dark ops 3 - Renegade (13 page)

Mason winced. “My apologies. Chalk it up to the warrior habit of making light to keep ourselves from freaking out in a tight situation.”

“Sorry, Gingersnap. We men are pigs sometimes.” Phil leaned back to make way for Gina to set their orders in front of them then rested his elbows on the table again. “You have to realize we old folks have been a part of this alien culture for longer than you can even remember. We’ve seen some spooky shit over the years. There was a time when people gave serious credence to the Majestic 12 theory.”

Okay, that was a new one to Jill. “Majestic 12?”

“Also known as M12 or Majority 12 or a number of other names. It was a supposed code name for a secret group formed by the president himself back in the 1940s. It was made up of military leaders, scientists, even folks from the government. Their job was to look into UFO sightings. This was just the first of many government groups that have supposedly participated in cover-ups over the past few decades.”

Phil leaned on his elbows, farther across the table. “Any of these military folks in here could be one of them.” He pointed his sandwich toward Mason. “Even you.”

Mason simply smiled, draped a flimsy paper napkin over one leg, and ate his sandwich. Jill resisted the urge to swat Phil on the back of the head. He certainly wasn’t holding back tonight. All the same, she appreciated the way Mason didn’t seem to judge eccentrics like Aaron, and Uncle Phil, even. He simply accepted them for who they were.

Phil finished off his beer. “If you ask me, I think you military folks just screw with the locals sometimes so they don’t know which end is up when you decide to pull off something for real.”

Mason swiped his napkin across his face. “You must spend a lot of time on the Internet.”

“Got my own satellite connection out at the ranch.” Phil stuffed the sandwich into his mouth and chewed. “Hmmm, not bad,” he said with his mouth full. “Eat up, and I’ll show you who else likes to screw with the tourists.”

Was Mason actually screwing that mousy lady cop?

Lee sat in her Lexus outside the tiny metal frame restaurant and monitored the continuous flow of people in and out. She’d come here to check on a possible link to mess with Mason but had been surprised to see him walking with Jill Walczek into the little tin building. How much longer would they stay in there? Mason’s truck was still parked in its spot, and she hadn’t seen him or his dinner companions leave.

Was Mason bored or desperate? She only had to consider that one for a second. The man was never desperate, so he must be at loose ends. She could almost sympathize. She hated boredom almost as much as she despised how unfairly some people treated her. Arranging for that remote controlled car to blow had been blessedly easy for someone as smart as her, and it
had
sparked some interesting reactions. Mason’s behavior had exposed some weaknesses for her to exploit.

Apparently getting naked with the lady cop in the desert and then watching her nearly get run over had left an impression on Mason and Jill, enough so he’d actually been introduced to the woman’s daddy figure. Lee sipped her vitamin water then carefully wiped a napkin along the rim before setting it in the holder. She could see why Jill would chase down Mason, but why was he taken with her?

Lee scratched her fingernail back and forth along the label on her vitamin water. Jill wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t remarkable either. She had nice hair, a little on the orange side. She had definitely worked out to make the most of her figure, but other than that, the woman didn’t do much to maximize her best features. Yet Mason didn’t seem able to take his eyes off her.

Her nails dug deeper into the drink bottle. He’d shown a new weakness at a time when Lee had a problem. Now she just had to figure out how to fit those two new variables into her plans, which were fraying along the edges.

The Killer Alien was a copycat. The first victim—the one who’d lived—had been Lee’s work. The bitch Annette Santos had actually thought she could get away with claiming joint credit for a test project they’d worked on. Or rather one Lee spearheaded,
created
. Annette had only done some grunt work research. Lee’s fingernails popped holes in the plastic covering her vitamin water until the shredded wrapper peeled away.

But she had made Annette pay, and in a way that couldn’t be traced to her. She glanced up at the circular silver alien charm dangling from her rearview mirror, a charm she sometimes wore around her neck. The markings in the sand had been inspired. So much so that some freak with an alien fetish had locked onto the whole circle swirl and made it his own.

Of course it had to be a man. Everyone knew the statistics. Serial killers weren’t women.
She
wasn’t some psycho.

Hopefully she could use the man’s gruesome crimes to take care of some business on her own, undetected, and cast suspicion on their local nut job murderer, rather than have him somehow lead them back to her. So far, the killer had chosen victims all related to the base, which would prove helpful in drawing police attention to Mason.

And Jill Walczak? Lee centered her charm again . . .
precisely
.

Jill would be the perfect victim for the next serial killing, one that would also point directly to Mason as the perp.

Mason eyed the GPS on his truck windshield and thanked God it was functioning out here in the middle of the desert mountain range, because otherwise they could very well get lost going back. He certainly wasn’t counting on the navigational skills of the drunk old man beside him shouting out directions. Since Phil had been wasted before Mason finished his avocado-tomato foccacia sandwich, they’d all piled into Mason’s truck.

“Turn by that crooked cactus there,” Yost barked, then burped.

Crooked cactus? Good Lord, it sounded like something out of a black-and-white movie. At least the kooky guy offered up a distraction from the sweet scent of Jill sitting between them.

Something had shifted between them in the restaurant, and he wasn’t sure what. He’d only been shooting the breeze with Yost when he’d realized she was looking at him with a new intensity.

