by Aimée Thurlo
“Looks like the Nez family prefers to ford the channel,” he said, pointing at the vehicle tracks leading in and out of the wash. “But the bridge should be safe enough for two people to cross.”
She glanced at the rushing water below. It was probably not very deep but it was so muddy you couldn’t really tell. If they waded across, one deep hole would be one too many for her today. “I choose the bridge.”
“Keep an eye out as we work our way among the rocks. Snakes like to hole up during the day,” he said, leading the way along the bank toward the old structure.
“Thanks for that wonderful reminder,” she muttered sourly. Her boots were heavy and she was glad she’d worn them. It would be tough for anything that slithered to bite through them.
“When we get there, be sure to let the Nezes see your medicine bundle,” he said. “And remember to avoid mentioning the dead by name. Doing that is said to call their chindi.”
“I’ll tell you what. You do all the talking. When I’m questioning a witness, I often lock on my goal and forget the rest. I get answers, mind you, but your way is more…peaceful,” she said with a tiny smile.
“That cost you,” he said after a beat.
Valerie glared at him, but after seeing the playful gleam in his eye she burst out laughing. “You have no idea.”
As she worked her way through the forest, branches from the pines and junipers beside the erosion-widened creek bed scratched her arms, making her skin itch. Small clouds of insects buzzed around her face. “I hate the woods. Give me streets, sidewalks, stoplights—and hot dog vendors.”
“How can you say that?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “There’s harmony out here. Nature even supplies you with signals that’ll protect you from danger. The city can’t compete with that.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, then stumbled on a rock that rolled beneath her boot.
Luca instantly reached out, circling his arm around her waist, and pulled her back against him, steadying her. “Listen,” he whispered.
“To what?” Her heart was pounding in her throat. His body was pressed intimately against her from behind and she was exquisitely aware of everything about him—the hardness of his chest, the beat of his heart and the strength of his arm so gently wrapped around her.
“Danger,” he said, his lips brushing her neck. “Play along.”
“What’s up, partner?” Valerie whispered, turning in his arms and brushing her lips against the base of his neck. Feeling him shudder made her feel wonderfully feminine and powerful.
“There’s an armed man in the bushes to my left, about ten o’clock,” he whispered. “When I say go, dive to your right and roll.” He waited a second for his warning to sink in. “Go!”
Intending on blocking any shot with his own body, Luca dived in her direction, but Valerie had reacted a second faster than he’d planned. She was slightly ahead of him, in midair, when the shotgun went off. He heard the thump of pellets impacting into her just before they hit the ground.
Luca rolled right, yanked out his handgun and fired two quick shots as the shooter fled, crashing through the brush.
A blinding fear gripped him as he heard her groan. Instantly he scrambled over to where she lay. “Where are you hit?”
“Not hit…just knocked the wind out of me,” she managed, struggling to catch her breath. “Get him.”
Reassured, he jumped up and raced after the shooter.
Valerie sat up slowly. Her left ribs were throbbing, and it felt as if she’d been kicked by a mule. The ballistic vest had stopped the buckshot from penetrating but she’d be bruised for sure.
She’d barely made it to her feet when Luca returned, empty-handed.
“He’s long gone,” he said. “I heard a vehicle starting up farther down the road. How are you doing?”
“Thanking the powers that be that I was wearing a vest. But tell me something. Why did you dive in the same direction I did? Splitting up would have confused the shooter,” Valerie pointed out.
Luca knew combat tactics, but didn’t quite know how to explain his instinct to protect her. Knowing his decision was likely to annoy rather than flatter Valerie he started to plead momentary stupidity when a sound suddenly distracted both of them.
Luca and Valerie turned, pistols out and at the ready.
“Relax, guys, it’s just me.” Steve Browning came out from behind some bushes, camera in hand. “I’ve got a great photo of you two flying through the air.” He looked at the back of his camera, studying the LCD display.
“You bozo!” Valerie yelled, putting her weapon away with a painful grimace. “We could have shot you!”
Luca bent down, picking up the spent brass from the two rounds he’d fired. “Did you get the shooter in the picture?” he asked as he stood.
“I didn’t see him until you two dived for cover, so I just got him from behind. He was moving by then, too, so I doubt it’ll be in focus.”
Luca stepped up beside Browning, looking at the images on the digital display as the man scrolled though the shots he’d taken. All Browning had caught was the vague outline of a man wearing a green stocking cap and aiming a long weapon.
“I only had a second before he dived out of the frame,” Browning explained as Luca stepped away again.
“How did you find us?” Valerie demanded.
“Your radio calls. I monitor police bands and you weren’t using any of the tactical channels. It was easy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Unless you want to end up in a fancy box six feet under, you better start rethinking what you’re doing, Browning.”
He looked down at her vest as she opened her jacket. “I saw the dust fly and assumed he’d missed, but you really did take a hit,” he said, squeezing the shutter as he took another shot.
“Do that again and I’ll be the one shooting,” Valerie snapped. Digging into the vest fabric with her fingertips, she pulled out several rounds of buckshot and something else she didn’t recognize. “What’s this stuff?” she muttered, staring at the chunks of white material.
