Harlequin Intrigue, Box Set 1 of 2

by Delores Fossen

  Clay watched the BP captain retreat. “Was he about to say ‘warpath’?”

  “Sounded like it,” said Rubio. “Americans. Still think they run everything, including this border.”

  Rubio left them to go talk to the guys from ICE.

  Kino met the cold look his brother cast him, a look that said Kino had, unfortunately, acted exactly as Clay had expected. His brother’s words replayed in his mind. They say go left and you go right.

  Barrow had said that Lea was now their witness. Well, Kino needed that description. And that meant he would see her again.

  Barrow was already having the barrels pulled down from the Oasis truck.

  Kino nudged Clay. “What do you know about their captain?”

  “He took early retirement up in Tucson. Police detective, I think.” Clay watched Barrow. “Been in charge here a few years. Guys say he’s a pain in the butt about procedure and, man, you better be where he tells you or else.”

  So he had way more law enforcement experience than Kino did. He knew things, had seen things, but he wasn’t Apache. He couldn’t read sign.

  Their captain returned, studying the ground as he approached. “You two think you can find that truck—the one with the missing back window?”

  Kino and Clay nodded simultaneously.

  “Check in if you find anything.”

  Dismissed, the brothers climbed back into their SUV. From the twin-tread access road, they could see that the last vehicle leaving this way had turned south. So they turned south. Then they stopped at every turnoff on either side of the road, looking for matching treads.

  One small road, that had been leveled once or so within the past six months, had a set of tracks coming from the highway and back into the desert. There had been another vehicle coming from the correct direction and the tread matched, so they followed the matching tread marks and ended up at a small ranch just inside the rez. The truck had pulled in here. A few hundred yards up, they found a squat little house, sheep pens, sheep and a pickup truck with the back window blown out. Clay covered Kino as he stepped out into the heat and examined the bullet holes. They’d found the truck. Now where was the driver?

  “I’m calling Rubio.” Clay lifted his radio and spoke to their captain.

  Then they headed for the modest one-story home that had the appearance of BIA housing written all over it. The bureau’s Housing and Urban Development oversaw most tribal housing and Kino recognized the look from Black Mountain. The structure was one floor set on a concrete slab, built from cinder blocks and painted the same drab brown as the sand. Someone had added a porch, which lilted and sagged. The plywood roof had been left unpainted as it darkened and curled. The windows were dirty and the paint was peeling. The yellowing stain on the door had all but worn off, exposing the lower portion of wood to the harsh sun. That was what happened when you had to wait for HUD to do the maintenance. Still, if it was anything like Black Mountain, even crumby housing was scarce.

  Clay and Kino hadn’t reached the lopsided step when a man appeared in the half-open door. He was middle-aged, tall, slim, with a distended belly that said he liked beer more than food. He was white but the desert sun had burned him to a brownish pink, and the deep wrinkles on his work-worn face showed he didn’t spend all his time drinking. Although the red spider veins that covered his cheeks and nose indicated he had an earnest commitment to that pursuit. Kino wondered if he owned a sweat-stained straw cowboy hat.

  “Yeah?” asked the man by way of a greeting. He smelled like a brewery.

  “We’re with ICE,” said Kino. “Shadow Wolves Unit.”

  The man nodded, his smile humorless. “Yeah. I figured. You working break-ins now?”

  “Break-ins?” asked Clay.

  He nodded again. “Yeah. Two days ago. You guys just getting here now? They’re long gone. Why don’t you just sit over there by the sheep pen? Bound to be another group along anytime.”

  A woman appeared behind him, short, round and a Tohono O’odham from the look of her. She wore a bright pink T-shirt that was large and tight, gray sweatpants and a frown.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Damned if I know,” said the man.

  “Your names?” asked Clay.

  “I’m Bill Moody and this here is my wife, Arnette.”

  “This your place?”

  “We rent it,” he said.

