by Aimée Thurlo
Mystery surrounded him….
And that constantly teased Valerie’s imagination. More than anything, she wished she could have met him under different circumstances.
“Is it difficult for you to accept things that don’t lend themselves to explanation?”
She nodded. “It’s a combination of private skepticism and police training. I’m more comfortable with hard facts.”
“Then rely on this—you can trust me. No matter what goes down, I’ll be right there with you. You’ll never have a better partner.”
“Or a more dangerous one,” she muttered.
Somehow, he managed to hear her. “Dangerous to others perhaps, but never to you.”
Even as he spoke, he could feel her responding to him. What was drawing them together was nature at its most basic…and more. No woman had ever gotten under his skin like this, making him ache and wish for things he had no business wanting.
Dear Reader,
Writing is remarkable work. It fulfills an author’s spirit in a way very few things can. That’s not to say that everything during the course of a book flows smoothly.
While working on Navajo Courage, I spent lots of time hiding out in my office. Somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten that ideas come from life itself.
Once I realized my mistake, I immediately shut my office door and went to join my husband and our animals. By the end of that day, inspiration had dawned and the story came together.
I learned then that the barriers we put around ourselves all too often lock us in and keep us from getting what we most need. Using that newfound knowledge, my hero, Luca Nakai, and the heroine, Valerie Jonas, quickly blossomed to life.
People tend to think of writers as loners, shut away somewhere. But the truth is that’s not the way it works. People need people. It’s that simple—and that complicated.
Here at Harlequin, for example, I’m part of something much bigger than just my book. Since 1989, Harlequin Intrigue has been home for my work—and for me. It’s a place filled with the support an author needs to create stories from the heart. Everyone bands together to bring you the best stories possible. In the process, a real sense of family unfolds.
I’m proud to call myself a Harlequin Intrigue author. Happy 25th anniversary, Harlequin Intrigue, and thank you very much for allowing me to be a part of your history.
All the best,
Aimée Thurlo
AIMÉE THURLO
NAVAJO COURAGE
To my sister Silvia, and my other sister Peggy.
Love you guys.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Aimée Thurlo is a nationally known bestselling author. She’s a winner of the Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times BOOK reviews, a New Mexico Book Award in contemporary fiction, and a Willa Cather Award in the same category. She has been published in twenty countries worldwide.
She also cowrites the bestselling Ella Clah mainstream mystery series praised in the New York Times Book Review.
Aimée was born in Havana, Cuba, and lives with her husband of thirty-nine years in Corrales, New Mexico. Her husband, David, was raised on the Navajo Indian Reservation.
Books by Aimée Thurlo
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
988—COUNCIL OF FIRE*
1011—RESTLESS WIND*
1064—STARGAZER’S WOMAN*
1154—NAVAJO COURAGE*
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Tribal Police Detective Luca Nakai—As the son of a medicine man, he was eager to do battle with his tribe’s ancient enemy. But his attraction to the beautiful city detective was an unexpected—and dangerous—complication.
Sheriff’s Detective Valerie Jonas—The hard, street-smart cynic didn’t believe in Navajo magic—not until she met Luca Nakai. Together, they stood a chance…but just barely.
Stephen Browning—A former reporter with a serious lack of ethics, he’d do anything to break the biggest story in years.
Professor George Becenti—He took pride in his Navajo blood and thought he knew everything there was to know about Navajo witchcraft. Was he Browning’s secret source, or Valerie’s worst nightmare?
Frank Willie—He quit school abruptly, then his girlfriend moved out. Now the woman was dead, and he was running from the police, desperate to protect his secrets.
Dr. Finley—Head of the anthropology department, the maverick professor knew how to stir up trouble. What’s worse, he liked being the center of controversy.
Mae Nez—Her best friend had been one of the first to die. Now the skinwalker had her in his sights.
Deez—Mystery clung to the Navajo elder like second skin. Yet seeing through the web of secrets surrounding him could help the hunted become the hunters once again.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Prologue
It was late summer, the life-sustaining monsoon season in New Mexico. Despite last night’s downpour, drizzle still fell from the low, scattered, gray clouds that remained.
Oblivious to the morning mist, Detective Luca Nakai of the Navajo Tribal Police jogged up the canyon trail heading east—the direction that symbolized the origin of all things. Greeting the dawn daily in this way kept him focused and centered.
Reaching the top of the mesa behind his home, he stopped and prayed quietly. “Beautiful Dawn, let it be well with me.” Luca touched Mother Earth, raised his hands to Sun, and then drew them back toward him, drinking in life and strengthening his mind so he could accomplish whatever tasks lay ahead. Something bad was coming. He could feel it in his gut.
