by Cindi Myers
“And you? Is this a setback for you?” His supervisor couldn’t have been happy about Jake making contact with their suspect.
“It depends on what else I can turn up. We know Werner isn’t working alone. He has partners overseas, and we suspect here in the States also. People who cover for him and maybe do some collecting for him.”
“Maybe one of them got into an argument with Reggae. Maybe we’re looking at this wrong, and he didn’t collect those cactus—he took them from someone else.”
“Except the cactus in that pack were worthless,” Jake said. “And the way Reggae was killed wasn’t an argument gone south.”
“Right.” The waitress took their orders—Thai chicken salad for her and blackened trout for him.
“I don’t understand how the smugglers get enough rare cactus to make it worth their while,” she said when they were alone again. “There are millions of acres of public land, but they can’t possibly search every inch of that space for a type of cactus that may only be a few inches across.”
“No, they can’t. They have to have help. They can study terrain through things like Google Earth and isolate the most likely habitat. Sometimes they contact private landowners and ask permission to collect on their land. Most people don’t realize it’s illegal. Some of them see it as a good thing, getting rid of a nuisance.”
“Or maybe sometimes they trespass,” she said. “That happens on tribal land all the time. People think it’s just empty land, so it’s okay for them to camp or hunt arrowheads or whatever. The tribal council has spent a lot of money on fences and signs and efforts to educate the public.”
“I envy you,” he said. “Being part of a cohesive group like that. I imagine it’s like an extended family. That’s something I don’t have. Maybe that’s why Metwater’s bunch appealed to my mom. She wanted that sense of belonging.”
“A tribe is a family,” she said. “It’s a connection to a people and a heritage, and also to land where my family has lived for generations.”
Jake sat back in the booth, studying her. “How did you get into law enforcement?” he asked.
“I was going to be a teen counselor,” she said. “To pay for my schooling, I took a job at a youth detention center. Talking with the officers who worked there got me interested in law enforcement. I went through the police academy and decided I wanted to focus on investigations. I went back to school for more training, got on with CBI, then, when the federal government decided to form the Ranger Brigade to police public land, I applied and was accepted.” She shrugged. “I like being closer to home.”
“But not too close,” he said. “Otherwise, you’d take the job with the tribal police.”
“Right.” She traced a bead of condensation down the side of her iced-tea glass. “I love my parents, but I need space to live my own life. They have this whole plan for my life, but I need to figure out my own direction. It’s like—no matter what I do, they think I could do better.”
“That kind of pressure would make some people give up,” he said. “Seems to me you’ve done the opposite and worked hard to excel.”
“Yes, I have.” But sometimes she wondered if all her striving had been worth the cost. She had focused so much on being the best in an arena dominated by men that she hadn’t even had one serious relationship, at an age when so many of the girls she had gone to school with were married with children. If she had bent to her parents’ wishes and returned to reservation life, would she, too, be married with babies of her own?
The server brought their meals, and they ate in silence for a while. What Jake had said earlier about the smugglers taking advantage, coupled with her own stories about reservation life, had planted an idea in her head. “Would you like to come with me to the reservation tomorrow?” she asked.
He paused with his fork halfway to his lips and stared at her. “You’re inviting me to your reservation?”
“There are a couple of people I want to talk to,” she said. “They might be able to help us with this case.”
“How?” he asked.
“It’s complicated. And it may lead nowhere.” She stabbed at a chunk of lettuce. “We don’t have to go. It was just an idea.”
“No. I’d love to come with you.” He grinned. “I want to meet your parents. I promise to be on my best behavior.”
* * *
JAKE FELT LIKE a guilty man facing cross-examination by a prosecutor who had never lost a case as he sat across the desk from Wilma Redhorse in her offices in the Southern Ute Tribal Council Center. The glass and concrete high-rise was not the reservation architecture he had expected, but the briefest tour of the Southern Ute Reservation near Ignacio, Colorado, showed him that his ideas about reservation life, at least for this tribe, were sadly outdated. In addition to the building that housed the tribal council, there was a high-rise hotel and casino, expansive cultural center and museum, business center, fitness center and more.
“Carmen tells me you two are working on a case together,” Wilma Redhorse said. She was a slightly older version of her daughter, her black hair hanging loose about the shoulders of her stylish red business suit, black eyes piercing behind chic square-framed glasses. “But you’re not a member of the Ranger Brigade.”
“No ma’am. I’m conducting an investigation for Fish and Wildlife, and the Rangers have a case that may be related to mine. It made sense to work together.” He wished he had listened to his instincts and worn his uniform. The brown and khaki combination gave him authority and identified him as one of the good guys. Instead, at Carmen’s request, he had dressed in jeans and a western shirt and boots. She also wore jeans and a sleeveless blouse that showed off her toned upper arms. Of course, she had no need for an identifying uniform here—everyone already knew her and everything about her.
“Where are you from originally?” Mrs. Redhorse asked. “Where is your family?”
