by T. K. Lukas
“What about my story are you trying to add up? And who is it that you’re trying to protect, you or Trevor?”
“I protect people.” His severe tone matched the sharp look he gave her, one that sliced the air between them. “You’ll be safe with me. Why do you think Trevor sent you here?”
Sidney heaved a deep sigh. With her back leaning against Mocha for support, she thought about why Trevor had sent her here—what his exact words had been. “Trevor said this was the perfect place for me to ‘hide out.’ I hate that phrase. That’s what criminals and gangsters do. I’m neither.”
“No. But the people you’re hiding from are, if Trevor’s email is correct. An abusive man on the verge of becoming your ex-husband with possible ties to a Mexican cartel. Is that the crux of it?”
She nodded, not sure she could trust her voice.
“I can protect you if you stay here. You should reconsider leaving.”
Sidney untied Mocha’s lead rope and made her way toward the paddock. “I do my best thinking when I’m on a horse or when I’m running. Since I’ve already unsaddled my horse, a quick run’s in order. I’ll let you know my decision when I get back. Deal?”
“Deal. This lane goes past the hunting lodge to the top of the ridge before dropping down into a straight shot to the duck pond. Exactly two miles. You’ll add a mile and a half on your return if you stop at the lodge for coffee and-or breakfast. Will a three and a half mile run give you enough thinking time?” His fleeting smile held a hint of persuasion.
There go those sad, gray eyes again. “I can get a lot of thinking done in that distance. It’s Knight, by the way, but I’m going by McQueen, my maiden name, until it’s changed legally. Until then, I’m mentally and emotionally distancing myself from that person and that name.”
“Probably a good idea. Another good idea—I want you to take a GPS tracker with you. I send all my hunters out with one. It has a panic button they can press that alerts me if they have trouble reloading their gun, or they need me to bring them another beer, or they run out of toilet paper.”
Sidney’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Beer and shooting?”
“Beer after shooting. Anyway, I can set it to activate a panic alarm if the wearer stops moving for a preselected amount of time. It depends on the type of hunting they’re doing—deer stand, bow hunting, duck or quail—it varies. For example, if they fall and break a leg and forget to hit the panic button, I’m alerted to their location so I can find them. Since you’re running, I’ll set your stop movement alert for, what, five, ten minutes?”
“I don’t stop when I run, so, three minutes I guess? But, is it necessary?”
“Rattlesnakes, wild boar, mountain lions, and you don’t carry a gun?”
“I get the picture.”
“I’ve got one in my truck. I’ll bring it to your trailer.”
It was seven-fifteen, the sun now fully engaged in washing the morning with its golden warmth when Sidney stepped off to begin her run. The GPS panic device Markus gave her was on a band around her wrist. She felt it was over-cautious, but at the mention of snakes and mountain lions, she’d relented.
“Which color?” he had asked, but before she could answer, said “Obviously, pink.” He’d taken hold of her arm and strapped the pink leather band around her wrist, the color matching her bright pink and black running shoes and outfit. He took his time showing her how to use the device.
“Be careful. See you back at the lodge. Coffee or tea?”
Sidney turned around, jogging backward, “Coffee. Cream—no sugar. Thank you.” She forced a smile and waved. Anxious to clear her mind and looking forward to the solitude, she turned and ran up the inclining lane that led away from the stables.
“Rex, first it was hug-the-ass jeans, then sexy, see-through lingerie, then grey gym sweats, which I have a personal weakness for. Then those tight English riding breeches which gave me thoughts of ‘tally ho.’ Now it’s pink and black leggings that leave no doubt.”
The dog barked and cocked his head.
“A weaker man would’ve run up the white flag by now. It’s a damn good thing I’m not a weak man. Come on boy, I’ve got breakfast to cook. I’m thinking quiche.” He set off up the hill at a fast pace, Rex bounding alongside him.
CHAPTER 10
Alpine
Taking her time, running a slow pace, Sidney tried to clear her mind of distractions. Her safety was the primary focus. Should she decide to leave Alpine, where would she go? She could keep driving west, but north seemed safer—the more miles between Texas and herself sounded best.
