Chapter Four

The temperature on the gauge by the general store said it was 98 degrees. Amanda didn't think that she had ever been quite so hot at a little after four in the afternoon. The sun seemed to be a totally different creature here than it was in California, even though they weren't that far from the state line.

The general store was the largest building they had seen in Beatty so far. It had two gas pumps out front and a large fan inside. Mark and Ron were talking to the owner, making enquiries about Melosa Arriaga and she knew that before long one of her friends would lose his temper and begin to shout. They needed to go see the house, but without the local sheriff they had no idea how to get there. He had been called to a barn fire because he was also the local fire chief and apparently there was no telling how long he would be.

In the end it was Ron who had gotten angry first and, using all his self-control, had taken out his FBI ID and insisted that someone direct him to the house he needed to visit.

. . . . . . . . . .

Something told him that moving away from the hills was a mistake. But he hurt so much that climbing things wasn't an idea he wanted to pursue. His chest was agony now every time he breathed, the uneven terrain was jolting his shoulder and thinking was becoming an art form. Suddenly though he was on high alert. A sound, in this totally barren and silent world, he had heard a sound.

He whirled round jolting and jarring every part of him, but he had to find out where the noise was coming from. As he stopped moving he heard a distinctive rattle and then saw the head of a snake rise up before him. He took a step backwards without looking and his left foot slid away from him as the sand disappeared down a sudden slope and he rolled and bounced all the way until the ground hit him at the bottom.

. . . . . . . . . . .

One of these days he was sure he would get Sloan back for the ants. He hadn't thought about it in a while but now, as he walked along a dusty Nevada road, Ron was back in the barn in his mind, with red fire ants climbing up his leg and Steve just out of reach apparently enjoying every moment. Steve had kept telling him how he wouldn't be able to think about anything other than those darn ants crawling up his leg while he had a bomb trigger underneath his shoe.

Although he wouldn't admit it Ron hoped that people would consider him brave and good at what he did, but those minutes, which had seemed like hours, standing totally still, unable to move, he had been neither. With hindsight he'd realised that his friend was just as scared as he was, but the way Steve had dealt with the situation had helped him to stay calm himself. Well, apart from those ants and when Sloan had come up to him with the metal shield making out that the bomb disposal guys thought they had disarmed it but weren't sure. Then he had pushed him backwards into the animal stalls. He had annoyed himself by crying out and seen the look of enjoyment on Steve's face. He'd pretty much hated him then but one day, one day, he would get even. For a moment his face clouded over. He had to find him first, then he could get even.

Slowing to a halt Ron began to check the piece of paper in his hand and he realised that they had arrived.

Ron wasn't sure if it was because he knew something bad had happened in the house or not but he thought it looked like the kind of place that it could happen. He shook his head; too much time with the Sloans was causing him to become fanciful.

The walk from the store had taken them about ten minutes and now they were definitely on the outskirts of town. Ron knew that his friend's screams wouldn't have been heard this far out, and he was sure, however courageous and stoic the man was, there would definitely have been screams. "This is it. According to Kyle Hunter in the store, Melosa, who clearly doesn't live up to her name, rented the place about a month ago."

"How do you mean?" Jesse had stopped and was leaning back against the railings in front of the house. He was wearing pale blue pants and a white cotton shirt but still he was sweltering.

"Her name, which is Spanish, means gentle and sweet." Ron looked a little embarrassed as he finished speaking.

"However do you know that?" Amanda was amazed, but then this gentle giant often did that to her.

"Umm, Kyle told me." Ron pulled open the gate and hurried up the pathway to cover his confusion and so didn't see the look of love that Amanda directed his way.

. . . . . . . . . .

He hadn't thought that it was possible to hurt any more than he had before but now, now that he had finally stopped moving, he knew he had been sadly mistaken.

He also knew that he had to get to his feet, that lying here, wherever here was, would do even more harm than good and so, carefully, he began working out which bits of him hurt the least so that he could use them to help him stand.

He must be on the beach there was so much sand, but where was the house? "Dad … Dad, I need … need you to help me." He was overcome by a sudden bout of coughing and by the time he had finished he felt sure his chest was going to explode. He saw blood stain the ground in front of him and again his worry increased. "Please … please come find me … Mom?" He knew that was wrong, his mom couldn't come, she was busy somewhere, at the hospital, he knew she spent a lot of her days at the hospital.

