by Pamela Clare
There would be a "happily ever after" after all.
Bet you're glad you never got your nuts cut, aren't you?
Yes, he was. Not having kids had been Jill's plan, not his.
Tell Kat how you feel about her.
He steeled himself, drew a breath--and chickened out. "You're the most beautiful, most amazing, most wonderful woman I know, Katherine James."
She smiled, her eyes still closed. "And you're the most wonderful man in the whole entire world, Gabe Rossiter. I love you."
"THE ARCHAEOLOGIST'S NAME was Phil Getman. Hatfield says he used to do all the archaeological survey work for the city. Here's his number."
Kat took the slip of paper, amazed that it had been so easy. "Are you sure Ranger Hatfield won't end up in trouble for giving you this?"
"Dave knows better than to tell anyone. He's good at keeping secrets."
The edge to Gabe's voice brought Kat's gaze up.
He reached down and ran his fingers through her damp hair. "He's the one who knew about Jill and Wade but didn't tell me. Sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."
Kat caught Gabe's hand, gave it a squeeze. "Say what you need to say. I don't feel threatened by your past."
He cupped her chin. "You amaze me, do you know that?"
She stood, wrapped her arms around him, offering him the reassurance he seemed to need. "Thanks for getting the number for me. I know it can't have been easy for you to ask him for help."
He held her for a moment, kissed her on the top of her head. "Hatfield owes me, and he knows it."
"Let's just hope I can reach this Phil Getman--and that he'll talk to me."
REACHING PHIL GETMAN was easy. Getting him to speak was not.
The first time he answered and Kat told him why she was calling, he'd told her to leave him alone and had hung up on her. When she'd called back, he'd been angry. "Fuck off! I told you I don't want to talk about it!"
"But, Mr. Getman--" Kat put down the phone. "He hung up again."
Gabe poured Kat a cup of coffee, his flannel shirt still unbuttoned, giving her a distracting view of his chest. "He lives in Avon. That's only a couple of hours from here as the snowmobile drives. I suppose if worse comes to worse we could pay him a visit now that the storm has blown itself out. Whoa! Did I just say that? Forget it. Bad idea, Rossiter. You're not leaving this cabin, honey."
"Silly goat!" Smiling at Gabe's monologue, Kat took the cup and sipped, the coffee black and strong. "He's obviously afraid. I can't say I blame him. If he'd only listen, I'd offer him whistle-blower protection."
The next time Kat called, she got Getman's voice mail. She left a long message, telling him about Grandpa Red Crow's death and the looting at Mesa Butte and revealing that someone was trying to kill her for reporting on these things.
"I'm trying very hard to piece together the truth about what's happening at Mesa Butte, but I need your help to do it. A good man, someone I loved, died up there, and I think he was murdered. I need to know what's in the survey you did and why it seems the city is trying to hide it from me. Please call me back, Mr. Getman. I'm prepared to offer you whistle-blower protection and full anonymity if you'll talk to me. I know you're afraid, but so am I."
She left her cell phone number, then hung up. She was about ready to call Tom to check in when the phone rang. She answered.
"Ms. James? This is Phil Getman."
"Yes, Mr. Getman. Thank you so much for calling me back."
"Look, I'm sorry I was an ass, but I've got reasons for wanting to stay out of this. What's whistle-blower protection?"
Kat explained how state shield laws enabled her to keep her sources confidential and how state law protected whistle-blowers from retaliation. She promised not to name him in her story or to describe him in any way that revealed who he was. When this seemed to satisfy him, she told him everything that had happened at Mesa Butte from the raid on the inipi and Grandpa Red Crow's death to the looting and the attempts on her life. Then she shared with him what she'd unearthed so far, which was nothing.
"There's supposed to be an archaeological survey in the file, but it's missing."
He gave a laugh, his voice rough, probably from years of smoking. "Of course it's missing. Martin doesn't want anyone to see it."
"Paul Martin, the city manager?" Kat glanced over at Gabe, who sat across the table from her, listening intently.
