Starlight Dunes

by Vickie McKeehan

  She knew the representative from the Santa Ynez Indian tribe didn’t completely trust her—at least not yet—it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to work to build up a bond from the ground up. That’s why she intended to do whatever it took. No one could accuse River Amandez of the unwillingness to wade through bureaucrats determined to prevent her from accomplishing her goal.

  The research center had found a descendant of the Chumash who would act as the go-to guy on her project. Because of that, she knew it was way too early to make waves. So she would rein in her frustration and play the game. She really had no choice in the matter anyway.

  Since the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act required federal agencies, like the research center, to consult with all Native tribes in the excavation of any human remains, or sacred objects, or any cultural entitlements found at a dig, she was prepared to deal with whatever the spokesperson the tribe deemed necessary. She had to convince Marcus Cody, the representative for the Santa Ynez Band of Chumash Indians, that anything dug up would be handled with the utmost care to preservation. She’d already tried several times to assure him of that.

  After all, she worked with an excellent team of experts who were top in their field. Her two assistants, Julian Gustave and Laura Angleton, would be here by week’s end, along with a couple of interns Emilio had wrangled into committing to the dig for the duration.

  Julian and Laura were gold at what they did. She knew because she’d worked with Julian since they’d both started out together. She’d trained Laura from lowly intern to one of the most trusted anthropologists around.

  While Laura might be a little better at describing and cataloguing, Julian excelled at analyzing and recognizing artifacts still embedded in the earth. River didn’t know how the man did it, only that he could study an item layered in muck and mire and give it a best guess as to how it would come back after the carbon dating was done. That guess usually turned out to be right.

  She’d already emailed Julian and Laura photos from the site. They were chomping at the bit to get here and get started on extracting the canoe. If it came down to removing human remains—and River believed it would—no one was better or more meticulous at it than her team.

  River had done her best to assure Marcus that her crew knew what they were doing. But even from the very first day she’d stepped onto the dunes, she’d sensed the man’s anxiety and his fear. Fear because he didn’t want hordes of people descending on the town and in the process disrupt ground his people now considered sacred.

  Being Pueblo Indian, she understood that. But it didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to be the one who documented the Pelican Pointe Project. Native or not, she was first and foremost a scientist who studied previous civilizations—and she was good at it.

  Once she’d checked into the only available lodging in the area, an enormous B & B north of town called Promise Cove, she’d spent every waking minute of the day she could spare on research. She’d even managed to nail down the timeframe of what she’d seen here, at least ball-park it anyway. What was left of the village might easily date back to the twelfth century, maybe even earlier. She’d know more when she could get her hands in the dirt. So far, she’d only been allowed to photograph the discovery from six feet away.

  She would wait on Marcus to give the go-ahead for more. According to him, the tribal council hadn’t yet voted to give them clearance. River didn’t doubt for a minute they would. Waiting for the red tape to wind its way through the system had never been her strong suit though. Even when she knew it would happen eventually, she had trouble chilling her jets for a week, which meant she was already getting antsy.

  She’d gone over charts and maps of the area. She’d consulted with Marcus on numerous occasions. The man had even taken the time to show her a number of other landmarks in the area once occupied by his ancestors. After looking at that firsthand, River had to admit she was intrigued by what her project might give up.

  She’d never had a guide quite like Marcus before. The sixtyish man seemed to know everything there was to know about the Chumash and then some. Of course, he’d lived around the area all his life.

  Not only that but his wife’s mother, Autumn Lassiter, had been born and raised in and around Pelican Pointe. River found it fascinating that Autumn could trace her family roots back to seventeenth-century Chumash descendants. But because Autumn had died a couple of years before, it meant she was stuck with Marcus as her go-to guy.

  She wasn’t really complaining. The man even spoke the dialect which she had yet to master. Having an expert handy was like having access to a walking Chumash encyclopedia. River intended to use his knowledge to her fullest advantage.

  She’d already learned that less than two hundred and fifty miles from this very spot near Santa Barbara was a true Chumash treasure. Painted Cave State Park had yielded a small sandstone cave with rock art dating back a thousand years or more. Marcus and his wife had even played tour guide, taking River there to see it for herself.

  River was convinced that when her team got to dig, there was an excellent chance they might uncover the same type of pictographs here in Pelican Pointe. The possibilities were endless. At least she hoped to be a part of that kind of find.

  On any given day, River Amandez could be dedicated, motivated, focused and persistent. At thirty-three she’d paid her dues at dig sites along the way since the day she’d turned eighteen. That meant she had fifteen years of field work under her belt. She’d earned a master’s degree at twenty-four, her doctorate at twenty-six.

  To her credit, River had made only one major mistake in judgment, not a career one mind you, but a personal one. Marrying the lying, bastard Wes Patton capped what otherwise could be called a decent history of judging character, not stellar maybe, just decent.

  She’d wasted two messy years with the verbally abusive Wes. And then at thirty her life had completely gone off the rails. It had taken her almost a year to get back on track. Even after two years, there was still one huge missing element to her life. The biggest hole of all she hadn’t been able to fill no matter how hard she tried, or what project she took on, or how far she roamed across the four corners of the country to do it.

