The revved-up noise of an engine then the movement of the SUV being released from the pressure of another vehicle made the light pull away. She hoped help would come. The quiet movement of footsteps on gravel followed. The door opened and a figure appeared. Rough hands reached in and grabbed her by the front of her shirt, jerking her forward.
“Please. Help my friends.” It was difficult to keep the hysteria out of her voice as the slamming of the car door exploded in her senses. What was happening?
When her body had cleared the car, she was tossed on the ground like a rag doll. She rolled over to see the figure peering into the car. The lights from the vehicle that hit them still blinded her. Identifying who had pulled her free remained impossible. Whoever rammed them, turned to glower down at her. Fear mixed with helplessness engulfed her even as she tried to use her one good arm and feet to thrust her away from the figure who moved closer. When he grabbed her foot and jerked, a snicker escaped as one shoe came off in his hands.
Cleo could see the outline of his face and tried to kick him. “You,” she gasped. Was she hallucinating?
A rustle in the brush behind the SUV caught his attention. He dropped her foot and gaped at something she couldn’t see then ran to his vehicle. In seconds, he was squealing tires and on the road.
Cleo collapsed and tried to catch her breath. What had scared him? Did he see the strobe lights from an approaching police car? An animal? Whatever it was, he didn’t want to get involved with more trouble.
She touched her forehead and felt a trickle of blood. Her head hurt, along with most of her body. Tomorrow would be a bad day.
The noise in the bushes became louder. Closer.
“Wind Dancer?” She tried to roll to a standing position. The vehicle was hard to see in such thick darkness. Once on her feet, she staggered to the car and tried to see in. The three men weren’t moving. Just as she wrapped her fingers around the door handle, a large hand covered hers.
A scream escaped her mouth in surprise as she twirled around to stare up into the hideous eyes of a monster. It kicked the door hard enough the door handle fell to the ground. With little effort, he lifted Cleo into his arms and stomped toward the woods as she cried for help from her friends.
~ ~ ~ ~
Jacque experienced confusion at sitting lopsided in his SUV. Why wasn’t he behind the wheel instead of the chubby guy with thinning hair and wide-open eyes. Blood covered part of the driver’s face, and he gasped for air. A moan from the back seat reached him at the same moment he managed to unsnap the seat belt, dropping him against the blob dressed in a police uniform. While he pushed away to right himself, the memory of the driver, why he wasn’t driving, and his friends in the back seat, swam up to give him clarity.
“Wind Dancer?” he coughed, inhaling smoke. “Wind Dancer,” he demanded.
Moans of confusion and pain lifted as did the Pawnee. He reached over the seat to steady Jacque by grasping his shoulder. A dark streak trailed from his temple, and, like himself, there appeared to be momentary confusion with the creases around his eyes.
Smoke clouded over them as he heard a pop under the hood, followed by an explosion of sparks.
“Buddy, can you get us out of here? This car is about to blow.” Wind Dancer blinked several times and nodded.
It took Wind Dancer twice to slam his shoulder into the passenger side door to make it open. The car had landed on a dinner-table-sized boulder at an angle, but the fall hadn’t blocked the doors. Once Wind Dancer managed to free himself, and, in spite of being exhausted and injured, he went to work on Jacque’s door with a great deal more ease. The door kept wanting to shut, preventing him from dragging the detective outside. The Pawnee grabbed a rock and wedged it underneath the door to prop it open long enough for him to drag Jacque, who struggled to climb out.
“I will get the man called George now,” the Pawnee said after getting Jacque away from the car that now was engulfed in flames.
Jacque grabbed his arm as an explosion lit up the night. “He died before you got the car door open.” He jumped to his feet. “Cleo,” he screamed. He staggered forward. “She must have been thrown out. I didn’t see her in the car when I came to.”
Wind Dancer caught him as he lost his footing.
“Jacque. She is gone. I heard her cry out but could not move.” He jerked the detective around. “The Chaveyo took her.”
“Chaveyo? Are you sure?”
