“You and Cowboy seemed to be getting along well.” Joe shot a look at Delaney across the interior of the Jeep. “I’ve never known him to be that open with strangers.”
“It’s my midwestern charm. Few men can resist it.”
“Maybe it’s the other way around. I’ve heard stories. Back in the day, I hear he was quite a ladies’ man. Been married three times. Outlived them all.”
She scooched down in the seat and braced her knees against the glove compartment. “You didn’t tell me he was a shaman. A crystal gazer, he said. He invited me back to talk to him. I’ll definitely make a point of doing that.”
Changing the subject, she asked curiously, “So what did you find out from…William, was it?”
Joe nodded, the sunglasses he wore shielding his eyes. “Cowboy’s grandson. Seems ol’ Billy worked himself a private deal with someone a couple years ago. He claims he leased that section of land to some stranger who approached him. Only saw him the once and can’t give a description of him.”
“Convenient,” she muttered. “Do you believe him?”
It took a while for Joe to answer. “For now, anyway. William was sent up for operating a chop shop in Flagstaff. He’d steal a vehicle, disassemble it and sell the parts. Strictly small-time. Maybe had another guy or two working with him when he was busted. Had the bad luck of stealing the mayor of Flagstaff’s new Porsche.”
“But you found lots of tracks at the site, you said.”
“Probably a pickup, and at least one large van or panel truck. ATVs. But nothing that would lead me to believe William was operating in that area. Why would he? He’s got it made now, living a pretty easy life for very little work, just pretending to take care of Cowboy.”
Delaney frowned. She didn’t like the idea of the remarkable man she’d just met being taken advantage of, even by family. “I think you should have brought him in,” she said firmly. “Put a scare in him at least.”
He threw her an amused glance. “So now you’re Miss-demeanor?”
She made a face. “He might know something. Maybe if you had that picture I started for you, the one you were going to…” A folded-up paper landed in her lap. Unfolding it, she studied the composite the police artist had completed. “So now what?”
“Our mug files have been computerized for a few years now. I’ll feed in a composite sketch and the computer compares it to the mug shot database, using a standard composite program. I just haven’t had time to sit down with it.”
When she made an impressed sound, one corner of his mouth curved. “Our federal tax dollars at work. Someone wrote a grant. Yet we still have a hard time getting radios that work and run-flat tires for the police vehicles.”
“So when do you think that you’ll get around to matching the sketch?”
“You’re as bad as Taos,” he muttered. “I could go back and do it tonight. I’m getting used to going without sleep.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she responded mildly. She waited a beat. “Tomorrow will be soon enough.” Laughing at his expression, she continued, “I’ve got a date tomorrow with the guide the council was kind enough to provide me with. The way I understand it, I can use him for any tour I want to take on Navajo Nation lands, which will make things a lot easier for me.”
“Like I said, you’ve got a powerful friend. Taos is protecting his investment.”
His tone hardened with the last statement, and Delaney glanced at him curiously. “Taos? What investment?”
“You can’t afford to be naive. The council bucked a lot of public resentment by bringing a non-Navajo in here to write a book on our culture that could have been done by a tribe member.”
So they were back to that again. Straightening, she set her feet on the floor. “Forgive me for believing that my experience in photojournalism and my résumé can’t be duplicated, despite my lack of bloodline.”
There was impatience in the look he threw her, but something else, as well. Something that may have been concern. “That’s right, it can’t be duplicated. They’re using you, Delaney. Banking on the publicity your next project is going to bring, counting on the fact that the publishing world is going to pay major money to snap up anything you decide to write, and that millions of readers are going to want to get their hands on it.”
Lifting a shoulder, she wondered at the tinge of bitterness in his words. “That’s the way my world works, Joe. You spend years clawing and scratching, hoping to get to this point. If you’re fortunate, you get there through sheer talent, but there are lots of people in the field just as talented, just as driven. So sometimes circumstances, or sometimes just dumb luck, lands a person at the top. In the end it doesn’t matter how I got here because now publishers are calling my agent, not the other way around. Of course the council is looking at the money and publicity this project stands to bring the tribe. Anyone who hires me at this point in my career is banking on the same thing.”
