by Aimée Thurlo
“I need you both to make an official statement about what you saw at the murder scene. Paul, the desk sergeant in the bullpen will take yours. I’ll handle Kendra’s.”
It was protocol to separate witnesses so they wouldn’t influence each other’s accounts, so this came as no surprise to her. “It’ll go faster if you’ll let me type out my statement,” she said. “After you read it, I could also forward a copy to my supervisory inspector.”
“Go for it,” Preston said, waving her to his computer.
Kendra finished her report within five minutes. Preston then printed it out for her to sign.
“I’m sorry I don’t have more to give you,” she said.
“Our crime scene people are very good at their jobs, and they don’t miss much. Even if this was the work of a pro, there may still be trace evidence we can use. Miller has a military record, so we can at least check for a blood type match.”
Paul came in a moment later and took a seat. “Okay, that’s done.”
“Good. I’ve got some other news. The crime scene report on the incident over at Daniel’s came in,” Preston said. “The rounds came from a silenced thirty-two pistol. We found the casings. The defining thing is that while the shooter was positioned twenty yards away, he still came within a few inches of putting three rounds into your neck or skull. That indicates an incredible skill level, particularly with the subsonic rounds he was using.”
“So this supports the theory that we’re dealing with a pro,” Kendra said.
“It’s got to be Miller,” Paul said. “High quality shooting like that requires extensive practice and training.”
“There’s also one big connection between the incident at Daniel’s and what happened to Paul the night he went to meet Yolanda. Though different calibers were used, the rounds were all reloads, not factory made.”
“So he has the foresight and ability to adapt his M.O.,” Paul said.
Preston looked toward the door, where another detective was motioning to him. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, getting up.
Now that they were alone again, Kendra stood, pushed her hands deep into her jacket pockets, and began to pace. Somewhere along the way, Chris Miller had managed to get inside her head. The truth was that he scared her in a way no other fugitive ever had.
Kendra straightened her back and forced herself to stand tall, her almost knee-jerk reaction to fear. She’d often been described as an exceptionally strong woman. Yet what the world defined as strength was simply her ability to bury raw emotions like fear deep inside herself in a place no one could see. For her, the cost of that had been loneliness. Not many understood that even the strongest woman could yearn to be held and comforted.
She walked to Preston’s window, turning her back on Paul. She couldn’t look him in the eyes right now. He saw way too much as it was. “I’ve been shot at before, Paul. It comes with the badge. But this man...”
“Drawing fire while trying to make an arrest is one thing, but being hunted—to be in a killer’s crosshair—that’s entirely different.”
She turned around, but he’d come up from behind and she ended up bumping her nose against his chest.
He held his ground.
“How’d you get so close all of a sudden?” she muttered.
His nearness confused and excited her. Or maybe it was all a reaction to this case—knowing how close she’d come to death. All her senses were attuned to life and survival now.
“Could you step back just a little?” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
He remained where he was. “I know what you’re going through, Kendra. The knowledge that Miller, or whoever, wants you dead, is out there, waiting for his chance, is something that’ll eat at you. What you need to do is make fear your ally. Use it to stay alert.” He brushed his knuckles against the side of her face.
Maybe it was that gentle touch, or his tone of voice, or the way his eyes held hers, so steady, so sure. For whatever the reason, she didn’t even bother hiding behind a string of denials. “I’m trained to hunt down fugitives—the worst of the worst—and I’m good at it. I do whatever has to be done. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.”
“Being tough doesn’t mean we stop being human.”
Hearing footsteps, Paul moved away, giving her space.
Kendra dropped back down into her chair just as Preston came into the room.
“Annie’s body showed no signs of livor mortis, that darkening of the skin where the blood pools, so she’d been dead less than a half hour when you found her. That fresh a crime scene may give us some answers.”
“Did the motel or restaurant have a surveillance system?” Kendra asked.
“Only inside at the front desk and cash registers,” Preston said.
A short time later they walked back to Paul’s truck. “You’re a mass of compressed energy and tension right now, Kendra. You need to work some of that off so you can think clearly again. So tell me, when you’re off duty, how do you deal with this? The gym?”
“No, I jog,” she said.
“Okay, so how about going for a run with me right now? The wind’s died down.”
“It’s close to midnight,” she answered. “Where can we find a track that’s not going to turn us into instant targets?”
“What I have in mind isn’t a track, not exactly anyway. It’s a beautiful trail, particularly by moonlight.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
He nodded. “There are times when running is the only thing that can help take my mind off things. When I’m running, the only thing I think about is my next step.”
“Me, too,” she said. “So stop someplace where I can pick up some gear. I can’t run in these clothes.”
“Hartley has an all-night MallMart. You can get some sweats there. As for me, I’m covered. I’ve got stuff in the back of the cab. If I ever want to go somewhere on the spur of the moment, I can.”
“And that includes running shoes and stuff?” she asked, surprised.
He laughed. “I keep a little of everything with me. I don’t like doing without.”
