“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

She lifted her head and stared, eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher his intentions. Funny, to think of that sort of danger after all the other threats she had faced today.

“I’m not comfortable with that.”

“You don’t need to be comfortable. You need to be safe. I can make sure he doesn’t get to you.”

When she spoke, her voice seemed almost sedated, as out of focus as her gaze. “Maybe I could stay with a friend.”

“That would just put the friend in the crosshairs.”

She rubbed her arms and rocked back and forth.

“I can’t stay with you all night.”

“Lea, think for a minute. You need protection.

Nowhere else is safe.”

“I could go home.”

“To Salt River? He’ll follow.”

She slapped her hands on her thighs in frustration.

“You make him sound like an unstoppable robot or something.”

“Yeah. Exactly, but with one important difference.

I can kill him.”

Shadow Wolf

Jenna Kernan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNA KERNAN writes fast-paced romantic suspense, Western and paranormal romantic adventures. She has penned over two dozen novels, has received two RITA® Award nominations, and in 2010 won the Book Buyers Best Award for her debut paranormal romance. Jenna loves an adventure. Her hobbies include recreational gold-prospecting, scuba diving and gem-hunting. Follow Jenna on Twitter, @jennakernan, on Facebook or at www.jennakernan.com.

For Jim, always.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Kino Cosen wondered if this trail might be the one that would finally lead him to his father’s killer. Ten years he’d waited but he’d never been this close. Smugglers were dying, killed by the Viper. If he just had a little luck, he might finally be at the right place and at the right time.

He pulled the truck to the shoulder of the road on the lands of the Tohono O’odham Nation, which were just two miles from the Mexico border. Waves of heat undulated across the asphalt road as the June sun blazed down on the Sonoran Desert from a clear blue sky. His brother Clay opened the door of the SUV and the heat hit Kino like a furnace blast, eliminating all traces of AC in the time it took to take one single breath. He started sweating as he grabbed his rifle from the rack behind the seat. Clay took his from the opposite side.

Kino left the vehicle to investigate the solitary footprint where someone had stepped from the asphalt before returning to the impenetrable surface. This was the only visible sign of the smuggler’s passing. But farther up, he saw more tracks.

His brother slammed the passenger door shut and swore. “And this isn’t even the hot part of the year.”

“They crossed here,” said Kino, pointing to the narrow gap of open ground between two thorny bushes. His brother fingered a bent branch.

Clay, the better tracker, saw things that even Kino missed. He squatted to study the imprints upon the sandy ground.

“Carpet shoes,” he said and stood, returning his attention to the unrelenting sun. “If we were home I’d be tracking elk right now instead of men.”

“Not men. Man. Just one and these guys can lead me right to him. Then we can head home.”

“It won’t change anything,” said Clay.

“Family first,” said Kino, echoing his father’s favorite expression.

Clay made a sound through his teeth before backtracking to the vehicle to retrieve their water. When he returned, he handed Kino his bottle and they both clipped the plastic containers to their belts, leaving their hands free for the rifles. Kino also carried his service pistol, a semiautomatic, but Clay would not carry one. It was a difference between them. Kino was the law and Clay an ex-con. Not a felony, but since his release, his brother despised handguns. Their captain, Rick Rubio, had told Clay he could carry, but to no avail.

Prepared to track on foot, they stepped into the thorny brush, following the faint depressions left by the distinctive carpet-soled shoes that marked the trespassers as smugglers. Clay went first and then Kino.

“Another,” said Kino, pointing at the slight disruption of the unbroken sand. The indentation was small and circular, definitely a track.

“Good work, little brother,” said Clay, slapping him on the back, making his shirt and bulletproof vest stick to his shoulders. “How many?”

“Three?”

“Four,” he corrected, noting the different tracks visible to Clay, even though the group had walked in line and often in each other’s footsteps.

Walking was cumbersome because he and Clay wore full SWAT gear, as required even for them, and the standard equipment ringed their narrow hips. The water bottles knocked against their legs with each step, and the portable radios, ever ready, sat heavy on their left shoulders. Kino had left the satellite phone in the SUV. His semiautomatic was holstered around his waist and anchored to his thigh with a wide black strap. On their sleeves was the arrow-shaped tan patch that read Shadow Wolves. In the center was a fierce black wolf with one eagle feather tied to its fur.

Kino and Clay had taken one liberty with the uniform. Neither wore the regulation boots, preferring instead the lighter, higher moccasins that had been specially made for them by their grandmother. They were knee-high and sewn from soft buckskin. The lining was a paper-thin fabric that was totally snake-and thorn-proof. The rawhide soles were equally so. Kino’s moccasins had a thin vertical band of beads in a traditional pattern of arrows in red and white, while Clay’s sported beaded crosses of black and yellow. Anyone who knew the Apache would recognize the brothers’ people instantly by the distinctive tab at their toes. No other tribe wore moccasins quite like theirs.

Kino and Clay were Black Mountain Apache, used to winter snow and cool mountain air. But Kino had put in for a leave of absence to sign on for this mission. Only then had his older brother, who worked for the tribe’s cattle association, decided to come with him. As far as Kino knew, this was the first vacation Clay had taken in the six years since Clay’s release from juvenile detention—if you could call this a vacation.

They were on temporary assignment with Immigration and Customs Enforcement. ICE’s mission was to apprehend smugglers and traffickers along the borders that included the stretch that ran straight through the Sonoran Desert and the Tohono O’odham reservation. Because the Americans had missed things, ICE had formed the only special unit composed exclusively of Native Americans. Sanctioned through the US Department of Homeland Security, the Shadow Wolves were members of an elite drug-tracking force. The unit was composed of the best trackers to be found anywhere.

Their mission was to cut for sign—to look for footprints, spot broken vegetation or tire tracks that might indicate evidence of the traffic that washed drugs into the US from Mexico. That was their official mission but Kino wanted one particular smuggler, the one known as the Viper.

The Shadow Wolves were here on sacred land by special invitation of the Tohono O’odham people. And though they worked closely with the US Border Patrol, they did not answer to them. Border patrol secured borders from illegal entry or illegal products. ICE handled enforcement and removal operations. The Shadow Wolves, numbering only sixteen, were here to see what the Americans could not and to find the ones who were slipping by under their noses.

Kino followed the tracks, his brother trailing behind, both staying well clear of the slight indentures.

“Getting close to the rez,” said Clay.

Kino glanced up to take in his surroundings. The land didn’t look any different. Saguaro cactus rose above the ground; sage, barrel cactus, rock and sand stretched for miles. But this land was different because this side of the road belonged to the Tohono O’odham Nation of Arizona. Sacred land. Indian land.

Kino continued on the trail.

“The border patrol captain requested notice of our location if we enter the rez,” said Clay.

“Lucky we don’t report to him,” said Kino.

It was true. They worked directly under Captain Rick Rubio, an Apache who reported to the field operations supervisor for ICE. Still, if they found illegals, it was US Border Patrol that would be called to detain and deport them.

“Should we call Rubio? He can call Barrow.”

Gus Barrow was the pain-in-the-neck overachiever, control-freak captain out of Cardon Station whom Kino avoided when possible.

“I left the phone in the truck,” Kino told him.

“I can radio Rubio. He can call BP,” said Clay.

“Wait a bit. The O’odham are damned sick of border patrol. You heard the council leader. What’s his name?”

“Sam Mangan,” said Clay.

“Yeah,” said Kino. “He welcomed us personally. Invited the Shadow Wolves onto the rez. They’ve got no beef with us.”

Clay gave a lopsided grin. “Because we’re not the ones stopping them every time they want to visit their families in Mexico.”

“Exactly. So leave BP out. We might not need them.” Kino pointed to a track. “They’re fresh. These guys are close.”

“I know that. That’s why I want to call in. Captain Rubio said that Barrow wants notice when we cross onto Indian land.” Clay snorted and stopped tracking. “You used to be more fun.”