“And how will the publicity affect you?”
Puzzled, she turned in her seat to face him. “What do you mean?”
The look he gave her was grim. “I know how the press works. There will be…what do you call them, book tours? And interviews?”
“If my agent and publicist do their jobs, yes.”
“And the interviewers won’t just talk about your newest project, they’ll drag up your experiences in Baghdad, rake up the past. Why would you willingly put yourself in that situation? Don’t try to tell me it isn’t going to bother you. I’ve seen just how powerful those memories are, remember.”
There was a spurt of anger at the reminder. Yes, he’d seen her weak and vulnerable, and he’d never realize just how deeply that sliced. No one, not even her family, had ever known how close to the precipice she’d been at times, how little it would have taken to send her toppling over the edge.
Delaney didn’t speak until she could be certain her voice would be steady. “I can handle that when it happens. Maybe you don’t believe it, but I’m stronger, a lot stronger, than you give me credit for.” He didn’t have to know about the demons that still lingered in the night or her despair at recently realizing that she was not nearly as close to vanquishing them as she’d believed. “I don’t fault the council for wanting to cash in on all the publicity my name can bring them. They made a good business decision, the right one for all concerned.”
“Was it?” There was a bite to his words. “So who’s concerned about you, Delaney? Who’s looking out for what’s best for you?”
Stunned, she could only stare at him. She’d thought this conversation had stemmed from his disagreement with the council’s decision. But now…she could almost believe he sounded worried. About her.
Dusk was falling. He reached up to take off the dark glasses, folded them and stuffed them with just a little more force than necessary into place on the visor. “Just don’t pretend that this won’t cost you anything. Not with me.”
Something unfurled in her chest and her lips curved. “Well, Joe Youngblood. Careful, or you’ll have me thinking you’re concerned on my behalf.” The look he shot her was dangerous, but she just settled back, enjoying the crazy glow spreading through her system.
And it was crazy, she acknowledged freely. Crazy to be attracted to a man with whom there was no future. They had no connection, other than a chemistry that sparked to life every time they were together for more than a few minutes.
She’d seen a therapist for months when she returned to the States. He accused her of trying to exert control over her world because events in it had so rapidly rendered her helpless. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was seeing complications where none existed.
Despite what Joe thought, she was very, very good at protecting herself. But that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate his showing a little protectiveness on her behalf.
The rest of the ride was accomplished in silence. But when Joe pulled up in front of her house and placed the vehicle in Park, Delaney slid toward him, slipped a hand along his jaw and pulled his head down to hers. She could feel the surprise in him, the sudden tension that spoke of wariness or something else. She didn’t try to identify it.
His inaction lasted only seconds. Then his mouth came alive beneath hers, and he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. His dark, sensual flavor arrowed through her system, played havoc with her pulse.
When his tongue pushed into her mouth, she met it with her own. Her fingers delved into his hair and she brought him closer. He knew exactly how to kiss, she thought dizzily, hard, hot and wet, as if he was staking a claim. He exuded a smoldering sexuality that a woman couldn’t help but want to test. And once tested, come back for more.
She unbuttoned the first three buttons of his denim shirt, then swept her hand in, fingers tingling where they touched warm smooth flesh. One of his hands came up to clasp hers, and slowly, reluctantly she opened her eyes.
“Hard to keep this straight. Are we done being smart?” he rasped.
Remembering their last conversation when she’d sent him away, she pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth. “How about if we settle for being careful?” He didn’t respond, just continued to look at her with that heavy-lidded gaze. “I’m going to be here for several months, Joe. And then I’ll leave. There’s really no reason to deny ourselves this, is there?” She took his bottom lip in her teeth, scored it lightly. “As long as we both want the same thing until then, what’s the harm?”