  There were times her arms ached to hold, to cuddle what was gone. A part of her was missing, and nothing could repair that hole in her heart.

  That’s why these days she made sure she kept stateside, just in case there was any word. She no longer made herself available for overseas assignments in places like Egypt or Ireland. If she ever stumbled upon a viable lead that might possibly turn everything around, she didn’t dare risk being out of the country when it happened.

  River tried not to dwell on anything pessimistic because if she did it tended to make her crazy with worry and guilt—which might mean checking into a padded cell where she’d settle in for good and never come out. That wouldn’t help anyone.

  Not a day went by that it didn’t nag at her to the point she couldn’t concentrate. No matter how stubborn her resolve seemed to be, there had yet to be a resolution. She refused to accept defeat. These days she had only one purpose. Her single-mindedness began every morning and ended every night the same way.

  River Amandez refused to give up. She would find her son if it took the last breath in her body.

  It was true her life was a nomadic existence as she went from dig to dig. To this day, her home base was where she’d grown up. She kept an apartment in Santa Fe, New Mexico. But she was rarely there. If she went back at all, it was to check on her mother. Sad to say, her mom hadn’t recognized her in over two years. Stage-6 Alzheimer’s had robbed Malinda Amandez of almost every memory she had left. The last time River had seen her, she’d watched as the fifty-six-year-old woman spent most of the visit rocking back and forth wringing her hands. Frequent phone calls to the staff at the nursing home were the only way she had to keep up with the progression of her mother’s condition and day-to-day care.

&
nbsp; What with her mother’s deteriorating condition and her driving obsession, most times doing field work was the only thing that kept her grounded. She had no room in her life for anything else. For the last two and a half years, staying busy kept her from thinking about what-ifs or failed personal relationships, or blame.

  Shaking off those thoughts so she could work, River adjusted her lens to get a better picture.

  As boats bobbed up and down in the harbor, as a slight breeze brushed her cheek, she stepped farther into the shallow inlet, her worn Timberland hiking boots getting soaked in the process. While waves crashed up against the rocks around her, on instinct, she brought the camera into focus to capture the condition of the canoe.

  There were benefits to working outside at her own pace. But it had been a good long time since she’d landed in such a pretty little town. Because of that, on impulse, she aimed the lens toward the scenic bluffs and the picturesque lighthouse high above her head.

  After taking several shots, she gingerly inched closer to aim the Nikon at the six-foot-wide opening and the exposed ruins.

  Bending at the waist, she angled her body over the muck as close as she could get without crossing the rope barrier. Zooming in, she began snapping the photos she needed.

  All Brent Cody saw when he rounded the ridge was the sexy way the raven-haired beauty wiggled her butt to get the best shot.

  Ethan saw it, too. They both tilted their heads in the way of brothers, taking in the woman’s long, lean tanned legs, the slender build, the athletic way she moved. Tall, at least five-nine in the hiking boots she had on, she wore olive-green shorts and a white button-down shirt. Her cinnamon skin caught Brent’s attention and held.

  Ethan elbowed him in a tender rib and said, “Whatcha lookin’ at there, bro?”

  “Same thing you are. You didn’t mention the body or the hair. You said she was smart. I thought—”

  Ethan laughed. “I know what you thought. She’s hot all right. Apparently Dad didn’t mention it either. Or Mom, which is unusual. Like what you see, do you? Good. That means you aren’t dead below the waist.”

  “The equipment works just fine, thanks.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Ethan said, tapping Brent again on his sore shoulder. Then all at once with a gleam in his eye, Ethan pivoted the stroller on two wheels, heading in the opposite direction. Without warning, he put his fingers between his teeth. Before Brent could stop him, Ethan let go a loud wolf-whistle the entire beach crowd had no trouble hearing over the sound of the surf.

  Brent rolled his eyes. “Do you ever intend to grow up? Do I need to remind you that you’re married?”

  “Hey, it’s not for me. I got a woman. That’s how I got the kid. I’m just trying to light a fire under my big brother here in the romance department. And you’re a little slow. Besides, four’s a crowd,” Ethan shouted over his shoulder as he ducked around the nearest sand dune and started hot footing it away, knowing full well Brent couldn’t keep up if he wanted to.

  With his injury Brent was left standing there to take the heat. And he didn’t have to wait long.

  By this time, the female above him with the dark hair and great body glanced down from her perch to find him staring up at her.

  Like any damned fool, Brent leaned on his cane and did the only thing he could.

  He stuck his hand in the air and waved to River Amandez.

  Chapter Three

  At the sound of the loud two-note whistle, River’s head snapped up. She glared at the tall man standing below her on the stingy strip of concrete causeway. River eyed his bronze skin, the black hair, the unmistakable Native American heritage. His lanky frame leaned on a cane that he clutched like a lifeline. It looked as though he’d hobbled to this point. The sheen of sweat on his brow told her the effort had taken a lot out of him.

  Good-looking aside, this wasn’t the first gawker she’d had to shoo off from her dig before it ever got started. So she would nip it in the bud now.

  Backing away from the rocky ground she inched down the side of the embankment a little at a time, ducked under the security rope to where he stood. All the while the ocean air between them pulsed with an equal measure of curiosity and mutual interest.

