Roswell's Secret

by Vannetta Chapman

Dean poured strong, black coffee into a mug. “I thought it would settle them down. I didn’t know they’d view it as a treasure map.”

  “Outsiders. You underestimated their attraction to trouble.”

  “I suppose I did.”

  Dean wanted to broach the subject of keeping the boys away from the canyons, but he needed to do it casually. Since the Sheriff didn’t seem inclined to arrest him today, and Paul was busy filling orders for the girls—now might be his best chance.

  But before he could open his mouth, Sally eased onto a stool beside Eaton.

  “Paul, I’ll pay you double to man the grill for twenty minutes.” She took her cigarettes out and twirled them on the counter once, twice, three times.

  “You sick, Sally?” Eaton put his coffee down.

  Sally never paid anyone double for anything.

  “Sick and tired of cooking. Could you put an APB out on my cook?”

  “Still no sign of Jerry?”

  “Nope. I’d fire him, if I didn’t need him, and if I didn’t hate cooking.”

  Paul didn’t wait around to discuss terms. As he slipped from the bar to the grill, Dean set another coffee in front of Sally.

  She nodded her thanks, then motioned for him to listen in. Turning to Eaton she asked, “Are you here because of the map?”

  “Can’t a sheriff stop by the local bar just because he wants a cup of coffee?”

  Sally doctored her coffee. Dean watched the boys continue to mill around the pool table, waiting for dusk and danger and the things they thought they could conquer.

  Eaton sighed, drank again from the coffee, then got down to business, “Sally filled me in on the strange business with your map.”

  “Odd happenings,” Dean agreed, “But it isn’t my map.”

  “Did you open today?” Eaton asked.

  “No,” Dean said. “Paul did.”

  “So, maybe one of the boys played a prank.”

  “Maybe.”

  “But only you, Paul, and Sally have a key.”

  “Right.”

  “And the map had been changed when Paul got here.”

  “So he told me.” Eaton drank his coffee, as he stared at the map. When he turned back around, he met Dean’s eyes dead on. “So what’s the point?”

  Dean didn’t offer an answer, since a bartender shouldn’t have one. Instead he cleaned his bar top and waited.

  He glanced up in surprise when the answer came from Sally. “There is no point. You know that, Theodore.”

  The sheriff winced when she used his name, but didn’t interrupt. Everyone knew to stay quiet when Sally gathered speed, and she was accelerating.

  “We’ve both lived here long enough to recognize a prank. There are no UFOs.” Stopping the pack of cigarettes in mid-spin, she pulled one out and lit it in one fluid motion.

  Dean had the ashtray on the counter before she’d put the lighter back in her pocket.

  “So, why the map?” Eaton asked.

  Sally shrugged and blew out smoke. “When Dean put it up, I thought it might be good for business. It was. Still is, to a point. But those boys aren’t drinking, as much as they’re seeing who can shoot the farthest, hit a target that isn’t even there. I’d rather they get out of my bar to do it.”

  “Then take the map down,” Eaton suggested.

  “Sure. I’ve thought of that, being pretty bright myself. But did you see the crowd of people you had to wade through to get in here? Every one of them asked about the map as they came in. No. I don’t want to take it down until the pins are gone, every one of them. And by gone I mean no more sightings.”

  Eaton studied the map, the boys, and finally Dean. “Sally knows you and I have had our differences, Dreiser. But the last thing I need is a panic in Roswell. You run a clean bar, and you seem to have your finger on the pulse of things. The boys respect you. What are you hearing? Do they really think something’s out there?”

  Dean’s number one priority had not changed. He needed to maintain their cover. He had sent the encrypted message with a photo of the map to Martin directly. He couldn’t contact him again and risk breaking their cover—especially with no new information. They realized a mole threatened to undermine their organization. He had stitches in his arm to prove it. Aiden was the only agent he knew without a doubt could not be compromised. If Lucy had managed to contact him, he would set up roadblocks to the canyons.

  What more could the Sheriff do to help those boys?