There had not been time for a full explanation why Trevor had sent her to Alpine—he just said that this was the perfect place for her to go. Trevor said that he knew Markus from the work they did together helping wounded warriors at the Brook Army Medical Center, that Alpine was within a day’s driving distance, and that if Trevor were in need of help or needed a place to hide out, this is where he’d come. No doubt about it, he had said, Markus was the person he could count on who would have his back.
What Trevor failed to mention, she thought as she looked back over her shoulder at the stables disappearing from her view, was that the sadness in Markus’s eyes ran deeper than the fear she tried to conceal in her own.
As she passed the hunting lodge, Sidney noted that it was built much like the stables, crafted of cedar and stone, elegant, yet understated. It had a definite European flair, almost Bavarian in style, yet was right at home in Alpine, Texas. The irony made her smile. She checked her watch and slowed her pace further, wanting to allow more time to think.
When she reached the top of the ridge, she paused for a moment, cognizant of the time and the automatic panic alarm that would go off if her body stopped moving forward for longer than the preset three minutes. But the view was breathtaking.
The Davis Mountains dotted the horizon to the north, and turning to the south, another smaller range jutted across the skyline. She made a mental note to look up its name. To the east and west lay a valley of mixed grasses that grew in pastel shades of yellow, green, and lavender. A variety of cacti in various prickly shapes and heights poked up among a scattering of scrub oak, purple sage, and desert willow. Yucca, prickly pear, and agave thrived; the succulent vegetation was stark and beautiful in its desert surrounding. Sidney breathed deeply, filling her lungs, the air’s smell reminding her of freshly mown hay.
Farther off the trail, dense stands of oak, cottonwood, and juniper created dappled shadows on the stony earth. The oaks and cottonwoods were well into the process of coloring their leaves for autumn. She lost herself in the moment, in the harsh beauty of this surreal landscape. For that brief pause, her heart felt light.
Two minutes plus—better get moving.
Setting off, she dropped down off the ridge, purposefully slowing her pace as she made her way toward the duck pond. As she neared the large oval of dark water surrounded by tall cattails and reeds, she spied a lesser trail that snaked off to the right. On impulse, she took it. The sunlight speckling the shady trail invited an investigation.
Scrub oak and willow gave way to a variety of taller cottonwoods and oaks. The woods grew denser, the underbrush thicker and thornier, the trail narrower, until Sidney realized there was no longer a discernable trail at all. She turned around, then around again, trying to gain her bearings, and farther into the woods she spied an opening. There, the earth was bathed in a pool of sunlight flooding that one spot of the dense forest. She moved toward the sunlight. As she did, a sound she’d never heard before, a sound indefinable, stopped her in her tracks.
Thwap. Thunk.
What the hell was that?
The strange noise was followed by the sound of voices—two men congratulating each other—good job, one voice said—damn right, the other voice said. Then, both men turned toward her when they realized they had an audience.
One voice said, “Bitch, don’t you even think about moving.”
The other
raised a menacing contraption and pointed it at the intruder, but said nothing.
Take a deep breath. Stay calm. Play dumb.
“Hey, no problem. Is that a bow and arrow? Or, like, what do they call those things… like, crossbows, or something? That’s way cool. You’re like Robin Hood, you know, like in the movies? I’m so lost. I just got in about midnight last night from L. A. where the movie I’m shooting’s like, on break for the holidays, and I’m, like, how’d I get way out here?”
The first voice asked, “Exactly what the hell are you doing out here?”
Sidney clasped her trembling hands together to keep them from shaking. “I’m, like, supposed to be jogging this scenic path that the hotel gives guests a map of, you know, to see interesting things about the area and all? But the mapped trail ran out in the middle of freaking nowhere, and now I’m lost. But my money’s on you two gentlemen. I’ll bet you can help me find my way back to Fort Davis. Isn’t it like somewhere over that way?”