Kino paused and pointed at the tracks. “I’m not giving a white man notice that I’m on Indian land. We got permission from Mangan and we answer to Rubio, not BP.”

“Fine.”

Kino ignored the ire behind the single word Clay spit at him and continued following the tracks.

Clay blocked his path.

“Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Captain says to coordinate with border patrol, you don’t. They say to go left, you go right. Clyne and Gabe tell you to stay home, you come here. They’re shorthanded as it is. It was a rattlesnake rattle they found. Anyone can get them.”

“But not everyone leaves them inside dead bodies.”

And, yes, his brother Gabe wanted him home in his absence. And, yes, as a Shadow Wolf, it was his job to find smugglers. But, really, he didn’t want them. He wanted the one who was killing them.

“Family first,” said Kino again.

“Your family is at Black Mountain and up there in South Dakota. That’s where we should be.”

“I’ve got business here.”

Because word had reached him that they were finding Mexican smugglers with rattlesnake rattles shoved into the bullet holes in their dead bodies. He’d read the reports. Sometimes the rattles were in the victim’s cheek, or the shoulder, the breast or in the belly, right next to the navel. But always, the rattle was there, just like the one they found ten years ago in the body of Kino’s father. And Clay knew exactly how Kino had known it was there.

Clay rubbed the back of his neck.

“You gonna help me or what?” asked Kino.

“I should be helping Gabe and Clyne. They’re going to the powwow without me.”

“This is more important.”

Clay gave him a look that told him he disagreed. “Grandma wants us there.”

Kino waved his arms. “Why’d you come, then?”

“Not to chase a ghost.”

“The Viper isn’t dead.”

“I wasn’t talking about him.”

Did he mean their dad, then? Was Clay so willing to let his father’s murderer go unpunished? Kino wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Look. He’s here. I can feel it.”

Clay sighed and swept his hand forward so Kino could continue along the trail.

They traveled nearly a mile and were climbing a ridge when Clay slowed Kino with a touch.

“Stay down.” Clay motioned to the rocky ridge. “Don’t give them your silhouette.”

Kino nodded, lowering his profile as they neared the top. The prints were fresh. Their quarry was close.

That was when they heard the distinctive pop of four rifle shots. Both men exchanged a glance, hunched down and ran in the direction of danger.

They crested the small incline and fell in unison to the ground. There, below them, was a red pickup truck. Four men lay motionless on the ground. Another man stood over them, a rifle relaxed in his left hand.

Looked like four Mexicans from appearances and, given their parallel positions, Kino guessed they’d been kneeling then shot execution style. The ethnicity of the one still standing was questionable.

Clay lifted his rifle and took aim.

Kino placed a hand on Clay’s shoulder. He knew his brother was an excellent shot. Not as good as Kino, but excellent.

“Wait,” whispered Kino. He was already certain, but he wanted to see the man do it and then he wanted that shot himself.

Clay took his finger from the trigger but continued to watch through the scope.

Kino did the same.

“I can’t see his face,” whispered Clay.

“Damned cowboy hat,” replied Kino.

The man was slim, broad-shouldered, obviously fit, and spitting tobacco as he went methodically from one body to the next, checking each with the toe of his boot.

None of the Mexicans moved.

“Rancher?” asked Clay.

“Don’t think so. Too light for an Indian. Why is he on Indian land?”

Clay shrugged. “Not border patrol. No gear.”

The man wore a white work shirt and jeans cinched at the waist with a worn leather belt that held a knife housed in a black nylon sheath. He also had a pistol holstered to his hip. On his head rested a straw, sweat-stained hat. His truck was old, faded red in color and rusted at the wheel wells. There was a gun rack behind the seat.

The shooter held his rifle in a casual grip. Right-handed, Kino noted. He stooped and recovered four camo-colored backpacks one at a time and casually tossed them into the truck bed. Kino recognized the backpacks as the type often favored by Mexican drug smugglers.

The man tucked the rifle under his arm and reached into his front breast pocket, withdrawing what appeared to be a can of chewing tobacco. The man turned his back as he handled the container. Then he used one hand to retrieve his knife.

“What’s he doing?” whispered Clay.

“Not sure.” But Kino had a feeling. Hope bubbled in his throat and his body tingled all over. Was this his man?

Clay settled against the earth, getting comfortable.

The cowboy squatted and flipped the nearest smuggler onto his back. He set aside his rifle and used his knife to slice open the camo shirt covering the body.

“Looking for drugs?” asked Clay.

The guy could be raiding the smugglers. There was certainly a living to be made stealing from men carrying drugs. But it was a dangerous game, robbing from the cartels.

The cowboy now had exposed the chest of one of the dead men. Kino could see the bullet wound oozing dark blood.

The man lifted something from the container and shoved it into the bullet hole.

“What was that?” asked Clay.

“It’s him,” said Kino, raising his rifle to take aim just as a cloud of dust rose up to obscure his view. “What the hell?” He opened his other eye to see a blue pickup rattle into view.

“More company,” said Clay.

Kino took his eye from his scope because it now showed only billowing dust and noted the position of the dead men and the arriving truck. Was it possible that the driver of the blue pickup might not see the cowboy or the dead bodies strewed on the thirsty ground? Or was this the shooter’s contact?

As the dust billowed, Kino returned his scope to his target. Waited.

“Tell me what you see,” he said to Clay as he searched for his shot. Clay was ten feet to his left and had a different perspective. Plus, by not using his scope, Clay could see the entire picture.

“Looks like a woman. She’s waving, pulling parallel. Maybe Native. She’s got water barrels in her truck bed. He’s stepping out to greet her. Waving, too.”

“Contact,” he whispered. Two birds, one bullet, he thought.

Kino could see his target already rounding the front of the newly arrived pickup, rifle in hand. He fingered the trigger just as the man stepped behind the cover of the cab.

Kino muttered a curse. “No shot.”

“Might be together,” said Clay. “Or she’s part of the aid organization filling the water stations.”

“They aren’t supposed to be on Indian land, either,” said Kino.

“Tell her,” replied Clay. “Anyway, if she’s unexpected company, he’ll kill her for sure.”

Kino needed to take the shot but he couldn’t see his target. All he could see across the bed of the red pickup was the passenger door of the blue truck, scratched and dusty, window open. On the opposite side of the seat he saw a woman’s figure, the driver, sitting behind the wheel, visible from shoulder to waist through the open passenger window. Shapely, her dark hair was braided in one long plait that hung over her right shoulder. She wore a pale blue T-shirt that hugged her breasts and slim torso. Her face was obscured by the roof of the cab, but her hands were slim, cinnamon brown and bedecked with a silver-and-turquoise ring and wide-cuff bracelet, both Zuni, from the style.

“He’s lifting his rifle,” said Clay.

The woman’s hands extended and left the steering wheel.

“I’ve got no shot,” Kino repeated, his accelerating heart rate now interfering with his aim. All he could see was the man’s elbow and the barrel of the rifle.

“He’s going to shoot her,” said Clay, his voice holding a rare note of alarm.

Kino did the only thing he could think of. He took out her windshield. Glass exploded and his target vanished on the far side of the truck. The woman threw herself across the seat, hands over her head.

Kino shot out the rearview mirror and then the driver’s-side mirror for good measure.

“Where is he?” said Kino, scanning the area.

“No sign,” said Clay.

A moment later the red pickup began to roll.

“Must have gone under the truck,” said Clay, taking a shot at the red truck.

Kino had no target, but he now knew where the guy was. He started shooting, trying for a lucky hit through the cab of the truck. From beside him, Clay began shooting.

They punctured several holes before the pickup turned to drive away. Kino took out the back window but the gun rack remained in place. The driver never lifted his head.

“Driving blind,” said Clay.

