except that she was on a courier run and on her way to the Rez from Arizona.”
“You’ll get the information out of them eventually,” Maria said somberly. “It’s not in your nature to give up.”
Kris smiled. “It’s the Marine in me. We never surrender.”
“But, remember, you’re not in the Corps anymore,” Maria said softly.
Kris smiled. “Once you earn the title Marine, it’s yours for life.”
It was that discipline that would sustain her now. Before she was through, she’d know exactly why her sister had died. And if Tina had left unfinished business, she’d see it done as well. It would be her way of honoring her sister’s memory.
Kris looked around her nursery for the umpteenth time. Her heart was home, and through this nursery she’d learn to welcome each new day again. But first there was one more duty to fulfill.
MAX PARKED IN FRONT of the Smiling Cactus Nursery and walked toward the open greenhouse door. As he stepped inside, he suddenly bumped into someone coming out, a woman wearing a baseball cap and shouldering a large plastic bag of potting soil.
As she fell back, the woman lost her grip on her bag and it came crashing down on top of his foot.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, bending over to pick up the bag.
Unfortunately, he bent down at the same time and their heads collided with a resounding thud.
“My fault, sir, I’m so sorry! How about a ten-percent discount on anything you buy today?” she added, checking the bag for holes.
Stepping back to avoid another bump and rubbing his forehead, he took a closer look at the woman’s face. “It’s you, isn’t it? Kris Reynolds?”
As her gaze went up to his face, recognition flashed in her eyes. “Max Natoni? I went to see you at the hospital, but you were pretty much out of it at the time. How are you feeling?”
She was his former partner’s spitting image—or nearly so. Yet where Tina’s honey-brown eyes had been cold and hard—the long-term results of being a police officer—Kris’s were lighter and softer somehow, like the scent of flowers that clung to her. All in all, not what he’d expected from a former marine.
“I’m doing much better, thanks,” he said at last.
Max reached to pick up the bag, but she was faster. She grabbed it by the corners with perfectly manicured hands, and swung it into a nearby wheelbarrow before he could help. He’d always liked capable women, and Kris was obviously no exception. Her blend of toughness and femininity was an appealing contradiction.
“I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk to you,” she said. “Why don’t we go into my office?”
As she led the way, Max saw the huge smiling cactus on the back of her denim work shirt. Prickly but sweet? As his gaze drifted downward, he observed the way she filled out her jeans. The soft curve of her hips, and the way they swayed with each stride certainly held his attention. Definitely sweet—a few thorns never hurt anyone.
THE SECOND THEY ENTERED her small office, Kris stepped around her desk and reached for the bottle of aspirin she kept in her drawer. She offered him two, but he declined.
Kris made herself comfortable in her chair and regarded Max Natoni thoughtfully as he took the seat by the window, shifting it around to face her directly. The dimples that flashed at the corners of his mouth whenever he smiled contrasted with the scar on his left cheek. There was something infinitely masculine about the man…and that killer smile…. It made her heart beat a little faster—something a battalion of jarheads had never quite managed to do.
Irritated with herself for getting soft, she glanced down at her desk. Heatstroke. That’s why her heart was acting weird. Where was that water bottle? Since leaving the Middle East she’d stopped hydrating enough.
“I’ve been hoping for the chance to talk to you alone,” Max said quietly, slipping his leather jacket off with a shrug and tossing it casually onto the corner coat rack’s hook.
Kris knew that if she wanted to find out what had happened to her sister, Max was the key. “Tina respected you,” she started, then saw him flinch. “Is that a surprise?” she asked.
He shook his head. “That’s not it. Navajos don’t speak the name of the dead out loud, particularly this soon after their passing.”
Kris nodded. “I’m sorry. I’d forgotten about that. I meant no disrespect. I know how important it is to cling to your own culture—to the things that define you.” She paused, organizing her thoughts. “My sister spoke highly of you—and often, too, I should add. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll help me now. I need to know what happened to her. Everyone I’ve spoken to so far, the sheriff’s department, the Farmington police, the Tribal cops, give me the same answer. They’re not free to talk about a case under investigation.”
“What exactly have they told you so far about the way she died?”
“I know my sister was working with you and another man—another courier named Harris. Your objective was to protect some tribal assets. From the bits and pieces I overheard at the station, those assets were some kind of jewelry. Now I want the rest of the details.”
“What led you to think jewelry was involved?” Max asked her.
“I overheard one of the detectives saying that the missing suitcase is worth over a half-million dollars. Then a few days later an investigator working for a company called Jewelry Outlet, a tall redhead by the name of Bruce Talbot, came by,” she said. “The man was a pain in the butt. He hung around questioning my employees, and then tried to grill me. From his questions I know he believes that my sister—and I—had something to do with the robbery.”
She met his gaze and saw how his dark brown eyes could change at a moment’s notice. Yet it was his air of self-possession that intrigued her most.
“I won’t allow that cloud of suspicion to remain over my sister or on me,” she continued. “I have every intention of finding out exactly what went down. Then I’m going to prove that my sister’s innocent, and that she died doing her job.”
“Do you have any background in investigative work?”
“I have a logical mind and I was an intelligence analyst in the Corps. That’ll be enough.” She paused, then continued. “Honor is more than just a word to me. It’s worth dying for.”
“Your sister gave her life to protect tribal assets. Next time Talbot comes around, send him to me.”
“I know you work for the tribe. But in what capacity? A courier? Security guard?” Judging from his neutral expression and his questions, he’d come with more than a social visit in mind.
He took out his card and handed it to her.
She studied it for a moment. “Security. Office of the Navajo Tribal President. That doesn’t tell me much.”
“I work on the President’s behalf, carrying out whatever assignments come up,” he answered, leaning back in his chair and stretching his long legs. “I’m
