by Aimée Thurlo
After breaking camp and placing everything back in Travis’s SUV, she looked around one last time. “When we camp out again tonight, we’ll have to find a new spot.”
“Agreed, but for now let’s just go back to the house,” he said.
“Do you think that’s a safe option?” she asked, glancing down at Crusher, who seemed perfectly relaxed. “The killer knows where you live.”
“I took a look around before dawn prayers. The rain last night would have made it hard, if not impossible, for someone to hide their trail. I didn’t see anything except animal tracks.”
“Good.”
They entered his house about ten minutes later. Crusher shot into the kitchen and Travis laughed. “He’s hungry, too. All he’s had is water and dog biscuits for the past twelve hours.”
Travis led the way into the kitchen and opened three cans of dog food. He then took a plastic bag from the refrigerator and added bits of chicken to the top. “Here you go, partner,” he told Crusher. “You deserve extra.”
“I know the chef,” Laura quipped. “Does that get me something special, too?”
He turned and gave her a slow, devastatingly masculine grin.
She swallowed hard. Shirtless, he was a temptation, but the impact of that incredibly steamy smile left her yearning for things she had no business wanting.
With effort, she forced herself to look away. “I’m thinking of those to-die-for cinnamon rolls of yours.”
“I knew it. All you want me for is my buns.”
She burst out laughing. As the tension between them dissipated somewhat, she went to the coffeepot. “Where do you keep the coffee?”
He pointed toward a canister on the counter. “If you handle that, I’ll take care of the rest.”
After she got the coffee brewing, she watched him work in the kitchen. He was quick and efficient, with no wasted motion, even at the stove. “I’ve really turned your life upside down by bringing this case to your doorstep, haven’t I?”
“Yeah, but it came at a good time. I was starting to get restless. You know how it is after you finish a big case that’s been keeping you busy day and night. Once it’s over, you’ve still got all that adrenaline in your system. I hate the waiting—the downtime—until the next challenge comes along,” he admitted. “It makes me wonder how people who work at jobs that are the same, day in and day out, stay sane.”
“Yeah, I agree with you there,” she said. “You feel more alive when all your survival skills are in hyperdrive.”
That wasn’t the only thing she was keeping in hyperdrive. As he looked at Laura he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. Maybe she thought that the sweatshirt hid that but it didn’t, not completely anyway. Then again, maybe he was just too aware of her.
Ten minutes later, he brought thick breakfast burritos to the table. Laura took a bite and sighed happily. Scrambled eggs, bacon, cheese and green chili were wrapped in golden tortillas, which practically melted in her mouth. “Did you make these tortillas from scratch?”
“Yeah, they’re a few days old, but they’re mine.”
“Marry me,” she said.
“So it’s not just my buns?”
They both laughed.
After breakfast, they cleared the table. As Laura finished her cup of coffee, Travis stood. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” he said. “The hot-water heater is a bit small for two showers in a row, but I’m fast. If I go first you’ll still have enough. Unless, of course, you want to share?”
She felt a thrill course up her spine. She’d seen half of him naked, but that second half…she stifled a sigh. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you let me go first? I won’t take that long and what’s a little cold water to a tough, macho guy?”
He gave her a long considering look. In his experience, a woman’s sense of time was different from a man’s. When they said something wouldn’t take long, it could, in fact, take hours. This was particularly so when it came to ordinary routines, like taking a shower.
“You’re my guest, so go ahead, but if I end up without hot water, I’m going to be looking for other ways to warm up when I come out.”
As he spoke he saw Laura’s gaze soften with desire. The knowledge that she wanted him made his body harden. “I’ll go get your travel bag from your car and put it outside the bathroom door for you.” If he stayed around her, things were going to get a lot hotter real fast.
By the time he returned, she was already bathing. He fought the urge to open the door and go inside. Everything that made him a man assured him that she wouldn’t throw him out.
Muttering an oath, he knocked on the door. “Your stuff’s here. I’m going back outside to take a look around.”
Travis glanced at Crusher, who was still lounging in a sunny spot in the den. “Wake up, guy. Time to go back to work.”
WHEN LAURA CAME OUT Travis was sitting behind his computer. “Okay. It’s all yours,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ve got good news. We finally got the files from Flagstaff. I’ve been comparing details on all three murders.”
“Have you managed to spot anything the other detectives missed?”
“No, there’s nothing here we didn’t know already.”
“I think we should go back and take another look at the last victim’s personal effects. I just can’t get rid of the feeling that we’re missing something important.”
“All right. Let me shower, then we’ll go,” he said.
As he walked away, he could feel her gaze upon him. Many women had come in and out of his life but this time it was different. The way he felt about Laura went beyond a physical need. Like salt and pepper they brought out the best in each other.
Yet as much as he enjoyed being with her, Laura wasn’t at all the kind of woman he’d envisioned in his future. He was a New Traditionalist who had intended, eventually, to find a wife who shared his beliefs. Those who used logic to find their mates usually fared better than the ones who trusted emotions—and love was the most unreliable of all.
Yet what made him continually pull back went beyond that. He knew that Laura would never consider living in Three Rivers. She’d worked hard to leave her memories of the area behind her. She’d be gone in a hurry after the case concluded.
