Twilight Warrior

by Aimée Thurlo

  “The Anasazi woman returned home the following morning, and as others watched, wove the first blanket,” he said.

  “To this day our weavers follow Spiders Woman’s teachings and honor her by leaving a small hole, or imperfection, in the center of each blanket.”

  “In that case, I’m glad we let the spider go,” she said.

  He smiled. Then, slipping his glove back on, he turned his attention to the plastic bag. The wire tie was off now so he opened it wide. As he looked inside, his expression changed to one of pure disgust.

  “What?”

  “This wasn’t left here by the old man. The one we’re after must have followed him here. He obviously hoped that the victim’s belongings might be reexamined at some point and wanted tribal detectives—or maybe us—to find this. What’s inside this bag is witchery,” he said, bringing out a small pouch.

  “That’s really icky looking,” she said with a grimace. “What is it, some kind of weird vinyl?”

  “It’s the skin of a horned toad.”

  “Ugh. And what’s that stuff over it? It looks like dirty flour,” she said.

  “I’m guessing it’s corpse powder. It’s taken from the body of the dead.”

  She grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”

  “It’s all part of Navajo witchcraft,” he said, then pulled something else out of the plastic bag. “This isn’t.”

  “What is it?” she asked, leaning forward to take a closer look.

  “Looks like an old photo of two kids going trick-or-treating. See how the color dyes are faded?”

  Laura sucked in her breath. “No, not just two kids. Look closer. It’s me and my friend. Her mother took it when we were maybe seven or eight years old. I still have my copy. The killer must have taken that from my friend’s home after he killed her.” She swallowed hard. “He had no right to even touch that.”

  Travis came toward her but she stepped back, her body shaking with outrage and frustration. “I let that walking piece of filth get away from me that day at her house. Every life he’s taken after that is on my hands.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “What my mind says and what I feel here,” she said, pointing to her heart, “are two very different things. I’ve failed my friend, the coach and myself. I won’t—can’t—rest until this guy’s rotting behind bars.”

  Travis took a step closer to her. This time she didn’t step back. Before he could pull her against him, Crusher stood and growled softly.

  Travis glanced at his canine partner and saw that the animal’s hackles were raised and he was looking off into the distance.

  “We’re being watched,” Travis said in a whisper-soft voice.

  Laura moved away from Travis slowly, making sure their watcher had two separate targets. “Over there past your vehicle, on the road,” she said, spotting the outline of a man on the crest of the rise. “He just stepped back, out of view.”

  They raced back to the SUV, Travis carrying the witch bag, which was now evidence. After taking a fast look to confirm the suspect hadn’t tampered with the SUV, they climbed in and raced after the cloud of billowing dust farther down the road. A tan truck was heading away from them at high speed.

  “He’s got a big lead but maybe we’ll get lucky,” Travis said.

  The SUV bounced over holes as Travis drove faster than was wise on the bumpy road, fishtailing over patches of sand that intersected their route.

  Dropping down into a shallow arroyo, they rattled across a bone-jarring section of washboard ripples where rainwater had dug channels. The glove-box door flew open and a flashlight fell out.

  Crusher, oblivious to the rough ride that bounced him around in the backseat, barked with excitement.

  “Hang on,” Travis yelled at Laura. “There’s another bad spot coming up.”

  Travis swerved right to avoid a gap in the road cut by an old gully washer. As they crashed through dry brush, it scraped the passenger side like fingernails down a chalkboard.

  “We’re gaining,” Travis said, accelerating on a good stretch of road. They were now almost close enough to read the license plate on the vehicle.

  The road curved to the left, then back to the right in a giant S over a low hill. They could see the highway less than a mile ahead.

  “Once he hits the paved road, he’ll widen the gap for a while,” she said.

  “Yeah, but if I go any faster, I’ll lose it going around these curves.”

  Less than two minutes later they reached the highway, but by then, the pickup had pulled out. It was now impossible for them to tell where their target had gone since traffic ran in both directions.

  “There’s no chance of catching him now,” Travis said, then backed up and pulled off the road. “Let’s see if we can get a read on his tire tracks.”

  They walked back on foot to a place in the road with more sand than gravel. There, Travis took several shots with his cell-phone camera.

  “I’ll email copies to the tribal detective right away. Then after we put the victim’s personal effects back where her father left them, we’ll stop by the tribal station. They’ll need the damaged cell phone and the witch bag,” he said. “But first, there’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “I took my gloves off quickly and wasn’t as careful as I should have been after touching items that belonged to the victim. Both of us were also in contact with the witch bag. We need a purification rite, something that’ll free us from any danger or contamination. I know we have different beliefs but would you object to taking time for something like that?”

  “No. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  “Let’s go behind those rocks where we’ll have privacy from curious motorists.”

