Pursue

by Vella Munn

Niko couldn’t say why she kept returning to the word ‘force’, since Cheveyo had only mentioned it once in his paper’s first three pages. She gathered it had something to do with defining good and evil or the difference between behavior that was allowed in Hopi culture and what would always be condemned.

  Like animal abuse.

  She jumped and Chinook growled when her cell phone chirped. She’d already received three calls she hadn’t answered because she’d guessed they were from reporters, so she was surprised when Darick’s name came up.

  “Hello,” she said tentatively.

  “Are you home?” He sounded as hesitant as she did. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to her.

  “Yes. What about you?”

  “I’m getting ready to leave the office.”

  A glance at the clock told her that it was after eight. No wonder her stomach was growling. So much for her plan to eat first. “Why are you still there? Did something else—?”

  “No. At least not as far as I know.”

  “That’s good.” She couldn’t think of with anything else to say.

  “The reason I called, I just finished being interviewed.”

  “Oh. How did it go?”

  “Better than I thought it would. The reporter is a freelancer who does a lot of work for The Oregonian. He used me as one of his sources for a piece he did on protecting the steelhead last year. I liked his thoroughness and objectivity, so when he called, I agreed to at least listen to his pitch.”

  “The Oregonian. Then he isn’t local?” The Oregonian was the state’s largest newspaper and was headquartered in Portland.

  “No, but he specializes in coastal and water issues. Niko, I believe the piece he’s putting together will be the balance that’s needed to counter some of the extreme stuff we’re getting.” He paused. “As a freelancer, he has connections with various TV and radio stations. I’d like you to consider talking to him.”

  “You think…?”

  “If I trust any member of the media, it’s him. In addition to the situation with the horses, you can offer a first-hand account of the condition you found that dog in.”

  “That’s needed. I’ve been convinced of that all along. I just wasn’t sure of the best way to make that happen. I don’t want the press putting words into my mouth.”

  “O’Neil won’t. What I’m asking for is permission to tell him how to get in touch with you, preferably first thing tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow was both too soon and too late. She needed to take this one step at a time, to determine whether she trusted this O’Neil person.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “You don’t have to commit to anything. Just give him a chance to introduce himself.”

  “Are you sure you can trust him? You haven’t seen what he’s done with what he got out of you.”

  “No, but I know what he asked and the answers I gave. Look, I’m starved. What if we talk again after I get something to eat?”

  Don’t say anything. Darn it, you know better. “I have the makings for a tuna sandwich. Will that work?”

  “Are you inviting me over?”

  “Yes, I guess I am.”

  * * * *

  Even though he didn’t expect to find a gray on Niko’s property, that didn’t stop Darick from scanning what he could see of the area. Even with her relatives within shouting distance, Niko’s renovated barn was fairly isolated, with plenty of undeveloped land all around. He parked next to her Jeep and got out, then breathed through a threatened cramp in his back. The distance between where he stood and her door kept expanding as he waited for the familiar pain to ease. That was one of the most frustrating things about having to live with a surgically repaired back—he never knew when something would set it off. If he’d been at home, he’d be tempted to pop a muscle relaxant, but he needed to be awake and alert.

  No, not just need, want.

  Chinook’s growl announced his presence. Niko opened the door, forcing him to start walking toward her. Stiff as he felt, he’d be surprised if she didn’t notice his gait.

  “Can I get you something?” she asked as she closed the door behind him. “Aspirin maybe?”

  “What? No, I’m fine.”

  “You aren’t fine.” She pointed at the recliner he’d used the other time he’d been here. “Grandpa gets the same look when his arthritis kicks up. You should have knocked off work earlier than you did.”

  He eased himself into the chair. “I was waiting for O’Neil.”

  “All right.”

  She positioned herself in front of him, with the muted lighting making her hair appear even darker. She’d kept it loose so it flowed around her shoulders. Between that, a white sleeveless T-shirt, well-worn jeans and bare feet, she was far from the professionally-dressed woman he’d seen at Doc Beck’s office this morning. She was somewhere between angel and devil, while he probably looked like something the cat had dragged in.

  He couldn’t remember why he’d agreed to come here, couldn’t think of anything except how much of a woman she was tonight. The thought might not last, but he didn’t care. There’d been too much reality lately.

  “You’re really good with just a sandwich?” she asked. “I can put a salad or soup or something else together.”

  “Anything.”

  After giving him a sideways glance, she headed for the kitchen. Music played in the background, probably coming from the open laptop on the coffee table. He identified flutes and drums, Native American fare.

  “That’s lovely,” he said. He wouldn’t be able to see her unless he straightened and looked to his right, which seemed like too much effort. “Peaceful.”

  “It’s what I need tonight. Don’t tell them, but sometimes hours of teenage energy and noise get to me. I counter it with what’s playing.”

  “Have you listened to the news?”

  “No. What about you?”

