Blue Jeans and a Badge

by Nina Bruhns

  She chuckled. Then spread her arms wide and called, “Open sesame!”

  Nothing happened.

  “Well, it was worth a shot,” he said philosophically.

  “Damn,” she said, picked up a stone and threw it hard at the wall in front of them. It made a very satisfying crack as it hit the solid rock, echoing loudly as it splintered.

  Philip tipped his head and tsked. “I can think of better ways to get out our frustrations.”

  “I doubt it.” She swiped up another stone and flung it. Again it echoed loudly as it ricocheted off the wall. “I’m feeling better already.”

  “Whose head are you pretending to throw?” he asked with a wince.

  “Don’t worry, not yours,” she said, and hurled one more.

  “I’m glad to—”

  Suddenly they glanced at each other, then at the cliff. That last rock hadn’t had an echo. In fact, there had been no sound at all after leaving her hand.

  “Where did you throw it?” he asked, excitement mounting.

  “I didn’t aim. It went somewhere over there, I think.” She turned toward a group of piñons huddled against the rock face.

  They both took off up the slope toward the trees. When they arrived at the top and hurried to look behind the bushy piñons, Luce let out a happy gasp. Between two natural pillars was a narrow gap.

  “Philip, look! A passage!” She grabbed him and swung around, nearly losing her balance on the uneven ground. She landed in his arms, laughing. “The hidden canyon!”

  “I can’t believe it!”

  “At last.”

  He swung her around again and bent to give her a big kiss. Just to celebrate. But he couldn’t resist drawing it out longer and longer. It had been ages since he’d tasted her and felt her mouth under his. At least six hours. Far too long.

  He forgot all about the passage.

  Apparently she didn’t. She pulled away. “We should get moving,” she said.

  Reluctantly he turned his attention back to the opening. “Man, it looks really narrow.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  They walked up to it, and he put his hands on either side of the narrow, sandstone gateway to peer in. Almost cavelike, it was as though the rock had split in half, leaving a tall, triangular keyhole maybe two feet wide at the bottom and about twenty feet high at the point where the sides came together again like two drunks leaning on each other for support.

  He hunched down and raised his sunglasses to see what lay beyond. But the opening turned a corner after a few feet, and it was impossible. He tried to squeeze into the opening, but was instantly wedged.

  “Even if I crawl, I’ll never make it through this narrow space.” He changed angles and tried again, to no avail. “I’m too big.”

  She frowned. “What are you saying?”

  He blew out a breath. She wasn’t going to like this. Not one little bit. “Unless we find another way in, we’ll have to skip these ruins.”

  “But Tafota could be in there! We can’t leave without checking it out.”

  “I don’t see a choice,” he said, stepping back and searching the rock wall for a second gap. “Besides, if I can’t make it through, chances are Clyde can’t, either.”

  She appeared skeptical. “I’m not so sure. He looked awfully skinny in his mug shot. More like my size.”

  Philip lifted his Stetson and swiped a hand through his hair. “Whatever. Let’s look for another entrance.”

  After half an hour of hard searching, it was clear. This was the only way in.

  Philip let out a sigh. “That’s it, then.” Reluctantly he turned to walk down the slope. “Let’s pack it in and call it a day.”

  “No.”

  He halted and turned back. “Excuse me?”

  She shook her head. “He’s in there. I know he’s in there.”

  Frustration oozed through Philip. “Maybe. But we’re out here with no way in and no other options.”

  “That’s not strictly true,” she said.

  “No? What do you propose we do? Starve him out?” She straightened her spine, and suddenly he knew exactly what she had in mind. His stomach plummeted. “No,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “No way.”

  “There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” she said, determination gleaming in her eyes. Or was it plain old mule stubbornness? “I’m going in.”

  Philip scowled down at her. “You are not going in there alone!”

  Luce locked her knees and planted her fists on her hips—mainly to hide the sudden tremble in her limbs, but he didn’t have to know that.

  “I have to. Look.” She indicated the ground, which showed subtle signs of recent disturbance—footprints and scraping marks left by someone crawling.

  Philip swiped a hand over his forehead. “What happened to not leaving my side more than six inches?”

  Her stomach tightened at the thought of what she was about to do. “I’ve faced down intelligent, three-hundred pound men carrying automatic weapons,” she stated evenly, not sure who she wanted to convince more, him or herself. “You think I’m going to let some brainless reptile or other fanged creature stop me from getting my skip? Not a chance.”

  As he studied her face she saw a muscle tick in his cheek. “I don’t like it,” he ground out.

  Neither did she. “We don’t have a choice.”

  He clenched and unclenched his jaw and she knew she’d won. “All right.” He unholstered his pistol and held it out to her. “But at least take the Beretta.”

  She nodded and tucked it into her waistband. “Thanks.”

  “You’ve got your cell phone, right?” he asked tightly. When she nodded he pulled out his. “Here. Trade me, so you don’t have to memorize the number. Call if you see anything.” He glanced upward after exchanging hers for his. “If we can get a signal.”

  She checked out his cell. “Is this a camera phone? How do you work it?”