"Yeah, who else?" Mr. Getman paused. "I'll tell you what I know, but you're going to have to keep your promise to me. I wouldn't have thought Martin capable of murder, but I guess you never can tell. I don't want this bastard coming after me the way he's come after you, but I wouldn't feel like a man if I didn't help you out."
"I appreciate that, Mr. Getman. I appreciate it more than you know." Kat gave Gabe a thumbs-up.
"About five years ago when Paul Martin came to work for the city, he talked the city council into buying the Mesa Butte property. The city contracted with me to come in and do the archaeological survey. I found pots and arrowheads dating back a few centuries. I also found what looked like burial sites."
Kat thought back to the trenches and the kinds of artifacts she'd seen there--the pipe stem, the bit of woven basket, the fragments of clothing, the cradleboard. And now it made perfect sense. They weren't just artifacts that had been left behind. They'd come from people's graves.
The looters were desecrating human graves.
She held a hand to her mouth, afraid for a moment that she might be sick, looking over at Gabe in what was a silent plea for support. He stood, walked around the table, and rested his hands on her shoulders. "Y-yes, I ... I think I've seen the burial sites. That's the key isn't it? He's hiding the report because he doesn't want anyone to know about the burials."
And for Kat a familiar and sad picture began to come together. Indian burials had federal protection. Land that contained Indian burials was off-limits for development. If anyone discovered the truth about the burials, Martin would be blamed for pushing the city to spend two million dollars on land it couldn't use.
"What does he want to do with the land, Mr. Getman?"
"I don't think he gives a rat's ass what the city does with it. Right now, the city council is looking at plans for a recycling drop-off site. All they'd have to do is pave the place, bring in the recycling bins, and they'd be in business. The burials would be hidden for the next several decades or so. But that's not the point, not really."
"What do you mean?"
Getman seemed to hesitate. He lowered his voice, as if he was afraid someone might overhear him. "Martin's big plan wasn't to develop the land, but to get it off his family's hands. The previous owner was none other than his own sainted brother-in-law, who bought the land himself for less than two hundred grand."
It took a moment for the full impact of what Getman had just told her to sink in. "But the city bought it from Mesa Butte Corporation--"
"Which is just a cover for Martin's sister's husband."
So Martin had manipulated the city into buying Mesa Butte for more than ten times what his brother-in-law had paid for it, getting what was a piece of property he couldn't develop off his family's hands--and breaking more than a few laws in the process. Kat was impressed, if somewhat skeptical, of Getman's research. "How did you learn all this?"
"I've got a P-H-fucking-D, okay?" Getman sounded insulted. "I can do research. The man threatened to ruin me. I did some digging on him."
"This was five years ago. Why haven't you gone to the authorities?"
"Hey, the man said he'd make sure I never got another contract. Just be glad I have a sense of chivalry and don't want to see him hurt a lady."
"I'm not judging you. I'm simply curious. I can understand that this has been difficult and upsetting for you." Kat ignored Gabe's snort of disgust. He was obviously listening and putting the pieces together from her side of the conversation.
"I've been looking for a way to get back at him. You said you'd let me be anonymous. This way I
can take that bastard down, and he won't even know it was me."
GABE JAMMED THE shovel deep into the snow and scooped it away from the cabin's front door, the burn in his muscles taking the edge off his fury. The snow had let up a little more than an hour ago, leaving about fifteen new inches of powder--and giving him a way to vent his hostility. Of course, he'd rather hop on the snowmobile, make his way to Avon and kick that bastard Getman's ass. For five years the stupid son of a bitch had known that Martin was a crook, and he'd kept quiet to protect his wallet. Now he was using Kat, who'd put her life on the line, to get his revenge against Martin.
The man was a fucking coward.
Gabe would like to kick Martin's ass, too, but he had a feeling Hunter and Darcangelo were going to beat him to it. While Kat had been on her cell phone filling her editor in on everything she'd learned, Gabe had called Darcangelo on his cell phone and brought him up to speed on Martin.
