“What would your wife and her friend say to that?”
“Jan will go along; she’s curious about you. Her old college roommate’s a real nice woman. I’m sure we can find room for you.”
We agreed to meet in three days, just before the snow was forecast to hit the mountains.
As Mike was signing off, I had a thought.
“Hey, one more thing. You said your guys would be keeping an eye on me. Where were they yesterday?”
“What makes you think we weren’t there watching?”
“I noticed you just let me be hauled off to jail.”
“Your life is your problem. We only care if it looks like you’re going rogue.”
*
I gave the cops until noon. In the meantime, I daydreamed about the cowboys at The Oasis bar and going rogue.
As the local deputy was passing out baloney sandwiches for lunch, I decided it was time. I grabbed my cell phone and walked out of my cell and up toward the office.
“Lieutenant, you look like you didn’t sleep well last night,” I said, approaching the state cop working at a borrowed desk.
“You ever going to tell me about that mark on your face?”
“Probably not. Are you going to charge me or not?”
He leaned back in chair and combed his fingers through thinning hair. His uniform shirt showed fresh sweat stains despite the frigid air.
We stared at one another for a moment.
He swung forward, his hands landing on the desk covered with papers. He looked up at me, puzzlement playing across his face.
“I could. I could hold you until I get the autopsy results. But then you’d call a lawyer up from Albuquerque or Santa Fe, and the paperwork would be horrendous.
“So, no, not right now. But I’m still interested in you.” He swept his hand across the desk full of papers. “I have all the information I need to track you down whenever I want.”
He picked up the sheet at the top of the mess and began studying it.
“You say hi to your friends in the Pentagon, and have a nice day.”
I picked up my keys from the dispatcher and walked out into the searing heat. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I searched for signs of Mike Owens’ people but didn’t notice anyone out of place. The state cop showed no signs of letting up on his investigation. And three cowboys lay in a giant refrigerator someplace.
One thing was clear: Whatever was going on, I didn’t control it. Hell, I couldn’t even remember it.
Chapter 19
Stranded
Three days later, I sat in the lobby of the Red Cliffs Motel in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, watching the snow pelt down as disappointed travelers came and went.
In the span of a few days and a few hundred miles, I had driven from one weather extreme to another. Now I was temporarily detained again, this time by a spring blizzard that shut down I-70.
For the fifth time in the last hour, the automatic doors of the air lock hissed open, dumping a swirling cloud of snowflakes onto the welcome mat. A red North Face parka stomped through the doors, shaking snow off calf-high UGG boots. The hood flipped back to reveal auburn hair and a smile that warmed me all over. She pulled off her calf leather gloves and unzipped her coat as she approached the front desk.
Tall, maybe 5 feet 9 inches, she was well-proportioned in what my mother would have called a “large-boned” way. I admired her form and watched her request a room.
The Red Cliffs Motel was the end of the line for I-70 refugees. All of the hotels and inns closer to the interstate exit had posted NO VACANCY signs late in the afternoon.
This woman exuded class as she pleaded with the exhausted clerk. I had seen more than a few overbearing travelers harangue the pimple-faced kid behind the desk in the hours since I had claimed the last room. The clerk offered to see if he could find a cot that she could set up in the breakfast room. That would be more comfortable and private than sleeping on one of the sofas in the lobby, the only other option, he said.
I wondered how she had made it this far in her sporty Mercedes coupe, already sprouting a layer of snow under the canopy out front. Clearly the hundred thousand dollars’ worth of car would not take her any farther, and this storm looked like it would last a while. She was stuck.
On the other hand, my four-wheel-drive monster could probably push deeper into the mountains, but I was in no hurry, and I thought any motel would be more comfortable than camping in a snow bank.
I was also a little apprehensive about meeting Mike Owens’s family and hostess. I noticed every sideways glance at my face. Most people tried a little too hard not to notice. I figured I would get used to it in time, but that was still in the future.
The New Mexico incident nagged at me. I had things to sort out before Mike inevitably grilled me about it.
The clerk slipped away from the front desk, and the woman turned and smiled at me again. I smiled back, keeping the right side of my face in the shadows.
I pondered my next move for an instant, rejected good sense, rose and approached her.
“Excuse me for intruding,” I said, “but I overheard your conversation with the clerk. I apparently got the last room. It has two queen beds. If you would feel comfortable sharing, you would be welcome to the second bed.”
She hesitated.
Shit! She must think I’m a perv trying to pick her up. I cursed my stupidity under my breath.
“I’m sorry. I should not have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking,” I said.
I started to back away, my entire face flushed red with embarrassment.
She eyed my cheek, and I knew she must be thinking that I was not only a molester but a disfigured freak. I felt like I should report myself to the cops.
“Really, I’m sorry,” I said.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” she said, looking over her shoulder at the swirling snow outside. “I would split the cost with you.”
“Um.”
This was a bad idea. I spoke in a rush.
