Secrets of the Lynx

by Aimée Thurlo

  “I’m fine, Evan,” she said. “I was tracking down a lead to Miller when I got run off the road and into an empty irrigation canal. The suspect then shot the vehicle full of holes. He missed, and we got out just after the truck caught on fire.”

  “Were you able to ID your assailant?”

  “No. It could have been Miller, but conditions prevented us from getting a good look at the suspect.”

  “I need results, Armstrong, and you’re getting nowhere,” he snapped. “I’ve got people breathing down my neck here, and I’m tired of making excuses. Unless you can bring Miller in, or at least track his location, I’m going to have to come down there myself.”

  Having her supervisor question her abilities for the second time in days hit her hard. “I’ll find Miller.”

  “Don’t let me down, Kendra. You’ve got a week,” he said.

  Hearing nothing but dead air, she realized Thomas had ended the call. She stared at the phone in her hand, her emotions flipping back and forth between exasperation and anger.

  “What’s wrong?” Paul said, coming up to her.

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, right. Your eyes are flashing hot and cold, and you’ve got a death grip on that phone.”

  “My boss is a tool. Now my job—my reputation—is on the line.” She recounted her conversation with Evan. “I’ve never failed to get results, not once. Sure, sometimes it took everything I had, but I always came through. Now, twice in a row, I’ve come up short.” She gripped the countertop, lost in thought. “What irks me most is that by telling me he’ll take over, he’s saying he can do something I can’t.”

  “Like I’ve mentioned before, I know Thomas. He was trying to motivate you, not rattle you. He’ll play with your head if he thinks it’ll make you better at your job.” Paul said. “Evan was my supervisor, too, for a while. When my partner went down, he was right on the scene. He helped me get a handle on things. He’s good at what he does.”

  Kendra exhaled slowly and glanced around. “He’s still a tool. Any chocolate around here?”

  Gene came in just then and laughed. “Sounds like you and my wife have something in common, Kendra, but I’m afraid I finished the last of the chocolate peanut butter cups. Lori was going grocery shopping today. I’m guessing she’ll be getting a fresh supply.”

  “Then I’m going for a walk,” she said. “Don’t worry, I won’t go far, and I’ll keep my weapon handy.”

  “Even so, let me take a look around first,” Gene said.

  “I’ll go with you,” Daniel said, coming up behind him.

  * * *

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Kendra stood with Paul by the corral, illuminated by an overhead lamp on a post, and watched the trio of horses browsing through scattered alfalfa leaves on the ground.

  “It’s so incredibly peaceful here,” she said, taking a breath of fresh air.

  “Yeah, it is. There was a time in my life when I couldn’t understand why Gene or anyone else would want to live all the way out here, running a ranch so far from the city,” Paul said. “Standing here right now, I’ve got to say it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.”

  She turned around and leaned against the welded pipe fence railing. “When I first joined the marshals service I was in love with the idea of an exciting career, something far from the ordinary.”

  “And now?” he asked.

  “I still love my work, but I’ve also discovered I need more than the job to be happy. Someday I’d like a family of my own.” She looked at Paul and gave him a wry smile. “Don’t panic. I’m not angling for a proposal just because we made love.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Bad? No,” she managed, apparently surprised at his response.

  “You know what our problem is?” she said, smiling. “Some people need fresh air, but our brains need car exhaust fumes to function right.”

  “Maybe so,” Paul said, laughing. He placed a boot on the lower rail and leaned over, resting. As he did, one of the horses came up to him and nickered softly.

  He glanced up, expecting to see Bud, or maybe Clyde, Lori’s favorite horse. To his surprise, it was Grit.

  “What a beautiful pinto! That jet-black head and perfect white blaze down his nose is really eye-catching,” Kendra said.

  Paul stared at the animal, then patted his neck cautiously, half expecting Grit to spin and try to kick him, or make a bite threat. Maybe in the dim light the horse had mistaken him for someone else. Yet even as the thought formed, he realized how unlikely that was. Horses had a good sense of sight and smell.

  Gene, who’d been coming toward them, stopped and stared.

  “Can you believe this?” Paul said to his brother.

  “You stopped forcing it, and things worked out on their own,” Gene said. He glanced at Kendra, then back at Paul. “Remember Hosteen Silver’s prediction.”

  Paul nodded, then looked at Kendra. “I only told you part of it. Would you like to hear all of it?” Seeing her nod, he continued. “When Dark Thunder speaks in the silence, enemies will become friends, and friends, enemies. Lynx will bring more questions, but it’s Grit who’ll show you the way if you become his friend. Life and death will call, but in the end, you’ll choose your own path.”

  “We just escaped death, and Grit’s here to show you the way...to life?” she asked, petting the horse.

  Paul spoke softly, noticing how the horse nuzzled her. “I think Hosteen Silver was telling me to look to the future and not dwell on the past. If I continue fighting to find justice for my partner’s murder, more blood may be spilled, but I’ve got no other choice. A killer is out there, one who won’t stop until he’s brought down.”

  “Then you’ve made your decision,” Gene said.

