Blue Jeans and a Badge (11 page)

“You don't give yourself enough credit.” He gripped the steering wheel to prevent himself from grabbing her and shaking some sense into her. Or kissing her until she changed her mind.

“I'm sorry. But I also know myself. Even if we could sort out all that other stuff, it still wouldn't work. There's just something in me that needs to be on the move. I'd end up hurting you. And I don't want to do that.”

“Luce—”

“Please, Philip. Let's not talk about this right now. Let's just concentrate on finding Clyde. Okay?”

So she could leave him.
She didn't say it, but he knew that's what she was thinking. Why was he always cursed with women who ran away? Always fated to be the guy
just before
they found Mr. Right and settled down?

Well, she wouldn't find it so easy to run if she was carrying his child. That would change everything. For him, certainly. He just hoped it would for her, too.

But now wasn't the moment to spring that on her. He needed more time to convince her a life with him was a far better choice than a life on the road chasing after something she couldn't even name. Although he had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly what it was she was seeking.

He just had to show her that the place to find it was not in a past she couldn't change, but in a future she herself chose.

 

“Damn, stupid desert,” Luce muttered under her breath as she hiked down a rocky arroyo and up again, only to find an even bigger one over the next rise. They were never going to find a way up to these ruins.

It was a mark of her dog-tiredness that Philip had actually talked her into striking off on her own in this godforsaken wasteland. Four hours ago she would never have agreed. But over that time she'd gotten used to the terrain, and it no longer scared her. Much. It was even fairly predictable.

And yes, okay, it wasn't really a wasteland, either. The ground was covered with plant life, purple shrubs and sand-colored grasses, stubby green trees, flat and stickery cacti, and even patches of delicate wildflowers with pink or yellow blooms. In between, lizards and kangaroo rats scurried, birds swooped, and they even spotted a couple of whitetail deer munching new shoots on top of a low mesa. She saw her first real roadrunner, and Philip spotted a nest he thought had probably been used by a family of quail. The kind with the little topknots.

And then there was the wonderful smell. So clean and spicy fresh and comforting to the soul. She had to admit, she loved the smell of this land.

So, when Philip had peered up at the crumbling adobe walls ensconced on a ledge twenty feet above them and said, “Why don't we split up to search for the path up to them? It'll save time and we can get to all five ruin locations before dark,” she'd agreed.

Must have been sunstroke.

That was at least half an hour ago and still no sign of the ancient path that would lead them up the vertical cliff.

She decided to take a break and stretch her legs out on a large sandstone outcrop with a great view over the ridgebacks and arroyos she'd just climbed to get up here from the Jeep. She couldn't see Philip, who had gone in the other direction, but every once in a while she could hear the far-off sound of rocks and gravel sliding under his feet as he climbed.

At least, she hoped it was Philip's feet. Or better yet, Clyde's. Anything else large enough to make those noises she definitely didn't want to run into.

She took a long draught from her water bottle and replaced the cap. Yuck. It was as warm as the sandstone, and tasted like plastic. Closing her eyes for a few minutes, she raised her face to the spring sunshine and enjoyed the light breeze tickling through her hair.

Clyde, where the hell are you, buddy?

They'd decided to continue to look for the box canyon today instead of switching to the missing airplane, because they agreed with Ted—a plane was hard to hide. And with any luck the e-mails and faxes he and Philip had sent out would yield its whereabouts without driving to every airstrip within five hundred miles.

During the phone call yesterday, her boss, Arthur, had sounded so…anxious. He'd tried to hide it. But she knew damn well the shop would be hit hard if she didn't find Clyde Tafota. Real hard. And the deadline was down to three days now. If he didn't turn up today, there wouldn't be enough time to go through the New Mexico authorities the way Philip wanted. She'd have to take Clyde directly to St. Louis. Philip would not be happy. In fact, he'd be real angry. Angry enough to stop her? She didn't want to take the chance.

They
had
to find Tafota this afternoon.

But everything was feeling like a dead end today. This was the fourth Indian ruin they'd been to with no sign of recent disturbance, and with their luck she didn't have much hope for the fifth, either. If the thought didn't depress her so much, she'd lay bets Tafota had skipped the state for good. Maybe even the country. Though she still couldn't figure out why. Like Anna Hidalgo had said, his actions made little sense, considering his clean background.

At the thought of the pretty Miss Hidalgo, Luce sighed and took another long drink of water, wishing it were something stronger. Anna was Maria Hidalgo's niece. In a different life,
she and Luce could be cousins. And Luce would belong to two big families—close ones, according to the newspaper articles. Though she could do without nasty Uncle Donald.