All things considered, Laura was a heartbreak waiting to happen. Better they should close the case quickly so they could both move on. Crusher and he would get back to life as usual—or as usual as any cop’s life could ever be.
Steam soon filled the bathroom, and, hearing her moving around in the kitchen, he cracked the door open. It would clear the mirror and he needed to give himself a quick shave. He was leaning over the sink, naked, when he heard a quick intake of breath behind him.
“Sorry!” she said, standing just outside the open door. “I brewed another batch of coffee and I thought you’d want something warm—just in case you’d run out of hot water. I assumed you’d be dressed….”
As he looked into the mirror in front of him, he saw her gaze wasn’t on his face. It was focused on the lower half of his body. He bit back a smile.
“I’m going to put the coffee on the laundry hamper behind you,” she said. “Don’t turn around.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah,” she managed.
She placed the cup down, but took one last look at his buns before edging back out. Chuckling, he finished his shave.
THEY WERE ON THE ROAD a short time later. Crusher was in his usual spot on the backseat, chewing a rawhide bone the size of Laura’s forearm.
“That was a great breakfast burrito,” she said. “Better than most I’ve found around Albuquerque, and those are top-notch.”
“Thanks. Eggs, bacon, cheese and chili, it doesn’t take long,” he said adjusting his Stetson.
“That tortilla was really fabulous, too.”
He gave her a long, belabored, mock sigh. “Here I was hoping that I was wrong about you—that you really did want me for my body, n
ot just my cooking.”
She laughed. “You’ll never know.”
They continued the drive south for another fifteen minutes. When they reached the main highway and turned west, Travis saw her tensing up and glancing at the side mirror. “What is it?”
“There’s a dark blue pickup behind us. It was off the road near the intersection, but the driver turned onto the highway just after we did. He’s pacing us, not speeding up or slowing down. It may be nothing….”
He glanced in the rearview mirror. “I’m going the speed limit, and this is the main route west out of town. Once we cross the mesa, I’ll take the next turn south off 64 and go through Kirtland. If he’s still there, then we’ll decide what to do next.”
Eight minutes later, Travis headed into the mostly rural community of Kirtland. The pickup followed, remaining about an eighth of a mile behind, too far away to make out clearly. When Travis sped up, the pickup did likewise. When he slowed, the truck again kept pace.
“If this is our man, he wants us to know he’s there. Otherwise he’d close in when we slow down and eventually pass us,” he said.
“Maybe it’s a reporter who wants to keep us in sight,” she said.
“I’ve never seen reporters out in a pickup, and that’s no company vehicle,” Travis said. “Let’s see how good he is.”
Travis made a quick right turn, moving onto a private road leading to a farm. After going down the lane a few hundred yards, he stopped.
Laura, who’d been keeping watch in the side mirror, saw the blue pickup continue past them.
“We’ll see where he is once we get back out on the highway,” Travis said. “If he’s parked by the side of the road, waiting for us to pass him so he can follow again, then he’s playing with us.”
“Or maybe he’ll be gone altogether and this wasn’t our man.”
“We’ll know soon enough,” he said.
Travis pulled into traffic, going west again. They watched all the side roads they passed but didn’t spot the pickup. Five minutes passed.
“He’s back again,” Laura said. “He must have been hiding behind one of the gas stations along the way. The guy knows he’s been spotted, so he’s trying to show us that we’re no match for him.”
“I say we nail him,” Travis said. “Keep an eye behind us and hang on.”
Breaking hard, Travis whipped across the outside lane and raced up a narrow road leading north past a natural-gas pumping facility. A few hundred yards up, he went into a controlled slide, whipping the wheel around and skillfully deploying the brakes to carry out a moonshiner’s turn. Then he raced back south toward the highway.
“Now we’re behind him,” Laura said, turning to look as they reached the four-lane highway again.
Travis flipped on the emergency lights, then whipped into traffic, slipping in between a tractor trailer hauling well casings and a silver sedan. The blue pickup was going full tilt now, topping a low hill about a half mile ahead.
Travis stomped down on the gas pedal, laying rubber. “The race is on.”
Chapter Fourteen
Adrenaline rushing through her, Laura kept her eyes on the pickup. She wanted this guy behind bars no matter what it took. “If he holds his course, maybe the tribal cops can cut him off or set up a roadblock at the Rez border just past Hogback,” she said, as the pickup crossed from lane to lane, picking through westbound traffic.
“It won’t work now,” Travis said, gesturing ahead. The driver had hit the brakes, cut across the median and two lanes of highway and was heading down a side road.
They rapidly overtook a semi pulling a trailer stacked with bales of alfalfa. Its brake lights were on and the driver was signaling to turn left.
“He’s turning where we need to go,” Laura said.
Travis screeched nearly to a stop, forced to travel at a crawl behind the slow-turning vehicle.
The second they reached the side road, Travis whipped around the semi. “Where’s the pickup?”
Laura pointed east. “He cut left, then entered the eastbound lanes via the frontage road. He’s heading back toward Three Rivers. If we can’t make up for lost ground in a hurry, we’ll never catch him.”
