“Tomorrow, so only one more night in uniform.” Nicky brushed at a spot of dirt on the dark blue material of her slacks. “I like taking these shifts. Patrol officers tend to have a lot more positive interaction with the community. I miss that.”
“But not the goats,” Savannah said with a wink. “You still owe me for saving you that day.”
On her second morning of work at Fire-Sky, Nicky was sent to the parking lot of the police department to negotiate Family Meeting reparations for a petty crime. Completely out of her element, she’d held the horns of a bad-tempered goat while trying desperately to calm the feuding parties as a phalanx of uniformed officers laughed on the front steps. Savannah had marched outside, snapped out something in Keres, and divided the goats and people. Then she’d torn the watching officers a new one and took Nicky to the break room for the worst cup of coffee she’d ever had in her life.
They’d been best friends ever since.
Savannah leaned her hip against the edge of the desk. Her dark brown eyes gleamed behind old-fashioned gold-wire spectacles that somehow complemented the bangs and asymmetric bob of her straight black hair. Even though Savannah was 100 percent Fire-Sky Indian (“Check the tribal register. According to my ancestry, I’m frickin’ related to the Earth Mothers”), she was the most nontraditional member of the tribe Nicky knew. Still, Savannah had helped her navigate some tricky cultural situations in the last few years. Her friend’s sharp-edged skepticism anchored her firmly to reality when things got out of hand.
Nicky sucked in a slow breath as she pictured the old woman’s face in the glass the night before. Those “things” had reared their head again. Literally.
“So, I’ll see you Friday, right? I bought the prettiest steaks—to grill this time, not to burn.” Savannah’s grin widened in her round face, warm cinnamon-brown skin crinkling at the corners of her eyes.
“Yeah, about that. Is, um, Ryan coming?”
In contrast to Savannah, Ryan Bernal was the most traditional Native she knew. He was also a lieutenant in the pueblo’s Fire, EMS, and Rescue Department. With Savannah’s friendship had come Ryan’s, even though her two friends had a connection Nicky didn’t quite understand and Savannah refused to explain. But Ryan was smart and easygoing and he and Nicky had meshed. The three of them had developed a close-knit relationship over the last five years. They knew all of each other’s secrets—well, almost.
Savannah’s smile faded and her face took on a neutral expression even as a tinge of red highlighted her cheeks. “I never invite him, but that doesn’t mean he won’t show up anyway,” she replied, scooping up the files.
Ryan’s interest in—and patience with—Savannah bordered on legendary. But there was nothing going on between the two of them, or at least hadn’t been since Nicky had known them.
“I, um … I need to speak to him. And you. About something that happened last night. Well, more like early this morning.” Nicky’s gaze held Savannah’s until her friend’s face screwed into a scowl.
“Not again.” Savannah kept her voice low, but it didn’t mask the snapping irritation.
Nicky winced internally. She was about to get another scathing lecture on the correlation between shift-work sleep disorder and hallucination, when the atmosphere of the room shifted.
Heads turned and voices quieted as Nicky’s lieutenant, Gavin Pinkett, strode to the center of the room, a frown marring his expression.
“Listen up, folks. Rail Runner’s called in a train-cyclists—plural—collision on the Fire-Sky right-of-way. OMI’s already been contacted. I need four officers and agents to respond and walk the track for recovery, and another couple to head up to the train and take statements. It’s stopped on Cochiti land. State and Cochiti PD are en route.”
“Hey, Lieutenant. Are they ours?”
The quiet question from across the room rang like a bell in the taut silence. Nicky glanced at Savannah, worried about how she was taking the news.
“Preliminary info says no.” Pinkett cleared his throat, his gaze running over the faces around him, finally settling on Nicky. His attention started her heart pounding. She scooped up the keys to her unit and stood, but he gestured for her to stay in place when his assistant approached him with a pink slip of paper. The day-shift sergeant followed one step behind her.
“Talk to you later,” Nicky whispered, mouth suddenly dry. Savannah, wide-eyed, faded away from her desk, files hugged close to her chest.
