The Shadow

Jonas couldn’t fault her for that. In that one way, they were alike.

“But you’re right. Once these people realize I won’t run away, they’re going to come after me with everything they’ve got.”

“No one’s going to hurt you, Em.” He brushed her cheek with the palm of his hand and felt the gentle tremor that traveled through her. “I’ll be right there with you every step of the way.”

Chapter Three

Emily sat in what had been the living room of her parent’s house. Across the card table from her, in a metal folding chair identical to her own, sat uniformed deputy Michael Dusenberry. Sergeant Nez, whom she’d spoken to earlier on the phone, was questioning Jonas in a separate room.

“How do you explain what’s happened?” Deputy Dusenberry asked. “This is the second time vandals have come onto your property. Do you have any idea what they’re after?”

“I honestly don’t know. They haven’t made any attempt to steal my old Chevy, and there’s nothing exceptionally valuable here at the house. My dad made a good living, but he wasn’t wealthy. All the tools, furniture and appliances are well used and out of sight now, locked up in a metal storage building.”

“Have they targeted anything special?”

“The lumber and other building materials, but I don’t see what they’d have to gain from setting it all on fire.”

“Yet they’ve come back twice. There’s got to be something they want. What about your father’s papers and files? As a lawyer he has made his share of enemies.”

“I’ve gone through most of his files looking for something that could be triggering these attacks on me, but so far I haven’t found anything,” she said, filling in the details. “The only thing missing is my dad’s map collection, and that’s not worth much. That’s all they took.”

“Are you sure about that? And if you are, is it possible your father threw the maps out and never got around to discarding the folder from the filing cabinet?”

“The maps were nothing special,” she assured him. “And Dad was a neat freak when it came to his files. He would have discarded both folder or maps, or neither.”

“I’d ask you to turn all your father’s records over to us to sort through, but the truth is we can’t fund the man-hours when no major crimes have been committed. It’s a matter of priorities and resources.”

“I couldn’t have turned them over to you anyway—not without a court order. My dad protected his clients’ confidentiality, and I’d have to respect that, too.”

“Admirable, but if you feel threatened, I’d advise you to hire a trained expert to examine those files for possible suspects.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. My money situation is similar to your department’s.”

Jonas walked into the room just then, and the sergeant who’d questioned him followed.

Jonas glanced at Charlie, then back at Emily. “Take things one step at a time, Em. You’ll get further that way.”

“I’m done here,” Deputy Dusenberry said, standing up and placing his notebook in a shirt pocket.

“If you need us, just call,” Sergeant Nez added.

Emily saw the officers to the door, spoke briefly to the reporter outside, then excused herself and returned to the house.

Standing by the window, she watched them drive away. “It’s such a beautiful day. I wish there wasn’t so much to do here.”

Jonas gently pulled her toward him and away from the window. “It’s not a good idea to stand in front of the glass like that.”

Although his words reminded her of the seriousness of the situation, the warmth of his body crept around her, awakening needs.

“I’m going to take a look outside,” he said, moving away. “I’ll be back.”

She watched him go, noting the tension that tightened his muscles. An edge of danger defined Jonas. It was there in his long-legged stride and the grim set of his rock-hard jaw. Though he’d chosen a path in life that was wildly different from hers, it seemed to suit him perfectly. Like the wind, he’d be here one day, gone the next.

Her inn, on the other hand, would be a part of her life forever. If she could keep her priorities straight, she’d be just fine.

Jonas returned inside moments later and helped her remove a light fixture from the wall. “We’ve been working under the assumption that someone’s threatening you because of something your father was involved in,” he said. “But is it possible you’ve made enemies, too?”

“I don’t see how that’s possible. I’ve only been back a few days,” she answered, surprised by his question.

“What about enemies from your past—old boyfriends, neighbors, people from work who think you’ve offended them, or a stalker who followed you here from Albuquerque?”

“I lived in the city and worked at a mountain resort. I got along with my boss and fellow employees, kept my distance from the clients and barely knew my neighbors.” She shook her head. “If I’d had any enemies, I would have known long before I moved back here.”