“We moved around a lot when I was a kid,” he said. “Right now, I live in Houston, but my mother and younger sister are in Montrose County.”
“No family in Houston?”
“No, ma’am.” He sensed his lack of kin made him lesser in her eyes, but that might have been his own self-consciousness putting thoughts into his head. “I’m trying to persuade my mother and sister to come live with me,” he added.
She nodded. “Families should be together, but not everyone sees it that way.” She looked over his shoulder at her daughter when she spoke.
“Mom, what about the cactus collectors I asked you about?” Carmen asked, her voice crisp and business-like. “Has anyone like that asked to collect on tribal land or been caught trespassing?”
“If they have, I haven’t heard of it,” Wilma said. “They haven’t asked permission and, if they had, it wouldn’t have been granted.” She turned to Jake. “We’re trying very hard to preserve all our resources. The only reason we have this land is that the government thought it was useless. When oil and gas were discovered here, the mineral rights provided opportunities for our people. If we have valuable cactus, we’ll decide what to do with it, not a bunch of European collectors.”
“Would anyone else know if someone had asked about cactus?” Carmen asked.
“You should talk to Chief Tonaho. If anyone was caught trespassing or trying to dig up any cactus, he would know. And he would like to see you. He always asks me when you are going to come work for him.”
“I like the job I have,” Carmen said, with the weary tone of someone who has given the same answer many times but knows the words aren’t really heard.
Wilma’s gaze shifted to Jake. “The tribal police chief and Carmen grew up together. He knows how smart she is. He could use someone like her helping him. I always tell her they would make a great team.”
“I’m certainly happy to have her as my partner,” he said. Let her mom make of that remark what she would. Not that he and
Carmen were partners in anything but a professional sense, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep Wilma guessing.
“We’ll go talk to Rodney,” Carmen said. “I’d like him to meet Jake. Then we’ll stop and talk to Aunt Connie.”
Wilma frowned. “You’re not sick, are you?” She leaned closer to study her daughter. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine. We only want to ask Aunt Connie’s opinion on something.”
“What do you need an opinion on?” Wilma asked.
“I have a medical question for her,” Carmen said. “Nothing to do with me, I promise.” She moved to the door. “Come on, Jake.”
He stood. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Redhorse,” he said.
She nodded. “Good luck with your case, Agent Lohmiller.”
Jake let out a breath as the door to the office closed behind him. “Notice she didn’t say it was nice to meet me,” he said.
“Hurry,” she said as they walked back to her car, a gray Camry she had insisted on driving instead of his filthy pickup. “She’ll call Rodney and tell him we’re coming. Later, she’ll call him and Connie before we’re even off the reservation and find out everything she said to us.”
“I’m a little jealous,” he said.
“Of Rodney? Don’t be. He’s a nice guy, but not my type.”
Some time he might ask her what her type was, but he didn’t want to derail the conversation. “I can see how your mother’s concern could be a bit oppressive, but my mom has always been so involved in her own problems that half the time she had no idea where I was or anything that was going on in my life.”
Carmen looked over the top of the Camry at him. “Your mother loves you,” she said. “I’ll never forget the look on her face when you walked into Metwater’s RV that first day and she realized it was you.”
“I know she loves me,” he said, opening the passenger side door of the car. “I’m just pointing out that having a parent who is concerned about you and the choices you make isn’t all a bad thing.”
She nodded and ducked into the driver’s seat. “You’re right. I know my mom wants the best for me, I just wish we were on the same page more often about what that is.”
She started the car and turned left out of the parking lot. “Tell me about Rodney Tonaho,” he said. “What should I expect?”
“Aside from being a high-school basketball star and the class valedictorian, he won every award there was, went off to college and it was pretty much a repeat performance. He’s the youngest police chief we’ve ever had.”
“No wonder your mother loves him.”
“Everyone loves Rodney,” she said. “He’s very charming.”
“Charm is overrated.”
She laughed. The sound relaxed him a little. At least she hadn’t fallen under Mr. Perfect’s spell.
Rodney Tonaho greeted them at the door of his office. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, shaking Carmen’s hand. “Your mother called and said you were coming.” He turned and offered his hand to Jake. “You must be Agent Lohmiller.”
The handshake was firm but not painful. Perfect, like everything else about the man, from his starched and pressed uniform to his movie-star good looks. Jake reminded himself that just because the man had apparently never had to struggle for anything in his life didn’t mean he wasn’t a nice guy and a good law enforcement officer. But he was going to have to prove himself before Jake would trust him.
“We’re investigating a case that involves smuggling rare cactus,” Carmen said when she and Jake were seated across from Rodney’s desk in his office.
Rodney steepled his fingers and nodded. “So Wilma said. I don’t know of anything like that going on on the reservation.”
“The guy I’m tracking is a German named Werner Altbusser,” Jake said. “He, or someone representing him, might contact you about collecting cactus on tribal land. Or they might simply trespass and dig up what they want without permission.”
