that’s taking too long in my book,” Ava muttered to herself.
Today was day eight of her investigation and she was running out of time. Soon she’d have to ask for help, return home or resign her job and stay. She thought about resigning from Saguaro Flats force altogether before coming here to Turquoise Canyon, but there were perks to being a cop—even one on leave. She still had access to police databases, which was imperative to her success. Quitting the police force would cause her to lose effectiveness.
She knew the FBI was involved with the investigation because she’d received an alert on her reservation from Turquoise Canyon Tribal Police that they had requested assistance last week after it was discovered that one of their missing persons, Kacey Doka, was not a runaway but a victim of kidnapping who’d identified several other missing girls held captive with her. The Bureau’s focus would be on capture and conviction of those responsible. Hers was on recovery by any means.
Ava had already spoken to Kacey’s kidnapper. The Russian was paralyzed from the waist down, still in the hospital at Darabee and on suicide watch. Ava got nothing from him as he still elected to pretend he did not speak English. She did get a photo of his tattoos and was running a check on them through the available database. Gang affiliations were often written on the skin and his said Russian organized crime. But they’d need connections here.
First, she’d figure out who and they’d lead her to where the missing were kept. That was the plan.
She’d learned all she could from her surveillance of Kee and Hauser and from their personal computers and found nothing to implicate either physician.
She needed to get inside that clinic.
Ava drove along the rutted gravel road, hastily laid before the trailers had been hauled in by the dozens. The dam collapse that touched off the move out of the tribe’s tribal seat happened just a little over three weeks ago. The evacuees from lowland areas along the river were moved to temporary shelters out of the potential flood area. The FEMA trailers had arrived and her sister had been among the first to receive one because she had young children.
She parked before her sister’s FEMA trailer and ignored the barking as she opened the door. Woody, the big brown family dog, jumped up to say hello. She was surprised to see him, as he had been staying with her sister’s mother-in-law, who lived outside the reach of potential flooding. Woody had been added to the family at Louisa’s insistence and seeing him made Ava’s throat tighten. She gave him a quick scratch behind the ears and pushed him off until he dropped to all fours. His tail swung back and forth, thick and hairless at the base from too much chewing. A shepherd/pit bull mix, he had a head the size and shape of a shovel.
Ava checked her watch. Redhorse should be back by here in about ten minutes. Woody poked around the trailer and returned with a faded, worn, green tennis ball. Ava accepted the offering and tossed the ball. She kept her attention on the end of the street until Redhorse returned.
He was only a few hundred yards away with a newspaper tucked under his arm when he noticed her. She could tell by the hesitation in his stride.
She continued to toss the ball as Redhorse approached.
This was how he found them. Ava throwing a slippery tennis ball to an oversize puppy.
Kee Redhorse’s black hair was trimmed short. His skin was tawny-brown with bronze undertones. He had a broad forehead, a blade of a nose that hooked downward over a generous mouth and pinholes in each earlobe for earrings, which he did not wear. Handsome by any standard, she thought.
He hadn’t shaved this morning. She found that the dark stubble only added to his appeal. The hair growing beneath his lower lip brought her attention to his mouth. It was a sensual mouth. His lips parted and he inhaled, making his nostrils flare. Then that winning smile appeared. She felt a twitch in her stomach.
Suspect, she reminded herself.
Woody spotted Redhorse and trotted over to say hello. The man offered his hand. It was a nice hand with tight medium brown skin and a sprinkling of dark hair on the back, and the hand itself was broad and square with long elegant fingers. Ava blew away her frustration at her body’s reaction to the doctor.
“He’s friendly,” said Ava and forced a wide smile as she descended the steps and stood with her hands in her back pockets. She’d dressed for success today, in jeans that left room for her ankle holster but hugged everything else and a blouse that was feminine without broadcasting her cup size. Woody sniffed Redhorse’s hand and the wet ball fell to the ground.
Ava made a grab for the ball but Woody was too quick and snatched it up again. The tug-of-war ensued with the dog crouched, growling as he shook his shovel of a head, tail thumping. Ava wasn’t much of a frolicker but she did her best.
Redhorse laughed. “He’s not giving up.”
“He loves to play,” she said.
Woody won. The canine dropped the ball at Redhorse’s feet.
Traitor, she thought.
“He wants you to throw it,” she said keeping her smile until he turned to retrieve the ball.
He did and it was a really good throw. She gauged his physical strength and was glad she had both her service weapon and her training.
Woody returned, chewing as he trotted. He folded to the ground to begin gnawing in earnest, the ball between his paws. She could swear the canine was smiling.
Ava put a hand on her hip and sighed.
“Guess I finally wore him out,” she said and gave Redhorse another smile, making eye contact. He seemed to be looking right through her. Heat sizzled inside her and her stomach tensed. She knew he was single, dated occasionally but never for long and had been engaged to an Anglo in med school. Circumstances of the breakup were unclear.
Redhorse cleared his throat and looked back to the dog. Ava took a deep breath and pinched her lips together as she fought the troubling physical zip of awareness for him. It had never happened to her with a suspect before.
He cast her an effortless smile and the tug grew stronger. She was going to have to arrest him or sleep with him.
Yeah, right. She didn’t have the justification for either action.
Their eyes met and her heart gave an irritating flutter again. She wished she had enough evidence to read him his rights. She bet handcuffs would wipe that smile off his face.
Her grandmother would approve, she thought. Also possibly a felon. She scowled.
Redhorse was a suspect, not a prospect.
Woody stared up at her, his ball forgotten.
She pointed. “That’s Woody.”
Her gaze dropped to the sensual curve of his upper lip.
You’re staring at his mouth.
He switched to Tonto Apache. “Hello. I am Roadrunner born of Wolf, the oldest son of Colton and May Redhorse.” Then he switched back to English as he completed his introduction and extended his free hand. “I’m Doctor Kee Redhorse.”
Trotting out the title, she thought. She didn’t trust
