No Return

60

The man in the sedan was already exiting the Desert Rose parking lot when he saw Stewart race out ahead of him on his motorcycle. The watcher didn’t let that stop him, though. He had things to do, and Stewart wasn’t his concern for the moment. Still, he kept his pace slow so that he wasn’t accidentally spotted.

He was surprised when Stewart made the same turn off China Lake Boulevard he needed to make, but decided not to change his plans, so he made the turn, too.

It was when Stewart increased his speed and took a sudden turn to the left that the man realized that Stewart had indeed seen him. It was an annoyance more than a problem. The distance between them was too great for Stewart to have seen the man’s face.

Laughing as he passed the street Stewart had disappeared on, the man continued on his way west, beyond the city limits. When he reached the familiar dirt road, he turned left, automatically slowing to a near crawl to keep the washboard surface from rattling his car into a pile of useless scrap.

The lots in this area were each two and a half acres, though many had been joined together to create five-acre desert kingdoms. The driveway the man turned down led onto one of these larger parcels.

Near the rear of the property was a light gray one-story house. It hadn’t always been that color. When the man had painted it twenty-five years earlier, it had been light blue, but the desert sun had burned most of the tint out. He could have repainted it, but that would have been too much work for a place he seldom visited anymore.

He swung the sedan around, then backed it up so that the trailer hitch on the rear was only a few feet from the empty horse trailer parked underneath the attached carport. When the time came, it would only take him a couple minutes to hook them together.

Once inside, he headed straight for the kitchen, pulled a bottle of Gatorade out of the ancient refrigerator, then made his way to the bedroom that had once been his as a child.

On the floor was the duffel bag containing his clothes. He changed shirts, then glanced at the uncomfortable blow-up mattress in the corner. He was tired, sure, but not quite that tired yet. God, he couldn’t wait until he was back in his cozy bed at home, his wife beside him. But there was work still to be done, so that little pleasure would have to wait.

Standing, he stretched, then walked back to the master suite. This had been his parents’ room when they’d still been alive, but they wouldn’t have recognized it now. All their 1950s-era furniture was gone, replaced by stacks of banker boxes full of newspapers and bills and files containing God knew what-all stuff his wife didn’t want to get rid of but also didn’t want at their house.

He turned on the light. Recently he’d covered the windows with plywood sheeting, creating a dark, cavelike atmosphere. He kind of liked it, and thought he’d probably end up leaving them in place when he was done.

The woman was exactly where he’d left her, lying on the small air mattress in the center of the room. Her wrists and ankles were still tied, but there was no chance she was going anywhere. The intravenous drip hooked to her right arm, 0.5 percent Beta-Somnol in saline, took care of that. She was in dreamland, and would be until he decided otherwise.

He’d been surprised at how easy getting her into his car at the motel had been.

“Miss Mendes?” he had said after she’d answered the knock on the door to Stewart’s room.

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Thompson. I understand you’re a friend of Wesley Stewart?”

“Yes,” she said. The concern on her face was both sudden and predictable. “Is something wrong?”

The man had hesitated just enough to sell the lie. “There’s been an accident.”

“An accident? Is Wes all right?”

“I’m afraid he’s going into surgery. But before they put him under, he asked for you. I was sent here to drive you over.”

“Yes. Yes, please.” She moved back into the room, slipped on her shoes, then grabbed a purse off the dresser and joined him outside.

“I should let Dione know,” she said. “Our boss.”

“Do you just want to call her from the hospital once you know a little more?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Good idea. I’ll do that.”

He stuck the needle in her leg before he even started the car, and she was out a few seconds later. No scream, no fuss. The only physical work he’d had to undertake was carrying her into his parents’ place once they got there.

The man checked her pulse, then turned off the light and closed the door.

Now he could take that nap.