***Well, howdy, cowpokes! No, I'm not dead...nor maimed, just sucked into the crazy whirlwind of summertime with kids. Oh, and my job has been insane. Yeah, yeah...lot's of excuses that you don't care about. So, I'll let you have something yummy: a long chapter!***
***This thing is gearing up to go...sideways? Pear shaped? Kablooey? Oh, you know it's not going to go as planned, right? Good...good. Well, saddle up that dusty horse and see where we land. And I promise, the next updates will be fast and furious! yay!***
***As always, I adore the reviews and thank you so very much. Keep them coming!***
"I realize now that I have been wrong. All this time, I have been waiting. Waiting for what? For someone to find me? For Indians to take my horse? To see a buffalo? Since I arrived at this post I have been walking on eggs. It has become a bad habit, and I am sick of it. Tomorrow I will ride out to the Indians. I don't know the outcome, or the wisdom of this thinking, but I have become a target. And a target makes a poor impression. I am through waiting."
– Dances with Wolves
-o-o-o-
"Too bad you have to die..."
– For a Few Dollars More
Sheryl wiped a sweaty forearm across an equally sweaty forehead as she reached over the dryer to push the start button. The heat was back, it seemed, and even in the early morning hours the laundry room temperature had climbed into uncomfortable. The small fan in the doorway couldn't keep up with the multiple loads of linens in the industrial sized machines, and Sheryl stepped out into the cool shade of the overhang in hopes of catching the breeze. Twisting off the top of the water bottle she kept in her small backpack, she thought about the women who were now starting to rise in their small cabins. The great thing about female guests was that they tended towards cleanliness. The bad thing about female guests was that they tended towards cleanliness. Most of them were taking at least two showers a day, and that led to a larger than normal towel load, not to mention the bed sheets that also suffered from the additional layers of dirt and grime.
It was a dirty life, ranching, and she wondered at the passion demonstrated day after day by the men bunking in the buildings across the corral. The drive that jolted them from bed well before dawn most mornings but still left them laughing and content long after the sun set later the same day. Wondered at the joy it seemed to bring them. Wondered what would bring her the same joy and satisfaction.
She let another cool drink slide down her throat as thoughts of her future tried, and failed, to coalesce in her mind. Tomorrow she would not rise in the wee hours of the morning to dust and vacuum and schlep dirty linens around stuffy sheds. She'd no longer walk down a dusty road with shades of reluctance in every step and the shadow of fear lurking behind dark doorways. Tomorrow she would be free of this place…and that terrified her.
Further thoughts of her nebulous doom were interrupted by the chirp of her cell phone in her pocket. Frowning, she pulled it out to check the caller ID, and a little spark of adrenaline shot through her system when she recognized the number. A number she had programmed in one week ago with trembling fingers and furtive glances around her dimly lit kitchen. Salvation.
"Hello?" she spoke softly, afraid of being overheard by…no one…anyone. Then remembered to identify herself. "This is Sheryl."
"Sheryl, this is Inspector Shannon. Since you answered my call I'm assuming you're still accepting the offer for witness protection?"
The woman's voice was familiar, and Sheryl furrowed her brow as she tried to recall a face to match the voice. There were too many left after obvious eliminations. And, truly, at this point it didn't really matter.
"Yes. I still want protection for my testimony. Although I don't know how much it could possibly help. I don't know that much." She closed her eyes in frustration at her own attempt to negate the deal. Don't back out now. She felt sick to her stomach.
"You obviously know enough to piss off the wrong people, and that's enough for us." The woman's voice echoed slightly, and Sheryl wondered if she was in the bathroom. Hiding out, just like herself. A shaky chuckle escaped, and she put a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound as the inspector continued to speak.
"We're going to get you out today while the task force is making the bust. That will be the safest option for you as the major players will be occupied and the attention will be anywhere but here. Will you have a problem getting back to your apartment by midday?"