  He showed her the buttons to push. Then he hit his fist against the sandstone wall. “Damn! I hate letting you go in there alone.”

  “No worries.” She gave him a confident smile, even though her insides were still doing minicartwheels. They were getting smaller, though. She just had to concentrate on the job, not the environment. She was good at her job. She’d be fine. And Clyde was in there, she could feel it. “I’ll just pretend I’m going into an abandoned crack house. Piece of cake.”

  He groaned. “Luce, please be careful. Swear to me.”

  “I promise. Watch for Tafota. Catch him if I flush him out.”

  “I will.”

  Before she lost her nerve she ducked into the passageway. It was a real squeeze at first, but after just a few feet it turned a corner and opened up. After several yards the walls fell away and she walked into a perfect box canyon. Butch and Sundance would have loved it.

  This had to be the place Clyde was hiding out.

  Now that she was here, she realized she had no strategy. TV bounty hunters were fearless and undaunted by danger, but in reality it was a pretty orderly profession with minimal risk if you were properly prepared for the takedown. Which at the moment she wasn’t.

  Should she call Philip? One look around told her no phone signal would ever penetrate those rock-solid canyon walls even if there was a nearby tower. She checked the indicator light, just in case he had satellite and there was one directly overhead. “Yeah, right,” she muttered at the blank screen.

  She was on her own.

  Her glance upward had, however, yielded paydirt of another sort. The ruins shown on Renata’s map were tucked under a wide, cavelike ledge protruding from the lower western face of the canyon.

  She stood still for several minutes, inspecting the canyon floor and walls for any sign of activity, occupancy or Clyde himself. To her relief, there were no snakes or other creatures in evidence, but to her surprise, the canyon floor was riddled with indications of human activity. Boot tracks were everywhere, as well as one long abrasion that looked lik
e something heavy had been dragged along the ground.

  The hairs on the back of Luce’s neck rose.

  This didn’t look like something Clyde Tafota could have done on his own.

  She pulled Philip’s Beretta from her waistband and scanned the ruins. Was he up there watching her? Or was there more than one person observing? Thinking fast, she dashed over to the canyon wall, seeking what shelter she could from prying eyes.

  The canyon floor was mostly sand and fallen rock, with a few stands of spindly cottonwoods, cactus and sage dotting it. A set of steps carved in the sandstone zig-zagged up ten or twelve feet to the ruins. They looked steep but passable—but also completely open to scrutiny by anyone hiding above.

  Okay. It was all good.

  She’d been in worse situations.

  And she needed to catch Clyde. Time was running out and Arthur was counting on her.

  She gripped the Beretta and made for the steps, keeping her back to the canyon wall as she moved. High above the cliffs a hawk cried out, and the wind rustled the dry sage making it rattle softly. Otherwise silence prevailed except for the in and out of her own fast breathing.

  Stealthily she climbed the steep, rock-hewn steps one at a time, being careful not to dislodge stones or gravel and give herself away. When she got to the ruins, another surprise awaited her. From below, the ancient structure had seemed as broken down as the others they’d visited today, but when she crested the top step, something different greeted her. Behind the crumbling outer shell, the inner adobe walls still stood fairly intact, from the hard-packed clay floor up to the sandstone outcropping that served as ceiling—and which had obviously protected the inner rooms from the harsh desert elements.

  In other words, a perfect hiding place for two kids—or a grown man.

  From exploring the four other cliff dwellings today, she knew their basic layout consisted of a rabbit warren of small rooms, interconnected by windowlike doors set a foot or two above ground level. The inhabitants must have been tiny, and agile, to be able to climb in and out through the small openings.

  The previous ruins had all been eroded down to at least waist level, if not lower, so it had just been a matter of stepping over the walls. These were almost perfectly preserved.

  Pulling out Philip’s cell phone, she snapped a quick picture, then pocketed it again. As quietly as she could, she approached the doorway to the closest room.

  She’d never been claustrophobic, but the thought of entering the thousand-year-old dwellings, crawling with Lord knew what, gave her the creeps big-time.

  “You better be here, Clyde,” she mumbled, shook herself mentally and stuck her head through the opening. The sun had gone down below the cliffs, but there was still enough light to see clearly. Inside, stacked neatly against the far wall, were several wooden crates marked with distinct military lettering.

  Military? Holy mackerel! Weapons?

  Or… Had the missing shipment of missile guidance chips from Hidalgo been packed in wooden crates? No.

  “Clyde, Clyde, Clyde,” she whispered. “What have you gotten yourself into, buddy?”

  She reeled out and propped her back against the cool adobe wall.

  She had to think. This changed everything.

  Suddenly Tafota wasn’t looking so innocent anymore. And there was no way on God’s green earth she was going to get him back to St. Louis in time to save Arthur if the Feds or the New Mexico authorities got hold of him first. And that included Philip.

  She swore under her breath.

  Suddenly, she heard a noise, the distinctive sound of gravel being dislodged by hurrying feet. She whipped around, zeroing in on the location.

  There! Heading toward the back of the canyon and…and up!