  “I’ve also got a plan,” Paul said. “Let’s go back inside. Kendra and I will need Preston’s help.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Paul laid out the details of his plan, then looked at the others gathered around the room. “There are no guarantees, but if we follow through with this we’ll find out once and for all if Kendra’s the gunman’s primary target. Once we know that, our other questions will be answered, too.”

  “I don’t like this at all, but I don’t see a way around it either,” Preston said, then continued. “If we’re going to do this, you should use one of our department’s safe houses in Hartley. There are three, but the one I have in mind is unoccupied right now, and the houses on both sides of it are empty, too. That entire neighborhood has been hit with one foreclosure after another.”

  “You’re asking me to lie to my supervisor, Paul,” Kendra said slowly. “That kind of thing has serious consequences, and Evan’s bound to find out eventually.”

  “That’s true,” Paul said, “but can you think of anything else we can do at this point?”

  She said nothing for several long moments, and no one interrupted the silence even as the minutes ticked by. “No, unfortunately, I can’t,” she said at last.

  “Then it’s a go?” Preston asked.

  “Yes,” Paul said, “but we need to make sure that the only people in the loop are ones we trust one hundred percent. That means the list will be short—Preston, Daniel, Gene, Kendra and me. Kendra and I will be at the safe house while the rest of you will be close by, providing backup.”

  “One second,” Preston said. “My career is on the line and this is my turf, so I’m calling the shots. Agreed?”

  As the others nodded, Preston continued. “Kendra, time to put things in motion. Call your supervisor and tell him that you’ll be staying at one of our P.D.’s safe houses and you’re waiting for directions. You can say that you’ve picked a place that’s off the radar—not connected to any part of your fugitive retrieval assignment—since Miller’s shown he can find you easily. If he asks about Paul, tell him that he’s working out other arrangements, but you haven’t been briefed yet.”

  “I’ll do it right now,” she said.

  Kendra picked
up her cell phone and dialed Evan Thomas. It was nine at night now, so she had to call his cell. He answered on the fourth ring, and she stuck to the script.

  “File a report through channels,” he snapped. “The next thing I want to hear from you is that you’ve found Miller.”

  She gritted her teeth and politely finished the call. “Let’s get going,” she said, reaching for her jacket. “Evan isn’t the only one running out of patience. If Miller’s out there, his days as a free man are coming to a close.”

  * * *

  ON THE WAY back to Hartley, Paul was quiet. They’d borrowed Gene’s new truck for the time being, and as he drove, he constantly checked in the rearview mirror.

  “Your brothers are always there for you. That must be a very nice feeling, to know someone always has your back.”

  “You have your brother and father. They’re both military men who live by a strict code of conduct and honor. They’d do the same for you.”

  “If it came down to it, sure, but the closeness isn’t there. Their lives are halfway around the world.”

  “Not all my brothers are living close by. As a matter of fact, two are overseas right now. Once they left home, Rick and Kyle wanted to go as far away from the Rez as possible,” he said. “Now that it’s out of their systems, they’ll be coming home as soon as their rotation is up. Their roots are here.”

  “I think it’s your cultural ties that really help strengthen the bond between all of you,” she said.

  “They do, that’s true. The traditions of our people—concepts like ‘walking in beauty’—shape our lives,” he said. “Explaining our ways to outsiders is hard because when we try, it often comes across as stilted English—a bunch of odd-sounding phrases all strung together.”

  “Those who care enough to want to understand, will.”

  He smiled. “And if not, it’s their loss. We’re proud of who and what we are. That’s part of Hosteen Silver’s legacy.”

  “He sounds like a remarkable man,” she said.

  “He was. His death left a huge gap in our lives,” he said. “It also took us by complete surprise.”

  “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “He walked off into the desert one winter night without any explanation and his body was never found. That’s the way of our Traditionalists when they believe death is near, but the thing is, he wasn’t sick, not that we knew about anyway.”

  “Did he leave anything behind that might have explained why he did that?”

  “There was one clue—of sorts. He left us a retelling of a Navajo creation story, one meant to show that good can be corrupted by evil, but that evil can always be defeated by those who remain strong,” Paul said. “Now it’s up to us to find the answer hidden there.”

  “He wasn’t one for speaking plainly, I take it?”

  “He would when necessary, but Hosteen Silver believed that when you grappled with a question, you often found answers to things you never even thought to ask.”

  “Maybe you need someone who can view it from an outsider’s perspective. If you tell me the story, I’ll try to help,” she said.

  “All right.” After a moment he began to tell her the tale, his voice soft, yet oddly compelling. “Changing-Bear-Woman was a beautiful maiden who had many suitors. Coyote wanted to marry her, but she wanted no part of him. Trying to discourage him, she gave him a list of impossible challenges. Coyote agreed to all her demands but, in return, made her promise that she’d marry him if he succeeded. Eventually, Coyote found ways to fulfill all of the tasks, so she became his wife.”

  “That was good, right? I mean, she kept her word.”

  “Yes, but soon Coyote began to teach her about the power of evil. In time, she learned how to change into a bear. That’s when she stopped being who she’d been, an honorable mortal woman, and became an evil monster that needed to be stopped.”

  “Did Coyote do that himself?”