She realized her slip, thinking of them as family and the unpleasant stranger as her uncle, and grimaced. The stress and the weird coincidences were getting to her more than she thought: not finding a trace of Tafota, her resemblance to a dead woman, the lost child, the dates and the ages of the people involved in the murder.

Hell, even the name of the city starting with Santa played into the coincidence.

Suddenly she wondered…could that be what she was talking about when she was four and newly adopted? Not Santa
Claus,
but Santa
Fe?
Why she'd been so obsessed with—

Damn, damn,
damn.
Talk about obsessed!

She had to snap out of this craziness. Time to go.

Opening her eyes, she grabbed her water bottle.

And froze in terror.

Lying next to her foot was a huge rattlesnake. Small black eyes gazed languidly up at her as it slowly coiled into itself like wagons circling, right in front of her. Its rattles came to a rest—thankfully silent—on one side of the fat coil, its head lazily on the other. Its forked tongue shot out of its mouth, testing the air.

Lord help me, I'm a dead woman,
she thought, not daring to utter the words aloud. She held her breath, adrenaline screaming through her veins.

She and the rattler stared at each other for a good minute, then its second eyelids slid down to glaze its eyes yellow. She could almost see it relax, occasionally darting its tongue out and in.

Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God.
What the hell did she do now?

“Don't worry,” a calm, low male voice said from in front of her raised perch. “I'm right here.”

She looked up, never so happy to see anyone in her whole life. “Philip!” His name came out as a desperate whisper. She
wanted to run into his protective arms. But he was gesturing for her to stay where she was. Besides, she honestly didn't think she could move if her life depended on it. Which it might.
Oh, God!

He drew his Beretta but didn't train it on the snake, which was positioned between them. “Use a soft voice. And do as I say.”

“Just
shoot
the damn thing, would you?” She had to battle not to scream the words at him. He'd said the other night rattlesnake bites were not fatal. Usually. But she really didn't care to put it to the test.

He shook his head. “I'd miss and hit you. Besides, the old bugger is too comfortable to bother with you.”

“What, are you
kidding?
” If the snake didn't get her first, she was definitely going to kill Philip.

“Slowly move back from it. No sudden movements or noises.”

He gave her a reassuring smile. She clamped her teeth hard.

He was
so
dead. But first she had to get to him.

Pulse pounding a tattoo, ever so slowly she lifted one foot and pulled it back toward her. The snake propped open a lid and she froze, but it just gave her a cursory glance and resumed its slumber.

“You're doing fine,” he said. “Keep going.”

With a hammering heart, she moved her other foot, then her butt, until she'd scooted a few feet back.

“Try and stand up.”

Cautiously, inch by inch, she rose. The snake didn't even blink. More confident, one step at a time, she backed up and stepped off the outcrop onto the ground, losing sight of Philip as she did so.

“Okay?” he called.

Finally she let out the breath from her aching lungs. She'd done it! “Okay.”

After a few more careful steps she turned to make her escape. “Oh, my God!”

Two more snakes coiled in her path.

“Luce, what is it?”

“Philip, don't come back here!” she called as quietly as she could. “There are more.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she sent up a silent prayer, then opened them and looked around her.

She stopped counting at eight. Her knees trembled violently as she covered her face with unsteady hands. She hated snakes. She just
hated
them.

“Luce, listen to me. You can do this.” Philip's voice was strong and firm. “You can get past them.”

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered shakily. “I can't.”

His voice came closer. “We're in Indian Country, you know. The Indians have a deal with the rattlesnakes. They won't hurt you.”

She shook her head again, squeezed her fingers tighter over her eyes. “I'm surrounded.”

“This is how it is.” His voice grew closer still. “Back in the day,” he said, “in the time of the old ones, there was this guy named Djisdaah. And this Djisdaah was real mean to the snakes. He tortured and burned them. So the snakes decided to attack the people. They surrounded them, just like you are. Hundreds of them. Thousands.”

“Great,” she squeaked. “I really need to hear this, Philip.” But the sound of his voice was soothing, and she realized she wasn't shaking quite so badly.

“But the tribe's chief was very wise and he surrendered to the snakes, apologizing for Djisdaah's behavior. So the snakes agreed to leave in peace. But before they went, they made the people promise two things. Do you want to know what they were?”

Taking a deep breath, she curled her fingers into her palms and opened her eyes. Philip was standing seven or eight feet away, right in the middle of the scatter of snakes. Lowering his sunglasses, he met her eyes and held them.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“The first promise,” he said, “was that the people must always treat snakes with respect.”