Finally he got to his knees, the world swam around him and he steadied himself with his left hand. His chest was tight now, he could feel his heart beating hard and fast and he thought he was going to be sick. The stone was cool on his head, he should put his head on the stone but it had gone, all the stone had gone, and he was on the beach, if he waited on the beach his dad would find him. That's what he would do; he would wait for his dad.

. . . . . . . . . .

The house was just a normal house. Mark wasn't sure what it was that he'd expected but it looked like any house you would find in a small desert town. Inside the rooms were small; the entranceway went right into the living room where there was a sofa with a soft light brown throw with an Indian motif across the back. The rug looked as if it had Indian designs on it too and there was also a dark brown slightly battered leather easy chair. A TV was situated in the corner so that the bright glare from outside didn't hit the screen. It was on top of a cabinet of some kind and he moved across and opened the two doors and looked inside.

Ron had been leafing through a pile of mail which he had picked up off the mat. It had a rack on the mantle above the fireplace, although what anyone would want with a fireplace out here he couldn't guess. "Mark, that's where Steve's personal stuff, or some of it, was found," he pointed to the inside shelf of the entertainment center as he spoke putting the mail where it belonged at the same time. "His empty holster was there and next to it was the wallet that had his ID in it. His cuffs were in here too. They've all been taken as evidence." Ron decided not to let Mark know that the cuffs had been used and covered with blood because he knew that it was Steve's.

"Where is she? Do you think that she'll come back?" Jesse looked around him; suddenly he had a very bad feeling that they were being watched.

"No, not necessarily, Jess. Maybe she knew that in the end we would put two and two together and stop making five. That we would find the link. Jennifer's body would have been found sooner if her cleaning lady hadn't been on vacation for a week. She'd realise that once we knew about her that things would start to fall into place." Mark had spoken for a lot longer than he had in days and Jesse just nodded his head.

"Yeah, I guess. So now what do we do?"

"We do just as we would if we were helping Steve in one of his investigations, the fact that he isn't here makes no difference. Usually we find clues, this time we'll find him." Mark tried to be as upbeat and businesslike as usual but inside of him was the knowledge that every second that passed was a second that his son most likely didn't have to spare.

. . . . . . . . . .

He had been waiting a long time. Perhaps he was in the wrong place. Maybe he should wait on the stones and not the sand. His dad could park the car easier there. Nodding his head and then retching he stopped thinking until his stomach quietened down and then, when it did, tried to re-group. His mind was so fuzzy, thoughts kept coming into his mind but they didn't seem to belong to each other. His wrist had begun to sting when he fell over in the sand and now he could see that it had bruises and cuts on it. The wrist enveloped in the pants leg also stung, but it was more of a feeling of friction, or rubbing. For a moment his mind cleared and he remembered where he got some of the pain from.

"If you would just move inside your house, Lieutenant, there are a few things I need you to collect for me."

He had done as he was told, he could see people on the sand and he didn't want to endanger anyone by acting foolishly. Unfortunately, although he could see them, it didn't appear that they could see him and so no one noticed that he was being held at gun-point.

"I don't have anything of any value. What is it that you want?" Strike up a dialogue, that's what all the hostage manuals told you and so he had begun talking only to feel the muzzle of the gun dig sharply into the back of his neck.

"What I don't want is conversation, get inside and shut up!" He had complied; there was something in her voice which told him that to do otherwise would be a big mistake.

His apartment had looked suddenly small as the two of them stood inside the glass doors. The gun had been moved slightly from his neck but he was still very conscious of its presence there.

"Where are the tools of your trade?"

"What?" He tried to turn to see the woman who held him so easily but again the gun moved and this time he heard her cock the hammer in readiness for use.

"I want your gun, your badge, your cuffs and phone and I want them now. You tell me where they are and we will get them together. Play games with me and your father will find your head splattered around the room."

That had done it for him, the mention of his dad stopped any thoughts of trying to overpower this woman and he had led her to his bedroom where she had taken the gun, its holster as well as his ID and his cell phone and put them into the bag she wore around her waist. The cuffs she had held in her hands for a moment and then with the gun still pointed at him she had spoken again. "Put one of these around your wrist."

"Why?"

"No questions just do it." He knew that the gun was loaded and ready to go off and so he had done as she said. He had clicked the cuff shut on about the second or third notch so that it fell down over the widest part of his hand.

"Put your arms behind your back." Again it was a command that had to be obeyed and he had done so. The second cuff had clicked into place and then suddenly both of them had been tightened excruciatingly and it had been all he could do to stop himself from crying out.