Darcangelo had given a low whistle. "This doesn't prove that he's the one behind the attacks on Kat, the old man's murder, or the looting, but what you've described is certainly a clear motive for murder. If he knew about the artifacts, it makes sense that he might want to cash in on them. And he is on the list of people who have inside information about the city's surveillance cameras. I'd say he just became a person of significant interest in this case. We'll get on it."
Then there'd been nothing for Gabe to do but stay out of Kat's way. He couldn't help her by stomping around the cabin. Besides, she seemed to have all the help she needed. From what he could tell, most of the I-Team was working on this story now. Sophie and the others were helping Kat track down the records she'd need to prove Getman's claims, while she worked on a draft of the article, filling in details as they were able to provide them.
He had to hand it to her. She was cool under pressure. He knew that what she'd learned had upset her. Few things were more upsetting to Native people than the desecration of graves. For Kat to know that she herself had stood in a burial area and handled things that had been in human graves, however innocently, must have shaken her deeply. And yet apart from her initial shock, she'd been the consummate professional, setting aside her own personal anguish and focusing on the job at hand.
No wonder the I-Team had a reputation for kicking ass.
At least they were moving closer to the truth. Gabe wanted this ordeal to end for her. He wanted to know she was out of danger. He wanted her to be able to put fear behind her and go on with her life--a life that would now include him.
Breathing hard, he trudged back to the woodpile, set the shovel against the wall--and saw something move out of the corner of his eye back near the trees. His pivoted, drew the HK out of its holster, clicking off the safety. He stood there, watching, half expecting to see their good buddy Brother Coyote loping out from among the trees, But there was nothing. He turned to head back inside.
Pop!
He whirled toward the sound, felt a sharp jab in his side--and looked down to see a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his parka. He jerked it out with his left hand and threw it on the ground, knowing that it was already too late. The drug--whatever it was--had injected on impact, and it was already taking effect.
Son of a bitch!
He wanted to shout out, to fire his gun, to do something to warn Kat to protect herself, but the snow was rushing up at him, his gun too heavy to hold, his eyes refusing to stay open. He did a face-plant in the powder, unable even to catch his own fall. And some part of him wondered whether he'd gotten a human-sized dose--or a dose meant to tranquilize a bear. If it were the latter, he'd be dead within moments.
I'm so sorry, Kat. I promised to keep you safe. I blew it. I didn't even tell you I love you.
As if from far away, he heard the crunch of boots on snow, felt a boot nudge him in the ribs, then felt himself being rolled onto his back. He fought to open his eyes, wanting to look into the face of the man who was in all likelihood about to kill him and the woman he loved. He forced his lids up for just a second, and the face he saw smiling down at him made him think he was dreaming. Summoning every bit of his will, he got out three words. "Don't ... hurt ... her!"
Laughter. "I'm not going to hurt her. I'm going to kill her."
Kat!
Gabe's heart gave a hard thud, and then--nothing.
KAT SIPPED HER coffee, reread what she'd written, feeling jumpy both from the caffeine and from the adrenaline of closing in on a big story. Or that's what she told herself. In truth, she couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that lingered from last night's visit from the coyote. Nor could she escape the sick feeling that had taken hold of her the moment she'd realized she'd stood in a desecrated burial ground and had touched things that had been plundered from graves. When this was over, she would ask for leave from the paper, drive back to K'ai'bii'to, and visit her mother's uncle, Uncle Ray, who was a hataathlii, a singer or medicine man, and would know what ceremonies to perform for her and Gabe to rid them of any taint that still clung to them.
At least she'd made real progress today. Everything Getman had told her had been true, something she'd been able to prove with the help of the other I-Team members. Natalie had tracked down old records on Mesa Butte Corporation and Paul Martin's brother-in-law through the secretary of state's office and Colorado Vital Records. In less than two hours, she'd been able to verify that Martin's brother-in-law had, indeed, owned the land and had profited by selling it to the city of Boulder.
