Flash Flood (13 page)

“I'll take that.” He struggled to his feet and reached for his gun.

“No hard feelings?”

At least the thug held out his hand, but Dan ignored it. Carolyn immediately began brushing his jacket but he waved her aside and simply slipped it off and shook it a couple times.

“Is this necessary?” Dan waved toward the thug, who now stood a discreet distance away.

“I think we need protection.” Phillip moved to stand beside Carolyn and placed a protective arm around her shoulders. “You know last night might not have been a fluke. In my position, with the upcoming elections, a bodyguard is a hell of a good idea.”

“I totally agree,” Carolyn added, but she didn't sound convinced.

“All this because some guy took a peek at your backyard?” Dan said.

Phillip turned away and Carolyn corrected him, “Threatened Dona Mari, you mean.”

Dan let it drop. It was amazing how four people saw the same thing and could have such different interpretations. But it was interesting how fast Phillip could come up with a bodyguard on a Sunday in a town like Roswell.

He didn't see Dona Mari and decided not to ask to see her. He inquired after her health and then left, stepping over the chicken on his way to the Jeep.

***

Roger let him get halfway through the plate of eggs overeasy and corned beef hash, homemade, not out of a can, before getting down to business.

“I hope you believe me when I say we know nothing about any break-in at this Eric Linden's house.”

“It's his wife's house. He never lived there. That's why you couldn't find anything of his.” Dan buttered a second piece of toast.

“Look, have it your way, but that's not how the Bureau works.”

“Okay.” Damned if it wasn't, Dan thought. But he had to admit, they didn't usually leave a mess.

“How long will you be in Tatum?”

“However long it takes. I've got to inventory every individually insured piece of livestock on the Double Horseshoe and check those others covered under a blanket policy.”

“So what's that mean? Pictures? Vet consultations? Go over breeding records? Match ear tags? Computer chips?”

“All of the above.”

“A month? Maybe two?”

“If the weather cooperates.” Dan signaled for the waitress to bring more coffee and to take his plate. He was feeling human and a little sanctimonious that he'd left food on the plate, hadn't felt he should wipe it clean. Wasn't that the first step to losing a little weight?

“How's wearing a wire going?” Roger had just changed the subject, he better pay attention.

“Haven't had any real need to test it. Haven't done anything that would be of interest to you guys.” Dan knew what Roger would say, and wasn't disappointed.

“Leave that to us. We're not asking you to be discriminatory. We get paid to make those decisions.”

Dan waited while Roger added a second packet of sugar to his coffee, ceremoniously tapping the side of the tiny white sack to get the last granules. Must be something big coming. He's taking too long to get to the point.

“When you go over the books, we want to know about any bills of sale to anyone south of the border, or any imports from those countries. Get us dates of delivery, size of shipment, actual copies of transport papers, vet's health certificates, names of exporters or importers…and inspect the plane. We'll accept a deposition, but pictures of the plane would be better.”

“Don't want much, do you?”

The sarcasm was lost like he expected it to be. He hadn't even seen an airstrip. But he knew they were on to something.

The Cisco Kid. He would have been on his way to Venezuela if he hadn't died. Maybe Billy Roland was telling the truth, he didn't know who killed the bull, but Dan was certain for the first time that United L & C's claim was chicken feed when compared to the kind of money that could be made.

“Get back to us when you have something. If that's the first day you're there or the last. We expect to hear from you.”

No good luck. No pep talks. Just get this done, buster. The “or else” was always implied, a between the lines reading that was vague but none the less threatening. And Dan never knew exactly what it might be. He always supposed someone could fix it so that he was audited on his income tax—every year for the rest of his life. That was incentive to do what they wanted.

***

The plane was late and Simon had clearly had it with travel for that day by the time he was checked in. He whined and pawed at the door of his crate until Dan let him out. Then in some predestined moment in time, he romped past Dan and skidded to a stop in front of Elaine, who had dropped to her knees and was hugging his basketball-sized head and allowing more slobbers than even Dan could have put up with.

“He's a puppy.”

“Eighteen months, but he doesn't chew. Got an A at obedience school.” He didn't think she was listening to him, but what was amazing was how Simon obeyed Elaine's every command. He'd never seen the dog heel, sit, stay, whatever, better. The trip back to Roswell went by quickly. Simon rode in the back but would lean over the seat in half hour intervals to snuff the back of Elaine's head. Reassured, he'd settle back and put his wet nose on the window glass.

