by Aimée Thurlo
The detective nodded. “You’re thinking about Ernesto Trujillo, ma’am. His brother’s name is Ignacio.”
Ranger nodded somberly. He’d had a feeling that they hadn’t seen all the ramifications from that case play out yet. Now, Ignacio was after the Brotherhood of Warriors and its members, which, of course, included him. Yet Dana hadn’t reacted to his name. If she’d heard Hastiin Sani reveal the names of the brotherhood members, his would have been part of the group.
“Would you be able to recognize the ones in the van, or the ones who came after you?” the officer asked Dana.
“I only saw them for a moment, and not under the best circumstances,” she said, “but I can describe them, and I can pick them out of a lineup and probably from photos. I have a very good memory, detective.”
“That’s going to help us out a lot, Miss Seles. But the fact that you’re an eyewitness makes you a target now,” Nakai said, lost in thought.
“They never intended on letting you go, you know that, don’t you?” Ranger observed. “From the moment you saw their faces, it was all over.”
She said nothing. What more was there to say? She’d come to the same conclusion herself hours ago. Yet the terror she’d felt before had vanished and all she felt now was bone weary. “I know you’ll need me to sign a statement and for probably half a million other things, too, but will it be okay if I go home first? I want to take a shower and change clothes.” She could smell blood-death-on her clothes. Her head began spinning.
“You’re whiter than white,” Ranger said, looping his arm around her waist to steady her. “You okay?”
The warmth of his body so close to hers and his strength reminded her of Life with a capital L.
“I’m fine,” she said, and moved away. “But how about it, detective? I’ll be glad to put all my clothes in a bag for you, if you’ll need them as evidence.”
“We will, yes. We’ll also need a scraping from under your fingernails before you leave. After that, you can go home and change,” he said.
“Can you have someone take me home, then to the police station?” She’d wanted her voice to sound composed, but her last few syllables trembled badly.
“You’ll need an escort, of course, considering the situation.” The detective looked back at Ranger. “You got another weapon just in case?”
Ranger nodded. “There’s another handgun beneath the seat of my truck. My concealed carry permit is current,” he added.
“Then go on and escort her to her residence. After the techs take the sample, that is,” he said. “The FBI agent will be ready and waiting with his own questions by the time you get to the station. Good luck with him. I know the man, and he’s like a pit bull once he gets started. Never lets go.”
“Harris?” Ranger asked.
“The one and only,” the detective answered.
Ranger blew out his breath in a hiss. “Should have known.”
Ranger and the detective exchanged a few more words out of range of her hearing, then Ranger joined her at the crime-scene van.
After the techs had finished with Dana, Ranger went with her back to his truck, his hand beside hers, but not touching. “Officer Nakai’s a good man. We got lucky. Otherwise, we would have been ordered directly to the station and you’d have ended up wearing an orange jumpsuit.”
That Ranger and Joe had known and respected each other was clear, but there was something else in play here. Maybe the officer expected Ranger to try to question her in a more relaxed setting, and hopefully get more out of her than he had. Information could always be shared. Of course if Ranger was trusted by the police that was certainly a point in his favor. Maybe she didn’t have to be quite so cautious around him. But it was too soon to make that judgment…and perhaps trusting every police officer she met might not be a good idea.
“What’s on your mind?” Ranger asked quietly.
“I just need a plan…” She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but now it was too late to take back the words.
“A plan? For what?”
For how much to tell him-but she couldn’t say that, either. “It goes against everything I am, and everything I’ve become, to just sit back and wait for others to take care of me. That’s never worked well for me in the past, and I have no intention of repeating my own mistakes.”
“What exactly are you saying…that you want to go after Trujillo ’s people?” he asked.
“Not with guns blazing, no, but by taking care of myself and making sure that those who end up going after them have all the information I can provide,” she said firmly. And by finding a man who went by the name of Hastiin Dííl and giving him the names that were now burned into her memory, she added silently.
“You’re holding out on me just as you held out on the detective. I feel it in my gut,” he said firmly. “If you know something, now’s the time to come clean. The kidnappers that are still free want to stay that way and you’re a threat to them. To protect you adequately, we’ll need to know what you do.”
Dana saw the open distrust in his eyes as he gazed at her. He didn’t trust her any more than she did him. Considering the stakes, it was the only logical option.
“I don’t get it,” he said, continuing to press her. “You want the men caught. You’ve proven that. And you know that’s what I want too. But you won’t tell me what I need to know. How’s that make sense?”
There was something earthy and solid about Ranger that made her want to trust him. He was direct, and honest about what he wanted from her.
“Take me home,” she said. Not knowing where they were, she gave him the address instead of directions.
The drive out of the mountains to the town of Shiprock took about forty minutes. Another fifteen, and they reached her remodeled farmhouse east of Shiprock, just off the Navajo Nation.
As he turned down the gravel road, she gestured ahead. “Second house down, past the apple orchard.”
