SOMEONE WICKED THIS WAY COMES
"Mr. Bronson, excuse me, you need to fasten your seatbelt. We're landing soon," the stewardess smilingly told her passenger.
"Thanks." Bronson smiled back at her and snapped the buckle of his belt together, pulling the belt tight. "Can't be too careful, right, Elaine?"
"No, sir. I hope you enjoyed your flight."
Bronson tipped his Ray-Bans down with his index finger to leisurely look at her. "Yes, ma'am, I sincerely did," he grinned.
The brunette winked at him. "I hope we'll see you on another one very soon. I'm in town until next Friday. Taking some time off from the friendly skies."
Bronson winked back and tapped his shirt's chest pocket. "I've got your number. I'm in town for a while. Maybe dinner some night before I fly back?"
Elaine Perles smiled again at the man she knew as Chad Bronson. He was attractive, with longish dark brown hair, stubble, and an outdoorsy look. He seemed like he'd be a lot of fun to spend an evening with or more. "When do you have to go back?"
"I'm working on an assignment here. Be here for two weeks. Mebbe a little longer."
"Please give me a call while you're in town."
The plane landed uneventfully, and by the time Bronson retrieved his luggage and was in line for his car at Hertz, he'd become Mike Marrinan, an Ivy League dressed software engineer from Oregon.
Slinging his bags into the Jeep, Marrinan headed out of the parking lot, driving past the 32-foot-tall statue of Blucifer, the blue mustang standing guard over the airport facing downtown Denver. Local legend claimed the statue was cursed; somehow, he was responsible for the deaths of three people, including the artist. His first stop was at a big box sporting goods store, where he made several purchases for sports and camping gear. Then he removed the rental plates in the parking lot, "borrowing" the Colorado plates of the car next to him. He checked the Jeep for any additional hints of it being a rental, running a scanner over it to see if there were electronic tags. He found one, deactivated and removed it. He got back on I 70, making his way west. Once past the Denver Metro area, the landscape changed drastically. He was in the Rockies. A forty-minute drive brought him to exit 239, Idaho Springs. He looked at the welcome sign. Idaho Springs, the home of a former gold mine, river rapids, and the gateway to the Rocky Mountain National Park. He opened his phone and got directions to a nearby storage facility. Ten minutes later, he was the renter of shed number 247 and had stowed his purchases in it using the name of Greg Cole. Stopping at the town's Welcome Center, he got a map of Clear Creek County. Knowing he wouldn't be Cole much longer, he gave his name to the woman at the desk, asking if she knew Ed Brown. He was an old buddy from their days in the San Francisco Police Department. To his surprise, the clerk knew both Brown and his wife, cheerily providing directions to their ranch. Marrinan thanked her, returned to the Jeep, and drove north along the winding roads to the Double B Ranch.