“Ah, no. No need. The room is paid for. No one will be using the bed.
“But if you’re uncomfortable, maybe I could just give you the room. I camp out a lot, and I could make myself comfortable anywhere.”
“That’s very kind, but no, I won’t put you out. If you can be comfortable with me sharing the room, I can do the same,” she said. “By the way, I’m Amanda.”
She held out her hand. I took it in mine, registering the coolness of her skin.
“Sebastian. Sebastian Arnett. I’m a photographer. Here’s my key card. Room 402. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Her smile dazzled.
“I’m a big girl, in more ways than one.”
I reddened again. I’d been thinking just that.
“I have an idea that would make me feel better,” I said. “Maybe you, too.”
“What’s that?”
I dug into my wallet.
“Here’s my driver’s license. Contact a friend. Explain the situation. Arrange for a check-in,” I said. I handed her the piece of plastic.
“All right.” She stuffed it in the pocket of her coat. “I’ll leave it on the desk in the room.”
“One more thing,” I said.
I bent over and pulled up the leg of my jeans. Then I carefully lifted a wickedly sharp Ka-Bar from its sheath in my cowboy boot and handed it to her. I had taken to carrying the knife after Borneo. I didn’t have any knife-fighting skills to speak of. I just felt more comfortable with it, and my New Mexico experience had done nothing to take that away. I had changed, I realized. And I needed a way to feel secure without going all freakish and damaging innocent people.
“Be careful. It’s extremely sharp. If you feel threatened during the night, just stab or slash with it. I’m going to take a walk in the snow. I’ll be up to the room before midnight. That should give you plenty of time to settle in.”
I returned to my seat on the sofa, gathered my own parka and screwed a
black Stetson onto my head and walked toward the door. I needed time to think about things that confused me. That New Mexico thing, and just now, offering to share a hotel room with a beautiful stranger.
*
I woke the next day to the sound of a shower. It took me a moment to recall where I was—and where I wasn’t.
The room felt cool, and faint light leaked through the sides of the curtains. I huddled under the covers. I hated the heat and humidity of Borneo, which smothered me like a wet blanket, but this morning I would have exchanged it for the chill in the dry Colorado air.
The bedside clock reported it was almost eight. The shower stopped. I needed to get dressed.
I threw off the blankets. The cold stung as I hustled to pull on the jeans and sweater I’d worn yesterday. I pulled back the plastic curtain and blinked. The mountains in the distance, trees and buildings close by, and every car in the parking lot lay hidden under dazzling white. I didn’t see how we could get out of here today.
“Good morning.”
I jumped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.
I turned and faced my overnight guest. Her auburn hair was combed but still wet. She was dressed in jeans and a bulky sweater with one of those collars that seemed to droop and roll over itself. There was probably as much knitted material in the collar as in the rest of the sweater, and I couldn’t help noticing the large amount of sweater upfront.
“Hello. Good morning,” I said.
“You look like you forgot about me,” she said.
“No.” It was a lie. I was always alone, had been for four years.
“I was just blinded,” I said.
“Why, thank you for the compliment.”
“What?”
“So, I wasn’t what blinded you,” she said.
“No,” I said. “It was the snow.”
She flushed and turned to look for something in her suitcase. I realized she had been bantering, almost flirting, and I had missed it. Sarah and I used to do that, but that had been a lifetime ago. I, too, turned away from the awkwardness and gazed out the window.
“I’ve been traveling alone for months, here and abroad,” I said. “I’ve forgotten what conversation is like.”
The woman sat on her bed and slipped on thick socks.
What was her name? Samantha? No, it started with an A. Amy? Angela?
“What were you doing, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Just looking out the window. Daydreaming,” I said.
“I meant on your travels. You said you’d been traveling alone for months. Didn’t your family miss you?”
“Photographing flowers,” I said. “Southeast Asia, then Mexico, and working my way up the Front Range. I thought I was following spring, but then I ran into this.
“And no family, no close family,” I said.
She tugged on the same boots she’d worn last night. She obviously had money but didn’t require new shoes every day.“These late storms happen around here,” she said. “Not every year, but they happen. They go as quickly as they come.”
“This is a different world from what I’m used to,” I said.
“What are you used to?” she asked.
“Spring flowers by the end of March.”
“You won’t find that here. Late May or early June is more likely. This is still ski season.”
“I actually knew that. I’m detouring from New Mexico to visit a friend and his family in Aspen.”
“That’s a long detour,” she said.
“Not compared with going all the way back to the East Coast. What about you? Are you a skier?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m visiting friends in Aspen, too.”
“You don’t seem fazed by getting stuck in a blizzard,” I said.
“No. As I say, it happens. The highway department is very good about advertising when they’re going to shut down a road. People get off the highways and hunker down. It snows. It passes. And the skiing is usually great afterward,” she said.