They arrived moments later and she led the way inside, across the covered porch. Realizing he’d have to wait for her, she offered him something to drink. He’d certainly earned some refreshment after what they’d been through. Ranger opted for a cup of her mint tea, and took a seat at the kitchen table.
As she placed the kettle on the stove, she glanced back at him. “I couldn’t help but notice your reaction when the detective mentioned the FBI agent’s name. Can you tell me more about Harris?”
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Basically he’s a stickler for facts, and he doesn’t know when to back off. On the reservation aggression like that’s seen as a lack of respect, which guarantees he’ll make more enemies than friends.”
She nodded slowly. Things were different on the reservation. Outsiders often expected the rez to be nothing more than a quaint place steeped in history, or something out of a Hollywood western, but it was far more than that. There were cultural rules of conduct, and transgressions from outsiders were countered with silence and isolation. Word traveled fast on the rez, too. Any outsider who disregarded Navajo ways and stepped on toes would find their reputation often preceded them.
“I answered your question. Now answer one for me,” he said. Seeing her nod, he continued. “What’s your plan? I know you have one now.”
“What makes you so sure?” she asked. She’d never been that easy to read.
“Your attitude. You’re no longer distracted or uncertain. You’re on a mission. It’s written all over you.”
Dana took a deep breath then sat down in the chair across from him. “I’ve seen more violence and death since I stepped out of my classroom today than I have in my entire life. You and I seem to have a mutual friend, and that’s why I’ve already told you what I’ll be telling the FBI in a short while. You should be grateful for the courtesy. It’s more than you had any right to expect.”
“Tell me just one more thing. Why was the medicine man meeting with you at that particular time and day?” he countered smoothly.
It to
ok her a second to process the question. When she did, Dana stared at him in horror. “You think I’m working with the kidnappers?” Though on one level she knew that he had no reason to trust her, the implication filled her with a cold rage. “He came to attend a parent/teacher conference regarding his grandson. Kevin’s parents were called away on an emergency,” she said, her tone as cold as a lake in winter. “Check it out for yourself.”
“I will.”
His reply just infuriated her more. She wanted to throw something at him but, instead, she went into her bedroom and shut the door resoundingly.
This was the worst day of her life-and it wasn’t even midnight yet.
RANGER WATCHED her go. Instinct assured him that her sense of outrage had been as real as they come. But, without facts, he still had nothing. He needed answers-and fast.
One thing continued to nag at him. Her name sounded very familiar to him, but he couldn’t pinpoint why.
Irritated, he decided to take a look around her place. He walked into the small den, checking out her desk and the bookshelves, and noted that the room was beyond neat. There weren’t any stray papers around, something he’d associate with a middle school teacher, and not even a pen or pencil visible. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, either, not even on the windowsill. Considering the wind storms they’d had recently, that was nothing short of a miracle.
He went back into the living room. The schoolteacher also liked art. Several oil paintings depicting life on the rez were hung on the walls. As he stepped closer to the largest one over the couch, he saw the signature-Nancy Seles. There was that last name again. He just couldn’t put his finger on it…something about a mother-daughter combination…
After a few minutes of looking at the paintings in the narrow hall, he heard her turn on the shower. Moving as silently as Wind, he went to the next doorway and entered her bedroom. The bathroom door across the bedroom was shut, and he heard the sound of a plastic bottle falling in the shower.
Continuing to look around he realized that the woman gave new meaning to the word orderly. The clothes in her closet were divided by color, and the four books on the nightstand were alphabetized by author name, not size.
Yet the feel in the parts of the house he’d seen so far was far from austere. The earth-tone colors, the design and placement of furniture and the layout in general combined to give it a comfortable, lived-in look.
Still trying to figure out who she was and why her name seemed so familiar, he went back into the den and sat in front of her desktop computer. It was on, in sleep mode. Familiar with the software, he took a quick look at the files. There were lesson plans, a grade book program with passwords, daily plans, travel plans, and menus for breakfast, dinner and weekends. Dana certainly wasn’t big on spontaneity.
He let the computer shift back into sleep mode, then returned to the living room. He was certain he was missing a vital clue. Before he could give it much thought, his cell phone rang. A second later he heard his brother’s voice.
“Get me up to speed,” Hunter said.
Ranger had no doubt his brother had learned of Hastiin Sani’s death within minutes of the police’s arrival on the scene. Ranger filled in some of the details for him. “Ignacio Trujillo’s out for blood and it’s personal.”
“Ignacio must have somehow discovered what the medicine man’s place was within our brotherhood. Maybe his brother passed that information along to him before we took him down.”
“It’s also likely Ignacio has plenty of contacts in this area, just like his brother did,” Ranger answered.
“What about the Anglo woman? Where does she fit in? Was she just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Women trust you, Wind. Get to the truth. The brotherhood is depending on you.”
“I won’t let them down.”
