by Lori Wilde
Fine. Dade understood about treasuring privacy.
A few minutes later the door opened and Lars handed him a stack of papers. “Let me know if you need more issues.”
“Appreciate it.”
Lars leveled him a hard stare. “You really sure you shouldn’t get on your motorcycle and ride out of here before it’s too late?”
“Why would I run out on the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”
“Because,” Lars said as he shut the door, “maybe you’re not the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”
Chewing on the old man’s words, Dade took the papers back to his room. Was Lars right? Was he bad for Natalie? Was it stupid of him to believe that he could settle down, quit his rambling ways, and find happiness in her arms?
Someone to love.
The elusive dream that had evaded him since he was a kid. He’d honestly felt as if he didn’t deserve happiness. He was too screwed up. Too soiled and sullied, but Natalie’s innocence had transformed him. She gave him hope that he could live the dream.
Hope was such a damn dangerous thing.
Kneading his temple, he sank down on the bed and restlessly leafed through the papers, starting with June 19. He had no idea what he was looking for or even what he hoped to find. He was grasping at straws and he knew it, but what else did he have?
Most of the Alpine Gazette was little more than a list of births at the local hospital, the obituaries, the crossword puzzle, the TV programming grid, and readers’ favorite recipes. On the front page was an article about a Marfa artist who’d gotten a gallery showing in New York City, along with blurry color photographs of some of the artwork.
On the second page was a feature about a local vineyard that won honorable mention in some wine award. It wasn’t until the third page that he finally found some real news. The chancellor at Sul Ross announced they’d discovered several students with fake drivers’ licenses that were so professionally forged even law enforcement had difficulty telling the false identification from the real thing. The FBI and Homeland Security were investigating.
Huh. Maybe that explained why some of the kids coming into Chantilly’s had looked much younger than the stated age on their IDs. From now on, if he suspected someone wasn’t twenty-one, he was notifying law enforcement.
He went through all the papers for the past two weeks but found nothing that might have caused Red alarm. Maybe he was missing something. Then again, maybe there was nothing there.
Another dead end.
Reluctant to give up, he went through the papers again, this time paying special attention to the classifieds. Again, he found nothing that raised a red flag. Discouraged, he fisted his hands on his knees and gazed down at the back page of the last paper. An ad for Cupid Caverns caught his eye.
Need a cool respite from the Texas sun? Come to Cupid Caverns for a tranquil escape.
During a mission in Afghanistan, he and Red and some other SEALs had been surrounded by al-Qaeda and they’d been forced to hole up in a cavern for several days before they could be rescued. Staying in those dark caverns had made everyone edgy except for Red.
“I like caves,” Red confessed to Dade. “I get why Afghanis hide out in them. They make you feel safe. Like a womb.”
It hit him all at once and he could have kicked himself for not thinking about it sooner. The caverns were the perfect place to hide if you’d gone off your medication and were in the traumatic throes of PTSD delusions.
Before Natalie went to the community center, she stopped by the hospital to check on Aunt Delia. Her aunt was sitting up in bed, a tray of hospital food in front of her. She broke into a smile when Natalie came into the room.
“Hi, are you here all by yourself?”
“I sent everyone home. People need to get some rest. They’ve fussed over me enough.” Delia poked at reconstituted eggs with her fork. “Damn, I wish I had a Denver omelet from La Hacienda Grill.”
“I’ll see if I can smuggle one up for you tomorrow.”
“Watch out for Nurse Ratched out there. She’s a pistol and she’s gunning for me. Keeps carrying on about my cholesterol. I don’t care. I’m seventy-seven years old. If I want a pint of Butter Brickle ice cream when I watch Dancing with the Stars, I’m gonna have it. I was eating Butter Brickle before she was born.”
“She’s just trying to do her job,” Natalie placated.
“Hmph.” Aunt Delia sniffed. “Never mind her. How’d it go with the hunk?”
Natalie couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across her face. “It went.”
“You naughty girl you.” Aunt Delia’s eyes twinkled. “At least I hope you were naughty.”
Natalie cast a glance over her shoulder, lowered her voice. “Very naughty.”
“Oh goody.” Aunt Delia clapped her hands. “It’s about time you had some fun.”
“It’s more than that.”
“I suspected as much. He’s The One, isn’t he?”
Natalie nodded. “How did you know?”
“I’ve seen it happen enough times. Happened to me too.”
“It’s an unbelievable feeling.”
“You’re floating on clouds.” Delia smiled.
“Yes.”
“The sky is bluer, food tastes better—”
“Yes, yes.”
“You ache deep down inside when you’re not with him.”
“That’s it.”
“I’m so happy for you, child. You deserve this more than anyone I know.”
“But, well, he can’t tell me he loves me. I told him, but he didn’t say it back.”
“It’s hard for some men to say those words. Doesn’t mean they don’t feel it.”
“He gave me this.” She held up her wrist, showed off the bracelet like it was the Hope Diamond.
Delia inspected it. “Bullet casing bracelet, huh? Now that’s unique.”
“It has an emotional significance attached.”
“I assumed. Honey, are those tears in your eyes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Here. Take a tissue.”
