Waiting until he could positively identify all the FBI field agents, Hunter was pleased to discover his own brother was not among them. Pleased, because he needed a word with Kody in private.
Hunter hunkered down and punched the button on his cell phone that would reach Kody directly.
“Brother,” Kody answered before the first ring was complete. “I have news. The child that’s missing is a granddaughter of Willie Concho, the patriarch of the Water-Flows-Apart Clan.”
Hunter whistled through his teeth. Willie Concho was a powerful man in the northern New Mexico section of the Four-Corners reservation. Land, politics and money made him a breed apart from most of the Navajos in Dinetah. He lived in a castle, with a real moat and a whole army of guards surrounding the place.
“Has there been a ransom demand?” Hunter asked.
“If so, the FBI has not been informed. We do have instructions to keep the disappearance under absolute wraps, though. There will be no Amber alert and no one is to mention the missing child. Publicity could get her killed in a hurry.”
“Will the tribal police be informed?
“No, and…” After a split second’s hesitation that no one but a member of the Brotherhood would’ve noticed, Kody continued, “…we have a positive identification on the missing woman.”
“Someone we know,” Hunter guessed.
“Bailey Howard, of the White Streak People in Many Cliffs.”
“What?” A purple haze of memories colored Hunter’s vision for a moment. “No way. She hasn’t set foot in Dinetah in years. Last I heard she was working for her father’s company in New York.”
“We confirmed it with her dad a few minutes ago. She was coming back to pack up her grandmother Howard and transfer her to a nursing home in Albuquerque. The old woman’s apparently in the first stages of Alzheimer’s. But her clan has decided the grandmother is witched, so they’ve abandoned her in fear.
“And as panicked as he is about Bailey’s disappearance,” Kody added, “her father is still worried about publicity causing more harm than good. And he has a point. We’ve convinced him not to come to Dinetah yet. To let us try to handle it first.”
Hunter took a breath. “It’s a shame about the grandmother, and no wonder they were concerned. Not much a sick old lady can do to take care of herself without her clan to stand beside her.”
It wasn’t the Navajo Way to push the sick and old out in the cold. But fear of witchcraft was strong among the rural Dine.
“Is it possible Bailey was kidnapped for ransom, too?” Hunter asked. “I saw her father’s name on the Forbes richest Americans list.”
“It’s true Luther Howard has made much of his Anglo father-in-law’s company over the years,” Kody replied. “That is one smart city Navajo who managed to turn himself into a billionaire. But I seriously doubt Bailey was an intended victim. She supposedly had the baby on her lap and I’m guessing the kidnappers mistook her for the mom.”
Sophisticated Bailey Howard holding a baby? Hunter found himself smiling at the perplexing image.
“The Howard family knows how to avoid unwanted publicity,” Kody continued. “And it’s a sure bet if the paparazzi got wind of her being on the reservation, it would make things a lot harder for the grandmother. And now it might mean Bailey’s life, too.”
Hunter waited for his brother to finish.
“Luther Howard said he would stay away on one condition. He asked specifically for your tracking services.”
“I can’t imagine that he even knows who I am.”
“He knows Bailey was stuck on you in college,” Kody said. “We all remember it quite well. I guess Mr. Howard has been keeping track of you.”
“Who took them?” Hunter asked, not willing to dwell on the past. “Have we got any leads?”
“Nothing for sure. But one of the passengers with minor injuries talked about seeing a big dog and hearing a car engine start up right after the crash.”
“A dog, not a wolf?”
“Definitely a dog,” Kody told him. “The fellow swears this one was a combination mastiff and Great Dane—but bigger and meaner. Scared the guy so badly he kept quiet and pretended he was out cold to avoid a confrontation with the animal.”
“You’re thinking Skinwalkers, aren’t you?”
“It’s likely. But we don’t have enough information. I haven’t heard rumors of a dog witch. Are you going after them now?”
“Should I wait for the FBI?”