Rodney scowled, which only made him more rugged and handsome. “If they try that, they won’t get away with it. We view trespassing and theft very seriously.”
“Let us know if anything like that happens,” Carmen said. “And be careful. One man who may have been working for Werner has already been murdered.”
Rodney’s expression relaxed. “Of course I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”
“Thanks.” She stood. “We won’t take up any more of your time.”
“I’m always happy to see you,” he said.
Jake heard the truth behind his words, and glimpsed the longing in Rodney’s eyes that set off alarm bells in his head. His hands tightened on the arm of his chair as he stared at the man across the desk. Carmen might think the chief wasn’t her type, but Rodney definitely had feelings for her.
“It was a long shot, but I thought it was worth checking out,” she said as they set out in her car again.
“It was a good idea,” Jake said. “Will he really call if he hears anything?”
She glanced at him. “Of course he will. Why wouldn’t he?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. He would want to help you, but maybe not me?”
“Why wouldn’t he want to help you?”
“He might see me as a rival for your affections.”
She slammed on the brakes, throwing him forward, then pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
He forced himself not to squirm in his seat. “I like you,” he said. “I’m attracted to you. And I’m guessing by the way you kissed me the other night that you’re attracted to me, too.”
She looked away, but he didn’t miss the flush that warmed her cheeks. “It was just a kiss,” she said. “We work together.”
And people who worked together sometimes got involved. That was life. But if she wanted to play that game, he could, too. “Fine. Forget I mentioned it. Tell me why we’re going to see your aunt.” he asked.
“She’s a nurse practitioner at the tribal clinic.” She glanced at him. “I wanted to ask her about your mom, if that’s okay with you.”
So much for keeping things strictly business. He couldn’t explain why her concern for his mom moved him so—maybe because, on some level, it felt like she was caring about him, too. “That would be great,” he said. “I’d love to get a professional’s opinion.”
Connie Owl Woman was a short, round woman who wore her silver hair in a long braid coiled at the back of her head. Her blue eyeshadow matched her blue scrubs, and she squealed with delight and gathered her niece in a crushing hug when Carmen and Jake walked into her office at the clinic. “Your mother already called and told me you were on your way over,” she said. “And you must be Jake.” She pumped his hand, her fingers squeezing all the feeling out of his. “Wilma said you and Carmen are working together.”
“It’s good to meet you,” Jake said, reclaiming his hand and flexing his aching fingers.
“What can I do for you two today?” Connie beamed at them. “You both look healthy enough to me.”
“We wanted to ask you about Jake’s mother,” Carmen said. “She’s been ill.”
Connie’s face sobered. “What kind of illness?”
“I don’t know,” Jake said. “She refuses to see a doctor. She’s very pale and tires easily. She’s fainted a few times, and she says nothing agrees with her when she eats.”
“Any history of health problems?”
“Not really.” Jake hesitated, then added, “She has a history of drug use. She was addicted to heroin, though she’s been clean for a while.”
“Hepatitis is always a risk with a history of drug use,” Connie said. “But what you’re describing could be almost anything—anemia or something more serious—even cancer.” She shook her head. “Impossible to tell without an examination and probably some
blood work.”
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say,” Jake said. “She’s very stubborn about seeing a doctor, thinks she can cure herself with herbal remedies.”
“There are some excellent herbal remedies out there,” Connie said. “I have patients who rely on them. But there are times when modern medicine is just the thing.” She patted his arm. “Your mother is probably afraid. I see it all the time. Especially if the sick person believes the disease is somehow their own fault. Your mother may believe her past behaviors led to her current illness, and she has the attitude she’s only getting what she deserves, and she deserves to suffer. Which is ridiculous, but people believe ridiculous things every day. Some of us are more prone to it than others.”
“Do you have any advice for getting her to see a doctor?” Jake asked.
She shook her head. “You might remind her that knowledge gives her power. Finding out what is going on with her health will give her the information she needs to make the right decisions. Sometimes framing it as a way of gaining control, when the person is afraid of having control taken away, can help.”
“I’ll try that. Thank you.”
Connie reached over and patted Carmen’s shoulder. “It is good to see you,” she said. “You should come back for the powwow next month. Bring your friend here with you. Stay the weekend so he can get to know everyone.”
Carmen smoothed back her hair and avoided looking at Jake. “I imagine he’ll be back in Houston by then.”
Connie shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think so.” She patted Jake’s shoulder now. “Come back next month.”
“Maybe I will.”
They left the clinic, and he waited until they were in the car again before he spoke. “Why doesn’t your aunt think I’ll be in Houston by next month—and why do you think I will be?”
“You’re here on temporary assignment,” she said. “You’re from Houston. When the case is over, you’ll go back.” She gripped the steering wheel with both hands but didn’t turn the key in the ignition.
“I need to settle my mother and sister in a place that’s good for them,” he said. “I already told you I don’t think a big city like Houston is that place. Maybe this is.”