“Yes. She has stopped crying. I hear nothing now. I don’t know where they are.” His tight voice held a nervousness Jacque had never heard before. That couldn’t be good.
The flashing-red strobe of the police car came around the curve, followed by a second car. They pulled up and jumped out. The night was ablaze with the fire as Perez ran up to them.
“George?” she cried as she tried to run forward.
Jacque caught her arm and prevented her from running toward the fire. “He died shortly after impact. When Wind Dancer got us out, the car exploded. I’m sorry, Perez.”
He expected her to cry, scream, or maybe let loose enough colorful words to make a sailor blush, but she appeared mesmerized at the blaze as it popped with the kind of noises that haunts the toughest of hearts. Her face was void of expression, except when her nostrils flared with a kind of seething anger he’d seen on many a cop when they were trying to hold it together.
The other cops who had followed now tried to put out the fire with little extinguishers. But it was of no use. With a slow pivot, Perez surveyed the area before focusing on Jacque.
“Where is the doctor?”
Wind Dancer pointed to the woods. “Gone. Chaveyo did this.” He squatted down and lifted a handful of dirt then sniffed it. “I can smell him.”
“Yeah?” Perez snorted sarcastically. “What does Chaveyo smell like?”
“Death.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Cleo awoke when the jostling of her body felt like it was being carried down, maybe a ladder. When she opened her eyes, she was cloaked in darkness. A pain across her midriff helped her understand she was hanging over a boney shoulder. Each step jabbed it into her rib cage, sending a jarring pain throughout her body. Once her captor touched the floor of wherever they were, he took a few seconds to inspect the area. She knew this only because, what felt like feathers touched her neck several times as he twisted his head back and forth.
What did he see? Her eyes couldn’t adjust. When he lumbered forward then stopped, he pulled her down off his shoulder before pressing her body against a wall. She was too terrified to fight and besides, her body was exhausted. The stiffness of the accident had already set in, along with the fall earlier in the day. In spite of the thick darkness, Cleo could make out the large head covered in dark paint or animal skin. The eyes bulged white and clear. His breath was rancid as he leaned his face closer, causing her to turn away. Slowly he turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Whatever was happening, he made little noise. The sound of dragging things over and over made Cleo force herself to try and calm down. With her hands flat against the wall, she realized she was in an underground room. The walls felt cold and clay-like. She slid two steps along the perimeter, not knowing if it was toward the ladder. When she took one more step, the dragging stopped. Was he keeping track of her movements?
A flame appeared deeper into the room, tiny at first, as the creature fed it small sticks and leaves. It was enough light to let her know she’d moved farther away from the ladder. A curl of smoke drifted up and disappeared into what Cleo thought would be a ventilation shaft.
Having spent many a summer camping in the Southwest with her father while he studied the tribes of the region, she sensed her location might be an underground kiva. The strong pungent smell of smoke made her cough and eyes water, drawing the creature’s attention.
Without warning, he whirled around and rushed at her when she took one more step into nothing. He caught her by the collar with such force, her feet dangled over a large hole, a
sapapu. A chill ran up her spine as he jerked her away and into the wall. Had he risen out of the sapapu? Was it another hole into a parallel universe? He moved to squat by the fire.
Was this thing real? Had she been given a concoction of peyote to make her have hallucinations? He shifted attention to her then motioned vigorously for her to sit down across from him at the fire. What choice did she have? Cautiously, she did as he demanded.
She realized in that moment one of her shoes was missing. A pain surged through her forehead, causing her to rock back and forth. When it passed, Cleo lifted her eyes to find him staring at her, probably curious, by the way he tilted his giant head at her.
Standing at least seven feet tall, he was huge, an ogre-like being who seemed to be both man and beast. The head appeared to be a wooden mask or covering. However, the bulbous eyes moved constantly. The mouth opened and closed, revealing large canine teeth that could have ripped open a wild boar with no problem. Long feathers protruded from the mask or head.