And doing a darn good job, thought Kino. He’d managed to get to the road, which was lined with scrub cactus and thick with sage.

“Getting away,” said Clay.

“Try for the tires.”

Kino had one glimpse of the back of the man’s head as he popped up behind the wheel and steered onto the road. The truck veered as Kino fired and missed.

“That was some move,” said Clay.

Kino calculated the time it would take to get back to their SUV and pursue. Too long, he realized. The guy would be on the highway before they backtracked.

Kino watched the plume of dust from the truck he could no longer see. Then he directed his gaze at the blue pickup. Ten years and he finally had him, only to have this imbecile drive right into the middle of his shot.

“Call it in,” he said to Clay as he bounded down the steep incline to see about this woman, the one with the terrible timing.

Chapter Two

Lea Altaha lay flat out on the truck seat as glass from the windshield showered over her like hard rain. She folded her arms over her head to protect herself from the falling glass. Her arms offered no defense from the bullets that shattered her rearview mirror and then something behind her.

What was going on?

First that guy in the red pickup had pointed a rifle at her and ordered her out of the truck, and the next moment the shooting had started.

Her heart jackhammered in her chest and she breathed in the tang of her terror mixed with sweat.

The engine of the other truck revved. Next came the crunch of gravel as the tires spun, sending sand and rock flying. The guy with the rifle was leaving. Had he been the target of the shooter?

She didn’t know. All she did know was that she was staying here on the seat until she knew it was safe.

The shots sounded again, but not at close range. Far off now, she could hear the familiar pop, pop, pop of someone taking deliberate aim. The sound recalled her time hunting with her father. But that was where the similarity ended.

Dust poured in through the open windows, the result of the man’s hasty retreat. She eased open the passenger’s-side door, thinking to take cover under her truck. But the sight that greeted her caused her to give a yelp of fear. Lea stared through the swirling dust at the figures on the ground. Grit coated her mouth and filled her nose. Her skin prickled as the hairs on her neck lifted. Suddenly her mouth was as dry as the desert surrounding her.

There, prone upon the sand, were bodies. All but one was facedown. That one lay with arms sprawled wide, shirt open and eyes staring sightless at the sun. No one could stare like that for long, not without risking blindness. The chest showed a dark wet stain of blood.

Had that man shot him, too?

She shivered with cold, her fingers and face feeling numb despite the heat of the day.

“What’s happening?” she whispered to no one.

She crawled forward, sending cubes of glass cascading onto the floor mats and crunching painfully under her knees. The second man lay just as still, but he was prone, his arms spread wide as if in surrender. From her new position she could make out two other bodies.

Lea reached for the door handle and pulled. The solid metal shut with a satisfying thump. She slipped into the wheel well and tucked her knees to her chest. Where was the satellite phone? She scanned the seat where it had been, found it empty and reached for the radio still clipped to the waistband of her jeans.

She got it switched on, despite the fact that her hands were shaking so badly and were so slick with sweat that she could barely hold the thing. She hit the button to transmit.

“Margie?”

Her area supervisor, Margaret Crocker, answered immediately, as if she’d been holding the radio that usually sat on her desk. “Lea! I’ve been trying to reach you. Radios must remain on.”

Lea didn’t try to interrupt because there was no use. She couldn’t speak until Margie finished and released her transmit button.

Margie’s voice crackled on. “Where are you? Ernesta just called in and that means you’re alone, again. I’ve explained this to you. Everyone rides with a partner.” Her voice went to an angry whisper. “I can’t believe you pulled this today of all days when you know I’ve got the regional director here! I do not need this.”

Finally, Margie stopped talking so Lea could speak.

“Dead,” she squeaked. Was that even her voice? It sounded completely unfamiliar to her own ears.

“What? What was that? Repeat.”

“He shot them. They’re dead.”

“Who’s dead? Lea, where are you?”

She told her.

“Indian land? What are you doing there? We have no stations there. It’s too dangerous. Lea, that’s where the cartels are moving.”

“I-it’s on the map.” She blinked, glancing up at the clear blue sky that had no more pity for her than for the migrants who’d tried to cross the desert.

“What map? Oh, no! Where did you get it?” asked Margie. “Are you hurt?”

A man stepped into view, blocking the sky. He looked tough and dangerous.

The radio slipped from Lea’s fingers as she opened her mouth and screamed.

The door swung open as the air left her lungs. She scrambled onto the seat, bounced off the steering wheel and smacked into the closed driver’s-side door.

“I’m not him,” said the stranger. “Look at me. I’m not him.”

She did look at him. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol in his hand. He wore body armor and an expression of fury. His dark eyes narrowed as she clung to the door latch, deciding if she should run or face him. He looked fit and heavily muscled and far bigger than she was.

“B-border patrol?” she asked, her voice going all airy and breathless. She felt dizzy as she dragged scorching desert air into her lungs.

He gave a quick shake of his head that sent his single braid flashing over his shoulder before it snapped back like a whip. Then he rotated his torso and tapped the patch on his tan-colored shirt. “Shadow Wolves. I’m with ICE. The good guys.”

Good guys? Right. To some, he was a worse sight than the cartels. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the ones who hunted the immigrants like prey. She knew about the Shadow Wolves, of course. Their reputations preceded them.

“Are you injured?”

The humming in her ears made his words hard to understand. He waited for her reply but she only blinked stupidly at him, past the spots that danced in front of her eyes like fireflies. He reached a large hand in her direction and she pulled the latch, falling backward into space and hitting the ground hard. But not so hard that she couldn’t roll, which she did, under the truck.

This unfortunately put her at the same level as the bodies. My God, she thought, this morning they were alive with dreams and a future. Now they were carrion bloating in the heat. How long before the buzzards found them?

Lea began to cry. The passenger door slammed and the man’s footwear crunched as he took two steps along the side of the truck. He didn’t wear the usual hiking boots or the army boots many of the border patrol officers wore.

Lea stopped crying. She knew those moccasins, or she knew what they represented. The upturned decorative toe-tab marked them and the wearer. The boots were high, to protect against the ever-present rattlesnakes and thorny vegetation, but soft and supple. Cactus kickers, her father called them. The man was not only an Indian. He was Apache, like her.

“How long you gonna stay under there?” the man asked. His voice held a hint of irritation.

She switched to Apache and asked him his tribe.

He squatted, resting on one knee to peer beneath the vehicle at her as he answered in Athabascan, speaking in the formal way of introductions. His voice was rich and deep and held a calm that made it easier for her to breathe.

“I’m Kino Cosen. My parents are Tessa and Henry Cosen. I am Bear Clan, born of Eagle. How are you called?”

“Lea Altaha.” Her voice shook only a little now. She hesitated, her lips pressing together as she decided what to say. “My parents are Oscar and Maria Altaha. I am...” Her words fell off. I am nothing. No one. The familiar shame seized her but she pushed it away.

“Salt River?” he asked, correctly guessing at her origins.

“Yes.”

“I’m Black Mountain,” he said. The two reservations were once one but had been divided east to west. Black Mountain had the higher elevation, good water, terrain and plenty of wildlife. But Salt River had more lakes, one formed by the Salt River dam, and so was considered a fisherman’s paradise. Both tribes had a cultural center, casino and various other forms of tourism. More important, he was Western Apache, where her rez was a mix of Apache tribes.

* * *

SHE MET HIS gaze now, looking into those dark eyes. He wore his hair in a single braid, a traditional style for a man roughly her age.

“I am honored to meet you, Lea,” he said and offered his hand.

She took it and he helped her scramble out from beneath the truck. When she was standing in front of him, she realized he was a good deal taller than she expected and far better looking. He had that rare combination of earnestness and intensity in his gaze that held her captive. His features were classic with a broad nose, full mouth and a jaw that looked strong enough to take a hit. Her stomach fluttered as she realized what was happening between them. The heat and absolute stillness seemed to charge the air, like the electricity before a storm. Their clasped hands tightened as they each stepped closer. Oh, this was bad.

