Panic!

Jana moved back against the rock, watching his approach, and as he grew from a child into an adult, his features became clearly defined. He was thin and his face, his clothes, his hair were caked with dust and sweat; he ran as if in great pain, blistered mouth open wide, the dry gasping of his breath audible in the desert stillness.

He came up to her, stopping several yards away, and knuckled his swollen eyes. He seemed to sway slightly, and Jana thought for a moment that he was going to fall. Compassion pressed at the edges of her anxiety, diminishing it. She relaxed somewhat, standing her ground; but she was still ready to bolt at the first sign of provocation.

“Who are you?” she said to him. “What happened to you?”

His mouth formed words, but he had no voice for them. He sank to his knees in the soft sand and braced his hands on his thighs, looking up at her. Relief and entreaty were apparent in his gaze, and the last vestiges of Jana’s wariness transformed into concern. Swiftly she caught up the bottle of mineral water —a little more than half full—and ran to where the man knelt watching her. She extended the bottle. He pulled it from her hands, making a sound that was almost a whimper. Head thrown back, holding the bottle in both hands, he sucked greedily at the neck of it. Water spilled out in his haste and washed away some of the thick dust on his lips, revealing them to be cracked and beaded with flecks of dried blood. Jana looked away.

He finished drinking, allowed the empty bottle to fall into the sand and drew the back of one sun-reddened arm gingerly over his mouth. Then, painfully, he pulled one leg under him and gained his feet, stumbling, finding his balance. Jana took an involuntary step backward, watching him now, but he made no move toward her. One corner of his mouth trembled, and all at once she realized that he was trying to smile.

“Can you talk now?” she asked him.

Soft, shuddering breath. “I ... I think ...”—testing his dust- and heat-parched vocal cords—“I think so.”

“How long have you been out there, under that sun?”

“All day. Years.”

“What happened?”

“My car quit running,” he said. “And I got lost. I’m not much of an outdoors man.”

“You should have stayed on the highway.”

“I wasn’t on a highway. I was out in the middle of nowhere. I’m a ... rock hunter, you see. That’s my hobby.”

“You must be an amateur to go hunting rocks dressed the way you are.”

“Well ... this is my first time on the desert.”

“Mine, too, as a matter of fact.”

“You don’t live in this area?”

“No. I’m just a tourist.”

“Are you alone here?”

Her tentative smile faded slightly. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you might be. I saw the sun reflecting off your car, and then I saw you ...” He ran a hand through his dusty hair, and looked beyond her to where the roadbed was visible through the rocks. “Where does that road lead?”

“To Cuenca Seco.”

“What about the other direction?”

“It’s a dead end.”

“How far to Cuenca Seco?”

“About seven miles.”

“Can you take me there? Right now?”

“Well ...”

“I’ve got to get to a service station or a garage—some place that has a wrecker for my car.”

Jana considered it. He seemed harmless enough, an even worse tenderfoot that she was; and he hadn’t even looked at her as a woman, only as a savior, a beacon in a sea of arid heat. She couldn’t very well refuse him, not after what he had obviously been through today. He looked exhausted, and those blisters and skin cracks and sunburned patches needed medication. She was being too cautious—overreacting. This was the desert, not the streets of New York City. There was a different set of rules applicable out here.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll take you in.”

“Thanks, Miss—”

“Hennessey, Jana Hennessey.”

“Thanks, Miss Hennessey.”

“What’s your name?”

“Delaney,” he said. “Pete Delaney.”

Jana turned and began gathering up the blanket and the other things. She said, “You probably haven’t eaten all day, have you?”

“No,” he answered. “Nothing.”

“There’s some crackers and cheese in my bag. You’re welcome to what’s left.”

“Thanks,” he said again, softly, and followed her across to the waiting Triumph ...

Twelve

Di Parma didn’t like what they were doing.

He didn’t like it one single damned bit.

What was the matter with Harry, anyway? He was acting like this was a picnic or something, sitting over there grinning in that funny little way of his, his eyes all bright. Vollyer was the best in the business, everybody said that, and he was a nice guy, too, and a friend. It was a real pleasure to work with him. You learned a lot from Harry, there was no doubt about that. But what kind of thing was this?