  Looking Eaton in the eye, he allowed himself to pause a second longer than was natural, then refilled his coffee and shrugged. “I better restock this cooler. Dinner crowd will be here soon.”

  As he headed for the storeroom, he spotted Bubba with a nice looking, well-toned black woman, who outclassed Bubba by a mile. He didn’t recall ever seeing her in the bar before. Before he could give the two another thought, Nadine told him to hurry with the case of beer he was retrieving. Soon the stools around the bar filled up with the dinner rush.

  Next chance he had to look up, Bubba and his newfound friend were gone. In fact, the whole group Bubba and Billy hung out with were gone.

  Gone in search of adventure.

  Drawn by the points on the map.

  Growing up in Roswell had put a heavy expectation on their idea of once in a lifetime experiences, and they didn’t mean to let this one pass them by.

  Dean glanced at Sally and saw she was studying the map from the grill. Something like regret crossed her face.

  Could Sally be involved? Or perhaps the hours and stakes were taking their toll on him, for as quickly as he’d seen the look it vanished. Sally’s expression was once again annoyed and disgruntled as she scowled at her waitresses and yelled, “Order’s up.”

  DEAN STEPPED INTO THE alley. Throwing a sack of beer bottles into the trash bin, he made enough noise to stir up more than a few rats. On edge, at the skitter of gravel, instincts took over, and he reached for his weapon.

  “Keep it in the holster, Dreiser.”

  Lucy’s soft, sweet voice sent shivers down his spine—her voice and the thought he might have shot her.

  “I thought you were a rat.”

  “Worked with them before, but I’ve never been mistaken for one.” Lucy leaned toward him in the darkness, cupped his face and kissed him on the lips. When she would have stepped away, he put his arms around her waist and tugged her in closer.

  She cocked her head. “Don’t you need to get back?”

  “Guess I do.” But instead of leaving, he nuzzled her neck. He was acting like a hormone-afflicted teen instead of a federal agent. Why did he fear this might be his last chance to kiss her? His only moment to hold her? He’d been in tight spots before, so why did he feel the brush of the net settling over them with no escape route in sight? They could walk to the end of the alley, get in the truck, and drive away right now. Couldn’t they?

  “Did you make the call?” He pulled away far enough to study her in the darkness.

  “Yeah.”

  “So it’s settled.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Her hand trailed down his arm. This time when she stepped back, he didn’t stop her. Sally would be wondering where he was, and he didn’t trust Sally. He didn’t trust anyone but Lucy, possibly Paul in a pinch. Sally had him worried, more, he realized, since he’d seen that look of regret on her face.

  “Good. I’ll meet you at the room in about an hour.”

  “I might not be back in an hour.” Lucy’s voice was low, resolute.

  “Back from where?”

  “Aiden called. He could only set up two roadblocks without tipping our hand and calling out the National Guard. He and Martin agreed the terrorists would only change their target if they see Guard troops moving in.”

  “Lucy—”

  “I’m driving to the third access point.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  “I’ve got the keys.” Lucy held up her hand. The truck keys glinted in the moonlight. “Sorry, Dre
iser.”

  He stepped toward her, she backed away, and he halted. Even chasing her down the alley, which he had a mind to do, likely wouldn’t help. She was more nimble than a cat.

  “Listen to me, Lucy. You can’t—”

  “Aiden agreed. Call him when you get off.”

  She tossed the phone. He twisted to catch it. When he turned back, she was gone. Her pitch had been wild on purpose. He resisted the urge to punch the wall. Calming himself with several deep breaths, he yanked open the alley door to E.T.’s. As it closed behind him, he heard his old truck crank down Main and into the night.

  Ω

  Lucy hated having to steal Dean’s key, but she didn’t let her conscience bother her long. As for the plan she and Aiden had hatched—well, no one would call it a great plan, but it beat none at all. Too bad it involved blowing up Dean’s truck. Her conscience did twinge some over that. She hoped Dean would forgive her. It was the one distraction large enough to draw the UFO hunters away from the edge of Felix Canyon, provided she timed it exactly right.