Sheryl shook her head, then remembered to speak around the lump in her throat. "No. I'm usually asleep then anyway, so no one will miss me." The sentence ended in a whisper as she was flooded with a memory of Eliot's soft kisses as he slid out of her bed only hours earlier.
Oh god...Eliot. She hadn't told him. Hadn't revealed her ultimate secret. She hadn't wanted to face the hurt in his eyes…accusations of betrayal or selfishness he could potentially hurl her way. It was better this way. Better to just…disappear.
The marshal was talking again and Sheryl concentrated on the voice. "…meet you at your apartment between noon and one p.m. Please be ready to leave. You're only to take a change of clothes for two days of travel. No pictures, no momentos…nothing that can connect you to your life here. If you're unsure about an item, leave it behind. Do you understand?"
"Tyler has a stuffed bear he needs…" Sheryl bit her lip. There was a pause before she heard an answer.
"He can bring that. But just that."
"Okay." The marshal asked her to repeat the instructions. Her own recitation sounded odd to herself. Small. Timid.
"Sheryl," the woman's voice softened. "You're going to be okay. Your kids are going to be okay. Just follow the plan. We're almost there." A pause as she let the words take root. "I need to go now."
Sheryl echoed the goodbye and snapped the phone shut. A breeze floated through the trees to tease the hair on the back of her neck, carrying with it the scent of manure and sweet hay. Morning. Her eyes wandered back to the men now exiting the bunkhouse and heading to the barns. A new day. A fresh start. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she turned back to the laundry room. It was her turn now.
-o-o-
Two hours later, Sheryl stood in the doorway of the main kitchen and looked out upon the guests finishing breakfast in the dining room. Most were clearing their places, rising with grins and the occasional groan, greeting those who remained over one more cup of coffee as they passed by. She was trying to listen. Trying to pick out voices above the drone of simultaneous conversation in an attempt to identify the woman caller. She thought she had caught it once or twice, but was never able to follow the audio trail to the speaker. There were only a handful who still had her notice. Those who fit her ideas of requirements for a U.S. Marshal. Age. Physical fitness. General aura of toughness she would expect. They all sat at the same table.
Sheryl watched as Diane laughed loudly at some joke, joined by Cat and Gina. The other women – Mary, Sophie and Lisa – only grinned as they continued their own conversation. They all seemed watchful, or at least she thought so. Probably a perceived projection of her own guarded existence at this point.
Mary finally rose, initiating a domino effect along the table, and soon the six were emptying their trays into the trash bins by the door. A group with unreadable dynamics, but as Mary and Sophie exited the room, Diane stood back to watch them with a frown. She looked towards the kitchen after a moment, caught Sheryl watching her and grinned with a wink. Then she, too, was gone. Odd. Maybe.
Sheryl grunted with frustration and glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes and she could head home to wait. Her gut churned.
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Marshall could feel it now. That unwelcome sense of foreboding that was only a tentative wisp this morning had now permeated the air until he could almost feel it as an oily coating on his skin. He rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans reflexively, his gaze again darting around the barn environs as he counted ranch hands and riders. Everyone who was anyone on his list was accounted for, each involved in activities necessary for gearing up, and there was nothing untoward or out of place. Just a bustling ranch and its eager participants stirring up the dust and anticipation for the day. But still…
Busying himself with the saddle fastenings on one of the pack horses, he listened to the conversations around him.
"…twenty ranch hands and six lead wranglers. That'll give us two main groups with eight women each…" Carter instructed one of the cooks as they walked towards the main lodge. Logistics for the kitchen crew that Marshall knew too well would change before the day was over.
"…after tonight, she'll beg you to saddle her up!" Laughter from a group of the younger men as they teased a newbie.
"…don't know if it was the eggs or the potatoes, but something's not sitting well." One of the women. Marshall glanced towards the voice: Sophie. Diane sidled up to her. "Once you get going, Soph, all that cowboy ass in your view will distract you from your ills. C'mon, we're not going to miss this." Sophie laughed at the redhead's antics and they continued walking.
