The park ranger, who obviously knew every nook and cranny of the King's Palace caverns by heart, led them deeper and deeper into the vaulted, subterranean chambers of Carlsbad Caverns. Despite the wool sweater she had prudently remembered to bring along, Liz found herself shivering slightly as the temperature within the caves dropped along with their elevation. Glancing at her wrist-watch, which read 10:45 a.m., she guessed that it was probably over ninety degrees back on the surface; eight hundred-plus feet below, however, it was noticeably chilly. Birr! Liz thought, wishing she had brought a jacket as well. (Then again, the unseasonably cool air did give her an excuse to huddle closer to Max.) After leading them in and out of the King's Palace, pausing periodically to take in such colorfully-named attractions as the Bashful Elephant and the Queen's Chamber, their guide dropped them off at the underground rest area near the elevator to the surface. "Well, I hope you enjoyed the tour," the ranger said. "If you want, you can now take the elevator back to the Visitors Center uptop, or you can take a self-guided tour of the Big Room." He pointed at a subterranean archway directly behind them. "If you haven't seen the Big Room yet, then you really don't want to miss it. We're talking one of the largest underground spaces in the world, spacious enough to hold over a dozen full-size football fields."Ooh, boy, an even bigger hole," Michael said sarcastically, eliciting a venomous look from Maria.

"Not as big as the one you're digging for yourself," she warned him. Ouch, Liz thought. She wouldn't want to be in Michael's shoes when Maria finally got him alone.

According to the guidebook, it took about an hour and a half to explore the Big Room completely, so they decided to take a combined snack and bathroom break first. Fortunately, a genuine cafeteria, complete with rest rooms and gift shop, had been constructed near the elevator, a mere 750 feet belowground. Liz waved good-bye to Max as the group temporarily split apart, each going in search of munchies or whatever. She wasn't feeling hungry just yet, so, after a quick trip to the ladies' room, she decided to browse a bit in the gift shop. Maybe I can find a nice gift for Max or my folks, she thought.

After growing up in Roswell, it felt odd to be in a souvenir store that wasn't packed to the ceiling with tacky UFO and alien knickknacks. Where were the inflatable E.T.s and cheesy "Take Me to Your Leader" postcards? Instead the underground gift shop traded heavily in rubber bats, cheap imitation kachina dolls, and a wide variety of overpriced, cave-related merchandise: mugs, ashtrays, pennants, souvenir spoons, snow globes, etc. Weaving her way through a pack of bargain-hunting tourists, Liz rifled through a rack of postcards near the front of the shop. One card in particular caught her eye: a color photo of some ancient Native American line carvings found just beyond the entrance of the cave. Interesting, she thought; a couple of the timeworn carvings vaguely resembled some of the alien symbols she and the others had discovered in caves around Roswell. Could there be a connection? She grabbed a copy of the card, to show to Max, and started to make her way toward the cash register. As she neared the checkout counter, an angry voice, coming from right up ahead, froze her in her tracks.

"Five ninety-five? For this piece of crap? What do you think I am, a moron?"No, Liz thought. Not him. It can't be.

The voice, deep and raspy, jolted Liz's memory like an electric shock. Shivering for reasons that had nothing to do with the temperature, she shoved her way through the throngs of shoppers to get a look at the voice's owner, ignoring the complaints and protests of the people she elbowed past. "Wait just one minute, young lady!" a woman in a Hawaiian shirt called out, but Liz wasn't listening. She had to see whom the irate voice belonged to, right now, this very minute. Standing on her tiptoes, peering frantically over the shoulders of a bunch of frustratingly immovable tourists, she spied the upset customer: a burly Caucasian man wearing a red vinyl jacket and a bright orange hunter's cap. Reddish-brown stubble covered his chin and jowls, while his broad, belligerent face was flushed with irritation.

Liz recognized him right away. Oh my God, she thought. An icy chill suffused her entire body and, without thinking, she clutched her stomach protectively. It's him. It's really him.

The man who nearly killed her…

The Crashdown Cafe, almost two years ago: It had all happened very quickly. One minute she was waiting tables with Maria, trading quips and gossip, when suddenly a loud argument broke out at one of the side booths. Two rough-looking men, whom Liz had never seen before, started fighting over money. Before anyone else in the diner had a chance to react or call the police, the heavier of the two men drew a gun on his companion, who grabbed onto the gunman's arm in self- defense. The two men wrestled for control of the pistol and then, without warning, the gun went off.

Standing a few yards away, near the kitchen door, Liz heard a tremendous bang and felt a sudden pain in her stomach, below her ribs. Before she knew it, without really understanding how she'd got there, she was lying on her back upon the cool tile floor, staring up at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. The pain in her belly burned like fire, but the rest of her felt very, very cold. People shouted and Maria screamed, but the confused cries seemed to be coming from somewhere very far away. The icy numbness spread through her body, and somehow Liz knew that she was dying. Oh my God, she thought in a daze. I've been shot.

The fluorescent lights seemed to dim, and a murky darkness began encroaching on the periphery of her vision, blocking out the light. Something wet, warm, and sticky pooled atop her stomach, soaking through her uniform. Liz wanted to sit up, inspect her injury, but she couldn't even lift her head. Her arms and hands lay uselessly upon the floor, lacking the strength to move. All her strength and vitality was slipping away, consumed by the blazing fire below her ribs. It's not fair, she thought, barely managing to keep her eyes open. I can't be dying. It's too soon. The darkness crept in on her from all sides, making it harder and harder to think. Her heartbeat grew slower and fainter every second. A sense of profound regret came over her, driving out the fear and pain. I'm only seventeen! I haven't even- And, all of sudden, Max was there, calling her back from the abyss, his soulful face and caring brown eyes staring down at her, filling her vision. He tore open her uniform and laid his hand upon her stomach, quenching the fire there with the cool depths of his spirit.

Her life was never the same again…

The two men, Maria had told her later, had fled the Crashdown as soon as the gun went off. They were long gone before Sheriff Valenti and his deputies showed up to investigate. Everyone figured they'd skipped town, and Liz had never expected to see the man who shot her again.

Until now.

Without thinking, Liz gasped out loud. The memory was so strong she felt like she had been shot all over again. She could practically smell the gunpowder in the air, hear the sharp report of the gunshots echoing within her ears. She glanced down at her stomach, half-expecting to see the blood leaking through her fingers. Help me! she thought irrationally. Somebody help me! I've been shot! She staggered backward, accidentally knocking over a display of official Carlsbad Caverns snow globes. The fragile souvenirs, containing molded plastic replicas of the cave's stalactites and stalagmites, crashed to the floor, shattering loudly and spilling their liquid contents all over the tiles beneath Liz's feet. The noisy crash attracted the attention of everyone in the shop, including the beefy, loudmouthed man at the cashier's counter. Looking up in shock and confusion, Liz found herself staring directly into the surly, bloodshot eyes of the man who shot her that day at the Crashdown.