Bone Dry

Smedley closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Inga lay in bed and watched the digital clock on the nightstand. She was certain more than sixty seconds had passed, yet the clock still read 2:59. It was kind of stuffy in her hotel room. She considered turning on the air conditioner to help her sleep. Finally, anticlimactically, the clock flipped to 3:00.

She was worried about Tommy. Somewhere out in the darkness, he was roaming the Texas Hill Country in handcuffs. Poor little guy probably hadn’t had a meal since before the town assembly on Thursday evening. Now it was almost dawn on Saturday.

And there were coyotes in this part of the country, right? She was pretty sure there were, because-my god- they even had them in New York City now. She could almost picture Tommy unconscious at the bottom of a ravine, curious coyotes nearby sniffing the air, drawing closer and closer.

She had a thought that made her smile: If one of the coyotes bit Tommy, he’d probably bite it right back. Send it yelping into the night with its tail between its legs.

Tommy, for all his faults, had a fierce determination about him. He was unwaveringly committed to what he thought was right. Yes, part of his motivation was his love for Inga, she knew that much. Inga felt certain, though, that he’d still be pursuing the same causes even if she weren’t by his side.

The truth was, he was a good man.

That’s why she felt guilty that her mind kept wandering away from Tommy and his predicament. For a few moments, she would lie in the dark, trying to focus on Tommy-and whether or not he might fit into her long-term plans for life. But then her mind would slip off in another direction and she would find herself thinking about the game warden, John Marlin.

She found herself wanting to be in his company, to have deep meaningful conversations well into the night. And yes, she found herself wanting him on the most basic level. It wasn’t because of his looks: Sure, he was handsome, but not in a leading-man kind of way. It was something beyond that. Maybe it was his sense of confidence, or the honest, straightforward way he dealt with the world around him.

Really, who knew what caused one person to be attracted to another? If someone had said, Inga, you’re going to meet a game warden in Texas and want to rip his clothes off, then make him dinner afterwards, she would have laughed. Inga Mueller dating a law enforcement officer from Texas? Wanting to feel his big, strong arms around her, making her feel safe and loved and adored? Sounded like some corny movie. The kind that sets the women’s movement back with every showing. Gag.

She decided to take her mind off things by watching TV. As she reached for the remote control, she heard a noise outside her room. Kind of a scratching, like tree limbs across a window. Not the window by the front door, but from the window in the adjacent wall.

Chuck’s Motel was a long concrete-block building with six units in a row. Inga was at the end of the line-room 6-at the opposite end from the office. She had requested it for privacy, which was a waste of time, really, because the only other lodgers were a friendly retired couple in room 1-Mel and Lydia from Detroit, whom she had met briefly a few days ago.

The motel was several blocks off Highway 281, away from the well-lit town square. Back here on the side streets, with Tommy gone, it was easy to get lonely. And a little spooked.

The scratching came again.

“Tommy, is that you?” she called out.

No answer. Inga thought Tommy might be trying to get her attention without going to the door. Deputies still cruised the parking lot every few hours, hoping to catch Tommy coming back to the motel. Where else could he go?

But the truth was, you could hardly go anywhere in Johnson City without seeing a cop right now. The small town was like a beehive, with city, county, and state units coming and going all the time. All because of the hostage situation at the sheriff’s office only four or five blocks away. Then again, everything in Johnson City was only a few blocks away. When Inga had first arrived in town, she couldn’t believe how small the-

She heard it again. Another scratch at the window.

Inga slipped out of bed and stepped over to the wall. “Tommy, dammit, is that you? You’re scaring me. Just come to the front door.”

Maybe there was a tree or bush just outside the window swaying in the wind. But she knew it was too dark on that side of the building to see anything…and, to be honest, she didn’t really want to open the curtains to take a peek.

She stood in silence, her ear pressed against the wall, waiting for another scratch. She watched the digital clock as one full minute passed, then two more. She breathed a little easier. It was obviously nothing. She was acting like a schoolgirl.

Then another noise came, an urgent rattling and slapping of aluminum against glass. Inga stifled an urge to scream. Somebody was just outside the window, removing the screen.

“Tommy!” she yelled. “Dammit, answer me!”

The noises ceased, but there was no reply. Clearly, whoever was outside, it wasn’t Tommy.

Inga turned to call 911-and remembered with a sudden panic that the room had no phone. When they had checked in a week ago, the stooped, gray-haired owner had said, There’s a pay phone just outside the office if you need to make any calls. Ice machine right ’round the corner.

Inga suddenly felt extremely vulnerable wearing nothing but panties, so she quickly donned a T-shirt and jeans. Then she surveyed the sparsely furnished room for anything she could use as a weapon. There were a couple of wooden clothes hangers in the closet. The drinking glasses in the bathroom were, unfortunately, made of plastic instead of real glass. Then she remembered she had a can of pepper spray in her purse. Wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

She dumped the contents of her purse on the bed and quickly sifted through the pile-when she heard a gentle knock on the door. From the other side came a whisper: “Hey, it’s me. Let me in.”

Inga blew out a sigh of relief and walked to the door. “Tommy, you jerk, why didn’t you answer me earlier?” Her hand went to the dead-bolt lock, but she waited for Tommy to reply. Silence. “Tommy?”

Then, in a barely audible voice: “Yeah, it’s me. Open the door!”

The voice was faint, but it sounded like Tommy. Who else would it be? She felt silly for letting herself get worked up. Just to be sure, she put her eye to the peephole-and saw nothing but the parking lot. She moved to the window and parted the curtain slightly. Nobody out there. “Tommy! Where’d you go?”

Once again, silence.

Boy, he must really be worried about getting caught. Probably hiding behind a car. She slid the chain off its track, slowly turned the knob, and eased the door open. She poked her head outside and, in a louder voice, said, “Tommy, quit screwing around. Get in here!”

She saw a shadow move. Across the parking lot, behind a tree. She stepped out onto the concrete walkway in front of the room. “Very funny. Would you stop with the bullshit?” She glanced left and right, then took a few steps and stood beside her Volvo. The shadow seemed to have vanished. Or was that someone peeking out at her?

“Tommy?”

Right behind her, a voice said, “Expecting someone?”

Smedley could tell that he was lying on something hard, like a floor, rather than a bed. It felt like there was a wet cloth across his forehead, and his head was throbbing with each heartbeat. He had a hell of a headache. He got those sometimes, from too much sugar. Almost enough to make him cut down on the Twinkies.

He heard voices, far off, maybe in another room. He wanted to speak up, ask somebody where he was, but he didn’t have the energy. He couldn’t open his eyes, either; he seemed to have forgotten how. One of the voices was speculating that “Maybe the guy needs stitches,” with the other saying, “Naw, he’ll be all right.” Smedley wondered who they were talking about. Some poor guy had gotten injured. But he couldn’t worry about that now.