“That looks like skinwalker ammo,” Browning said, coming closer. “They like shooting pieces of bone into you.”
“Most of this is buckshot though,” Valerie said, picking three more steel pellets out then placing the white fragments and rounds in an evidence bag.
“How did you know about bone ammunition?” Luca asked him.
“Internet.”
“Listen to me carefully, Browning,” Valerie managed through clenched teeth. “If you keep tailing us, I’m going to throw your butt in jail for interfering with an officer. Not that you’ll thank me, but it might end up saving your life.”
“You can’t keep me from following, I know my rights as a member of the press.”
“You’re on shaky ground since you’re not officially on anyone’s payroll and, believe me, I can make your life miserable,” she said, holding his gaze.
“Sorry, Detective Jonas, but I’m going to be sticking to you like glue.”
She hurt all over and was in a particularly foul mood because of it. Valerie took a step closer to the reporter, wanting to make him squirm.
Luca stepped in front of her, blocking the way, and faced Browning. “Evil ones don’t like being brought out into the open. They thrive on secrecy and gain power from fear. You need to watch yourself. Your articles are making him front-page news and, like it is with police informants, that could easily turn you into the killer’s next target.”
“Maybe I better wear a bulletproof vest,” Browning said slowly.
“Bullets are only part of what you should fear. Before anything happens, you’ll see signs that’ll let you know you’ve been targeted.”
“You mean he’ll warn me? How?” Browning asked quickly.
“Sometimes the evil one will slip a black rock into something you wear, a pocket, a saddlebag, a shoe even. Or maybe something you carry with you. Then your luck will start to change—for the worse.”
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“Something I carry or wear?” he repeated, then immediately searched his camera bag. “Nothing there,” he said with a sigh of relief.
“You might also want to search your pockets,” Luca said.
He reached inside his shirt and jeans front pockets. “Nada. Maybe he doesn’t consider me a threat,” he said. As he reached into one of his back pockets, he suddenly froze.
“What?” Valerie asked, now interested.
Browning slowly pulled his hand out of his left rear pants pocket. Nestled in his palm was a small black rock. “Okaaay…. I’ll use this as part of my story,” he said slowly, his voice wavering slightly despite an obvious attempt at confidence.
She was about to comment when she saw Luca glance at her and shake his head imperceptibly.
“Man, welcome to the world of really bad luck,” Luca said in a somber tone. “You don’t have protective medicine like us, which means you’re about to get your first taste of an evil one’s power. I’ll be real surprised if the paper even buys your next article. Unless you take appropriate steps fast, your life is about to take one long nosedive into the pits.”
“What can I do?” Browning asked.
“First of all, put as much distance as you can between yourself and the evil one,” Luca answered.
Browning shook his head. “I can’t do that. But what the heck. I don’t believe in this stuff anyway. It’s just superstition for simple…” Browning stopped in midsentence, cleared his throat and avoided eye contact with Luca. Turning aside, he brought out a small notebook and glanced at his notes, then added a few quick sentences.
“Talk to me a week from now,” Luca said, silently noting the circle of fire sign of the Brotherhood sketched in pencil on the small pages along with other esoteric symbols of skinwalker magic. “And, by the way, you might want to search your car,” he added.
“For what?”
“Anything and everything. It’s a big part of your possessions and since you depend on it to make a living…” He shrugged.
Browning’s eyes grew large. “I guess I better be on my way. Nothing more is likely to happen here today.”
As Browning jogged back down the road, Luca chuckled softly then looked at Valerie. “I picked up that black rock at the same time I retrieved my spent brass. Then I dropped it into his back pocket while I was looking over his shoulder at the photos. I was trying to think of a way to keep him in line.”
She laughed. “Good plan.”
“But I’m still curious about his sources. I know he said the Internet, but the drawings I saw in his notebook…” He shook his head. “No way he got those there. They aren’t that well known.”
“What kind of drawings?”
“Some were like the ones found at the crime scenes, but the others—there’s no way he should have known about them,” he added, not mentioning the Brotherhood.
“Even if I push Browning to the wall, that guy’s not going to reveal his sources, not if he ever expects to repair his career,” she said. “But, in time, we might be able to find out some other way.”
While Luca checked out the area where the shooter had made the attack, Valerie called in the incident using her cell phone. When she was finished, she walked over to where he was standing, still looking at the footprints of the shooter.
“Some kind of running shoes,” he said. “I made a sketch, but you might want to take a couple of photos if your cell phone has one of those cameras.”
“Yours does, too. Watch and I’ll show you how it works.” She brought out the cell phone and took two close-up shots, checking the quality. Standing up with a groan, she looked over. “Did you find an ejected shell?”
“I looked but there’s no sign of one. I doubt he had time to pick it up, so I’m guessing it wasn’t an autoloader. Probably a pump.”
“And the BBs will be impossible to trace to a particular weapon. I’ve been meaning to ask. You must have heard the shooter when he came up. But how did you know where he was hiding?”
