by Rita Herron
“So you really think this land is sacred?”
He gave a clipped nod. “Yes. The cadaver found was definitely Native American, the bones years old.”
Jessie rubbed her arms with her hands. “But why would Billy admit that he killed Marcie and Daniel if he didn’t?”
Sergeant Navarro’s eyes darkened. “Because someone forced him to write that confession, or forged it.”
Tension stretched between them as she contemplated his suggestion. “If you think my father did all that, you’re crazy.”
His jaw tightened. “Your father had means, motive and opportunity.” He gestured toward the crime scenes where the bodies had been discovered, then to the latest grave where the Native American had been uncovered. “But if he’s not guilty, then someone else is, and I intend to find them and make them pay.”
His big body suddenly stilled, went rigid, his eyes sharp as he turned and scanned the grounds. She saw the animal prints in the soil just as he did. Coyote prints.
He moved forward stealthily like a hunter stalking his prey, tracking the prints. His thick thighs flexed as he climbed over scrub brush and rocks until he reached a copse of oaks and hackberries. Tilting his hat back slightly for a better view, he dropped to his haunches and pawed through the brush.
She hiked over to see what he was looking at. Hopefully not another body. “What is it?”
He held up a small leather pouch he’d hooked by a gloved thumb. “It looks like a woman’s.”
She knelt beside him to examine it closer, focusing on the beaded flowers on the leather.
“Have you seen it before?” he asked.
He turned it over, revealing the letters LL engraved on the other side, and perspiration dampened her breasts. “Yes.”
“Whom does it belong to?”
She bit her lip, a memory suffusing her. “LL stands for Linda Lantz. She worked for us as a horse groom a couple of years ago.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Where is she now?”
“I don’t know. She left the ranch about the same time Marcie was killed.”
The Ranger cleared his throat. “And you’re just telling us about this now?”
She jutted up her chin defiantly. “I didn’t think her leaving had anything to do with Marcie’s disappearance and death. Linda had been talking about moving closer to her family in Wyoming so I assumed she left to go home.”
“Without giving you notice?”
She shrugged. “It happens.”
“Well, if she left that long ago, then this pouch has been here for two years. That makes her a possible suspect…” He let the sentence trail off and Jessie filled in the blanks.
A suspect or perhaps another victim.
Worried, she stood, massaging her temple as she tried to remember if Linda had acted oddly those last few weeks.
“Did she know Marcie?” Ranger Navarro asked.
“I don’t think so, but they could have met in town.”
He cleared his throat. “Maybe she disappeared because she knows something about the murders. What if she stumbled on the killer burying the bodies out here?”
“Oh, God…” Jessie sighed. “I hope that’s not true. Linda was a nice girl.”
A heartbeat of silence ticked between them. That knot of anxiety in her stomach gnawed deeper. What if Linda’s body was buried here, too? What if it had been here for two years? Maybe she should have reported her missing.
The sound of animals scurrying in the distance reverberated through the hackberries and mesquites, then a menacing growl—a coyote?
Odd. Coyotes usually surfaced at night, not morning.
“They’re watching,” he said in a low tone.
“What?” Jessie searched the early morning shadows dancing through the trees. “Who’s watching?”
“The spirits of the dead,” he said in a quiet tone, as if he could see them. “Their sacred burial ground has been disturbed, one of their own moved, and they want the body returned.”
Jessie tipped back the brim of her hat and studied him. “You really believe that?”
He nodded matter-of-factly. “See that tzensa on the ridge.”
“That what?”
“Coyote.”
“Yes.” Intrigued that a man of the law believed in folk legends, she followed him as he walked over to a cluster of rocks, then peered up toward the ridge at the coyote as if he was silently communicating with it.
“The tzensa is an omen that something unpleasant is going to happen,” he said in a deep, almost hypnotic tone. “He may even be a skin walker.”
In spite of the warm spring sunshine, a chill skated up Jessie’s arms. He’d followed the coyote’s prints to the leather pouch. “What exactly is a skin walker?”
He gave her a questioning look as if he suspected her to make fun of him, then must have decided that either she wasn’t, or that he didn’t care and continued. “According to the Comanches, when an evil spirit is angered, it wants revenge and can sometimes possess the body of an animal.”
Jessie shook her head. “That’s a little far-fetched, isn’t it?”
He gave a sardonic chuckle. “Some would say the same about religion.”
Jessie mentally conceded the point. “You’re a Ranger. I thought you believed in forensics and cold, hard evidence, not in superstitions.”
He lifted his head as if he smelled something in the air, something unpleasant. Maybe dangerous. “A good cop uses both the physical evidence and his instincts.”
She sighed, hands on her hips. “This is unreal. First you accuse my family of stealing land, then murder. And now you expect me to believe that evil spirits are here, wanting revenge.”
His dark eyes fastened on her, unnerving and deadly serious. “Your father disturbed them when he bought the sacred land, and then that road crew stirred them up even more.”
“If the land is indeed sacred, we had no idea when we closed the deal,” Jessie argued. “And I sure as heck didn’t expect anyone to be killed over it.”
