Where Danger Hides

by Terry Odell

  “That’s terrible,” she said.

  “The people are desperate,” Dalton said. “They figure they’ve got nothing to lose. Unfortunately, too often they’re wrong, and what they lose are their lives. Crossing the desert is tough even for an experienced survivalist.”

  “And a lot of these poor souls try it in the heat of summer.” Sanderson swiveled to involve Miri in the discussion. “Since they started requiring passports at points of entry, more people who might have entered on a fake ID are resorting to paying coyotes.”

  “What about the people who work the fields around here?” Miri asked.

  “Most of them have been working the same fields for years. I don’t know how they got into the country initially, and that’s not what I’m here for. I’m simply supervising the construction for Patterson’s project and trying to raise a little public support.”

  Dalton heard the unspoken, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  “There aren’t many people left, though,” Sanderson continued. “A lot found jobs at the aquaculture plants near Mecca.”

  Miri leaned forward. “Carmen said her father’s up north.”

  “That’s another place they’ve gone,” Sanderson said. “It’s a vicious cycle—the growers can’t get pickers because the living conditions are horrifically sub-standard, so the pickers go somewhere else, and the crops rot. They lose money, so they can’t afford to improve living conditions. They don’t plant as much and don’t need as many pickers. Patterson hopes by providing better living conditions, he can break the cycle. More planting, more crops, more pickers.”

  Sounded a lot like Patterson propaganda. On the surface, it made sense, but would it actually come to fruition? Dalton winced at his pun.

  “There,” Hunt said. “On the left.”

  Dalton stopped about twenty yards away, under a small stand of trees where the SUV wouldn’t be visible from the road. “This was the community center?” The small concrete-block building screamed abandoned, from the dark, broken windows to the sagging roof. “Center of what?” There was nothing around.

  “The old trailer park,” Sanderson said. “The former owner hauled all the trailers away about five years ago. Sold ’em for scrap is my guess. This was the only permanent structure. Technically, it’s condemned, but the older kids—hell, probably some of the younger ones—still come by,” Sanderson said. “They hang around the old playground out back.”

  Dealing drugs, Dalton thought. “Why would Nancy come here?”

  “I know she came by at least once to see for herself what the conditions were like, to meet the kids, get their input for the new place,” Sanderson said. His voice caught. “Damn it, she was busy. I was busy. She was excited, I could tell, but we never sat down for the ‘what did you do today, dear?’ stuff. We usually saved that for Sunday mornings. If . . . if we’d made more time.”

  “Hey, shouldn’t we go in?” Miri said, clearly trying to pull Sanderson’s thoughts away from any guilt.

  Sanderson cleared his throat. “Yeah. But I’ve got to warn you. The inside’s disgusting.”

  “What’s the layout?” Dalton asked Sanderson.

  “You walk into one main room. Two bathrooms in the back on the left, but I wouldn’t recommend going near them, and a small kitchen on the right. I haven’t been here since I first arrived. Nothing but junk inside.”

  “Miri,” Dalton said. “There should be a couple of flashlights in the duffel.” He turned to Sanderson. “And there’s one in the glove box.”

  Sanderson leaned forward. “Got it.”

  “Wait,” Dalton said as both flicked on their lights. “Let me make sure we’re alone first.” He hadn’t seen any signs that anyone was using the building, but if they were, they’d have heard the car. He reached over the seat to Miri. “Hand me the penlight, darlin’.”

  She put it in his hand like a scrub nurse handing a doctor a scalpel. “Wouldn’t the big one be better?”

  “Not until I do some basic recon. I won’t be long.” He spoke to Sanderson, lowering his voice. “I’ll flash the light two times if it’s okay to join me. Three times, and you haul ass. Keys are in the ignition.” The man nodded his understanding.

  Miri spoke up. “Pretend I’m not here, why don’t you? Don’t want to scare the little lady?” Sarcasm coated her tone, but he heard fear underneath.

  “Merely a precaution,” Dalton said. He killed the dome light and let himself out, leaving the door ajar. Sanderson crawled over the console into the driver’s seat.

