Desert Exposure (2 page)

If anyone spotted the truck, she hoped it would look like a discarded wreck. She pulled the baseball cap down onto her forehead, tucked her ponytail up underneath it, turned up her collar, and lowered her body. Ralph rested his chin on her thigh, and his small eyes flashed like exotic black beads. He pinned them on her, like he awaited his next command. Her breath came easily now, and the shaking of her body had eased.

“We have to be quiet, Ralph. Good dog.” She pressed one hand firmly on his spine, and picked up her cell phone. About to punch in the numbers, she saw a mud-splattered, sand-colored Hummer—tricked out with silver hubcaps and embellishments—as it roared along the two lane highway heading in the direction of Grandpa’s cabin.

Do they know me
? She shook her head.
No, of course they don’t.

She put the phone down, grabbed the binoculars out of the backpack, and tried to spot the license plate. It could be a coincidence, the driver perhaps an owner of one of the nearby date farms.
Nah, those farmers drive trucks
. He might not be after her. She knew that. But still, he had been speeding.

She dialed 911.

“This is Rachel Copeland. I was attacked on the beach near Desert Scapes, and…and held at gunpoint…and I…”

“Slow down,” the woman’s voice said. “Are you in immediate danger?”

“I don’t know. I escaped. I’m in…I’m in a truck.”

“All right ma’am,” the woman’s kindly voice said. “Let me get some particulars.”

Rachel nodded, even though the woman couldn’t see her.

“I’m not sure if I’m being followed. There’s a—”

“Hold for one moment, please, ma’am.”

Rachel looked in every direction from the old restaurant. The roads were empty and she started to feel a bit stupid. Yet, something, she didn’t know for sure what, something still warned her to be careful. The dispatcher came back on the line, and she answered the woman’s questions about location, but her thoughts kept drifting.

If the Hummer was trying to catch up to her, the driver would soon reach a long straight stretch of highway heading toward Coachella—flat desert floor, where you could see for miles. He wouldn’t see her truck up ahead of him. She needed to get the hell out of here. He might come back this way to do a more thorough search. Maybe, but then, if he figured she’d gone to Grandpa’s place, he’d head down the side road leading back to the water, and the cabin.

“Think, Rachel, think,” she said out loud, and Ralph inched closer.

“What?” the woman asked.

Oh, hell
. “Just send someone to check the location I gave you. I’ll head in to the police station to make a full report. I’m hanging up now, so I can drive”

The Sea was in a weird spot, with little police patrol of the area. Indio PD was north, about twenty miles, in the direction the Hummer had taken. It would take a while to dispatch a car and get anyone down here. No way in hell she’d sit around and wait for someone to arrive. She wanted to get home to Rancho Almagro. There was a lesser known back way; a turn off about a mile ahead. It would be a risk, calling her ex, but what the hell. She dialed Deputy Dave Stanton’s number, reversed the truck while the call went through, and took off with the cell phone pressed tight to her ear. To hell with California cell phone laws. She could only pray some cop would pull her over.

“Hi, babe. You’re up early.”

“I was shot at. And I think I’m being chased. I’m in Grandpa’s truck, on highway eighty-six.”

“Hell, Rachel. What the hell kind of scrape you got yourself into now?”

“No time for discussion, Dave. Just help. Okay?”

“Hang in there. Coming from—?”

“Desert Scapes.”

“Heading for home?”

“Yes. I called 911. I’m taking the back route along Airport Boulevard, through Thermal, and then—”

“I’m on it.”

“Dave, it’s not your area. I don’t want you getting into trouble. Can you meet me when I get into—?”

His phone went dead, but not before she heard the squeal of the siren. She floored the truck and roared past another date farm. The huge acres of land were covered mostly by date palms, tall and regal, their fruit encased in white bags awaiting harvest. It made them look spooky in the early morning light, and she shivered.

There were no other vehicles in sight, but the Hummer could be hiding out down any of those dark, narrow, unsealed farm roads. She almost missed the sign for Airport Boulevard, and took the turn hard, the truck fishtailing on the soft, sandy shoulder.