She stepped back, breaking the connection between them and wiping her tingling palm upon the denim of her jeans. This was not the time or place for mooning over a man. She rubbed the hand that so recently clasped his across the back of her neck. It didn’t ease her discomfort. Was it because he stood a little too close?

The jitters came back and she felt as if someone were running an electric current through her. She leaned heavily against her truck but the heat of the metal made her spring away, straight into his arms. He enfolded her against him and she realized to her chagrin that she could no longer stand without his help because her knees had given way. He opened the passenger’s-side door and eased her onto the seat.

She glanced at the carnage all around her and pressed both hands over her eyes. When she removed them, the bodies were still there.

“Someone was shooting at me,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “That was me.”

Chapter Three

Kino paused, pistol holstered, rifle slung over his shoulder and body armor sticking to his back as he considered what to do with this woman. He should take her in, but that would mean paperwork and he hated paperwork.

The woman stared at Kino as a mixture of shock and fear played across her features. She was smaller than he’d first judged, smaller than most of the women on his rez. And now, as he looked at her face, he saw that even pale and dusty as she was from her ordeal that her features seemed a blending of Native blood with some other race. Even dirty, there was no denying that she was a beauty.

Lea Altaha seemed to be recovering because color was now rapidly returning to her face. Her eyes glittered dangerously. Kino’s body reacted to the challenge in her gaze, though not as he expected. His emotions flicked from anger at her interference to complete awareness of her as a woman. Now, with her color high, her nostrils flaring and her brow sloping down over her large dark eyes, she looked fierce and wild and sexy as hell. The tight T-shirt publicized an aid organization—Oasis—but also served to advertise a killer body. The thin cotton and her tight faded jeans hugged her dangerous curves. She wore high boots, as anyone with sense would out here. She also had a water bottle and a folded utility knife strapped to her tooled leather belt. The buckle was large and silver with a thundercloud symbol on the front. Appropriate, he thought, for clearly there was some kind of storm building between them.

She lifted her hand to point a finger at him as if his words had just registered in her mind.

“You!” She slid from the seat, her voice and posture all accusation as she stood, chin high and brow low. Even angry she was adorable, he thought, like a startled kitten. “You could have killed me.”

“I could have. But I was aiming at your windshield.” He pointed at the space where the glass had been. “Your rearview and then your side mirror.”

And he had hit them all in that order. It was a point of pride, his accuracy with a rifle.

“What is wrong with you?”

“That man was gonna shoot you. Yeah? Like he killed them.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I stopped him.”

He judged from her widening eyes that she knew what was behind him.

Her shoulders slumped and the color washed from her face. She started shaking again and leaned back against the seat behind her.

“He was,” she whispered. “And you were trying to shoot him?”

Kino’s jaw bulged. He took a moment to push down the fury. His chance, come and gone. Would he ever have that chance again?

“I was. Until you blundered into my shot.” He pointed to the ridge of rock some hundred yards back and twenty feet higher in elevation.

She looked at the place he indicated and then at the windshield. Finally she looked at him. Her mouth opened and then closed as she worked it out.

“I blocked your shot.”

He nodded.

She was covering her eyes with her hands again. The silver-and-turquoise jewelry on her right wrist and fingers shone bright in the sun. There was no jewelry on her left hand.

Why was he even checking?

He knew exactly why. He was attracted but he had a policy of never hunting in another man’s territory. But she was too attractive for him not to notice. Still, he didn’t know if he would ever forgive her for bumbling into his hunt. Likely that didn’t mean he wouldn’t sleep with her if she gave him the chance. He’d have to be dead not to want her. She was stunning, really. The tingle of desire prickled through him. He sighed and forced his thoughts back to the hunt, the important hunt, the one for the Viper.

“Did you get a good look at him?”

She nodded, pressing her hand over her mouth as if trying not to be sick. She gagged but held down whatever was threatening to come up.

“Close your eyes. Think about that face.”

She shook her head as if unwilling to remember.

“It’s important.”

“Because he killed these men?”

Kino waved a hand in the direction of the corpses. “These men are smugglers.”

She cocked her head as if she did not believe his words or understand them. “These men are people, with families.”

He gritted his teeth. “Right. Fine. But the shooter. Please, try to picture him.”

“I don’t have to close my eyes to picture him. I’ll never forget that face. He was three feet in front of me and he was aiming a rifle at my heart.”

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

Kino exhaled in frustration. All he knew from his own observation was that the man was white and driving a red truck while wearing a stained cowboy hat. Oh, and that he chewed tobacco. It didn’t narrow the field much.

“What are you doing here?” Kino asked. “There’s not supposed to be any water stations on tribal land.”

She glanced around. “I was just following my map.”

Clueless or a liar? As he tried to decide, Kino took a page from his older brother Gabe’s book. Gabe was the chief of tribal police back on Black Mountain and often said, “If a suspect’s lips are moving, assume they are lying.” If she knew where she was, then she also knew that the tribe had pulled the plug on Oasis and their little water parties.

“Where is your partner? I thought you guys always traveled in pairs.”

“I...I have special permission.”

“That’s bull.”

Her failure to meet his gaze confirmed it. The way she shifted in place and worried the turquoise ring on her index finger made him think that she was lying. If she’d lie about this, she might be lying about not knowing the perp or, worse, she might be working with him.

“Okay. I’m detaining you.”

“What! Why?”

“Because you’re a witness. Plus, you’re lying to me, Miss Altaha, and I don’t like being lied to.”

“Okay. Look, I know this area is usually off-limits. But I’m Apache and—”

“Not Apache land.”

Kino knew that damned well because border patrol wasn’t allowed to be here, either. They had to be invited. That was probably why BP was always pumping their captain for information. Because only the Shadow Wolves had permission to pursue traffickers onto sacred lands.

He glanced at the men lying still and baking with the rocks that littered the thirsty ground. How did anyone live in a place so dry?

“Maybe you were here to meet them.”

“I wasn’t. I’m here to check this station and add water.”

“I thought the O’odham wanted the stations removed from their land.”

“Yes, but the migrants—”

“Smugglers,” he corrected.

“No. Migrants. They’re crossing here and they are dying here.”

“Yeah, less security here, no fences. Makes it easier.”

“Easier? To cross a desert in June? Thirteen bodies only last week. One of them was a nine-year-old girl.”

Almost the same age as his sister, he realized. Lea had scored a point and this time it was Kino who glanced away. But her voice followed him.

“Have you ever tried to cross this desert without water?”

No one could. He gave his own water bottle a flick. It was only half-full but they always carried extra in the truck.

“Did you ever think that if there were no water stations, they might not be so willing to take the chance? How many come because they expect to find Oasis and missed your water stations by a few hundred yards?”

She pressed her lips together and the corners of her mouth tugged down. “We save lives.”

“Maybe. But how many have you cost?”

“You don’t care. If you did, you wouldn’t be working for the Feds.” It was an old resentment that went all the way back to Fort Apache. His people had acted as scouts and trackers. His people had worked with the Americans and had helped them find Geronimo. In exchange they had remained on their land instead of being relocated to Oklahoma. But so had hers. So she had no rights to the “us against them” argument.

“I’m working for myself.”

“Shadow Wolf. That’s what you are, right? Special consultant, tracking the ones the Americans can’t find.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Not our business. The Spanish, the Mexicans and then the Americans. They all tried to take this land. It’s ours.”

“So why are you helping the Mexicans?”

“They’re people. Not Mexicans. Not illegals. People. Women, children, desperately poor who have it so bad back there—” she gestured south “—that they’ll take their lives in their hands to cross this. That’s who I am helping.”

“And drug smugglers and the cartel.”

“They have trucks, planes and ATVs.”