There was a long moment when she thought he’d answer. But then the moment passed and he opened his car door, her hand still in his. Fingers clasped, they walked up her front stairs, the sexual awareness growing with every step.
Delaney fumbled for the keys she’d slipped in her pocket, opened the door. Already she was having second thoughts. Who was she kidding here, really, herself or Joe? But before the thoughts could take root and doubt bloom, he followed her in the doorway and crowded her against the wall, his mouth in search of hers again.
Her muscles took on the consistency of warm wax. There was the hunger she remembered in his kiss. The hint of savagery that called to an answering wildness in her. She’d never been one to shy away from danger. And there was danger of a sort in Joe’s arms, in the fierce pressure of his mouth, in the dark promise of his touch. But it was a danger she longed to explore.
His hand went beneath her shirt, unsnapped her bra and she gave a hum of approval as she made short work of the rest of the buttons on his shirt, eager to feel flesh against flesh.
Their hands battled as they strove to undress each other and then he was pressed against her. She hissed in a satisfied breath at the contact. Her hands roamed his back, muscle punctuated by vertebrae, then traced the corded strength in his shoulders. His chest was smooth, his bronzed skin several shades darker than her own. And she had a slightly primitive compulsion to taste it with lips and tongue.
He shuddered against her when she did and Delaney had a moment to savor his reaction before she found herself swung up in his arms. His eyes glinted down into hers. “The bed this time.”
Lazily, she linked her arms around his neck. “We found the bed last time,” she reminded him. “Eventually.”
He dropped her on the bed, his face stamped with unmistakable male appreciation as he swiftly stripped, modesty obviously not a factor. And he definitely had no cause to be modest. Delaney propped herself on one elbow to admire his hard flat abs, lean flanks and the straining length of his manhood.
Her perusal was cut short when he joined her on the bed. Her hands streaked over him, down his sleek ridged sides, around to clutch at his taut buttocks.
He had her naked in a few swift movements, then she pushed at his shoulders, urged him on to his back. A satisfied smile curving her lips, she slid on top of him, and savored for a moment the exquisite sensation of bare flesh to bare flesh everywhere they touched-legs, hips, chests.
There was something fundamentally sexy about a man who let a woman enjoy his body, slowly, languorously, without attempting to take control or hasten toward the end. She kissed the cord at the side of his neck, tested it with her teeth, before moving lower to explore the dips and hollows where sinew met bone. She teased one hard male nipple with her tongue. Her palm slid along his side, over his hip, across his belly, and she felt the muscles jump and clutch under her touch.
His hands were hard, just shy of rough, as they swept over her shoulders to find her breasts. Her vision blurred as he took a nipple between thumb and forefinger, squeezing lightly. As a result her nip to the skin just above his hip was a bit sharper than she intended. But the resulting hiss she heard from him wasn’t one of pain.
He was hard, turgid and she pressed her mouth along his belly, careful not to touch him where he straining and ready with anything more than a whisper-soft breath. Her fingers skated down a solid muscled thigh, nails scraping lightly and she could tell the exact moment when his patience neared its end.
The fingers he threaded through her hair were just short of desperate as her palm skated closer, inch by infinitesimal inch, until she closed her fingers around his rigid length. The satisfied sound he made abruptly strangled when she took him into her mouth.
She had mere moments to relish the flavor of him, infinitely dark and sinful, to slide her tongue down his velvety shaft and up again to taste the heated drop of his desire at the tip. To stroke him in a way designed to create a madness in his blood, a frantic hammering that would echo the tattoo of her own pulse.
He drew her up for a long desperate kiss, teeth and tongue clashing, his fingers wrapped in her hair, cupping the back of her head to hold her close. And she knew then that her efforts to drive him just a little mad entrapped her as well. In seducing, she was seduced. Her ministrations had the blood chugging through her veins, inflaming her passion even as she deliberately stoked his.