Kody chuckled. “You know it will probably take the Bureau hours to notify their own trackers and mount a search party. It’s going to be even harder, since Washington has decided to keep this under wraps. You start now and let us wait for the ransom demands. If this is Skinwalker business, the FBI won’t be of much help, anyway.
“I’ll keep trying to reach Lucas Tso so he can ask the Bird People for help,” Kody added. “He’s away from Dinetah at a gallery showing in Scottsdale.
“You keep in touch, brother. And be careful.”
Sixty miles north of Hunter’s location, the Navajo Wolf in his human form inspected renovations made to his cavern hideout. He’d picked this spot because of the difficulty in entering. The only way in and out, except for his newly excavated elevator shaft, was by river. Twenty miles from the nearest road and invisible from above, the cave was well hidden from law enforcement.
It was perfect for what he had in mind. And this spot had to be close to where the ancient parchments had been buried a thousand years ago. He could almost taste victory. The secrets of eternal life were very nearly his.
All he needed now was the map to find them.
“Excuse me, sir.” One of his Skinwalker lieutenants broke into his thoughts. “We’ve received the newest advisories. The kidnapping has gone well. They are headed back through the roughest, most remote terrain. No one will be able to follow them there, and the child seems fine so far.”
The Wolf brushed the man’s words aside with a wave of his hand. “And the map? What happened with our covert action at the Concho ranch?”
His underling cowered behind a folding table covered with maps and papers. “That skirmish was not decided in our favor. The Rodent you sent wasn’t able to gain access to the ranch. He claims the perimeters are protected with magic.”
“The Brotherhood.” Who else would know of ancient ways to slow down the Skinwalkers?
The lieutenant shrugged and the Wolf suffered a wave of nausea so strong he had to breathe deeply to keep from fainting. He had not been feeling well of late, and he needed those parchments to fix it. He had to get that damn map.
There was no choice now but to demand it as ransom for the child.
An hour later Hunter slowed his 4X4 at the crest of a mesa and took a sip of water from his canteen. Driving as fast as the stony, eroded terrain would allow, he’d been bouncing along on old sheep track, following the signs of a vehicle about two or three hours ahead.
He’d easily read the clues of what had occurred downhill from the crash site, without ever being seen by the dozens of onlookers who were still trampling evidence at the scene. Someone had gone to a lot of effort to erase the signs of footprints and Jeep tire treads, but hadn’t counted on Hunter’s ability to read the tracks.
He wasn’t modest or proud about his talent, but he was sure no one within a thousand miles was as good a tracker as he was.
Hunter had found clear evidence, even in the hard-packed ground, that told of two men and a big animal with oversize dog prints who had dragged a woman away from the crash site. Judging by faint tire tracks, they’d put her into one of those ancient, open Jeeps like the back-country guides sometimes used.
The animal’s prints had disappeared, as if it had flown away from the scene. But the others had gotten into the vehicle, which had been secreted behind one of the massive boulders at the base of the ravine. The Jeep and its occupants had left the hiding place several hours before he’d read the signs. Hunter deduced they’d been gone si
nce dawn.
He noted, by the depth of boot heel prints that they had missed brushing from the sand, the taller of the two men had picked up an extra twenty pounds. It seemed like enough added weight to account for the baby.
If he was right about the time, they had about a three-hour head start. Even stopping every twenty minutes to get out and check the signs to be sure he was still on track, Hunter was continuing to gain on them.
They’d stopped every few miles themselves. The men had gotten out, brushed around their tire tracks and then hovered over something in the back seat. The baby was very likely slowing their progress.
Hang on, Bailey. I’m coming. Hazy images of a passion-filled summer entered his mind when Hunter should’ve been concentrating on the tracks. Hang on, Bailey, I want to go with you.
Damned images. He’d tried for years to forget them.
“Stay with me,” he remembered urging her, back when the world was younger. And then he’d laughed as he moved his body faster and faster inside her waiting warmth, and watched her coming right along to the heights with him.
