help. Plus, the prospects of anything changing in the future were scant.
Yet she must try.
Nicole and the girl were relying on her.
Jay screamed . . . but that was about all she could do.
10
In hindsight, I should have gone to the police, perhaps asked them to check things out, but I’m not the most patient of types. Not when the buzz of adrenalin kicks in and I have the scent of a trail. My impulsive nature took hold of me and I drove out into the desert, taking with me a four-litre jug of water, my newly purchased gun and lock-knife and very little else that would keep me alive in the wilderness. I had brought my belongings from the hotel: a change of clothes, as well as the paperwork I’d come armed with, but that was it. In my defence, I was only following a lead that might turn out to be nothing, and thought that within a few hours I’d be back at Scott Blackstock’s trailer reporting a dead end. I didn’t know how woefully misinformed that assumption would turn out to be.
Prompted by his buddy, Rob, Scott had told me about the run-in he’d had with the family who owned a homestead out in the desert, and how one of the Logan men had shown an unhealthy fascination with Helena, and had gone as far as pawing his wife’s hair before Scott had intervened. They’d been drinking in a bar that was frequented primarily by a local Native American contingent, but Scott and Helena were regulars and had been accepted into the community. The Logans were a different story: when they entered the dimly lit bar room, the promise of unrestrained violence in the air became palpable. The Logans made no secret of their dislike for their Navajo and Hopi neighbours, and made it plain with their unchecked insults and racial slurs. Some of the local men might have stood up to them, but they knew it was a pointless exercise, and one that would bring them further trouble. They took the Logans’ belligerence, kept their heads down and hoped they’d pick on someone else.
That was when, uninvited, they had joined Scott and Helena at their table.
‘Guys,’ Scott had tried, ‘you mind? Me and my wife are trying to have a little privacy here.’
‘We don’t mind,’ their elected spokesman said. All three Logans sat down, the spokesman, Carson, slapping a bottle of bourbon on the table top. ‘You go ahead with what you were doing and pretend we aren’t here.’
Scott and Helena shared a grimace. ‘C’mon, guys. Give us a break will ya?’
‘We ain’t sitting with any of those savages.’ Carson tipped his head at the other customers with a sneer. ‘Besides, these are the best seats in the house.’
‘They sure are.’ Brent Logan leered at Helena, admiring the swell of her breasts beneath her white blouse in open disregard of Scott.
Scott glanced at Helena and could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. He couldn’t allow Brent to be so brazen without appearing a coward, but he’d heard rumours about these bad asses and didn’t want the kind of trouble they could bring. ‘C’mon, guys? We’re only having a quiet drink, winding down. There’s plenty other places to sit.’
‘Relax.’ Carson splashed bourbon into glasses, shoved one across the table to Scott, and took up one of his own. ‘Have a drink with us, man.’
Helena bumped Scott’s thigh under the table. Scott got the message: she wanted to leave before things got out of hand. Scott was in agreement but couldn’t see how he could do that without drawing the ire of the Logan boys.
Helena offered a plausible get-out. ‘You’re driving, Scott. You’ve had enough to drink already. We can’t afford for you to lose your licence.’
Scott pushed the glass of bourbon back towards Carson. ‘She’s right. The cops have been after me long enough . . . don’t want to give them a reason to run me in.’
Carson shoved the glass back again. ‘One more won’t hurt.’
Brent’s eyes had fixed on Helena’s face since straying up from her chest.