  “Did you call about the break-in?” asked Kino.

  “Don’t have no phone out here.” Or electricity, since there was no power line to the house, just the constant roar of a generator somewhere round the back and the propane tank for heat. The yard was a mess, with trash littering the porch and a rusted-out pickup tucked under the carport. But beyond the residence and past the sheep pens sat a solid, clean outbuilding made of concrete with an aluminum roof. The contrast between the two buildings struck Kino as odd, as did the solid padlock on the large garage door.

  “Is that your truck?” Kino pointed to the pickup with the shattered back window and numerous bullet holes. It was sitting to the side of the outbuilding with just the front visible from where they stood.

  Arnette gave a shriek and Bill swore then headed out toward the truck.

  “What happened?” he asked, his arms out and his face a mask of shock.

  “Did you lend it to someone?” asked Clay.

  Arnette reached the tailgate and fingered a hole. “Somebody shot it up.” She turned to them, her jaw open as she panted from her exertions. “I didn’t hear no shooting.”

  “Where do you keep the keys?” asked Kino, fearing the answer.

  “Right up there on the dash,” said Bill.

  Arnette shuffled along on swollen feet. “Right there.”

  Clay was already searching the ground for sign. Kino noticed the key ring had a red metal fob inlaid with the image of a coiled silver rattlesnake. His eyes narrowed on the key ring and then on Moody.

  Kino asked a few more questions and learned that Bill worked in Pima at the auto-repair shop but had the day off. Kino also discovered that illegals were frequent visitors to this place, filling their water containers at the hose and stealing clothing from the line.

  “Them illegals even broke in here while she was at church and cooked a meal right there in our kitchen.”

  “And left a mess,” said Arnette.

  Clay returned. “Looks like a truck, newer tires. Footprint shows one single male, construction boots, weighs about two-twenty.”

  Arnette stared at Clay in wonder. “You boys are them? Part of the unit. All Indian? Right? The Shadow Wolves?”

  Clay nodded then checked the tread left by Bill Moody. Kino waited for Clay to lift his head and give a shake. But he didn’t. He merely shrugged. That meant he couldn’t eliminate Moody. Clearly he was wearing different shoes. But his size matched the prints.

  “Did you see anyone today?” asked Kino.

  “Been inside all day. Threw out my back chasing one of them rams. He got out somehow.” He pointed vaguely toward the pens.

  Kino looked at Arnette, who dropped her gaze and shook her head.

  “Will you call us if you see a guy? Big, white, wearing a cowboy hat.” Kino handed over a card.

  Moody rejected the card. “I don’t got a phone.”

  “Then find someone who does,” Kino said and then held Moody’s gaze until the man looked away.

  “He dangerous?” asked Moody.

  Kino nodded.

  Arnette made a sound of discontent in her throat. “Guess I’ll start carrying my shotgun again.”

  Unlike Lea, Mrs. Moody seemed to have no qualms about arming herself against danger.

  “That your barn?”

  “Garage,” corrected Moody. “Sheep don’t need no barn.”

 
“You always keep your garage locked like that?” said Kino, pointing at the padlock.

  “Told you that migrants come through here. They steal everything that ain’t locked down. Sleep in there if they could,” said Moody.

  “Can we have a look inside?”

  Moody’s jaw bulged and he narrowed his eyes. “What’s this about?”

  “Shooting in the desert.”

  “I don’t know nothing about it. And as you can see, the garage is locked. No other way in.”

  Kino’s antenna for lies vibrated. He wanted a look in that garage. But he didn’t have cause, so he handed over a card.

  “Still, I’d like to have a look inside,” said Kino.

  Moody’s face reddened. “Well, you can’t. Now get off my property.”

  “Thought you said it was rented,” said Clay.

  “I had enough talking to the both of you. Coming in here with a lot of questions. Why don’t you catch the damned migrants instead of bothering us? They’re like damned locusts.” He hoisted up his pants. “We done here?” asked Moody.