The clothing was a mix of pieced blanket and skin materials. The arms were uncovered from the elbow, down to his hands covered in leather, leaving the fingers uncovered. Loose-fitting pants reminded her of something the Sioux wore on the plains. In one hand, he held an ax then lifted a saber from the kiva floor. It could have easily been used as a staff.
It dawned on her who he was as she staggered to her feet.
“You are Chaveyo.”
The reaction was swift as he circled the fire and rushed her, waving the saber.
Chapter 27
“I have no money,” Wind Dancer admitted to the nurse who prepared to give him a tetanus shot. She smiled at him, adding a seductive tilt of her head, Jacque noticed.
Wasn’t that always the way? Wind Dancer acted clueless when it came to women. He wondered if that were true. Wherever they went, you could bet some babe or cougar would flirt with him. Maybe it was his aloof attitude toward the strange world around him that kept him a little off-balance to notice the obvious. Did the women in his world play the same kind of mental games with men that drove them crazy? Jacque understood he wasn’t tall, dark, and handsome like his Pawnee partner, but he certainly wasn’t invisible.
“We got it covered for now, Wind Dancer,” Perez said, walking in the examining cubicle. “Are you about finished?” she asked the nurse. After sticking the arm of the Pawnee, who never even flinched, she took a little longer than necessary placing the Band-Aid over the spot and whispered encouragement. He jerked his head up and blinked at the nurse, who fluttered her eyelashes and grinned.
“Thank you.”
When she exited, Jacque swung his legs off the bed. “Thank you? For what?”
“She said if I needed anything at all to be sure to ask for her. Helen, I think.”
Jacque rolled his eyes upward then over at Perez, who pooched out her lips as if withholding a grin. “And this is why I can’t get a date.”
“You cannot date because you are a chauvinist pig. Cleo told me.”
“Really?” he growled. “Do you even know what that means?”
“I think it means tough.”
“Oh.” Jacque smiled and straightened up at the praise. “You could be right. Women just think of me as a handful.”
“A handful of BS, I’m thinking,” Perez added.
“I will remember this.” Wind Dancer frowned and wrinkled his forehead in the way he pondered new information.
Perez sobered then jabbed a slender finger toward the bed for Jacque to get back in. “We have people combing the woods where the accident occurred.” She held up a hand to stop Jacque from speaking. “Nothing yet. We’ll find her.”
“Chaveyo take her,” Wind Dancer insisted. “You cannot catch him. I can. You should have let me go for her.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Wind Dancer, so shut the hell up.”
The Pawnee straightened at her orders and frowned at Jacque, waiting for instructions as to how to proceed. “She must be chauvinist pig, too, Jacque.”
“My partner is right.”
“Excuse me,” she huffed.
He fanned a hand in the air, as if erasing the last comment. “I mean, we need to get back out there.”
Perez arched an eyebrow and shifted her weight to one hip, a move Jacque found a little bit sexy.
“You two could pass for the walking dead right now. You’ll get some sleep before I agree to that.”
Jacque noticed Wind Dancer’s wide eyes of alarm at the mention of the walking dead. “Easy, buddy. It’s an expression. No skinwalkers here.”
Perez formed an evil smile. “You don’t know that. You’re a white man. What do you even know about skinwalkers?”
“He was a skinwalker once.” Wind Dancer yawned through his words. “FBI say I cannot talk about it.”
Jacque noticed the heaviness in his partner’s eyes. “What the hell did they give him besides a shot?”
Perez picked up a chart at the foot of the bed. “Just Tylenol. Probably for pain. No big deal. I’m sure they asked if he was allergic to anything.”
The Pawnee shut his eyes and swayed until Jacque scooted off the edge of the bed and went to help his friend lie down. “Sleep, buddy. We’ll go as soon as you rest.” He then refocused on Perez. “He’s not allergic. It just knocks him out. Not sure why. Doesn’t work on him like it does us. But I’m thinking I need a couple hours shut-eye, too.”
The now-familiar, bewildered expression the chief wore appeared again, and Jacque knew she was still trying to figure the two of them out. “I’ll come get you in a few hours. I’m going to get some rest, too. Then we’ll all go back to the scene. Okay?”