  “There’s a TV in the break room at work. I watched while waiting for O’Neil. The state police are going to help search for Cheryl Moyan’s killers.”

  “Help who, you?”

  “Some, but mostly animal control.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  He’d figured she’d ask, which was why he’d decided to get the subject out of the way. “You know what it was like when the grays were around earlier. Coming up with a plan for an organized search was pretty much impossible because no one could predict where they’d next show up.”

  “There is now,” she said as she returned with a sandwich on a paper plate. “Cheryl’s husband.”

  Careful not to let their fingers touch, he took the plate from her. “I talked to Detective Anders about that this afternoon. He’d like to provide Cheryl’s husband with security but so far the man’s been evasive.”

  “What? Does he have a death wish?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” He waited until she’d sat to continue. “Maybe he thinks he’s safe where he is, wherever that is. I also talked to Hank, who pointed out something I already knew. I’m sure you do too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s never been anything like what we’re dealing with. How does an agency or agencies, even the police, go about protecting someone from four-legged vigilantes? The witness protection plan wasn’t set up for this situation. James hasn’t broken a law. They can’t lock him up.”

  “Hasn’t broken a law? He subjected—”

  “I know.” His day had included more than just trying to deal with the grays, but he couldn’t bring that to mind. He wished he could, because continuing this conversation with Niko wasn’t going to get them anywhere tonight. “Have you given talking to O’Neil more thought?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Since you vouched for him, I’m going to.”

  He nodded and took a bite of the first thing he’d eaten since the morning. Judging by his stomach’s reaction, he was going to ask if she had more tuna.

  “What prompted you to do w
hat you did?” she asked. “You didn’t have to try to get O’Neil and me together.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  She studied her hands. “I’m thinking about the last time I saw you. Why were you at the vet’s clinic?”

  “Do you have to ask? I wanted to see how the horses and hound were doing.”

  “See.”

  “See what? You’re confusing me.”

  “Am I? I’m sorry.” She rubbed her knees. “I’m trying to figure you out. At first I thought you were an S.O.B., but you aren’t.”

  Their first interaction, for lack of a better term, had revolved around her belief that he hadn’t respected something she’d told him in confidence about a student’s concern with regards to her mother. The mother, a convicted felon, had bought a weapon, in violation of the terms of her probation. When the mother had been arrested, Niko had assumed he’d passed the information on to law enforcement, but he hadn’t.

  “I have my moments,” he said, “but I don’t see myself as an S.O.B.”

  “Neither do I, now.”

  “I’m glad we’re getting another chance to get to know each other. I just wish the circumstances were different.”

  “So do I.”

  One instrumental piece ended and another began. This selection struck him as being more upbeat, and he started nodding in time with it.

  “I stopped by the vet’s on my way home,” she said. “Maybe it’s my imagination, but Mist looks even stronger than he did this morning. I gave him another massage.”

  “What about Hope?”

  “I didn’t notice a change, unfortunately.”

  “Did Doc say anything?”

  “Nothing we haven’t already heard. Her system is so depleted.” The knuckles over her knees whitened. “That damn bastard!”

  “Her owner?”

  “I won’t ever call him that.” She continued to press down. “What happened to the dog was bad enough, but to let an animal starve in front of you—how can anyone…?”

  “I don’t know. I never will.”

  “Because there’s no excuse.”

  “No, there isn’t.” He swallowed and continued. “The first time anyone knew the grays existed was back when they attacked those brothers who were running that hellhole of a puppy mill inland. Not long after, they did the same to a local deer poacher. They also took down a woman who’d killed her neighbor’s dog.”

  Niko repositioned herself so she was facing him. “Then they showed up on the coast,” she said. “Weren’t you the one who dug up the information about them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Somehow they knew Kendall Taft was the person who’d left a wounded cow elk to die and her calf to starve.” He mouth tightened. “Grover Brown paid the ultimate price for poaching a bull elk and Ram—how could the grays have any idea what he’d been doing?”

  He stared at her. She’d just given voice to the same question he’d been wrestling with.

  “The grays couldn’t have seen everything,” he said.

  “No, they couldn’t. And why haven’t they identified and punished the bastard who neglected Hope? That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” He placed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and started chewing. He had no idea what it tasted like. “How did they miss that?”

  “And are they going to try to do something about it?”

  * * * *

  Darick Creech wasn’t Native American. As a result, he had no right to the Hopi material Grandpa had entrusted Niko with, but he might be the only person she could talk to about what she’d learned.

  Might have learned.

  “I don’t believe the grays are acting on their own,” she said.

  “Go on.”

  If he’d questioned her comment or replied with his own opinion, she might not have said anything, but this complex man had done neither of those things. His back was bothering him. She could see the pain in his eyes, and yet he was able to keep the discomfort from overwhelming him.

  “I want to tell you something, but only if you promise to keep it to yourself,” she said.

