Page 1 of Desert Angel

1

Nikki sighed as she turned out the kitchen light and headed toward her bedroom. The last of the goat’s milk soap was finished, in time for seasoning and then delivery to the trading post in town. Maybe this year would be profitable, unlike the previous five years.

She’d just opened her bedroom door when a crack followed by the distinct sound of breaking glass brought her around. She instinctively pressed her back against the wall of the hall between her living room and bedroom, then inched her way toward the source of the sounds. Just at the edge of the doorway, she glimpsed shards of glass on the floor, reflecting the desert moon outside the now shattered double window. Another crack of sound sent her into a crouch as she watched another pane in the window burst into pieces and shower the floor and sofa with slivers of glass.

She didn’t dare try to get to the phone on the sofa table and her cell phone was next to useless in this terrain, so Nikki scooted toward her bedroom and the old cordless on her nightstand. Taking a breath to calm her shuddering heart, she plucked the portable receiver off the table and started dialing. Within a few seconds, she had the state police on the way. She remained crouched by the bed, unsure what to do next. Her heart pounded against her chest and she started to feel faint from her rapid breathing. As she closed her eyes to focus on taking a few deep breaths, Nikki also said a prayer. “Father, thank you for keeping me safe. Help me to be calm and know what to do next.” And tell me who would be shooting at me, she added after her amen, again, breathing in what she hoped was a calming draft of air.

Within a few minutes, she heard the sound of a vehicle crunching over the dirt road near her house and she ventured out into the hallway, her nerves still on edge.

Instead of the police officers she’d expected, Wayne French stood on her covered portico, his hat in his hand. Why would it be him to show up? With a frustrated sigh at the nature of the desert gossip machine, she unlocked and opened the door.

“Hi Wayne, come on in.” She led the way into the main room, its brown tiled floor now littered with glass from the window.

“What happened?” He asked, glancing around. He’d laid his hat on the entryway table and now stood with his fists on his lean hips, his feet spread apart, as if he were surveying his vast property. Nikki quelled the rise of resentment as she thought of the land that had once been her ancestors’, now safely in his large hands. Wayne wasn’t to blame for the selloff of the majority of the Hill ranch, hard times in the past were. She silently sent up a prayer for forgiveness for her thoughts and shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe some guys passing through on their way up from the border. Maybe someone drunk and lost in the desert.”

“Or maybe someone trying to send you a message about your do-gooding,” he inserted abruptly.

“My do-gooding?” His term might be accurate, technically, but it still rankled.

“Well, what else would you call taking water out on your property for the illegals crossing the border?”

“I’d call it being humane,” she shot back, though she didn’t change her tone. This was an old argument between them. Conscious of land conservation and as environmentally friendly as they came, Wayne still had very set opinions on the matter of illegal aliens crossing the border and consequently, their ranch land, on the way to northern towns.

She surveyed the worn leather easy chair in the corner of the room for glass shards before sitting in it. “Wayne, you know migrants have been crossing the border for generations. We’re not going to stop it, but at least I can make sure no one dies of thirst on my land.”

“It was a one-time thing, Nikki, and you don’t know they died of thirst.”

Nikki thought of her grandfather’s face when they found the couple lying in the high desert. Though the death masks on their faces still haunted her dreams, more than that, her grandfather’s pain and sadness at the waste of life multiplied the pain exponentially. His words, his prayer for the lost souls in the desert had resounded in her teenage mind and stayed with her. Now, when she took the jugs of water into the desert, she did so with his memory’s blessing.

“I won’t take that chance again,” she said quietly then looked toward the sound of more tires on the dirt road.

Fifteen minutes later, Nikki had completed her statement and sent the police officers on their way with the assurance she’d not disturb the outside area until they could return in the morning to investigate. She had to reassure Wayne she’d be safe for the rest of the night, even if she had her doubts.

“I don’t need to go to your house, Wayne. I’ll find some plywood out in the utility building and fix the window for the night.”

He hit his leg with his hat as if dusting it clean, though the tan Stetson didn’t dare get a sweat stain or smudge on it. “I can come over tomorrow-“

“No. If you want to help carry the board over, that’s fine, but I’m staying in my own house tonight.” Her tone convinced him she was serious and he turned on his heel and headed out her front door. Nikki glanced at the glass still littering the floor and let out a long, tired sigh. She’d be up late tonight.

Dylan glanced up at his sister as she entered the den, a portable phone receiver in her hand. “You have a call from a guy named Hank,” she said, holding the phone out to him. Frowning, Dylan laid the book he’d been trying to read down and glanced at his cell phone, lying useless on the side table. Almost midnight. He accepted the phone from his sister and waited until she’d left the room before answering. “Hi, Hank. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to check in with you and see how you’re shaping up.”

“I’m good. I’m back on PT, so I should be ready for another assignment in a week or so.”

So, he was hedging, Dylan thought. He’d only started running that morning and it had made him so short of breath he’d almost blacked out. The stab wound and resulting punctured lung had set him back over six weeks now and he was ready to get back to work.

“You’re missed. Look, I got a call from a State Police captain in Lordsburg, near you. Seems like a woman had some shots fired into her house and they’re worried about her safety.”

“So why aren’t they looking into it?”

“Captain says he is but there’s some sensitivity issues. Something about her doing some charitable work that may be questionable.”

“Questionable charity?” What was that? If she lived near Lordsburg, where the most populated town was in the single thousands, she didn’t have a lot of options for charity work.

“That’s what he said. Anyway, would you be up to checking it out? I’m not sure if she could cover the cost of our services, let alone be agreeable to them, seeing as how she has no idea we exist.”

Dylan grimaced. Hank was a fantastic leader of the Brotherhood Protectors. As an ex-Navy Seal, he had the training and know-how to lead his ex-military personnel in security and bodyguarding tasks, but he also had a reputation, fast growing now, of being a guy that could be called on for the difficult and the oddball cases. The more complicated the issues, the better he liked it.

---