  Running to the far corner of the outcrop, she scanned the cliff above it. Another narrow set of stairs was cut into the rock, going up the almost sheer face of the canyon wall, leading to the top of the surrounding mesa plateau.

  She swore again, and gave chase.

  After slip-sliding several yards up the stairway she halted. The small rocks under her boots were like ball bearings on the smooth, hard sandstone worn concave by centuries of feet.

  Besides, what would she do with Clyde if she caught him? If she caught up to him on the narrow stairs there was no room to switch positions, and she’d have to bring him down, possibly at gunpoint, with her going first. On this steep trail that could prove real tricky. Or fatal.

  Not to mention, she’d risk her life possibly to have Philip refuse her custody of him when he found out about the military stash.

  Better to let Tafota go now. Come back later without Philip, and hide until she could nab Clyde on level ground.

  In fact, it would be better not to tell Philip about Tafota being here at all. She wouldn’t be lying. She hadn’t seen him. She didn’t even know if it was Tafota she’d heard. It could have been an animal. A very large animal.

  Damn.

  This was getting too complicated.

  Making her way back along the ruin walls, she carefully examined all the rooms along the way. Every one contained a stack of stolen military boxes. A major haul. There was no way she could keep this to herself. Theft on this scale meant something a lot more sinister than one guy stealing a lone shipment of computer parts. This was organized. And ongoing. And possibly terrorist related.

  There was no other thinkable option. She had to report it.

  After taking as many pictures as Philip’s phone would hold, she retraced her steps back to him with a sinking heart.

  She knew this marked the end of their time together.

  And the end of their relationship, such as it was.

  As soon as they informed the Feds about this cache, the place would be swarming with them and the military. Clyde would either be picked up or long gone. Arthur would lose his money. She would lose her paycheck, be out the expenses she’d already incurred and have to delay getting her P.I. business yet again.

  Unless she was somehow able to talk Philip into waiting a day to report the cache, so she could come back and get Clyde first and spirit him away to St. Louis before anyone else was the wiser.

  But that meant deceiving Philip and going against his wishes.

  And for that, she knew, he would never forgive her.

  As soon as Luce came back through the opening in the cliff, Philip knew there was something wrong.

  “What happened?” he demanded, grasping her arms when she dusted off her pants and didn’t say anything. Her eyes appeared sad…or furtive…or something.

  “I didn’t see Clyde. But you won’t believe what I found.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Better see for yourself.” She handed him his cell phone and flipped up the screen. “Check out the pictures.”

  He did. It didn’t take many to figure out what she’d stumbled upon. The close-up of a wooden crate marked “Property of USAF” said it all.

  He stared at the picture. “This is serious.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We have to report this.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Right away.”

  “I suppose.”

  He thought he detected a reluctance. He looked up. “What?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I just… You know what’ll happen. Feds everywhere. Clyde will be history.”

  “If he was hiding here. Which it’s not certain. If he’s not involved with this, here would be the last place a sane person would hide out.”

  “True.” But she didn’t look convinced. In fact, she looked like she knew differently.

  “Are you sure you didn’t see Clyde? Or any sign of him?”

  “I didn’t see him. Or any traces of anyone camping out here.” But her gaze avoided his.

  He’d hate it if she was lying to him.

  Why would she lie?

  The sun was getting ready to set over the distant mountains, and already darkness was closing in on the canyon, casting long maroon shadows over ev
erything.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I want to be back on pavement before it gets completely dark.”

  On the way home to Piñon Lake, he thought about the possibility of her lying to him about Clyde being at the box canyon, trying to figure out why she’d do it. He could come up with no rational reason, unless… He didn’t even want to think about the possibility that she might be planning to ditch him and go back to the canyon later without him. To get Clyde before the Feds did.

  He thought about it for a second, then gave himself a mental shake. No. She wouldn’t do that. She was scared to death of the desert. He must be imagining things. She was probably just disappointed she’d failed in her job.

  “We could still find him,” he mused aloud.

  “No,” she said, bending to unlace and ease her feet out of her boots. “We won’t.”

  He didn’t even try to argue. She was probably right.

  She rubbed her calves. “I’m beat. How about you?”

  “Not too bad.” He was used to hiking. Skiing in the winter. Not all day, usually, but enough to keep him in shape. That and the weight set in the spare bedroom.

  “Think I’ll have an early night.”

  “Sounds good. Where would you like to eat?”

  “Maybe we could just stop at a fast-food place somewhere on the way.” She wriggled her toes. “I don’t really feel like putting my boots back on.”

  “Sure. When we get home we can have a soak, and I’ll give you a foot massage.”

  She darted him a glance. “Oh. Um. That sounds nice, but…I was thinking you should just drop me at the motel.”

  He digested that information for a moment. What the hell was going on? Something he wouldn’t like, he wagered. First her evasiveness, now this. But he’d be damned if he’d let her spend the night at the Lakeview Motel. Without him.

  “Like hell,” he murmured.

  She looked at him for the first time. “Philip—”

  “I thought you had a good time last night.”

  “I did. It’s just—”

  “Not good enough to repeat the experience?”

  “You were amazing, O’Donnaugh. The best. But we both know what it was. And that it had to end sooner or later.”