Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (22 page)

“
What
happened?”

Jed starts at the sound of my voice, then
turns. “You all right? You’ve been out for almost two hours. That
damn fool gave you the whole c.c. I was afraid he’d done you in for
good.”

His concern is touching and I rush to
reassure. “I think I’m okay. Just a small headache and blurry
vision. We hit a deer?”

“
More like it hit us. It’s
a damn ten-point buck. All tore up. No hope to salvage any meat
outta him.”

Luke rises from his crouch at the left front
fender. “Quit yapping with Sleeping Beauty and make yourself
useful, asshole.”

Jed opens his door, and trudges around the
bloody hood to join his leader.

After they confer in muted tones, Luke’s
voice raises. “I don’t give a flying fuck what he said, we need
help. We should be in range by now, so
go-get-the-goddam-walkie-talkie.”

“
Okay, okay, but don’t
blame me if shit hits the fan.” Jed edges past the deer to the
still-open passenger door, reaches into the glove compartment and
pulls out a narrow black handset. “Bronc to Base. Come in. Bronc to
Base.”

The roar of static is the only response.
“Nothing,” Jed says. “I told you we weren’t close enough. This only
has a two-mile range.”

“
I thought he said this
was state-of-the-art.”

“
It is. Too bad we don’t
have cell service down here.”

“
Who the hell would use
it? Nothing down here but a bunch of fucking vaqueros tending their
fucking cattle.”

Down here? Did we cross into Mexico while I
was out? Not hard to do. In some places, the Rio Grande can be
easily forded in a vehicle like this. Was that the reason for the
blindfold and the shot?

Soured migas rise to my throat as raw truth
grabs my senses. I am going to die. If not here in the middle of
this lonely wasteland, then at the mercy of some nameless devil
waiting at the end of the line.

Luke grabs the walkie-talkie. This time the
static is broken by some sort of whining signal. He smiles. “Hear
that, asshole? That tone means we ain’t too far outta range.”

He jams the instrument into Jed’s hand and
points him down the road. “Now, get going, and don’t stop until
you’ve made contact.”

Adrenaline surges through my body. I’m in a
weakened state and without Jed’s protection I’ll be at Luke’s
mercy. Being alone with him is too horrible to contemplate without
becoming violently ill. I make a decision. Better off dead than
writhing in agony beneath Luke Hansen. I will run until he guns me
down.

Jed pitches the walkie-talkie back to his
astonished boss. “No way. I’m not going to be the one to break
contact. Go ahead. Shoot me. Anything’s better than facing him if I
break silence.”

I face my new savior, who has put his life
on the line for me in a boldly daring move. I send up a quick
prayer that his ploy will work.

Luke looks at the walkie-talkie, then back
at Jed. I can almost see the wheels grinding. If it weren’t such a
desperate situation, the scene would be hilarious. The man is
caught. If he shoots Jed, he has no dog to kick. If he goes and Jed
stays, Luke relinquishes a big hunk of his pathetic
self-importance.

He hooks the walkie-talkie to his belt.
“You’re nothing but a yellow-bellied coward and I’m fucking ashamed
we’re kin.”

He points to me. “I better find her just
like I left her, asshole. Get that kerchief off her neck. She don’t
need it no more.”

After Luke disappears over a rise in the
road, Jed takes the bandanna from me and opens the tailgate of the
Bronco. “You must be thirsty. Want a beer?”

I scramble out of the back seat, cherishing
the feel of solid ground beneath my feet. “I’d love one. Thanks for
what you did. It was very brave.”

He hands me an open longneck. “I hate that
fucking bastard.” The cool, bitter fizz is nectar to my parched
throat and I down almost half the bottle before I say, “Did I hear
Luke call you kin?”

“
Cousin. His dad was my
mother’s brother.” “And he bullied you into this mess?”

Jed stares at me for a minute, then flashes
me a quirky grin. “I guess you could say that.”

His open face and crooked smile seem somehow
reassuring. For the first time since I was yanked from the cab, a
small push of hope nudges the desolation that fills my soul.

He tosses his empty in the back, then hops
on the tailgate to peer in the direction Luke disappeared. When he
jumps down, he says, “I think I’ll head out to meet Luke and give
you a little privacy.”