“That’s outside my experience. Out East, we’ve been getting less snow over the years, even in the mountains.”
“Is that where you live?”
“I’ve got a cabin in West Virginia near the Maryland—Virginia border. When I’m not traveling, I spend time there.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Actually, I think this hotel has more amenities.”
Some of the awkwardness that had melted away returned.
“Thank you again for letting me share your room. I really appreciate it,” she said. “I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in the breakfast room.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you up when I came in last night.”
“No. I was still awake. You didn’t even turn on a light. But I felt the cold you brought in.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” I said.
“No need to apologize. I was cozy, and it is your room, after all.”
“Well, that’s all right. How long will it be before they open the roads?” I asked.
“Has it stopped snowing?” She approached the window and stood beside me.
“I think so. The snow seems to be swirling up from the ground,” I said.
“Well, then, it’s stopped. That’s just the wind. We should be able to get out of here just as soon as the plows pass.”
“Well, feel free to use the room as long as you like.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll probably just pack up and head out to a coffee shop. There are a few Starbucks, even here in Glenwood Springs.”
“Well, I don’t want to drive you out,” I said.
“You’re not driving me out,” she said, closing her suitcase. “Good deeds shouldn’t turn into bad experiences.”
“Well, I hope you don’t think this was a bad experience,” I said.
“No, of course not.” She held out her hand, and I took it. It was soft and firm at the same time.
“It was nice meeting you,” I said.
“You, too. And thank you again, Sebastian.”
She unbolted the door and maneuvered her suitcase into the hall. She poked her head back into the room.
“By the way, your knife is in the bathroom. I didn’t need it.”
Then she was gone.
As the door closed, I thought, Shit, I can’t remember her name.
I could have offered to buy her coffee. Of course, she could have invited me to join her if she had wanted, and she could have offered her name again, too. I turned back to the window and saw my reflection gazing at me.
The last month or so had started teaching me to be realistic. If our places were reversed and she had a scar on her face like mine, I would have bolted, too.
Chapter 20
Reunion
“You having second thoughts about inviting me?” I said over the phone as I maneuvered over the snow-packed mountain road toward Aspen.“What makes you say that?” Mike asked.
“You’re quiet, and enough time has passed for word of what happened down in New Mexico to filter up your chain of command. I figure you might have news, like your superiors are setting up the ambush even as we speak.”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. They know about it. It adds to their desire to bring you into the fold.”
“You know that isn’t going to happen, so what gives?”
“I think I need to warn you about something, Sebastian.”
“All right. Warn me,” I said.
I felt good. Anytime you can spend a night with a beautiful woman, it’s bound to make the world seem a better place than it actually is.
Even if you slept in two beds.
My overnight roomie was sexy, but what I enjoyed—what I realized I’d been missing—was the companionship, the banter, the domesticity.
I loved Sarah, but I could not bring her back. She never wanted me to be alone, never extracted a deathbed promise to remain celibate until I died. She wanted me happy, just as I wanted her to
be.
I was okay with all that. So I felt good.
Mike did not.
“Did you and Jan have a fight? Is this a bad time for me to come?”
I would let him off easy if he canceled the invitation. Sarah and I had been married a long time; these things happened, I knew.
“No, no, Jan and I are fine. The whole family. It’s good to be together again, the four of us. Those overseas tours take their toll on everyone. But we’re good.”
“You’re rambling, Colonel, in case you hadn’t noticed,” I said, enjoying his discomfort.“Yeah, well, I’m just groping for the right way to bring something up,” Mike said.
“I thought you were a marine. Just spit it out.”
“Jan and her friend don’t know about Borneo. I mean about all that happened to you.”
“The tattoo, you mean,” I said. It always comes back to my scarred face.
“Yeah. Have you given any thought to what you might say if they ask what happened? They’re going to ask, more out of concern than anything else. And I can’t talk about my true relationship with you.”
“Oh, so you mean this friendly thing is just a cover for you stalking me. Thanks a lot.”
“No. Dammit. You know what I mean. I can’t tell them that their government considers you a mobile weapon, and I’m in charge of you.”
I took in the snow, piled higher than my truck on each side of the road. Suddenly I felt hemmed in. The smiley face thoughts vanished. Is this how the rest of my life will be?
“Well, that’s in dispute,” I said. “You think that; I’m still mulling things over.”
“Sebastian, what is it going to take? Never mind. Beside the point. Jan and her friend are two compassionate women who are going to meet you for the first time today. They are going to notice the tattoo; they are going to ask about it. Do you know what you’re going to say?”
“Why would I not tell the truth. I was attacked. Almost died. Natives put this tattoo on my face. And, no, it doesn’t hurt.”
“And the other?”
“I’m in a very good mood,” I lied. “I expect you and I will drink a little too much together. Eat some good food. Maybe Jan will even favor us with a home-cooked meal. I’ll meet your boys. We can watch sports. Smoke some cigars. Do guy things.
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