"If anyone asks I am arresting you, Lieutenant. But they won't. You have the bonus of a very private front yard. We will be long gone before anyone misses you."

"No. You're wrong. My dad and my friends they'll miss me almost right away."

She had just smiled and then, changing her voice, had begun to speak. "Is that Community GeneralHospital? Oh good. Um, I need to leave a message for Doctor Sloan from his son, Steve. He has been offered a couple of day's vacation so we are going to go off just the two of us. He'll be back after the weekend. Could you pass that on? You could? Thank you so much." She had smiled and then her voice had become normal again. "It was so straightforward and then the police station, in a way that was even easier."

"Why are you doing this?" He had been in the rear of his own truck by now, forced down between the front and back seats his arms held at an almost impossible angle.

"Because I can. Don't you want to know what I said to the nice man on the desk at your precinct? You do? Well if you insist." Again the voice changed. "Is that North Hollywood? Oh good, I'm phoning on behalf of my boyfriend, Steve Sloan. He's a lieutenant in Homicide. He must have eaten something bad last night because he is just so sick. I don't know that he will be back tomorrow, maybe a couple more days than that" She paused and then in her voice changed once more. "It was that simple."

He hadn't spoken, not because he had nothing to say, he did, plenty, but because he knew that none of it would do any good.

The heat beat down on him and the scene in his mind faded away. He had been kidnapped, tortured, there was no other word for it, and now he was fighting for his life. His mind was suddenly totally clear, he knew exactly where he was and why. He also knew that he was walking in the wrong direction, that he had turned away from the sanctuary he had been seeking and now it was farther away than ever.

The mixture of hunger, thirst and pain would, he knew, cloud his mind again before long and he needed to have a plan that he could follow easily by then. Standing up very carefully he looked around him. He only had one eye that was actually working and so the vision splay was greatly reduced. Slowly though he began to see something. He wasn't sure what it was but he was positive that in the distance he could see a structure of some kind. He stopped looking as his mind finally filled in another piece of the puzzle. He remembered who she was. Melosa, he had known that since she'd pulled a gun on him. Arriaga, that was her surname, and she had told him that as they had pulled away from his prison in her jeep.

"You still have no idea who I am, do you, Lieutenant?"

"No … just my jai … jailer." He tried again to see a likeness with anyone that he knew, but whether it was his condition or maybe he was just being slow, he couldn't do it.

"My brother was called Mando Arriaga and he worked for Denise Steiner. Your father took over her show and ruined my life."

Now he remembered. Mando had framed the woman he loved for the murder of the person who had sent his family back to Mexico. "He … he was … guilty … he got what … he deserved." The jeep screeched to a halt and he braced himself for what was to come.

Instead of the beating he expected though she just looked at him and laughed. "What would your father think if he could see you now?"

He couldn't answer, he was too ashamed of himself, and however much he wanted and needed his dad he was glad he couldn't see him this way.

Again the scene faded and he took a moment to try and analyse his situation. He knew that his dad would tell him to take it easy, keep it at a slow and steady pace but get to shade as soon as he could. His injuries though didn't help his position at all. His shoulder was so painful that he had to consciously put it out of his mind. He didn't think his ribs had punctured his lung when he rolled down the sandbank but the blood he was coughing up concerned him, and the throbbing from his back told him that the lacerations there were already infected. The feelings of nausea were beginning to return and he knew that without food or more importantly liquid soon it wouldn't matter where he was because he would be dead.

. . . . . . . . . .

The kitchen, bedrooms and bathroom were still waiting to be searched but all of them knew that the cellar was where they had to go. They also knew that it was a crime scene and although it had been dealt with they still needed to be careful. The stairs leading down were cut out of the stone which was everywhere in Beatty. Carefully they made their way down holding on to the rope banister which guided their way.

The room was the size of the house and had been split by partial partitions into smaller areas. The first of these had a metal enclosure in it which had obviously housed dogs at one time.

Mark looked at the cage but didn't say a word. Instead he moved on into the main area of the cellar and then staggered back against Jesse.

"Mark, steady." His young friend put a comforting arm around him and together they surveyed the scene.

"My God, Jesse, look at it. Look what she must have done to him."

The room was reasonably large and one half of it was just plain stone with some ornate old fashioned chairs and a table in it. The other half was like a medieval torture chamber.

There were manacles coming out of the wall near to the ground which were obviously for feet and then further up for arms but they weren't close together, if you were put in them you would be totally vulnerable to any attack.

