The Shadow

by Thurlo, Aimée

  “No. I feel…complete.”

  Her voice caressed him in the darkness of the room. “And the night’s just beginning,” he said, kissing her gently.

  “The darkness…held surprises.”

  “It allowed us a new way to see…and feel.” He ran his hand down her body and caressed the pulse point at her center.

  She gasped and arched against him. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” Showing her exquisite tenderness this time, he gave her everything, then entered her again.

  THE SUN COMING IN through the pale curtains nudged her awake. She opened her eyes slowly and saw Jonas approaching the bed, cup of coffee in hand.

  “Here you go, sleepyhead. It’s freshly brewed.”

  He was already dressed, and as she sat up, she suddenly became aware of her own nakedness. She pulled up the sheet quickly.

  “Sawe, there’s nothing you’ve got that I haven’t seen, touched or tasted,” he said, his voice deep. “There’s no room for modesty between us anymore.”

  He brushed a kiss on her forehead. “Now get up. There’s work to be done. I have to go back to the area where I lost the sniper.”

  She nearly choked on the coffee. Of places she never wanted to revisit, that was up there near the top of the list.

  “Why go back? He’s long gone,” she protested.

  “Yes, undoubtedly, but his trail’s still there and I’m going to find it. When it comes to tracking, I’m the best there is.”

  “That’s the quality I love most about you,” she said with a hint of a smile.

  “That I won’t give up?”

  “No, your humility.”

  He burst out laughing. “Get dressed, woman. We need to check that road before the workers’ vehicles wipe out any of the trail.”

  They were under way ten minutes later, and as they drove to the site, Jonas lapsed into a tense silence.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He started to deny that anything was, then changed his mind. “What went on between us last night—we can’t let it happen again.”

  “You regret it?” Emily’s heart stopped cold, and for a moment she couldn’t even draw a breath.

  “No,” he answered, his voice gruff. “I have no regrets. We both needed each other, and what happened was…right. But my life and yours—don’t mix.”

  She swallowed, determined to keep her voice as steady and detached as his had been. “We’re both in agreement then. No promises were made, and none need to be kept.”

  As she swallowed hard to avoid tears, she was glad that his attention was on the road. Life had taught her that people came—and left. Her mom, her dad…Jonas. That was just the way things were, and she couldn’t change it. Nothing was forever.

  JONAS FOCUSED ON THE road, looking for the spot where they’d been ambushed. He wouldn’t fail her—and himself—again.

  “The sniper fired from your side,” he stated, as they pulled up to the site. “I wasn’t able to determine if he’d crossed the road before or after, so we don’t know which route he took into the area, or how he left.”

  “Let’s get out and take a closer look around,” Emily suggested.

  They left the truck parked off the road, then walked on for about a hundred yards before heading up the hillside. The ground here was mostly weathered sandstone, hard enough not to show clear footprints, but easily scuffed.

  “The shooter took aim from here,” Jonas said. “I saw the muzzle flash, and the swerve marks we left down on the road support that.” He crouched and searched the ground. “He left no shell casings behind.”

  “So we know he’s careful and picks up after himself,” she noted.

  “Yes, even with me shooting back. But, admittedly, I was aiming low, not wanting the bullets to hit something a mile away. My primary goal was to suppress his fire,” he said. “What we need to do now is spiral out and search the area. But play it safe and stay close to cover, and watch out for signs of a trap—not just an ambush. If you see or hear anything, let me know right away.”

  Determined to be of some use, Emily brought all her senses into full play. The air was crisp and clean, and there was a faint trace of smoke coming from someone’s fireplace. She stopped in midstride and listened. Just beyond the cry of a hawk soaring overhead, another sharp, crisp sound drifted in on the morning breeze.

  He stopped when she did, and looked over at her, waiting.

  “Do you hear it?” she asked quietly. “It’s the sound of metal against metal.”

  He listened, then shook his head. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. It’s coming from that direction, across the road to the east.” She pointed. “Let’s go check it out.”

