Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (24 page)

Paul laughs. “And they say only elephants
never forget.” He helps me into the saddle, then mounts Chief.

“
This way.” He points to a
trail leading away from the house into an endless expanse of
tumbleweeds and mesquite.

We ride in silence for almost a mile while
my mind ferrets through the past twenty-four hours: the
abduction—the shocking reappearance of a man I thought dead. Paul’s
intentions seem clear, but addicts can change with the wind. What
if I displease him? What if all this craziness is just a
charade?

The monotone landscape and gentle motion of
the horse beneath me soothe my frazzled nerves and give me courage
to say, “You’ve been involved with this business for some time,
haven’t you?”

“
Going on five
years.”

“
That long
ago?”

Paul smiles that irresistible smile of his.
“If you’re counting years, my first brush with this ‘business’ came
when I was at UT. My roommate’s father was a Mexican drug baron
dealing in marijuana and heroin. After the DEA shut down the
Colombians’ cocaine highway through Florida, the cartel approached
Ramón’s dad.”

“
So, you called this guy
up and said you’d like to play?”

“
Not exactly. Ramón and I
stayed in touch after we graduated. He often hunted with me on the
Anacacho. I knew what his business was, but we never discussed it.
Actually, I have to thank Reena for opening that can of worms. She
told Ramón she wanted to try some coke and the next time he came,
he brought a kilo. Said it was a ‘thank you’ for the weekend. I’m
sure it was for a lot more than that, but then, we know what Reena
was.”

I ignore Paul’s slam. “And you got
hooked?”

“
I’m in control.” We ride
on a bit before he adds, “I plan to wean myself as soon as we
settle down to some sort of normalcy. I want to be a good husband
to you and a good father to our children.”

I’m sure he means this, but hooked is hooked
and it’s doubtful that a trafficking operation could be called
normal. Besides, he has easy access to the stuff. The substance
isn’t as bad on organs as heroin, but cocaine abuse is just as
deadly. And if there’s any validity to the drug dealer’s mantra,
“Never get high on your own supply,” I’d wager Paul’s business is
in trouble.

Because of Chief ’s longer stride, Sugar has
fallen behind and Paul slows the horse so I can catch up.

When I come alongside Paul, our two shadows
stretch across the desolate landscape, outlined by the quickly
rising sun. He takes a deep breath of the crisp morning air. “Smell
the mesquite?”

I breathe in but the aroma eludes me.

When I don’t answer, he urges Chief forward
and continues. “I saw the oil property slipping away and knew I
would need another source of income. But I never considered
trafficking until Ramón and his brother came to me with a proposal
I couldn’t refuse.”

“
And what was
that?”

“
A big percentage of the
take to establish the business in the US, transfer the production
down here, then use the airstrip at Anacacho to receive the goods.
It’s a very clean operation. Ramón’s family is better than
most.”

Paul’s description sounds like ad copy. I
wonder if that’s how he’s justified the “business” to himself. And
I’m amazed he’s being so up front with me. Though cokeheads tend to
ramble, he’s giving out much too much information. Still, I’ve
never passed up an opportunity—why start now?

“
You never told me what
happened to the ranch. For all intents and purposes, you’re
dead.”

He laughs. “Ever the lawyer, aren’t you?
Gibbs sold the ranch and the jet to pay off debts. A Laredo man
bought the airstrip.”

“
What a deal.”

“
Ramón set everything up.
And after we cut the deal, he sent me the best people in his
organization—Fanny and Luke Hansen.”

My mouth drops. “Gibbs sold the airstrip to
Luke Hansen? He’s the most disgusting human being I’ve ever
met.”

Paul’s guffaw fills the air. “Hey, tell me
how you really feel.”

I long to go into Luke’s abuses on the trip
across the flat and barren countryside, but fear reprisal if I
do.

“
Luke is a mite rough
around the edges, but he cleans up pretty good when he has to.
Despite what you might think, he comes from a nice Valley family.
Went to TMI with Ramón and then attended A&M for a
while.”

“
Does Gibbs know who Luke
Hansen is?”

“
Of course not. Ray Gibbs
is the most honorable man I know.”

