Extreme Denial (52 page)

“In the morning, I’ll drive into the desert and bum the weapons, our gloves, and our camouflage suits, along with the fuel oil and fertilizer in the canteens,” Decker said. “I bought the Remington for long-distance shooting, but we never did use it. It’s safe to keep. Why don’t you take it, Esperanza? Take the bow and the arrows, too.”

“And half the money,” Beth said.

“I can’t,” Esperanza said.

“Why not? If you don’t spend the money right away, if you dribble it out a little at a time, no one will suspect you have it,” Decker said. “You won’t need to explain how you came to have a half a million dollars.”

“That figure has a wonderful sound to it,” Esperanza admitted.

“I can arrange for you to have a numbered account in a bank in the Bahamas,” Beth said.

“I bet you can.”

“Then you’ll take the money?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Decker repeated, puzzled.

“The last few days, I killed several men for what I thought were valid reasons. But if I took the money, if I profited, I don’t think I would ever stop feeling dirty.”

The car became silent.

“What about
you
, Decker?” Esperanza asked. “Will
you
keep the money?”

“I know a good use for it.”

“Such as?”

“If I talk about it, it might not work out.”

“Sounds mysterious,” Beth said.

“You’ll soon know.”

“Well, while I’m waiting, I’d like you to ease my worries about something.”

Decker looked concerned. “What?”

“The gun dealer you went to. If the crime lab establishes that the metal fragments from the bombs came from canteens, if he reads that in the newspaper, won’t he remember a man who bought several firearms and
twelve
canteens the day before the attack?”

“Possibly,” Decker said.

“Then why aren’t
you
worried?”

“Because I’m going to contact my former employer and report that Renata has finally been taken care of—with extreme denial, as McKittrick liked to call it. Given the catastrophe she caused in Rome, my former employer will want to make sure that it isn’t connected to what happened at the cabin, that
I’m
not connected to it. My former employer will use national security as an excuse to discourage local law enforcement from investigating.”

“I’ll certainly cooperate,” Esperanza said. “But just in case they’re a little slow, I’m the detective who would normally be assigned to talk to the gun dealer. I can tell you right now that any link between you and what happened in Pecos is purely coincidental.”

“Speaking of local law enforcement ...” Decker leaned forward from the back to open the storage compartment between the front seats. “Here’s your badge.”

“Finally.”

“And your pistol.”

“Back where it belongs.” But the lightness in Esperanza’s tone changed to melancholy as he parked in front of his trailer. “The question is, where do
I
belong? The place doesn’t feel like a home anymore. It sure looks empty.”

“I’m sorry about your wife leaving. I wish there was something we could do to help,” Beth said.

“Phone from time to time. Let me know the two of you are all right.”

“We’ll do more than phone,” Decker said. “You’ll be seeing a lot of us.”

“Sure.” But Esperanza sounded preoccupied as he left the key in the ignition and got out of the car.

“Good luck.”

Esperanza didn’t reply. He walked slowly across the gravel area in front of the trailer. It wasn’t until he disappeared inside that Decker got into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key.

“Let’s go home,” Decker said.

24

In contrast with his feelings of detachment when he had returned to Santa Fe from New York, Decker now did feel at home. As he headed into the driveway, he scanned the dark, low, sprawling outline of his adobe compound and said to himself, This is mine.

He must have said it out loud.

“Of course, this is yours,” Beth said, puzzled. “You’ve been living here for fifteen months.”

“It’s hard to explain,” he said in amazement. “I was afraid I had made a mistake.”

The driveway curved along the side of the house to the carport in back, where a sensor light came on, guiding the way. Decker helped Beth out of the Cherokee.

She leaned against him. “What about me? Did you make a mistake about me?”

Coyotes howled on Sun Mountain.

“The night after I first met you,” Decker said, “I stood out here and listened to those coyotes and wished that you were next to me.”

“Now I am.”

“Now you are.” Decker kissed her.

In a while, he unlocked the back door, turned on the kitchen light, and helped Beth inside, holding her crutches. “We’ll use the guest room. The master bedroom still looks like the aftermath of a small war. Can I get you anything?”

“Tea.”

While water boiled, Decker found a bag of chocolate chip cookies and set them on a saucer. Under the circumstances, the cookies looked pathetic. No one ate.

“There isn’t any hot water for a bath, I’m afraid,” Decker said.

Beth nodded wearily. “I remember the heater was destroyed during Friday night’s attack.”

“I’ll put fresh bandages on your stitches. I’m sure you could use a pain pill.”

Beth nodded again, exhausted.

“Will you be all right here alone?”

“Why?” Beth straightened, unsettled. “Where are you going?”

“I want to get rid of that stuff in the back, of the car. The sooner, the better.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. Rest.”

“But when will you be back?”

“Maybe not until after dawn.”

“I won’t be separated from you.”

“But—”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Beth said. “I’m going with you.”