  They’d reached the road and were crossing when he also heard it—a metallic crunch, like something cutting steel. He recognized it from operations where mines were laid and trip wires prepared. There was another sound, too, a rhythmic hammering—as if stakes were being driven into the ground. Now that he could hear it, it didn’t take him long to pinpoint the location.

  He led the way confidently, motioning for Emily to stay low and silent as they worked their way diagonally up a rise on Grant’s side of the road. As they drew near, Jonas stopped behind some brush near the crest of the hill. Crouched behind thin cover, he pointed to the area below, where two men were working on a fence line leading up to Grant Woods’s gate.

  Using the small binoculars he’d brought, Jonas studied the scene. It was Grant and Sam Carpenter, wearing work clothes and heavy gloves. They had a variety of tools and a wire stretcher, and were repairing the fence.

  Jonas focused on the tarp strewn on the ground several feet from a two-wheeled yard cart. Two rifles, one the Marlin .22 they’d seen Carpenter with the other day, and the other a Ruger Mini-14 with a scope, lay on the protective canvas.

  Although Jonas still had no proof, he now had a real good idea who’d taken a shot at them the night before. He’d been unable to find the round that had taken out the windshield. But he knew the crack of a center-fire cartridge, especially a .22, and his money was on the Ruger, which was available in that caliber. The question that remained was who’d carried it last night.

  Jonas studied their adversaries, who were less than fifty yards away. Although he wanted to move in closer, he wouldn’t risk Emily again.

  As he glanced back at her and their eyes met, all the disciplines he’d learned as a member of the Brotherhood of Warriors faded momentarily. Angry with himself, he looked away and focused again on the men. He was acting like a fool, and in a life and death situation, there was no room for mistakes.

  Used to remaining perfectly still for hours if need be, he kept a steady watch. What surprised him was Emily’s ability to do the same. She uttered no complaint as the minutes ticked by.

  Soon, Sam loaded up the tools and tarp, and handed Grant the Ruger. Placing the .22 in the cart, he picked up the handles and wheeled it off in the direction of Grant’s house, following the furrows left on the journey out.

  Without a backward glance at his handyman, Grant checked the magazine on the Ruger, then walked out his gate. Jonas and Emily ducked low, watching, as her neighbor crossed the road and climbed uphill onto Emily’s land.

  “Come on. We’re following Grant,” Jonas whispered, intending on staying well back. Emily was his priority, and he didn’t want to expose her to any unnecessary danger.

  “Shouldn’t we get your rifle from the truck?” she asked. “He has one.”

  “If we go back, we could lose him,” he said. “But don’t worry. I intend to avoid a shootout.”

  She followed him down the hill, moving as quietly as she could.

  Although he’d kept a sharp eye on his target, the terrain was undulating, the junipers low and thick, and the ground hard. Before long, Jonas knew he’d lost Grant’s trail.

  “He’s up ahead somewhere, but I can’t hear him moving at all.” Jonas tuned in to the area around them. “Change of plans. W
e’re getting out of here right now.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked quickly.

  “I’m getting bad vibes. First Grant heads into some rough terrain, and now he’s nowhere in sight. My gut tells me we’re being set up. Stay close to me, and keep checking the ground for his tracks while I keep watch around our perimeter. We’re heading back.”

  Jonas chose a circuitous route toward the road, moving in a parallel course instead of retracing their steps. He could hunt, but he also knew how to evade. Between his Ranger training in the military and his experience with the Brotherhood, he knew all the tricks of the trade.

  He chose the way carefully—watching, listening, taking the higher ground to give themselves the advantage. His concentration was absolute. One moment’s distraction could result in lethal consequences. Images flashed in his mind. His buddy, Marc, the explosion, the choking scent of burned flesh, and a road covered in torn limbs and blood.

  Jonas shook free of the thought. He knew how to stay alive, and that’s why he was here now instead of in a cemetery on the Navajo Nation. Without focus, they would be nothing more than the walking dead out here.