The volume of noise increased as personnel shifted to finish tasks and arrange to head out to the collision field. Nicky’s fists clenched, keys to her unit biting into her palm, and waited for Lieutenant Pinkett. As a federal investigator and Bureau of Indian Affairs–trained agent, she’d taken the lead in four of the last five train-pedestrian encounters. She was also the appointed liaison with OMI—the Office of Medical Investigators—because, in the past, there had been … problems … with OMI’s lack of cultural sensitivity. The pueblo was still rebuilding trust with them.
“If we’re short-handed, I’ll call in off-duty personnel,” Pinkett said to the desk sergeant, before he once again focused on Nicky. He walked over to stand by her desk, but wouldn’t look at her. She tensed.
“Is the INR done for the mini-mart break-in?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I can leave immediately—”
Pinkett interrupted her. “Cheryl brought me witness corroboration. The two individuals weren’t members of the pueblo.” He waved the note from his secretary.
The reservation had seen an upswing of suicide-by-train in the past few years. Still, she knew from experience that the way a train mangled and tore apart bodies made identification difficult. Until a hand was collected for fingerprints, or a head was scanned for dental records, no one could make a determination of origin.
“I’m putting Gallegos in charge. He needs the experience,” Pinkett said.
There was a rasping sound as he slid his palm back and forth over the stubbled growth of hair on his scalp. He shifted, cleared his throat, and glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
Nicky held her breath. His body language put her on high alert.
“Besides, you’ve already worked your sixteen today.” He cleared his throat again. “And you’re out of overtime this month. Captain’s orders. Sorry,” he said, voice gruff.
Her stomach twisted. This was the first time she’d been so deliberately and directly frozen out of a case by Captain Richards.
“Look, Lieutenant, you know I have the most experience. If you’re short-handed at the site, you can justify, you can—can—” Mortified by the edge of desperation in her voice, she clamped her mouth shut. Pinkett stared at her, lips tight.
“No. He’s looking for a reason to jump down your throat and I don’t want any part of that. I’ll call in another one of the night-shift officers.” He paused as if to say something else, but instead pressed his lips into a hard line and walked away.
Anger and something akin to panic swirled in Nicky’s head. She tossed her keys on the desktop and raised her hand to press back frustrated tears, knowing she shouldn’t—couldn’t—show any weakness.
The pad of her thumb brushed against the nick on her cheek.
She blinked away the moisture and squared her shoulders.
“Hey, Lieutenant. Who are you going to call in?”
Pinkett halted and swiveled back toward her. Though his expression was neutral, she recognized the shadow in his eyes for exactly what it was: guilt for barring her from this investigation. She wasn’t above taking advantage of it.
“You’ve worked these scenes before, Matthews. Saying this one’s gonna be messy is an understatement. Double the gore. Got any recommendations?”
Her mother would counsel forgiveness.
But her mother wasn’t here. Nicky smiled grimly.
“Yeah. Valentine. Definitely Valentine.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Nicky? Do you want another beer?”
Ice cru
nched as Ryan rummaged around in the cooler at the edge of the patio. The smoke from hickory wood chips in the grill perfumed the air, slipping in through the screen door.
“I’m good,” she called. “I’ve got to drive home after dinner.”
“You can stay here tonight,” Savannah said, voice crisp. She finished rough-chopping the zucchini, and scooped up the chunks to mix into a bowl with onions, squash, celery, mushrooms, and tomatoes, then tossed them in marinade. She peeked over the top of her glasses when the screen door slid open and Ryan walked in. “Is the grill hot enough?”
“A few more minutes.” He twisted off the cap to his Pellegrino and slid onto the barstool next to Nicky, taking a long drink before clunking it down on the wooden surface, both elbows following.
“Coaster.” Savannah pushed a thick cork circle in his direction. She dumped the veggies into a grill basket.
Nicky picked up a piece of jewelry from the velvet-lined tray in front of her. She held it up to the light, awed by Ryan’s artistry. Inlaid turquoise, coral, and amber flashed with each movement of her hand.