He continued to listen to more of the same for a few more minutes then straightened with a disappointed sigh. No whispered sniper plots or revelations as to the location of the girls…just the normal and expected for all present. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Mary approaching with Marshal in tow. His lips quirked in amusement as the horse's saddle sat crookedly on its back.
"Need me to tighten that up for you?" he asked as she stood before him.
"What are you talking about?" Mary assessed him with her patented glare. He gestured at the saddle and she snorted. "I'm not actually going to ride the dumb beast, idiot."
Marshall squinted at her quizzically for a moment before his eyebrows shot up in understanding. "Ah. Yes. The public conversation that sets up our plausible deniability in a suitable scene that everyone will recall later. You deride me in your typical unwarranted antagonistic approach, I pretend to be offended and attempt explanation, and you insult my manhood and stomp off in the opposite direction. Right?"
"You forgot the part where you whine like a girl," Mary replied.
"Does that come before or after your language peels the paint off the walls?"
Mary placed a hand on her hip and regarded him curiously. "Worried?" Her tone had softened.
She must have heard the tension in his voice. Marshall rolled his shoulders and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He wanted her with him today. Needed this one person who could read his emotions from a simple sentence. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked down at her; studied the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose before replying.
"It's a feeling. Probably the same one you had last night."
"Still got it this morning, Nostradamus." She attempted a half smile and lowered her voice. "And Sheryl was all lookie-loo at breakfast. I don't think she picked me out, though."
Marshall thought about that as he moved closer to Mary and reached out to grab her mount's reins. Used the tight proximity to continue the conversation. "She's still on board?" Mary nodded and he continued, "Do you think she told Eliot?"
Mary shrugged, and they both looked in the direction of said wrangler as he helped two of the women adjust their tack. Eliot smiled and laughed, easily moving amongst the horses as he prepared his charges. Not the mannerisms of a man on edge…or one who had said his last goodbyes to a woman he cared for.
Marshall looked back at Mary as she sighed heavily, still staring at Eliot. "Gonna leave him high and dry."
"Maybe she didn't have the heart to drag him into it." Marshall's response drew her eyes back to him and he met her gaze. "Afraid to make him choose and have to hear his decision. It's hard to put all the cards on the table and then have someone walk away."
She swallowed, then dropped her gaze to the ground, and Marshall felt guilty for resurrecting a sore topic. The anxiety of the operation and precarious state of their witness was dragging him down to a petty level. He carefully slid his hand over hers where it gripped the bridle and hoped his unspoken apology was heard. She didn't pull away.
Mary rolled her lips between her teeth as she tossed her head and looked back up at him. "I'll give you that one today, Cowboy." Flashed him a smile and then stepped back to pull her phone out of her pocket. "Now I have to take a call from an inebriated ex-boyfriend who is threatening to light my house on fire so I have an excuse to retreat back to my cabin and miss the ride from hell."
"Be careful," he offered.
"See you tonight," she replied, turning quickly to walk away.
Her horse snorted and side-stepped as she brushed by its haunches, Mary already launching into a heated, one-sided discussion with her cell, and Marshall clicked his tongue to soothe the animal as he watched his partner stalk off. The small bubble of comfort she had brought with her quickly evaporated as she wound through the crowd in the corral and vanished from his line of sight. Names were now being called in order to organize the groups, and his gut resumed its battle with anxiety as he handed Marshal over to a stable boy and mounted up on Socrates.
"'As for me, all I know is that I know nothing.'" Marshall muttered, patting the horse's neck as they walked over to join their group.
-o-o-o-
Carter stood in the shadow of the main barn and watched the apparent chaos in the corral slowly sort itself into two groups of loosely organized parades. Wranglers led cowhands who were followed by guests, more cowhands and finally, pack animals. The dogs trotted and yipped around the edges, jostling into canine rank and file as they obeyed the whistles and shouts from the men. Carter had a brief vision of covered wagons lumbering along rutted dirt trails and he smiled with the comparison. Adventure awaited as the sun rose into the sky and spirits were still high. Grabbing at his hat as a gust of wind whirled through the doorway, he wondered how long it would be before the guests started to refer to the ride as the Trail of Tears. He snorted and shook his head as he turned to walk towards the main lodge. Tenderfeet. They never changed.
