The Switch (45 page)

"Not a very reassuring thing to tell your passenger when you're about to land an airplane."

He grinned at her. "Piece of cake."

"Want your jacket back?"

"You keep it."

She was glad she didn't have to give it up. She liked snuggling inside it, liked the feel of the glove-soft leather, liked the smell of him that it exuded.

They'd gained an hour when they crossed into the mountain time zone, so it was still dark beyond the windows of the airplane. There were no lights below, no landmarks, no point of reference with which she could orient herself. "Chief, you said we were almost there. Where?"

"Up ahead."

"There's a town?"

"A landing strip."

"Like Pax's?"

"Not as sophisticated as Pax's."

That wasn't very reassuring, either. "Does somebody know we're coming?"

"I filed a flight plan. Somebody will be there to meet us. I was making arrangements over my cell phone while you were schmoozing Pax."

"I wasn't ... You see that mountain, right?"

"What mountain? Melina, I'm kidding," he said when she looked at him with bald terror. "I see the mountain. I know what I'm doing, okay?"

"Of course you do. I'm sorry."

Even so, when the small plane seemingly skimmed the crest of the mountaintop, she curbed the impulse to raise her Feet as though that would help the craft clear the summit. She exhaled with relief when they did. Then the plane banked sharply to the left. "Chief!"

"It's a little too steep for a direct approach. I'm only circling down. Think of a hawk."

She tried to picture a bird of prey gliding on currents of air, but all she could really think about was the rocky wall of the mountain face that appeared close enough to reach out and touch.

"There are the lights," Chief remarked.

Two rows of lights flashed on below to delineate a narrow runway. "Lights are good," she agreed.

Calmly and competently, Chief executed two lazy spirals within the steep bowl formed by the mountains. Gradually he reduced their altitude so that by the time he went in on his final approach, the plane seemed to graze the tops of the sparse vegetation. The runway slid beneath them and seconds later he set the airplane down. It was the smoothest landing Melina had ever experienced in any aircraft of any size. "Good job," she said tightly.

"Thanks."

They taxied to the small hangar. He cut off the engine. The propeller wound down to a soft, rhythmic clap, then to silence. He looked across at her. In a hushed voice, he confessed, "I was showing off a little."

"I realize that."

"I wanted to impress you."

"And you did."

"Rest assured there was never any reason for you to be afraid."

"I wasn't. Not really."

"You're safe with me, Melina."

She studied his face for a long moment, then whispered, "No, Chief. With you, I'm in danger."

Her reply was interrupted by someone sharply rapping on the window. Neither had noticed that someone had stepped onto the wing in order to reach the door, which was on the passenger side. Caught off guard, she turned her head quickly, and it was all she could do not to recoil from the face peering in at her. It was illuminated by a flashlight, making it all the more frightening.

Pockmarked skin was stretched tightly across a pair of cheekbones that looked sharp enough to chop wood. The eyes were mere slits, the mouth a narrow slash between two deep furrows extending downward from a beaked nose. The center part of the man's hair was half an inch wide. His gray braids extended almost to his waist.

He looked past her to Chief. "Hart?"

She followed the Indian's gaze, turning her head and looking at Chief herself. He must have read the incredulity in her expression, because he said, "Relax, Melina. He doesn't take scalps." Then he added grimly, "I'm fairly certain."

But five minutes later, Chief was convinced that somewhere along the way wires had been crossed, that signals had been scrambled, or that the entity in charge of directing fate was having one hell of a good time at his expense. Never at any time during his three missions into space had he felt this surreal.

Their escort was taciturn to the point of being mute. He never introduced himself. After verifying they were the couple he'd been sent to meet, he had grunted instructions for them to disembark. He had backed down the steps built into the wing of the craft, then ambled into the shed to turn off the runway lights. He hadn't assisted Melina as she climbed out, nor did he offer them the use of his flashlight. He was waiting behind the wheel of a pickup truck with the motor running by the time they reached it.

The terrain was rugged, remote, and desolate. Wind whistled in through various cracks in the pickup, including the Bole in the floorboard, which Melina avoided falling through by keeping her legs far to one side, nearly overlapping his. She sat hunched down between him and their driver, shivering
a
gainst the biting cold that his leather jacket was no defense against. The driver seemed to deliberately target every rut in the road. The truck jounced over stones, sending splinters of pain into Chief's spine. His jaw ached from keeping it tightly clenched against teeth jarring jolts.

An attempt at conversation would have been futile and exhausting. They'd have had to shout to make themselves heard over the worrisome racket of the pickup's engine and the roaring of the wind that gusted through the cab. They rode in miserable silence.

After what seemed like hours, although it was only forty minutes, the truck topped a rise, and in the meager gray predawn light they spotted a structure in the recession below. Chief's optimism soared; but then it plummeted just as abruptly. This couldn't be their destination. The house was too modest. The pickup parked in front was too old.

However, their driver pumped the brake pedal to slow the truck down and turned into a dirt driveway bordered by stones, which were a sad attempt at beautifying the entrance to the place, which was anything but beautiful.

He leaned across Melina and shouted at the driver, "Are you sure you got your instructions right? Do you know where you're supposed to take us?"

"Here."

Chief cast a glance at Melina and shrugged, repeating laconically, "Here."

The truck came to a grinding, shuddering stop inches from the front steps leading up to the door of the house. The driver put it in park and let the engine idle.

"I guess we get out," Melina said.