They talked, relaxed and at ease with one another, and stopped for dinner at a drive-up in Socorro, laughing as Simon inhaled three double burgers and begged for more. It was dark by the time they got to Elaine's house, but she insisted on taking Simon to Petsmart to make sure she got the right size bed and see what toys he might like.

He had the house to himself. And the only thing he could think of was making love, not that primeval scream of body contact they did in the hall a couple weeks ago, but a slow prelude to a relationship Dan wanted to have. Screw the feds, he didn't care if this woman had a past. He just wanted to be involved in her future. He was finished rearranging the room by the time they got back.

“What's this?” Elaine laughed but was clearly puzzled. She stood in the doorway to the study taking in the room's new carpeting—sofa pillows, bed pillows, throw pillows—every cushion in the house now covered the floor. Votive candles flickered from saucers on the window sill, and shelves and tops of the bookcases—probably meant for next year's luminarias but he didn't think she'd mind his borrowing them.

“Just protecting my knees in case you're a floor-only type.”

She laughed, “Let me check on Simon. Don't go away.”

When she came back, she had also managed to shed her clothing. And she let him look, walked toward him slowly before dropping to her knees, then sat there taking in every naked inch of his body with her eyes. Coolly she reached out and touched him, ran a hand over the stiffness before she straddled him and lowered herself slowly, ever so slowly, all the time eyes locked with his.

And that's when the calculated moves ended. He pulled her down hard; one mouth bruising the other, tongues searching, her hips rhythmically pushing against him. Muffled sound, little groans of pleasure. Her? Him? He didn't know and didn't care. Everything was motion. He rolled her over pushing deep inside pinning her hips in the softness of a pillow. She clung to him pulling free to whisper, “yes, yes…” before meeting his thrusts in that perfect timing that usually doesn't happen without lots of practice.

There was no slowing things down, holding back, going for some greater high. There was no controlling the wave of feeling that seemed to start at his toes and roll upward across his body exploding in his groin but spreading a tingling warmth through his chest and down his arms. He'd always thought the “mutual climax” an overrated myth but knew by the way she'd arched against him emitting a scream that brought Simon snuffing and growling to the door that some kind of magic “oneness” had occurred.

He felt she was reluctant to let him go, separate, pull out of that mind-altering state and rejoin reality, so he nuzzled her face, neck, ran his tongue around a nipple, tasting the saltiness of their perspiration. She was still but moved her hands down his back and lightly pressed his buttocks, brought him closer to her, then snuggled against him and held him there.

It was a long time before they moved, broke the spell, and then it was without words, just a shifting, a pulling apart but bodies still touching. He dozed, then slept. When he awoke, the candles were sputtering, some with wicks already drowned in liquid paraffin. He looked at Elaine, and beatific came to mind. Not a word usually in his vocabulary, but it seemed to fit. He found the bathroom in the hall without turning on lights and managed to step over a snoring Simon without mishap. The shower felt good, stinging pings of hot water from a hundred tiny jets. He hadn't felt this good in so long he couldn't remember an exact date. The gray of dawn was just pushing the night aside when he walked back to see if Elaine wanted coffee.

She roused, opened her eyes and slowly smiled. “Do you suppose I could have seconds?” She pulled him down and pushed him gently onto his back, knelt between his legs and took him into her mouth.

This time when he awoke, the sun streamed in catching the swing of the Austrian crystal hanging in the window and making rainbow patches of light dance across his chest. Elaine absently traced one with her finger, then said reverently, “I think I've found the pot of gold.”

“Is that some veiled comment about my anatomy?”

Laughter. They tumbled together, too relaxed, too sated to want more, finally getting up to stumble over Simon on their way to the kitchen. It was eleven o'clock before they had coffee on the patio. A perfect night, a lazy day—it all made Tatum seem like a thousand miles away.

By the time he headed for Tatum, it was early afternoon. He'd called ahead, rented the same motel room. He'd check in about six, they'd leave the room unlocked, key under the mat. No need to bother them at the office.

He didn't know if he'd be invited to move out to the Double Horseshoe again. It would make things easier if he were. He left a message for Billy Roland, said he'd be out Tuesday morning. But for now he just wanted to think about Elaine: last night, this morning and all the other mornings he hoped would come.

The seventy-five mile drive from Roswell to Tatum was one of those mindless stretches of highway. He hadn't seen it patrolled and the average vehicle did eighty. Usually, but not today. He fell in behind traffic trusting the truckers with fuzz-busters. Scenery consisted of oil wells, and the smell of burning natural gas. Flaming torches dotted the horizon in four directions.

There were few houses to be seen. Oversized decorative metal entries, cutouts depicting cattle or horses and spelling out the ranch's brand and the owner's name, arched over gates across roadways to mega-acre ranches. And to the naked eye, the roads looked for all the world like they led off into nothingness.