Kino pointed at the bodies just past her line of sight. “Not those four. They stopped here, for water. A natural meeting place.”

She stared him down. “And a place for hunters to overtake their prey. Always has been. Isn’t that right?”

Kino glanced down the road to where it disappeared into the scrub and cactus. Where was his brother and the damned truck?

The buzz of insects dragged his attention back to the bodies. The flies had already found them. Buzzards would be next. He had to call it in.

He lifted his radio and relayed to the captain the important details, including their location. These bodies meant that border patrol would have to be called because they were the ones with the body bags and the refrigerated truck to transport them. His captain was thirty minutes out.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

“I’m detaining you for questioning.”

Kino turned to Lea and offered his hand. She took it and slid off the seat, bringing with her a shower of broken glass. Her grip was strong, as if he were all that kept her anchored. He walked her to the rear of the pickup, watching her as she scanned the ground, getting a closer look at the bodies.

“Holy smokes,” she whispered.

“Yeah. You’re a lucky woman. But you should think about carrying a gun. A rifle at least.”

She did not take even an instant to consider it but shook her head.

“A pistol, then. Not just for traffickers. There are rattlers out here. Big ones. And Gila monsters. Though you have to be pretty slow to be bitten by one of those.”

She shivered and folded her arms across her as if that could protect her from bullets. It wouldn’t.

“If I hadn’t stopped him, you’d have joined them. I can get you a rifle, help you pick one out. Teach you how to shoot, if you like.”

“No, thank you.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a pacifist.”

“You’re a what?”

“I don’t believe in violence of any sort. And I don’t believe in shooting at people for any reason.” She stared right at him as she spoke, her words an accusation.

The ungrateful thing, he thought. “So you would have just let him shoot you? Wouldn’t even fight back?”

“That’s right.”

Kino shook his head, still disbelieving. How could anyone just stand there and let someone kill them without making even the most basic attempt to save themselves?

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Most folks don’t.”

She dusted away the shards of glass still clinging to the folds of her T-shirt. He retrieved a glittering piece from her hair. Then he lowered the truck gate and grasped her lightly around the waist before boosting her to a seat. His hands lingered on her until she glanced at where he held her. Then he pulled away, stepping back. What was wrong with him?

“The water,” she said, looking back at the barrels. “I have to fill them.” The clear plastic water tank that occupied the last third of her truck bed looked as though it held 200 gallons or more and she had additional barrels, a pump, hose and electric hose reel.

“Nice setup.”

She scrambled to her feet to retrieve the hose.

“Lea?”

She paused, yellow hose in hand.

“This is a crime scene. You can’t fill those tanks. Plus, I know from one of the tribal council leaders, Sam Mangan, that the Tohono O’odham requested that all stations on tribal land be removed.”

Her shoulders slumped but she released the hose and returned to him, sitting on the open gate.

“Why did they do that? Some of their tribe lives on the Mexico side.”

In answer he pointed toward the bodies. “The smugglers leave a mess.”

“They’re not all smugglers.”

“I know that. But they’re all uninvited.”

“Like the Spanish and the Americans?”

Just then Kino picked up the sound of an engine. A moment later he saw the rooster tail of dust. He dragged Lea unceremoniously off the gate and shoved her behind the side of the truck bed. Then he swung his rifle out in front of him and rested it on the running board, taking aim.

“Stay behind the tire,” he ordered.

“Is he coming back?”

Kino gazed through the scope at the approaching vehicle. Was that his brother Clay or the Viper?

Chapter Four

The SUV emerged from the maze of sage and cactus. Kino blew away a breath and straightened as he recognized the vehicle.

“That’s my big brother Clay,” said Kino.

Lea stood on wobbly legs and he gripped her elbow to keep her from losing her balance. He held her long enough for her to regain her equilibrium and for him to lose his. She was a witness, an aid worker and a pacifist. Any one of those should be enough to send him running in the opposite direction. But they weren’t. Not even close. His hand tingled at the point where his fingers circled her bare arm, sending an electric sizzle of heat through him. He told himself to let go and didn’t.

Their eyes met and held. She could be only his witness, nothing more. He knew that, because he wasn’t getting mixed up with someone who spent her spare time breaking the law and wandering the desert alone without even a rifle for protection.

“You all right?” he asked, his hand relaying the softness and smooth texture of her skin.

“No,” she said and reclaimed custody of her arm.

Was she coming to the realization that her efforts might be helping the drug smugglers? That the reason they were in this very spot was because of her water station? Or was she just now realizing how close she had come to oblivion?

“I’m taking you in to headquarters at Cardon. We need a statement.”

She stepped farther away and rubbed the place where he had touched her as if to remove all memory of the contact. He noted the flush in her cheeks. Was it the heat of the day or their contact that caused that bloom of color?

“You’re detaining me?”

“Until we have your statement. They’ll interview you at Cardon.”

“Who will?”

“Border patrol.”

“I hate those guys,” she muttered and then said to him, “I’ve got to radio Oasis.” She patted the back pockets of her jeans and came up empty. Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, I was talking to her when this happened.”

She rushed back to the cab and searched for the radio from where it had fallen behind the driver’s seat as Clay pulled up, covering them with a fresh wave of grit and dust.

Kino went to speak to Clay, leaving Lea to her radio and check-in.

Clay pulled up in front of her truck.

“Any sign of him?” asked Kino.

“I’m sure there is. Everything that moves leaves a sign. But he was gone by the time I found the access road. What do you want to do?”

What Kino wanted was another shot, to go back in time and have Lea arrive ten seconds later. He looked toward the woman, scrambling in her truck to retrieve her radio. She’d seen the shooter’s face. The Viper. She could identify him.

Clay followed the direction of Kino’s gaze. “She okay?”

“Shaken.”

Clay nodded. “Understandable. So, do we chase him or question her?”

The need to hunt warred with the need to protect this woman who seemed to have no self-preservation instinct of her own.

“Her,” he said.

“Okay, then. We can wait for BP and then go cut for sign.”

Clay’s and Kino’s radios came alive simultaneously as their captain called in.

“Clay? Kino? Over.”

Clay lifted the radio. “Here, sir.”

“Border patrol is requesting you meet them at the closest access point. If you aren’t there, they’ll miss it.”

“No doubt,” muttered Kino.

“Yes, sir.” Clay glanced at Kino, who nodded. “On my way.”

“Can either of you identify the shooter?” asked Captain Rubio.

“Negative. Only witness is Miss Altaha.”

“From Oasis?”

“Affirmative.”

“Okay. Bring her for pickup by BP in twenty.”

“En route.”

Clay hooked his radio back on his shoulder and met Kino’s gaze. “I’m calling Councilman Mangan. He’ll want tribal representatives here.”

“Satellite phone’s in the car,” said Kino. “I’ll get Altaha.”

As he turned to collect their witness, he glanced at the four bodies. He had considered them no more than collateral damage, pawns in this game of chess. They weren’t the first to be killed execution style, stripped of the drugs and then left to rot. But they were the first he’d really noticed. He had his witness to thank for that.

What had she said—that they were people? He looked at them—really looked for the first time. The men were thin, dust-covered, wearing old trousers and new camo shirts provided for their journey. Their feet were sheathed in the odd shoes sewn from sections of carpet to obscure their prints from trackers like him. They’d been hired to carry a load with promises that it would earn them their passage. Instead they had earned a body bag. They’d been used and discarded, as if they were nothing more than the empty water jugs they had carried. Kino admitted to himself that he had used them, too. For him, they had been just a means to find the Viper.

The discomfort made Kino turn away.

Clay was on the satellite phone, the only sure means of communication in many of the more isolated areas out here. He lowered the phone and turned to Kino.

“Mangan is coming himself with another member of the tribe. They want us to meet them, as well.”

“We’ve gone from trackers to an escort service.”