The truck jostled over the rocky path, nudging her toned thigh closer to his, before she pulled away.

Cranking the steering wheel as they passed the twisted Joshua tree, Mason looked at Jill sitting between him and Yost. Her eyes darted left, right, on the windshield again, her hand grazing her waist over her gun strapped in place.

Mason dipped his head. “What’s the matter?”

Her hand stayed lightly against her weapon. “After our conversation back at the restaurant, I can’t help but think about the serial killer, especially when we’re so far from civilization. Until he—or she—is caught, there’s no need to be reckless.”

Yost waved a drunken hand through the air. “Ah, there are three of us. We’re not just one defenseless woman caught with her hands full of groceries as she struggles to open her front door.”

Jill gaped at him. “Damn, Uncle Phil, do you always go around thinking of scenarios for catching a woman unaware?”

“I think maybe,” he mumbled, “I read something like that about one of the killings in the papers. Been following it. The old cop in me can’t help but eat up the details. Got anything you want to share, girl?”

Jill jerked a thumb toward Mason. “You could fill him in on what the press says about the ongoing investigation, since he’s been out of the country for the past couple of months.”

“Ah.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming as bright as the dashboard lights. “Then you missed the frenzy ramping up. It was my girl here who caught the similarities in some unsolved cases. She started tracking details this fall in hopes of catching the guy.”

Mason shot a quick look at Jill, surprised. He hadn’t realized she was this involved in the investigation. What else didn’t he know about her?

He looked back out the windshield. “Five attacks as of yesterday, four of them dead, right? I heard it on the radio on my drive over for supper. Some local woman. They haven’t released her name yet.”

“Damn.” Yost shook his head. “This area is already so crazy with alien conspiracies, it doesn’t take much to freak people out. Stop here.”

Mason braked and put his Chevy in park in the middle of a patch of desert that looked much the same as everything that had come before. He turned off the radio but kept the engine and lights on. Moonbeams glinted off silvery rocks bleached white over years of exposure to the sun. Mason stepped out of the truck and met Jill and the old guy at the back of the truck.

Phil lowered the tailgate. “Some folks believe it’s some kind of ritual killing for a cult, and they’re using the alien scare to cover their tracks.”

Jill thumbed her gun again. “Not a very original thought, if you ask me.”

The older guy hitched up to sit on the tailgate. “Valid point. From what I’m hearing out of my prior contacts, it appears each of the nabbings have been while the person was alone.” He leaned deeper into the truck bed for the bag he’d retrieved from his trunk and tucked there before they’d left the bar. “Since most of them are females, I’m guessing the one male victim must have been a guy who stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Jill jumped up to sit next to him. “That seems to be how things are pointing. The guy’s just so damn clean about the killings. Even with this latest murder, there’s virtually nothing to go on. We’re all praying we get a break in the case before he strikes again.”

“Amen, Gingersnap.” His grim face softening, he pulled a battery-powered strobe light from the duffel and turned to Mason. “About those alien sightings. Back in the day, some of us camo dudes would hang out in watchtowers and fuck with the locals. We would flash lights in the sky and amplify everyday noises over a megaphone. You’d be amazed how worked up conspiracy nuts can get over repeated clicks of a lighter or the slow, squeaky release of air through a balloon. We even made the paper with that one.”

They sounded like his kind of guys. Noticing Jill’s slight shiver, Mason eased off his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Ah, a close encounters sort of moment.”

Jill stiffened under his touch but then gathered the jacket closer around her, tucking her hands in the sleeves. A bitter wind rolled over them, but his sweater provided more than enough protection with the added heat of being this close to her.

Phil was too busy playing with his oversized flashlight to notice the coat exchange. “We may have inspired a movie or news story here and there to kill time on a boring desert night. Pretty soon the military realized there was a big payoff in these rumors. Secrecy wasn’t as big a concern if you had an alien story scapegoat.” He turned off the light, the beam cutting short. “People are more cynical these days. Damn shame. Life was a lot more fun back then.”

Jill rested her head on Phil’s shoulder. “That’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you, your ability to find the fun in anything.”

He snapped the light on and off three times before swooping it across the mountainside. “Why bother living if you’re not going to enjoy the ride?”

Jill’s laugh filled the desert void.

Mason looked at her appreciatively. Damn, but he liked this woman.

Phil jerked the spotlight in a haphazard circle against the desert horizon. “Once, a while back, we took one of these, covered it with purple cellophane, and shone it on that mountain over there. Next thing you know, shops were selling T-shirts with bright purple rays shooting from a flying saucer.” He looked at Mason, his eyes suddenly cold sober. “I imagine some of the stuff you fliers do will fuel stories for decades.”

“Hmmm.” Mason offered up a noncommittal grunt. Even if what the old guy said was true, that didn’t mean anyone in the military could confirm it. “I would imagine so. You know we’re probably in more danger of being shot for trespassing by a pissed-off rancher.”

“Do you two want my secrets or not?” Phil clicked off the spotlight. “Or maybe I should be asking you, my new friend. Do you allow this sort of thing to continue to divert attention from tests? Or to divert attention from the aliens?”