Kylie Brant - The Last Warrior

“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.

The flea market was a riot of the senses. Delicious smells wafted from some of the vendors’ booths, while the brightly colored blankets, artwork and crafts caught the eye in others. There was a steady hum of voices, mingled, indistinguishable from this distance, except for an occasional burst of laughter.

Already Delaney’s fingers itched for her camera, ready to capture the vivid color, the slivers of culture and the individuals whose very faces had stories to tell.

“I’d recommend an earlier start next time,” Eddie advised. He’d insisted on carrying one of her tripods, and wore the strap of her second camera around his neck. “That’s the only way to beat the heat in the summer months, at least for a while.”

“I suppose.” Although the statement was true, it didn’t fill her with any enthusiasm. Sleep didn’t come easily enough for her to voluntarily rouse from it only a handful of hours later. But waiting until sheer exhaustion overcame her, usually around 2:00 or 3:00 a.m., she could avoid the nightmares that often plagued her.

Last night had been an exception, however. She quickened her step to keep pace with Eddie’s longer stride. The reason for her wakefulness had been the man lying beside her.

She’d been too aware of him. Long after passion had been spent and his breathing had gone deep, her senses remained alert. It still felt foreign to have his big body spread out next to hers, the weight of his arm curled around her waist, holding her close. Not unpleasant. Just…different.

It wasn’t as if she’d never shared a bed with a man before. But she divided her life into two distinct parts, before Baghdad, and after. There’d been no one since Reid, no one since her life had snapped, then been put back together, forever altered. Sometimes she felt as though she’d been rendered blind two years ago, and she now had her hands out in front of her, feeling her way through days and experiences that used to come so effortlessly.

So when her instinct had been to roll away and curl up in a tight ball meant to ward off the specters that frequently accompanied sleep, she’d made herself lie there. And get used to the still steady warmth of a man she couldn’t say she really even knew, on a personal level. But one who called to something deep inside her.

“Give me a minute.” Delaney took the camera out of the case and shot the scene from where she stood, hoping to capture the bustle of human life. She clicked several pictures in quick succession, moved to take up a different position and started again. She wasn’t sure how long it was before she grew aware of Eddie standing nearby, watching the throngs of people.

“Sorry.” She straightened, sheepish. “I’m afraid there’s going to be a lot of standing around when you’re with me.”

“I’m flexible.” He gave her a broad grin. “That’s why the council hired me. Plus I’ve worked as a guide at just about all the major tourist spots around these…” He broke off to tip his hat up to better view a woman, early twenties or so, walking by with a tray of breads. When he looked back at Delaney, saw her raised eyebrows he laughed without a shred of embarrassment. “I’m also a trained observer.”

They fell in step again. “Then you observed that she was way too young for you.”

“You think?” He gave her a flirtatious wink. “But you’re not, are you?”

“I’m too old.” They were probably close to the same age in years, but she couldn’t match Eddie’s laid-back manner. She’d never again be that open, that casual, that relaxed. But those same traits made him an easy companion. He stopped when she wanted to, making introductions to anyone he knew, which seemed to be more than half of the people they encountered. Most were cordial, inquisitive about her, although there were a few whose expressions went blank and closed at the introduction.