It was the way he’d said it that made a million questions pop into her head. Maybe, while they were jogging, she’d get him to talk about himself. Then again, maybe it would take everything she had just to stay even with him.
Chapter Eleven
Some time later they pulled into an empty parking area next to the bosque, the wooded area flanking the river. “We’re way past their posted hours,” Kendra said, a trace of disappointment in her voice.
“No one will bother us. I know the park staff and they know me.” He climbed out of the pickup, placing his weapon and other essentials inside the front pockets of his hooded sweatshirt.
As he stepped toward the trailhead she became delightfully aware of the way his sweats accentuated his height and hard muscles. She didn’t know if he had gym shorts on beneath or not, but either way he had the best butt she’d ever seen. She bit back a sigh.
He looked over at her and grinned. “Window shopping?”
“I wasn’t....”
He grinned even wider.
“I’m here for the run. I need to wind down,” she said.
“Exercise? There are other ways....”
“Not for me,” she snapped, wishing again things could have been different. “When I’m working, I don’t like distractions.” She’d said it more for her own benefit than for his.
“Sometimes I think you’re wrapped way too tight.”
“You think too much,” she countered, then took off at a fast clip, hurdling the low metal gate designed to keep vehicle traffic off the foot trail.
He caught up easily in a few seconds, laughing. “I think too much?”
She increased her speed, though it was tough going on that winding cobblestone trail, and evened her breathing. She intended to jog at least an hour. Unless she was close to exhaustion by the time they finished, she wouldn’t be able to sleep toni
ght.
After ten minutes she realized that she was setting the pace. “Am I going too fast?”
“Not at all. I’m just enjoying the view from back here.”
She slowed down immediately. “Why don’t we run side by side...unless you want to drop out now,” she added, immediately contrite. “I have no idea what kind of rehab program you’re following.”
“Why are you worried?” He came up beside her, his voice not at all winded. “Do I look out of shape?”
She didn’t have to glance over to answer. “Far from it.”
“Then don’t worry about me. Choose whatever pace you’re used to following. I’ll keep up.”
“I run three or four hours a week,” she said.
“So it’s not that far then.”
Now she’d done it. Her competitive nature would never let her quit first—and clearly neither would his.
After another half hour, halfway around the big loop that wound up and down both banks of the cold river, she glanced over at Paul. To her annoyance, he wasn’t even breathing hard.
“You look as if we’ve been out on a stroll, not running up and down these inclines. That’s some stamina,” she said.
“When I was living on the Rez my brothers and I would race each other up and down the canyon trails. It was a great way to work off excess energy and stay fit. The closest gym was at the high school, and that was thirty miles away. Most of the time we didn’t have the gas money for trips like that, so we worked out at home.”
“You mentioned that sometimes you were completely broke and had to go hungry,” she said, hoping he’d talk about himself a bit more.
“That was before the foster homes, and before I went to live with Hosteen Silver.”
“Life must have been tough when you were a kid.” She slowed down without even realizing it, more interested in their conversation than in jogging.
“I guess. My mom did her best, but she was barely sixteen when she got pregnant. She quit high school to have me, so she never graduated. She took whatever jobs she could find, kitchen help, cleaning, stuff like that. By the time I turned eight she just gave up. I think she was ill, cancer or something like that. One day she dropped me off at a fire station, and I never saw her again. New Mexico Children, Youth and Families Department took custody after that.”
He’d been matter-of-fact, and the only indication that the past still caused him pain was that he’d increased his pace, as if he were trying to outrun the memory.
“Eight years old is so young,” she said, trying to keep up with him. She wouldn’t offer him sympathy she knew he didn’t want, but she could show him support by just staying beside him. “Did you know at the time that she wouldn’t be coming back?”
“No. We’d taken the bus, and when she dropped me off, she handed me a sealed envelope. I was supposed to give it to the first fireman I saw. Later I found out it was a letter relinquishing custody of me. For a long time, I kept thinking she’d come back for me after she got better. It never happened.”
“Did you ever find out what happened to her?” she asked, increasing her pace to match his.
“Not for years. I figured since she’d thrown me away, there was nothing for me to find.” He slowed down, and their pace returned to a fast jog. “Eventually I found out that she passed away about six months after she left me at the fire station.”
Although Paul’s words held no trace of emotion, the revelation stunned her. She’d known about the wound on his shoulder, but the scars he bore inside went far deeper than any bullet ever could.
Somehow the moon, the darkness and the physical exertion had worked a magic all their own and helped her see a side of him she doubted many ever saw.
“It’s a beautiful night. Let’s just enjoy the moonlight for a while,” she said, slowing down to a walk.
“Tired?”
“Me? No, not at all,” she said, unwilling to admit it. Realizing he was going to speed up again, she bit back a groan. “Slow down anyway. I’m tired of being in a hurry. The pressure to get there first is part of everything I seem to be doing lately.”
“I get that,” he said, and slowed to a walk. “The urge to see the payoff at the end of the line is always there. It can make the journey nothing short of a test of endurance.”
“Yeah, it feels like that sometimes. Even in my private life I’m always racing to reach a new goal.”