“But your father set the chain of events into motion,” the Ranger said. “And now, if I’m right, you and your father may be in danger from the spirits.”
“I’m not worried about spirits.” Jessie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “But go ahead and do your job, Ranger. The sooner you arrest the real killer, the sooner you can leave us alone, and our lives can return to normal.”
His gaze met hers, determination flashing in his steely gaze, but a warning also darkened the depths. She barely resisted another shiver. He really believed those legends.
But she was a by-the-book kind of girl. The danger lay in the Native American activists threatening her family, and the killer whom the Rangers obviously hadn’t yet arrested.
Not some angered spirits.
Still, as if to defy her, the coyote suddenly howled from the top of the ridge and a gust of wind rustled the trees, the scent of the death on her land surrounding her.
CABE SILENTLY CURSED.
Hell, he knew how people in the town looked down upon the Native legends. But for a moment, something crazy had possessed him, and he’d spilled his guts to Jessie.
A mistake he wouldn’t do again. She was the enemy. He was supposed to extract information from her, not the other way around.
But as much as he’d left the old ways and superstitions behind, he couldn’t ignore his instincts. He felt the evil spirit lingering as he stared into the tzensa’s eyes. The coyote was a great predator, a trickster.
And he was here for a reason. Cabe had felt the connection.
The animal angled its mangy head toward the ridge below as if silently passing on a message, and Cabe headed toward the spot where the tzensa had looked. Sun glinted off rocks and what looked like a bat cave below, and he skidded down the hill, climbing over shrubs and sagebrush, dirt and crumbled stones skidding beneath his rawhide boots.
Behind him, Jessie followed, her soft breaths puffing out as she descended the hill. He spot
ted the dark entrance to the bat cave nearby. Weeds and brush shadowed the opening, and he frowned, grateful that bats were nocturnal and he didn’t have to face them now. At night they’d be swarming.
He rounded a big boulder, and came to an abrupt halt. Owl feathers.
An owl was a sign of death.
The ground had been disturbed, clawed away, the earth upturned. He gritted his teeth, then dropped to his haunches and studied the claw marks. The tzensa’s…
Bones poked through the soil, and a dirt-crusted silver headdress with emeralds embedded in the Native etchings shimmered in the sunlight.
“What did you find now?” Jessie asked behind him.
He shifted slightly as she approached so she could see for herself.
“Oh, my God,” Jessie gasped as she spotted the skeleton.
A rustling sound followed, and Cabe jerked his head toward the woods, his heart pounding as he spotted a shadow floating between the oaks. Someone was there, watching them.
Someone who posed a danger.
A second later, a gunshot pinged off the boulder beside them. Jessie screamed.
He shoved her down to the ground, grabbed his gun and tried to shield her as another bullet flew toward them.
Chapter Two
Jessie’s knees slammed into the ground as the Ranger threw her down and covered her with his body. Hard muscle pressed against her, his breath heaving into her ear, his shoulder pressing hers into the ground, his legs trapping her.
The scent of man and sweat assaulted her, then she tasted dirt. Pinned down by his big body, a panicky feeling seized her, and she pushed against him to escape. But another bullet zoomed within inches of them, bouncing off the boulder, and he rolled her sideways until they were near the bat cave, and hidden by the thorny brush.
“Stay down!” he growled in her ear.
Jessie heaved a breath, wishing she had the gun in her saddlebag. “Do you see the shooter?”
The Ranger lifted his head, bracing his Sig Sauer to fire as he scanned the horizon. She raised her head as well, searching and struggling to crawl out from under him. The big damn man was smothering her.
He jerked his head toward his SUV. “Get in my Land Rover, lock the doors and stay down. I’m going after him.”
Without waiting on her reply, he jumped up, ducking behind brush and trees as he ran toward her horse, vaulted onto it and sent the palomino into a gallop toward the woods where the shots had come from.
“No!” She launched after him. No one rode Firebird but her. The nerve of the arrogant bastard. This was her land—she had to protect it.
But she wasn’t a fool either. He had just ridden off with her weapon and she couldn’t chase the shooter on foot.
Another shot skidded by her ear, nearly clipping her, and she realized she had no choice. It was the bat cave or his Land Rover, and she didn’t intend to tangle with the bats.
She crouched low and sprinted toward his Land Rover, furious, and hoping he caught the man.
Firebird’s hooves pounded the ground, and the shots faded as she climbed in the Land Rover, locked the doors and crouched on the seat. Tension thrummed through her body as she waited and listened. She felt like a sitting duck and lifted her head just enough to peer out the window to watch in case the shooter snuck up on her.
Her temper flaring, she checked for the keys to the vehicle. She’d drive it back to the house and leave the surly Ranger just as he had left her. But of course, the keys were missing.
Probably in his damn pocket.
Steaming with anger, she folded her arms and tapped her snakeskin boots on the floor while she waited.
Ever since her father had purchased that land, their lives had fallen apart.
When they’d first discussed the deal, he’d been excited about the prospects of expanding his operations. She’d still been in college, but she’d grown tired of following her mother around from one man to another. So, she’d finished her degree and decided to come back to the ranch, reunite with her father and join his operation.