Clay’s smile was fleeting. He motioned with his head. “She’s crying.”

Kino met his brother’s look of discomfort with one of his own.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Your witness. You said so.” He might as well have shouted, “Not it!”

“Great,” said Kino, hoping his captain got here before border patrol so they could get going.

Kino headed to the battered pickup and found Lea wiping her eyes. But she didn’t fall into his arms or shatter like the windshield. Instead she met his cautious gaze with one of her own.

“What now?”

“Gotta get you to Cardon Station. They’re coming to pick you up.”

Lea sighed and followed him to the SUV, where they drove to the highway.

An hour later the rattlesnake rattle had been removed from the one man’s wound and all four bodies had been bagged. The Bureau of Indian Affairs—BIA—and the US Border Patrol, the field operations director from ICE, Shadow Wolves captain Rick Rubio and two members of the Tohono O’odham tribal council were all on site. Lea had been transported to border patrol headquarters while Kino and Clay continued to cook out here in the desert heat.

Kino stared up at the sky, counting the minutes the Viper had to escape. But now Kino had something he’d never had before: a witness.

The last to arrive was a representative from Oasis. Their regional director was a guy named Anthony DeClay: a white guy, tall, with a muscular frame evident beneath the pale blue, long-sleeved, button-up shirt he wore. Stitched to the left breast pocket was the Oasis insignia: two crossed flagpoles topped with triangular royal blue flags. The flags were a shorter interpretation of the ten-foot poles and flags that alerted travelers from a distance to the presence of water. Kino glanced from the symbol to the worn circular ring on the opposite pocket.

Was it tobacco or a tin of rattlesnake rattles?

Kino’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man now engaged in conversation with one of the tribal council, comparing his body type to the Viper and finding a possible match. The gist of the conversation was the time frame for removal of the water stations from tribal lands. Kino knew that the Oasis organization had many stations set up illegally on federal land and the Bureau of Land Management seemed to mostly look the other way. Kino thought that Oasis made a habit of going where it was not welcome. Oasis claimed it had not erected the stations, but did seem to be maintaining them.

DeClay appeared to be in his midforties with an affable smile and mirrored sunglasses. He was covered with dust even though he’d been in an air-conditioned Ford Explorer complete with water tanks, pump and coiled hose. He dangled his keys off his index finger. Kino noticed the key ring immediately because it included a one-inch rattlesnake rattle encased in clear acrylic. The man fingered the fob as he spoke to the tribal councilman.

Kino glanced at Clay, who gave the slightest nod. He’d seen the fob, as well.

Border patrol captain Gus Barrow joined the conversation. DeClay said that he had not met Lea Altaha yet, as she had been out in the field both times he had been through to check in with their area supervisor, a woman named Margaret Crocker. DeClay explained that he supervised the Oasis program in Texas, New Mexico and now Arizona. He said they had strict regulations about traveling in pairs, a rule that Altaha had apparently ignored. According to the manager, Crocker, Lea’s usual partner had recently left the organization. Altaha had been assigned a temporary partner who had called in sick. At that point, Lea had taken her own initiative and picked up the wrong map, the one denoting the stations designated to be removed, and come out here all alone, which was against every protocol they had. She had received no authorization from anyone to be on Indian land and DeClay was not willing to guess if her mistake was accidental or intentional.

The one tribal councilman Kino knew, Sam Mangan, had words with DeClay, telling him to get this station off Indian land today. DeClay promised to remove the barrels immediately and excused himself to make some calls.

Kino glanced again at the two blue barrels resting on their sides on a wooden frame. The two-by-fours and nails had that just-built glow. Strange, he thought. They were not scratched from blowing sand or worn. In fact, the station looked brand-new.

“That station hasn’t been there very long,” said Kino to his brother.

“Nails are still shiny.”

Kino watched DeClay and one of his fellows get the blue barrels loaded. The fact that they could lift them without emptying the water led Kino to surmise that the barrels were empty. But the way the two men carried them seemed wrong.

Kino went to speak to his captain. “I think there might be something in those barrels.”

Captain Rubio glanced at the two men hoisting the containers with renewed interest. “Maybe so. Worth a look.”

Clay asked permission to cut for sign but their conversation was interrupted by Captain Barrow.

“Why wasn’t I alerted to your men’s location?” asked Barrow.

“We alerted you,” said Rubio.

“After they found the bodies.”

Rubio said nothing.

“We’re supposed to be coordinating operations,” Barrow reminded Rubio. “If your men don’t report in and they go missing, we won’t have the first idea where to begin our search.”

Rubio smiled. “I would.”

Barrow snorted. “What if they were shot?”

“That’s easier.” Rubio pointed skyward. “Just follow the buzzards.” Sure enough, the black birds already circled, having smelled the carrion from miles away.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like sending my guys home in body bags.”

Kino wanted to tell them they weren’t his guys but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Rubio spoke again. “That rattle in the wound might link this to the Cosen murder.”

“Oh, this again?” Barrow threw up his hands. “Listen, that was ten years ago. And their father wasn’t crossing the border—he was found in his home. I know because I looked it up.”

“He had a bullet wound in his chest and a rattlesnake rattle plugging the hole,” said Kino. “Just like that guy.” Kino pointed at the body being stowed in the refrigerated truck.

“Right. So it has to be the same guy. Where’s he been for ten years?”

“I don’t know. Prison? Or maybe no one noticed the rattles. You don’t do autopsies on all the bodies.”

“We do on all the ones with bullet holes,” said Barrow.

Kino glanced at Clay, who shrugged. For reasons he did not understand, Clay seemed fine with letting their father’s killer go free. At least, he wasn’t driven to find him. None of his brothers seemed to share his coal-hot need to bring this guy down. Restless spirits haunted the living. That was what his grandmother believed. Kino believed it, too, because his father’s murder had haunted him every day for all ten years since Kino had witnessed his death.

Barrow turned to Rubio. “I request a copy of their report.”

“Report?” said Clay. Thus far they had been blissfully free from paperwork. That alone almost made up for the heat.

His captain rubbed his neck and glanced at Barrow.

“I’ll get you something.”

“What about my witness?” asked Kino.

“Your witness?” Barrow snorted. “You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t sue your ass. Don’t think she’ll want to see you again.”

“She’s the only one who’s seen his face,” said Kino.

Captain Barrow stopped, turned and glared. “You think I missed that part?”

“No, sir. She can identify him.”

“Yeah?”

Kino nodded. “So she needs protection.” Unless she was one of them. He pushed that unwelcome thought aside, not wanting to consider Lea as a criminal. But she had broken a lot of rules.

“I’ve already arranged for tribal to keep an eye on her overnight. She’ll be at the station for a while yet. I want to speak to her.”

Rubio turned to Kino. “So this guy took the drugs. He’s either robbing the smugglers or he was their contact. That makes him local. This is his territory.” Rubio looked to Barrow. “Roadblocks?”

“In place. And an APB on the vehicle.”

“Sir.” Kino spoke to his captain. “I’d like to volunteer to keep watch over the witness tonight.”

Rubio’s brow arched. “You’re a Shadow Wolf, son. Not local tribal police or border patrol. That’s not our job and this is not your murder investigation.” He pointed at the tire tracks leaving the area. “That’s your job.”

Kino opened his mouth to argue but his captain gave a slow shake of his head.

“He might come after her,” Kino said.

“He might. Tribal or border patrol will handle it. Either way, you’re out.”

Like hell, he thought.

Chapter Five

Kino should have let it go. But he couldn’t. Lea Altaha was the key to the entire thing. He could no more leave her be than he could drop the search for his father’s murderer.

“I’d like to help in the investigation. I’m a police officer.”

Rubio sighed and looked at Barrow. The border patrol captain’s face reddened.

“Not here you’re not,” said Barrow, looking to Kino’s captain for backup.