For a late Monday afternoon, it was business as usual in Tatum. Main Street had half a dozen cars parked in front of Lil's Mercantile and another half dozen at the grocery mart. The Silver Spur had one new car parked in front of number eleven. Dan pulled the Jeep into the parking slot in front of room twenty-two. He found the key, then shouldered his bags and pushed the door open.

“Welcome back. Come in and shut the door.”

The man sat on the opposite side of the room in almost total darkness. Blinds pulled and lights off. Only Dan's opening the door had cast a long streak of late afternoon sunlight into the room illuminating the man's legs. The informant. He would finally be able to put a face to a voice. Dan wished he'd have been a little more open about meeting him. He was having to take a couple deep breaths just to calm himself. He let the bags slip to the floor.

“Sit on the bed. Don't turn on the light.”

Dan followed instructions, fluffing the bed pillows before he stacked them against the headboard and leaned back. God, he was tired. And he wasn't in the mood for this. He hoped the meeting wasn't going to take too long.

“Before we get started, I have a request.”

Dan didn't like the hardness of his voice.

“Okay. What's that?”

“Quit fucking my wife.”

The man flipped on the table lamp beside him and Dan looked into the face that he'd seen in the picture at Elaine's, seen at the edge of the pool at Carolyn's. And he couldn't seem to stop the feeling of something crushing his chest and realized that the strange noises were his own short gasps for breath. Eric Linden.

In the flesh, his handsomeness barely altered by a fresh scar half hidden in his hairline, the nose curving slightly from a recent break, the corner of his mouth drawn down in some kind of permanent smirk.

“If this is going to work, pal, you'll do as I say. I'll give you everything the feds want and maybe some things you haven't bargained on. But I call the shots. Is that understood?”

Dan nodded numbly.

Chapter Five

Eric lit a cigarette and offered one to Dan. If ever there was a time…but he refused. He couldn't stop himself from thinking of the consequences with Elaine, stop the inward cursing at his bad luck. Bad luck? Wasn't this more like disaster? He tried to stem the increasing feeling of bone-weary numbness that was spreading, paralyzing him, making him sick to his stomach with a cold dread that Elaine was lost to him.

“Are we clear about Elaine?”

“How does she figure in all this?” Dan avoided the obvious, simple answers, like yes or no, he needed to make Eric spell out Elaine's involvement.

“You'd really like to know wouldn't you?”

“She thinks you're dead.”

“And now I'm not.”

“But you'll tell her?”

“Eventually. When I need to.”

Dan studied the man. It was more than curiosity about Eric's part in all this; he wanted to know how dangerous he was. Could he kill someone? Put Elaine in danger? It didn't help that his Robert Redford handsomeness made him look fifteen years younger than Dan, an easy fifteen, maybe more. This was a man women wouldn't be able to resist.

“You could turn state's evidence,” Dan finally said.

“And not live to tell about it, or look over my shoulder the rest of my life while I enjoyed some penny-ante job provided by the government.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Maybe it's more like what you're going to do.” That smirk again. Dan watched as Eric leaned back and brought his hands together to steeple his fingers, smug, cocky, in control. “I figure my information is worth two million. And you're going to make sure I get it, this time. You'll provide me with the bargaining chip.”

Eric's game plan was simple. Fuck the bastards who had fucked him, shot at him, tried to keep him from getting the two million. He thought there was lots to be had on Billy Roland and friends, but most of it seemed to be conjecture, hearsay. Nailing Billy Roland or anyone else would involve Dan's getting the evidence by following Eric's directions. Eric was going to stay dead. Work from undercover. Play both ends against the middle. Blackmail Billy Roland to reclaim the promised two million plus interest.

“You know there probably wasn't any two million deposited in the first place to gather interest.” Silence. Dan could feel Eric studying him.

“How do you know?” Steely calm, the voice of someone who knew it was the truth but didn't want to believe.

“I found your bank book after the flood. I did a little checking.”

“There were statements every month. Descriptions of stocks in the portfolio.”

“Easy to duplicate would be my guess.”

“And the whole thing was a sham.”

That was all he said, and it wasn't a question. Dan watched as Eric leaned back in the chair and contemplated something on the aging acoustical tile above his head.

Dan broke the silence. “What's in it for me? If I'm supposed to gather this evidence.”

“Stupid question. I think you've been ‘in it' just fine.”

“Is that supposed to be some reference to Elaine?”

“You might say that.”

“Leave her out of it.” Dan half rose off the bed.