But when she’d returned, she’d immediately sensed something was wrong with him. Although the cattle operation was successful, her father had made some other poor investments. Odd, since he was usually such a shrewd businessman.
After reviewing the books, she’d realized they had to increase their cash flow, so she’d added boarding and training quarter horses to the cattle operation. With even bigger ranches than the Becker one around needing working horses, she’d struck a deal to train them and had increased their cash flow within months, enabling him to pay off the debts he’d accrued and steer the ranch back on track.
But her father’s behavior had worried her.
At first, she couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong, but little things had seemed out of sync, and she feared his memory had been slipping. He’d complained of seeing things on the land, of hearing voices and bad things happening. Lights flickering on and off. Shadows in the house. Cattle missing. A watering hole that had dried up when they had had torrential rains. Fences broken. A small barn fire that had nearly spread out of control which could have been dangerous for the livestock and ranch hands.
And now these murders.
Sergeant Navarro’s warning about danger from the spirits taunted her, but she blew it off. Spirits didn’t fire guns or start fires.
Whoever had killed Marcie and the others was obviously still lurking around. And they didn’t want her or the Rangers asking questions.
CABE KICKED THE PALOMINO’S sides and they galloped up the hill, scouring the wooded area where the shooter had disappeared. Another bullet soared near his head, and he ducked, then fired off a round with his Sig Sauer. The horse protested, whinnying and backing up, but he gave the animal a swift kick to urge him forward.
Another shot whizzed by his shoulder, and Cabe cursed and coaxed the horse around another bend of trees, but the shadow was gone, and the trees were too thick to maneuver the horse through, so he brought the animal to a stop, jumped off and ran into the copse of oaks.
He spotted a shadow moving ahead—the tzensa—then jogged to the east where the road lay, in case the shooter had a car ahead. Another bullet pinged off the oak beside him, the bushes to his right rustling as the man dashed through them. Cabe raced toward him, but a rattler suddenly lurched from the bushes in attack.
“Easy,” he said in a low voice. Not wanting to kill the diamondback, he froze, aware any sudden movement would bring it hissing at him.
In the distance, an engine roared to life. He cursed. He was losing the shooter.
Furious, he grabbed a stick, picked the snake up and whirled it away, then jogged toward the sound of the car. The wind ruffled the mesquite as he made it to the clearing. The creek gurgled, water rippling over jagged rocks, and a vulture soared above, its squawk breaking the silence.
But the car disappeared into a cloud of dust so thick that Cabe couldn’t detect the make of the vehicle or see a license plate. Dammit.
He’d never catch the car on foot, or horseback for that matter.
Stowing his gun in his holster, he turned and sprinted back to where he’d left the palomino, climbed on it, then rode back to the crime scene. He had to protect the evidence. Then there was the problem of Jessie Becker.
Mentally, he stewed over the identity of the shooter, considering their current suspects. Her father for one.
Jonah Becker was a ruthless businessman, but to chance hurting his own daughter—would he stoop that low?
The sun was rising higher in the midmorning sky and blazing hotter by the time he reached the crime scene, his senses honed. What if the shooter had been a distraction to mess with the crime scene? What if he’d had an accomplice and he’d gotten to Jessie Becker?
Slowing the palomino as he approached, he scanned the area. The original graves that had held the body of the antiquities broker and activist were still roped off with crime scene tape. Still keeping his gun at the ready, he dismounted, then checked th
e gravesites to verify that nothing had been disturbed. Everything appeared to be intact.
In two quick strides, he reached his crime kit, and examined it to verify that the evidence he’d collected was still inside. A lawyer could argue that it had been left, unguarded, and could have been compromised.
Hell. He didn’t want to lose the case on a technicality.
Maybe Jessie could tell him if she’d seen anyone else around.
Sweat beaded on his neck as he strode over to his Land Rover. But when he reached for the door handle and looked inside, Jessie was gone.
His heart stuttered in his chest. God, he hoped there hadn’t been another shooter.
He didn’t want anyone dying on his watch. Even Jessie.
JESSE LAUNCHED HERSELF AT the Ranger and shoved him up against the Land Rover. “What in the hell were you were doing taking my horse and leaving me unarmed?”
A shocked look crossed his face, then fury flashed into his eyes, and he grabbed her arms to fend off her attack. “Trying to save your pretty little ass,” he barked. “And why didn’t you stay in the car like I ordered?”
“Because I don’t take orders from anyone.” Her pulse clamored, a mixture of anger at him mingling with relief that he’d returned and the shooter was gone. Although she’d never admit that to him. Then his comment registered, and she couldn’t resist taunting him. “So you think my ass is pretty?”
His jaw tightened as if he was working to control his temper, and regretted any compliment, no matter how backhanded it was. “You have a gun?”
Good grief, he was going to turn the tables on her. “Of course. I live on a ranch, Sergeant. I have to protect myself from snakes and rustlers and whatever else.” She gave him a challenging look. “And before you ask, yes, I know how to use it.”
His eyebrow lift infuriated her more. “You’re surprised? Don’t tell me you were expecting some spoiled, rich girl with a dozen servants who lives off her daddy’s dime.”