the west, and finally northward. A huge plume of dust rose on the horizon, painting the New Mexico sky an ominous gray. The air stirred, unsettled. The chief knew what the signs meant.
What was coming could not be stopped, nor changed. The past was rising to meet them, just as before.
He turned the Diablo mustang south, and they melted into the canyons.
There was no time to waste.
Chapter One
“All I can say is that the Callahans are unafraid to live by their own rules, no matter the consequences. It makes you want to live a little harder yourself. I call it Callahan fire.”
—Bode Jenkins, when asked by a reporter
about his neighbors
Sloan Chacon stared at the note tacked to the door of his isolated cabin, an event that had happened three times before in his life. This time it had been placed while he was sleeping. Highly trained and decorated Navy SEALs did not normally find themselves in the presence of someone stealthier than they.
Sloan pulled the note off the rustic wood. It was from Chief Running Bear, the connection to his old life, and his paternal grandfather.
The instructions, as always, were cryptic.
There are many mysteries in a man’s life. You are needed now, to protect the family and your heritage. Go to the Callahan ranch in New Mexico. Near the canyons you will find seven large stones, one placed for each of you. This ring of stone will be your home from now on, in your heart.
He’d known this day was coming, from the day his parents had left. They’d said “the chief will guide you”—and they’d disappeared. He and his brothers and sister had split up, moved in separate directions when they were old enough. Life in the tribe was over.
He hadn’t understood much then. But his parents had been right: the chief had guided them.
He’d just resented the hell out of it.
* * *
JONAS AND SAM CALLAHAN stared across the ranch land of Rancho Diablo toward the canyons. Jonas lowered the night-vision binoculars. “I see a circle of seven large rocks, and a small fire in the center. My guess is it’s the bat signal, with our grandfather starring as Alfred.”
“Chief business,” Sam said.
Jonas nodded. “The chief’s not holding a séance, so something’s up.”
Sam took the binoculars. “I knew the peace couldn’t last forever.”
Jonas waited for Sam’s assessment of the fire and ring of stone.
“There are eight people. Six dudes, the chief and what may be a reasonably decent-looking chick with spiky light hair. Around our age, but hard to tell. They look fit.”
“You mean they look like they’re strong enough to tote diaper bags and baby gear,” Jonas said. “I’ve bulked up with the nineteen kids on this ranch.”
“Exactly. Shall we butt in?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Sam set the binoculars down. “The chief wouldn’t have let us see him if he didn’t want us to know something’s going on. That means he expects all of us to show.”
“I’m on it,” Jonas said, sending a mass text to the brothers.
Cut yourselves loose. Chief situation.
“Here we go,” Sam said.
“Ever think what our lives would be like without the chief?” Jonas asked his brother, hearing a rumble of thunder deep in the heart of the canyons that could only be the mystical Diablos running, a portent of things to come.
“Yeah.” Sam slid into a leather jacket, stuck a small pistol in the back of his jeans. “Boring as hell.”
But boring had been nice for the past year.
* * *
SLOAN FOUND THE SPOT easily enough—the small fire was an excellent marker. He put his pack down and eyed the dark landscape around him, checking for danger. His heart beat hard, adrenaline kicking in. “You can come out. Let’s get this party started.”
His five brothers slowly materialized from the shadows. Sloan waited. A few seconds passed, then his slightly built sister stepped close to the fire.
“I’m here. Now the party can get rocking,” Ashlyn said.
They embraced each other. Cold night air blew down his jacket collar, but Sloan didn’t care. It felt too good to be with his family again. They’d waited a long time for this moment.
He wished they could stay together forever.
But they weren’t alone. Sloan stood still as six tall men appeared out of the darkness like night specters. The two groups stared across the fire, sizing each other up.
Sloan had no idea how long the chief had been standing next to him. His grandfather’s face gave away nothing, and Sloan wondered why they’d all been called to this remote location.
“This is Callahan land,” the chief said. “You are all Callahans.”
Sloan looked at the impassive faces gathered around the fire. If this was family, it felt very strange to learn about it now. “We are Chacon.”
“Chacon Callahan. You are related by blood. Your fathers are brothers.” The chief met the gaze of each of them in turn. “One of you is the hunted one.”
Sloan stared at the chief. “What does that mean, hunted?”
“It means one may die if the thirteen do not work together. No matter what, nothing can separate you from your purpose.”
“Which is what?” Sloan demanded.
“Protecting the family.” The chief looked at Jonas.
“Is there another mercenary coming?” Jonas asked.
“There was never only one,” the chief said. “You knew they would send more. They are nearing Rancho Diablo even as we speak.”
“If these guys have a problem, what does that have to do with us?” Sloan asked.
“Callahan is Callahan. The fight is the same.” The chief gestured one last time at the clan gathered in a circle. “Get to know each other well. A single stick can be broken, but a bundle not so easily.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Sloan said. “Any further intel would be appreciated.”
“Your home is here,” the chief said. “Keep the ring of stone and fire in your hearts. Across the canyons, a few miles as the eagles flies, lies danger.”
“If