"I thought … I thought … he is so strong, so fit, but it wouldn't have helped … it wouldn't have helped at all." Mark looked around him, the blood on the walls belonged to his son and he had worked with the police long enough to be able to read the splatter patterns. Before he spoke though he turned to Amanda for confirmation and then let her speak instead.

"I would say that the pattern of the splatters shows that he was hit with something. The blood was forced out in lines so the something would be straight."

"Like a riding crop." Ron didn't really want to mention it but he knew that the information he had was different to that which had been given to the three people with him.

"Yes, like a riding crop … he was hit with a riding crop?" Amanda's eyes filled with tears as she realised Ron hadn't asked a question and she saw him nod his head. Amanda had ridden a lot when she had been growing up and had hated to use a whip on a horse. The pain that it felt through its thick hide had been abhorrent to her and now she tried to pull her mind away from the agony which must have been inflicted on her friend.

She had known Steve for almost all her adult life. He had been there for her whenever she needed him and through the years that had been quite often.

Amanda remembered the time when she had been surfing on line and seen a woman killed. He had been so kind, so helpful and then, when another person had been murdered right there in front of both of them, well, she didn't think that she would have wanted anyone other than him to be the one there with her to hold her tight and help her through the ordeal.

CJ and Dion loved him and enjoyed his company too. He would deny that he was any good with young kids but he was wonderful with them. They would get him back, they had to.

"Mark, the cages had dogs in them, and our crime scene guys found part of a shirt here, an ordinary checked one … it had been ripped to shreds. There was blood on it which matched that from the walls."

"She set dogs on him?" Mark was ashen as he considered the possibility of his son being attacked in that way. "You saw those pictures how could she do that when he was already so weak, so badly hurt?" He paused but then asked another question. "Where would she do that?"

"Death Valley." Jesse spoke quietly, he wasn't sure where the words came from but he knew he was correct.

"What?" Ron had been looking at the manacles on the wall. There was blood on them too and he knew that his friend's wrists would be cut and bleeding just to add to the other injuries he had.

"If she wanted to set her dogs on him she would take him to Death Valley." His certainty rose each time he said it. Steve had been kidnapped and tortured. What better way to finish him off than to dump him in the desert and then hunt him down?

"Then we have to get ourselves a vehicle and go find him." Mark spoke as if he was about to head off in the direction of the stairs but he didn't actually move a muscle.

"I don't know if there's a rent-a-car place in Beatty but the guy at the general store had a truck, I'm sure we could borrow that." Ron thought for a moment; he had a feeling that Travis was right about what happened, even though there was no actual proof. He knew that both Steve and Mark put a great deal of store by what he said and this time he did too. Ron looked at the older man and realised just how much the whole ordeal was taking out of him. They had to move but he was worried about Mark and just how much more he could deal with. "The helicopter can get here in about twenty minutes, I'll get that organised too."

"Mark? Did you hear Ron? We can use the truck from the store and the chopper." Amanda placed her hand on Mark's arm and he seemed to jerk back to reality.

"Yes, yes, borrow the truck. Steve's truck is missing. We need to find his truck, he loves it. He'll want it back." Amanda and Jesse shared a look of horror as Mark seemed to get stuck in the words unable to find a way out.

"Mark, let's go back to the store. It'll be cooler now. We can stock up on water and food and go find Steve." Jesse decided that the best thing was to ignore what his friend had just said and try to take a little control of the situation himself. Carefully he guided him towards the stairs and let him take the lead followed by Amanda and then he and Ron went after that both men casting an eye back over the prison as they did so.

. . . . . . . . . .

The ground underfoot had gradually changed back to the rock he remembered from before. But he was having trouble focussing on what he was supposed to do. One foot in front of the other. He remembered that. His feet were aching and oh so hot but he knew he had to keep walking. The small building was still in front of him but now he could see something else too. He could see the hills again, the hills that he had been going towards. What was it that had been on the other side? He had been aiming for something but what was it? Why couldn't he remember? If he couldn't remember how would he know if he found it? How would he know if he had arrived where he was supposed to be? With a sudden sob he found himself on his knees and his energy deserted him as his tears began to flow.

. . . . . . . . . .

The journey out of the house had been halted while Ron put a call through to the general store to make sure that the truck would be available. Once that had been ascertained Jesse opened the front door and let the three others pass through before him. He had just turned from making sure that it was closed if not locked when a flash of metal caught his eye followed by a sharp retort and to his horror he saw Mark fall to the ground blood spreading rapidly across his chest.