Kat had called Mr. Getman back and talked him into faxing the newspaper a copy of the original archaeological survey with the information on burials intact. Then Sophie had scanned the survey and e-mailed it to Kat, who'd gained a new appreciation for high-speed Internet during the ten minutes she'd watched it download.
While Gabe had reheated the stew for lunch, Kat had read through the survey carefully and had found exactly what Mr. Getman had said she'd find--a report detailing Native people's use of the land for centuries and pointing out the location of a probable burial ground exactly where the trenches had been dug. Then she'd gone through her notes, written up a list of questions, and called Paul Martin.
In the end, her interview with him had been almost a let-down. The moment he'd realized where her line of questioning was leading, he'd clammed up and refused to say another word. Feinman had done the same thing. Martin's brother-in-law had simply hung up on her. So Kat had called the newsroom and asked Sophie and Natalie to fax proof about Martin's dealings to each and every member of the Boulder city council. And the council members had had lots to say.
Kat searched through her notes and found a good quote from Laura Marsh, the council's most outspoken member, then typed it in. I want a full investigation of Paul Martin and his actions concerning Mesa Butte. If it turns out these documents are accurate, I'd say there's every chance the city will seek both criminal and civil remedies against him.
Then Kat looked up the specific wording of the federal statute that protected American Indian burial sites and added that to her story. She read through the article once more, checking for holes and typos, and finally satisfied, she e-mailed it to Tom, who replied almost immediately.
Great work, James. We're running it front page, above the fold. Once again the Denver Indy and the I-Team are making headlines.
This was why she'd become a journalist--to do a day's work and know that it made a difference in the world.
Of course, there were still many unanswered questions. Was there any connection between Martin and Daniels? Was Martin tied to the looting in any way? If so, why would he wait to steal the artifacts until after the property had passed out of his family's hands? What did any of this have to do with the raid on the inipi? And how did Grandpa Red Crow's death--and the attempts on her life and Gabe's--fit into the picture? She hoped Martin would fill in the missing pieces once he'd spent a little time in a police interrogation room.
Could this nightmare truly be drawing to a close? Oh, she hoped so. She was trying to be strong, try
ing to be brave, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit she was feeling the strain of it. If it weren't for Gabe ...
If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be alive to feel the strain.
Wondering what he would like most for dinner--besides frybread--she closed her laptop and walked over to the woodstove to see how much stew was left from lunch. There wasn't much--certainly not enough for a big man like Gabe. Then it occurred to her that she no longer heard him shoveling. He must have finished and have gone back to the woodpile for more wood. She wasn't surprised to hear the front door open.
"Have you worked up an appetite?" She turned to face him. "We've ..."
Whatever she'd been about to say died on her tongue.
In the doorway stood Chief Ranger Webb. It took a moment for her to recognize him with ski goggles over his eyes, a thick growth of stubble on his jaw, and a hat on this head. Beyond him lay Gabe facedown, unconscious or dead, in the snow.
He grinned. "You're surprised to see me, aren't you, sweetheart ? As for Gabe, I don't think he's hungry at all."
CHAPTER 29
KAT'S HEART BURST inside her chest, knocked the air from her lungs, her knees almost buckling. "Gabe!"
Webb looked over his shoulder, then back at Kat. "He's not dead--not yet, anyway. It's a damned shame to have to kill him, but he got himself into this."
Webb's words penetrated Kat's shock and confusion, relief that Gabe was alive shining like a light through a dark fog of terror. "H-he's not dead?"
Webb smiled as if he were proud of himself. "I shot him with a tranquilizer dart. I had to neutralize him to get to you, but I couldn't just pop him, could I? This has to look like an accident."
Just like Grandpa Red Crow's death.
Panic turning her blood to ice, Kat took a step backward, then realized she had no place to run. "B-but why? Why are you doing this?"
"We can talk about it on the way there." Webb tossed something at her feet. A climbing harness? "Get dressed for the outdoors and put that on. We're going for a little winter adventure."