25

In the gray of false dawn, as Decker dropped the camouflage suits and the gloves into a pile in a hollow twenty miles into the desert west of Santa Fe, he glanced at Beth. Arms crossed over a sweater he had given her, she leaned her back against the front passenger door of the Cherokee and watched him. He came back for the canteens filled with plant fertilizer and fuel oil, dumping their contents over the garments, the sharp smell flaring his nostrils. He threw down the arrow that Esperanza had used to kill the man in the forest. He added the .22, the .30-30, and the shotgun, sparing only the .270 because it hadn’t been used. A fire wouldn’t destroy the serial numbers on the weapons, but it would make them inoperable. If someone by chance found them in the various isolated places where he intended to bury them, they would be discarded as garbage. Decker used the claw end of a hammer to punch holes into the canteens so that no fumes would remain inside and possibly set off an explosion. Because fuel oil burned slowly, he poured gasoline over the pile. Then he struck a match, set fire to the entire book of matches, and threw the book onto the pile. With a whoosh, the gasoline and the fuel oil ignited, engulfing the garments and the weapons, thrusting a pillar of fire and smoke toward the brightening sky.

Decker walked over to Beth, put his arm around her, and watched the blaze.

“What’s that story in Greek mythology? About the bird rising from the ashes?” Beth asked. “The phoenix?”

“It’s about rebirth,” Decker said.

“That’s what Renata’s name means in English, isn’t it? Rebirth?”

“The thought occurred to me.”

“But is it really?” Beth asked. “A rebirth?”

“It is if we want it to be.”

Behind them, the sun eased above the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

“How do you stand it?” Beth asked. “Last night. What we were forced to do.”

“That’s what I was trying to explain earlier. To survive, I was taught to deny any emotions that aren’t practical.”

“I can’t do that.” Beth trembled. “When I killed my husband ... as much as he needed to be killed ... I threw up for three days afterward.”

“You did what you had to.
We
did what
we
had to. Right now, as bad as I feel, I can’t get over the fact that we’re here, that I’ve got my arm around you ...”

“That we’re alive,” Beth said.

“Yes.”

“You wondered how I learned about firearms.”

“You don’t need to tell me anything about your past,” Decker said.

“But I want to. I
have
to. Joey made me learn,” Beth said. “He had guns all over the house, a shooting range in his basement. He used to make me go down and watch him shoot.”

The flames and smoke stretched higher.

“Joey knew how much I hated it. Even though I wore ear protectors, every gunshot made me flinch. That made him laugh. Then he thought it would be really hilarious to make
me
do the shooting—.357 Magnums, .45s. The most powerful handguns. All the way up to .44 Magnums. Sometimes, I think he taught me how to shoot because he loved the thrill of knowing all those loaded guns were around me, taunting me, daring me to try to use one against him. He went to great pains to make me understand the hell he would put me through if I was ever foolish enough to try. Then he made me learn to use shotguns. Louder. With a more punishing recoil. That’s what I used to kill him,” Beth said. “A shotgun.”

“Hush.”

“A double-barrel. The same type I used tonight.”

“Hush.” Decker kissed a tear from her cheek. “From now on, the past doesn’t exist.”

“Does that mean
your
past doesn’t exist, also?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Did you lose the openness you found here? Have you truly reverted? Have you sealed yourself off again and gone back to feeling apart from things?”

“Not apart from you,” Decker said. “Not apart from
this
.” He gestured toward the sun above the mountains, toward the aspen starting to turn yellow in the ski basin, toward the green of the piñon trees in the foothills and the mustard-colored chamisa in the red and orange of the brilliant high desert. “But there are things in my life that I do feel apart from, that I don’t want you to know about, that I don’t want to have to remember.”

“Believe me, I feel the same way.”

“I’ll never ask you about those things,” Decker said, “and you never have to tell me about them, not if you don’t want to. I can only imagine the fear and confusion you must have felt, coming to Santa Fe, trying to hide from the mob, knowing I had skills to help you. You saw me as a savior, and you grabbed for me. Was that using me? If it was, I’m glad you did—because I never would have met you otherwise. Even if I had known you were using me, I would have
wanted
you to use me.”

Decker reached into the back of his car and pulled out the travel bag containing the million dollars. “For a time, after I rescued you, I thought you were staying with me because of this.”

Decker carried the bag toward the fire.

Beth looked startled. “What are you going to do?”

“I told you I had a good use for this. I’m going to destroy the past.”

“You’re going to burn the money?”

“Esperanza was right. If we spent it, we’d always feel dirty.”

Decker held the bag over the fire.

“A million dollars?”
Beth asked.

“Blood money. Would it really matter to you if I burned it?”

“You’re testing me?”

The bottom of the bag started smoldering.

“I want to get rid of the past,” Decker said.

Beth hesitated. Flames danced along the bottom of the bag. “Last chance,” Decker said.

“Do it,” Beth said.

“You’re sure?”

“Throw it in the fire.” Beth walked toward him. “For us, the past stops right now.”

She kissed him. When Decker dropped the bag into the flames, neither of them looked at it. The kiss went on and on. It took Decker’s breath away.

D
AVID
M
ORRELL
is one America’s most popular and critically acclaimed storytellers, with more than twelve million copies of his novels in print. His thrillers have been translated into twenty-two languages and have become record-breaking films as well as a top-rated TV miniseries. He is a former professor of American literature at the University of Iowa. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

More Thrills. More Action. More Morrell.

D
AVID
M
ORRELL

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