by Aimée Thurlo
Valerie yelped and jumped back. “That’s a snake!”
She hated snakes. Reptiles of any kind had always terrified her.
“Shall I shoot it?” she managed in a raspy voice, her throat completely dry.
“No. Snakes have their place. If I’d have wanted it dead, I wouldn’t have called you over,” he said calmly.
“Right. I’ll call animal control,” she said, looking around his room for the cell phone.
“Not necessary.”
“So what would you like to do next?” she asked slowly.
Luca gestured to the trash can behind him. “Get that, then find something that’ll fit securely over the top.”
Valerie opened the drawer of the end table next to the sofa and pulled out the phone book. Hers had been kept in the same place. She then brought the trash can over and set it down on the floor beside him. With the phone book still in her hand, she watched him—and the snake—carefully. “You’re going to drop the snake in the trash can, right? But what if it strikes you or me in the process?”
“It won’t,” he said firmly.
Ten seconds later, the snake was inside the can, blocked from escaping by the Albuquerque metropolitan phone directory, three inches thick. Luca had his hand on the top, keeping the snake from pushing the heavy volume away.
“I’m going to need you to hold the phone book in place for a moment,” he said.
As he drew his hand back, she placed hers on the top, holding the directory secure.
Luca immediately reached for his shirt, slipped it on then fastened his jeans and belt.
“Now what?” she asked, keeping her hand firmly in place. “Are you planning to adopt this thing?”
“I’ll keep the snake inside while you drive,” he said, putting his socks and boots back on. “We’ll set it free in the foothills, away from housing and people.”
“We’ll have to drive farther than just the foothills for that.”
“Then we’d better get started.”
They were in the unmarked sedan five minutes later. He was aware of the soft, clean scent of soap on her skin. She’d taken a shower before coming over. He wished he could have joined her….
That look on her face when she’d seen him shirtless and the way her hungry gaze had drifted down him had sparked a fire in his blood. Any man worth his salt knew when a woman wanted him. Though he tried to fight it, his body tensed and his mood darkened.
“Rattlesnakes in the city…it’s not that common,” she said slowly. “I’ve never seen one except in the bosque alongside the river.”
“But it’s not out of the realm of possibility, right?”
“No, but the odds are really against it. I’m thinking someone left you a present.” She paused. “Which means we were followed when we left the crime scene—or maybe after our meeting with Finley.”
“And that means we have an even bigger problem now,” he said, finishing her thought. “We’ll have to relocate.”
“I’ve already got a place in mind but I’ll have to check with the department.”
As she called in and made a report, Luca thought about their situation. This wasn’t his turf. The city…so many cars…Had he missed a tail? It didn’t seem likely, but the facts supported a different conclusion. This woman was a constant distraction at a time when he could least afford to lose focus.
She glanced over, her eyes dipping downward. “That snake…. We’re safe, right? No way it could jump out?”
“Everything will stay in place until we’re ready,” he answered, his voice very controlled and quiet.
For a moment, uncertain if he’d woven more than one meaning into his words, she said nothing and tried to ignore the way he could make her skin prickle with just one of his looks. Minutes stretched out.
“How come you’re so intent on saving that snake?” she asked at last. “Rattlesnakes are nasty things. I had a partner who got bit when we were investigating a homicide up on La Luz Trail. It’s not just the fangs or the poison that gets you. Tissue dies and then infections begin,” she said, struggling to focus on something else besides Luca.
“The Diné believe that snakes represent the Lightning People and are related to Thunder. Killing one could drive away the rains, and then all life would go hungry.”
“A snake’s bite is nothing to shrug off either,” she muttered, hearing it slithering around inside the trash can.
“Our stories tell us that First Man, First Woman and Coyote brought witchcraft with them when they came out from the underworld.” His strong voice held a mesmeric quality that completely captivated her. “When First Woman began to hand out the power, snake had no pockets, so the only place he could store it was in his mouth. That’s why the bite can kill.”
“Snakes…and witchcraft…”
“It’s very possible the evil we’re after brought the snake over as a warning,” he finished.
She nodded silently. Her ingrained caution popped suddenly into place as she felt the pull between them. The attraction was getting too strong too quickly. Luca and she belonged to different worlds, and nothing would ever change that. Wishing for the impossible had been her mother’s mistake. She wouldn’t repeat what could only lead to tears.
Valerie focused on the road beyond the headlights as they turned off the interstate. The two-lane road leading south would take them into the foothills of the Manzano Mountains.
Ten minutes later, after passing the ranger station, she pulled off the road and parked. The forest came right up to the highway and no buildings or lights were within sight.
“How about here?” she asked.
“It’ll do. I’ll take the snake about fifty yards into the forest, then release it by some boulders.”
She came around to open the door and he climbed out, still holding the snake in the makeshift container.
“Wait here,” he said, then walked slowly into the trees, picking his way carefully in the moonlight.
He came back several minutes later, carrying the trash can with the phone book inside. “It’s finished,” he said, placing the objects on the backseat then climbing into the car.