“You failed to mention boyfriends,” Jonas pointed out.

“A few along the way, but nobody for long. And the breakups were all amicable.”

“At least you think they were. Ever get any strange, or pushy e-mails, phone calls? Have you noticed any strange people hanging around your…apartment?”

“Nope, just a gray cat. After about a week, his owner tracked him down. Sorry, but I can’t think of anyone.”

“That’s okay. So who have you seen and spoken to since you moved back?” he pressed, undaunted.

“Starting close to home, there’s my neighbor, Grant Woods. I’ve known him since high school. He came over to give me his condolences.” She paused. “He also expressed an interest in buying all my land. He comes from a wealthy family and is always looking for investments. He figured I wouldn’t be staying. After I told him about my plans for the inn, we didn’t talk about it anymore,” she said. “I also got some other offers—one from a developer and another from one of the utility companies. They wanted drilling and mineral rights.”

“There’s nothing unusual about any of those offers. Land sells quickly around here. This area’s rich with natural gas and that makes it a potential bonanza for an investor. But none of that explains the men after you.”

“Maybe someone’s hoping to scare me, so I’ll sell out.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense, either. There are multiple bidders. I could sell to whoever I wanted. There’s no way any of them could insure they’d be the new owner. And why help out the competition?”

“All right. Let’s set that aside for now and finish in here. What’s next?” he asked.

“I want to remove all the hardware and a few built-ins, like the fireplace mantel. Whatever stays will be demolished along with the house, and that’s scheduled to begin tomorrow.”

“Where do you want to put this stuff?”

“In that big metal storage compartment over there.” She pointed to the green, metal bin beside the driveway, across from her trailer. “It’ll be pretty full after that, but I can’t afford any additional storage places, so the boxes over there with dishes and housewares will go to my dad’s workshop. It’s that small building on the south side of the house.”

“What kind of workshop?”

“Dad liked tinkering with wood. Spending hours there was his way of relaxing.” And hiding out. After her mother’s disappearance, he’d spent most of his free time there—away from her.

Emily pointed toward the den. “The boxes in there marked with a red D for donation are going to charity. They’re filled with Dad’s belongings,” she added, her voice wavering slightly.

“You okay?” he murmured, eyeing her closely.

She nodded. “Packing those was very hard.”

“Your dad’s clothing?” he asked, taking a few steps toward the boxes.

She nodded again. “If you know anyone who might be able to use them…”

“No,” he answered quickly. “The People have taboos against that.”

“Sorry. I forgot,” she said. “Something to do with ghosts. Is that right?”

“No, not ghosts—not exactly, anyway,” he stated. “Navajos believe that the good in a man merges with universal harmony, but the chindi, the evil side, remains earthbound, ready to create problems for the living. The chindi is said to be particularly attached to a person’s earthly possessions, so Navajos avoid coming into contact with those.”

“All right then,” she said with a nod. “Dad’s clothes will go to the homeless shelter as planned.”

“Did you search his clothes carefully? People often forget what they’ve stuck in their pockets.”

“I thought of that, but didn’t find anything.” She sighed. “Dad wasn’t the careless type. He was methodical and careful. But I’m making him sound too serious, and that’s way off the mark. Dad loved games.”

“What kind of games?”

“The kind that offered a challenge, and a high degree of intelligence to solve. For example, he refused to have a safe in the house because he said safes could be stolen. If he had something of particular importance to him, and it wasn’t related to business, he’d just hide it. He loved mind games. He told me that a thief would have to know him personally to even get close to something he’d hidden.”

She laughed softly. “One summer he hid an Ella Clah mystery I’d been reading. It took me two weeks to track it down. He’d placed it on the top of our grandfather clock behind the crown. You had to be eight feet tall or up on a ladder to spot it.”

“Now he’s left you with another puzzle to solve,” Jonas commented thoughtfully.

She nodded. “Guessing what he was into.”

THEY WORKED TOGETHER for two hours, then started taking boxes to the workshop. After the third load, as they stopped to take a break, they heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.