“My God, Ryan, these are gorgeous,” she said and smiled at the trace of pride hidden deep in his hazel eyes. She laid down the pendant she’d been admiring and scooped up the matching earrings. The intricate mixture of stone flickered and licked in the light, just like the flames they were modeled after. Ryan had set the stones in gold instead of silver, enhancing the richness of the amber’s glow.
“I’ll give you fifty bucks for the set. Cash,” Nicky offered, brushing back her hair to dangle an earring next to her face. “Okay, twenty-five. But that’s my final offer.”
Savannah snorted as she picked up the stuffed basket and headed out to the patio. The changes to Ryan’s face were subtle. While his expression was serene, even placid, his lips twitched and he cocked an eyebrow at her. In any other person, that would be a belly laugh.
“Sorry, Nicky. I’m putting these on consignment at a gallery in Santa Fe. I couldn’t afford the gold when I bought it. I’ll make you some in silver.” His brow furrowed. “But amber won’t work as well with silver. Maybe opal,” he muttered as he contemplated the pieces of jewelry.
Nicky shook her head, grinning. Friday nights at Savannah’s never disappointed. They’d become a cherished ritual in her life, providing a much-needed venue to relax, or vent about their jobs, or do nothing more than eat and watch a movie.
Her smile faded.
Or discuss strange visions of ancient spirits embedded in glass, and fleeing white rabbits.
But not until everyone had eaten.
Savannah’s yell of, “Steaks!” had Nicky hopping off her barstool and opening the fridge. She pulled out a plastic-wrap-covered pan containing three beautifully marbled rib eyes. Ryan sketched on a little pad of paper as Nicky carried the meat outside for the grill.
She handed Savannah the pan of steaks.
Hopefully food would have a mellowing effect before their talk tonight.
Her stomach jumped nervously. Especially on Savannah.
* * *
They sat on the backyard patio, triangulated around a low wrought-iron, tile-topped table. Under-cabinet lights glowed through the kitchen window, barely penetrating the inky darkness around them. The sharp medicinal scent of citronella blended seamlessly with the warm night. Savannah’s glasses glinted with the reflection of the candle’s flame, and its golden light warmed the skin of her face.
“Do you think she was trying to frighten you?” Ryan asked.
Nicky tipped her head to the side, rolling Ryan’s question around in her mind. She was glad it was dark. It made it easier to talk about what she’d seen.
“No. I mean, I didn’t get the vibe she was there to scare me.”
“That’s because she wasn’t really there at all,” Savannah said with exaggerated diction, an edge to her voice. “Jeez, Nicky, it was dark, you were alone, and you heard a weird noise, so it freaked you out.” Savannah sat forward in her captain’s chair, ticking off her argument points on her fingers. “You’d been on nights since last Saturday, logged at least three to four hours of overtime each day on a twelve-hour shift. And before that, you’d come off of a long week with that arson in Salida, right? Oh! And the semi-truck fatality on the highway last Monday. Wasn’t that a sixteen-hour day?” Sitting back with a huff, she frowned. “None of what you saw was real. There’s another explanation.” She waved her hand. “Maybe it was the reflection of a face on a magazine cover. You probably saw one of the Kardashians in the glass.”
“Probably.” Nicky’s lips pressed into a slight smile as she hunched back in her chair. She propped her feet up on the table in front of her and continued to peel the label off the beer she’d been nursing since dinner.
“This is, what, the third time you’ve seen the ancient one, right?” Ryan’s voice was low, almost hypnotic. “Did you look away like I told you?”
Nicky took a swig of her beer and grimaced. Too warm. She tucked it under her chair and glanced at Ryan before smoothing her top over her lap.
“Not this time.”
“How long did you stare?”
It could have been for a few seconds or a few minutes. Time had seemed to stop.
“Not long, I think. It was like she wanted to tell me something, like she wanted my attention.” She shook her head. That wasn’t right, but how did she explain the unexplainable?
A breeze swept through the patio, dancing over Nicky’s arms and up her neck to toss errant strands of hair across her face. The warm wind should have been soothing, but she suddenly felt a shimmering unease. Gooseflesh peppered her skin and a chill crawled down her spine.
