22

 

Friday morning

Except to make coffee and get a cupful when it was done, Meshach had not moved from his vantage point in the chair just inside the open French doors. After the storm passed, he’d catnapped through the remainder of the night, more awake than asleep.

Darkness edged to gray. White wisps of fog drifted over the waters between the cane-breaks giving life to the morning. Reminded him of Dracula movies his mom used to watch late at night. The thunderstorms added to the humidity. The temperature had cooled.

A black beetle trekked through the water beaded on the floor in front of the couch. Meshach could imagine Scott’s outrage at the sight.

No one stirred in the cabins next to him, but he knew the fishermen would be along as soon as the sun rose.

He caressed the smooth steel action and wooden grip of the .45 in his lap. The Kimber had a majestic feel and look he valued more than the lithe figure of a woman. He leaned over, opened his backpack, and removed a cleaning kit. Gun oil had a unique aroma, like the smell of leather seats in a new car or a fresh stack of banded Franklins straight out of the vault. His attention wandered the marsh and nearby cabins as he broke down the pistol with practiced precision. Two gulls bickered over a scrap on the dock below. The loser squawked louder as the victor flitted off with the prize. He looked through the barrel of the pistol at them wondering if they were the same two birds he’d seen going at it the first morning. He wiped every piece with loving care, then put the automatic back together and shoved home the clip.

A growing list of questions nagged him. Where had the Hilton trio come from? Who hired them? He could probably guess—Cole Blackwell. What really bugged him was how fast they’d found his location.

Lamech hired him, but would the man pay the million-dollar fee one day and spring a trap the next? He answered that question as fast as the thought formed. Lamech had made all the arrangements for the job—the car, the gun, the cash and the cabin, all of it. If he wanted to give up Meshach, all he had to do was call the police and leave them a tip.

And the plan was Lamech’s idea to begin with. It was bold. Could one man take down a ship in the river? Unheard of. Meshach wished he’d thought of it.

He woke up his computer. Nothing. Too quiet. This was one instance when he hated silence. Time to push. He started to type then stopped. Patience. Where had his cool, unflappable patience gone? Take a minute and think. He closed the laptop and the doors leading onto the deck and headed for his boat.

 

~*~

 

Friday morning

Wes opened his eyes. Something woke him. He’d heard what? A hint of light glowed from around the blinds covering the window. A chirp sounded to his left. He grabbed his phone. “Hello.”

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Jess. You’re up early.”

“No, I think you’ve overslept.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight fifteen.”

Wes swung his legs out from under the covers and sat up. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” She laughed. “You must have needed the rest.”

“I guess so.” He turned on the light. “How’s Miss Woodard?”

“She’s better. Some sleep helped. Her sister will be here this afternoon from Seattle. That will go a long way.”

Wes stood and walked into the bathroom. “Well, good. You ready to go? I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“I am. Take your time.”

“Give me half an hour.” He disconnected.

After a quick shower, he dressed and drove to the Woodard’s. Before he could get out of the car, Jess walked out of the house. She had bounce in her step and a smile on her face.

Wes’s bounce was more like a deflated basketball. He’d slept too long.

She tossed her bag into the backseat, got in, and closed the door. “Good morning, again.” She clipped her seatbelt.

“And to you.” Wes pulled away from the curb and made a right on the first cross street. “You’re looking spry. Have you had breakfast?”

“I cooked eggs and toast for Liz and me. You haven’t had time to eat.”

“No, I haven’t eaten, but no worries.” At the entrance onto Interstate 15, instead of turning right toward downtown and their hotel, he made a left, north. “Are you up for a little excursion?”

“I am. Where to?” She looked at him, eyebrows raised, bluebonnet-eyes intense.

Then, just like the perfect timing of every clue they’d received since taking the job, he saw a large brown sign typical of a state’s recreation department just beyond the onramp. He pointed.

Valley of Fire State Park

55 Miles

Jess looked at the sign, at Wes, then back at the sign until they passed it, then shook her head like she couldn’t comprehend what she saw. He handed her the flier. “I noticed this in the hotel last night. I couldn’t believe it either.”

“Well, praise God. That’s all I can say.”

“Meshach was one of the men who walked out of the fiery furnace. ‘The man from fire’ Liz said last night. Her comment is what struck a chord when I saw the flier. Makes little sense as yet, but it could be another piece to the puzzle … if we’re correct in our assumption.”

