With agonizing slowness the little burro plodded up the trail. They passed the spring where she and Chris had stopped to rest the last time. No time for resting now. She clucked in the burro's ear and urged it onward.
The shadows closed in fast, and the sun was red and angry on the western horizon when they finally reached the crest where the gypsy Philina had her cabin. The rude log building looked like blessed sanctuary to Karyn. There was no sign of life, but as before, smoke trailed out of the hole in the roof.
Why, she wondered, was Chris not outside to greet her? Maybe he was inside talking to Philina and hadn't heard the burro come up.
Karyn dismounted and walked toward the door of the cabin. Her steps slowed as she sensed something different here. The doorway was uncovered, that was it. The animal hide that had hung there before was gone. Cautiously, she approached and peered into the cabin. A flickering red-orange light from the firepit danced over the interior walls. She stopped just outside the doorway.
'Chris? Is anybody there?'
All at once she knew it was wrong. It was all wrong. The cabin did not look right. The burro-keeper should have been down below; the message from Chris rang false. Everything was wrong, and she'd realized it too late. She started to back away. One step. Then another.
Before Karyn could take a third step, a slim, strong arm encircled her throat, clamping her windpipe in the crook of the elbow. She fought to scream, but no sound could escape. She clawed at the arm that was cutting off her breath, but she could not move it.
The world began to go dark. Karyn felt the strength ebbing from her like blood from a severed vein. Red flashes of fireworks burst somewhere behind her eyes. A roaring like the wind filled her ears.
Then blackness.
29
FOR CHRIS HALLORAN, the run through the dreary back streets of Mazatlan began to take on the quality of a nightmare. It was as though all other living things had been snatched from the face of the earth. The only sound was the thud and scuff of his feet on the pavement.
After many blocks he spotted a taxi parked at the curb. The cab was empty, but from a nearby doorway came the sound of recorded music. Chris pushed aside a curtain hanging over the doorway and walked in.
It was a dim, musty cantina, stale with cigarette smoke and old chiles. A thirty-year-old jukebox played a tragic Mexican ballad. Along the bar sat several men in faded, mismatched clothing. Their eyes slid over Chris without expression. At a table in the rear, two women, heavily made up for the approaching evening, sat nursing glasses of tequila. They turned their professional smiles on him, but their eyes were empty of hope.
Chris paid no attention to the customers. He leaned on the unvarnished bar and spoke to the man in shirtsleeves who stood behind it.
'Hay cochero aqui?'
The proprietor did not speak, but looked down the bar. One of the customers, a thin man with moles on his cheek, spoke up. 'I am the owner of the taxi.'
'Will you take me to the Palacio del Mar?'
The man turned lazily back to the bar. 'Sure. When I finish my drink.'
Chris took a step toward him. His eyes glittered dangerously. 'Take me now.'
The unmistakable menace in Chris's voice got through. 'Si, senor,' the driver said automatically. In a gulp he downed what was left in his glass and walked quickly with Chris out to the cab. He drove well and swiftly, and they pulled up in front of the hotel fifteen minutes later.
The crowd at the Palacio del Mar had increased since that morning. Sightseers wandered about snapping pictures and talking in excited voices about 'la cabana de la muerte.'
Chris paid off the driver and hurried up the steps, across the veranda, and into the lobby. Senor
Davila, the manager, was at his post behind the desk. He was relating, with dramatic emphasis, the events of the bloody night to a small, attentive group of tourists.
Chris pushed to the front of the group and got Davila's attention. 'Ring Mrs.
Richter's room,' he said.
Reluctantly the manager turned away from his audience long enough to operate the key that would ring the telephone in Karyn's room. He rang several times, then turned to Chris with an apologetic shrug.
'Senora Richter does not answer.'
'She must be there,' Chris insisted. 'What time did the cruise boat get back?'
'About noon.'
'Have you seen Mrs. Richter since then?'
'I–I don't remember.'
'Well, think about it.' Chris leaned on the desk and glared at Davila.
The manager chewed his lip nervously. 'Ah, yes, I recall now. She did stop by the desk to ask if there were any messages. I told her there were none, and she went up to her room.'
'Did she go out again after that?'
'I could not say. Please understand, senor, this has been a very busy day. I could not see everyone that comes and goes.'
'Yeah, sure,' said Chris. He spun away from the desk and stalked back through the lobby.
Where the devil could she be, he wondered. He walked quickly through the busy bar and the dining room, scanning the faces. Karyn was in neither place.
It did not seem likely she would be on the beach. It was too late in the afternoon for sunbathing. Still, it was a possibility. Chris ran out of the building and down across the crescent of sand to the water's edge. He jogged along the tideline, checking the few people who were in the water and on the beach. No Karyn.
Chris did not like it. Karyn knew he would come looking for her. If she was not going to be easy to find, she would have left a message for him at the desk. Something was definitely wrong.
He stood at the edge of the beach and tried to think of possibilities. Maybe Audrey knew something. Chris loped back across the beach to his cabana. The blinds were down, the door was locked. Chris banged his fist against the panel until Audrey opened up. Her eyes were not quite in focus, and she swayed slightly as she opened the door. Chris could smell liquor on her breath.
'Nice of you to drop by,' she said with heavy sarcasm.
Chris pushed past her into the room. The air was stale in the gloom. He walked to the window and snapped up the blind, letting in the afternoon sun.
'Have you seen Karyn?' he said.
'Your lady love? Fuck, no. Why would I see her?'
'I don't have time for bullshit, Audrey. Just give me straight answers.'
'You don't have time for much of anything these days, do you, lover boy?'
Audrey knew something. Chris could see it in her eyes. 'I'm asking you again, have you seen Karyn? Do you know where she is?'
'Find her yourself, lover boy. A bitch in heat like that one, it shouldn't be hard for you to — '
Chris hit her. A hard, open-handed blow across the side of the face. Audrey staggered backward several steps. She put a hand to her reddening cheek. Tears squeezed out of her eyes.
'Now let's talk,' Chris said.
Audrey hiccuped and shook her head. Chris moved toward her, and she began to talk.
'I saw her. She — she's gone.'
'Gone? Gone where?'
'I don't know. I just gave her a message, then she went out.'
'What message?' Chris said. It was an effort to keep from screaming at her.
'There was a woman here. She said to tell Karyn you wanted her to come and meet you. That's all.'
'Who was the woman?'
Audrey's eyes fell away from his, and her voice softened. 'I don't know her name. Very pretty. Tall, green
