Free Wild Wild Death by Casey Daniels Page A

back in Cleveland in that mausoleum.
    Can’t believe kidnappers are goin’ make sure I get back to the pueblo. They’re gonna dump that bag of bones somewhere, fast. And I’m gonna be right back where I started from. You ain’t goin’ to do me any good.”
    Maybe it was just as wel that he was being so restrained. I was emotional enough for the both of us.
    “It’s not going to do Dan any good if some crazy kidnappers kil him,” I wailed.
    My words blew away on the never-ending wind and were lost in the silence that pressed against us.
    Final y, Goodshot lifted his chin. “This Dan, he’s your friend.”
    I nodded. “If Dan gets hurt… If he gets… kil ed…
    and I don’t do everything in my power to try and stop it—”
    “So you’re comin’ to Dan’s rescue. Like the cavalry.” Goodshot’s solemn expression broke into a grin and he held up one hand and said exactly what I was thinking. “I know. Bad joke. Especial y comin’
    from an Indian. Sorry. But true, huh? It’s a rescue mission. And you’re helpin’ a friend.” He took a long look around, drinking in every rock and scrawny shrub. “Guess it won’t make that much of a difference. I’ve waited this long to get back to the pueblo, it won’t hurt to wait a little longer.”
    I think maybe he saw the tears that fil ed my eyes, because he gave me another wave of the hand and turned his back on me. “You know,” he said, “it’s kind of like a treasure hunt. That ransom note told you to come here. So there must be something here…” His hands out at his sides, Goodshot spun around, taking in the abandoned gas station and the desolate hil s. “You were brought here because you were supposed to find somethin’. And I’m guessin’
    the kidnapper chose this place because he figured nobody else was goin’ to find it and nobody was goin’ to disturb you while you looked.”
    “I hope you’re right.” Hands on my hips, I looked around, too. “You don’t think Dan is here somewhere, do you?” I started toward the dilapidated coffee shop, but stopped before I got too close. Who knew what was hiding in there! “Maybe they just want me to leave the bones and he’s here and—”
    “Too easy.” Don’t ask me how ghostly things work, but I heard Goodshot exhale the words and turned to find him puffing on a fat cigar. He stepped back, blew out a couple smoke rings, and studied the scene. “If I was gonna kidnap some fel a—”
    “I’d want to make sure I had the bones in hand before I released him.” He nodded so I’d know I was fol owing where his train of thought was headed.
    “Which means…”

    “Which means…”
    “I’d leave a note. Or a clue of some sort.” Another puff and Goodshot narrowed his eyes. “Here, maybe.” He closed in on a piece of paper fluttering across the blacktop in the wind that hadn’t stopped blowing around the gritty air since I stepped out of the car, but since he was unable to touch it, I was the one who ended up plucking the paper off the ground.
    It was just a bit of newspaper, and I dropped it back where I found it and kicked it aside. That’s when I noticed another scrap of paper stuck into the credit card slot on one of the gas pumps.
    “Bril iant!” I told Goodshot, and reached for the note.
    10 pm
    Taberna Antonito, Colorado
    After Tuesday?
    Then u r too late
    Dan is already dead
    The words burned into my brain and my fingers trembled against the sheet of paper. It was Monday and I had made it just in time. If I hadn’t gotten there… If I’d arrived after Tuesday… If I didn’t have the bones with me…

    I refused to let my brain go there. The important thing now was to fol ow the kidnapper’s directions. I was close. Too close to let a couple little things like panic, worry, and I’m-so-scared-I-can’t-stand-it stop me.
    I looked north, back up the highway we’d just traveled south on. I knew that Colorado was about an hour in that direction, and I remembered the