“Like what?” His voice was softer now, gentle.
“I’ve been looking into adoption,” she said, liking the way he’d stepped closer to her. She could feel the warmth of his body wrapping itself around her, and the way he was looking at her made her tingle all the way down to her toes.
She looked away and struggled to clear her thinking. “There are some holdbacks I’ve yet to work out, but I’m not giving up on the idea.”
“Why not just have a baby of your own?”
To her credit, she didn’t sigh, but it took a concerted effort not to look at him. “I’ve considered that, but, to me, adoption is the way to go.”
“How come?”
“It’s complicated,” she said.
“We’ve got time.” Seeing her hesitate, he added, “We need to get to know each other, Kendra. Working as partners, even for who knows how long, means we have to learn to trust each other all the way. I don’t like talking about my past, but I’ve told you a little about myself. Now it’s your turn. Help us maintain the balance between us. By doing that, you’ll also be honoring Navajo ways.”
“All right,” she said after a moment. “It all goes back to the days where ’home’ was wherever the colonel’s change of station took us. We traveled all over the world. One of the things I learned back then was that in an amazing number of countries poor kids have no chance, no future. Toddlers and their mothers would be living on the streets, and older kids sometimes completely on their own.”
She paused, then in a soft voice, continued. “I know I can’t change the world, but maybe I can make a difference in one life. International adoptions are complicated, but someday that’s what I’d like to do.”
“There are kids in our own country who could use a loving home. Look at my brothers and me. Hosteen Silver changed our lives. He gave us a future.”
“I know,” she said quietly, “but in the U.S. babies and toddlers are harder to find, and preference is usually given to two-parent homes.”
“You’re not planning to marry?”
“It’s not that I’ve ruled it out, but there’s no man in my life and I don’t know if there ever will be,” she said. “A single-parent adoption, particularly for someone in my profession, is difficult. I’ve got practically no chance in the U.S.”
“Yeah, running down fugitives, transporting prisoners, and having to travel halfway across the country at a moment’s notice could be real tough for a single parent.”
“I’ve taken all that into account myself. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t gone any further than fact-finding. I have a lot of things to work out first.”
Aware of how much she’d revealed about herself, she suddenly grew quiet. It had been way too easy to open up to Paul. His nearness, the sound of his low, sexy voice, and the quiet beauty of the bosque trail had conspired against her.
Soon after they’d rounded a curve in the trail, the bosque became increasingly dense. She picked up the pace. “We’re hemmed in here, and I can’t see into the trees. Tactically, this isn’t a good place for us.”
She’d barely finished speaking when they both heard a deep catlike growl coming from the brush to the right of the cobblestone path. All she could see was a dark shape and two amber eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
Kendra reached for her gun slowly, glad she always carried her weapon, even when off duty. If the animal attacked she’d be able to defend Paul and herself.
“Don’t. We’re in no danger,” he said in a barely audible voice.
“It’s a wildcat and it’s coming toward us.”
“It won’t harm us.”
Paul stepped in front of Kendra and pulled out the leather cord he wore around his neck. Something hung from it, but she couldn’t make out what it was. A good luck charm? She preferred bullets. Her gaze shifted back to what appeared to be a bobcat that was advancing silently toward them with graceful but deliberate strides.
Paul took another step toward it, effectively blocking the creature’s path. “Go your way and walk in beauty, my brother.”
Kendra kept her hand on the grip of her pistol, but, to her surprise, the animal stopped its advance. It seemed to nod, though it was probably just a twitch, then turned away and walked off into the undergrowth.
It wasn’t until the cat had disappeared completely that she finally drew in a full breath. “Guess we’re too big to take on.”
“That wasn’t it. He never intended to attack. The cat came out to honor the connection between him and me. The animal kingdom is more attuned to things like that than the Anglo world is.” Paul fell into step beside her. “What amazes me is that he approached even though there were two of us.”
“I don’t understand what you mean when you say you two are connected. Do you think the cat saw you as a friend?”
“No, not exactly. It’s more, and less, than that.” He took off the leather cord from around his neck and showed her the small fetish that hung from it. “It’s a lynx, carved from oak. Hosteen Silver gave it to me right before I left to join the marshals service. Although all my brothers had their fetishes given to them on or around their sixteenth birthday, mine remained uncarved until that day.”
“Was he punishing you for something?” They were walking side by side now, close enough to touch, but not doing so despite the temptation.
“No, not punishing—teaching. You see, I’d always played things close to my chest, and I guess that made me hard to read. On my sixteenth birthday he told me that I was still a work in progress. Until I became the man I was meant to be, he couldn’t be sure which fetish would be the right spiritual match for me. Then, a few days before I was scheduled to report to the USMS training academy in Georgia, Hosteen Silver had a very vivid dream. He told me about it. He said he saw a beautiful lynx walking ahead of me as we went out on a hunt, so Hosteen Silver honored the sign and had the carving made for me from this piece of oak. I’ve worn it ever since, and as Hosteen Silver promised, it’s proven to be invaluable.”