He stepped from shadow into sunlight as he trod across the gravel parking lot, the rocks beneath his feet sending up small puffs of dust as his heels dragged slightly; a lope acquired long before he quit wearing hand-me-down boots. Evaporative effects of direct sunlight on sweat moistened skin caused him to shiver, and adjusting his sunglasses, he quick stepped the last few yards to the lodge with thoughts of welcomed climate control and a cold beer. An hour or two to avoid thoughts of unpalatable duties that loomed by mid-day…so long as Brad remained distracted by Garcia.
The cry of a hawk had him pausing to squint into the pale blue sky. Two of them hunting in tandem: one swooping down to flush out prey while the other nabbed the moving target. The dumb animal would never see it coming. Poor bastard.
/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/\
Mary zipped the go-bag shut and glanced around the darkened room as she sank down upon the bed. Ready to go. She had received a text from Stan to let her know the extra marshal would meet her at Sheryl's house by 1:15, relayed that information to Marshall in her own text, then set about clearing the small cabin of her presence. Diane would probably think she…actually, who the fuck cared what Diane thought. Mary laid back against the headboard and laced her fingers together over her stomach as she thought of her roomie. Recalled the conversations at the breakfast table as they all talked about the round-up.
Once the topic of sweaty sex in the middle of the desert was exhausted, the women were mostly interested in the length of the ride, the quality of the food at the other end, and whether they'd actually have to chase down a wayward cow. Except Diane. Diane wanted to discuss logistics. Manpower. Who would be where and when. Mary wondered whether her assessment of the milk maid was prematurely benign.
The air conditioner rattled to life and she was pulled from her musings to check her phone again for the time. Figuring Sheryl would need some help and moral support to actually get out of the house, Mary planned to arrive by 12:45. She usually had to pull half the stuff out of the suitcases anyway, the phrase 'no momentos' apparently widely misinterpreted to mean everything but the kitchen sink.
Fifteen minutes. Closing her eyes, she began the mental countdown out of fantasy and into reality. Began to visualize the witness transport, the induction, and the inevitable struggle with multi-agency pissing contests. She could smell the burnt coffee and used toner aroma of the office and hear Marshall's chair squeak as he reached for a print-out, late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds to highlight every dust mote in the place. It was home. It was real…and she was ready to get back. To work…and to Marshall.
-o-o-o-o-
The riders in his group were spread out over a half mile, some ambling along lost in their own thoughts, others in social packs of two or three with things to talk about. It was another forty minutes or so to the main mesas where the herds were grazing, and everyone was prepped and full of purpose. They just needed to get there.
Marshall slowly led Socrates in a lazy circle as he eyeballed his team. Manuel was about a hundred yards back with a handful of chatty guests, there were cowhands on point and dispersed through the group, and Eliot was…Squinting into the sun, Marshall tried to find the man's silhouette against the rocks and low hills towards the back of the group. The wrangler had radioed him about a half hour prior saying there were a few stragglers he was going to encourage, but as Marshall now trotted up a low rise, he could see all were accounted for. Except Eliot.
The weight of the shotgun slung across his back was momentarily significant as Marshall swept his gaze along the trail of riders he bore partial responsibility for. Surely Eliot was among them. The sun burned hotter as he accepted the conclusion: no. The horse sidestepped restlessly as Marshall pulled the walkie talkie out and keyed it open.
"Manuel, Marshall. Where's Eliot?"
The response was fairly quick. "Rode to the back, but then we got a call from the other team about a sick rider that needed to head back. He said he'd meet up with them for a guide."
Marshall thought about that for a minute. The other team was five miles to the west as they headed to the north edges of the mesa. Was Eliot going to meet a cowhand and sick rider half way between to guide them back? It didn't seem plausible. He keyed the handheld again.
"Who called him?"