“Shit.” She took her foot off the accelerator as Ralph’s body slid sideways. “Sorry, buddy.” She righted the truck back onto the thin stretch of asphalt, patted Ralph’s head, and headed for Almagro.

The truck shuddered and rattled as the speedometer hit eighty-five. Sweat beaded around her hairline, and she burned up inside the windbreaker, but she didn’t turn on the AC. She wouldn’t risk taxing the engine. And she wouldn’t roll the window down, either. Not with armed madmen about. Although bullets penetrated glass and—she wouldn’t think about that—not now.

“Don’t break down. Don’t blow a tire. Don’t—” She shook her head, and then glanced in the mirror again. Nobody followed. Had she let her imagination run wild?

Rachel eased up on her speed and eyed the door of the glove compartment; Grandpa always kept a loaded gun in there. She stretched. Damn, her reach wasn’t long enough. She thought about slowing down, stopping even. Not yet. A few other vehicles were about. The Indio PD was only five miles north. And Dave would be here soon.

She hesitated a moment, then highlighted Debbie’s number and pressed send.

“Hello?” Debbie’s voice sounded soft and weary.

In the last trimester of her pregnancy, Deb never seemed to sleep well. Rachel felt a twinge of selfish guilt for having called her best friend.

“Ah, Deb, is Jack there?” Rachel asked.

“He’s on a case. What’s up?”

“I, ah, I was held at gunpoint down at the Sea—”

“Ah, Jesus…Rachel.”

“I know, I know.”

“Did you call 911?”

“Yeah…and I called Dave. I know I shouldn’t have, and now he’s on his way but you know…I’m still in Indio. I kind of don’t want him to get into trouble.”

“What happened?”

Rachel filled her in on the holdup, the camera, the chase. “At least, I think I’m being chased. I called you in case the man catches up with me, and…”

“Dave is on his way. You’ll be fine. Stay with me, keep talking. Why had the nasty man wanted the camera over money and credit cards? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“I know,” Rachel said, and glanced in the mirror. “Me neither. Maybe I photographed something illegal. I got all choked up, kind of crying a bit. I don’t know what the hell I photographed.” She wished Jack had been at home. He was a former DEA agent turned PI. He knew all about the weirdos and the druggos of the world.

“Aw, honey. I’m so sorry. First your grandpa goes missing, and now this?”

“I know…strange, huh? Maybe the guy intended to get the camera, and then kill me. You know, leave no witness. No evidence.”

“Stop it,” Debbie said. “That’s crazy talk. There has to be a better explanation. Let me think this through, and I promise I’ll talk with Jack the minute he gets home. Tell me, had you seen the guy earlier? Or ever seen him around town, or perhaps in your bar?”

“No. He’s never been to Cliffs. You know how I am with faces. And I was alone on the beach today.”

“Do you have a description?”

“Late thirties. Latino, light-skinned, and I think light eyes. Maybe about five nine, stocky build. Light brown hair I think, but he wore a knit cap.”

Rachel knew Debbie would be taking notes. Jack had trained her well, and even though she didn’t technically work for the firm of Cabrera and Fischer, being married to a PI had rubbed off on her. Rachel looked into the mirror again.
Nothing
.

She eased off the accelerator. “I’d been there since five.”

“Why on earth?”

“The white pelicans.” Rachel swallowed hard. “We expected them to arrive this week.”

She supposed it had been dumb, not telling anyone of her plans. But she’d been going to the Sea since she was five years old, and more than enough times had stayed there alone. Hell, she’d slept in Grandpa’s cabin with the doors unlocked and the windows open. He’d never been afraid of anything or anyone. And while he knew a lot of sketchy characters who drifted in and out of the area, everyone knew and respected him.

“Grandpa and I had chosen a date when we thought the pelican’s would arrive,” Rachel continued, and her throat tightened. “I wanted…I wanted to honor—”

“Oh, honey,” Debbie said. “I’m so sorry.”