Rubio’s usually impassive face remained unchanged, but his eyes took on a hawkish quality. “BP inspects, detains, deports. ICE enforces and we look for signs.”

Barrow’s expression turned smug. “Exactly.”

Captain Rubio directed his comments to Barrow. “But as a Shadow Wolf? That means he sees things others can’t. And to use your own words, we’re supposed to be coordinating operations. So I expect to be kept in the loop regarding Altaha.”

“Hmm,” said Barrow. “Well, I’ve got to check those barrels and get those Tohono O’odham Indians off the warpa—” He glanced at Rubio, Kino and Clay. “Uh, all right, then.”

Barrow walked away.

Clay watched the BP captain retreat. “Was he about to say ‘warpath’?”

“Sounded like it,” said Rubio. “Americans. Still think they run everything, including this border.”

Rubio left them to go talk to the guys from ICE.

Kino met the cold look his brother cast him, a look that said Kino had, unfortunately, acted exactly as Clay had expected. His brother’s words replayed in his mind. They say go left and you go right.

Barrow had said that Lea was now their witness. Well, Kino needed that description. And that meant he would see her again.

Barrow was already having the barrels pulled down from the Oasis truck.

Kino nudged Clay. “What do you know about their captain?”

“He took early retirement up in Tucson. Police detective, I think.” Clay watched Barrow. “Been in charge here a few years. Guys say he’s a pain in the butt about procedure and, man, you better be where he tells you or else.”

So he had way more law enforcement experience than Kino did. He knew things, had seen things, but he wasn’t Apache. He couldn’t read sign.

Their captain returned, studying the ground as he approached. “You two think you can find that truck—the one with the missing back window?”

Kino and Clay nodded simultaneously.

“Check in if you find anything.”

Dismissed, the brothers climbed back into their SUV. From the twin-tread access road, they could see that the last vehicle leaving this way had turned south. So they turned south. Then they stopped at every turnoff on either side of the road, looking for matching treads.

One small road, that had been leveled once or so within the past six months, had a set of tracks coming from the highway and back into the desert. There had been another vehicle coming from the correct direction and the tread matched, so they followed the matching tread marks and ended up at a small ranch just inside the rez. The truck had pulled in here. A few hundred yards up, they found a squat little house, sheep pens, sheep and a pickup truck with the back window blown out. Clay covered Kino as he stepped out into the heat and examined the bullet holes. They’d found the truck. Now where was the driver?

“I’m calling Rubio.” Clay lifted his radio and spoke to their captain.

Then they headed for the modest one-story home that had the appearance of BIA housing written all over it. The bureau’s Housing and Urban Development oversaw most tribal housing and Kino recognized the look from Black Mountain. The structure was one floor set on a concrete slab, built from cinder blocks and painted the same drab brown as the sand. Someone had added a porch, which lilted and sagged. The plywood roof had been left unpainted as it darkened and curled. The windows were dirty and the paint was peeling. The yellowing stain on the door had all but worn off, exposing the lower portion of wood to the harsh sun. That was what happened when you had to wait for HUD to do the maintenance. Still, if it was anything like Black Mountain, even crumby housing was scarce.

Clay and Kino hadn’t reached the lopsided step when a man appeared in the half-open door. He was middle-aged, tall, slim, with a distended belly that said he liked beer more than food. He was white but the desert sun had burned him to a brownish pink, and the deep wrinkles on his work-worn face showed he didn’t spend all his time drinking. Although the red spider veins that covered his cheeks and nose indicated he had an earnest commitment to that pursuit. Kino wondered if he owned a sweat-stained straw cowboy hat.

“Yeah?” asked the man by way of a greeting. He smelled like a brewery.

“We’re with ICE,” said Kino. “Shadow Wolves Unit.”

The man nodded, his smile humorless. “Yeah. I figured. You working break-ins now?”

“Break-ins?” asked Clay.

He nodded again. “Yeah. Two days ago. You guys just getting here now? They’re long gone. Why don’t you just sit over there by the sheep pen? Bound to be another group along anytime.”

A woman appeared behind him, short, round and a Tohono O’odham from the look of her. She wore a bright pink T-shirt that was large and tight, gray sweatpants and a frown.

“What now?” she asked.

“Damned if I know,” said the man.

“Your names?” asked Clay.

“I’m Bill Moody and this here is my wife, Arnette.”

“This your place?”

“We rent it,” he said.

“Did you call about the break-in?” asked Kino.

“Don’t have no phone out here.” Or electricity, since there was no power line to the house, just the constant roar of a generator somewhere round the back and the propane tank for heat. The yard was a mess, with trash littering the porch and a rusted-out pickup tucked under the carport. But beyond the residence and past the sheep pens sat a solid, clean outbuilding made of concrete with an aluminum roof. The contrast between the two buildings struck Kino as odd, as did the solid padlock on the large garage door.

“Is that your truck?” Kino pointed to the pickup with the shattered back window and numerous bullet holes. It was sitting to the side of the outbuilding with just the front visible from where they stood.

Arnette gave a shriek and Bill swore then headed out toward the truck.

“What happened?” he asked, his arms out and his face a mask of shock.

“Did you lend it to someone?” asked Clay.

Arnette reached the tailgate and fingered a hole. “Somebody shot it up.” She turned to them, her jaw open as she panted from her exertions. “I didn’t hear no shooting.”

“Where do you keep the keys?” asked Kino, fearing the answer.

“Right up there on the dash,” said Bill.

Arnette shuffled along on swollen feet. “Right there.”

Clay was already searching the ground for sign. Kino noticed the key ring had a red metal fob inlaid with the image of a coiled silver rattlesnake. His eyes narrowed on the key ring and then on Moody.

Kino asked a few more questions and learned that Bill worked in Pima at the auto-repair shop but had the day off. Kino also discovered that illegals were frequent visitors to this place, filling their water containers at the hose and stealing clothing from the line.

“Them illegals even broke in here while she was at church and cooked a meal right there in our kitchen.”

“And left a mess,” said Arnette.

Clay returned. “Looks like a truck, newer tires. Footprint shows one single male, construction boots, weighs about two-twenty.”

Arnette stared at Clay in wonder. “You boys are them? Part of the unit. All Indian? Right? The Shadow Wolves?”

Clay nodded then checked the tread left by Bill Moody. Kino waited for Clay to lift his head and give a shake. But he didn’t. He merely shrugged. That meant he couldn’t eliminate Moody. Clearly he was wearing different shoes. But his size matched the prints.

“Did you see anyone today?” asked Kino.

“Been inside all day. Threw out my back chasing one of them rams. He got out somehow.” He pointed vaguely toward the pens.

Kino looked at Arnette, who dropped her gaze and shook her head.

“Will you call us if you see a guy? Big, white, wearing a cowboy hat.” Kino handed over a card.

Moody rejected the card. “I don’t got a phone.”

“Then find someone who does,” Kino said and then held Moody’s gaze until the man looked away.

“He dangerous?” asked Moody.

Kino nodded.

Arnette made a sound of discontent in her throat. “Guess I’ll start carrying my shotgun again.”

Unlike Lea, Mrs. Moody seemed to have no qualms about arming herself against danger.

“That your barn?”

“Garage,” corrected Moody. “Sheep don’t need no barn.”

“You always keep your garage locked like that?” said Kino, pointing at the padlock.

“Told you that migrants come through here. They steal everything that ain’t locked down. Sleep in there if they could,” said Moody.

“Can we have a look inside?”

Moody’s jaw bulged and he narrowed his eyes. “What’s this about?”

“Shooting in the desert.”

“I don’t know nothing about it. And as you can see, the garage is locked. No other way in.”

Kino’s antenna for lies vibrated. He wanted a look in that garage. But he didn’t have cause, so he handed over a card.

“Still, I’d like to have a look inside,” said Kino.

Moody’s face reddened. “Well, you can’t. Now get off my property.”