  Kino touched his brow in salute. “All done. Thank you for your help.”

  Moody growled and folded his arms, waiting for them to leave.

  “You buy his story?” Kino asked Clay.

  “Tracks didn’t match. But he is wearing sneakers now and the size and his weight are about right. Whoever it was, he changed vehicles. Had another behind this building, judging from the tracks.”

  “Like to get a look inside there,” said Kino, thumbing over his shoulder at the building that was too new and too well kept to be on this property.

  “Think you need a warrant,” said Clay.

  “She didn’t look at us when I asked if she’d seen anyone,” Kino said. “Might want to speak to her when he’s not around. Maybe she’ll let us have a look inside.”

  “Come back in an hour,” said Clay. “The way he’s going, he’ll be passed out by then.”

  “Couldn’t she hear someone starting a truck?”

  “Not with a generator and television on,” said Clay.

  “I suppose.”

  “I saw those other tracks on the turnoff. They’re headed south. Same way we’re going.”

  “Could that car be a Ford Explorer?” Kino was thinking of Anthony DeClay, Lea’s boss. The one with the new truck and the key ring with the rattlesnake rattle.

  “Sure or a Ram or a Toyota, Chevy or Subaru. Can’t tell from the tire tread. Only shows the width and tire brand. Not the make. You know that.”

  They reached their vehicle and Kino settled into the driver’s seat. “Let’s go talk to Altaha. See if she can give us that description.”

  “Don’t you think she would have mentioned if the guy who pointed a gun at her was her boss?”

  “She’s never seen him. He said so at the scene. She’s been out in the field both times he visited. Love to have her take a look at Moody, too.”

  “Yeah,” Clay said and buckled in. “But that sounds a lot like an investigation and you quit your job on Tribal.”

  “Leave of absence.”

  “Yeah, well, Gabe told you there were plenty of dead cases on the rez. If you want to investigate crimes, we could have stayed put.”

  Kino didn’t take the bait. He needed to find out all he could about Lea Altaha. “Call Rubio. Tell them we found the truck and ask what they have on Altaha.”

  Clay lifted the radio and Kino turned them toward Cardon Station, where his witness would be waiting. Because no matter what Barrow said, Lea was his witness and he had a lot more questions.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lea was tired, drained, dusty and hungry. All she wanted to do was go home, or what passed for home while she was in Pima finishing her college internship before starting as an anthropologist for the Salt River reservation’s historical society.

  The border patrol officer paused, looking over what he had typed on the computer monitor. A sheen of sweat made his brown skin gleam despite the churning air conditioner. The stitched name on his forest green shirt read D. Mulhay, though he had not bothered to introduce himself. Where she came from that was considered very impolite.

  “Are we done?” she asked him.

  “Almost.” He scanned the form. “I just need your partner’s name.”

  “I was alone today.”

  Mulhay typed in the information and then glanced up, studying her in silence for a moment. “I don’t mean to tell you your business, Miss Altaha, but you shouldn’t be out there alone.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the window. “Guess you know that already.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mulhay glanced at the glowing screen. “I think that’s everything. I got your number if I need anything else. Oh, Captain Barrow said he wants to speak to you, but he’s still at the scene.”

  “Fine. When?”

  “We’ll give you a call.”

  Lea rubbed her forehead, vainly trying to push away the image of the murdered men. The memory made her flesh crawl.

  She rose, hesitated and then returned to her seat. “Um, they impounded my truck, so...”

  “Oh, I can get you a lift.” Mulhay made the call then replaced the handset on the cradle. “They’ll let me know when the unit is out front.”

  “Is it okay if I make a call?” she asked.

  “Of course.” He motioned to his phone. She lifted her cellular and gave it a little wave. “Oh, fine,” he said, turning back to his computer and the report.

  Lea called Margie, hoping she’d still be in the office.

