it can get hard on your back when you meet someone who’s more than a match for you,” she said, grinning.
“Skinny…you’ve sure changed,” he said.
She laughed. “No one’s called me that since high school.”
“I can see why.” His gaze remained on her. She’d turned into a knockout with black hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders and light brown eyes that sparkled with mischief. Most of all she had Attitude—with a capital A.
“So, you’re a cop now?” he asked, recognizing her skills.
“I was with the FBI for four years but I’ve moved into the private sector. I work for New Standards Investigations out of the Albuquerque office.”
His eyebrows rose. NSI was well-known among law-enforcement officers. A former FBI assistant director had started the company. They specialized in high-profile cases—and their success rate only enhanced the firm’s stellar reputation.
As she moved closer to him, Crusher blocked her, preventing her from reaching Travis.
“It’s okay, Crusher. Stand down. She’s a friend,” he said.
“It’s okay, big guy,” Laura said softly. Crusher’s tail began to wag. Laura looked back at Travis. “Is he a pet or your backup?” Before he could answer, she continued, “I hope he’s backup because you can’t fight your way out of a paper bag.” She shot him a totally outrageous smile.
Although he would normally have taken a jab like that as a direct challenge, her playful tone and those sparkling eyes made him laugh along with her. “I see you’ve finally come out of your shell, Skinny.”
“Back in high school, things were sure different, weren’t they?” she asked softly. “Do you remember Nancy? In comparison to her, I came across as shy. But that was only because she was so outgoing—star athlete and all that.”
“Yeah, you two hung out together until she got completely wrapped up in sports. She always wanted to be center stage and you were the quiet, mysterious one. So what brings you back here from the big city?”
“Nancy’s dead—murdered—and I have reason to believe her killer’s living in this area.”
“Sounds like we should go to the house and talk,” he said, leading the way up the rocky path. Constructed of pine logs and a green metal roof, his home fit into the hillside as naturally as the trees around it.
Travis walked inside ahead of her, in accordance with Navajo customs. Although Anglo men were taught to let the women pass first, Navajo men preferred to take the lead. If there was trouble, they’d be the first to face it. Laura didn’t comment, so he didn’t offer to explain.
“You’ve got a personal stake in this case. I’m surprised NSI is allowing you to work on it,” he commented.
“They’re not. I’m on my own time.”
Travis led her into the large modern kitchen. “It’s still early. Have you had breakfast?” he asked.
Laura shook her head. “I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”
He stepped over to the fridge. “Let me fix us something and while I’m working, you can fill me in.”
“You cook?”
“Yeah. I hate eating takeout all the time,” he said, bringing some eggs and cheddar cheese out of the fridge.
She didn’t speak right away and he didn’t push. Long pauses were common when Navajos spoke. Waiting was second nature to him.
“My friend was murdered six weeks ago,” she finally said, her voice wavering slightly. “I won’t mention her name again. I remember what you taught me a long time ago about the chindi.”
“Thanks.” He appreciated the courtesy. Although he embraced the modern way of life, as a New Traditionalist he still lived by his Navajo beliefs. To use the name of the dead was said to call back their chindi, the evil in a person that survived death but remained earthbound, unable to merge with Universal Harmony.
“What happened to her?” he asked as he worked.
Laura gave him the details, pausing a few times to keep her voice steady. “The detectives didn’t find any semen. He obviously used protection. But they were able to collect blood samples from the hit he took in the shoulder. There wasn’t a DNA match in any of their databases.”
“So he’s not on any sex-offender lists,” he said thoughtfully.
“And you checked hospital records, right?” he asked. She nodded. “So he must have treated himself, and has probably recovered by now. We’re assuming, of course, that we’re only dealing with one suspect.”
“I’ve got reason to believe we are.”
“What led you here, specifically?”
“I’ve investigated this case from every possible angle. I also searched through RMIN and national databases like NCIC for similar crimes.”
Travis nodded, familiar with the names she’d mentioned. RMIN was the Rocky Mountain Information Network—pronounced rim-in by law enforcement—and the National Crime Information Center, with its FBI origins, was a national database. Computer searches allowed officers to compare a crime under investigation to ones committed by known criminals. Similar M.O.’s could then be used to narrow down suspects.
“And you got a hit?”
“Yes. Five months prior to my friend’s murder, a young high-school basketball star was found assaulted and strangled in her home in Bloomfield. That’s less than fifteen miles east of Three Rivers. Since that crime was committed prior to the attack on my friend, I’d first assumed that the suspect had left this area and was working his way west, into Arizona. Then, just a week ago, a reservation women’s softball coach was murdered in Shiprock. That’s less than an hour’s drive from the Bloomfield scene and the Shiprock M.O. matched the two previous homicides.”
“So you’re thinking since two of three similar crimes have occurred in this area, the suspect either lives here or in one of the Four Corners communities.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Since Three Rivers is the largest city in this part of the state, I’ve decided to make it my base of operations.” She paused, then after a beat, continued, “You and I were good friends once. You knew me and Nan—” she stopped herself short. “And my friend,” she corrected. “That’s why I was hoping you’d agree to work with me after hours.”
“I know about the coach’s murder—all of our officers were briefed—but the crime occurred outside my jurisdiction. Cases on the Rez are handled by the tribal police and the feds,” Travis said.
“I know, but you’ll still have access to much of the information. Intelligence on open cases is shared by local departments.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Back in high school, you and I always had each other’s backs. That’s why I came to find you when I learned that you were a police officer here in Three Rivers.”
He stared at an indefinite point on the wall, lost