Natalie plucked a tissue from the box on Aunt Delia’s over-the-bed table.
“Happy tears are good, baby.” Delia patted her hand. “You gonna break the news to the girls?”
“Not yet.”
“I gotcha. You want to keep this special time just between the two of you for now.”
“And you.” She smiled.
“It’s gonna be kinda hard keeping this on the down low as Zoey would say, considering you’re glowing brighter than the sun. All I’ve got to say is that he better be good enough for you.”
“Oh, Auntie, there’s nobody better.”
The park attendant was just opening the gate of the chain-link fence guarding the entrance to Cupid Caverns when Dade drove up on his Harley. He parked and stepped to the kiosk to pay the five-dollar admission fee and noticed the sign announcing the hours.
“Open 10 A.M. to dusk. Monday—Saturday. Closed Sundays and all national holidays.”
Dade struck up a conversation with the red-faced, thick-waisted man with chin jowls that wobbled when he spoke. “Do people ever get lost in the caverns?”
“People get turned around now and again,” Wobble Jowls said. In spite of his jowls, he had a thin neck and eyes the size of marbles. “But we only have the front portion of the caverns open to the public. It’s got a well-lit path. Stay with the crowd and you’ll be fine.”
Dade glanced around at the empty parking lot.
“There’s a parade in town this morning. Others will be along soon.” Wobble Jowls passed Dade his receipt and a brochure.
“So there’s no way to see parts of the cavern where the public isn’t allowed?”
“Nope. It’s off-limits except to law enforcement or researchers who have special permissions.”
“No provisions for avid spelunkers?” Or ex-Navy SEALs on vision quests?
“None that I know of. You’d have to check with th
e town council.”
“So there’s no way someone could sneak into the caverns at night?”
“Don’t even try it,” the man said. “It’s dangerous. Not to mention you’d be breaking trespass laws. If you want to see deeper into the cave, talk to the town council.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.”
Dade entered the caverns. It was cool inside, a nice respite from the July heat. The slow, steady dripping off stalactites echoed in the large cavern. There was a smooth path that diverged in two directions.
He consulted the map. Following the left-hand path would take him to the cave that housed the Cupid stalagmite.
He headed in that direction, ducking his head as the cavern gave way to a series of smaller caves. Jagged stalactites jutted down like monsters’ teeth. The colors of the rock formations were an amazing blend of orange, yellow, brown, and green, a Phantom of the Opera world down here. It was just the sort of place where Red would feel safe.
Pausing near one of the lighted wall sconces, Dade read about the lore and history of the caverns. It was a fairly small cavern system, even including the part that was off-limits to the public, but it had a colorful and romantic past. Besides the legend of the Cupid stalagmite, there were rumors that during Prohibition, gangsters had smuggled liquor in from Mexico and hid it here.
A quarter of a mile into the cavern, he came upon the Cupid stalagmite inside a small cave all its own. A path wove in a spiral circle around the stalagmite, a dead-end cul-de-sac with Cupid in the center. The way Dade had entered the cave was the only route in or out.
The stalagmite was much larger than he expected. It stood over seven feet tall and almost touched the ceiling of the cave. Indeed, it looked like Cupid was standing on one leg, with the other leg bent at the knee as if he were running, a bow cocked in his arms, arrow ready to be flung into unwitting hearts.
Of course, Cupid didn’t really have a face. It was just a blob of stone formed from hundreds of years of steady drip-drip-drip, but it was easy to see how the town founders could be seduced into naming their little burg after the Roman god of erotic love.
“Pretty impressive, is it not?”
Dade whirled around to see Lars Bakke standing behind him. He’d been so absorbed with studying the stalagmite that he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps.
Uneasiness rippled over him. “Yeah. Impressive.”
Lars peered around. “You all alone?”
Dade’s muscles tensed. “Yes.”
They stood looking at each other. Lars had his hands behind his back, and Dade’s uneasiness bloomed into full-blown suspicion. Something was very off about the old man.
“Nice statue. I see what all the fuss is about,” Dade said mildly.
“Ah yes, Cupid. The god of love.”
The hairs on Dade’s arms were standing at full attention and his gut squeezed tight. He moved toward the exit.
Lars sidestepped, blocking his way. “Where you going so fast? You just got here.”
“I’ve got somewhere to be. If you’ll step aside, I’d appreciate it.” He gave Lars his coldest stare.
“I’m sorry, Vega, but I’m afraid I just can’t let you leave.” Lars swung his arms around.
Dade glanced down, and he was not the least bit surprised to see a snub-nosed revolver clutched in Lars’s hand.
Chapter 19
Never give up on love.
—MILLIE GREENWOOD
“What’s this all about?” Dade asked evenly as his mind raced.
Tanked.
Red’s Mayday message. Trust no one. Lars was the person his buddy had been trying to warn him about.
“Raise your arms and turn around slowly.”
“Let’s talk about this.”
“Arms in the air.” Lars raised the gun and pointed it in his face.
“All right.” Dade raised his arms and faced away from the Norwegian. Was the old dude going to shoot him in the back? Why?
“Walk forward.”