  Gun in hand, he continued. The world needed warriors who could fight the good fight, and he was the best of the best. Though he’d tried hard to deny it, there was no place for love in his life. That softened a man and muddied his objectivity. Ignoring the hollow feeling in his gut, he pressed on.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Look,” Emily said, pointing to a set of footprints in the packed clay that separated two sandstone bedrock layers. Though days old, they were still distinctive enough to make out. “Those tracks could be Dinétsoh’s. Is it possible he circled around after the accident, trying to lose whoever was after him?”

  “It’s more likely he was backtracking. Tactically speaking, the bluffs would have been a better defensive position.”

  She moved in that direction, then stopped after reaching the next layer of sandstone. “The trail—it’s gone. No, wait—what’s that?” Emily stooped to examine a nearly black spot on the stone, then suddenly recoiled. “I think it may be dried blood,” she said, her memory flashing back to what she’d seen in the motel room.

  He verified it with just one glance. In the desert, blood usually dried a glossy black, then cracked. He looked around for more. “It’s possible the blood belongs to Dinétsoh, but it’s also likely that it was left by an injured animal, and the footprints belong to a hunter tracking wounded prey.”

  Jonas wanted to stay and look around, but it wasn’t an option right now. He studied the terrain, then took one last glance at the footprints. His mentor would have known to step around or over the soft ground. Those tracks either were not Dinétsoh’s—or he’d left them there on purpose.

  If that was the case, perhaps there was something else to see. Jonas studied the ground. A broken branch lay a few feet from where he stood. Between the leaves, he could see a pattern on the surface of the sandstone. Curious, he crouched down and carefully parted the leaves. One word—sih—had been scratched into the surface of the rock with a piece of hard quartzite, which was still lying there.

  “What’s it mean?” she asked.

  “It’s Navajo. It means ‘chance’ or ‘life.’”

  “Then it’s a message from Dinétsoh,” she said, mirroring his thoughts.

  Before he could answer, he heard a pair of doves take flight from the rim of a shallow wash to their right. Knowing that doves rarely fled unless danger was almost upon them, he immediately took action. “We’re being tailed. Let’s move.”

  “Grant? Or Sam?”

  “Sam couldn’t have caught up with us this soon. I think Grant hid out as we passed and is now following us. My guess is he’s paralleling our route. You and I need to head uphill double-time and put some distance between us and this,” he said, pointing to the ground, then eradicating the mark. “I don’t want either of those men to see what we’ve found.”

  Jonas focused on the path ahead, trying to find a route that would put their back to the cliffs so they couldn’t be trapped in a crossfire. Calling for backup was an option, but he knew help would take time to arrive, and Emily and he would be hard to locate on the move. It could also end up leading friendly forces into an ambush.

  “If he catches up, I need you to do exactly what I tell you. No hesitation, no arguments. Anything else might get us both killed.”

  “All right,” she answered, breathing hard from the pace. “Do you think Sam and Grant are closing in on us?”

  “Right now, instinct tells me to stay low and move fast.”

  It wasn’t a direct answer, but she understood. He sensed trouble in much the same way that she could feel an approaching storm.

  They soon reached the lower slopes of the bluffs. Here, boulders the size of refrigerators were scattered around like children’s blocks, and at the base of the cliffs themselves, more were poised to tumble down during the next millennium.

  Although there were several trails they could use to climb, he needed a route that wouldn’t readily expose them to anyone below. Finally choosing the path that would give them the most cover, he led the way.

  She followed, doing her best not to get entangled in the brush, and although she wasn’t always successful, she kept up.

  “Maybe no one’s back there,” she said, after minutes passed and nothing happened.

  “There is,” he assured her, his voice barely a whisper. “We’ll need to cross that open slope to reach that saddle between the high points,” he added, gesturing ahead. “Stay low and move fast. And no matter what happens, keep going forward until you reach that pile of boulders.”

