Aimée Thurlo - Restless Wind

“You want to protect me?”

She nodded. “And why not?”

He felt an answering tug deep inside himself, but pushed it aside immediately. To guard her effectively, he’d have to stay on track.

“When we get to my place, I’ll contact some people I know, and find out if the police have any leads they haven’t shared with us. I’ll also do my best to find out where Trujillo is most vulnerable. A good offense will be our best defense.”

“Sounds like you’ve already got an idea,” she said.

“Yeah, I do, but I still need to work a few things out.”

His getaway turned out to be a simple wood-frame farmhouse on the north bank of the San Juan River west of Shiprock. The home was a rectangle of wood siding and fiberglass shingles, a style that could have easily been found in Utah or California instead of the Navajo Nation.

As they stepped up onto the wooden porch Dana noticed the same circular symbol carved into the door frame that she’d seen at the first house they’d stayed. It was scarcely more than a scratch in the wood near the floorboard, but it was there.

Unlocking his door, Ranger turned and, following her gaze, saw what she’d been studying. “I have some creative termites,” he said with a half smile. “Pesky creatures.”

She said nothing, but her thoughts were racing. It didn’t seem likely that Ranger’s home was a police safe house. It made more sense to believe Ranger was a member of the Brotherhood of Warriors and this was a symbol another member in trouble would recognize.

From what she’d seen of Ranger’s training, and hearing more than once that he was on assignment and trusted by the police, that didn’t seem like much of a stretch. From what Hastiin Sani had told her, the Brotherhood of Warriors were the best of the best and Ranger definitely fit that description.

Dana was intuitively aware of the way he was watching her as she walked inside his home. They were so closely attuned, it was a little bit frightening. Was this love…or was she letting her imagination run wild?

“I need to do something,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Will you keep an eye on the road we came in on? I don’t think we were followed, but I’m not going to underestimate these people.”

“No problem.”

He took a few steps down the hall, then turned his head. “There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry. You can grab something to eat while you keep watch.”

After finding a loaf of wheat bread and some slices of chicken breast and cheese in the kitchen, Dana made two quick sandwiches and left one for Ranger. As she ate her own sandwich, she stood beside the window, looking back in the direction they’d come. The house was at the end of the road, so nobody could come in from another direction except on foot.

Dana heard Ranger moving about in one of the back rooms, but the door was closed and she couldn’t make out his conversation. After fifteen minutes he returned.

Seeing him coming down the hall, she called out. “There’s a sandwich waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“Have you seen anything or anyone?” he asked, coming up from behind her and taking a look for himself.

“Nothing but crows, a cottontail and a ground squirrel. No people, or moving shadows, or cars,” she answered. “I was watching on the way here, too. No one followed us.”

“These days, with all the electronic gadgets, you don’t have to be right on someone’s tail to follow them,” he warned.

She conceded with a nod. “Have you learned anything we can use?”

“All the men who were in Ernesto Trujillo’s original gang have been identified and accounted for. That verifies what we already suspected. Ignacio is recruiting soldiers on his own-mostly small-time locals and off-the-reservation street punks.”

“If he’s smart, he’ll also hire Navajo men who can blend in and pose an even greater threat to us,” she said.

Ranger shook his head. “Not likely. We’ve got…friends. Word has gone out, and the criminal element here on the rez has received a warning they won’t ignore. Ignacio won’t be able to recruit from inside our borders.”

Ranger had left his cell phone on the table next to his keys. When it rang, she handed it to him. From the expression on his face, she could tell that it was very bad news.

Ranger hung up, went to one of the rooms in the back, then returned within a minute carrying a rifle. A pistol was stuck in his belt, and she could see clips of ammunition in his pocket. “We’ve got to get moving.”

“But we just got here.”

“The man who stocked the kitchen with food for us was found dead outside a gas station near Shiprock-killed by a sniper while he was gassing up his pickup. The shot apparently came from long range, so it’s not likely he gave us up, but it’s too risky to stay here now. Others will be watching the road to make sure we’re not followed, but you and I need to find another place.”

Dana started to ask him for a name, wondering if it had been one on the list, then stopped. That would have also entailed the admission that she knew some of the names. Instead, Dana picked up her bag and went into the kitchen to gather some food and bottled water. “Do you have any idea where we’re going, or will we just drive until we get someplace we can hole up for the night?”

Ranger smiled. “That’s what I like about you. This isn’t your thing-constant changes in plans, and never knowing what’s going to happen next-but you adapt quickly.”

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” she said. They got underway moments later.

They drove east, off the reservation. Finally Ranger broke the silence between them. “Tell me something, Dana. The challenges we’ve faced, the adventure, does that part appeal to you at all? And will you miss it once it’s over?”

“No. In that way we’re not at all alike,” she said, guessing what was behind his question. “What has kept me going is the hope that we’ll find justice for our friend.”

“That’s important to me, too-both personally and as a Navajo. All things in life are connected and when one thing is out of balance, it affects the whole picture. The only way for any of us to find peace is to restore the Hohzo,” he said.

“I understand the concept,” she said with a nod. “One of my goals has been to learn more about traditional Navajo ways. Inner peace seems to go hand-in-hand with them.”

Ranger nodded. “My mother was a traditionalist. Through her, I learned that words have power, that an eagle feather, a mountain lion skin, or a bear claw can give whoever carries them the strength of that animal. I keep an eagle fetish with me and feed it pollen to keep it strong. Those beliefs make me a Navajo and keep me centered.”

She listened, feeling his love for all things Navajo. Defending what he held dear as part of the Brotherhood of Warriors would have come naturally to Ranger.

His cell phone rang again. Seeing his expression remain neutral, she tried to listen to his side of the conversation and figure out what was going on.

A minute later he hung up and met her gaze. “The device inside Hastiin Dííl’s hogan was a homemade pipe bomb filled with gunpowder and nails, not another grenade like the one in the medicine hogan. My guess is they didn’t have two. The bomb included a lantern battery and an electrical detonator stolen from a construction site about a month ago.”

“That means that Trujillo must have been planning his moves for some time-even before he had the names of his future targets,” she pointed out.

“Since the death of his brother, probably,” he said. “There’s a store down the road not too far from here. I’ll buy some supplies, then we’ll head to higher ground where no one can find us without showing themselves.”