  He frowned and started to shake his head, then clamped down on his lower lip. “I can’t promise anything at this point. If you know something that might make it easier to locate the grays, I have an obligation to pass that information on. As it is, I should have shared what I know about Gun showing up here.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Even though she was on the brink of sharing something she considered sacred with a man she barely knew, she wasn’t nervous. Her calm had a lot to do with their shared concern for the animals under Doc’s care, but that wasn’t all. Their relationship wasn’t romantic, yet she felt alert and aware when she was with him. She couldn’t deny her desire to be close to him, to hear his voice, to see him smile.

  To have him touch her.

  “Niko?”

  Her name on his tongue brought her back to the moment. Still, remnants of what she’d just admitted to herself remained.

  “I’m sorry. I could talk to Grandpa about this, but he doesn’t know the details the way you do. Besides, maybe I need to bounce this off an outsider.”

  “Outsider?”

  “Someone who didn’t grow up steeped in Native American beliefs.” She’d gone too far. Even if she wanted to, there was no stopping now.

  She reached for the folder on the coffee table and clasped it to herself as she told him how it had come into her hands.

  “As far as we know, the grays were found on a Hopi reservation,” she said. “That’s what got me thinking there might be a connection between their behavior and the tribe. When I told Grandpa, he gave me this. It’s a collection of personal Hopi letters, essays and histories.” She locked her gaze on him. “It’s sacred, something to be shared only among trusted Natives. You won’t find this material anywhere else.”

  “But you’re going to tell me?”

  “If I can trust you.”

  “You can,” he said after a short silence.

  Maybe she should have pushed for more in the way of a promise, but her heart told her it wasn’t necessary. Still studying him, she gave an overview of Hopi religious ceremonies, including the worlds traditional Hopi believed in. She explained that the sipapu was considered the womb of Mother Earth and represented where mankind had emerged from the underworld.

  “There are a number of versions of what the different worlds represent. Even with this—” She indicated the folder on her lap. “I’m not going to venture a guess as to which version represents original belief. One thing…”

  “One thing what?”

  She blinked to bring him back into focus. He was sitting up straight and returning her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to decide how to best say this. The deity Masauwu—he’s also called Skeleton Man—is considered the master of the Upper or Fourth World. That’s where people go to escape the wickedness that exists in Third World.”

  “I think I’m following you. Do animal abusers come from Third World?”

  “Maybe,” she muttered. “If that’s true, abusers can’t help themselves.”

  “I’ll never buy that.”

  “Neither will I. There’s such a thing as a conscience, or lack of one.”

  “Or pure evil.”

  “That’s a strong way of putting it.”

  “You disagree?” he asked.

  “No. Darick, back to the point I’m trying to make. Masauwu is also known as Spirit of Death, Earth God, and the door keeper to the Fifth World.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “And aware of what’s good and evil.”

  He frowned. “Maybe more than just aware?”

  “I’ve been wondering that.” Darick wasn’t making fun of her or Hopi beliefs, which meant she could continue. “According to ancient belief, Masauwu spends time in the Fifth or underworld. When he’s there, he has no awareness of what’s happening in the other wor
lds, including the Fourth or present world.”

  Darick fixed his attention on the folder. “Which, if we accept Hopi belief, might explain why Hope’s abuser has gotten away with what he or she did.”

  “Yes, it could.”

  “This is heavy,” he said. “Complicated. Earth God sounds like something or someone who is charged with ensuring a smooth operation. I’m probably not saying this right, but hopefully you understand what I’m getting at. What happens if Masauwu or Earth God observes cruelty?”

  “I’m not sure I can answer that. What I’ve learned”—she patted the folder—“is that he has both violent and peaceful attributes.”

  “Like a lot of us. Back to his time in the underworld. How long does that last?”

  “I don’t know. I’m thinking time has different meaning to Hopi deities. Maybe—maybe after witnessing what he did with regard to animal abuse and dealing with what happened here last summer, he needed to spend time where it’s peaceful.”

  Darick nodded. “He isn’t the only one.”

  “I agree.”

  “Of course you do.” He gave her a half smile. “You’ve been through hell the last few days. So if the underworld is akin to being in hibernation, no wonder Masauwu wanted to hang out there.”

  “And because of that, he wasn’t aware of what was happening to Hope.” She took a moment to consider what to say next then decided she’d gone too far to stop. “Maybe Hope giving birth somehow got through to him. He woke up and looked around, saw what was happening.”

  “But maybe the grays heard and observed.”

  “That’s possible.” Flute notes seemed to fill the room.

  “It makes sense, as much sense as anything does.” He got up and walked into the kitchen then poured himself a glass of water. He returned but didn’t sit. She wondered if there was a woman in his life.

  “The grays know who Mia is and the role Mia played in what happened to the cow elk and her calf this summer,” he said. “You’re probably Mia’s best friend.”

  “Yes.”

  “The dogs didn’t try to free Hope for fear they’d freak her out. There was nothing they could do for the foal. They went looking for a solution and found you, a woman as compassionate as Mia.”