  As they walked over, he watched the way the sun played on her hair and felt the tug on his senses. She stirred his blood in a way no one ever had. Though she didn’t share his beliefs, she’d always shown respect for Navajo ways and that had opened a door between them. But what they’d found after that…

  Laura was a mixture of tough and gentle, rational and emotional, as unpredictable as the weather. He’d never meant to get involved with her, particularly now, but he was only human.

  He stopped behind the tall rocks. Hidden from the highway, he faced her and focused. “The chant’s function is to purify, so keep your thoughts centered on beauty and harmony. You won’t understand the words, but to explain everything will strip away the power of the ritual. Knowledge is a living thing that needs to be protected.”

  As he opened the pouch at his belt, he asked her to take out the flint arrowhead Mr. Yazzie had given her. He then took several small pieces of turquoise from his pouch and handed them to her.

  She had many questions, he could see them in her eyes, but she didn’t ask. Again he felt that stirring, that awareness of the rightness between them.

  Travis took a breath, then pushed aside all other distractions. As he began the chant, his strong voice rose into the air, carrying with it the power of the ancients.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As the rich monotone chant danced in the air, the earth itself seemed to stand still and listen. The Song pushed back the darkness of uncertainty and fear and she felt its power with each note.

  “Throw the turquoise high into the air while holding the arrow point in your hand,” he instructed her, then did the same.

  After the last note was sung, he met her gaze. “It’s finished. The Song has pushed evil away and compelled it to leave us alone. Its shield won’t fail us.”

  “I’m glad I could be part of that. I’ll never forget it,” she said in a hushed voice.

  As they walked back to the SUV, Travis spoke. “The one we’re after isn’t a Navajo witch, judging from the other information we have on him, but he’s playing with forces he doesn’t understand. That’s going to work against him.”

  “What worries me most is how the suspect has stayed one step ahead o
f us. Think about it,” she said. “Until we spoke to the victim’s father, we didn’t know we’d be coming out here.”

  “It’s possible he just took a chance and figured the police would look for the missing cell phone sooner or later. He wasn’t worried about who would actually find the bag, figuring the information would get back to us anyway.”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t think there’s anything random about this. That bag was left for you and me to find. He’s profiled us well and wants to push our buttons. He knows you’re a New Traditionalist and wanted to rattle you with those items. The photo was meant to throw me off balance.” She paused, steadying herself. “The thing we need to keep in mind is that, so far, he’s just been playing. When he finally gets tired of that, he’s going to move in for the kill.”

  He nodded slowly. Laura was right. Things were going to get tough. But he’d be there to protect her—no matter what it took.

  NAKAI’S AVERSION TO THE ITEMS was evident in his lack of emotion as he studied the witch bag. As Laura knew, in police work, absence of emotion often indicated the exact opposite.

  “We’re hoping that your lab techs will be able to find trace evidence either on it or inside it,” Travis said.

  “Sooner or later, this guy’s got to make a mistake,” Laura added.

  After everything was bagged and tagged, Laura and Travis left the station.

  “Where to next?” Travis asked her. “Any ideas? I’m fresh out.”

  “Why don’t we go talk to the reporter who spread my name and face all over the county,” Laura said. “We need to work something out with her. Otherwise, she’s going to keep undermining our investigation.”

  “Getting the press to back off is nearly impossible,” he said quietly.

  “I know, but maybe we can trade her an exclusive behind-the-scenes interview once the case is closed in exchange for some cooperation now.”

  “Okay, let’s give it a try,” he said.

  They arrived at the television station on the north side of Three Rivers a half hour later. It was early afternoon as they walked to the main entrance.

  The receptionist contacted the reporter via telephone. Moments later Barbara Malloy came out to greet them. In person, Barbara didn’t seem quite so tall, but there was no mistaking the edge of granite in the blonde’s silver-blue eyes.

  “I’m surprised that you’ve come to see me. You worked hard to lose me and my people last night,” she said coldly.

  Barbara led Laura, Travis and Crusher down a long hallway into an empty conference room with a glass wall that faced the newsroom. A large table took up most of the space inside.

  “So tell me why you’re here,” she said, sitting across from them.

  Laura briefly studied the woman before answering. Barbara’s makeup had been skillfully applied to minimize the telltale signs of aging that generally signaled celebrity obsolescence. Understanding softened Laura’s approach. Barbara knew that the clock was ticking and time would eventually strip her of the work she loved. Unless she managed to climb up the proverbial ladder, her days in front of the camera were numbered. Facing something like that would change anyone’s perspective.

  “By identifying us to the entire community, including the killer we’re hunting, you’re undermining what we’re trying to do,” Laura said. She held up a hand, stopping Barbara’s protests. “If your actions help drive this killer out of the community, we could lose his trail, and you, your story. No one wins—particularly his future victims. Let’s work something out so that doesn’t happen.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Barbara asked, skepticism showing clearly on her face.

  “How about if we agree to give you an exclusive? We could let you and your viewers in on how things unfolded behind the scenes, a full profile of our investigation—after the killer’s caught.”

  “I can swing that with the station but only if I get to ask whatever I want and you agree to answer,” she said. Giving Travis a slow smile, she added, “You’d be great on camera.”