She felt him tense below her and knew that in another instant he’d have her stretched out beneath him. But she wasn’t ready for it to be over. Not until they both were shuddering with desperation. Not until she’d etched a lasting memory on his mind, one that time and distance wouldn’t completely erase, even after she was gone.
She tore her mouth from his and straddled him, her hands stroking his sweat-slicked skin. His clever wicked fingers were finding all the places guaranteed to make her forget everything but the urgent need to find the shattering satisfaction she already knew he could bring her.
He was fumbling with the foil packet he must have taken from his jeans pocket, cursing viciously when it took too long to open. Delaney took the latex sheath from him, positioned it and then rolled it with excruciating slowness down his shaft.
His face was a hard mask of desire, brutal in its intent. The sight called to something reckless in her, a fervent wish to tempt and tease until his uncertain control shattered. But his hands were on her breasts, the deliberate teasing of her nipples firing a path straight to her womb. He rose to take one in his mouth, not quite gently, and her vision hazed.
She pressed him back, guiding his hands over his head to close his fingers around the old iron headboard. His eyes slitted as she took him in her hand and guided him to her softness. Then paused until he gasped a curse, a prayer, before taking him in, one tiny fraction at a time.
He felt thick, huge. That first bolt of pleasure had her head lolling, breathing growing strangled. She took him farther inside and then, when she heard him groan, lifted again. She drove them both a little crazy by keeping her movements shallow, denying them both the urgent motion they craved.
Somewhere in the distance she heard an animal’s mournful cry and the sound called to something basic in her, an elemental primal need to mate. She opened her eyes, tried to focus. Joe’s face was sheened with sweat, his hands clutching tightly around the worn painted iron. Every muscle in his torso, his biceps and shoulders stood out in stark relief. She leaned forward, closed her teeth against one rock-hard pec and unleashed the beast.
In an instant his hands streaked to clutch her hips, and he jerked upward, impaling her on his length, seating himself fully, deeply inside her. Bracing her hands on the muscled planes of his chest she sat up and took over the motion, meeting the rhythmic pumping of his hips with wild frantic movements of her own.
The pleasure careened and collided through her system. Nothing else existed. There was only his slick muscles beneath her fingers, clenching and releasing with each movement, their harsh mingled breathing, the tight grip he had on her hips and the incredible full sensation of his possession.
His hand slipped between their bodies to fondle her, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves until need fisted tightly in her belly. His hips slammed against hers, in wild shuddering lunges, until the implosion of her climax tore through her.
And through the fog of her release she thought she heard her name on his lips, a low guttural sound as he followed her headlong into pleasure.
“I knew it,” Joe muttered, scanning the list of incoming and outgoing numbers Lucas Tallhorse had managed to get from his exam of Quintero’s cell phone. Looking up, he said, “Good job. I appreciate you getting to this so quickly.”
“No problem. It was locked with a security code, but that was made easier by the fact that there are only a couple carriers available around here.” Lucas animatedly explained how he’d gotten the information and Joe could feel his eyes begin to glaze. He listened to talk about SIM cards, IMEI and ESN numbers and digital communication protocols. Finally the man seemed to wind down. “They teach law enforcement classes on cellular forensics now.” His broad face took on the wistful look a man usually reserved for an unattainable woman. “If I could take one, I’d probably get even better at it.”
Joe’s attention was back on the two typed pages stapled together. “Yeah? Maybe you should write a grant. Get the money that way.”
“Hey, that’s a good idea, Joe. I might do that.” Tallhorse walked away, still talking. “A grant. Huh. I could do that.”
But Joe had ceased listening. Graywolf, the little scumbag, was in this thing up to his lying teeth. Joe flipped through the pages, counting twelve calls from Quintero’s cell to Graywolf’s, and more than twice that many from Graywolf’s to the dealer, all in a three-month period.
There were nineteen different numbers in all. He pulled out his notebook, found the page where he’d written Mary Barlow’s number. Comparing it to the ones on the sheet, he found that calls to and from Barlow accounted for a full third of the ones on the list. Then he went back over the sheet and double-checked the numbers from the contact information he had on Quintero’s known clients. When he was done, there were still several numbers unaccounted for. But only two of them showed up several times a month. It would be interesting to see if those two numbers would have shown up on Graywolf’s cell, as well.