Sidney pointed in the opposite direction from Markus’s lodge and put on her best helpless pout. She ignored the glassy-eyed deer with the arrow protruding from a bloody wound to his chest cavity. The dead animal was splayed on the ground not ten feet away from where she stood, his magnificent antlers a sure prize for any trophy hunter.
“Just stand right there and shut your trap,” said the second voice, deeper and more menacing than the first. Turning to his companion, “What the hell is someone from L. A. doing in Alpine?”
“Don’t be an idiot. How do you know she’s from L. A.?”
“Look at her. Who wears that shit in Alpine?”
“Who cares where she’s from? She’s a witness to poaching. You know what that means for us. Parole violations will send our asses away for a long time.”
The man with the menacing voice sounded pissed. “You stupid bastard. You just told her we’re violating parole and we’re poachers. Miss Airhead Valley Girl would never have figured that out if you’d kept your mouth shut, you big dumbass.”
“Dumbass? I’m smart enough to know she’s never going back to Fort Davis—or to L. A.,” said the high-pitched voice, taking a threatening step toward Sidney.
Sidney took a step back—stole a peek at her watch—wondered how long she’d been standing still. Was it long enough for the stop movement alarm to have activated? Not wanting to draw attention to her actions, she surreptitiously slid her hand around her wrist, her fingers in search of the panic button on the GPS.
*****
Markus stood at the kitchen sink and peered out the window as he sipped his coffee. He looked at his watch and crosschecked the time against the clock hanging above the pantry door. Damn, that woman’s a slow runner.
“Well, Rex, I’d guess Miss Fancy Pants wouldn’t eat quiche. Women who run and drink their coffee sugar free eat yogurt and granola.” Markus set two cereal bowels on the table, the canister of homemade granola and the tub of Greek yogurt on a tray. As he placed the tray on the table, the GPS monitor in his back pocket began vibrating.
He fished the device out of his pocket and flipped it open. The numeral “two” flashed red—the number assigned to the GPS Sidney wore—a stop movement alert indicating she was at the top of the ridge. Out of habit, he patted his shoulder holster as he sprinted out the door, Rex following.
The Jeep sped up the gravel lane toward the ridge, bouncing and churning up rocks and dust. He scanned his eyes left and right of where she should have been, but he couldn’t see her. According to the GPS, she had stopped just beyond the peak of the crest. Maybe she was injured and rolled down the hill to the pond. He eased the accelerator forward. As he approached the top, Markus reached over with his right hand and held Rex steady by the collar, keeping him from bouncing out of the seat. The Jeep’s tires barely cleared air as he topped the crest. He sped down the hill toward the duck pond.
He shoved the gearshift into ‘park,’ stomped on the emergency brake, and then flew out the door. Rex was on his heels, the hair along his spine standing on end as he sensed the heightened anxiety. Markus scanned the perimeter of the pond, looking for any sign of disturbance among the reeds and tall grass, any sign of Sidney, when a sickening noise split the air.
Thwap. Thunk.
His trained ear recognized the unmistakable hiss of a crossbow releasing its instrument of death, followed by the repellent sound of the high-powered weapon’s deadly arrow penetrating flesh and splitting bone.
The sound jerked him around. It came from over his shoulder. Cautiously—bent low at the waist—he sprinted toward the shaded deer trail that angled off of the gravel lane to the right. Glock in hand. Listening for sounds of distress—a yell for help—a whimper—anything.
Voices. He slowed, listening closely. Two males speaking—one twangy, one husky. They seemed to be arguing. And then he heard Sidney’s—but—it sounded different. It was her voice, he was certain, and he had a good idea of what she was doing.
Good girl. Stall them.
A steady buzzing noise like the sound of a hornet came from the pocket holding the GPS tracking device. He didn’t need to look at it to see what the alarm was. The long, drawn out signal vibrating in his pocket indicated the panic button had been pushed.
He grabbed Rex by the collar, and with silent commands, kept the dog by his side. Knowing that Rex would instinctively run to Sidney, he feared that whoever held the crossbow would use it on this dog that looked like a vicious wolf. Markus circled wide. He kept to the patchy shadows of the junipers and madrone. He came up behind the two men, swift and silent like a darkening cloud, wasting no time rushing in.