  They were halfway across, scrambling on loose gravel, when a couple of rifle shots rang out and bullets whined overhead.

  “Don’t stop!” he yelled. Grabbing her hand, he took off running in a random, zigzag pattern toward their goal—the big boulders.

  Three more bullets flew past them, ricocheting off rocks to the right of Emily.

  Acting on instinct, Jonas urged her to zig in that direction, and a half second later, another bullet struck the ground to their left.

  Ten feet from cover, Jonas dived, pulling Emily along. They hit the packed ground hard, but now they were behind a sandstone boulder the size of a desk.

  “Stay down.” Jonas rose to his knees, peered around the side of the rock and squeezed off a shot.

  A standing figure below, aiming a rifle, dived to the ground. From the clothing, Jonas thought it was Grant, but he couldn’t be sure at this distance.

  “Easy target if I’d brought the rifle,” he grumbled.

  Emily crawled up behind him, but wisely didn’t take a look. A bullet nicked the top of the rock, then struck something behind them with a thump.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “What now? There’s a mine shaft back there, I think, but it’s boarded up.”

  Jonas studied the area. They were atop a weathered shelflike platform carved out of the cliff, and behind them were a half-dozen graying boards flat on the ground. “All those shafts should connect to the main tunnels and lead to another opening elsewhere or on top of the mesa. That could be our safest way up.”

  “Those mines are anything but safe.”

  “Beats being easy rifle targets. I’m going over there to pull away the timbers. While I’m exposed, you’ll need to keep the sniper busy.” He gave her his pistol. “Stay low and aim out from ground level. Just don’t let any dirt get into the barrel. Shoot toward the rocks between the closest trees. Fire quickly, then duck back. It doesn’t matter if you don’t hit anything. All I need you to do is keep him down.”

  “No, let’s just wait him out. He can’t come after us here, and he won’t cross that open stretch because he knows you won’t miss at that distance. If you and I go into those mines, we’ll either fall or get lost,” she said, remembering all the cautions she’d heard growing up. The tunnels held only death for the uninvited.

  Another s
hot ricocheted off the rocks. Jonas pulled her even lower. “We can’t stay. Once his partner arrives, one of them will keep us pinned while the other advances. Trust me, and do as I ask. Just squeeze the trigger. Make it quick and random. Change your location slightly when you shoot, too, and alter your timing. That way he won’t know when your next shot’s going to be or where you’ll pop up.”

  As soon as she fired the first shot, he moved away, crawling on his stomach toward the boards.

  It took him only seconds to pull the heavy, rotting boards away from the opening, because someone else had pried them loose before. They’d been laid back in place, not fastened, over the three-foot-diameter hole.

  The ventilation shaft or emergency exit he uncovered was wide enough to squeeze through. There was even a wooden ladder, and it looked sturdy enough to support them. The absence of spiderwebs indicated that someone else had used this entrance not long ago, also an encouraging sign.

  “Take one more shot to make him think, then run over,” he whispered harshly.

  As she reached his position, he took the pistol and urged her down the makeshift ladder ahead of him. The pitch-blackness inside was daunting, but they were out of options.

  “There’s a ledge where the ladder stops. No, wait, I think it’s the bottom. There are wooden supports on the walls,” she said.

  He’d been following her, holding on with one hand and keeping the pistol aimed up toward the opening. “Step away so he can’t shoot down at you. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Jonas took the next several rungs in a hurry, then stepped off beside her. The “skylight” didn’t offer much light, but it was clear they were at the bottom of the hole. The horizontal shaft, leading in two opposite directions and perhaps tracing the route of the former coal seam into the hillside, was nearly five feet high. In places, heavy timbers had been installed to support the tunnel.

  Jonas replaced the almost-empty pistol magazine with a fully loaded one by touch, something he could do in his sleep. Then he pulled out the penlight he carried in his pocket. It was better than nothing, but barely. The darkness seemed to absorb the tiny beam, closing in on it, strangling its muted light.