  She drove south out of Roswell, praying Roswell’s finest were patrolling elsewhere as her speed topped eighty-five. She knew she could talk any of his deputies out of a ticket. Eaton, however, would be a problem. By the time she reached State Highway Thirteen, her hands were sweating, but her resolve hadn’t weakened. There were so many ways this could go wrong. The exact odds of it working couldn’t be higher than—

  The county road sign indicating her turn-off stopped her mind from working out the statistical chances she had of success. She drove past it and turned left as Aiden had instructed. It didn’t matter what their odds of success were—she and Aiden had decided this was their only chance to save the people at Felix Canyon from the bio-agent about to be released. Dean would agree too, once Aiden made him see reason.

  Dean.

  Her insides went warm.

  How had she managed to fall in love with that man? She’d sworn a week ago it wouldn’t happen, that she’d guard against his hangdog look and his crooked smile. But she hadn’t been prepared for the way the man poured his heart and soul into his job. And into her. How could she resist someone who cared so passionately? She couldn’t—anymore than she could resist her own need to give every ounce of herself to what she believed in.

  Her madre was right about love, as she was right about most things. It was more powerful than the passion of the flamenco and the thrill of the tango. No single dance could portray it, and no person could resist its seductive allure. Love was the call of life, the whisper of destiny. Lucy rolled down her window and fought the panic rising in her chest.

  Driving the last few miles to the canyon’s top, it seemed she’d been gifted with more than sight. She could hear life, in all its pulsing melody, calling to her.

  She drove deeper into the blackness, off the county road and across the canyon shelf. She checked her GPS every few miles, but never for more than fifteen seconds, as Aiden had instructed. She realized she could be driving toward her death. She told herself she was ready.

  Fresh images of Dean collided with bittersweet ones of Marcos. He had recovered so much in the last year, but her brother would never be the young man who had so confidently shipped off. Superimposed over both of those were memories of her mother, spinning majestically to the Dances of Granados.

  When the truck’s wheels again hit pavement, she shifted down into second and put the images behind her.

  The shortcut across the canyon’s top should put her only a few minutes behind the UFO hunters. She buoyed herself for the job ahead. This was what she’d trained for. If she remained focused, she could save people from the fate her brother had suffered. It was all she had asked of God that stormy night seven years ago when she had wept by Marcos’ bed. Tonight, she would be given her opportunidad to save innocents caught in the battle, and she would not waste it.

  She checked her position one last time, then parked on the side of the road beneath some scrub trees. She hiked the short, easy distance to the canyon top, but her heart skipped and threatened to stop when she saw the cars and trucks parked there.

  These were not the beer-drinking throng she’d envisioned. Instead, they belonged to the senior citizens of Roswell, who’d congregated in lawn chairs. Ice chests rested beside them. She’d seen most of them at E.T.’s over the last week. One couple she’d even vomited on earlier that evening.

  Lucy backed away.

  There was no reason to change her plan.

  She’d go back to the truck, move it to the middle of the road, and set it on fire. Then, she’d pretend to be hurt. When the old timers saw the explosion, they’d come to her rescue and take her to Roswell. The hitch in the plan was whether they would all take her to Roswell. She hoped their morbid curiosity would trump the UFOs they were suddenly curious about—curious, when any other night they’d be home watching television. Lucy wanted to blare her horn in frustration.

  Then again, given the slight breeze and the slope of the hillside, perhaps moving them off the canyon top would be protection enough. If she made the explosion large, timed it perfectly, and if they came to see what had caused the fire, she could at least minimize the dosage they received.

  Moving back down toward Dean’s truck, she opened the door in the darkness. As she climbed in, she glimpsed, from the corner of her eye, a shadow. She hesitated briefly, but it was one second too long.

  Long enough for Jerry to whisper, “Sorry, Lucy.”

  The blow, when it came, was swift and accurate.

  And then darkness completely engulfed her.

