"Think you can bring my truck back to me without bullet holes?" Slade asked seriously.
"Do our best—or else fix the holes before we do," Agent August said.
Jane leaned her head back and fell asleep. It had been a long day. Thank goodness it hadn't come on the heels of the drunken night in Baton Rouge. One thing for damn sure, she was going to have stories to tell her grandchildren… if she ever had any. She awoke with a start when the van stopped and could hardly believe she'd been asleep two whole hours.
"We're here," Agent Jones said. "Home sweet home for a week. Try not to kill each other. Familiarity breeds contempt, you know." He chuckled.
"Ah, it's not such a bad place. Can see for miles in any which way. A man would be a fool even to attempt to sneak up on this place. And the last time I brought a witness here to stay a few days, we left a deck of cards and a few books, so you won't get too bored," Agent August said.
"Here're the keys and the phone," Agent Jones handed them to Slade.
"You're not coming inside?" Jane felt as if she'd been thrown to the wolves as she stared at the small cabin set in the middle of nowhere with nothing around it but a pole bringing electricity from God knew where.
"Got to get back to Amarillo and catch a plane. Dial the number on the back in an emergency. Other than that, don't use it. We'll be in touch with your grand mother, Slade. Don't worry about her. We've got two good agents there to protect her." Agent Jones handed him a cell phone and crawled into the passenger side of the car. Evidently it was his turn to ride and August's turn to drive.
"Who's going to protect the agents from Nellie and Ellen?" Jane asked.
"Oh, I reckon those old buzzards can take care of themselves. We'll come get you next Saturday morning, take you to Amarillo, and put you on a plane to Greenville and you to Dallas." He pointed first at Jane and then Slade.
"Where in the hell are we?" Jane asked when the dust settled from their leaving.
"I think New Mexico, but I fell asleep. Did you notice any highway signs?" he asked.
"Hell no," she quipped.
"Well that's just great!" He marched toward the house with her following on his heels.
"I hope there's enough food in there to last a week."
"I hope you don't get mad or there might not be."
The porch stretched the length of the house. The whole place looked to be about twenty-four foot square with the last dregs of paint long since gone. Two windows and a door faced out onto the porch. Slade used the key to open the door and stepped inside ahead of her. She followed, eyes darting around every which way, making sure there were no spiders or mice to greet them.
It was pristine clean and looked more like an army barracks than a house that real people occupied. Two twin beds, one on either side of the room, were made up mili tary tight with olive drab blankets and sheets folded down neatly from the top. A small kitchenette was comprised of a two-burner stove, a small, stainless-steel sink to the left of it, and a tiny refrigerator underneath, all in one unit. Beside that was a chest-type freezer about the size of a computer desk. The orange floral sofa was outdated and worn but looked comfortable. The old Formica-topped table and two chairs looked like something Lucy and Desi Arnaz had eaten on back when they first got married.
A door opened at the end of the bed on the right into a fair-sized bathroom. Toilet. Sink. Old claw-foot tub. A tiny apartment-sized washing machine tucked into a corner with cabinets above it. Jane opened the doors to find a healthy supply of toilet paper, towels, washcloths, soap, laundry soap—all the comforts of home.
Another door opened at the end of the bed on the left into a pantry. It was about a third as big as the living/ bedroom area with shelves on three sides. They were stocked full of canned goods and plastic containers marked dried eggs, flour, cornmeal, sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar… Whoopee yeah! They weren't going to starve, but someone had to cook from scratch.
He moaned. "A whole week in this place. I might be tempted to kill you myself just to go home."
"If you are still breathing next Saturday when they return, it won't be because I haven't thought about doing you in, either," she said.
"Welcome to hell, Jane Day." "Same to you, Slade Luckadeau."
Chapter 14
JANE UNPACKED HER DUFFEL BAG AND CARRIED THE DIRTY clothing to the bathroom. No dryer anywhere in sight, so she opened the back door to find a clothesline stretched from the porch post to a small, lonesome old mesquite tree not much bigger than a bush. There were a few clothespins still stuck on the line but her jeans would have to be doubled over the wire to keep them from dragging in the dirt. Grass grew here and there in strange clumps—not like anything in Greenville, where it was green and plush as a carpet underfoot. She shaded her eyes with the back of her hand and looked out across acres and acres of desert that didn't stop until it met up with the sky. It reminded her of the ocean in Florida. Water and sky in that peaceful paradise. Dirt and sky in this leftover from hell.
Sweat beaded under her nose and ran down her forehead into her eyes, making them burn. She swiped at it with her hand and then wiped it on the rear end of her jeans. Before the week was out, she might consider cutting the legs from her jeans and turning them into Daisy Mae shorts.
"Air conditioning?" she asked aloud.
"None. But there is a swamp cooler in that window." Slade answered with a nod of his head toward the far end of the back porch. An old water cooler, rusted around the bottom, sat on concrete blocks. The padding on the sides looked fairly good and it would provide moisture in the heat of the day.
