn’t want to, he eased back from the heat of her body. Something must have gone terribly wrong for Mantis to trust someone else with a message.

He took the paper and slid it into his own pocket. She’d been amazing. She’d done nothing wildly spontaneous, and neither had she drawn attention to their situation. She’d acted the part of the bored girlfriend demanding some private time. God, he hoped she wasn’t bored with him. It couldn’t be fun sitting at that bar and observing the carefree, sometimes high, mostly unwashed crowd that swarmed the dance floor. While he found the locals colorful, and often times intriguing, she might think otherwise.

He pulled her close and claimed her mouth in a kiss. He held her face with both hands and kissed her forehead, eyelids, and then the tip of her pert nose. He looked down, and searched her face. She’d become a really good side kick. Hell, he’d even make her partner, if she kept up the good work.

“Thanks,” he said. “You did that well, back in the bar. You even managed not to alert Dave.”

She moved back a few steps and gave him a delicate curtsy. “Yeah, I did. But, you’ll tell him all, once you read the message.” Then before he could respond, she grabbed his hand, hauling him back inside the bar. “Go pee,” she said softly. “The lights are good in there.”

He felt for the piece of paper he’d slipped into his pocket, and looked up. She was already walking down the hall. “Okay, Dave,” she yelled. “I believe this next dance is mine.”

Michael grinned.
My side-kick, she’s a hell of a gal.
He clipped the door to the men’s room and fished out the piece of paper.

Bait shop abandoned today. Followed to Ocotillo Flats. New cabin. Three men. One old. Blindfolded. Got license plates. No photos. Henry’s dock. 2 am.

F.

His chest warmed, expanded. He read the note again. It sounded like an old-fashioned telegram, and that made him smile. He tore the note up, wadded it into a small ball and wrapped it in toilet paper, and then flushed it. This was the information he’d tried to find on his own. If it wasn’t a trick to get him in the line of fire of whoever had been tracking them, then they were close to solving the case. Mantis could be working with the other side, or working them both.

Nah.
He trusted Mantis.

He used the facilities, and washed his hands. A shiver ran up his spine. Oh hell, Rachel had read the note.
Old man, blindfolded
.

He shoved open the door so hard it shuddered on its ancient hinges, but he didn’t stop. His heart pounded as he ran to the mic, shoving through a sea of people, searching the room as he went. She’d disappeared, and so had Stanton. Fear gripped him, making it hard to swallow. Up on the platform he shaded his eyes and looked through the crowd. Expecting a new song, the couples swarmed the tiny dance floor.

He pulled the mic close. “Anyone seen my gal?”

“Never heard that one,” someone yelled back.

“That a new tune? You write it, Dingo?” someone else called.

“I’m serious,” Michael said. “Has anyone—?”

“Don’t get your shorts in a bunch, big boy,” Rachel said, and elbowed her way through the crowd, dragging Stanton behind her.

Michael let out a puff of air, straight into the mic. The crowd thought that was a hoot, and began to applaud and catcall.

“Shoot, you’re so possessive.” Rachel shoved her hands against her hips.

“We had a smoke,” Stanton yelled.

Michael gave a shake of his head and picked up the guitar. He’d hear about this later and that was for certain. He relaxed into his song and found it possible, after his heart had slowed to normal, to give her what he hoped was a heart melting glance of apology. Rachel pulled off her ponytail clasp and released a froth of wild red hair. She laughed, waved at him, and then turned her back to him and did a little butt shimmy. Then she turned around, stuck her tongue out, and danced away with Stanton.