Jonas went to the workshop’s double doors and studied the truck coming toward them. “Know anyone in a tan crew cab pickup?”

“Not that I can think of offhand,” she answered, coming to join him. “My foreman, Ken, drives a big white truck with his company logo on the door.”

Without making a point of it, Jonas stepped in front of her. The gesture reminded her of the danger she was facing, but at the same time his protectiveness was reassuring.

Moments later a man in jeans, a windbreaker, boots and a brown baseball cap climbed out of the truck.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s my neighbor, Grant Woods,” she said.

Grant strode over, his expression serious. His face was tanned, and all sharp, jagged angles. He nodded to Jonas, then focused on her.

“Emily, since you’re going ahead with your construction plans, I wanted to make sure you also take responsibility for all the wear and tear on our shared stretch of road. It’s already taken a beating from those big trucks hauling in your lumber, and the cement mixers are going to eat it up. What you do to your driveway is your problem, but that section of common road—you’ll have to fix any damages your crews cause. You understand?”

“Sure, Grant. If you see a problem, just let me know,” she said, annoyed by his tone.

“There’s an easy way for you to avoid all these problems, Emily. Let me buy you out. I’ll exceed whatever property value estimates a Realtor comes up with by, say, ten percent?”

“Thanks, but as I told you the other day, I’m not interested in selling to you or anyone else. I intend to build my inn here. All the permits have been approved, and the work begins tomorrow.”

“With all the setbacks you’ve been having, what makes you think anyone will want to patronize your motel?”

“Inn,” she corrected. “And how do you know I’ve been having trouble?”

He gave her a wry smile, then turned and waved his arm. “I live just a mile and a quarter away. How could I miss the sirens and flashing lights running up and down the road? This used to be a quiet spot—until you came back home.” He paused for effect, then added, “I liked it the way it was.”

“Just give my business a chance. In the long run, you might like the changes it’ll bring,” she said.

“Doubtful, but it’s your money.” Grant started to go back to his truck, then stopped and reached inside his windbreaker. “I almost forgot. When I drove out to get my mail, I saw your box was full, so I picked it up, as well. You do know that the mailboxes are by the side of the highway now instead of at our gates? They changed that a couple of years ago.”

“Sure. They’re hard to miss. And thanks,” she said, taking the bundle he handed her.

As he drove off, she removed the rubber band holding the envelopes and catalogs together, and started to leaf through the stack. “He opened my bank statement!” she muttered, then shook her head. “No, never mind. I’m just thinking the worst because he annoyed me. It’s possible it wasn’t sealed properly.”

Jonas took the envelope and studied it. “It’s hard to tell one way or another, but that guy doesn’t exactly make a great first impression. How long have you known him?”

“Since high school. Back then, he was a loner. The jocks would give him a hard time, shoving him around, and the girls avoided him because he creeped them out. He was overly nice—smarmy—and heaven help you if he had a thing for you.”

“Did he? Have a thing for you, that is?”

“Me? No. I was a freshman when he was a senior, and just the girl next door who rode on the same school bus until he got his own car. The only time he ever paid any attention to me was when my mom disappeared.” She saw Jonas nod absently, and realized that, like everyone else in the community, he’d heard the story.

After a moment, Emily continued, shifting the focus back to Grant. “But the older sister of a friend of mine ended up on Grant’s radar, and things got bad in hurry. Right before spring break, he offered to give her a ride home. She took him up on it, but he drove her out into the bosque instead, then tried to make his moves. She ended up punching him where it hurts, then jumped out of his car and took off on foot.”

“Did he get away with it otherwise?”

Emily shook her head. “Far from it. The girl’s brother was on the wrestling team, and the next Monday morning Grant showed up at school with black eyes and bruises everywhere. After he got beat up a second time in a cafeteria fight, his parents put him in a private school for the rest of the year.”

“Was there ever any problem with him stealing?” Jonas gestured to the stack of mail.