“Not quite. That link between witchcraft and the snake cinched it for me. We’re relocating to a safe house. I’ve already cleared things with the department.”
They stopped at their apartments long enough to get their things, and then, after searching the car for tracking devices and finding none, they set out.
“This safe house we’re going to is only a few blocks from the station.” She glanced in the rearview mirror, checking for a tail. “He won’t find us again—that’s, of course, assuming that he actually did put the snake in the apartment and it didn’t just crawl in there on its own. It’s possible, since it was a young one, that some crazy person decided to keep it as a pet and it escaped.”
Luca nodded, but said nothing. One thing was clear to him. He’d never lower his guard again, even for an instant.
An hour later, after driving around the city until both felt completely sure they hadn’t been followed, Valerie pulled into the well-lit parking lot of a former high school. The historic brick building had been extensively remodeled and converted into spacious upscale, loft-style apartments.
“We’ll be on the third floor,” she told him. “There are cameras in the parking lot and lobby, and someone from the department will monitor us whenever we’re here.”
He glanced around. What she considered safe showcased the differences between them. To her, safety was found five minutes from city hall, amid the traffic and under streetlights. He would have preferred his own Dinétah where they could have stayed out in the open, atop a rock-strewn mesa. It would have been impossible for anyone to approach them there without announcing their presence.
“You don’t like it here, I can tell. But why not?” she asked. “It’s practically impregnable. And we’re close to the department. Backup can be here in two minutes or less.”
He nodded slowly. That was
an undeniable advantage. On the Rez, backup was sometimes hours away and officers usually worked alone. “No matter how impregnable it appears to be, I’d still like to put up some wards.”
“Sure. Do whatever makes you comfortable. But keep in mind that it’s already two in the morning and we’ll have to get an early start tomorrow,” she said, stifling a yawn.
Valerie led the way to the entrance, and after showing her badge to the man behind the glass door in the lobby they were allowed inside.
As they walked across the gleaming hardwood floor, Luca studied the security measures in place. Cameras covered every angle in the lobby. A second security guard, in a locked room, looked up from the monitors behind the reinforced glass window and nodded as they walked by.
As far as safety, it had been a good choice. Yet the threat facing them was rooted in the old ways, deadly and able to employ strategies and powers that transcended the gun and the locked door. Although Valerie had the heart of a warrior this wasn’t her kind of fight—it was his.
Chapter Seven
Luca was up before dawn. Moving silently, he checked all the wards he’d placed around the apartment the night before. Though burglar alarms protected each window, he’d added prayersticks, War plants and special powders at all points of entry. He’d also reinforced the front door with Talking Rock Medicine. No skinwalker would be able to successfully challenge those wards—and two armed officers.
When the sun started to peer over the Sandia Mountains, Luca went out into the tiny balcony that faced the courtyard. While much of the city still slept, he offered pollen to the Dawn, invoking Sun’s protection. As the pollen grains caught in the gentle breeze, he felt, rather than saw, Valerie behind him. Turning, he wished her good morning.
She held out a cup of coffee. “I made it strong. I figure we both needed a big kick this morning.”
“Thanks.”
“There’s something I’d like you to see. I’ve got it up on my laptop right now. The morning paper ran a story about the crimes—and you. It doesn’t identify you by name, but it indicates that your father is the revered hataalii who blessed the new Tribal Council chambers a month ago. The reporter also mentions that the department called you in to consult because of the Navajo ritualistic components found at both crime scenes.”
She led the way to the marble desk against the south wall and pointed to her laptop computer. “That’s the electronic version of the story.”
Luca read it, then sat back. Though there was only a vague reference to it, the reporter had also picked up on the circle of flames symbol and its significance to the Brotherhood. No details had been given, but the fact that the reporter had known about the Brotherhood at all bothered him. “Has anyone spoken to this reporter to see how he or she is getting these facts?”
“We had an officer visit the newspaper, but freedom of the press and all that makes it tricky. The paper hasn’t given the reporter a byline, so we can’t narrow down his identity just yet. The editor in chief claims that the reporter put things together with the help of sources, but the paper’s steadfastly refusing to reveal those to us.”
“Maybe someone in the anthropology department at the university provided help,” Luca suggested, scanning the article again. “Doctor Finley perhaps, or Becenti.”
“It’s possible,” she said with a nod.
He leaned back and stared off across the room, lost in thought. “I need to make a call,” he said at last, placing his empty coffee cup down.
“Why don’t you use the cell phone I gave you?”
“Great, thanks.” He stepped out of the combination kitchen/living room and went into the bedroom he’d occupied the night before. Closing the door to give himself additional privacy, he called Diné Nééz, his contact in the Brotherhood, and updated him. The Albuquerque paper was distributed across the state and the article had already been noticed back on the Rez.
“The connection to us is disturbing, Cougar. Dismiss it in the eyes of others, at least as much as possible,” Diné Nééz said, then paused for several moments. “From everything you’ve told me, these crimes fit the work of an evil one, but your tone of voice tells me you’re not convinced.”