"No phone, so no internet. Electricity and a well for water. Looks like the potty flushes out into a septic tank. Pretty basic," he said.
"Why didn't they bring John out here instead of us?" Jane asked.
"Now that's a question worth pondering. He's so mean and tough he could probably walk out of here naked with his eyes closed and not step on a single rattler. Reckon this is the area where they found the aliens fifty or sixty years ago?"
"If you see a big saucer coming down from the sky, you better start running toward it because I'm calling the first seat, especially after that comment about rattle snakes," she said.
"What's for supper? I'm hungry," he said.
"There's plenty of food in there and you are a big boy. Go cook it."
"Are we going to work together on the meals or do we take turns?" he asked.
She thought about it for several seconds before she answered, "Let's work together. We haven't got much else to do but eat and sleep and read whatever books are on that shelf. Let's do a big breakfast, leftover or light dinner since that will be the hottest part of the day and we won't want to start up the stove, and a big supper."
He nodded. "It's suppertime, so this one will be meat and potatoes like dinner is at home. I'll thaw out some meat in the microwave. I checked that freezer and there must be a quarter of beef in there."
"First wet down that swamp cooler and let's get some air flowing."
"You askin' or bossin'?"
"Out here, darlin', there ain't no boss," she said.
"Then I'll take it that you're askin'. And there is one other thing we could do to pass the time rather than read." He raised an eyebrow rakishly.
"Been there. Done that. Ain't going there again."
"Why? Wasn't it better than reading a book all day?"
"At the time, yes. But that time is done and finished. I'll read the book. Besides, we'd slide off each other, we'd be so sweaty. Hot as it is if we added sex heat to it we might ignite and burn the place down."
What she didn't tell him was that she hoped to hell her birth control was still in effect and that there wasn't a little blond-haired boy already swimming around in her womb. The first time she'd been very vulnerable; the second, very drunk. She was neither and wouldn't be again. Vulnerability ended when they dropped her in this godforsaken place and she'd already checked—drunk wasn't an option. They were so far out in the boon
ies it would take a man or woman more than a week to find them, and there wasn't so much as a can of beer in the place. Kool-Aid and iced tea would be the beverages of choice. And if they didn't remember to keep the trays filled and put back in the freezer, it might be lukewarm Kool-Aid and tea.
"You are a cold-hearted woman, Jane Day."
"Yep, I am. Ellacyn Hayes wasn't, but Jane Day damn sure is. Do you see what I see?" She pointed.
"The swamp cooler?"
"A propane grill right there beside that tree. If it's got a full tank, we can cook outside and not heat up the house at all."
"We sound like a married couple," he chuckled.
"More like an odd couple," she quipped.
He fired up the grill. She thawed two T-bone steaks. He sat on the porch steps and watched them cook in between times when he turned them over. She heated peas and carrots on one burner and made boxed maca roni and cheese on the other. When he brought the steaks inside, she had the table set with mismatched plates and cutlery and paper towels for napkins.
"Potatoes?" he asked when he set the steaks in the middle of the table.
"Instant all right?"
The edges of his nostrils flared.
"I figured instant potatoes would make you surly for a whole day, so I made macaroni and cheese from a box. Be grateful we have margarine. The milk is powdered and has to be reconstituted. I wouldn't recommend it for cereal in the mornings, but it'll make gravy and do to cook with."
"It ain't a five-star restaurant, is it?"
"It's edible and we won't starve in a week," she said.
"Speak for yourself."
"Don't be a baby. Eat your peas and carrots. It could be worse. They could have put us out here with a tent, a spade to make our own bathroom, and a bucket to draw water," she said.
"Dessert?" he asked when he finished eating.
She laid a package of six miniature chocolate donuts beside his plate. "Eat slowly and chew well. That's the only thing in the house other than canned fruit. They're only semi-soft and the date on the package is three weeks ago, so they're probably stale."
"Want to share?"
She shook her head. "Coffee?"
"I'd love some. Is there a pot or do we boil it on the stove?"
"I found a four-cup drip pot in the pantry and two huge cans of dark roast," she said.
She set about making coffee and he ate the stale donuts. Being in a deserted place gave him a whole new outlook. Had he been put out there with Kristy and those two girls, he would have already yanked every blond hair from his head. If he'd been dropped there with Elaine, he would have used a paring knife to stab himself to death. A month ago he wouldn't have chosen Jane for his companion for a week in the middle of nowhere, but among the three women he'd been familiar with the past six months, he had to admit he was glad it was Jane sharing the experience with him and neither of the other two.
Jane washed dishes.
Slade dried.
She found a worn paperback book and settled down on one end of the sofa.
He found a worn paperback book and settled down on the other end of the sofa.