At that I try to check Paul’s expression but
he’s too far ahead of me. His quick response sounds much too pat.
Then Paul’s letter comes to mind and the ending. Ray Gibbs will
help you. Trust him.

Ray could be an unwitting front for Paul’s
scheme, but his words echo. Just be patient and I’m sure everything
will turn out just fine. Though his words were reassuring, the look
on his face betrayed them.

I remember that dreadful moment before I was
hit from behind. “You were tied and gagged. Was that part of your
plan?” “We needed to convince Cotton I was going to be killed by
some disgruntled drug lord. As it turned out, your surprise visit
made my untimely ‘death’ more believable.”

“
But, I heard Fanny tell
the sheriff she gave you heroin.”

“
Part of the script.
Cotton needed to believe I was dead for the plan to
work.”

“
Fanny. You said she
planned the escape?”

“
And did a damn good job.
Now, she’s gone on to a much better life.”

“
Six feet
under?”

Paul gives me a tut-tut look. “Hardly. She
recently bagged a plush apartment for herself in the El Prado
suburb of Barranquilla on the coast of Colombia. Fanny’s mistress
to one of the Medellín cartel. A dangerous move for most women, but
if I know her, she’s doing just fine.”

“
So the sheriff is in on
this too?”

A gust of wind carries Paul’s voice away. Is
he saying mordida? “What did you say?”

“
Payoffs.”

I bridle at Paul’s condescending attitude.
Most native Texans know about “the bite.”

He gives me a self-satisfied grin. “I’m dead
as far as the sheriff ’s concerned. Right now, he thinks he’s
dealing with a Mexican called Jefe.”

My mind replays the meeting in Gibbs’s
office and Bill’s voice echoes. That’s what we wanted Paul to
believe. If he wrote anything else we would all be in jeopardy,
can’t you see that?

“
The sheriff ’s playing
both sides?”

“
Has to. He’s dirt poor
and the county pay isn’t that good.” Our horses now neck and neck,
Paul studies me for a few seconds. “How do you think the Piper Cub
gets across the border and back? We fly below radar level, but when
the plane is at capacity, there’s not much speed. So, it’s up to
Cotton to shell out cash on each side of the river as fast as we
can get it to him.”

We ride on in silence, my mind scrambling to
make sense out of what I’ve just learned. It’s a relief to know
Bill hasn’t been exposed yet, but I wonder how much longer he can
keep his role with the DEA a secret. There are too many corrupt
officials on both sides of the border and someone is bound to
squeal.

Our horses strain to gain a small ridge,
then stand panting. In front of us lies a long, narrow body of
water lined with willows. I notice the slight breeze coming off the
water seems almost chilly.

“
What’s this?”

Paul dismounts and offers his hand. “This is
the only reason I could leave Anacacho.” He ties the horses to a
nearby fence and comes back to stand beside me.

I survey this unbelievable anomaly in the
midst of the unending scrub and sigh. “A treasure in the middle of
nowhere.”

Paul smiles. “I guess you could call it
that.”

He points over swaying willows to a jagged
purple line on the horizon. “There’s an underground river rising in
those mountains that flows through a fault in the limestone. The
pipe breaks to the surface, runs above ground for close to one
thousand feet, then dives again just beneath us.”

“
But the mountains seem so
far away.”

“
Optical illusion. Just a
couple miles. Not much elevation. The force of the water is like an
artesian well. Here.” He squats, pulling me with him. “Even on the
hottest days, it’s just like this.”

I swish my hand through the rushing water.
It’s mirror clear and icy cold.

“
There’s another surprise
just through here.” Paul rises and motions me to follow him through
a break in the willows. In a clearing beneath swaying leafy
tendrils is an exact replica of Paul’s hideaway in the Anacacho
Mountains.

Face filled with expectation, he grabs my
hand. “I built this especially for you.”

My stomach wrenches as Paul’s lips find
mine. I taste the bitter residue of his latest snort and it’s all I
can do not to shove him away. But that calm, cool voice inside my
head tells me not to resist anything he might try.

I wait, breath held, for him to make his
move. After all, it’s the perfect place. We’re alone and the “bed”
only a few steps away.