“Not that I heard. If anything, Grant was a victim—one of those socially inept guys who went through school making more enemies than friends. He’d set himself up with his own inappropriate behavior.”

Emily glanced at her father’s workshop, then back at Jonas. “Before we get back to work, how about if I go get us something to drink from the fridge? Wet and cold.”

“You’ve got beer?”

She made a face. “Yuck, no. What do you guys see in that stuff? But I can offer you a strawberry protein drink.”

“Yeah, okay. As long as it’s wet, I’m good.”

It took her several minutes to mix the drink, then she placed the pitcher on a tray, with glasses, and headed back outside.

When she entered the workshop, Jonas stepped around the tall stack of boxes he’d made on a pallet. He’d stripped off his flannel shirt, and the ridges of hard muscle that covered his chest took her breath away.

She stared openly, unable to stop herself. His body had changed, matured in many ways. The scars on his chest spoke of battles fought—and won. He was far from the pretty-boy type who’d never met a mirror he didn’t like. Yet there was something about Jonas that made her want to run her hands over him, taking a nip here and a taste there.

A knowing smile tugged at the edges of his mouth, and realizing she’d been staring—and maybe even drooling—she handed him his glass and stepped away.

“I’ve been rearranging the boxes to make more room,” he said. He took a sip of the drink, scowled slightly, then took another.

As she looked past him into the far corner, now clear of items, something captured her attention. One of her father’s favorite hiding places had been behind the old sawhorse that had stood there for years.

Stepping closer, she spotted a narrow gap between a gray electrical panel and the piece of thin wafer board that made up the unfinished interior wall. A piece of what looked like masking tape had come loose and was dangling down. The rest of the wall had been perfectly fitted, so it seemed out of place.

“There’s something behind there,” she said.

“There, where?” Jonas asked, following her gaze.

“Look just to the left of that circuit box or whatever it is. That narrow opening…”

He nodded. “I see it. All the other joints are perfect, yet that one spot has a shaved edge of wallboard.”

“Let’s peel back the tape and look inside,” she suggested.

Reaching for the penlight in his pocket, Jonas aimed the beam into the small gap he’d uncovered. “There’s something back there, all right, but it could just be more tape.”

“Or not. Let’s loosen the wallboard. This isn’t a full-size four-by-eight piece, anyway. It’s just a long strip.”

Jonas went to the workbench and returned with a hammer and pry bar. “I’ve got it,” he said, then carefully loosened the nails fastening the edge of the wood to the stud underneath. Once several were loose, he used the pry bar to pull the wallboard away a few inches, further loosening the nails.

As she watched his muscles rippling as he worked, desire coursed through her. Jonas was thrilling to watch, his body filled with raw power and strength. The temptation to touch him made her fingers tingle and sent flurries of longing all through her.

Realizing she was playing with fire and would no doubt be burned, she forced herself to look away.

“Help me pull this board off gently, so we won’t break it,” he said, turning to look at her.

“Yes, of course,” she replied, her throat as dry as sand.

He flashed her a grin that spoke volumes.

Refusing to acknowledge it, she focused on the panel. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said, grasping the bottom.

They wiggled the board back and forth, and after a minute or two, it came off, with a small cloud of dust.

The first thing they saw in the space they’d uncovered was a myriad of spiderwebs. One in particular merited their immediate attention. A large, shiny, black widow spider with an orange-red hourglass on her abdomen had spun her web across what appeared to be a rolled up piece of paper covered in plastic. The strong silk filaments of web held the spider in place, upside down, about six inches off the ground.

Jonas moved around Emily. “I hate to destroy the web, but she can make another. I’ll scoop the spider into a shovel and take her outside.”

“Just step on it, or squash it against the wall. Black widows are nasty, poisonous things.”

He shook his head. “Spiders have their place. We’re in no danger, and it’s wrong to kill without a reason. Every action has a reaction, and the way to maintain the hózhq, the beauty and harmony in life, is to respect that everything serves a purpose. That’s how a Navajo walks in beauty, by understanding the design and finding his place in it.”