  Margie told her that Anthony DeClay, the regional director she had yet to meet, wanted to see her first thing in the morning.

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “He’s plenty mad,” said Margie. “Especially when he heard you went out there alone. I think he might fire you.”

  “I’m a volunteer,” she reminded Margie.

  “Fail you, then. Send you home. The tribal guys are really peeved.” She paused. “Lea, you shouldn’t have done that. It’s against guidelines. And the map you took. It’s of the water stations we are removing, not filling.”

  “We need more water stations. Not less.”

  “Not up to us. The tribal council wants them out.” Margie hesitated once more then said, “Come in with Ernesta tomorrow and stick with her. She knows the rules.”

  That really meant that Ernesta followed the rules. Lea knew them, as well. But rules had never stopped her from doing what she felt was right. In this case, that meant filling any blue barrel she could find. “Listen, I’m sorry about the map, Margie. It was just a mix-up. Ernesta was supposed to do the navigating.”

  “Bring me that map tomorrow and you don’t go out until I see Ernesta or Nita.”

  “Sure.” Lea’s tone flattened with her spirits. “Can I get another truck delivered to the RV park in Pima tomorrow?”

  “Where’s yours?”

  Lea glanced at Mulhay, who quirked a brow.

  “Impounded. Part of the investigation,” said Lea.

  “Geez. Maybe. I’ll see what I can manage,” said Margie. “Do you think Ernesta could use hers? We have magnets for the doors.”

  “I’ll ask her,” said Lea.

  “And tell her I hope she feels better,” Margie added.

  “You bet,” said Lea.

  “I’ll see what I can do about getting that truck back.”

  “And repaired,” said Lea.

  “Repaired?”

  Lea described the damage and Margie uttered “Oh, geez” another four or five times.

  Margie told her that she’d take care of it and to get some rest. Lea ended the call.

  Mulhay watched her. “You’re lucky to be alive, you know.
”

  That made her chin begin to quiver, a sure sign that tears were imminent.

  “And it’s only a truck,” he said. “You gonna be okay tonight?”

  She knew she wouldn’t be, but she gave him a quavering smile, nodded and swallowed back the lump growing in her throat. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Tribal police will be keeping an eye on you tonight.”

  Lea’s phone vibrated. She glanced down to see Ernesta’s name and photo fill the screen. She took the call.

  “Lea, you home yet?” Ernesta’s voice had a definite nasal quality from her head cold.

  “Not yet.”

  Ernesta gave a wet cough that made Lea think the head cold had moved into her lungs. “Boy, Margie was plenty pissed when I called in. How’d it go today?”

  She doesn’t know. Lea blinked as that realization sank in.

  “Not so good.”

  “Well, see, you need us. Nita got back this afternoon, so she and I are going out tomorrow. You can ride along until your new partner shows up. Friday, right?”

  Lea wondered how to tell Ernesta about the shooting and, well, everything.

  “Are you well enough to go out?” Lea asked.

  “I think so. The cold medicine is helping. Listen, somebody cracked our water pipe outside the trailer, so they had to shut it off. Can we use your trailer to take a shower?”

  “Sure. You know where the extra key is?”

  “Yup. Thanks.”

  “Ernesta?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I need to talk to you. Tell you what happened today.”

  “Sure. Nita is out getting us tacos. Come by for dinner.”

  “All right.”

  Ernesta disconnected and Lea put away her phone.

  The border patrol officer took a call and glanced at her as he spoke. “Good. We’re on our way.” He covered the receiver. “Your ride is here.”

  Lea rose and the officer followed, standing behind his desk as he returned the phone to the cradle.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  She trailed along beside Mulhay, through the maze of hallways and finally out the main entrance of the new Cardon Station. This was the federal government’s answer to the increase in illegal immigration. Though how building a larger detention and processing center addressed the issue she didn’t know, unless it was because they now had a larger morgue and an entire refrigerated tractor-trailer fleet to keep the bodies cool.