  Once he was away from the car, Dalton took the Glock from the pocket of his cargo pants and tucked it into his belt. Using the faint moonlight for guidance, he stole along the edge of the road toward the building. Someone had locked the front door. He stifled a laugh. A credit card would open it with no trouble. He worked his way around the structure, alert to any motion, but sensed nothing. The pong of ammonia assailed his nostrils as he passed under the two small bathroom windows. He continued his way around the perimeter.

  In the backyard, he froze at the sight of what appeared to be a monster camouflaged by shadows. A high-pitched screeching sound cut through the normal night noises. He drew his Glock and crept toward the apparition.

  Chiding himself when the monster morphed into a playground slide and the sound came from a rusty swing set in motion by the breeze, he did an about face. Time to go inside.

  Boards covered all but the two bathroom windows, which were too small for him to squeeze through. He tried the back door, not surprised it was unlocked.

  A cursory sweep of the space revealed nothing but debris and detritus. Holding his breath, he checked the two bathrooms. Empty, but obviously used long after the plumbing stopped working. Nobody in the kitchen. He toed the cabinet doors open. Four eyes glowed from under the sink. Two cats darted past. He unlocked the front door and flashed his light twice in the direction of his SUV. Almost instantaneously, two shapes emerged, jogging side by side.

  “Did you find anything?” Sanderson whispered.

  “Aside from a playground set masquerading as a Tyrannosaurus, not much. Why don’t you see if anything belongs to Nancy.”

  Sanderson took the big Maglite from Miri. He moved from one pile of junk to the next, kicking aside fast-food bags, cups, mold-encrusted tin cans, an old sneaker, and other assorted discards. Miri coughed. Small wonder. The stench was enough to make your eyes water. Miri stayed with Sanderson, and Dalton went to give the kitchen a closer look.

  A broken camp stove suggested squatters might have used the room. He poked through a pile of rags. Some lengths of rubber tubing. No doubt people used the place to shoot up. Aware he’d grown careless, he stopped using his fingers and moved things with his feet. No need to get stabbed with a used needle. Shit, he should warn Miri and Sanderson.

  “Watch out for needles,” he called. “This is a hype hangout.”

  When he got no reply, he went back to find them. Sanderson knelt on the floor, staring at his clenched fist. Miri crouched beside him, her hand on his shoulder.

  He rushed to them. “You find something?”

  Sanderson opened his palm. Miri shone the light. Something sparkled in his hand.

  “Nancy’s bracelet,” Sanderson said, holding up a length of gold links. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I kept telling her to get the clasp fixed.” He pressed his fingers to his temples.

  Dalton’s head throbbed. Damn. Where were his brains? “Outside. Both of you. Back to the car. Now!”

  Chapter 26

  The urgency in Dalton’s tone sent Miri running. Footfalls drummed behind her. At the Navigator, her heart pounded more from fear than exertion. She spun around to see Dalton half-supporting a stumbling Hunt.

  Another wave of adrenaline crashed over her. “What’s wrong? Hunt, are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay.” He pulled away, coughing, and craned his neck toward the structure. “Nancy.”

  “She’s not inside, man,” Dalton said. He grabbed Hunt’s s
houlders. “That’s what matters.”

  “But . . . what if she left something else?” Hunt shrugged away from Dalton’s grasp. “There could be more evidence. Maybe . . . maybe she tried to leave some kind of clue.”

  Dalton leaned against the car’s fender. Miri’s first rational thought was Dalton discovered a bomb, but if so, they’d be halfway home by now, not standing under the trees.

  Okay, too much thinking, none of which was giving her answers. “Why did you rush us out here?”

  Dalton’s shadowed hands ran across his face, as if he was pulling down a shade. She’d bet his expression would be unreadable in bright sunlight.

  “Crap,” he muttered, pushing past her to get something from his duffel. He used the penlight long enough for her to see it was a large bandana. “This place is a health hazard.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It stank.”

  He shook out the bandana and folded it into a triangle. “I should have caught it sooner, but I thought it was the plumbing. Someone’s been cooking meth in there, and my guess is it was used fairly recently.”