“What else can it be?”

Wes canted his head, yes and no. Some leads turned into dead ends. This one might be one of them, but he had the warm and fuzzy about it. He didn’t get that feeling often.

He set the cruise and settled back in the seat. “I talked to Tony last night. No hits on Meshach at the rental car outlets or on flight manifests. Seven Chrysler 300s from Avis, Hertz, and Budget were on the street yesterday. Two of those were black and both were rented to older businessmen. One man is from El Paso and the other is from Atlanta. Nothing fishy about their profiles.”

Jess nodded. “Did you get a chance to send him the pictures you took? I didn’t.”

“Too tired. After talking to Cole and Tony, I turned in.”

“You see Meshach’s last post?”

“Tony mentioned it. Looks like we met our man.”

“I think we did,” she said. “He was warned too.”

Wes’s phone vibrated and dinged. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Check the text for me, please.”

She took the phone and thumbed the unlock bar. “Password?”

“One, two, three, four.”

“Original.”

He smiled. “It’s easy to remember.”

It’s from your daughter.” She held out the phone for him to take back.

“I’m driving. Please, read it for me.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

“‘Dad, sorry so long to get back. Dropped phone water. One day to get replaced. Thanks for note. Levi kicking up a storm. Love Lisa.’” She handed him the phone.

“Thanks.” He put it in the cup holder in the console. “That has been a long time coming.”

The desert bloomed with cactus and wild flowers in every color. Alive. He felt alive for the first time in years.

“What happened?” Jess asked. “Sorry. That was a little direct.”

He knew what she referred to, the relationship with his daughter. And his late wife, or ex-wife, though, the divorce wasn’t final when she passed. “That’s all right. I like direct. Her name was Teri, Lisa’s mother. She overdosed on meds. The coroner ruled it suicide.”

“Oh my, Wes. I’m sorry I asked.”

“No, that’s all right. We were separated but not by my choice. Lisa blamed me. Just a big mess all around. I loved Teri, but she wasn’t the same anymore.”

Jess turned sideways, facing him, left arm on the seatback, knee up, and tucked her left foot under her right knee.

“The Corps owned me. Being at Uncle Sam’s beck and call, doing the only thing I knew how to do at the time wasn’t all Teri thought it would be. When the day-to-day of married life set in without me, she realized she didn’t share my sense of sacrifice. I think she loved and married the idea of me, the Marine. Then, after Lisa was born, I didn’t know Teri anymore. Like something, someone else took over her mind and soul. I used to shake my head at her moods. It’s not something men, in general, understand. The changes in a woman’s body during and after childbirth are very real. Today, they call it postpartum depression. I don’t think she knew who she was anymore either. She struggled with it for years before a doctor put her on antidepressants. Then she started hearing voices.” He shook his head. “Her mom found her. Not good.”

Wes felt a sort of relief wash over him. He’d just told a woman, an employee and a new one at that, things he’d never uttered to another person. It felt right.

Now that the door was open... “What about you? Kids?”

“Oh no. I knew better. Ben—Benjamin—Lord forbid I ever called him Ben, wanted children. No way.” She shook her head, then turned, placed both feet on the floorboard, and waved her right hand as if sweeping the thought aside. “It’s terrible to say, but I married him to get away from my dad and ended up with the same mentality. My therapist, whom I don’t see any longer, thank you very much, told me that subconsciously, I had looked for someone just like my father. Whatever.”

She took a deep breath and smiled. “Then I gave my life to Christ. I had hope for the first time I could remember. Ben mocked me until the day I left him. Hell itself would flood before he would father my children.”

Wes had done that long ago, been saved, as a kid in Bible school one summer. He hadn’t thought about those days in a while. He’d thought about God a million times, especially in Iraq. He’d asked for His help. No atheists in foxholes as the adage goes. After Teri killed herself, he’d asked Him why. Never got an answer.

Five miles of hot pavement passed under them. They exchanged glances.

He held out his fist. She smiled and tapped it with hers.

The last twenty miles to the park entrance went by in a flash.

 

~*~

 

Wes had his doubts about the location of the state park. The countryside didn’t look much different than what he’d seen in Iraq, except for the colorful display of wild flowers and cactus as far as he could see. Orange, red, yellow, green, and blue, a random mix scattered across the desert. Nevada had vegetation going for it. Southern Iraq was as barren as Mars.