How young they both had been. How full of themselves, and how obsessed by tender lust for each other. Their affair had thrown him totally out of balance. It had taken him years to find harmony again.
He remembered her saying she loved him, but he wasn’t positive Bailey had even known what the term meant. In his mind, he also had a vague memory of her saying how much she loved her newest discoveries of liquor and cigarettes. As spoiled as she had been, it was doubtful she could’ve loved anyone but herself.
He wondered how she might’ve changed during eight years.
Hunter gritted his teeth at the memories and set his jaw. It didn’t matter. She and an innocent child were in real trouble, and he was the only one who could save them.
If this kidnapping was Skinwalker doing, they didn’t stand a chance of losing their shadow with him on the trail. He doubted the Skinwalkers would understand that the Brotherhood was after them until it was too late. His cousins worked hard to keep their identities a secret from the evil ones.
The kidnappers might think they were so far ahead that no one could follow, but they hadn’t counted on being tracked by Hunter Long instead of the FBI. Well, they would know soon enough.
Hang on, Bailey. I’m coming.
2
Bailey would’ve given a year of her life for a drink of water and a bathroom stop. Come to think of it, she would dearly love to give up this year of her life.
Amazing. All she wanted was plain water. Imagine that. The counselors in rehab would be proud.
Her old friends—well, she couldn’t really say they’d been all that friendly, more like conspirators in addiction—would’ve called her a wimp. But she was way over what any of them would think. She hadn’t cared since the day she’d woken up alone and sick, and had signed herself in for treatment.
Now, her pedicured and pampered feet had blisters on every square inch. Who would’ve thought that a fabulous new pair of designer pumps could turn out to be her worst nightmare?
The two Navajo creeps who were dragging her and baby Tara up and down rocky cliffs had at last taken the gag out of her mouth. There was no sense in screaming. Not out here, a zillion miles from civilization.
With arms aching from being tied, her stomach growling, and sweat leaking from every pore, Bailey had to bite her tongue to keep the panic from overtaking her. If she knew nothing else, it was clear these two Neanderthals would just as soon kill her as look at her. And the method of her death would not be pretty—or fast.
After giving it a little thought, she’d decided to let them continue to think she was Tara’s mother. From what she’d overheard, they had deliberately searched for Tara at the bus crash. They’d known the baby’s name and, unlike their disregard for Bailey’s welfare, they seemed interested in keeping the kid in at least minimally decent physical shape as they climbed the cliffs.
Which wasn’t so easy, since they’d been traveling through sand and around boulders in double time. One of the men had Tara’s carrier tied on like a backpack. Every time the child cried, they stopped long enough to give her a bottle that apparently contained some kind of a sedative mixed with water.
Bailey could barely keep up with them. In fact, twice she’d gone down on her knees in the gravel and loose rocks. But the not-quite-human idiot on the other end of her rope never even slowed down as she scrambled back to her feet.
It was a damn good thing the counselors at rehab had insisted she exercise with a personal trainer. She was in the best physical shape of her life.
But that didn’t mean her poor body wouldn’t have bruises and cuts everywhere. Her new black suit was nearly ripped to shreds. And don’t even get her started on the brand-new, fifty-dollar-a-pair, thigh-high nylons.
Mr. Smelly-guy Jacquez, who’d been dragging her by the rope, suddenly slowed and the line went slack, making Bailey look up. They had come to a solid wall of rock at the end of a steep canyon.
The man with the baby, who’d been leading the way, shifted the carrier around to his chest and inched through a slit in the rocks that Bailey hadn’t even noticed. Without a word of warning, Mr. Smelly pulled her close and then pushed her ahead of him through the same small opening.
She found herself in a dark and shadowy place that was at least twenty degrees cooler than the desert floor where she’d been a second ago. When her eyes got used to the change in light, she saw they’d stepped into a cleft in the rocks and were heading for a natural rock staircase that rose straight up the side of a two-hundred-foot cliff.