Rachel’s eyes stung from the soft sympathetic tone in Debbie’s voice.
Damn it. She couldn’t cry now
. She rapidly blinked her eyes, took in a deep breath and blew it out. The traffic light ahead turned yellow, she floored the truck and dashed through. The horn from a nearby SUV blared at her rudeness.

“Rachel? Are you okay?” Debbie asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I had to focus on the road for a bit.”

“Stay with me. Stay on the line until Stanton gets there, okay?”

Deb never chastised her, or advised. And Rachel knew how tough it must have been through the years, with her always getting into some scrape or another. She wasn’t called Rabble-Rousing Rachel for nothing; the nickname was given to her, somewhat affectionately, by Dave and Debbie and the now mayor of Rancho Almagro, back in their elementary school days.

She took a quick look in the rearview mirror. A chill ran up her spine, and she squinted hard but couldn’t make out the color, or the vehicle, only the glint of sun on the windshield. She heard the wail of a police car siren close by, and another somewhere north of her.

“Oh, dear God,” she whispered, and floored the truck.

“What?” Debbie asked loudly.

“Hummer’s gaining on me, but I can hear the cop sirens. Got to go, need both hands.”

She tossed the cell phone onto the seat, slowed the truck, stretched toward the glove compartment, and pulled out Grandpa’s pistol. He’d taught her well. She’d fired a gun at the firing range, and had even taught Debbie how to shoot. Tin cans she did well, but she’d never shot at a human target. She sat tall and calmed herself by taking several deep breaths. With the gun wedged between her thighs, her dog on the passenger seat, and the Hummer gaining on her, she prayed for help. With Grandpa gone, and maybe even dead, no way in hell she’d let Ralph become an orphan.

“We’ll be okay, baby,” she said, and her voice didn’t even crack. She kept her gaze on the road ahead, and prayed Dave would reach her before the bad guys did.

****

Detective Michael Delaney made a quick call to the Indio PD. The Salton Sea was in their jurisdiction. He reeled off his police identification, and then added deep undercover.

“There’s a man on the beach, injured, adjacent to the old bait shop. There were shots fired. I’m on the tail of one of the guys, old white Chevy truck. One, Bravo, Delta, couldn’t get anything else on the plate. Last seen heading north on the eighty-six.”

He closed the cell phone and cursed. He’d lost the skinny guy in the baseball cap and windbreaker, the one pretending to be an early morning wildlife photographer.

Yeah, right.
More like a drug dealer. Who the hell else would be hanging around the cold, deserted beach at dawn? He’d seen all types in his career. But now, with a new undercover assignment and working with the Indio PD, he needed to prove himself all over again. He felt like a damn rookie. It really pissed him off that the dude had gotten away.

He’d tracked the constantly moving Suarez brothers for a week now. He knew they were back in the area. His case meant finding them and flushing them out before they got their revenge on the ex-DEA agent. If this skinny guy wasn’t one of the brothers, he could be a go-between, and Michael wanted every ounce of information he could squeeze out of the little weasel. And if he proved to be one of the brothers, he sure as hell wanted him.

He made a careful three point turn, ready to return to the beach and assist with the injured man. He had questions to ask him. Up ahead, a puff of dust caught his attention, and a vehicle sped off. Someone was in one hell of a hurry. He’d passed that turn a few minutes ago. He was too far away to determine if it was the white truck. But, it was too big of a coincidence.

There are no coincidences
. He gave a dry laugh, floored the Hummer, and roared down the highway, turning sharply onto Airport Boulevard, noticing the tire marks in the sand.
Yeah, the dude is moving
. It had to be his man.

He zipped past Jacquelaine Cochrane Regional airport, but couldn’t see the truck. A small airport for such a big name, he thought, with a quick shake of his head as the sign flashed by. Nothing bigger than a Cessna, or a Comanche Piper, flew out of the airport. But it gave air support to the Indio PD. And it had a fire station on the grounds. He hadn’t checked out the place yet, and slowed.

Would the truck have pulled in there to hide amidst other vehicles? Nah. No detours. Follow your first instinct.
He pressed down on the accelerator, and minutes later saw what he thought might be the old truck up ahead.