  Miri’s breath caught. “Meth?” Something tickled and teased at a long-buried memory that refused to surface.

  “No question in my mind,” Dalton said. “And my next guess is there are enough residual chemicals to be dangerous. How long has it been empty, Sanderson?”

  “Can’t say for sure. I know it’s been shut down for months. That’s one of the reasons the community center is top priority for Nancy. Patterson agreed, I think, because construction was almost done when I arrived.”

  “You’d think he’d have wanted to get the homes done first,” she said. “What’s the point of a community center if there’s no community to use it?”

  “He wanted to show the locals his commitment, and keep the growers optimistic. Trying to keep the town alive.” Hunt yanked his cap off and threw it to the ground. “But enough of this—we’re wasting time.”

  Dalton bent to retrieve Hunt’s cap. “One minute. Sanderson, you and I will go back in, look and leave. Fast. You see something that might be a clue, it comes outside. Grab first, check later.” He rested his hand on Miri’s shoulder. “You stay here, darlin’.”

  She almost protested, but the thought of going back in there even if it wasn’t a health hazard turned her stomach. And the elusive memory set her nerves on edge. “Yes, sir,” she said, adding enough sarcasm to disguise her relief.

  “You’re on lookout,” he told her. “If anyone approaches, drive to the house and pick us up. No lights.”

  “Why not move the car closer?” Miri asked.

  “Can’t see enough from there because of the curve in the road. From here, you can watch both the road and the house and be out of anyone’s line of sight.”

  Made sense, but she felt like a sitting duck alone out here. “You’re the boss,” she muttered.

  Dalton handed Hunt the bandana. “Cover your nose and mouth.” Dalton hitched his shirt up to cover the lower half of his own face. “Keep as much of your skin covered as possible. Even residual chemicals can cause nasty burns. Miri, there are latex gloves in the duffel. Outside pocket. Cardboard box.”

  She found the box and held the flashlight while the men donned the gloves. “Hurry back,” she said.

  Dalton tugged the shirt from his face and kissed her forehead. “Warp speed.”

  “Transporter would be better.” Her skin tingled where his stubble rubbed. She savored the sensation as they jogged away, trying to ignore the sense of abandonment. She climbed into the driver’s seat. Inhaling deeply to calm herself, she noticed there wasn’t a hint of sandalwood in the car anymore. Only sweat and chemicals.

  She sniffed again. Cooking meth, Dalton said. She knew that smell. But from where?

  Relax. Don’t try so hard. It’ll come to you. Do your job.

  She twisted in the seat, leaned out the window, trying to scan in all directions, wondering if she’d notice anyone if they didn’t arrive by car. Her fingers found the keys hanging from the ignition. She pretended to turn them, rehearsing in case they needed her. Her feet barely reached the pedals, so she adjusted the seat.

  Another look at the path. Nothing. Her gaze continued to the house. A flashlight’s glow shone from a window, then disappeared. She sent mental messages.

  Hurry. We have to find Nancy. Get away from those chemicals.

  A ripple of fear snaked down her spine with the memory of a mother and three kids who’d shown up at Galloway House. They’d run from a home where her husband cooked meth. They’d been hospitalized for several days before moving away to live with the woman’s aunt somewhere in the desert. And something about one of the kids’ severe liver damage. Or was it kidneys?

  How long had Nancy been inside? Maybe someone stole Nancy’s bracelet and dropped it, and Nancy had never been here at all.

  But, dear God, what if she had been, and what if she was pregnant? What about the baby? She’d barely run the possibilities through her mind when she heard foliage rustling. She held her breath, straining to pinpoint and identify the sound. Her hand rested on the keys, her fingers twitching them to a soft jingle. She clamped them in her damp palm.

  A small furry blur raced in front of the car. A larger furry blur followed. Cats? Foxes? Definitely animals. Telling herself it was normal night stuff, she took slow, even breaths, waiting for the adrenaline jolt to ease. That smell again. And this time, the memory came back. She closed her eyes.