Joe sat back, considered. Where did Graywolf figure on the food chain here? Had he been selling drugs for Quintero? That seemed unlikely. Navajo Nation lands were small, relatively speaking. And chances were Quintero would not have wanted to share the wealth.
Which meant that Graywolf was connected to Oree in some other way, or that he was a step above Quintero in the same organization.
Joe considered the idea, decided it had merit. From what he could determine, Graywolf was working at a low-level job for his father’s construction company. Would he be happy making an hourly wage after the kind of money he used to pull down dealing drugs?
They had focused their investigation on Quintero, hoping he could lead them to his supplier, the one in charge of the pipeline smuggling drugs in from Mexico. At this point they had no other suspects.
But Joe had a whole lot of suspicion regarding Graywolf. And however Graywolf was involved in this thing, Quintero’s death meant either an opportunity or a problem. Either way, Graywolf would be unable to remain inactive.
He was going to need a couple officers to help with surveillance on the punk. And they were going to have to do it in a way that would avoid having the kid’s old man bring a mob of lawyers down here and close the kid off.
Glancing at the captain’s door, Joe saw he was on the phone. While he waited for the captain to get free, he went to the computer and brought up the software program he’d told Delaney about. Scanning in the composite picture, he typed in the commands to have it provide a match to the sketch and sat back to wait.
Delaney had been sleeping soundly when he left her this morning, well before dawn. Even in slumber she didn’t appear completely at ease, curled in a ball facing away from him, as if unused to sharing a bed with another. She was going to have to get used to it.
Just a few months and then she’d walk away. She’d made that clear enough. And it was what he wanted, too. Exactly what he wanted. No ties. No pretending the relationship meant more than it did.
And if the thought of that day had his chest tightening, his thoughts darkening, it was because he hadn’t had his fill of her yet. Hadn’t unlocked all the secrets that he sensed she was still hiding. He could only wonder if a few months was going to be long enough.
“In my next life, I want to be a special investigator. Lots of desk work. Probably drink coffee all day.” FBI agent Delmer Mitchell leaned over his shoulder to peer at the computer screen. “You aren’t downloading porn, are you?”
“Of course. I always do it at work because we have a faster connection here.” Rising, he surveyed the fed. “You look like… hell.”
“If it makes you feel better, I feel worse than I look. Where can we talk?”
Joe checked the staff room, found it empty and motioned him in. The man placed his briefcase on the table and sank into a chair. “I am getting too old for this job, or the victims are getting too young. Either way, it’s been a helluva few weeks.”
Multiagency cooperation had been key to the case Joe and Arnie had been assigned. The DEA was working the undercover drug connections and the FBI had been brought in to cover the felony aspect. The NTP had focused on the local angle, with the hope that by comparing information they would more quickly stop the supply of ice to the reservation, before the problem spiraled out of control.
That hope had been extinguished when the three young men were found murdered and their bodies dumped at the side of a road. The FBI had quickly claimed jurisdiction in the case while Joe and Arnie concentrated on the supplier of the drug found in the boys’ systems. That investigation had led to Quintero.
“So what have you got?” Joe asked bluntly. This was the first time Mitchell had surfaced since Quintero’s shooting, and if Joe had to guess, he’d say the agent had slept in the same rumpled suit since.
“Murder weapon was a 9 mm. Hasn’t been found. Same weapon was used on all three. The road was a secondary scene, which we’d already figured.” Joe nodded. There had been almost no blood at the site where the bodies were dumped, indicating they’d been shot elsewhere and then transported.
Mitchell opened his briefcase. He showed Joe some close-ups of the victims’ knees. “Examination of their clothing and bodies indicates that they were forced to kneel for some time prior to their deaths, with their hands tied behind them. Maybe to plead for their lives.”
