Desert Exposure (7 page)

“Busier than usual. Phones ringing.”

“So you didn’t walk to the truck with him?”

“I did, but then the cell phone rang. He was a suave looking guy…neatly dressed, and spoke well. Bit of a charmer, I suppose. Guess I bought his story.”

The mechanic had said he’d gladly answer questions but understaffed, he had to keep on working. Michael had told the guy his questions were not official. He and Rachel were friends. So he willingly followed him around. And other than occasionally missing a word and having to have the guy repeat himself, it all played out fine.

“These are strange parts,” the mechanic said. “Most everyone knows everyone.”

“And you knew this guy?”

“No.” He opened the hood of Henry’s truck and poked around for a minute. “Never seen him before.” He shrugged, and then rubbed at his jaw, leaving behind a streak of grease. “Must be new in town.”

“Could be.” Michael nodded.

“Why the big fuss over a stolen jacket?”

Michael shrugged. “Following a lead on another crime.”

“Yeah.” The mechanic shook his head. “Damn shame that. Henry was good folk.”

“So I’ve heard.” The mechanic had jumped straight to Henry’s disappearance, and possible death. Logical, Michael supposed, but he’d neither deny nor confirm.

“Getting back to today’s issues, what about the passenger? What did he look like?”

“Can’t say I noticed much about him,” the mechanic said, his voice echoing from deep within the bowels of the motor of Henry’s truck. “The car was parked to the side. He was small, or could have been slumped down in the seat. Now that I think of it, he had on a black knit cap, but he never really looked in my direction. I only noticed him when I glanced up as they left.”

Michael stilled his reaction to the mention of the black knit cap. “Did you notice the make of the car, or the color?”

“Blue. I think. Dark blue.” He raised his head and narrowed his eyes. “Small, four door. Most likely a Honda…Latinos like them.”

“Thanks. Thanks so much. If I have any more questions, do you mind if I come back?”

“No problem.” The guy raised his head and started to straighten.

Michael patted his shoulder. “Go back to work. I’ll see myself out.” Almost out of the bay, he stopped and called back, “Why did you glance up when the car left?”

“It was lowered and noisy…one of those noisy mufflers.”

“Recent model?”

“Within the last four years, would be my guess.”

****

Pedro sat slumped in the car seat while his cousin took the film into the local drugstore. He prayed to the Virgin Mary that nothing on that film would raise suspicion. His cousin had been so excited when he’d shoved the truck’s registration under Pedro’s nose. He’d always claimed that he knew the old guy, just couldn’t remember his name.

Now he was bragging. He knew the red-head was the granddaughter, but he’d said less about her. Pedro started getting nervous. His cousin had been gone too long. He jumped when the car door opened.

“We can pick it up in an hour,” his cousin said, sliding back into the car, and shoving a brown plastic bag at him.

Pedro looked in the bag. Stuff to clean up his head wound.

“We’ll drive a few miles to a Latino owned roadside stand,” his cousin said. “Fresh produce. They got burritos.”

Pedro nodded. He could use a burrito.

“I’ll take care of that cut for you when we get there.”

In the excitement of following the granddaughter of the old man—and finding out what the guys name was—his cousin had forgotten about the other film. The one Pedro had left in the darkroom to develop. He would keep his mouth shut on that. Later, he would return to the cabin.

****

A little after noon, Rachel hurried to the back door at Cliffs. She’d dropped Michael at the PD, and then gone home to shower. She touched the damp curls of her ponytail. She’d put on a black top, short leopard print skirt, heels, and added silver hoop earrings and make-up. On the way here, she’d been tempted to drive back to the cabin. But then she’d decided to trust Michael. She’d given the cops two weeks. She’d give him twenty-four hours.

“Manuel. Hi,” she said, and dropped her purse onto a chair. Guilt tightened her gut, knowing she had to spy on him.

Manuel had the supplies book open, and looked up. “Rachel!” Relief flooded his dark features, then he smiled, and hurried around the desk. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Sure.” How much should she tell him? She trusted Manuel. Didn’t she?

She glanced at the entrance to the restaurant next door. They’d be serving lunch. She’d told Michael to come in after four. That way he’d be here at shift change for the restaurant.

The early shift restaurant waiters, busboys, and kitchen staff, would still be there. The late shift would arrive soon after. Plus the bar and lounge people would have arrived. Michael could casually check them all out.

“Tell me everything,” he said and perched his hip on the edge of the desk.

“Well, there isn’t much to say really. A drifter held me at gun point, and then he grabbed my camera and equipment. Then I had to give a full report at the police station.”

“It took such a long time.”

“Oh, yeah, so sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.”

Hell, why couldn’t she tell him the truth? Michael had her suspecting everyone of being bad and wanting to cause her harm for some reason. She hated lying, or even being evasive. That wasn’t her style. But then she remembered that she had placed her trust in Michael. “Sorry. I went to breakfast with a friend, and then I went home to clean up and—”

“Good. But you look a bit shaken. Here, sit down,” he said, and walked back around the desk and stood holding the back of the chair. “Can I get you coffee?”

“Sure, that would be nice. I’m really fine though.”

Manuel hurried out to the quiet bar and she could hear him talking to another employee, reassuring that everything was fine. She glanced at the books. He’d brought them up to date. He’d proven himself to be a talented bartender, who also came with great office skills. She’d never had anyone who could wear as many hats as Manuel. No job was too big, or too far beneath him. He took out the trash.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, and looked up as he placed a cup of coffee on the desk. Hell, he even brought her coffee. “And thanks for doing the books. They were so far behind.”

“I know. It’s been hard for you the past two weeks.”

Rachel nodded and took a sip of coffee. She really didn’t want to discuss Grandpa.

“Any news on your grandfather?”

