Aimee Thurlo - Navajo Justice

“No, I can’t accept that. I have my own financial resources. Let me hire you instead.”

“I’ll tell you what. Let me do some preliminary work. That’s free of charge, and after that, we can talk.”

Laura shook her head. “I know you’re giving me a chance to keep it informal and just between us, but I’m not comfortable with that. It’s a very generous offer, mind you, but the fact is I know absolutely nothing about you. I’m not even sure of your name—is Burke your surname, or, as my godmother would say, your given name?”

“My name is Burke Silentman.”

“I understand from living next door to the reservation, so to speak, that the Navajo people don’t like their proper names used. Do you have a nickname?”

He smiled, pleased that she’d extended him that courtesy. “Burke is an Anglo name. I got used to having people use it when I served in the military, so it doesn’t bother me. But many of us, like me, also have secret names we never divulge. We believe that to know someone’s secret name is to have power over that person.”

“All right. Then Burke it is.”

“I’m very good at what I do for a living, Laura, and, from what I can see, you need help, the kind the local police can’t provide. Let me at least find out what you’re up against.”

“Okay,” she said, blinking against the light through heavy-lidded eyes.

“But right now you’re tired, and so am I. The house is secure. What do you say we go back to my home and call it a night?” He stood, and Wolf was instantly by his side.

She nodded. “That’s a great idea. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

As the three of them walked down the sidewalk to his place, Burke stayed close beside her on the street side. Although they weren’t even touching, she was acutely aware of everything about him. Moonlight spilled over him, accentuating the sculpted angles of his face. He spoke of in-consequential things, but his voice held her captivated. It was a rich, deep baritone, tailor-made for dark, midnight promises.

Annoyed with the turn her thoughts had taken, she focused on the present. Burke was, simply put, a complication in her life—one she just didn’t need. She’d use his professional expertise and pay him and, in that way, make it clear that although she’d accepted his hospitality, she wasn’t interested in a personal relationship.

When they entered Burke’s home, the place was silent. Careful not to wake Elena, Laura started down the hall, following Burke, who was going to get some extra blankets from the linen closet. As she reached her room, Laura crouched down to pet Wolf, who’d followed her. “Are you sleeping with me tonight?” she asked softly.

Burke actually choked when he heard the question. His head snapped around quickly, then he saw her speaking to the dog.

Laura saw the look on his face and realized what had happened, but before she could comment, he focused his attention on the dog.

“Wolf, come!” he ordered, and Wolf complied instantly.

“I wouldn’t have minded if he’d slept at the foot of the bed,” Laura said.

“No way. He’ll sleep on his blanket in the hall and guard all of us.”

“All right.” Laura took the blankets Burke offered her, entered the room and shut the door behind her. This room—this entire house—was Burke’s domain. She could feel him here in the furnishings he’d chosen, and in the dark, rich colors that contrasted with the light walls and ceiling. Even the very air she breathed held his unmistakable mark, making her senses come alive.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and gathered her thoughts. This just wouldn’t do. The attraction between them was too strong and too dangerous to indulge, even a little bit.

Burke had walked into her life and, unless she was careful, would turn her entire world upside down.

She sighed softly. Fate had conspired against her, and instinct told her that nothing would ever be quite the same again.

USING THE PHONE in the den, Burke called in and made his report. Handler didn’t like to be kept waiting. Burke had spoken to him when he’d gone to retrieve the wood for Laura’s back door, and asked for a trace on the license number and vehicle the intruder had used to escape. At the time, he’d promised to call back within a half hour in case Handler had tracked it down. But Burke hadn’t been able to do so until now.

“Handler” was the code name for the owner of the agency. His identity was shrouded in secrecy, and though Burke was the most senior operative and supervised the other investigators, he’d never learned who Handler was. For what he’d been told were security reasons, Handler’s identity remained a secret, even from him.

“So she’s with you now?” Handler asked, verifying what Burke had reported.

“Yes, Laura Santos is here and safe for now,” he answered. Remembering the softness of her lips and the way her body had melted into his, safe was probably not the word he should have used.

“And she doesn’t know that you’ve already been hired to protect her?”

“No, and I really don’t think she has the remotest idea what’s going on, or why she’s a target.”

“I know you’ll stay on top of things.”

The idle remark, in this instance, made a very graphic and vivid image form in his mind. His body grew instantly hard.

“Keep me posted, Burke.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve e-mailed you the information you asked for on the license plate of the suspect’s vehicle. You’ll find it next time you log on.”

As he placed the receiver down, Burke leaned back in the chair. Handler’s electronically altered voice had originally bothered him, but he was getting used to it now. As far as he was concerned, it was a small inconvenience that came with a job he loved. His years with Gray Wolf had been good ones, and once he’d become supervisor, he’d given up his code name to remain the only traceable operative at the firm.

He was the number one operative of an elite team, took on the most dangerous assignments himself, and, best of all, he’d avoided working a nine-to-five job—something that ranked close to getting a case of malaria on the Burke Silentman scale of really bad news.

The house was still and the hour late, but he wasn’t ready to go to bed yet. As was his habit, he switched on the computer at his desk to check his e-mail, and while the program booted up, considered the events of the last few hours. This whole case was a strange one, and had been from the beginning. Since that day three weeks ago when Doug had sent him an e-mail from West Medias, a country in Europe known for its warring factions—an e-mail that had been mysteriously cut off midsentence—things had been far from normal.

Burke fished his wallet out of his back pocket, then reached for a photo of him and Doug. It had been taken shortly after they’d completed Intelligence training in the Special Forces.

He smiled, looking at the younger version of himself and his friend. Throughout his entire life, after the death of his brother, Hoops, he’d only had one close buddy, Douglas Begay. Like him, Doug had seen hard times on the rez. They’d joined the Special Forces together as soon as they could to escape the poverty of the Navajo Nation.

Over the years, they’d managed to stay in close contact. But all Burke really knew of Doug’s life now was that he officially worked in Europe for a legitimate publishing house—a job Burke had deduced was nevertheless a cover for what he really did. His buddy was heavily involved with Freedom International, a privately funded watchdog organization that championed human rights.

Then, out of the blue, he’d sent that e-mail letter hiring Gray Wolf to protect the writer, Laura Santos—someone Doug had never met, as far as Burke knew. Unfortunately, the e-mail hadn’t only been incomplete—it had been impossibly vague. The only thing Burke knew for a fact was that Doug wouldn’t have hired them to protect Laura unless it was imperative that they do so. Recent events seemed to bear that out.