Her gaze dropped to the creatures around them. A few of the rattlers were drowsily eyeing Philip as he talked, but the rest ignored him. And her.

“What was the second promise?” she asked.

He stretched his hand toward her. “Come over here and I'll tell you.”

His gaze was steady and calm, sending her the courage she needed. If he could do it, so could she.

She gathered herself. And took a tiny step. None of the rattlers moved. She took another. Still they were placid. With heart thundering, slowly but surely she inched past them until she could grab his hand. His fingers held hers in an iron grip. And she knew she'd be safe.

“Just respect them,” he said.

She nodded mutely. Trusting him. And like St. Patrick, he led her away from the snakes.

When they reached the top of the rise he stopped, and she flung her arms around him, sagging with relief. “Thank you. You saved my life. You and your story.”

“You're welcome,” he said, hugging her tight. “Figured it couldn't hurt to remind those snakes of that deal they made.”

“We're not Indians, though.”

“Doesn't matter. People are people.”

He smiled, and the last of her terror evaporated.

“What was the last promise?” she asked, shuddering out the stress.

“Never to name another child Djisdaah.”

“I can do that.”

He gave her an odd look, then turned his head to look back at the rattlers dotting the low rise behind them. “You should be proud of yourself. You were very brave.”

“You were the brave one, walking into a snake pit to rescue me.”

“No. I'm not afraid of snakes. But you, you faced your worst fears and didn't let them stop you. Look at them,” he urged. “Go on.”

She swallowed, and made herself look at the snakes. She still didn't like them, but he was right, and it felt good.

“You gave your fears respect, like the wise chief promised, and because you did, they let you pass unharmed.”

She looked back up at him, at his kind, perceptive eyes and his generous smile. She saw nothing but sincerity in their depths.

“You're a very wise chief yourself, O'Donnaugh,” she said softly. And wondered if he wasn't talking about more than just snakes.

“T
his could be it,” Philip said, glancing down at the copy of the faded 1934 newspaper photo of where Clyde's grandmother had hidden from authorities.

Luce squinted at it. “Let's hope so. We're running out of time.”

While she refilled their water bottles from the orange cooler on the back bench, Philip double-checked the clip on his Beretta. He was glad he'd had it at their last stop, even if shooting a striking snake with a pistol was the stuff of fiction. But who knew what lay ahead of them this time.

“Should I take the Walther?” she asked. “Just in case?”

So far he hadn't let her carry her weapon on their hikes, and he didn't mean to start now. “You won't need it,” he said, sliding on his Stetson. “Clyde will come peacefully when he hears the facts.”

“I'm not so sure.”

True, most men fleeing from bounty hunters probably weren't interested in coming peacefully, no matter how po
litely she asked. But he didn't want any misunderstandings on his turf.

“He's not dangerous.”

“Whatever. I'm not planning on straying more than six inches from your side, anyway.”

He liked the sound of that. She turned to grab his handcuffs off the rearview mirror. Showing him her shapely backside…and giving him ideas. Hell, Clyde could wait.

When she turned back, he slanted her a glance.

“Don't even think it, lawman.”

Damn.
He smiled innocently. “Think what, bounty hunter?”

“Whatever you were thinking.”

“You mean handcuffing you to the roof lights and stripping you nak—”

“Yeah, that,” she said, her face flushing crimson. “Jeez, Philip.”

He loved it when she blushed. He grinned. “What, you've never had an assume-the-position-and-handcuff-'em fantasy?”

She lifted her cute little chin. “Yeah. But
I'm
the one doing the cuffing,” she declared, and started marching up toward the cliffs.

But he'd seen the bluff in her eyes.

He just chuckled, filing away the knowledge for later.

They searched for more than an hour, with no luck. Frustration seeped through his veins.

“How can this be so difficult?” Luce exclaimed in exasperation after they left another dead-end canyon with no sign of the ruins. “We found all the rest, even the last one, snakes and all!”

This location was a bit different from the others. There were more trees. Piñons and junipers peppered the talus slopes at the bottom of the red cliffs, which were also much more vertical than the others they'd searched.

Philip pulled out the U.S.G.S. topographical map he'd
been using as a guide all day. He was good at reading maps, but this place was stumping him. He compared it to Renata's targeted, but considerably less sophisticated, map. Unfortunately, the scale was too small to be useful for close-up work.

“Can you really read all those weird lines and squiggles? Maps without streets are Greek to me.”