“We’re not climbing up there, are we?” she asked without thinking. “I can’t with my hands tied. I’ll fall.”
“Quit whining, bitch,” Jacquez said with a snicker that spewed slimy saliva all over her face. “When we get to the top, we’re going to rest for a while. You’ll get to put dry pants on your kid and make sure she’s doing okay. And if you do a quick job of it, I might even give you a drink of water. Or something even more, uh, interesting, if there’s time and you’re a good girl.”
“But…” Bailey bit her lip to keep quiet.
As angry and frustrated as she was, she knew complaining would only cause her more trouble. Dying from a fall was much preferable to dying by having your skin peeled off one piece at a time. She still wasn’t entirely positive she wanted to live through the climb. What for?
Squeezing her eyes shut to stem the tears, she prayed that the police would be able to follow them through these wild surroundings. Certainly her father would’ve caused a huge fuss over her disappearance by now and made sure someone was trying to find her.
People must be coming for them. All she had to do was stay alive long enough for whoever it was to catch up.
It had taken all her dramatic abilities so far to pretend she was Tara’s mother. Changing diapers had not been a big part of her previous social schedule. But doing it well enough to fool the goons had meant her and Tara’s survival, so she’d muddled through.
She would keep on getting by, too, by God. But someone had better be right behind them, coming to the rescue. If they weren’t, Bailey was positive it was only a matter of time before the entire show would be over and the curtain on her life would come down for good.
Hunter parked his SUV in a dry wash about a hundred yards behind the Jeep he’d been following. From his vantage point, it looked abandoned.
He’d been having second, third and fourth thoughts about the whereabouts of the dog. Was the mixed breed really a Skinwalker witch, and had it flown away from the crash site? Or was it a real dog that had somehow managed to get into the Jeep without him identifying the tracks?
A Skinwalker would be terrifying and difficult to confront. But Hunter had a few tricks up his sleeve when it came to these modern witches, thanks to the Brotherhood.
The possibility of it being a real mastiff-Great Dane mix had left him with a growing anxiety. He’d seen a good bloodhound catch a m
an’s scent from two hundred yards away. And last week, in his job as police investigator, Hunter had been called to the scene of a wild dog attack on one of the People’s herds.
Being in the midst of such savagery had made the reality of a dog attack stick with him. And made him more cautious than usual.
He checked the slender knife secreted inside his boot and the wide hunting blade sheathed on his belt. Both were sharp and within easy reach. Then he ran his hand under the seat until he came up with the sealed stash of skunk musk he carried with him at all times. It wouldn’t take much of the stuff to throw a real dog off the scent.
Putting a drop or two on the backs of his hands so it wouldn’t be close enough to his eyes to make them sting, Hunter was satisfied at the protection it afforded. He stepped out of the SUV and cautiously crept toward the Jeep. Every few feet he stopped and listened. Hearing nothing but the faint rustle of rodents scurrying to hide from the musky-smelling intruder in moccasin boots, he soon realized the men and their captives were long gone.
It didn’t take more than a minute of inspecting the abandoned Jeep for him to decipher what had happened. Two men had driven here and parked the vehicle deliberately. There was no sign of the dog. The two had gotten out, removed several objects from the rear and then one of them had picked up the baby from the right back seat and walked away.
The other man had pulled Bailey bodily from the left side. Hunter saw the signs of a small struggle. And when he looked closer, he found a few drops of blood on the bumper. Bailey’s? The clues seemed to suggest it.
His own blood heated. He began imagining ways to inflict as much pain as possible on the two creeps when he caught up to them.
Squatting down with his face close to the ground, he soon deduced they’d gone toward one of the few sources of water to be found for miles around. It was a difficult trek and nearly impossible to execute unless you knew where to go.
Hunter wondered why they had decided to use that desolate and difficult area for a getaway. The choice didn’t make any sense. All his Navajo training in order and balance made him search for answers when things refused to be reasonable. It was what made him a good cop.
Books by Linda Conrad Page 57
