Chapter 1

   It was one of those rare southern Nevada days when the sky was overcast during the month of May. It was a warm day, but the desert had not quite reached the summer temperatures it was known for. Mark Robertson was hopeful that those days would not arrive for a few weeks. His complexion was so fair that even five minutes in the sun would turn his skin into burning crimson. On this day, however, there was no fear of that. It was a great day for a desert drive, and after taking himself out to breakfast at the local Blueberry Hill restaurant in northeastern Las Vegas, he set out toward the desolation.

   Robertson was 33, and had lived in Las Vegas for more than twenty years. He had really known no other place except for the early years in Bullhead City, Arizona, and he remembered hating that place for its lack of excitement. No, Las Vegas was his home, and he had no desire to ever move. A steady career as a casino bartender had provided him plenty of excitement, as well as access to lots of women, both local and from out-of-town. In his opinion, he had it all.

   With six CDs of heavy metal from the 1980s, he sped down U.S. 95, moving past the northwestern suburbs. When he finally passed the Mt. Charleston turnoff, he smiled. He was finally entering the true desert, getting away from the smog-infested valley for at least a few hours. His first CD, Metallica, got him past Indian Springs, Amargosa Valley, and Beatty. A brothel in Amargosa tempted him briefly. He had experienced one before in Pahrump, but the last time he had had a bit of a scare when the girl hadn’t tested well during the routine screenings. It turned out to be the fault of the lab tech, though. Still, Mark was a bit self-conscious about it.

   Van Halen was next, and luckily it was the 2-CD set, because Mark was on the long stretch between Beatty and Tonopah. Hell, they were all long stretches in the desert, that’s what he liked about adventures like this. Nothing to think about, no job, no girlfriend, no ex-wife, no married paramour. Just him and the car and the music, and the road. It was heaven. He made a brief stop in the semi-desolate town of Goldfield for a soda. He was tempted to check out the town a bit, but all he wanted to do was drive. Tonopah was only a few miles more down the road. He stopped there to get gas and a sub for lunch.

   After Tonopah, he headed east on U.S. 6. This was another stretch he enjoyed. The highway offered the occasional mountain passes, with never-ending valleys between them. Unlike 95, there was little traffic on 6. The highway went through only 2 real towns in Nevada, making it undesirable for commercial traffic, whereas 95 linked Las Vegas with Reno and Carson City. After about a half hour, he reached highway 375, known as the Extraterrestrial Highway. He had never seen an alien land or take off on that road on the several occasions he had driven it. Still, for a man who loved desert scenery, the road was another slice of heaven. The next stop was Rachel, where a bar awaited him. For a change HE would be served, an opportunity he rarely experienced anymore. Long hours at his own job made him dislike visiting other casinos to get served, and there were not many bars in town that he considered worthwhile. Going to a bar in a remote corner of the world, however, was something special.

   After driving a few miles down 375, he saw another car approach, a red Volkswagen Jetta. He hated those kinds of cars, with the exception of the classic Bug. He preferred his Chevy Beretta. He had driven a few Japanese cars in his life, and thought a few of them were worthy, but he believed in American products, and was sad that the domestic automotive industry was falling apart.

   He passed the car, admiring the cute blonde driving it. The color did not suit her, she looked like she was a natural brunette. She was alone, as far as Mark could tell. However, he was thirsty and did not feel like chasing. He continued for five miles before realizing that the Jetta was behind him! Had she made a wrong turn somewhere? That seemed unlikely, as they were only a few miles from 6, and she had been going in the direction of that road. Maybe she thought he was a hot number himself? Mark smiled at the thought. A little sexual fantasy in the middle of nowhere seemed to fit on this day, and the beer could help develop it further when he reached Rachel.

   The Jetta’s horn honked twice. Mark looked in the rearview to look at the girl. She was indicating for him to pull over. This was too good to be true! He obeyed the request. He pulled off the road, right before a small lake that surrounded the highway. The Jetta pulled off right behind him. Mark got out of his car, hoping his breath wasn’t too bad from the sub he had eaten.

   The woman got out of her car. She looked to be perhaps 30, maybe 35. She smiled easily, which helped to make Mark feel at ease. “Hi there, sexy!” she said with a slight purr.

  Mark looked at her. Through her sunglasses, there was now something familiar about the face. The voice was also ringing a bell, and she was disguising it. “I know you.”

  “Maybe.” She took off her sunglasses. “Hello Mark.”

  “You.”

  “Me.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “That’s not important now. What is important is my message.”

  “What message?”

  “This is for Nora.” The blonde then moved to the side, and a figure scrunched in the back seat of the Jetta pumped three bullets into his head. Mark fell backwards against his car, the blood splattering against it as he hit the ground. The man put his gun away, then looked at the woman. “He’s dead. There’s nothing left to do.”

  “Oh, your job is done. Mine isn’t.” She walked over to Mark and felt him…all of him. He had a hard-on. In the middle of nowhere, it was almost tempting…one last time, her way! But, she had work to do. She went to her car to get a small toolbox and put gloves on, then got on with her task.