“Drop to your knees and put your hands behind your head, fingers laced.” Markus pushed one to the ground who didn’t comply quickly enough. He walked around to face them. “One at a time, take your belts off. You first, Mr. Twangy.” He indicated with the point of his gun which one.
The man with the high-pitched voice yelped, “Don’t shoot,” and removed his belt with unsteady hands. Markus growled out instructions for the other man to use the dropped belt to secure Twangy’s hands behind his back.
“Now you Mr. Husky, take yours off. Drop it next to you, and then clasp your hands behind your back. I’m walking behind you. If you make a move, I’ll blow your fucking head off.” Markus stepped behind Husky. With the Glock in his right hand, he eased down, picked the belt up in his left hand, made a loop, and slipped it around the man’s wrists.
In a sudden burst, the man flung his body backward and knocked Markus off his feet. The Glock slipped from his grip and tumbled to the ground. The big man yanked his hands free from the belt and dove for the gun. Before he could reach it, Markus was on Husky’s back. He hammered both fists into the base of the man’s skull, sending his face scraping into the dirt. In one fluid motion, Markus grabbed the man’s left arm and twisted it behind his back at an awkward angle. Gripping the man’s elbow with both hands, he thrust upward. The loud “pop” was the sound of the man’s shoulder as it dislocated from its joint.
The man screamed, his guttural roar ripped with pain. He cried out a noise that sounded close to the word stop, his gravelly voice registering several octaves higher.
“You have another shoulder. Want to keep it in place?” Markus twisted the man’s right arm behind him and shoved the elbow upward, holding it in a position that elicited excruciating pain.
“Stop. Yes.” The big man pleaded, his voice trembling.
Markus stood and picked up his gun. “Go kneel down by your buddy over there.” He smiled when he saw Sidney and Rex keeping a close watch on the other poacher. Rex looked as if he might eat the man alive.
Husky did as he was told, cradling his left arm against his belly.
“This time put your hands together in front of you.” Markus looped the belt around the big man’s hands, “I’ll try to be gentle with this…” He yanked the belt to tighten the loop around his wrists.
“Oww! You son of a bitch.” Husky spewed forth a slew
of curse words.
“Sorry. I forgot about your dislocated shoulder.” Markus threaded and knotted the leather strap, making sure it was secure. “On your bellies, both of you.”
The two men sat down and rolled onto their stomachs as instructed. Slightly off balance, the big man toppled more than rolled, letting out a high-pitched yelp as his injured shoulder smashed against the ground.
Stepping aside of the two, Markus motioned for Sidney to follow, signaling for her to keep her voice low. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes. Fine,” she whispered. Her voice no longer trembled, although her breathing continued as shallow pants.
“My Jeep’s at the duck pond. Keys are in it. Take my cellphone and drive to the top of the ridge. There’s usually good cell reception up there. Call 911. Have the sheriff bring the Game Warden, too. Give a brief description of what you saw using your Valley Girl voice I heard before. That was a pretty good stalling technique, by the way. Don’t give them your name even though they’ll ask for it. Leave my phone in the Jeep on the ridge. Then run to the lodge. Wait for me there.”
“I have my phone—”
“Don’t use your phone or your name. I don’t want you having to give a statement to the police that’ll become a matter of public record or tomorrow’s headlines. Sidney McQueen can’t be traced to Alpine. Understand?”
“Yes, of course.” She slapped her palm to her forehead.
“I’ll tell the Game Warden that Miss Valley Girl took off after making the phone call for me while I held these two at gunpoint. It would be logical she was scared that she was trespassing or something. Now, get going. Take Rex with you.”
*****
Sidney stood in the great hall of the lodge and sipped coffee, admiring the collection of Ruth Ann Youngblood oils adorning the walls. The paintings were as glorious as the masterpiece she had seen hanging in the Maverick Inn. The landscapes varied in background and mood, from wintry rocky ridges with lavender skies, to orange and brown forests infused with autumn’s golden glow. The one constant in each painting that pulled Sidney into the drama of the scene was the animal.