  “I’m River Amandez. I’m in charge of this site and you really shouldn’t be hanging around here. The cliffs are unstable and off-limits for the next few months,” she explained, looping the strap over her head so the camera dangled around her neck. “See the barrier? It’s there for a reason.”

  Gutsy, Brent decided as he cocked his head to peruse her from head to toe. “Beautiful name. River. Suits you. I hear you’re Pueblo from somewhere in the Southwest, right?” When she looked slightly puzzled, he added, “It’s a small town. Word spreads like wildfire about any newcomer,” he said, extending his hand. “Brent Cody.”

  The name sunk in. “Cody? Ah. Then you’re Marcus and Lindeen’s oldest.” Before he could answer, she grinned and tossed back, “It’s a small town. Plus, your parents and I shared a car driving down to Santa Barbara last weekend. You were a major topic of conversation.”

  Brent grimaced, shook his head. “Please don’t tell me my mother hinted at getting us together.”

  “Ah, no. Actually Lindeen made it known several times you had your eye on an attractive first-grade teacher. I believe her name was Julianne or maybe it was Julie. I forget which.”

  Brent rolled his eyes and felt the rush of humiliation go straight to his cheeks. He shook his head. “Julianne, a neighbor of my mother’s. She’s been trying to hook either my brother or me up with Julianne Dickinson since they first got to know each other at a book club some years back. Ethan’s off her radar now because he’s married. She’s the bane of my existence. My mother, not Julianne. She’s made it her life’s work to interfere and embarrass me with every woman she happens to come across.”

  “Your mother, not Julianne,” River echoed with a grin.

  “Exactly. And to think you drove hundreds of miles with her in a confined space with no way to escape. You should probably get an award for that.”

  River chuckled and studied his face, the stubble along his jawline and chin where he hadn’t shaved. “Are you okay? Do you need to get off your feet or something? You look drained.” Prepared to grab for the bottle of water in her pack around her waist, she kept her eyes locked on his, eyes so brown they were almost black.

  He bristled at her concerned tone. “I’m fine.”

  River’s lips curved, recognizing the prickly quills attached to male pride. She decided the topic of his mother was a lot safer. “So your mom loves to play matchmaker every chance she gets, huh? She does love to talk about her sons. According to your mother, your younger brother, Ethan, is the next Michael Connelly.”

  “See, that sounds like Mom. It was only last month Ethan released his second book. It’s doing pretty well though.”

  “There’s a bookstore in town, Hidden Moon Bay Books. I’ll make sure I stop in to support the local author while I’m here.”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate that. His wife, Hayden, owns the place.”

  “Ah. That small-town atmosphere again. Makes sense. What happened to you? Were you in a car accident?” She saw the irritation come into his eyes at the question. She found it strange that during a five-hundred-mile round trip, his parents had never once mentioned that their son had been injured.

  “No.”

  “You might as well tell me,” she prodded. “Otherwise I’ll just ask Nick or Jordan when I get back to the B & B tonight. It’s been my experience it’s better to hear things from the source.”

  Reluctant to divulge his own troubles, he grumbled, “My house blew up.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “A gas explosion? That’s rare.”

  “Not exactly.”

  Realization began to dawn. Cop. House going boom. “Someone tried to kill you? Here in Pelican Pointe?”

  “Santa Cruz.”

  “Right. Do you know who’s responsible
yet?”

  “Not a clue. So where does River call home?” Brent wondered, hoping to get the focus off him.

  River spread her arms out. “For the next several months right here in Pelican Pointe will do just fine. For me, right this minute that means Promise Cove is home.”

  Brent wrinkled a brow. “No, I mean where do you call home? Where is your home base when you aren’t in the field? Where were you born? Where do you vote? That sort of thing.”

  Impatience crawled up her throat. Even for a cop the barrage was a little much for a get-to-know-you conversation. “Do you always insist on grilling every person you meet right upfront?” She didn’t give him time to answer. Instead she put both hands on her hips and added, “I have no outstanding warrants, no unpaid traffic tickets, and I’ve never been to the West Coast before this trip. But if you must know, my driver’s license was issued in New Mexico.” Because she wasn’t about to offer more, she added, “You savvy?”

  He understood attitude, often displayed it himself but when it flared so fast in those chocolate eyes of hers it sucked him right in. Because he itched to reach out and touch her hair, he switched gears. “How are they treating you out at the B & B? Settling in okay?”

  “No complaints. The accommodations are first-rate. Once my staff gets here on Monday though, I’ll be moving out of the comfy surroundings and into the RV we always set up as our base for the duration of a dig.”

  “Really?” Brent turned his head to stare across Ocean Street. “There isn’t really a good place to park an RV hereabouts. They make exceptions for parades and street fairs of course, but you’d have to have a special permit for anything longer than three days.”

  “Nick Harris, the owner of the B & B, gave us permission to use the farm next door to his place for as long as we’re here.”

  “I think I might be able to arrange for you to use the empty lot over at the old newspaper office, the one across from the Fanning Marine Rescue Center. That way you’d be closer to the site.”