“Thought you said it was rented,” said Clay.

“I had enough talking to the both of you. Coming in here with a lot of questions. Why don’t you catch the damned migrants instead of bothering us? They’re like damned locusts.” He hoisted up his pants. “We done here?” asked Moody.

Kino touched his brow in salute. “All done. Thank you for your help.”

Moody growled and folded his arms, waiting for them to leave.

“You buy his story?” Kino asked Clay.

“Tracks didn’t match. But he is wearing sneakers now and the size and his weight are about right. Whoever it was, he changed vehicles. Had another behind this building, judging from the tracks.”

“Like to get a look inside there,” said Kino, thumbing over his shoulder at the building that was too new and too well kept to be on this property.

“Think you need a warrant,” said Clay.

“She didn’t look at us when I asked if she’d seen anyone,” Kino said. “Might want to speak to her when he’s not around. Maybe she’ll let us have a look inside.”

“Come back in an hour,” said Clay. “The way he’s going, he’ll be passed out by then.”

“Couldn’t she hear someone starting a truck?”

“Not with a generator and television on,” said Clay.

“I suppose.”

“I saw those other tracks on the turnoff. They’re headed south. Same way we’re going.”

“Could that car be a Ford Explorer?” Kino was thinking of Anthony DeClay, Lea’s boss. The one with the new truck and the key ring with the rattlesnake rattle.

“Sure or a Ram or a Toyota, Chevy or Subaru. Can’t tell from the tire tread. Only shows the width and tire brand. Not the make. You know that.”

They reached their vehicle and Kino settled into the driver’s seat. “Let’s go talk to Altaha. See if she can give us that description.”

“Don’t you think she would have mentioned if the guy who pointed a gun at her was her boss?”

“She’s never seen him. He said so at the scene. She’s been out in the field both times he visited. Love to have her take a look at Moody, too.”

“Yeah,” Clay said and buckled in. “But that sounds a lot like an investigation and you quit your job on Tribal.”

“Leave of absence.”

“Yeah, well, Gabe told you there were plenty of dead cases on the rez. If you want to investigate crimes, we could have stayed put.”

Kino didn’t take the bait. He needed to find out all he could about Lea Altaha. “Call Rubio. Tell them we found the truck and ask what they have on Altaha.”

Clay lifted the radio and Kino turned them toward Cardon Station, where his witness would be waiting. Because no matter what Barrow said, Lea was his witness and he had a lot more questions.

Chapter Six

Lea was tired, drained, dusty and hungry. All she wanted to do was go home, or what passed for home while she was in Pima finishing her college internship before starting as an anthropologist for the Salt River reservation’s historical society.

The border patrol officer paused, looking over what he had typed on the computer monitor. A sheen of sweat made his brown skin gleam despite the churning air conditioner. The stitched name on his forest green shirt read D. Mulhay, though he had not bothered to introduce himself. Where she came from that was considered very impolite.

“Are we done?” she asked him.

“Almost.” He scanned the form. “I just need your partner’s name.”

“I was alone today.”

Mulhay typed in the information and then glanced up, studying her in silence for a moment. “I don’t mean to tell you your business, Miss Altaha, but you shouldn’t be out there alone.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the window. “Guess you know that already.”

“Yeah.”

Mulhay glanced at the glowing screen. “I think that’s everything. I got your number if I need anything else. Oh, Captain Barrow said he wants to speak to you, but he’s still at the scene.”

“Fine. When?”

“We’ll give you a call.”

Lea rubbed her forehead, vainly trying to push away the image of the murdered men. The memory made her flesh crawl.

She rose, hesitated and then returned to her seat. “Um, they impounded my truck, so...”

“Oh, I can get you a lift.” Mulhay made the call then replaced the handset on the cradle. “They’ll let me know when the unit is out front.”

“Is it okay if I make a call?” she asked.

“Of course.” He motioned to his phone. She lifted her cellular and gave it a little wave. “Oh, fine,” he said, turning back to his computer and the report.

Lea called Margie, hoping she’d still be in the office.

Margie told her that Anthony DeClay, the regional director she had yet to meet, wanted to see her first thing in the morning.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“He’s plenty mad,” said Margie. “Especially when he heard you went out there alone. I think he might fire you.”

“I’m a volunteer,” she reminded Margie.

“Fail you, then. Send you home. The tribal guys are really peeved.” She paused. “Lea, you shouldn’t have done that. It’s against guidelines. And the map you took. It’s of the water stations we are removing, not filling.”

“We need more water stations. Not less.”

“Not up to us. The tribal council wants them out.” Margie hesitated once more then said, “Come in with Ernesta tomorrow and stick with her. She knows the rules.”

That really meant that Ernesta followed the rules. Lea knew them, as well. But rules had never stopped her from doing what she felt was right. In this case, that meant filling any blue barrel she could find. “Listen, I’m sorry about the map, Margie. It was just a mix-up. Ernesta was supposed to do the navigating.”

“Bring me that map tomorrow and you don’t go out until I see Ernesta or Nita.”

“Sure.” Lea’s tone flattened with her spirits. “Can I get another truck delivered to the RV park in Pima tomorrow?”

“Where’s yours?”

Lea glanced at Mulhay, who quirked a brow.

“Impounded. Part of the investigation,” said Lea.

“Geez. Maybe. I’ll see what I can manage,” said Margie. “Do you think Ernesta could use hers? We have magnets for the doors.”

“I’ll ask her,” said Lea.

“And tell her I hope she feels better,” Margie added.

“You bet,” said Lea.

“I’ll see what I can do about getting that truck back.”

“And repaired,” said Lea.

“Repaired?”

Lea described the damage and Margie uttered “Oh, geez” another four or five times.

Margie told her that she’d take care of it and to get some rest. Lea ended the call.

Mulhay watched her. “You’re lucky to be alive, you know.”

That made her chin begin to quiver, a sure sign that tears were imminent.

“And it’s only a truck,” he said. “You gonna be okay tonight?”

She knew she wouldn’t be, but she gave him a quavering smile, nodded and swallowed back the lump growing in her throat. “I’ll be okay.”

“Tribal police will be keeping an eye on you tonight.”

Lea’s phone vibrated. She glanced down to see Ernesta’s name and photo fill the screen. She took the call.

“Lea, you home yet?” Ernesta’s voice had a definite nasal quality from her head cold.

“Not yet.”

Ernesta gave a wet cough that made Lea think the head cold had moved into her lungs. “Boy, Margie was plenty pissed when I called in. How’d it go today?”

She doesn’t know. Lea blinked as that realization sank in.

“Not so good.”

“Well, see, you need us. Nita got back this afternoon, so she and I are going out tomorrow. You can ride along until your new partner shows up. Friday, right?”

Lea wondered how to tell Ernesta about the shooting and, well, everything.

“Are you well enough to go out?” Lea asked.

“I think so. The cold medicine is helping. Listen, somebody cracked our water pipe outside the trailer, so they had to shut it off. Can we use your trailer to take a shower?”

“Sure. You know where the extra key is?”

“Yup. Thanks.”

“Ernesta?”

“Yeah?”

“I need to talk to you. Tell you what happened today.”

“Sure. Nita is out getting us tacos. Come by for dinner.”

“All right.”

Ernesta disconnected and Lea put away her phone.

The border patrol officer took a call and glanced at her as he spoke. “Good. We’re on our way.” He covered the receiver. “Your ride is here.”

Lea rose and the officer followed, standing behind his desk as he returned the phone to the cradle.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She trailed along beside Mulhay, through the maze of hallways and finally out the main entrance of the new Cardon Station. This was the federal government’s answer to the increase in illegal immigration. Though how building a larger detention and processing center addressed the issue she didn’t know, unless it was because they now had a larger morgue and an entire refrigerated tractor-trailer fleet to keep the bodies cool.

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