She opened the J.A. Jance book, Lying in Wait, and began to read about J.P. Beaumont's grandfather's death in the prologue. That reminded her of her grandfather, dead many years, who'd left the ranch to her father, who had in turn bequeathed it to his only daughter in his will. Of course her mother continued to run it and love it until the day she died. It was the one thing that wasn't tied up in the trust fund accounts until she was twenty-five. It supported itself with the quarter horse business and Lanson, her manager and trainer, was an excellent manager of that part of the business. The cattle brought in a fair share of money also, with Grady, her foreman, taking care of that.
She shook the thoughts of home out of her head and kept reading. It would make the time go by faster until she could crawl into that twin bed on the left side of the room and fall asleep. Tomorrow it would be six days until the ordeal was over. Then five and so on. It wasn't so long if she took it a day at a time. And boring as hell, which was good after the past few days. Just lie back, eat, sleep, and waste a week.
Evidently a previous tenant had liked J.A. Jance, because Slade picked up a book by the same author. He'd never read her work before, didn't know if J.A. was Jane Ann or Jimmy Andrew until he read the brief bio inside the back cover of the book. Still didn't know, for that matter, since it just referred to her as J.A. Not that it mattered a bit. The book, about a lady sheriff named Joanna Brady investigating the death of an elderly widow, kept his attention. It was close to midnight when he finally read the last page and decided against the excerpt from the next Joanna Brady mystery, Devil's Claw, available from William Morrow at bookstores everywhere on July 5, 2000.
"So who'd you get out of trouble by the end of the book? Did Sheriff Brady have two black eyes in your book?" he asked.
Jane held up a finger. "Shhhh." Five minutes later she shut the book and looked at him. "Sheriff Brady was not a character in this book. I was reading about J.P. Beaumont, a detective. Miz Jance is a good writer. I'll trade you tomorrow and then we'll compare notes on which character we like best."
"Shhhh," he held up a finger.
"What?"
He cocked his head to one side, frowning the whole time. "Put your shoes on. Grab your purse. That's a chopper. And it's coming right at us."
"Agent August?"
"I have no idea but we're not taking chances. Hurry up. We're going out the back door and heading toward the wash about a hundred yards out."
He had his shoes on, phone in one hand, and shaving kit in the other by the time she'd located her purse. She turned off the lamps on her way out the door behind him. He shoved the phone into his shaving kit, grabbed her hand, and took off in a run that she had trouble keeping up with.
He gave thanks as he ran that it was a pitch-black night with barely a sliver of leftover moon hanging in a sky riddled with clouds. How in the hell had John found them, who did he know willing to work with him, and where did he get a chopper on such short notice? He hit the wash, no more than three feet deep, and pulled her down with him.
For the next fifteen minutes they listened to enough gun power noise to rival the Fourth of July fireworks show in Terral, Oklahoma. Six figures dressed in black started at the front of the house, emptied clips into the windows, reloaded in sync, began firing again as they made their way to the back. Then they repeated the process toward the front until they were back at the helicopter. They loaded up and then all hell really broke loose. Two blasts from the chopper leveled the house and sent it up in flames.
Jane stared in mute shock. If she'd had to speak or be tossed inside that burning inferno, she'd have to have taken the latter, because there were no words. Why did Paul want her dead so badly and how much was he willing to pay to get the job done?
"What do we do now?" she finally whispered hoarsely, five full minutes after the chopper had disappeared in the direction from which the FBI had brought them to the so-called safe house. Surely she was asleep and in the middle of another terrible nightmare. The smell of burning house and smoke spiraling up toward the black clouds convinced her that she was indeed awake.
Slade still held her hand in his and couldn't untangle their fingers if he tried. "I don't know. I think we should head out the back way, though. They'll be coming back for the bodies at dawn."
"You think so?" she shivered. "Damn them to hell anyway. Thank God you heard that chopper and had a few doubts or we'd be toast."
"More like grilled steaks," he said.
She shuddered and slapped his arm. "God, Slade. That's horrible. Look at that place. Why in the hell would they come back? Nothing caught inside could possibly be alive."
"Got to have a body before you can collect the money," he said.
She looked down at the shaving kit and rage boiled up from somewhere so deep in her soul that she could have ripped his blond hair out by the roots and scratched the dimple
off his chin. She'd left everything that wasn't in her purse in that place. Her meager amount of clothes, her makeup on the bathroom counter, even her hairbrush, and he brought his shaving kit?
"Why?" she yelled. She didn't look up and blame God Almighty but she was so mad at Slade she could have thrown him on the flames of the house like he was a T-bone steak on a grill.
"Why what?" His heart refused to slow down and his mind did double time hoping they'd find a road or a town before dawn.
"Why'd you bring that stupid shaving kit?" she yelled.
"Because it's holding our cash. You think anyone is going to give us a vehicle or a bus station is going to let us ride for free?" He couldn't understand why she was so angry at him for picking up his shaving kit. Hadn't she grabbed her purse on the way out?
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