us to find the platinum for him. Then once that’s done, he’ll kill us.”
“Let him come,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “If he wants a fight, let’s give him one he’ll never forget.”
Chapter Five
A short time later they arrived at her home, a faded green wood-framed farmhouse surrounded by an ancient apple orchard. He recognized Tina’s car beneath a wooden carport, gathering dust.
Though he didn’t say anything, it surprised him that Kris and Tina had moved in together. Tina had been a tough cop who showed the scars of coming face-to-face with the worst of human nature on a daily basis.
Kris, on the other hand, was cast from a different mold. Although she’d gone into what was one of the toughest branches of the military and had served a tour in a war zone, there was also a softer, gentler side to her. Despite the rigors of her former job she’d held on to that side of her nature, too. It was that duality that drew him to her, tempting him to cross the line.
Moments later, they entered the small home via a screened-in porch with a swing and several hardy-looking plants that seemed to be flourishing.
The floor of the old house was wood, the planks in good shape but worn down by decades of footsteps along the most common paths, especially through the doorways. It was simply decorated, with yellow curtains covering the white double hung windows, wallpaper in tiny yellow and blue flowers, and a braided oval rug in the center.
The living room held only a large leather sofa, matching chair, and a mosaic coffee table. There was one painting on the wall of a young girl watching horses grazing. It was done in earth tones and, under the light from two tall floor lamps, had an almost mythical quality to it.
“I recognize the painting,” he said. “Your sister showed it to me last year after she finished it—or at least a photo of it from her cell camera. She had a real eye for capturing people, though she never took herself seriously as an artist.”
“That’s because she never wanted it to become work—something to produce, sell or buy. Painting was her way of relaxing,” Kris explained.
When she turned to look at him, he saw something else was weighing heavily on her. He waited for her to tell him what it was, but she hesitated, then turned and walked down the hall.
“I’m going to the bedroom to get my things,” she called out to him a second later, never glancing back.
“Hurry,” he said, moving over to the window to keep watch.
KRIS THREW SOME JEANS, changes of underwear and a few long-sleeved T-shirts into a small canvas bag. She could pack in a hurry. She’d done it so many times it was almost second nature to her.
She was still angry with Max for not telling her about Harris long before now. He was too good at keeping secrets, and that made him dangerous—ally or not.
She took a deep breath, then let it out again. Anger would only interfere with what they had to do. It was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not when their lives were at stake.
She stared at the bag, then on impulse packed her duck-shaped slippers. They were undeniably silly looking, but they had a soft shearling interior that felt incredibly indulgent. She’d had them for years and they never failed to make her sigh when she slipped them on after a long day. Although she doubted she’d have occasion to wear them around Max, the slippers were her way of affirming that her life would be normal someday.
“Are you ready?” he called out from down the hall.
“Let’s go,” she said, coming out to meet him.
As they were getting into his truck, he glanced over at her. “I know you’re still trying to decide whether to trust me or not, so I’d like you to keep something in mind. This is my turf, Kris,” he said. “You’ve been away for several years and some things around here have changed, but I know this area like the back of my hand. Who and what I am can give us an edge—but you have to be willing to rely on me and my judgment. Any hesitation on your part may get us both killed.”
“You’re still not telling me everything. I know it and you know it.” She held up one hand, stemming his protest. “Do you trust without reason?”
Max expelled his breath in a hiss as he started the truck’s engine. “Okay. Good point. Both of us will have to work at this,” he conceded.
“Your job’s to get the platinum. I want Harris. That may place us in opposite camps somewhere down the line.”
“Things have changed so you have nothing to worry about. I can’t risk leading Harris to the platinum, so he’s now my priority, too.”
As soon as they were back on the road, heading west toward the Navajo Nation, she shifted in her seat. “Harris wants us, so why don’t we use that to draw him in?”
He considered what she’d said and nodded. “That’s a good plan, but we’d need some serious backup close by.”
“We can manage it as long we cover each other’s back.” Seeing him hesitate, she challenged, “I can handle it, can’t you?”
Her words were brave enough, but as he glanced over at her hands he saw her toying with her necklace. “No one’s made of steel,” he answered quietly.
“And here I thought you were,” she teased with a hesitant smile.
He laughed. “Me? Nah. I just put on a good show, that’s all,” he said, eyes twinkling. “It’s a survival thing I learned as a cop.”
She laughed, knowing better. She’d seen him in a crisis situation. Although he felt pain and bled like everyone else, he had that toughness of spirit that defined a warrior.
“Hang on. I want to make sure we haven’t picked up a tail,” he said, suddenly making such a sharp turn off the highway that she had to grab onto the seat.
Max drove down the wide dirt road leading toward a tribal housing development, then made several detours and reverses. Finally they reached a solitary road parallel to the main highway. They were heading east again now, but the land was so flat and barren here they would have seen any vehicle attempting to follow them.
Twenty minutes later, he finally got back on the main highway. Traffic was heavy now, with many vehicles heading home at the end of the work day.
“Keep checking behind us,” he said. “There’s no one there now, but doesn’t mean there couldn’t be.”
“I’ll handle that. You take care of what’s in front of us,” she answered. “It’s going to be dark in an hour or so. Where are we going?”
“Remember that souped-up van Harris and his partner were driving? I thought we’d go talk to people who specialize in those kinds of modifications. We need the type of shop that doesn’t ask too many questions or keep regular hours. I have a source who might be able to tell us who fits the bill around this area.”
After a short drive to the eastern outskirts of Farmington, Max pulled up into a parking slot outside the fenced-in garage that housed Birdsong Enterprises. A big garage bay was open, and several mechanics
