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Cyrus stood next to the luggage at the curb outside the baggage claim area of Stapleton International Airport. Twenty minutes later, just as he was about to pass out from the exhaust fumes, a silver Lincoln Town Car squealed to the curb and sounded the horn. Kyna sat behind the wheel while he loaded the bags into the trunk and then followed the Avis courtesy map to Golden and exited I-70 at the first motel sign she saw. As soon as she checked in, they drove around to the back and Cyrus climbed out and stretched. It was too dark to make out more than a vague outline of the mountains around Golden, but he could feel and taste their presence in the cool of the night air. After the oppressive humidity of Memphis, it was like walking into an air-conditioned theater. |
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Kyna opened the trunk and then started for their room. "Well? You coming?" |
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Cyrus looked at the pile of suitcases and mumbled, "Yow'ser mass'er." |
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Kyna had booked only one roomfor security reasons, she claimedbut it had two queen-sized beds, a hanging chain lamp over a round table and a TV set bolted to a built-in dresser. Above the beds were two faux oil paintings of mountainswhat else? And a gold shag carpet with dark wear marks running from the door to the bathroom. |
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Kyna dumped the camera case on the chair beside the table, slid the attaché case under the bed closest to the bathroom and then set about preparing for bed. She slipped off her suit |
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