There was a longer pause this time. "I assumed it was Tuck. I didn't ask. We gotta problem?"
Definitely a problem, he thought. He rubbed the back of the soft leather glove against his chin as he contemplated his options. The task force needed him placed at Redpoint in one hour, and he had hoped to use the loosely organized riding patterns of the group to facilitate his absence, but it seemed that tactic had already been borrowed. Now he needed extra time to investigate the possibility that Eliot was somehow one step ahead of him. Or involved. There wasn't time for subtlety.
"We might have a glitch," Marshall replied. "I need you to take point lead and just hold off on questions right now. You got enough men?"
"Plenty." Manuel sounded puzzled. "You need one or two to go with you?"
Marshall had already plotted a course and turned Socrates towards the goal before answering. "Keep everyone moving. I got this."
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Though he had every reason to be in the main tack and equipment room, Carter kept looking over his shoulder as he gathered supplies for his mission. He never hesitated until he had to open the refrigerator. The plastic handle was smooth and cool and he stared at his own white knuckled grip. He didn't have to do this. He could just continue to run his small side action under Brad's nose, take his cut, and leave Sheryl to the mercy of her brother-in-law when it all fell out. Let Brad continue to dig his own grave with the Cartel while he groomed his own connections.
He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. It would never work. He was in too deep with Brad, known too well by the Garcias, and if Brad ever went down he'd drag Carter right along with him. And if he backed out of this task…well…some archeologist would be digging up his bones in a few years, mixed in with pottery shards and owl pellets.
Pulling open the cooler door, he began to rationalize any moral objections into oblivion. There was always a chance Sheryl would survive his efforts, and he wasn't going to think about the kids. There werethree shelves full of chilled, glass vials, and he picked out two. Enough ketamine to down a horse…more than sufficient for three humans. He drew up one vial into a syringe, capped it and placed it in his shirt pocket. The other vial was stuffed deeply into the front pocket of his jeans. Just in case. An ember of sympathy still burned in his soul; no one needed to be awake for this.
Despite the heat of midday, he could still feel the chill from the refrigerator as he exited the barn with a small pack slung over his shoulder. Or maybe it was just the last remnants of decency leaving for greener pastures. He needed to get the hell out of here after this deal. Maybe head down to Las Cruces and join a different crew…or gather one of his own. It was time to stop doing the dirty work.
The Gator had a big enough bed over the back wheels to easily accommodate three bodies and plenty of camouflage. Setting into the grimy, yellow seat, Carter cranked the ATV to life and noisily vacated the barn in a cloud of dust and exhaust. A minute later a shadow detached itself from a doorway and stepped out to watch the man drive away. His destination was clear as the Gator turned onto the back road, and the shadow took off at a lope to follow. There was just enough time to trim the verge before the buy.
-o-o-o-
Mary slung her go-bag over her shoulder and checked the view from the cabin windows. Clear. She cracked open the door and listened before stepping out onto the porch. Other than the faint sound of a distant ATV and occasional call of horse or dog, the ranch seemed nearly deserted. It was time to go.
Breathing in deeply, she tried to appreciate the clean air, smell of pine and wood stove and faint aroma of lunch, but she was just too keyed up to want to do anything but snatch up her witness and leave. All hell would be breaking loose eight miles away in about an hour, and she wanted Sheryl and the kids eating lunch out of Styrofoam containers and watching TV in a hotel room by then. Far from trouble…far from here.
Her boots were quiet in the dirt and soft pine needles as she wound her way between the equipment sheds behind the guest cabins. She would approach Sheryl's apartment through the grassy field away from the road. There were enough ruts and ditches that she was confident her journey wouldn't be noted by anyone in the main kitchen or barns. Good enough. The half mile trek would take about ten minutes by her roundabout path; Mary checked her Glock and donned her sunglasses as she left the shade of the trees for the long grass.
