Showdown in West Texas by Amanda Stevens Page A

all this was starting to bother Cage. “Let’s just assume it was someone local. Someone that still lives around here. Have you ever considered that your return might be making him sweat a little?”
    Grace frowned. “Why would he be worried about me? He’s gotten away with five murders for this long. Besides, if he thought there was a chance I’d seen something that night, he could have killed me a long time ago.”
    â€œLike I said, whacking a kid might not be so easy, even for him.”
    â€œYou’re forgetting about my sister,” Grace said. “Lily’s lived here all her life. If he’s concerned I’ll remember something, why hasn’t he been worried about her all this time?”
    â€œPut it this way,” Cage said. “If you had to rely on a six-year-old or a ten-year-old witness, which one would you choose?”
    â€œYeah, I guess. But like I said, this guy has gotten away with murder for twenty-three years. You think he’s going to risk his freedom now by coming after me on the off chance I might remember something?”
    â€œAll it takes is the right sound,” Cage said. “Or a smell.”
    Grace shook her head. “If I was going to remember something about that night, I would have done so by now. There’s just nothing to remember because I didn’t see anything. Besides, the killer could already be dead for all we know. Or in prison for another crime.”
    â€œThat’s certainly possible.”
    She turned and studied him for a moment. “Why are you so interested in all this?”
    He shrugged. “I’m a cop. The notion of a killer going free all this time goes against my grain.” And somebody around here wants you dead, lady.
    â€œYou don’t think it goes against mine? We’re talking about my parents here. I’ve dreamed about catching the person or persons responsible for as long as I can remember. It’s the reason I entered law enforcement in the first place. But I’m a realist. In the past two years alone, the Mexican police have reported over five thousand—that’s five thousand —gangland-style killings, and that violence is starting to spill across the border. That’s where I have to direct this department’s resources and manpower. I can’t indulge myself in trying to solve a twenty-three-year-old homicide case. Not even when it’s as close to me as this one. My duty is to protect the citizens of Cochise County to the best of my ability, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
    Admirable, Cage thought. But luckily, he wasn’t hampered by such noble constraints.
    They’d been traveling south since they’d left Jericho Pass and the low walls of an arroyo eventually gave way to a high bluff that ran parallel to the road.
    Grace nodded toward the window. “Red Rock Canyon,” she told him.
    She’d slipped on her sunglasses earlier and now she pulled them down her nose so that she could study the striated formations over the rims. “There’s a legend about this place. One of the south-facing walls has a pictograph of a giant thunderbird which some say marks the tomb of a monstrous winged predator who once fed on the tribes that lived in this area. On moonless nights, the lights that can be seen moving through the canyon are the souls of his victims, trying to find a passage to heaven. Others say the thunderbird guards a secret door behind which is a fortune in gold.”
    â€œNothing like a good legend to lighten the mood,” Cage said. “I’ve always been a sucker for ghost stories.”
    â€œThen you’ll want to see Willow Springs,” she said.
    â€œWhat’s Willow Springs?”
    â€œA ghost town about twenty miles from here. But if you want to visit it, I wouldn’t advise taking your car. The trail is pretty rugged. You’ll need a four-wheel drive.”
    â€œI’ll