“The crimes seem out of place here, so far from tribal land, and the first victim wasn’t Navajo. Instinct tells me there’s more to what’s happening than meets the eye, but I don’t have any clear answers yet.”
“We won’t be far if you need us. There are Brotherhood warriors in the city who can help you at a moment’s notice.”
“There’s one more thing I need for my partner,” Luca said, then explained. Once the request was made, Luca hung up. The figure in the hooded sweatshirt…They’d initially thought of him as someone implicated in the crime, but they might have been dealing with an undercover reporter working a story—someone out to protect his identity.
Hearing a knock, he turned his head as Valerie stepped into the room.
“Time to go.”
“I’ve been thinking of the man in the hooded sweatshirt.”
“Me, too,” Valerie said. “He may have been the reporter trying to get more details for the morning edition.”
“If that’s who he is, he’ll find us again,” Luca said.
“Did you notice that part about the killings being a direct challenge to a special faction on the reservation? The Brotherhood of Warriors, the reporter called it.”
He nodded. “From what I’ve heard, that group came into being during the time of Kit Carson, then faded away—the stuff of legends, you know? What concerns me more is the mention of the buckskin strips found at the site. He would have had to come very close to the body to identify those. That reporter may have been at the crime scene before we were.”
“All the footprints on the inside of the yard have been accounted for, but there were a bunch in the alley. Several people had a look from over the wall before the scene was cordoned off,” Valerie said. “Since some reporters have police scanners, it’s not impossible he got there before APD. Let me call in and have the crime scene photos taken of the crowd sent to my computer. We may get something that way—if he hung around.”
A few minutes later, Luca once again sat with her at the computer, studying photos of the crowd. “I don’t see anyone with a hooded sweatshirt,” he said at last. “Or carrying a jacket or sweatshirt either.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “A few of the students have book bags that could hold one, but I don’t see anyone who’s the size and shape of the hooded guy we’re looking for.”
“Can you pull up close-up photos of the two victims so they’re side by side? I’d like to compare them.”
She pressed a few keystrokes, then slid the computer over in front of him. “There they are—one and two.”
He leaned forward as he clicked the mouse and zoomed in. “One of the trademarks of a skinwalker is that he acts counter to the ways we’re taught to honor. The slash marks on both victims indicate that they had their throats cut from east to west. That’s the exact opposite of the method we use for butchering sheep. All good gifts come from the east, so we make the cut from west to east. Also, instead of catching the blood like we do with our animals, so nothing’s wasted, he allowed it to spill freely and contaminate the earth.”
“Contaminate how?” she asked.
“The Diné are one with the earth. But by spilling his victim’s blood this way, the evil one poisons the soil with anger and fear. Food that springs from tainted earth poisons our minds, and allows cycles of hatred to be repeated.”
“And repeated they will be. This type of killer won’t stop until he’s behind bars.”
“Mr. Hooded Shirt is connected to our investigation,” Luca said, his hand resting on his medicine bundle. “Reporter or killer—we need to find out which.”
“And we will.” She turned off her laptop and stood. “Right now you and I are going back to the scene of the second murder to canvass the area. It’s Saturday, so we may catch people who w
eren’t around to be interviewed before. With luck, one of them will give us a lead.”
THEY ARRIVED on-site less than twenty minutes later and parked in the small lot of a strip mall one block off Central. “I say we walk around first and get a feel for the neighborhood. Hooded Shirt might even live around here,” Valerie said.
“While we walk, we can listen, too,” he said, gesturing Navajo-style toward a group of perhaps ten teenage boys across the street. They were in the alley behind a small Mexican restaurant, gathered around a white sedan that had been modified as a lowrider. One of the teens was talking to another young man in a white shirt standing on the restaurant’s small loading dock.
“Heads up, partner. Those kids belong to one of the most violent gangs in the area, the Skulls,” she said, meeting the gaze of a young member who’d noticed Valerie and Luca crossing the street. “We’ll need to cover each other’s backs here. These punks like to mix it up with cops.”
Just then the boy in the white shirt jumped down into the crowd. All of the others rushed forward, punching and kicking him as he fell to the ground.
“Looks like a ranking. Let’s go,” she said.
Making sure her badge was in plain sight, she reached the closest boy and swung him out of the way. “Everyone, back off!” she ordered.
“This is private,” another boy shouted, grabbing her arm. “We don’t need no cops.”
“Get your hand off me before I break it,” she snapped.
She then reached for another kid, one she recognized. Chico Ramirez ran the Skulls. Chico whirled around, brushing away her hand and brandishing a knife with a four-inch blade. “Come on, witch. Take it away, I dare you.”
Luca, who’d arrived unnoticed, grabbed the boy’s knife hand then pressed down with his thumb. The knife dropped out of Chico’s hand and hit the ground with a clunk.
“We use kitchen knives like those for slicing peaches,” Luca said, his tone icy cold. “If you want to carry a fighting knife, you need something with a little more reach.” He bent down, then pulled out a seven-inch commando knife from a sheath inside his boot. The double-edged blade looked razor sharp. “Wanna know what I had to do to earn those notches?”