Damn
. She shook her head, and then took another sip.

“Are the cops thinking there’s a connection between his disappearance, and this?” He waved his arms around for emphasis. “We were all talking…wondering—”

“Oh, no,” Rachel said, not quite meeting Manuel’s eyes.
So, they’d been talking
. “No not at all. This was some random thing.”

“Good.” Manuel walked to the door. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll check on the restaurant, and then get the bar ready.”

Rachel nodded and eased back in the chair. It felt nice to sit here in the quiet; safe in her tiny back office. And away from madmen with guns…and hot detectives who gave pursuit. It had been an exciting morning. She glanced at her watch and wondered when Detective Michael would make an appearance.

****

Michael dirtied up his dirty blond hair. He used a product that he often used when doing undercover surveillance. It removed the natural sun streaks and made the hair look darker. Then he popped dark brown contacts into his eyes, and put in a fake tooth cap he’d had specially made to change both his teeth and his smile. The eye tooth jutted out a bit and altered his otherwise perfect teeth. He grinned widely. His mother would have a fit if ever she saw that, after the thousands of dollars paid to the orthodontist.

Unfortunately he’d shaved this morning so he still looked a little too clean. His dark brown beard stubble would begin to show by evening; the famous five o’clock shadow. He’d always shave again in the evening, if he had a date. He looked into the mirror. Just a regular dude having a beer, and with his black t-shirt displaying a hint of the tatts that ran up his biceps, the blue jeans, dark glasses, black work boots, he thought he’d fit in at the bar. The four-to-six crowd were usually workers hitting the bar on their way home from work. The after-six crowd would dress for the evening. He wondered what time Rachel would finish work.

Thinking about seeing her again gave him a slight rush. He tamped down on that. No sense mixing business with pleasure. That could trip a guy up. But pleasure…yeah, he had to admit it would be exactly that to sit in her bar and casually observe.

****

“What will it be?” Rachel asked, and sat a coaster on the bar in front of Michael.

His gaze was fixed on the television, suspended above the bar and showing a replay of a football game. He slowly lowered his head. “Got Bud on tap?”

“Yes.” She put a small dish of mixed nuts in front of him and went to get the beer.

He looked different. Still hot, but different. She missed the natural highlights in his hair. And the eyes. It was hard to see Michael in that dark brown brooding gaze. Manuel brushed past her as he reached for the martini shaker.

“The girls are starting early,” he said, and inclined his head toward two busty blondes at the end of the bar.

She knew them well. The “ladies” worked the bar scene with ease. She noticed one of them checking out Michael and felt a twinge of annoyance. Not that it would be her business if he decided to take the woman up on any offer of sharing a drink, meal, or a bed. She pressed her lips tight. One woman pulled a barstool closer, and slid onto it exposing a long length of thigh.

Michael glanced down.

She couldn’t blame him. The woman was young and she had everything going for her. Rachel grimaced. Her legs were a bit short. And the boobs, she looked down. Lucky if they were a 36B. Cleavage was all dependent on the bra. She put the beer down in front of Michael a bit hard, and some of the liquid sloshed and trickled down the side of the glass. He raised his head and there was a glimmer of amusement in those fake eyes.

“My friend would like a—” He glanced at the woman and raised an artificially darkened eyebrow. Then he smiled.

“Appletini. Thanks, but I’ve already ordered.” She leaned her boobs on the bar and yelled down the length of it. “Manny, honey, I’ll take my drink up here.”

Something is wrong with Michael’s teeth.

Rachel looked from Michael to the woman, back to Michael, but he’d stopped smiling. She turned to her barman. Manuel hated being called Manny. His name pin spelled his full name.

If this woman gave him the slightest annoyance, she’d already been tagged as one who would be easily cut off. And if he sensed she was a prostitute he’d have her skanky butt out of here before the woman knew what was going on. That pleased Rachel. She made eye contact with Michael again. He and the woman had their heads close together talking softly.

Rachel attended to customers and then moved back up the bar toward Michael. For a skinny guy he sure did have well developed biceps. And this disguise of his made him look older, more weathered. He looked up, his eyes alert. She gave a tiny shake of her head. There was nobody in the bar that she didn’t know, and nothing suspicious going on—except for him and the skank. She was under surveillance for no reason at all.

But damn it, she still had his Hummer parked in her garage. Thinking about that made her feel better. She smiled. He was going home with her.

Chapter Four

The following morning, Michael settled into the car seat. It felt good to let someone else do the driving, plus the cooking. Rachel had made a damn good breakfast.

He’d done surveillance of her house and neighborhood, after he’d explained his need to get to know the local women. Rachel had looked skeptical on that subject but had finally conceded he might be right. He knew the local women had a wealth of knowledge on anyone new in town. It tickled him that she’d seemed jealous; interesting, but totally the wrong time.

Refusing the offer of the couch, he’d instead had her leave the Mustang parked at the curb beneath a shady tree. He’d taken a blanket and a pillow and spent the night there.

This morning, after driving her car to his place and cleaning up and switching back into his standard day job attire of slacks and a blazer, he’d returned. The only thing he had not done was shaven. Tonight he’d be under cover. He’d be the drugged out guitar playing bad boy. Then somewhere between returning her car and car keys, a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon had been slid across the table. They’d eaten, and talked, and argued, and then talked some more, and he’d decided to accept her offer of checking out Henry Copeland’s cabin.

“I don’t look the part for our fake fishing expedition,” Michael said, averting his gaze from the speedometer and concentrating on his neatly pressed slacks. “You do.”

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “I always dress crummy to go down there.”

He watched in the side-view mirror, checking for a dark blue Honda. They were the only vehicle on this side of the highway. Rachel gave him a quick once over, and then looked straight ahead, hands on the steering wheel, talking to him without looking in his direction.