“We’ll be going around in circles.”
“Just do it.” Lars’s voice was pure steel.
Slowly, Dade raised his arms over his head and pivoted on his heel. His reflexes were faster than the old man’s, but Lars was twenty feet away and he could get off a shot before Dade reached him. Dade would bide his time, play along. Maybe he could find out what Lars had done with Red and why.
“Walk,” Lars commanded.
“Take it easy.”
“I know you’re a SEAL, so don’t try any crap with me. Don’t think for one second that I will hesitate to shoot you.”
“Calm down. This is a public place, Bakke. Someone could walk in here at any moment. We don’t want any innocent bystanders hurt.”
“Then you better start walking. Put your hands on the back of your head.”
Dade put his hands on his head and started walking forward; four feet and he was going to have to turn to follow the circular path or walk into the cave wall.
Lars made a scuffling noise behind him. It was all Dade could do not to glance over his shoulder and see what the man was up to.
A few seconds later, his question was answered when the cave wall in front of Dade started moving inward. He blinked. It was a secret door built into the cave wall, and camouflaging a hidden passageway. Bootleggers. It must have been bootleggers who built this during Prohibition.
“Move,” Lars commanded.
Dade stepped into the narrow, dank passageway. Was Lars going to shut him up in here?
“Keep going and keep your hands on your head. Do anything funny and I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
“What’s this all about, Bakke?”
“Shut up.”
Dade moved down the narrow passageway. His raised elbows brushed against the cave walls on either side. He could see a light beyond. He heard the secret door shut behind him. Was Bakke still back there? He stopped.
“Keep going.”
The passageway widened into a room. There was a second door on the far side of the room. Were there more secret caves and passageways beyond? At first glance, the room looked like an office. There was a table set up with a Mac computer and a printer, but a closer look told Dade this wasn’t just any printer, but a state-of-the art security ID printer. On the desk were baskets filled with drivers’ licenses and identification cards. Off to one side sat a bicycle-powered generator that provided electricity to the equipment.
It was not unlike the al-Qaeda setups the SEALs had found in the cavernous mountains in Afghanistan, except this one was far more sophisticated.
Slowly, Dade turned to face Lars. “You’re counterfeiting IDs. It’s you.”
Lars did not look the least bit contrite. “It’s very lucrative.”
“Where did you get the printer? That’s high-tech stuff.”
“Anything can be had for the right price.”
“Who are you working for?”
“No one,” Lars said. “I’m running this outfit myself.”
“All by yourself? Sorry, I’m not buying it. You don’t strike me as having the computer skills to pull this off. Besides, how do you ride the bike and run the computer at the same time?”
“I am pulling it off. I’m making twenty thousand a month, but I got a lot of expenses and the installment loans on my boat are a hundred grand each, so I have to keep at it until I can pay for my boat.”
“Supplying fake identification to teenagers?” Lars was a pretty damn good counterfeiter. Dade thought about the article he’d read in the June 19 issue of the Alpine Gazette. Had Red read the same article? Had his suspicions been aroused and he’d decided to investigate? “Among other things.”
“Supplying IDs to illegal immigrants?”
“That too.”
“Are you also providing fake IDs to potential terrorists?”
Lars shrugged. “Could be. I don’t ask their politics as long as their money is green.”
Dade couldn’t wrap his head around this. Natalie�
�s senior citizen boarder was running a counterfeit identification ring right here in Cupid, Texas? “But why?”
“Money. What else?”
“Money for what?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but the sailboat I’m having built cost a million five.”
“And counterfeiting is the only way you could do it.”
“Hey, try living on social security. You won’t have enough to buy cat food.”
“You look pretty healthy to me.”
“The great crimes of the twentieth century were committed not by money-grubbing capitalists, but by dedicated idealists. Lenin, Stalin, and Hitler were contemptuous of money. The passage from the nineteenth to the twentieth century has been a passage from considerations of money to considerations of power. How naive the cliché that money is the root of evil!”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s one of my favorite quotes of Eric Hoffer. It means money is a good thing and the more the better.”
“I’m not sure it means that.”
“Who are you?” Lars bellowed. “I knew Eric Hoffer. He was a great man.”
“Do you think he would approve of your counterfeit scheme?” Dade had no idea who Eric Hoffer was, but apparently Lars was quite enamored of the man.
“Hoffer believed in the concept of meaningful work.”
“And you consider this meaningful work?” Dade waved his hand at the basket of forgeries.
“Hoffer would say, ‘It is the pull of opposite poles that stretches souls. And only stretched souls make music.’ ”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Of course it does. It makes perfect sense.”
Dade rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
“No, not ‘whatever.’ ” Lars’s glower deepened and rage infused his voice. “Hoffer was a genius.”
“Genius. Got it.”
“You understand nothing,” Lars ranted.
I understand you’re a friggin’ lunatic.
Dade’s mind spun with options as he tried to figure out how best to disarm Bakke without getting shot in the process. Bakke was wisely staying across the room from him. Dade’s back was to the second door. Maybe he could just make a run for the second door, see if he could escape that way, but what if the door was locked? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Would he be any worse off for having tried?