  Laura forced herself not to roll her eyes. It was part of that Blacksheep legacy. Those lethal hormones were hard to resist.

  “I’ll answer any questions you have or tell you why I can’t. No evasions,” Travis said.

  “Deal,” Barbara said.

  As they left the building, Laura glanced at him. “She nearly melted into a puddle of goo for you. It’s that killer stare of yours. No one knows what’s going on behind that dark gaze.”

  He laughed. “Jealous?”

  “In your dreams.”

  He laughed even louder. “If we’d been speaking to the suit who runs the station, you would have charmed his pants off.”

  “Scary image. I saw the guy’s photo in the lobby,” she joked. “But my idea of charm is bringing out my audio recorder, then talking criminal charges, lawsuits and restraining orders. If I were still in the Bureau, handcuffs would have been the threat du jour.”

  “That’s what I like most about you. You don’t play around when you want something,” Travis said as they walked along the side of the building. “What you see is what you get.”

  She fought the temptation to ask him if he ever wanted more of what he saw. Did he feel the rush of excitement and long for the comfort of her arms like she yearned for his?

  She shook free of those thoughts, knowing they could only lead to trouble. They undermined her independence and allowed vulnerability to set in—and life was seldom kind to the vulnerable. It was far safer to bury that side of her deep within herself where no one could reach it.

  Travis glanced at her. As if reading her mind, he said, “It’s no use ignoring what’s there between us. You feel it and so do I.”

  The hunger she saw in his eyes made a wave of heat spiral around her. “Maybe we should just give in and get it out of our systems,” she whispered in a strangled voice. “No promises made—just the moment.”

  “Promises or not, what would happen between us would go way beyond hot, sweaty sex.”

  Her mouth went completely dry and her heart began to hammer wildly, but she refused to let him see how his words affected her. “You’re overestimating yourself just a bit, don’t you think?”

  They’d just gone around the corner of the building when Travis suddenly pinned her to the wall.

  Before she could take a breath, Travis’s mouth covered hers. He deepened the kiss slowly and naturally, allowing the heat that burned between them to take on a life of its own.

  Laura lost herself in that stolen moment of pure pleasure. When he pressed his body against hers, letting her feel his hardness, a melting heat burned through her. She rubbed her body sensuously against his in response and felt the shudder that ripped through him.

  Hearing laughter coming from across the street, Travis cursed and moved away. “Now tell me again how we’d keep it casual.”

  She took a shaky breath, her body still tingling. No one had ever kissed her like that. It had been pure magic and fire.

  Realizing he was waiting for an answer, she blinked. “Sorry. What did you say?” She placed a hand on Crusher’s head to steady herself.

  He chuckled, a low throaty laugh that sent its vibrations racing through her.

  The sound, with its implied challenge, stirred something inside her. On impulse, she grabbed him by the collar, pushed him against the wall and kissed him.

  This time she was the one who was in control—that is, until he growled and pulled her even more tightly against him.

  Travis devoured her mouth with a hunger that left her weak at the knees. Gripping her hips, he pressed her against him, letting her feel him as his kiss took her on an endless descent into never-ending fires.

  Hearing the sound of people approaching, she forced herself to focus and moved away from him. “So much for that,” she murmured, still trying to even her breathing.

  “That, and more, has been simmering between us since you showed up at my place asking for help,” he said, unlock
ing the SUV.

  She didn’t answer. There was no arguing with the truth.

  Once they reached Main Street, Travis called her attention to a martial-arts school on the left-hand side of the street. “The guy who came at you had a recognizable fighting style,” he reminded her. “Krav maga, remember?”

  She nodded.

  “According to that sign, that’s one of the disciplines taught there. Let me check them out first, then we’ll pay them a visit.”

  “What about Crusher?” Laura asked. “He might misinterpret training fights.”

  “Not likely, but taking him in would ID us as cops for sure. Let’s play it safe. We’ll leave him by the car in the shade. He knows the drill.”

  Travis called the station and asked for a background check on the business owner. After getting a quick report, he signed off. “The school has only been around for about six months and there haven’t been any reported incidents. All I got was the name of the owner, Harry Roberts, and he doesn’t have a record or any outstanding warrants.”

  “The individual we’re looking for didn’t develop his skills from a DVD or book of instructions,” Laura said. “Let’s go talk to the owner and see what we can find out about him as well as the instructors and students.”

  “Not so fast. Let’s get an even better feel for the place before we go inside,” Travis said.

  “How are you going to do that?”

  As he pulled into a parking space across the street from the martial-arts school, he called her attention to a man leaning against the wall by the entrance of a local bar.

  “That’s one of my informants. Wait here with Crusher and I’ll see what he’s heard about this place.”

  Travis crossed the street and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Instead of making eye contact, however, Peter Sanchez turned his back on Travis and began walking away, his head down. As soon as he reached the alley, Travis’s contact ducked out of sight.