“Never say never,” Travis said, did a quick three-point turn, then raced back to Highway 64, emergency lights on.
Ten minutes later, they were on the outskirts of Three Rivers, approaching the turnoff that led in the direction of Travis’s home.
“Now can I say never?” Laura said, pointing ahead. “There’s the pickup—but no driver.”
Travis took the turnoff, then saw the blue truck parked about fifty feet down an old road that led to an abandoned house.
“He must have left a second vehicle nearby,” he said, turning again and driving slowly down the road, looking for tread marks.
“He did—his motorcycle. I can see a single tire track,” she said.
“I see it, too,” Travis said. “He’s long gone so let’s go back and check out that pickup.”
“We’re just outside the city limits. Can you get county to impound it and check the truck for evidence?”
“Yeah, but county’s going to be slow responding. They got hit by budget cuts and now there’s even a hiring freeze.”
“Maybe they can ask Three Rivers P.D. for help,” she said, then shook her head. “Forget it. There’s always friction between departments, particularly when it comes to jurisdictional matters. I came across that plenty of times when I was with the Bureau.”
“It’s still that way between the FBI and local agencies. No one in local law enforcement ever wants to turn a case over to outsiders, but our P.D. works closely with county. There’s still some rivalry but it’s low-key.”
The next two hours went by slowly. County deputies helped search the pickup, which had been stolen hours earlier from a mall parking lot. The vehicle was eventually loaded onto a flatbed truck and taken to the Three Rivers station. A team there would search it for trace evidence.
Travis and Laura concentrated on questioning the few area residents, but no one had noticed the pickup or its driver. One old man admitted hearing a motorcycle roaring away but he’d never heard it arrive.
“People living in this area, adjacent to the city but still part of the county, have given up helping the sheriff’s department. They know nothing ever changes,” Travis said. “They see vagrants or teens hanging around all the time, but they’ve learned the hard way to avoid retaliation by keeping their mouths shut.”
Sometime later they were finally able to get under way and head to the reservation. As he drove, Travis noted her somber mood. “What’s bugging you?”
“It’s the suspect. He’s pushing the envelope by moving away from his M.O. That makes him less predictable and more dangerous.”
“He’s getting cocky, and that’s exactly what’ll bring him down,” Travis said.
Laura brought out her own cell phone. “I’m going to call Nakai and let him know we’re coming. What’s his number?”
Travis had Nakai’s direct line, and he picked up on the first ring. When Laura explained why they were on their way to the station, the detective took it in stride. “Good timing. I was going to take another look at her personal effects myself. We’ve recently learned that the vic had two cell phones and we’ve only found one. The problem is that everything that wasn’t taken in as evidence has been released to the vic’s father, and he’s a Traditionalist.”
“I don’t understand why that’s a problem,” Laura said.
“The vic’s father is not only grieving, he’s very old-school. That’s why he broke a hole through the north wall of the rental house with a pick,” Nakai said, then paused. “I’ll explain when you get here.”
She told Travis what he’d said.
“Traditionalist beliefs can often complicate murder investigations,” he said, nodding. “There’s no telling what the victim’s father kept—if anything. The daughter’s personal possessions are associated with the ch
indi, and to a Traditionalist that means they pose a very real danger.”
“Do they burn them?”
“No, the stuff is usually donated to non-Navajos, thrown away or buried somewhere. Let me talk to Nakai when we get there and see what he knows. There are ways to get around this, though it’s a sensitive issue.”
“We can’t let anything stop us from doing what we need to do.”
“We won’t, but this isn’t one of those situations where you can push hard until you get what you need. There are cultural issues that have to be dealt with.”
“I’d say it’s a matter of convincing the victim’s father that we’re on the same side. We need to make him understand why we have to take a second look at everything. He wants the suspect caught and that’s exactly what we’re trying to do.”
“Yes, but forcing the issue could seriously damage our ability to conduct the investigation,” Travis said. “Let me handle things my way when we meet the man.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll keep quiet and let you do all the talking.”
He glanced over at her. “That took a lot out of you.”
“You have no idea.”
THEY ARRIVED AT THE TRIBAL Police station a short while later. Detective Nakai was talking to an officer near the front desk, but noticed them as soon as they came inside.
“My office, guys,” Nakai said, then led the way down the hall. “Take a seat, then tell me why you wanted to see the victim’s personal effects again.”
“It’s just a feeling I have,” she said, and explained as much as she could.
“Never discount gut feelings,” Nakai said with a nod. “We have the evidence we collected from the crime scene here at the station, so let’s start there,” he continued. “But I want to remind you not to remove anything from the evidence pouches. As for the clothing, it’s already been processed for trace. If you need to examine it, remember to wear gloves and keep each item separate.”
“Not a problem,” she said.
They went to the evidence room and he brought out the box with the vic’s effects. Laura studied the contents. The clothing that had been discarded around the bed was individually wrapped in paper and needed to be rewrapped after being examined. All objects containing trace evidence, like some of the tissues in the trash can, had been air-dried then placed in paper envelopes. Everything was labeled. Whenever they opened something up, they had to indicate that with their names, the date and time.