At that moment Dana came out into the living room. “Let who down?”
“I was just talking to family,” Ranger said. She looked completely different. Her wet, copper-colored hair was darker now, still a bit damp, and in those loose-fitting slacks and bare feet she looked smaller…and more vulnerable, somehow. He noticed her toenails were painted a soft pink. That seemed to fit her.
“Are you through with your appraisal?” she demanded with a tiny smile.
He flashed her a grin that had served him well in the past and, judging from her blush, it worked.
“I’ll be ready to go in just a few minutes,” she mumbled, crossing into the kitchen. “I need to get some shoes, then grab a purse.” She took out a glass from the cupboard and poured herself come orange juice from a glass container in the refrigerator. “I need energy,” she said. “Want one?”
“Yes, thanks.”
She left the carton on the counter. “You know where the glasses are, so help yourself. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He watched as she walked down the hall, glass in hand, then poured himself half a glass of the juice. The cupboard was as elaborately ordered as the rest of the house, and the refrigerator spotless. After finishing his drink, he placed his glass in the sink. On the wall was a framed sketch done on poster paper with colored markers. It looked like her house, and above it was one word-haven.
She came in just then. Seeing him standing there, looking at the sketch, she said, “One of the kids made that for me after I told her that I’d named my home Haven.” Seeing the questions on his face, she continued. “I can always relax and find some peace here no matter how crazy my day at school was,” she said, then in a somber tone, added, “I didn’t know what crazy really was.”
Her voice, so vulnerable and so soft, tore through him. He held out his arms, and she stepped into his embrace naturally. It had been a purely instinctive move for both of them.
She settled against him, taking the comfort his compassion gave her. The warmth between them soothed her broken heart and fed her soul.
The temptation to kiss her was almost overwhelming. The way she fit against him awakened something he’d never felt before, something he couldn’t quite define…and maybe didn’t want to. His grip tightened, and so did hers as she pulled herself closer.
Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back. Too much was at stake to confuse the issue with emotions. If she’d had anything to do with Hastiin Sani’s death, he’d see to it that she paid dearly for her betrayal.
“It hurts so much…losing him,” she said in an unsteady voice. She took a breath, then added, “I guess we better get going.”
As she gathered her things, he watched her. He’d never heard Hastiin Sani mention Dana Seles but, then again, Hastiin Sani had been the leader of the Brotherhood of Warriors and, as such, his superior. The bond between them hadn’t been rooted in friendship as much as brotherhood.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she said, picking up the bag with her clothes, then glancing over at him. “How come I looked as if I’d been through a war and you barely look mussed?”
He smiled. “Experience.”
Chapter Four
He drove her to the police station at Shiprock, and as soon as they stepped through the entrance doors, a tall, burly man in a dark gray suit hurried across the lobby to meet them.
“About time you got her here, Blueeyes,” he growled.
“You’re welcome, Agent Harris,” Ranger said.
To Dana, Harris seemed like a blur of compressed energy. He looked her over in one quick but thorough glance, then gestured for her to follow him. “There’s an empty office down the hall, Ms. Seles,” he said. “You and I need a few moments to talk privately.”
As she followed the neatly groomed, salt-and-pepperhaired man, she noted the way he paid attention to everything around him. His gaze darted continually from one place to another, and with the rooms all separated by glass panels, he didn’t miss much.
Once he sat down behind the desk in an office labeled deputy chief and waved her to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, his expression
changed. Harris was suddenly focused exclusively on her.
“Ms. Seles, I need you to tell me exactly what happened, beginning from the moment you left your classroom in the afternoon. Include everything you can remember up to the moment the tribal police appeared on the scene.”
It took almost an hour. She repeated her story, meticulously describing even the smallest of details. When Dana finished, his expression was one of admiration.
“I don’t get many witnesses with your memory,” he said. “Not even experienced law enforcement professionals. You certainly don’t miss much.”
“No, I don’t,” she answered with complete honesty. “Can you tell me if you’ve made any progress tracking down the killers yet?”
Harris straightened his turquoise silk tie-the only item of clothing that suggested the Southwest. “There’s a four-state manhunt underway for these perps, with patrols on every highway within a hundred miles. Ignacio Trujillo, the name you provided the officers, hasn’t been located yet. He’s not at any of the properties he owns or controls but we’ll find him. The tribal president has already contacted the Bureau demanding justice, which is one of the reasons I’m getting as much extra manpower as I need. Under these circumstances, I have no doubt that we’ll catch all the individuals responsible.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Right now I need you to look through some photos and see if you can identify any of the perps. If that doesn’t work, then I’d like you to work with a sketch artist.”
A few minutes later, Dana began searching through a stack of oversized books filled with mug shots. Harris remained across the desk from her as she worked, occasionally taking a phone call, or directing the manhunt. In the background, she could hear several conversations all at once, some in English and some in Navajo, from a half dozen or more officers. She wondered if it was this busy every night.