-o-o-o-
Sheryl thought she might puke. The two bites of toast she had for breakfast surely still sat partially chewed in her stomach, effectively quashing any further hunger pangs. She was keyed up, stressed out and afraid. Add a dash of sibling squabbling and lack of sleep and her nerves were truly fried. She stood by the picture window in the family room and peeked discretely around the curtains. The only thing moving were the ripples of heat mirage along the barely paved road. The faint rumble of a train along tracks to the south blended with the rattle of the over worked air conditioning, and Sheryl briefly rested her forehead against the glass to gauge the outdoor temperature. Hot. The sun baked the little house, the scratched dirt yard with its scraggly cactus ball holding the mailbox captive, the faded upturned plastic table that now served as a man-made mud puddle…her life. Baked. Done.
She recalled seeing the old women on the reservation sitting on their blankets selling baskets and trinkets in the desert heat. Shriveled and wrinkled and older than the dirt they sat on. That's how she felt…how she had felt for too long. Older than her years, unfeeling and empty. This chance at a new life and the brief oasis of Eliot had only served to draw her attention to the deep grooves of unhappiness worn into her soul…into her children's souls…and as the clock ticked closer to the hour she was ready to jump out of her skin.
"Come on, already," she hissed, fogging up the glass.
"Mom!" Leanne's strident whine made her wince. "He's sitting by my suitcase again!"
A muffled denial preceded the sound of yet another struggle, and Sheryl whirled to stomp back towards the bedroom. The kids were supposed to be playing a game of Uno while they all waited for their 'ride to lunch.' Obviously, territorial lines had again been crossed. Curtly commanding them to cut it out, Sheryl had just reached the bathroom when there was a knock on the front door. She gasped, and her heart began to hammer in her throat. For a moment she was frozen in time: past, present and future beating each other senseless in a battle for dominance.
Another knock coupled with the ring of the doorbell, and her decision was made. Instructing the kids to stay put and be quiet, she trotted to the door. It was barely opened before she was trying to push it closed again. Yelling at the kids to close their door as she began to lose a battle of strength and her feet started to slip across the thin carpeting. He was coming in.
"Get out of here!" She yelped as she drove her full weight against the door yet again.
Carter growled and continued to shove her backwards, finally squeezing past the doorframe and snatching a hold of the woman's arm to pull her away from the door. He flung Sheryl in the direction of the kitchen and kicked the door shut with a foot, rattling the window and toppling the pictures on the side table with the force of his action.
He knew! Oh gods…he knew, he knew…he was going to kill her! The kids…Sheryl scrabbled frantically to her feet as she looked for a weapon to ward him off. She had to keep him from getting to the kids. Leanne was shouting from the bedroom, and Sheryl heard herself shouting back, not even knowing what she was saying. All she could see was the feral gleam in Carter's eyes as he cautiously approached her. She knew her cell phone rested on the kitchen table, but if she darted in to grab it she'd never have time to make a call before he was on her. And it would give him access to the hallway. No. Opting for a nimble escape through the front door was also off the list. He was too fast, and there was no way she was leaving him in this house.
Grabbing a snow globe from the shelves next to her, Sheryl threw it at Carter's face in desperation. The missile clipped his cheek and his expression only darkened. She reached for the next object as he lunged.
"Fucking bitch!"
Her scream was muffled by his chest as they tumbled into the shelves and crashed to the floor. Not now! I was so close! She scratched at his face and neck in panic as she struggled to breathe under his weight, only vaguely aware of the sound of the front door again opening and the muffled crying coming from the bedroom. Carter's forearm pressed brutally against her throat…death seemed inevitable.
A moment later…reprieve. Carter stilled with a hissed curse as he released the tension on her throat, and she opened her eyes while digging her fingers under his arm, unprepared to see the gun held to the back of his head.
"Oh my God!" she whispered. "You're here!"
Carter's eyes shifted and he tried to turn his head. "What the hell are you - "
His last words were left unspoken as the bullet entered his brain.
***Daaaang. Sideways, pear shaped *and* kablooey! Nobody's where they're supposed to be, or they've been beaten to the punch. WTH? Please REVIEW! Let me know what you think! Click the link...click it!***