Over the next few miles, he changed his mind. Red sandstone rock formations showed promise. He could see the draw.

He stopped at the pay station, deposited the ten-dollar entry fee, picked up a quick-reference map, and continued into the park. He handed the map to Jess. “Would you navigate, please?”

“I can do that.” She unfolded the display. “Where to?”

“You tell me.” He turned left at the first crossroad.

“Well, you’ve found the visitor’s center on your own. Are you stopping?”

“Nope. Let’s drive and look. Just get a feel.”

She folded the map in half. “This road dead-ends five miles ahead, at White Dome, whatever that is. There’s a trail. Looks interesting. Who would have thought this was out here?”

“I don’t know what I expected. Houses, a subdivision, something more substantial. An abode for the man from fire.”

“Maybe he got lost out here or something.” She looked at him. He looked at her. “OK.” She laughed and shook her head. “So maybe not.”

“Maybe we’re wasting our time. I had a good feeling about this, but now, I’m not so sure.”

“Not many visitors.” She turned the map over. “This says there’s a car show here next month.”

“School is still in session, and it’s a weekday. Won’t be long and the temperature will be one-ten in the shade around here too. I’ll bet it hits ninety today.”

The roadway meandered across a sandy desert floor between towering wind and water-etched red sandstone walls. Narrow washes ended in shaded box canyons strewn with boulders. He parked in the designated gravel lot at White Dome two spaces from the only other car, a white SUV.

“Let’s go for a walk?” he said.

“I’m ready.”

Wes shut off the car. They exited. He locked it.

The sweet smell of flowers accented pure, clear air. The day warmed quickly.

A wooden post with a sign “Pack it in, pack it out” and a small arrow pointed them up a well-beaten path. The trail took a gradual, user-friendly route around a rock outcrop.

Wes let Jess take the lead. She stepped out at a brisk pace. Before they’d walked a hundred yards, he’d made up his mind to hit the gym more often. The girl was killing him. Sweat rolled. He was melting.

A quarter of a mile later, they topped a rise and stopped. The reason for the name White Dome lay ahead. The red sandstone hills in front of them looked like God had accidentally picked up the white when he mixed the shades of red then just left it as it was, like two different colored taffies twisted together.

Jess took a deep breath and let it out. “Isn’t this beautiful?”

“I can’t disagree. It’s a wonder.”

She stood on a rock at the edge of the trail, gathered her hair behind her head and slipped on a tie to hold it in a ponytail. They were eye to eye now. “What’s next? For us I mean. In Las Vegas.”

“We need to locate the pawnshop and interview Marlin. After that, unless Marlin has a revelation, back to New Orleans. Let Tony do his thing. Look at the pictures we took. I’d like to talk to the NOPD detective who talked to Liz. It’s time to bring them in. And Bubba. I have to figure out a few things there.”

“You think he had something to do with Meshach finding us?”

Jess scanned the scenery and didn’t catch him looking at her. Or she knew and didn’t care. The beads of sweat on the smooth skin above her lip glistened in the light. She seemed to relish the heat.

She knew something was fishy with Bubba but didn’t mention her concerns. Smart and perceptive.

A young couple walked by holding hands, giving him an excuse to delay his answer a minute. Or not answer. Wes nodded at them. Jess and the girl said hi. As before, he didn’t want to think about Bubba, but Cole was right too. It had to be done. He prayed there was a simple answer.

He watched the guy and his girl until they rounded the corner in the trail fifty yards away. When he looked back, Jess stared at him.

“You like campfires?” he said.

“That’s off the wall, but yes, why?”

He feigned disbelief. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not wise to tell your boss he’s off the wall? It’s not conducive to career advancement, salary increases, that type of thing.”

She rolled her eyes and let a sly “Nope” slip out.

“Well, as to my question. People stare at campfires, at the glow, the pulse of heat, the flicker of light and flames. It’s the warmth, a draw they can’t help but gaze into.”

“And?” she said.

“Your eyes are like a campfire.” He stared. She stared back. Her cheeks flushed. Oh yeah, he got her. A wordsmith lost for words. He loved it.

She looked away.

He smiled.

Wes had more questions in mind, but the time wasn’t right, not yet. He gave her a playful slap on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Come on, girl. Let’s get to work.”

He led the way back to the car.