“A flash of light from the rising sun hit the glass and she was gone,” Nicky said.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Ryan said. “The Sky gods interfered because you didn’t look away. They were probably jealous and wanted to distract you.”
“Seriously, Ryan? Jealous Sky gods?” Savannah propped her feet on the table, too, her slim brown calves flexing as she tucked her short dress underneath her backside.
Nicky waited for Ryan’s response, but when she looked at him, he was riveted on Savannah’s smooth, exposed skin. His eyes seemed to burn from within as his gaze slowly traveled over her body, lingering on her chest and neck. How was Savannah not scalded by it?
When he saw Nicky studying him, Ryan dropped his eyes and shrugged. “Okay. It could have been Fire gods, since the sun’s light was involved,” he conceded. Savannah frowned.
“Who is she, Ryan? And what’s the rabbit all about? Is the old lady a shape-shifter or something?” Nicky asked.
“We are not shape-shifters. Tene—Navajos—are shape-shifters. And why are you asking him? He’s frickin’ Jicarilla Apache! And Swedish, for God’s sake.” Savannah’s righteous indignation cut through Nicky’s unease. She bit her lip to stop a smile.
“I was raised here, though. It’s like having dual citizenship. Both tribal cultures are ingrained in me,” Ryan countered calmly. “We are more than our blood, Savannah.”
It was an old argument between them. Nicky knew well enough to keep out of it.
He turned his shoulder away from Savannah’s now-rigid form. “I think the ancient one is Wind Mother, Ánâ-ya Cáci. She is spoken of as an old woman in Tsiba’ashi D’yini stories, and she’s mostly playful. You know, like Loki.”
“Mixing up your metaphorical gods, Ryan? Your Viking is showing,” Savannah said sourly. “Even though she’s not anything—except for maybe Kim Kardashian—if she were, she’d be Ázáipə Ċíci, a Water Shadow or Water Soul.” She turned to Nicky, eyes intent. “You’ve only ever seen her through or inside glass, right?” she rapped out.
It was like an interrogation. At Nicky’s cautious “Yes,” Savannah continued, “Which is analogous to water. And you linked the last two times you saw her to saving someone, right? First, the kid in the arroyo, second, the family who drove into the irrigation canal. Both water rescues.”
<
br /> “You are forgetting about the rabbit,” Ryan reminded her quietly.
“Stop it,” Savannah said. “The rabbit was just a rabbit, and none of this means anything. It’s not real. No vision, no omen. No nothing.” She rubbed her hands over the bare skin of her arms. “Don’t you understand?” she said, her voice pleading. “All this gibberish about spirits and visions … it makes us look stupid, naive. Like children who believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Indians have enough trouble being taken seriously as it is.”
Silence fell as tension stretched between them. The breeze was back, lifting the hairs on Nicky’s arms. She rubbed them down, even as the wind swirled around her head and wrapped her hair across her throat. She gathered it in her hand to flip over her shoulder, and blinked, taken aback.
Ryan stared at her, then looked up at the wind chimes dangling from the patio trellis. She followed his gaze.
“I believe there is more to this world than our minds recognize.” There was an odd catch to his voice, a hint of uncertainty. Nicky’s brows knit, puzzled by his statement.
“So you say, Ryan. But you’ve never seen a vision or a face or a ghost, have you?” Savannah said.
“I don’t know,” he replied simply. “Ghosts, spirits, visions could be all around us, but appear as a man in a crowd or a bird in a tree. They might be standing right beside you, but because they’re so … familiar, you never think to ask someone else if they are really there, you know?” He gestured to Nicky with his chin. “But if a spirit visits you and lets you see them—know them—that’s an honor, even a privilege.”
Savannah glared at him for the beat of a few seconds before she levered herself up and marched to the screen door. She slid it open, and closed it behind her with a snap. Light from the kitchen shattered the darkness and made Nicky blink as her eyes adjusted.
It was her friend’s way of ending the conversation, but Nicky had more questions. She dropped her feet to the cement, leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around her middle.
Hearts of the Missing Page 2