  Ω

  Dean had thought Aiden’s plan was for Lucy to drive to the Canyon, talk the gawkers into returning, and get out of there well before the UAVs put in an appearance.

  Then he finally contacted Aiden and learned what she intended to do.

  “She could be killed up there, Aiden.” His anger was so intense, he feared he’d crush the phone in his hand.

  “Calm down, Falcon. She’s a bright girl. We went through this from every possible angle. She has a window of fifteen minutes to get out of there.”

  “A lot can happen in fifteen minutes.” Dean fought to lower his voice. The alley appeared empty, but he was too worked up to be sure.

  “She knew the risk when she signed up, same as you and me.”

  Dean slammed his fist into the trash dumpster. The pain was sharp, radiating up his arm, but it released enough of his pressure that he could speak.

  “What coordinates did you give her?”

  Aiden relayed the numbers.

  “I’m not trusting anyone on this, Dean. That doesn’t leave us a lot of options, but it’s the way you want it. Am I right?”

  “Yeah. You’re right.” Dean disconnected the call and went in search of Paul.

  Thirty minutes later Dean leaned forward and tapped Paul on the shoulder. A nod told him the old bartender had spotted the truck, too. Even before he’d stopped the Harley, Dean had hopped off the back and jerked open the door.

  Dean’s heart slammed into his throat when he saw Lucy slumped behind the wheel.

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s breathing, but unconscious.” Dean pulled Lucy up, held her face in his hands, and willed her eyes to open. “Come on, Lucy, girl. Wake up for me.”

  “I don’t have cell service. Want me to ride back down for help?” Paul’s voice was concerned but calm, which could pretty much describe his every reaction since Dean had found him and told him he needed a lift to Felix Canyon.

  “There’s a bottle of water and some clean rags under the seat. Dampen one, would you?”

  Dean had the cloth on Lucy’s face within a minute. As soon as the coolness touched her skin, she came around. One look at Dean’s face, and she struggled to crawl across him, out of the truck.

  “Hang on, beautiful. You have quite a bump on the back of your head. Take it easy a minute.”

  “Where is Jerry? I’ll kill him next time I see him.”r />
  Dean met Paul’s eyes.

  “Jerry did this to you?” Dean asked. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’d gone to the top to—”

  “Paul gave me a ride up when I didn’t hear from you.” Dean waited for the words to sink in.

  Lucy turned her head.

  Paul gave a little wave. “Hey, Luce.”

  “Hey, Paul.”

  “Dean said you might need a little help.”

  “I guess I did.”

  The three of them waited in the silence. Dean thinking of what he could and couldn’t say.

  The silence lasted, but the darkness didn’t. Lights began to fill the night sky, like a dozen search lights set on a random pattern.

  “Dean.” Lucy struggled to climb over Dean and out the door. “We have to get up there.”

  “Get in the truck, Paul. Shut the door. Shut it now.” Dean forced Lucy back between them. Slammed his door shut, checked the window and vents. He noted in some part of his mind that Paul was doing the same without his having said a word.

  They sandwiched Lucy between them, and Dean hoped the truck would be airtight enough to protect them against whatever the terrorists released. Facing front, all three watched in the rear-view mirror, as if turning to look would make them more vulnerable. Lights lit up the sky behind them, first three dots randomly darting like fireflies, then coming together in a choreographed dance of death.

  Lucy’s eyes met Dean’s in the mirror, pleaded. But they both knew there was nothing they could do.

  The brilliance of the lights blinked out. Darkness enveloped them. Then a low whine sounded, starting deep in the night. It swelled to an earsplitting pitch.

  “Get down!” Dean shoved Lucy’s head between her knees.

  The world exploded in light. Invisible death rained down on them. The cab shook.

  And as quickly as it had begun, it ended. Silence fell. Night sounds once more blanketed the truck—an owl hooting, a slight breeze stirring the leaves, then, distantly, the murmur of voices.

  “What was that?” Paul’s voice shook. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at the sweat running down his face.

  Lucy’s eyes were wide, her posture stiff, but she no longer tried to get out of the vehicle.