“It’s like I told you. Everything out here speaks to those who know how to listen. The wind was blowing from east to west, but the leaves of the willow he was hiding behind were leaning to the north. I never heard him, but when I looked closely I saw the outline of the man—and what looked like a shotgun barrel.”
“In the city we study people and learn how to read them. But plants?” She stretched, then winced.
Luca stepped to her side, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. “Let’s go back to the city so you can have a doctor check you over. You could have a broken rib. We can always talk to the witnesses another time.”
“No. I’m fine, just sore. We may have to walk slower than usual, but let’s finish what we started.”
“All right,” he said, realizing from her tone that arguing the point would get him nowhere. “Once we get back, I may be able to help you get rid of the lingering pain caused by that punch to your chest.”
“What did you have in mind?” she asked cautiously. He’d seemed serious about it, but her imagination had suddenly gone into hyperdrive. She could think of all kinds of wonderful ways for him to make her forget about the pain….
“Certain herbs and salves can help,” he said. Giving her a slow smile, he added, “But there are other ancient ways, too, that might be even more effective.”
Her mouth went dry and her heart began hammering. Although she knew the danger—Luca was definitely the “look but don’t touch type”—it was like walking away from a particularly luscious, hot chocolate chip cookie. She’d never been good at resisting temptation.
Valerie was still considering his offer when they both heard rapid footsteps drawing near. Valerie and Luca reached for their weapons at the same time.
Chapter Ten
A second later an elderly Navajo man came down the path they’d been following. He was holding a shotgun, an old single-shot, but the barrel was pointed at the ground.
“Were you the ones who fired?” he demanded. “Hunting is illegal for another month, and this is no place for target practice,” he said, noting the pistols at their waists.
“We’re lawmen, Uncle. Someone took a shot at us but he got away,” Luca said, then introduced himself in the old way. “We’ve come to speak to a Navajo woman who lives in this area. Her Anglo name is Mae Nez.”
He nodded. “I’m known as Joseph Keeswood,” he said, further identifying himself by his clans. “The one you’re searching for is my neighbor’s daughter, Nephew,” he said. He glanced down at Luca’s medicine bundle. “I know who you are—and who your father is. I’ve also heard stories from my relatives about the evil one that’s been at work on the other side of the mountains. You were well chosen for this,” he said with an approving nod. “Let me take you to the one you came to find. Her home’s not far.”
They crossed the old bridge, then walked southwest along an established path. They climbed into an area of transition between forest zones and began to encounter tall, long-needled ponderosa pines.
After about ten minutes, he stopped at the end of a stand of pines and waved them ahead. “They live in the house across the meadow. Good luck to you, Nephew.”
Luca and Valerie continued toward the home, and as they drew near they saw an elderly Navajo man and young woman packing suitcases into an old truck. Mae—whom they recognized from her photo—was dressed in Traditional clothes.
Luca stopped at the edge of the flower-covered meadow, motioning for her to do the same.
“They already saw us,” Valerie said. “Why are we standing here?”
“We need to be invited to approach. If you go right up to them now, you’ll get absolutely nothing useful from either of them,” Luca said. “Look at the way the woman’s dressed with that long, dark blue skirt and the loose-fitting blouse tied at the waist with a concha belt. And her hair is done up old-style in that bun. They’re Traditionalists. I’d assumed she’d be a Modernist because she was a student, but maybe fear caused her to swi
tch back to the old ways.”
They waited in the hot sun for a full five minutes—an eternity by Valerie’s standards.
Finally the short, stocky young woman waved, motioning for them to approach. “Yáat’ééh,” she said.
Luca introduced himself, naming his clans, then continued, “We need to speak to you about your friend.”
“In that case, it’s good you brought protection,” Mae whispered, glancing down at their medicine bundles. “Bad things are happening here, Uncle. We woke up this morning and found an ash painting over by our truck. That’s how it started for my friend, too. But what happened to her isn’t going to happen to me.”
Luca nodded slowly. “So you’re leaving?”
“I was planning to go alone to my aunt’s and having a Sing done, but that dry painting changes everything. My dad and I are going to the Rez and staying there until things settle down again.”
“Tell me more about your friend. Why do you think she made such an enemy?” Luca asked.
Mae watched her father continue to load the truck for several seconds then answered. “I honestly don’t know. The whole thing makes no sense to me. She wasn’t even interested in our culture. The only reason she was taking Dr. Becenti’s class is because she needed some credit hours in anthropology.”
“I understand that she wanted to drop that class.”
Mae nodded. “She made a low grade on her first term paper and got worried about losing her scholarship. Dr. Becenti offered to give her extra-credit work, but she really wanted to get out of his class. Dr. Becenti told her that it was too late but that he’d find a way to help her pass.”
“And how did she take that?” Luca asked.
“My friend liked getting her own way. When Becenti didn’t play ball, she went to the head of the department, Dr. Finley, and asked him for help. Finley told her that he couldn’t interfere with another professor’s grading, but that he would speak to Dr. Becenti on her behalf. That started a huge mess.”
“What happened?” Valerie asked.