Gathering strength from the Navajo Way, he began the last half of his morning run. The air was crisp and clean, a gentle breeze dispersing the clouds now, and the land reverberated with power. Let others live addicted to cell phones, the parasitic attachment of earphone-fed music and the compulsions of e-mail and the Internet. Wherever technology deadened the human spirit, silence, inner and outward, soon became a casualty.
As he ran, Luca listened to the whispers of the land. He was the son of the tribe’s most powerful hataalii, medicine man, and as such, understood that life was composed of far more than what the eye could see.
Although Luca had apprenticed with his father for many years and could conduct a Sing on his own if needed, he’d ultimately chosen not to become a hataalii. To follow that path, harmony, balance and order would have had to have been at the center of his life allowing him to walk in beauty. But that wasn’t the case. He’d failed himself and one other, and that unalterable fact would follow him for the rest of his days.
Soon Luca reached his home, a simple, pitched-roof ranch-style house in the shadows of the Carrizo Mountains. Two trucks were parked near the side, not far from the traditional six-sided hogan away from the main house. One vehicle belonged to his father, who was known as Bijishii, the man with the medicine bag. Real names had power and weren’t used lightly. The other belonged to the man he knew only as Diné Nééz, tall man. His presence here meant that he was about to receive a new assignment from the Brotherhood of Warriors.
As a memb
er of that secret organization, Luca was part of an elite force. Created during the time of Kit Carson, the Brotherhood of Warriors were an unassailable line of defense that stood between the tribe and its enemies. The best of the best, they worked in the shadows—warriors who were never identified, seldom seen but always felt. They existed so that The People could continue to walk in beauty, honoring the past and looking forward to a secure future.
Diné Nééz was standing beside the hogan’s entrance. As Luca walked toward the hogan, he could see white smoke curling upward from the hole in the center of the roof.
Whatever lay ahead would challenge him on every level. He’d felt the danger…something without a name…touching his spirit, calling to him for days now. And he was ready. This was what he did—fight battles most would have been reluctant to wage. His work as a warrior defined him and gave him purpose.
Luca joined Diné Nééz near the entrance to the hogan and greeted him with a silent nod. They didn’t shake hands—it wasn’t the Navajo way. “You and my father both here? This can’t be good.”
“I bring disturbing news, Cougar,” he said, using Luca’s code name. “Word has reached us that a murder that carries the signature of a skinwalker has been reported outside Albuquerque,” he added in a barely audible voice, his hand reaching up to grasp the flint arrowhead he wore on a leather strap around his neck.
Luca understood Diné Nééz’s caution. To speak the word “skinwalker” out loud was said to call that evil onto you. Speech was more powerful than the Anglo world realized…or would believe.
“Bijishii suggested that you have a Blackening done before you go,” he said, referring to a well-practiced rite. Blackening cloaked an individual against evil. The rite would give him the power of Monster Slayer, who’d defeated all the evils that had preyed on The People at the beginning. “He’ll also be preparing a special jish, medicine bundle, to help you.”
Skinwalkers…. Navajo witches. They hid under the skin of a coyote or a wolf while they roamed the night spilling blood. Deluded or not, these men or women were feared—and with reason.
“Is this a Brotherhood assignment?”
“It is. The skinwalker has issued a challenge to us. The sign of the Brotherhood of Warriors, flames bounded by a circle, was left in ashes near the body. The officer who first responded is one of us, and sent word to me immediately.”
Now, at long last, he knew why he’d been chosen. As the son of a hataalii, Luca had knowledge that would give him the only power obtainable over this enemy.
“The Brotherhood will be close by if you need backup. The code word that’ll allow you to recognize another warrior is hasih. The counter is bideelni.”
Appropriate. The greeting, loosely translated, meant “hope.” The answer meant “to make it happen.”
“Understood.”
Luca brushed aside the heavy wool blanket covering the entrance to the hogan and went inside. The interior had been warmed by the burning piñon logs in the central fire pit. He sat on the ground on the south side and faced his father, who was seated on the west side behind the small fire.
Diné Nééz followed him in and took a seat beside Luca.
After a momentary, preparatory silence, Bijishii’s voice rose in a chant that vibrated with power and echoed with tradition. The richness of his voice sparked the air as the animal-hide rattle punctuated each sound.
When his song ended, Bijishii looked at his son. “The cougar is your spiritual brother and that connection will strengthen and prepare you for what lies ahead. Like cougar, you’ve become a master hunter, but for this assignment you’ll need to draw on cougar’s other attributes—his strength of will, intuition and steadfastness.”
Luca watched as his father assembled the contents of the new medicine bundle he’d be carrying. The jish would be tailor-made to fight the dangers he’d be facing on this assignment.