  He shook his head. “Once she became evil, Coyote didn’t like her anymore, so he walked out on her. Angry and feeling betrayed, she went looking for him. During her search she ended up killing everyone who got in her way, including most of her brothers.”

  “But not all?”

  “The youngest one escaped, but seeing the lives she’d claimed, he realized that his sister was gone forever. To restore the balance between good and evil, he knew he’d have to destroy the creature that now stood in his sister’s place. He prepared himself to do what was necessary, but wanting to somehow honor who she’d once been, he allowed her to live on in other forms that continue to serve the Diné, the Navajo People. A part of her body became the first piñon nut, another yucca fruit and so on.”

  “So in the end, evil was conquered and served the ultimate good,” she said, understanding. “That could be said to be a cautionary tale, particularly for those of us in law enforcement. We tend to see things in black and white—legal or illegal. That’s our job. Maybe this was your foster father’s way of saying that good needs evil and evil needs good. The battle between the two defines each side.”

  He considered her words. “You may have something there. That’s very much in line with Navajo thinking. We believe that everything has two sides. That’s how balance is achieved.”

  “Maybe Mister Silver knew he had an illness that couldn’t be controlled. His way of restoring harmony was to greet death,” she said softly.

  “No. Though what you’re saying sounds logical, it doesn’t feel right to me,” Paul said.

  “Sometimes it takes a long time to find the truth. We see that in investigations all the time.”

  “And like it was with Grit, I can’t force it.”

  “Exactly.

  “You’ve given me something to think about,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  “Before I met you, I’d never spoken about Hosteen Silver’s letters to anyone outside my family.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “There’ve been a lot of firsts for me since you came into my life.”

  She sighed. “And that’s bound to make facing down Miller, or whoever comes after us, harder. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe, but we’re trained for this and we’re not alone,” he said.

  “If Miller doesn’t show up and all we end up collaring is a minor player, I’ll have to come up with a plan to force Miller out into the open. I’m not going back empty-handed,” she said.

  “I now know what your fetish should be,” he said, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s practically tailor-made for you.”

  “What?”

  “Let me surprise you.”

  “If I promise to act surprised later, will you tell me now?”

  He laughed. “You’ll know when the time is right.”

  * * *

  THEY ARRIVED AT the safe house in Hartley an hour later. It was in a middle class neighborhood filled with single family homes whose owners had fallen on hard times since the real estate market’s free fall. Several of the houses were listed for sale and appeared to be mostly foreclosures, judging from their state of disrepair.

  The safe house was in the middle of a cul-de-sac. There was a high cinder block wall in the rear, bordering a warehouse protected by dogs, judging from the signs, so the only real access was from street side.

  A minute later Kendra and Paul were inside the sturdy brick house. It was plain and utilitarian but well laid out and solidly constructed.

  After finishing the delicious take-out Navajo tacos Preston had brought, Kendra and Paul were alert once again, weapons easily accessible, as they kept an eye on the street. Having already taken up their positions, Preston and Daniel were hidden outside. It was close to ten-thirty, so there were few cars passing by and no neighbors out walking.

  As per the plan, Kendra made it a point to cross in front of the window periodically, allowing herself to be seen, but never walking slowly enough to turn herself into an easy target. K
eeping the table lamp and a TV on with the sound down so they could hear anyone approaching, they still hoped to create the illusion that they were easy prey.

  After two long, boring hours, Paul was at the fridge grabbing another cola for himself when the tactical radio positioned on the coffee table crackled to life. The next thing they heard was Daniel’s voice.

  “There’s a four-door sedan coming up the street, going real slow.”

  “Paul, Kendra, stay out of sight,” Preston said next. “I’m on the north side of the house behind cover, watching the street. It could be just a resident coming home from an evening shift, so stay cool.”

  Paul was already by the front window, off to the side, and behind the curtain as he watched the street with night vision binoculars. “He’s slowing, like he’s checking addresses,” he told the others.

  Paul reached down for the tenth time in the past two hours and rested his hand on the butt of his weapon. “I can’t make out the driver, but I think he’s male, judging from the short hair.”

  “He’s going to stop...here,” Kendra said, standing across from Paul behind the other curtained window.

  “Hold your positions. Maybe it’s an officer,” Preston said.

  The driver pulled up into the driveway and parked. As the car door opened and the dome light came on, the face of the driver became clear.

  “I’ve got an ID. It’s my boss, Evan Thomas,” Kendra said quickly.

  Paul came over, his binoculars lowered. “I thought you didn’t give him your location.”

  “I didn’t, at least not which one. He didn’t ask, and I didn’t volunteer,” Kendra said. “I don’t know how he tracked me.”

  “He must have hopped on the next available flight after you two spoke, or maybe he was already making the drive down from Denver,” Paul said.

  “Stand down,” Preston called over the radio to the others. “He’s not packing a weapon.”

  Thomas opened the passenger door on the driver’s side and reached inside. “Give me a hand with this gear, Armstrong, will you?” he yelled. “I know you saw me pull up.”

  “I better help him out. Evan’s the best special ops sniper in the Rockies, and he never goes anywhere without his weapon,” Kendra said, moving to the door.