“
Thanks. I promise not to
run.”

He laughs and waves his arms at the barren
landscape. “There is no place to run.”

I watch Jed shrink with the distance, then
look around. He’s right, nothing but the usual panorama of cactus
and mesquite. And something else is missing. There are no telephone
poles. We have left civilization as I know it.

Half an hour later, I hear the swearing
before the two men, silhouetted in the dwindling light, appear.

During Jed’s absence, the sky has darkened
from a rapidly advancing late April “norther,” heralded by pale
flashes of lightening echoed by muffled thunder. When the first
heavy drops raise tiny puffs of dust, I slide into the back seat
and close the door. Seconds later the two men throw open the front
doors and slam their sweat-soaked bodies into the front seat.

“
Just made it, no thanks
to you, asshole.” Luke leans across his cousin to stash the
walkie-talkie in the glove compartment before turning to me.
“They’re sending help. So shut up and sit tight.” Those are the
last words I hear. For endless minutes the pounding rain drowns all
sound as winds savagely buffet the car. Lightening strikes too
often and too close for comfort followed by exploding
thunder.

I see Luke’s mouth move and read his lips.
No prayers there. Jed huddles in his seat, body jerking at every
bright strobe and crash.

For some reason the fury of the storm gives
me a beginning sense of strength. Perhaps Jed’s earlier kindness
planted that small seed of hope, but it’s there and I intend to
nourish it.

The front passes as quickly as it arrived,
followed by a clear, inky sky. We all seem to sigh at the same time
and when Luke rolls down his window, goose bumps raise. My
short-sleeved linen pantsuit is no protection against the sudden
twenty-degree drop. “Damn it’s dark.” Luke switches on the
headlights. “Where the hell is that goddam truck?” He fiddles with
the keys, then lets loose a string of pungent swear words. “This is
the most dumb-assed thing I’ve ever done. Kidnap a fucking dame.
Why he wants her down here is beyond me. She’s liable to screw up
the whole damned operation.”

Kidnap? It takes a few seconds for the word
to take on meaning, then my stomach curdles. I recall Gibbs’s
mentioning a safe exit, then conclude “he” must be head of the
cartel.

If this is so, I’m a goner. What possible
use would they have for me other than to get me out of the picture?
There must be something they think I know—something they don’t want
me to tell the Feds.

“
Maybe nothing’s wrong
with the wheel,” Jed says. “I said it was broken, asshole, didn’t
you hear me?”

“
But who knows when the
truck’ll be here. What do we have to lose?”

“
Our asses, that’s all.
But, what the hell.” Luke turns the key and the engine comes to
life.

He eases the gear out of “park” and metal
groans as the car lurches a few inches forward, raises crazily,
then drops as the wheel begins its rotation.

“
Hot damn,” Luke shouts.
“I think we’re in business.”

We slowly bump and thump along until there
is a sharp crack and the vehicle drops precipitously to the
left.

“
It’s Fucking-A over.”
Luke turns and lands a heavy blow on Jed’s chest. “You and your
dumb-ass ideas. We’ve had it now.” As if on cue, headlights crest
the hill and jiggle toward us.

By the time the truck arrives, I have
retrieved my briefcase and Luke and Jed have pulled several
cardboard boxes and the cooler from the rear of the Bronco.

Luke jumps on the running board and peers
into the darkened cab. “It’s about time.”

A muffled but somehow familiar “Sorry, Señor
Luke” gets my attention.

I strain to catch a glimpse of the driver,
but the man notices my stare and pulls the brim of his Stetson low
on his brow.

Luke steers me toward the back of the large
canvas-covered truck where the tailgate hangs open. I scramble
upward but not fast enough to avoid his attempt to explore my
derriere. That gives me the impetus to make one last pull and I
skitter away to sit on one of the side benches, followed by Jed,
who sits on the bench across from me.

After securing the tailgate, Luke pounds on
the back of the cab, then slumps into me. When I try to inch away,
he circles my neck with his arm. “Too bad we don’t have a longer
trip. If I had time, I could make you real happy.”

I break his hold and slide the length of the
bench to the rear of the truck with every intention of jumping over
the tailgate if he pursues.

