Santa Fe Rules Read Online Free PDF Page A

that.
    He left the bedroom, carrying his bag, started toward his study, then stopped. There had been a noise: papers being shuffled. More noise, then a light came on in the study. Wolf felt the thrill of fear associated with disturbing a burglar, only this could be anybody—policeman or thief.
    Wolf moved as quietly as he possibly could until he was at the wall between the living room and the study. Consumed with curiosity, he overcame his fear and inched along the wall until he was at the door. Around the corner, not six feet away, was…somebody. He wanted desperately to know who. Shifting his weight, he craned his neck and sought the crack at the door hinges; as he found it, the light went off, leaving him with no night vision. Footsteps retreated; he stepped into the room, blinking. A shadow of movement at the other door, then more footsteps downthe hall. He followed as quickly as he could without making a sound. Then he heard the kitchen door open and close—the intruder must have broken the seal—and then footsteps crunching on the gravel of the drive, moving toward the back of the house.
    Abandoning caution, he ran to the kitchen window and looked out. No one. An engine started behind the house, on the back of the circular drive. He’d head the car off at the pass. He ran back down the hall and through the living room, and fumbled with the catch on the sliding doors to the deck, which gave him trouble; it always had. He got the door open and stepped onto the cedar deck. Far below, the carpet of Santa Fe lights winked back at him, like a mini-L.A. viewed from Mulholland Drive.
    The car was just disappearing down the drive—a four-wheeler of some kind—Jeep, Bronco, who could tell? There were thousands of the breed in the city. He lost sight of it at the end of the drive, heard it turn right, then saw its dim outline and headlights as it drove purposefully toward town.
    Who was the son of a bitch?
    Wolf went back into the study and played his flashlight about. Nothing much disturbed; the usual mess on his desk. What could anybody want in here?
    He remembered why he had headed for the study in the first place. He walked to a wall and pressed a panel, which swung out to reveal a small safe. Cursing because he could not remember the combination, he went to the file cabinet where he had taped the piece of paper, memorized the numbers again, and returned to the safe. There was a couple of thousand in cash inside—twenties, fifties, a few hundreds—and some foreign currency he kept for travel—pounds, francs—probably a couple of thousand more. Hetook it all, stuffing the dollars into his pockets and the foreign stuff in the bag.
    There was something else in the safe, something he’d almost forgotten about. He picked up the pistol, a small 9mm German automatic, and weighed it in his hand. Should he take it? Did he need it? He stuffed it into a hip pocket of his jeans. After all, somebody had recently made an attempt on his life. Shit, somebody had recently killed him.
    He left through the kitchen door—the seal had been broken anyway—and drove away from the house. He waited until he was at the entrance to Wilderness Gate before switching on his headlights.
    Now he headed for his next and last stop in Santa Fe. At this one, he hoped to get some answers.

CHAPTER

5
    W olf needed advice, and he did not have to think twice about where to get it. He drove through the center of Santa Fe, went a couple of miles north on the Taos Highway, then turned left onto Tano Road. He drove west as rapidly as the dirt road would allow, dodging icy patches and gritting his teeth when mud splashed onto the Porsche. Dirt roads were thought to be chic in Santa Fe, but he had never accustomed himself to what they did to his car.
    The lights of houses became more widely spaced as the land changed from five-acre zoning to twelve and a half, then most of the lights disappeared. A mile farther on, he came to the gate. It was closed. Wolf