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Milagros Rodriguez saw plenty of tourists. He ran a ramshackle outfitter's and equipment rental business out of an old Native American souvenir stand a short distance off a dirt road two stones' throw from Nowhere. If you contacted him in advance, he could provide one of the locals—often a relative of his—as a guide. His knowledge of the area, its history, its legends, and his ability to come up with just about any sort of vehicle on short notice had made him the worst kept secret of hikers, rock hounds, fossil hunters, and other extreme outdoorsy types who took pleasure in risking sunstroke, severe dehydration, and other hazards in the name of fun. But the man who'd been waiting outside of the tumbledown shop before sunrise was a bit out of the ordinary.
Milagros spoke not a word as he inserted his key into a small, rusty metal box beside the front door, lifted the lid and entered a code onto the keypad that controlled the door lock. When he heard the creak of hinges, the tall blond man rose with a groan, pressing his hands to his kidneys while bending backward to ease the kinks from his spine. Then he entered the cool, dark interior behind the shop's owner and waited for the lights to come on.
Overhead fixtures placed the interior in a faintly blue-tinged glow that gave the place a somewhat distant, inaccessible quality despite the fact it was packed beam to floor with survival gear. The stranger stood silently observing while Milagros pondered whether to offer him coffee or not. The man's fit physique, his clean and high-tech clothing and gear made the shop keep think he had plenty of spending money. The fact that he was wide awake before sunrise and had been waiting who knew how long for the shop to open suggested he'd probably taken his fill off coffee hours ago.
He watched the tall blond withdraw a bit of paper from his safari vest and unfold it. The stranger strode boldly forward and vanished within the maze of crates, boxes, and stacked gear. Money, thought Milagros appreciatively. This should be a great morning.
He was stirring powdered creamer into his roasted coffee and chicory blend when the man approached the counter and smoothed his list out upon it. His eyes were a shade of blue that made one think of a clear, desert sky midway up between the horizon and the zenith. The man's hair looked soft and shimmered light gold as it drifted a little across the top of his high forehead. He smelled of lemons, peppermint, and pine needles and his fingernails were well-shaped and very clean.
"Hi," the man finally blurted after some awkward hesitation, his eyes betraying the fact that he wasn't certain what language he should address the shop keep in. "I…I have this list-"
Milagros plucked it from beneath his long, pale fingers and lifted his small, wire-framed glasses from where they dangled over his heart up to his face so he could see better. The printing was neat and firm with faint dots beside most of the items listed as though someone had repeatedly pored over the list, counting the items off with a ball point pen. He said nothing as his large, dark chocolate eyes scanned the creased paper, his soft, pink mouth a little slack. Dios mio, he thought, his bushy black eyebrows ticking upward for just a second. This guy knows his stuff! "Uhn-hun," he grunted, folding the paper over his thumb and thinking. "You need ride?"
"No. My Jeep is parked beside the building."
"You need guide?"
"No, sir. I have a map and a compass. I know where I'm going."
Milagros pursed his lips and nodded slightly. "Which direction you go?"
The blond stiffened a little and suspicion added an edge to his voice. "West northwest."
"Wes nor wes," the shop keep repeated, his vision distant. He cut his eyes suddenly toward his customer and smiled, balling the list in his hand. "I know what you need. Come with me."
Surprised, the blond followed him.