“My, my aren't we the chivalrous one. She's not a bad piece, wouldn't you agree?”

Dan fought the temptation to deck him, probably because he knew he wouldn't reach him before Eric would have picked up the semi-automatic on the table beside him.

“Don't push me on the Elaine thing. The feds expect me to continue to see her, expense account and all that. I'm not going to disappoint them.”

“They don't expect you to get in the sack.”

“I don't like being told what to do.”

“It'd be easy to kill you. Now, not mess around. They'd play hell proving who did it.” Laughter, then Eric pushed the gun away. “Listen, maybe we can't be good buds but nothing says we can't work together and both get what we want. Truce?” Eric's smile was genuine. “C'mon. So I was a little shocked to see my old lady in bed. That pillow thing with all the candles? Class act. Maybe I'll use it sometime.” That smirking smile, then, “'sides your dog loves me. Let me make myself at home looking in the window.”

“Actually, you need me.” Dan wanted to keep him talking about business. He was sick and tired of wondering who was peeking in the windows at all the wrong times. “If this little plan is going to work, I'm your insurance person, no pun intended.”

“You're right. After I get my two million, I don't care who you tell what to.”

“Did you see who killed the Cisco Kid?” Now was as good a time as any to test his information.

“I was there.”

“Meaning what?”

“I killed him. They're still trying to figure that one out.”

“Why'd you do it?” Dan felt shock and anger. He couldn't understand people who could harm animals. It had even kept him a vegetarian until a few years ago.

“Could call it revenge. Cost the old bastard a few hundred thousand. Have him see what it feels like to lose something he cares about for a change.”

Dan hated the bitterness, didn't trust the man who felt he had been double-crossed. But there was one last thing that he needed to know, had to know.

“How do Carolyn and Phillip fit into all this?”

“You don't really know anything, do you?”

“I suppose I don't. You going to enlighten me?”

“Sometime. Soon, maybe. But not tonight. Forget about Sis for now. Let's say it's more of a private matter.”

“When do we meet again?”

“Tomorrow, maybe. Here or I'll leave a message. Now, I need to get going. Work to do.” Eric paused at the door. “Think about what I've said. You've got a lot to lose if this gets fucked up. Elaine, your sister…. Play it cool and it's just another job. You can live happily ever after.” More laughter as Eric closed the door.

Dan didn't even get up to lock it but just sat staring into space, trying to formulate a plan of his own. The odds weren't real good that he could come up with one. He was a plant by the feds and coerced by a dead man, not to mention being responsible to United L & C who paid his salary. His sister and brother-in-law seemed to be involved, and worse—Dan was in love with the dead man's wife.

He fought the urge to drive back to Roswell, confront Elaine, tell her that her husband was still alive. But then what? Could he trust Eric not to harm her? No. Of that much he was sure. The man he was working with was bitter, enraged, and wouldn't necessarily stop at anything to get what he wanted—his way.

***

He hadn't needed to set the alarm. He was up by five thirty Tuesday morning. And he couldn't shut out the night before. He felt an urgency to do something and knew there wasn't anything he could do. Wait to see what Eric's next move was, not call Elaine—that was the worst, trying to keep her safe by staying away.

When he pulled into the long drive that led to Billy Roland's house, no one had to tell him something was up. A group of eight men on horseback was gathered around the front steps. Dan had met them all before, only this time they were packin'—every rider had a pistol on his belt and a rifle tucked into a case on his saddle. Billy Roland came out of the house with Sheriff Ray close behind.

“Got a little problem just south of here. I'd welcome your input. Wouldn't take a minute to get ol' Belle ready to go. What do you say? You with us?” Billy Roland leaned in the passenger side window and the scent of bourbon and aftershave drifted over Dan.

Dan nodded, cursed a body already reeling from a lack of sleep, and pulled the Jeep around to the back to park next to the barn. Belle nickered when she saw him. That was positive. She even seemed eager to go for a ride. He saddled up but left his gun concealed. The snub-nose Ruger wasn't in the same league as the firepower out front. As he trotted Belle around the house, Billy Roland gave the signal and the group moved out cantering past the irrigated fields then turned south at a large windmill.

Air rushed past as Belle settled into the ground-covering gait. They seemed to be heading west but angling to the south.

Then Dan saw the airstrip. Not elaborate, just one enormous hangar, quonset-hut style, a couple windsocks and a strip of asphalt that stretched farther than he could see. There was room to land something of pretty good size. There were no planes to be seen. But he was struck by how well kept it was, and well lighted. This was a strip that was used—and not just once in a while, and not just in the daylight.