Joe frowned, studying the pictures of abraded skin. “Sounds even more like gang-style killings.”
“Or some gangsta wannabes. We’ve discovered the three didn’t necessarily hang together, except to get high. Hosteen would score the drugs and the others paid him.”
“So Hosteen could have been a little bigger than you think. Maybe he encroached on someone else’s territory.”
Mitchell looked doubtful. “C’mon, he was only sixteen. How big could he have gotten?”
“Maybe he owed money? Didn’t pay his dealer so they were shot and dumped at a public place as a lesson to others?” Joe’s voice was doubtful. That bespoke of the kind of savagery that was foreign to this area. Not unheard of. But still uncommon.
When drugs were involved, however, violence escalated alarmingly. One statistic estimated that as many as twelve percent of the Navajo teens were using meth. And with the purer form of ice showing up in the area, the brutality was bound to rise significantly.
“Anything else in the tox reports?”
“No, just that they’d all smoked ice a few hours before death.”
Joe nodded. “Did any of them carry cell phones?” When Mitchell shook his head, he pressed, “What about landlines? Do you have phone records for Hosteen?”
“Right here.” The agent produced a sheaf of paper. Joe rose and went back to his desk to get the stapled pages Tallhorse had prepared. Rejoining Mitchell, he looked up the Hosteen number and found it listed three times on the phone’s incoming records. Six outgoing calls had been made from Quintero to Hosteen.
Mitchell linked his fingers and cracked his knuckles loudly. “Those six calls from Quintero to Hosteen might mean you’re on the right track about him not paying. Is this Quintero’s pattern?”
Joe slowly shook his head. “Never has been. I’ve heard of him beating a man half to death over a territorial dispute, but from all accounts he was high when he did it. But then, Oree appears to have gotten much bigger than he used to be. Maybe his tactics changed.”
“Or someone else is pulling his strings. Find a gun when you tossed his place?”
“Two rifles.”
“Well-” Mitchell gathered up the pictures and documents and placed them back in the case “-keep me posted. The trail on those homicides is going cold fast.”
He stood and walked to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back. “Oh, I meant to tell you…saw your ex and your son when I was called back to the Phoenix field office yesterday. Cute kid. Thought you told me they were in Window Rock.”
Joe stilled. “Phoenix,” he repeated carefully.
“Recognized them from the picture you used to have on your desk. I was at Kmart because I forgot toothpaste again. Do that every time.” He waved a hand. “Anyway. Heard your ex giving the clerk her new address for a check she was cashing. Wilshire Heights Boulevard…” He shrugged, continued out the door. “Doesn’t matter. Could have sworn you said they were in Window Rock, though.”
Joe followed him out the door, his limbs feeling wooden. “They were. They…moved again.”
“I figured. Well, keep in touch. I’ll do the same.” Lifting a hand in farewell, Mitchell walked away, leaving Joe staring after him, thoughts fragmented. He didn’t for a moment consider that Mitchell was mistaken. He’d seen that picture on Joe’s desk at least a dozen times over the years, before it had been replaced with one of Jonny alone. And how many blondes did one see with a young Navajo boy in tow?
Rage seethed, a scalding tide threatening to overflow. Heather had lied to him. The knowledge pounded in his blood, hammered in his brain. If she was living off the reservation, without telling him, he could only conclude one thing. She was poised to take off with his son if the custody agreement didn’t go her way.
His fists curled so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. She had to realize that tribal law was going to award custody of a Navajo child to a tribe member living on the land. She stood a chance of sharing custody if she remained on the reservation.
She stood no chance of custody off it.
Had Bruce known this yesterday when he’d come to visit? Had his odd request been an oblique warning that Heather was planning to whisk Jonny away from both of them?
With effort, Joe tamped down the mingled temper and fear that threatened to divert logic. After a moment of weighing options, he headed to the phone on his desk, to the list of contacts in the side drawer. Then calmly, coldly, he dialed the number of a private investigation firm in Phoenix.