“I must be getting tired,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “It looks to me like the ruins should be right behind…there.” He waved his hand at the crenulated sandstone edifice that rose up before them, reaching to the sky.

“On both maps?”

“Lord knows. At this point I'm seeing cross-eyed. The topo map shows a canyon back there. Do you see a canyon?”

They stared at the irregularly sculpted yellow-and-red striped face of the cliffs for a silent moment, then Luce said impatiently, “Well, if the map says it's there, it has to be there somewhere. They pay those guys to be accurate.”

She started hiking up the talus slope, but halted after a few yards. “Coming?”

Apparently she was serious about the six inches, despite conquering her fears so well earlier. He folded up the map and followed her.

“Maybe if you tried saying ‘open sesame,'” he suggested as they stopped to examine the tall vertical formations.

She chuckled. Then spread her arms wide and called, “Open sesame!”

Nothing happened.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he said philosophically.

“Damn,” she said, picked up a stone and threw it hard at the wall in front of them. It made a very satisfying
crack
as it hit the solid rock, echoing loudly as it splintered.

Philip tipped his head and tsked. “I can think of better ways to get out our frustrations.”

“I doubt it.” She swiped up another stone and flung it.
Again it echoed loudly as it ricocheted off the wall. “I'm feeling better already.”

“Whose head are you pretending to throw?” he asked with a wince.

“Don't worry, not yours,” she said, and hurled one more.

“I'm glad to—”

Suddenly they glanced at each other, then at the cliff. That last rock hadn't had an echo. In fact, there had been no sound at all after leaving her hand.

“Where did you throw it?” he asked, excitement mounting.

“I didn't aim. It went somewhere over there, I think.” She turned toward a group of piñons huddled against the rock face.

They both took off up the slope toward the trees. When they arrived at the top and hurried to look behind the bushy piñons, Luce let out a happy gasp. Between two natural pillars was a narrow gap.

“Philip, look! A passage!” She grabbed him and swung around, nearly losing her balance on the uneven ground. She landed in his arms, laughing. “The hidden canyon!”

“I can't believe it!”

“At last.”

He swung her around again and bent to give her a big kiss. Just to celebrate. But he couldn't resist drawing it out longer and longer. It had been ages since he'd tasted her and felt her mouth under his. At least six hours. Far too long.

He forgot all about the passage.

Apparently she didn't. She pulled away. “We should get moving,” she said.

Reluctantly he turned his attention back to the opening. “Man, it looks really narrow.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

They walked up to it, and he put his hands on either side of the narrow, sandstone gateway to peer in. Almost cavelike, it was as though the rock had split in half, leaving a tall, triangular keyhole maybe two feet wide at the bottom and about
twenty feet high at the point where the sides came together again like two drunks leaning on each other for support.

He hunched down and raised his sunglasses to see what lay beyond. But the opening turned a corner after a few feet, and it was impossible. He tried to squeeze into the opening, but was instantly wedged.

“Even if I crawl, I'll never make it through this narrow space.” He changed angles and tried again, to no avail. “I'm too big.”

She frowned. “What are you saying?”

He blew out a breath. She wasn't going to like this. Not one little bit. “Unless we find another way in, we'll have to skip these ruins.”

“But Tafota could be in there! We can't leave without checking it out.”

“I don't see a choice,” he said, stepping back and searching the rock wall for a second gap. “Besides, if I can't make it through, chances are Clyde can't, either.”

She appeared skeptical. “I'm not so sure. He looked awfully skinny in his mug shot. More like my size.”

Philip lifted his Stetson and swiped a hand through his hair. “Whatever. Let's look for another entrance.”

After half an hour of hard searching, it was clear. This was the only way in.

Philip let out a sigh. “That's it, then.” Reluctantly he turned to walk down the slope. “Let's pack it in and call it a day.”

“No.”

He halted and turned back. “Excuse me?”

She shook her head. “He's in there. I know he's in there.”

Frustration oozed through Philip. “Maybe. But we're out here with no way in and no other options.”

“That's not strictly true,” she said.

“No? What do you propose we do? Starve him out?” She straightened her spine, and suddenly he knew exactly what she had in mind. His stomach plummeted. “No,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “No way.”

“There's nothing you can do to stop me,” she said, determination gleaming in her eyes. Or was it plain old mule stubbornness? “I'm going in.”

 

Philip scowled down at her. “You are
not
going in there alone!”

Luce locked her knees and planted her fists on her hips—mainly to hide the sudden tremble in her limbs, but he didn't have to know that.

“I
have
to. Look.” She indicated the ground, which showed subtle signs of recent disturbance—footprints and scraping marks left by someone crawling.

