Page 2 of Desert Angel

“Sure. Where is she and what’s her name?”

He typed in the directions and GPS details on his phone before muttering the name Hank mentioned. “Nikki Hill, got it.” He saw his sister enter the room as he added her name as a contact, though it would be a temporary one, he was sure. He ended the call with an assurance he was on the mend and up to the hour or so trip south and then glanced at his sister.

“Did I wake up the kids?”

She shook her head and then crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame, her gaze steady on him. “I thought you had another three weeks’ leave before you had to report back to Montana.”

He shrugged, “It’s a drive and interview job, nothing strenuous.”

“Did I hear you say something about Nikki Hill?” She didn’t move from her position, but Dylan felt her intensity.

“Yeah, you know her?”

She shrugged, “Dan does. He’s had a couple of encounters with her.”

“Really?” His interest piqued, he settled himself and waited for her to continue.

“He just mentioned that he had to interview a couple of people about some migrants coming over their land a few months ago. She was one of them. He said she was nice and brings the agents fresh eggs and goat cheese every month or so.”

“Really.” Dylan’s brother-in-law worked as a border patrol agent and had the distinction of working at the least busy crossing along the border. And probably the most remote, from what Dylan had seen.

She nodded. “I asked him if I needed to be jealous and he laughed and said he’d not be interested in a woman who compared every man she met with the guy who walked on water. And much as I love him, Dan would sink like a stone,” she laughed with all the assurance of a woman who knew she was adored.

“I’ll be interested in meeting her,” Dylan said and stood then winced as his still tender scar twinged. At Merry’s frown, he waved her off before she could coddle him. “I’m fine. I’m going to turn in so I can be on the road early in the morning. This Nikki lives pretty close to the border.”

He started out of the room before turning around again. “You got a local map?” At her nod, he followed her to the small room that acted as both a dining room and office and waited as she extracted a well-used atlas. He shook his head as he started for the guest bedroom. “I’ve got to dig out my sat phone.” Nothing worked in the southern New Mexico desert short of one.

Merry trailed behind him, checking the doors and shutting off lights. As she did, they talked low about the desolation of the area Nikki Hill lived in. Dylan also thought of how easy it would be to shoot and kill someone in a house twenty miles from another soul and get away with it.

Nikki chuckled at the sight of her goat kids romping around their mothers. The incident of the night before seemed less intrusive and frightening when in the light of day she could watch her goats gambol and her chickens cluck. She turned and followed the line of dust as a vehicle approached on the old dirt road leading from State Highway 338 and toward her house. The peppers were safely in the ground and she’d made sure the pecan groves were in decent shape for the season. Any problems encountered by the skeleton crew of workers she had should be able to be taken care of by phone. So, not Ephram or Luis. Still, the big black SUV, now dusted with a liberal coat of brown, headed into her compound and parked before a man exited, his rich brown hair shining in the morning sunlight.

“Ms. Hill?” he asked as he approached the goat enclosure. Nikki noted his posture and wondered if he were a policeman or other law enforcement official. Something about the way he moved sent forth an aura of, not menace or a threat, but of determination and control, of danger. But not to her.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” She dodged a head butt from a tiny goat and left the enclosure, making sure the gate was securely fastened. She didn’t stop until she’d set the small food bucket in the shade of the utility building and then turned to face her visitor.

“I heard you had some trouble last night.”

She smiled as she remembered all the old westerns her grandfather had watched. The line was straight out of a shoot 'em up, as Grandad had called the B movies. “Trouble, Sheriff?”

He opened his mouth then grinned at her and cocked a hip and added with a horrible drawl, “Well, Miss, I hear tell you had some varmint take some pop shots attcha.”

Nikki’s smile faded as the import of the previous night’s events hit her again. She started walking toward the house and said over her shoulder, “And you are?”

“Sorry, my name is Dylan Wright. I’ve been asked by the state police captain to check and see if you need some security.”

She frowned. She’d met Captain Wallace several times over the past five years she’d been back in the area but didn’t know him well. Still, he should realize she wasn’t in the market for a security system, nor were her finances. “I’m sorry you wasted your time on the drive out here, Mr. Wright, but I’m not interested in buying a security system.”

He cocked his head to one side and studied her. “You had a scary thing happen last night, yet, though your window is boarded up right now, you’re out tending to your animals just like it’s a regular day.”

She gestured toward the goats, content in their enclosure and then toward the chicken house and yard down the way. “Whether my day is going well or not, I still have responsibilities to my animals and my ranch. And I don’t have the extra funds to cover a security system that would be hardly used.” She wanted to walk back into her house and figure out the rest of her morning, the replacement of the window, as well as her plans for an outing to the far boundary of her land. Instead, she was standing in the middle of her yard, facing a very attractive, yet disturbing man who was asking too personal questions.

Wait, could he be part of the incident last night? “And what company did you say you were with?” She narrowed her eyes at him and, oddly enough, he relaxed his stance and then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bulky-looking cell phone then offered it to her.

“Call the State Police captain. I’m legit.”

She accepted the phone and then dialed the number for the state police. When the operator answered, she realized the phone was working. Casting a surprised look up at Dylan, she received a slight smile in return. “It’s a sat phone. I’m used to being in places where the signal is null.”

As she waited for the transfer to the captain’s phone, she wondered at his remark. Did he work in many remote regions? The New Mexico bootheel was the perfect null space for cell phones, with its mountains surrounding valleys like hers. She was used to relying on walkie-talkies for on-the-range communication and the landline for all other communication, but outsiders weren’t.

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