Jacque could only nod as he yawned and climbed into the bed.
His body rocked gently, driving the cobwebs of sleep from his head. Long strands of black touched his face that tickled an irritating slap at the disturbance. The rocking persisted until Jacque pried open his eyes to see a face looming over his.
“Ahhh,” he shouted as he took a swing at Wind Dancer who caught his fist before it impacted his nose. “Get away from me, damn it. What do you think you’re doing?”
“You sleep like a fat bear. Time to get up. Sun rises. This is the day of darkness. We must find Cleo before the moon crosses the sun. Hurry.”
“He’s right.” The sound of Perez’s voice made him sit on the edge of the bed. She handed him a cup of brew from some place called Psycho Deceiver Coffee. “Brought you a mood stabilizer.”
“What, no donuts?” He took a sip.
“Cleo says no more donuts, Jacque. Cholesterol is high.” The Pawnee directed the information to the chief. “Do you have oatmeal? He can have that.”
Perez laughed when Jacque narrowed his eyes over the lip of the Styrofoam cup.
“If I want a donut, I’ll eat a donut. Cleo wants to make my life miserable.” The cobwebs of a deep sleep slipped away. “Any word on her?”
“Nothing. We did find tire tracks, however, from the vehicle that hit you. Similar to truck tires. Little bald in places. Had an oil leak. Not sure if that was from the accident though. A truck driver reported a car on fire in an abandoned quarry on the other side of Kewa Corner this morning. Still waiting to see if it might be our vehicle. The volunteer fire department made it there in time before it burned completely up or spread to the surrounding forests. That could have delayed the entire investigation.”
“Strange place to find a burning car.”
“There’s a dangerous curve there. Been several accidents over the years. No guardrails. State keeps saying they will do it, but you know how slow the wheels of progress turns.” Perez handed Jacque his shirt then helped him slip into it since every bone in his body screamed stop. She passed him a pair of jeans that probably came from a secondhand store. Cleo had pretty much destroyed his pair when she cut them off completely to suture the rip in his leg. “Want me to help with that, too?”
The coy expression on her face irritated him. “I got it. Thanks.
”
“Anyway”—she moved to the end of the bed—“it appears the vehicle went over the edge and burst into flames when it hit the bottom. We should have an ID soon.”
“Any info on DNA or the stuff found under Abby’s fingernails?”
“No matches. They’re running it again for me since it was such a rush job. The dirt is consistent with the entire area.”
Her phone buzzed, and she stepped outside the room to answer.
Wind Dancer helped Jacque with the jeans and hiking boots while he grumbled about not needing help the whole time. His protests were ignored. “Stand up,” Wind Dancer ordered, removing the cup of coffee from his partner’s hands.
Determined to not show pain turned out to be more of a job than he imagined. His leg still hurt from the stitches. His ribs felt as if they’d been used as a therapy tool for someone with anger management issues. Extending his arms in frustration, he rolled his shoulders and grumbled. “See? Right as rain.” He caught himself using the expression and braced himself to explain. Fortunately, Perez joined them and lifted her chin toward the door.
“Let’s go. We may have someone in custody that is our guy.”
~ ~ ~ ~
The glowing embers of the fire remained in the kiva, along with the sweet smell of pine. Enough warmth remained from last night’s fire that Cleo managed to stretch her legs out from the fetal position she’d taken for most of the night. Her face felt grimy and hot, having faced the small flames. The Chaveyo stared into the fire or at her until she couldn’t resist closing her eyes to the horror of the ogre before her.
There had been one horrifying moment when Chaveyo came storming around the fire, waving his saber like a crazed ninja before swinging it within a few inches of her throat. Now she wondered if he missed on purpose, but at that second, all she could do was shout out the Hopi word Tuuhikya, which meant true healer. She had no idea if she pronounced it correctly or if it would be the same for Pueblo people from this area. The Chaveyo stopped his advance as she fell against the hard clay wall.
Dark Side of Noon (Wind Dancer Book 2) Page 16