By the time Jonas returned from taking the spider outside, Emily had retrieved the paper and was brushing off what was left of the spiderweb.

“What’ve you got there?” he asked, peering over her shoulder as she slipped off the piece of string that had bound the paper.

“It looks like a sheet from a photo album or scrapbook.” She studied the symbol drawn on the outside of the folded paper nested inside the plastic sleeve. Flames bounded by a circle… The image looked vaguely familiar. “I’ve seen this before somewhere. How about you?” she asked, showing it to him.

Although his face was now expressionless, she’d seen the flicker of recognition there. Maybe it was because her eyesight was fading and she was always pushing her visual limits, but she seldom missed nuances these days.

“I’ve seen it before, too. That’s all I can tell you,” he answered vaguely.

As she gazed back at the symbol, whispers of a memory echoed at the back of her mind, but she still couldn’t place it.

“Let’s see what your father went to so much trouble to conceal,” Jonas pressed in a soft voice.

“I feel a little guilty opening it,” she said with a sad smile, pulling the folded piece of paper out of the plastic. “But if it’s part of the mess I inherited, I’ve got to know.”

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the message inside answered no more questions than the rough penciled drawing on the outside. All it did was raise new ones. At the top of the sheet were the words from Law Rock. Below them were instructions to go in certain directions—measured in compass degrees, at set distances in yards or feet.

“The directions start from ‘Law Rock’ and obviously result in finding a specific location. But where’s Law Rock?” Jonas murmured. He was all but certain there was no such geological formation in the area. “I’m familiar with most everything around here, but I’ve never heard of that particular formation.”

“Me, neither,” she answered, handing him the paper.

He stared at the directions, but at long last shook his head.

“This might be part of a game he set up for me—one we never actually got around to playing,” she said slowly. “It’s his style—and his handwriting. Like I told you, Dad loved games.”

Jonas considered that. “Did your father have pet names for places around here, like a favorite spot along the cliffs or down by the river or on your property?”

“No. And for the record, I never heard him mention Law Rock.”

“This could be what the men who broke into your father’s office were after…or not. They did take old maps, right? Either way, without knowing where Law Rock is, the directions are all but useless.” Jonas gazed at the symbol of the Brotherhood, the circle and the flames. “Or this might be a decoy. Something meant for others to find, a way to keep his enemy busy.”

As Jonas moved away to make a call, Emily stared thoughtfully at the drawing of the circle and flames. It was so familiar, but she just couldn’t place it, and the more she tried, the more elusive the memory became.

Chapter Four

Emily sat on the bench in the trailer. She’d studied the directions and distances so intently, looking for hidden meanings, she now had them memorized.

“My suggestion is that you keep it someplace safe,” Jonas said. “It could be months before you figure out what that means.”

He’d already checked with others in the Brotherhood. Within thirty miles, there was Ship Rock, Mitten Rock, Chimney Rock, Popping Rock, Thieving Rock and even Rock Ridge, but no one had ever heard of a place called Law Rock. They’d looked into the possibility that it was a translation, but had found nothing even close.

The brief talk he’d had on the phone with Diné Nééz continued to play in his mind. Grant Woods, as the resident closest to the accident scene, had been questioned as a potential witness. He had an alibi, apparently, which meant he couldn’t have caused the car wreck that had killed Emily’s father.

He’d been questioned a few hours ago about the other events, too. Grant claimed to have been at home, working in his office, during the first incident, and outside working on fence repairs during the second. He hadn’t recalled hearing any vehicles, or a motorcycle.

“When Grant brought over my mail, it reminded me that I’ve yet to go through all the papers in Dad’s safe-deposit box at the bank,” Emily said, interrupting his thoughts. “Dad also had a post office box in town. That’s where his business mail went because he didn’t like leaving important papers in a rural mailbox.”

“I don’t blame him. There was a time around here when people didn’t even lock their doors, particularly on the rez, but those days are long gone.” Jonas stood. “Let me go change clothes, then we’ll head into town. The reason I took off my shirt is because I ripped it against the corner of the workbench.” He called her attention to the sleeve.