Philip swiped a hand over his forehead. “What happened to not leaving my side more than six inches?”

Her stomach tightened at the thought of what she was about to do. “I've faced down intelligent, three-hundred pound men carrying automatic weapons,” she stated evenly, not sure who she wanted to convince more, him or herself. “You think I'm going to let some brainless reptile or other fanged creature stop me from getting my skip? Not a chance.”

As he studied her face she saw a muscle tick in his cheek. “I don't like it,” he ground out.

Neither did she. “We don't have a choice.”

He clenched and unclenched his jaw and she knew she'd won. “All right.” He unholstered his pistol and held it out to her. “But at least take the Beretta.”

She nodded and tucked it into her waistband. “Thanks.”

“You've got your cell phone, right?” he asked tightly. When she nodded he pulled out his. “Here. Trade me, so you don't have to memorize the number. Call if you see anything.” He glanced upward after exchanging hers for his. “If we can get a signal.”

She checked out his cell. “Is this a camera phone? How do you work it?”

He showed her the buttons to push. Then he hit his fist against the sandstone wall. “Damn! I hate letting you go in there alone.”

“No worries.” She gave him a confident smile, even though her insides were still doing minicartwheels. They were getting smaller, though. She just had to concentrate on the job, not the environment. She was good at her job. She'd be fine. And Clyde was in there, she could feel it. “I'll just pretend I'm going into an abandoned crack house. Piece of cake.”

He groaned. “Luce, please be careful. Swear to me.”

“I promise. Watch for Tafota. Catch him if I flush him out.”

“I will.”

Before she lost her nerve she ducked into the passageway. It was a real squeeze at first, but after just a few feet it turned a corner and opened up. After several yards the walls fell away and she walked into a perfect box canyon. Butch and Sundance would have loved it.

This
had
to be the place Clyde was hiding out.

Now that she was here, she realized she had no strategy. TV bounty hunters were fearless and undaunted by danger, but in reality it was a pretty orderly profession with minimal risk if you were properly prepared for the takedown. Which at the moment she wasn't.

Should she call Philip? One look around told her no phone signal would ever penetrate those rock-solid canyon walls even if there was a nearby tower. She checked the indicator light, just in case he had satellite and there was one directly overhead. “Yeah, right,” she muttered at the blank screen.

She was on her own.

Her glance upward had, however, yielded paydirt of another sort. The ruins shown on Renata's map were tucked under a wide, cavelike ledge protruding from the lower western face of the canyon.

She stood still for several minutes, inspecting the canyon floor and walls for any sign of activity, occupancy or Clyde himself. To her relief, there were no snakes or other creatures in evidence, but to her surprise, the canyon floor was riddled with indications of human activity. Boot tracks were every
where, as well as one long abrasion that looked like something heavy had been dragged along the ground.

The hairs on the back of Luce's neck rose.

This didn't look like something Clyde Tafota could have done on his own.

She pulled Philip's Beretta from her waistband and scanned the ruins. Was he up there watching her? Or was there more than one person observing? Thinking fast, she dashed over to the canyon wall, seeking what shelter she could from prying eyes.

The canyon floor was mostly sand and fallen rock, with a few stands of spindly cottonwoods, cactus and sage dotting it. A set of steps carved in the sandstone zig-zagged up ten or twelve feet to the ruins. They looked steep but passable—but also completely open to scrutiny by anyone hiding above.

Okay. It was all good.

She'd been in worse situations.

And she needed to catch Clyde. Time was running out and Arthur was counting on her.

She gripped the Beretta and made for the steps, keeping her back to the canyon wall as she moved. High above the cliffs a hawk cried out, and the wind rustled the dry sage making it rattle softly. Otherwise silence prevailed except for the in and out of her own fast breathing.

Stealthily she climbed the steep, rock-hewn steps one at a time, being careful not to dislodge stones or gravel and give herself away. When she got to the ruins, another surprise awaited her. From below, the ancient structure had seemed as broken down as the others they'd visited today, but when she crested the top step, something different greeted her. Behind the crumbling outer shell, the inner adobe walls still stood fairly intact, from the hard-packed clay floor up to the sandstone outcropping that served as ceiling—and which had obviously protected the inner rooms from the harsh desert elements.

In other words, a perfect hiding place for two kids—or a grown man.

From exploring the four other cliff dwellings today, she knew their basic layout consisted of a rabbit warren of small rooms, interconnected by windowlike doors set a foot or two above ground level. The inhabitants must have been tiny, and agile, to be able to climb in and out through the small openings.