To my surprise Paul releases me and smiles.
“Isn’t this a great summer getaway? On the hottest days, it’s as
cool as it is right now. I consider this one of nature’s small
wonders.” He checks his watch. “We better head back. It’s almost
time for lunch.”

We are almost to the ranch when Paul says my
wedding dress arrived from Laredo this morning and we will marry
this coming Saturday.

At those words, the full sense of my
predicament rushes forward with nauseating clarity. I have only
five days to attempt an escape.

I manage to smile and make all the right
sounds while the half-formed idea of the previous night begins to
take shape. Jed may be as crooked as the rest of them, but he’s my
only hope. How do I get to him? It won’t be easy since Paul has
separated his domestic staff from the production crew.

After we dismount at the back porch, Paul
pulls me close for a lingering kiss. To one side, I notice Miguel
staring away, trying to ignore our intimacy.

When we part, Miguel says, “Perdóname, Jefe,
you are needed at the stables.”

Paul excuses himself and hurries away,
leaving Miguel to gather the horses and follow.

I catch up with him. “May I speak with
you?”

Miguel jumps away. “Please, Señorita, we
must not be seen talking. Speak only to Lena. She will relay what
you have to say to me.” He breaks into a trot, pulling the horses
behind him.

Adelena is at the stove when I enter the
kitchen and I pull her toward the safety of the pantry and close
the door behind us.

“
I have to get away from
here before Saturday.”

Adelena, face crammed with despair, nods. “I
see Jefe has told you about the ceremony.”

“
This morning. What do you
know about it?”

“
He asked me to prepare
quail for the wedding feast.” “How many guests do you
expect?”

“
Jefe said
twenty.”

Adelena’s just as much in the dark as I am.
Remembering Paul’s announcement about my bridal attire I change the
subject. “I hear my dress arrived.”

“
Sí, Señorita. It is very
beautiful. Jefe had it made in Laredo. It matches the
mantilla.”

First the quail, now the dress and veil.
Hard evidence of Paul’s insane master plan.

“
I don’t have much time,
Adelena. It’s very important that I speak to Señor Jed as soon as
possible. Can Miguel get a message to him for me?”

Adelena nods. “He can try. But there are no
places here to meet secretly except this pantry and there is no
reason for Señor Jed to visit the house.” She wrings her hands, her
face contorted with anguish and hope. “Do you really think you can
get away?”

“
I have to. I can’t marry
that man. He’s...” I make the “crazy-in-the-head” sign.

Adelena nods in agreement. “Too much white
powder,” she whispers, then crosses herself and says, “Dios mío,
whatever will become of us?”

It’s just eleven and my newly-bowed legs beg
for relief. I head for my room and a long soak in a steaming
tub.

I don’t notice the dress until I stumble
into it. The crackle of the plastic cover sends chills as I slowly
turn to look.

An intricately filigreed ecru mantilla
slithers to the floor and I step away, not wanting to touch it at
first. Silent seconds pass before I make myself reach down and
bring the heavy lace to my cheek. It’s so fine, it feels almost
like silk.

I peer through the clear plastic to see a
long dress, low cut with short sleeves. The lines are simple,
accented with lace matching the mantilla. It’s as lovely as the
veil. Under ordinary circumstances this would be a gift of love,
but these are no ordinary circumstances.

After re-draping the mantilla over the
dress, I deposit my sweaty riding clothes in the hamper and head
for the beckoning bathtub.

The soak brings physical relief. Emotionally
I’m a wreck and tears slide from beneath my closed lids. “This
can’t be happening” hammers like a mantra until I can stand it no
longer. I scrub my arms and legs until they burn. Finally, I pull
the plug, watch the water disappear, and wonder if my life will be
down the hole as well in the next few days. I have to face the
truth. I’m trapped.

I’ve just toweled down when Adelena brings
news that Paul will remain at the barns until dinner. She bears a
tray with a bowl of hot bean soup and a goblet of red wine.
Grateful for the chance to gain some control of my frayed emotions,
I scarf the lunch, then take to the bed and snatch a few hours of
much needed sleep.