“Flint will repel the chindi, the evil in a man that survives death but remains earthbound,” Bijishii said. “Flint’s power comes from its hardness and the flashes of light it emits. It represents lightning, and the moments just before dawn. I’m also placing a piece of turquoise in the bag. That’ll honor Sun, who placed Turquoise Man inside his own child to make him invincible. There’s corn pollen in the jish, too. That’ll feed the spirit of the cougar,” he added, then held out his hand. “Hand me your fetish now.”
Luca gave his father the small stone carving he carried with him in a special pouch.
“Everything inside this new jish will keep your spiritual brother strong. Call on him, and he will help you defeat your enemies,” Bijishii said.
Bijishii burned five herbs in a fireclay container. He then placed a spear point–shaped flint within the ashes. As the Blackening began, Bijishii’s song recounted how the Holy People had taught the Earth People to use Blackening as a protection from evil.
As his father’s voice rose in the confines of the hogan, Luca could feel the raw power of the ancient rite strengthening his spirit. In the days ahead, he would be challenged repeatedly and his life might even hang in the balance. But he was a member of the Brotherhood of Warriors and a tribal police officer. This was his destiny.
Chapter One
It was nearly 9:00 a.m. on a muggy August morning and Detective Valerie Jonas of the County Sheriff’s Department wasn’t in a good mood. She’d just received a cell phone call from her watch commander.
Another body had turned up less than a half hour ago, yet here she was at the Albuquerque Sunport. The chartered flight from Shiprock delivering the special investigator from the Navajo Police had been delayed—naturally.
Right now she should have been at the crime scene, working, not cooling her heels. It was true that the first murder, and the second from what she’d been told, held the stamp of tribal magic. Yet she’d need to focus on forensic evidence, not superstition, to solve the crimes.
Valerie adjusted her badge, making sure it showed as clearly as the pancake holster at her belt. The procedures for an officer at this airport were clear. Although none of them could fly armed without filling out a boatload of paperwork, they were able to carry a weapon throughout the airport terminal and facilities.
On her way to the gate—a long walk to the small local carrier’s location—Valerie answered two more calls from the Sheriff’s Office. The days of handheld radios were gone, and most detectives now lived with cell phones attached to their ears.
At the far west end of the terminal, Valerie noticed a Pueblo Indian man, small of stature but with ample girth, looking around with apprehension as he accompanied another man into a hallway off the main corridor.
She slowed her step, her instinct for trouble working overtime. As she passed the small corridor lined with snack machines, she glanced down it. The big, no-neck blond in a knit shirt and dark blue blazer was standing nose to nose with the Pueblo man, pushing him against the wall. The muscular Anglo also had something in his hand—a weapon maybe. Unfortunately, from her vantage point, she couldn’t swear he wasn’t holding a cell phone.
She moved to the side of the crowd hurrying past her, stopped and watched out of the corner of her eye. As she looked on, the Pueblo man reached into his pocket, brought out his wallet and handed it over to no-neck.
Her body tensed as she realized what was going down. The goon was probably armed with a pointed weapon of some sort, perhaps something made of hard plastic that could pass through the electronic screeners.
As the robber glanced around quickly, Valerie turned her body so that her service weapon wouldn’t show and avoided eye contact. If the robber identified her as law enforcement, he might panic and turn his victim into a hostage.
Somehow, she had to get closer. Then she’d make her move. Reaching into her pants pocket, she brought out a handful of coins. Then, jiggling the loose change in her hand, she drifted toward the vending machines as if contemplating a snack.
She was easing down the corridor when a tall, good-looking Navajo
man brushed past her.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, giving her a cocky half grin that was so intensely masculine, it practically took her breath away. His gaze still on her, he collided hard with no-neck, knocking him to one side.
Catching a glimpse of the semi-auto in no-neck’s hand, Valerie instantly reached for her weapon but, in a heartbeat, the good-natured Navajo man underwent a transformation.
Positioned just right, and with no wasted motion, he moved in like a Special Forces pro. Brushing away no-neck’s pistol with his left hand, he stepped up and decked the robber with a bone-jarring punch to the jaw. To Valerie’s surprise, the pistol fell to the tile floor with a rattle instead of a thud.
“The gun’s a toy, Officer. Check out the vic.” The Navajo man flipped the groggy thief onto his belly, then produced a set of handcuffs from beneath his jacket and quickly secured his prisoner.
Valerie called for backup as she went to help the victim, who’d just taken a puff from his asthma inhaler. Verifying that he was all right, she went to join the Navajo man whom she now guessed was either undercover security or a police officer.
As she drew closer to him, she got her first clear look at the Navajo fighter. Her earlier impression had been incomplete. There was far more to him than just a charming smile. His eyes were a deep brown and burned with fire and determination. Broad shouldered and strong, but not muscle-bound like the blond hugging the ceramic tile, he had the kind of masculinity that reached out to a woman with a whisper, not a shout.