The rattle and flap of the canvas fails to
obscure a struggle followed by silence and I realize Jed has come
to my rescue once more.

I stare into the dust-filled night unable to
decide whether throwing myself over the back of the rumbling truck
and taking my chances in the dark would be better than meeting
“him.”

The truck squeaks to a stop and a gate
creaks. We edge over a cattle guard, then wait until the gate
swings shut. Endless minutes pass before the truck finally stops in
front of a dimly lit porch and the aroma of food embraces my
senses. Despite my fear, I’m ravenous.

The tailgate flops down.

“
It’s about time.” Luke
stomps past me to jump and land heavily on the ground below. He
speaks to someone I can’t see. “I want my pay first thing in the
morning. Hear?”

There’s some low conversation, then he
disappears, footsteps fading in the distance.

I sit shivering, partly from the cold, but
mostly from the ice in the pit of my stomach. I’m too frightened to
cry, too panicked to pray. Deep in my gut, I know it’s over.

Finally, a man says, “Give Miss Armington a
hand, will you, Jed?”

That voice. I know that voice.

PAUL CARPENTER, even more emaciated than I remember,
steps out of the shadows to stand before me.

Tears of relief and joy come as I fall from
the tailgate of the truck into his embrace. He hugs me hard against
his trembling chest, then whispers my name before his lips meet
mine.

Stunned by the sharp mountains of his spine
beneath my hands, I step away and stutter, “It’s a miracle, but
how?”

“
Smoke and mirrors? Magic?
Take your pick.”

My initial joy at seeing Paul alive
dissolves to anger, then fear. “You did this? Had me kidnapped?
Blindfolded? Drugged?”

The smile on his face sets as he steers me
toward the open door. “Now, now, Allie. It wasn’t as bad as all
that, was it? I’ll explain everything over cocktails since I’m sure
you’ll want to freshen up.”

I stare at Paul as the day replays. The
strained meeting with Bill Cotton in Gibbs’s office. Luke Hansen’s
ugly face behind a gun pointing in my face. His bestial dispatch of
the cab driver. His verbal abuse of Jed and myself. And now, Paul’s
seemingly cavalier attitude.

When we enter the hall, I gasp. Except for
the missing staircase, it is the exact replica of the entryway at
Anacacho. I turn to see Adelena, standing in the opening of a wide
corridor to the right. Not the serene Adelena I remember, instead,
a shadow of her former self with wringing hands and anguish
crowding her face.

Paul must read my shock. “Adelena hasn’t
been well, but she’s on the mend. Aren’t you, Adelena?” His
question seems more a command.

I glance down at my wrinkled linen. “I’ll
need a miracle to resurrect this.”

“
Oh, we’ll remedy that.
Adelena has dredged up a few things for you.”

Adelena nods a little too vigorously. “Sí,
Jefe. This way, Señorita.”

I follow her down the hall that ends at
double doors much like the ones that delineated the master suite at
Anacacho. When she stops at the third door on the left and motions
for me to enter, I know before I see the room, it will be exactly
like the room I once occupied.

“
Shall I draw a bath?”
Adelena is already at the bathroom door when she asks.

“
Please don’t bother. A
shower will be fine.”

She turns and we practically collide. When I
see her fear, I take her by the shoulders and whisper, “What is it?
What’s the matter?” Adelena stiffens, then steps away shaking her
head, quickly scanning the room. She puts her finger to her lips,
then says brightly, “You will find a fresh change of clothing in
your closet, Señorita. Please don’t keep Jefe waiting. He has been
most anxious to see you.”

The door to my room closes and I’m left
alone with a million questions.

Paul is “Jefe”? But that can’t be. The last
time I saw Paul he was gagged and bound with ropes and I will never
forget the terror on his face.

Hoping that a shower will wash away some of
my confusion, I turn the knob and enter the closet to undress.
Though the light from the bathroom is not that bright, I see
several pairs of slacks and some blouses hanging in front of me. I
step closer to examine them, then lurch away.

My clothes. Though it seems like years, I’ve
only been away from Houston a little over twenty-four hours.
Somehow someone slipped through lobby security and gained entry to
my apartment.