  She was six? Seven? She and Nancy. Dragged somewhere with Mom. A house? Apartment? It smelled like that. She was cold, tired. Her jacket wasn’t warm enough. Underneath, she wore nothing but her pajamas. And there was a man with Mom. He smelled like that, too.

  “You girls be good,” Mom said. She’d shoved the two of them into a tiny bedroom. They huddled together on a single bed. No sheets. Just a scratchy blanket. Miri’s skin itched with the memory. Noises from the other room, but Nancy sang, telling Miri to join in. “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

  When the noises stopped, Miri slept. She woke up when the man came in and pulled at her pajama bottoms. Nancy kicked him. Hard. In the place she’d told Miri to kick if someone tried to touch her wrong.

  The man fell. He curled up on the floor like a dog. Nancy screamed for Mom, but she didn’t come. Nancy dragged Miri outside, and they ran and ran until they couldn’t run anymore, and then they hid in the alley until morning, and then they went home, and Mom was asleep on the couch.

  Movement brought Miri back. Gasping, shaking, filmed in sweat, she wiped tears from her cheeks. Had they found Nancy? Please, let her be all right. She had to be all right.

  Dalton and Hunt appeared on the path. No Nancy. Her heart sank. Both men walked upright, their strides sure and even, neither leaning on the other. She flung the door open, grabbed a flashlight, and rushed toward them.

  “Did you find anything?” She played the light over their faces. Hunter squinted and covered his eyes with his arm. She lowered the beam to the ground. “Sorry.”

  “Nothing,” Dalton said. “Let’s go check out the other site.”

  She climbed into the backseat. Hunter wiped his face with the bandana. Before she fastened her seatbelt, the car sprung to life. Dalton hung a rapid three-point turn, spinning dirt and gravel. Thrown sideways, Miri grabbed the oh shit handle for balance. They drove without lights until they hit the road. She stared out the window. It seemed strange to see even the short distance illuminated by the headlights after being in darkness.

  Dalton seemed calmer. At least his driving was. A muffled chinking sound came from the front seat. She peered around to see Hunt shifting Nancy’s bracelet from one hand to the other. The brief glimpse of his face in the flashlight beam had ripped her heart. Afraid anything she said about Nancy’s exposure to meth chemicals would destroy his control, she leaned forward and rested her hand on his arm. He pressed his hand atop hers and left it there. As they drove, she listened to the quiet clicks as he tossed the bracelet in hi
s other hand.

  * * * * *

  Dalton pulled his eyes off the road to check his cell display. Crap, he’d gotten better reception in the middle of the jungle. “Here,” he said, handing the phone to Sanderson. “Tell me when I can make a damn call.”

  “Should be fine around the next curve in the road.”

  “Who are you calling?” Miri asked from the backseat.

  “Nobody, apparently.” Where were the communications specialists, the folks who made sure everything worked? Not to mention the controller who would have a handle on all the pieces. Running an op as a civilian sucked.

  “Got it,” Sanderson said.

  “Punch five,” he said, swerving to avoid a pothole.

  Sanderson obeyed and handed it back. Dalton held the phone to his ear, relieved when Zeke’s voice sputtered through. “About time, Cowboy.”

  “Tell me you’ve got something, and make it good.”

  “Nothing on your woman. Yet. I’ve run all the hospitals within a hundred miles. No hits. Nothing on her car, either.”

  “So, what do you have?” He glanced at Sanderson, the man’s face both eager and apprehensive. Another pothole caught him off guard and the car bounced. He wished for a headset so he could deal with driving. He considered the speaker setting on his cell but thought better of it. Sanderson deserved to know, but he might not understand the way Zeke parceled out information. To civilians, he’d come across as flip and uncaring. He tried flashing a brief smile at Sanderson but didn’t think it reassured him.

  Silence. Dalton checked the cell, which displayed one lousy bar. “Zeke?”

  “What’s going on?” Sanderson asked. “Have they found something?” His voice shook. Zeke’s voice came back. Dalton raised a finger, signaling Sanderson to wait.

  “I’m here, Cowboy. I got the results of some cross-reference searches. Seems a Wendy Grantham was arrested yesterday for smuggling at the border in Calexico.”