They had gone over some kind of rolling stretch of low hills so he couldn't see the house from where they were, but he estimated they were no more than a mile, maybe a mile and a half, from where they started. Billy Roland waved for everyone to follow him across the strip and Belle only shied once about putting her feet down on something black with strange white stripes before dutifully trotting across with the others.

They seemed to be headed toward a thicket. If that's what you would call a strip of wooded land that followed a stream bed, dry now with only a trickle, a foot-wide ribbon of water that snaked through the center of its sandy bottom. By the looks of the twigs and debris, some caught six feet up in the trees lining the banks, this artery had raged out of control during the flood.

Billy Roland was slowing now. The mad dash from the house was either some kind of male posturing or a way to settle the horses, wear them down a little. Belle had broken a lather on her chest and seemed to welcome the opportunity to walk in the coolness of the trees.

No one spoke. Whatever it was they were going to see, he was probably the only one not in on it. The horses were walking single file now, Sheriff Ray in the lead, and the thicket had turned into woods with a dense brush floor. They had turned away from the stream and the scrub oak and cottonwoods had closed ranks to make progress difficult. There were no animal sounds, no birds singing, just this oppressive silence broken by the horses stepping on twigs and rotting vegetation.

The clearing couldn't be seen from a distance; it simply popped up suddenly, a circle some twenty-five feet in diameter with a pile of stones, altar, Dan supposed, in the center. The trees at the edge leaned over the area, branches almost touching overhead, a natural canopy of green. But no one was enjoying the beauty of a hidden woodland retreat. All eyes were on the altar.

***

“Shit.” Sheriff Ray leaned over his saddle horn for a better look.

“Hank. Get over there and give us the particulars.” Billy Roland then turned his horse and moved closer to Dan. The humidity and lack of a breeze made the fetid odor hang over them. Hank dismounted and walked around the altar.

“Dead maybe two days. Female caucasian, probably Hispanic. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty. Predators, coyotes and the like, have done a pretty good job of helping themselves. Cause of death…” He leaned closer and pulled a piece of filmy white material away from the face. “I'd swear the neck's been slashed. And….” Hank paused to remove more of the drape. “Follows the same pattern, certain organs have definitely been removed.”

“Same pattern as…?” Dan asked.

“This isn't the first time. This here's a ritualistic slaying. They come along every once in awhile, a little human sacrifice important to some wannabe Aztec war God or whoever else wanders up from across the border bringing their heathen ways with them.” Billy Roland shook his head. “Usually, these fanatics work farther south. Remember Matamoros a few years back? Got that college kid on spring break?” Dan nodded. “We're going to have to be extra careful. Maybe I should assign some patrol duty. Jorge?” Billy Roland looked around then gestured to someone behind them.

Dan watched a young Hispanic man back his horse away from a knot of riders and move alongside.

“Dan, this here's Jorge. Helps Hank with the stock. Comes as close to a ranch foreman as I got. He's the one who found this mess. Chasing down a calf and stumbling onto this. How's that for shit detail?”

“Me gusto mucho, Señor.
” Dan shook his extended hand.

“You get some of the boys and check these woods a couple times a night. And keep an extra close look-see on the barns.”

Billy Roland dismissed his foreman with a wave of his hand. “Good man. No bullshit. Speaks English, by the way, just lets on he can't till he gets to know you. He'll be helping you with the inventory.”

“So, what happens now?”

“You mean with the corpse?” Billy Roland acted vaguely surprised that he would even inquire. “Handled by the book. The sheriff makes his report. The newspaper will get ahold of it, send a couple reporters out. It'll be headlines for a few days. The body will be sent on to Roswell for a once-over by the coroner. Won't nothing be found. Fingerprints won't be in the books. Some effort will be made to send a description to authorities in Mexico, but it won't come to anything. Body will be held a decent length of time, then an unmarked grave. Guess some family will always wonder what happened to their daughter. Sad, when you think about it.” Billy Roland abruptly spurred his horse and trotted toward the edge of the clearing, giving orders before starting back to the house.

Dan joined the group of men as they trooped across the front porch of the Double Horseshoe after turning their horses over to ranch hands to be cooled after the ride back. He accepted the tumbler of scotch and walked out on the porch to sit in the swing. He still couldn't quite accept what he had seen.

“I heard about what they found in the woods.”

Iris had opened the study window from the inside and pushing the curtains back, swung a leg over the sill and sat there beside him, straddling the casement. She was barefoot, in scanty shorts and top. He turned back to look out across the fields.

“You know why they kill someone? Someone young like that?”