"I guess we do." Chief stepped from the cab and offered his hand to her. She climbed down. "Thanks," he said to the driver, who engaged the gears, let off the brake, and accelerated before Chief could even close the door.

"Mr. Personality," he muttered, waving away exhaust and dust as the truck chugged off.

"Jed is a man of few words."

In unison they turned toward the voice. Dexter Longtree was standing in silhouette, framed by the open front door.

CHAPTER 32

Chief nudged Melina forward. She climbed the steps, her stare fixed on Longtree. "Melina Lloyd, this is Chief Dexter Longtree."

"Chief Longtree."

"Welcome, Ms. Lloyd."

"Please call me Melina."

"Come in." He stood aside and she preceded them into the house. Chief paused on the threshold to shake hands with Longtree. "Thank you for this. When I called, you had every right to tell me to go to hell."

A smile flitted over the older
man's stern lips. "Well, the d
ay is young."

He ushered Chief inside. A ceiling fixture provided a circle of light for the center of the room but left the corners dark. From what Chief could tell, the furnishings were old, well-used, borderline shabby. The most appealing feature of the room was the fireplace, where a low fire was smoldering. Melina made a beeline for it and extended her hands toward the warmth.

"Hmm. That feels good." Turning around, she put her back to the hearth and chafed her arms.

"On these chilly mornings, I wake up with stiff joints," Longtree said. "A fire helps."

Melina smiled at Longtree, and he smiled back at her, and Chief felt a pang of irrational and juvenile jealousy, the same as he had when she had made so chummy with Pax. "We hate to impose," he said, moving to stand nearer the fire. And Melina.

"It's no imposition, Colonel Hart," Longtree told him. "We were destined to meet again. I've been expecting you."

"Expecting me? I didn't know until a few hours ago that I was coming anywhere near New Mexico. How could you have known?"

Longtree gave him a long, indecipherable look, then asked if they were hungry.

"Very," Melina replied candidly.

He signaled for them to follow him. Melina did so without hesitation; Chief hung back. He was reluctant to get too friendly with Longtree. When it became apparent that they needed to come to New Mexico and find out what they could about Brother Gabriel and his ministry, and that they needed to arrive in a hurry and as clandestinely as possible, he had asked himself who in the area he knew who could facilitate them.

He had no relatives. His mother's family had died out years ago. He hadn't stayed in contact with his friends on the reservation. Once he graduated from high school, he'd left that part of his life behind without a trace of nostalgia.

A former astronaut with whom he'd flown his first shuttle mission had retired to Albuquerque, but Chief was disinclined to ask him for assistance. He still wanted NASA to know nothing about all this. Not that his former crewmate would betray his confidence, but he was reluctant to tap into that resource unless it became absolutely necessary. More than his reputation was at stake now. His and Melina's lives were in jeopardy. The last thing they needed was a media spotlight aimed at them.

Knowing full well that it would obligate him, he'd called Longtree. He briefly outlined what he needed, then summed up by asking, "Can you help me?"

Longtree had agreed to make arrangements at the airstrip and had promised that someone would be there to meet them with transportation. Chief had insisted on paying him for these services, that it be a business transaction with no strings attached. Longtree demurred. He didn't want to take money for what he considered a favor. Chief had been persistent. Finally Longtree had agreed to accept monetary compensation for his time and trouble.

But Chief wasn't that naive. He realized that he might ultimately be presented a bill higher than he was willing to pay. Unfortunately, he'd seen no alternative.

The kitchen was brighter and warmer than the living room. Melina was asking what she could do to help, but Longtree was holding a 1950s-vintage chrome chair for her. With a thank-you smile for him, she sat down at the table. He offered her something to drink and she asked for tea.

"Colonel Hart?"

"Call me Chief." He sat down across from Melina. "I'll take coffee if you have some made."

Soon there was a steaming mug in Chief's hand. As Longtree went about preparing them a meal, Chief took note of the kitchen. The appliances were old, the plaster walls cracked and scarred, the pattern in the linoleum eroded in heavily trafficked spots.

Longtree was dressed in Levi's and boots that had seen years of wear. His flannel shirt had a fraying hole in the bottom of the breast pocket, and, although his bearing and demeanor were as intimidating and regal as before, this was not the affluent-looking man he'd met in the bar of The Mansion.

As Melina steeped her tea, she asked where the nearest reservation was, and Longtree informed her that she'd been on a reservation since she'd landed.

"I had no idea. I guess I thought a reservation was more... contained. I apologize for my ignorance."

"I wish all misconceptions about Indians were that harmless," he told her with another of his rare smiles.

He set plates of food in front of them, then served his own plate and joined them at the table. Melina sighed around her first bite. "Delicious."

It was only scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, but Chief's mouth had started watering as soon as the aromas of cooking food had filled the kitchen. He had to force himself not to gobble and added his compliments to the cook.

Longtree said, "I had to teach myself to cook when my wife died."

"Was this recently?" Melina asked softly.

"A long time ago."

"Children?"

He hesitated, then replied, "No."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. When they finished, Longtree collected the plates and carried them to the counter, then refilled Chief's coffee and her tea and sat back down. "Tell me why you're here."

Chief looked across at Melina. "It's your story."

She told Longtree an abbreviated version, which covered the facts and provided a fairly accurate overview of everything that had transpired since her last lunch with Gillian. After telling him how much she regretted switching places with her twin, she paused as though waiting for him to hand down a judgment. His stony features didn't flinch.