Navajo Justice

Burke placed his arm around her waist

Leaning over her seductively, he whispered in Laura’s ear. “Elena has told everyone that I’m your boyfriend, so I think we should make it look convincing. If it helps you to get the right look in your eyes, you could try picturing me naked.”

A vivid image of Burke that day she’d caught him just out of the shower suddenly popped into her mind—but her imagination kicked in and she saw him dropping the towel he’d wrapped around him. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to pound.

Burke gave her an utterly charming smile. “Ah, I see it worked. Your cheeks are flushed.”

“They are not,” she protested quickly, then, looking around, saw they were being watched by a couple dancing past. Laura forced herself to smile.

“That’s better. Keep smiling and let’s dance. That’ll help,” Burke said.

“No, it won’t. I’m an awful dancer. I’ll step on you.”

Burke grabbed her hand and led her out onto the dance floor. “I’ll risk it.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

The suspenseful tales we offer you this month are much scarier than Halloween’s ghouls and ghosts! So bring out your trick-or-treating bag and gather up all four exciting stories.

And do we have a treat for you—a brand-new 3-in-1 compilation featuring authors Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor. Ten years ago, three men were cursed by a Gypsy woman bent on vengeance. Now they must race to find a killer—and true love’s kiss may just break the evil spell they’re under in Gypsy Magic.

Next, Aimée Thurlo concludes her two-book miniseries SIGN OF THE GRAY WOLF, with Navajo Justice. And Susan Kearney starts a new trilogy, THE CROWN AFFAIR, in which royalty of the country of Vashmira must battle palace danger and treachery, while finding true love along the way. Look for Royal Target this month.

When Jennifer Ballard dreamed of her wedding day, it never included murder! But no one would harm the beautiful bride, not if Colby Agency investigator Ethan Delaney had anything to say about it. Pick up Contract Bride for yet another nail-biter from Debra Webb.

Happy reading!

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Navajo Justice

Aimée Thurlo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Aimée Thurlo is a nationally known bestselling author. She’s written forty-one novels and is published in at least twenty countries worldwide. She has been nominated for the Reviewer’s Choice Award and the Career Achievement Award by Romantic Times magazine.

She also cowrites the Ella Clah mainstream mystery series, which debuted with a starred review in Publishers Weekly and has been optioned by CBS.

Aimée was born in Havana, Cuba, and lives with her husband of thirty years in Corrales, New Mexico. Her husband, David, was raised on the Navajo Indian Reservation.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Handler—Just who was the faceless owner of Gray Wolf Investigations and why did he have so many friends in high places?

Burke Silentman—He had a debt to pay, and in that price lay his redemption.

Laura Santos—The men she wrote about were only fantasies until Burke Silentman rode up on his motorcycle.

Doug Begay—Though he was far away, his actions could exact the highest price on them all.

Karl Maurer—The Center was his life, but how much would he risk to keep it?

Nicole Maurer—Her husband knew the kind of company she was keeping—or did he?

Michael Enesco—He was an outsider and that made him the object of suspicion. But was some of it deserved?

To Pat and Jack Kelly—

the best neighbors anyone could ever want.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

It was a beautiful morning in late March. The sky was a clear, almost brilliant blue, the air clean and crisp—the kind of day where the breeze whispered of dreams that were still in the making, and songbirds celebrated the coming of spring.

Laura Santos drove home from the post office slowly, taking back streets off the main highway that, although graveled and bumpy, gave a great glimpse into the true character of the small New Mexico town. One-story houses stood like sentinels between fields of sandy soil dotted with tall clumps of blue-green sage and eager green-and-yellow native grasses. Horses wandered lazily, seeking the fresh green fare. Their slowly shedding, thick winter coats were now the only reminder of the long, cold months behind them.

Today, she could afford to take her time and enjoy the day. She’d finally finished her latest novel, Dawn of Desire. It was the story of a wounded ex-soldier who’d come home to find the love he’d left behind. Laura sighed. It had been a beautiful love story with a delicious hero. Best of all, the book had flowed easily, as did most tales told from the heart.

Restless now, she wondered how to celebrate the completion of the book. There was no special man in her life. The relationships she’d had in the past hadn’t worked out for one reason or another, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d settle for a man who was “good enough.”

Of course, her life was simpler this way. Her work was very time consuming, and she also had her madrina, her godmother, to take care of, so her days were full. Although she dated occasionally, and had all the usual healthy urges, no one had ever really come close to touching her heart.

As she entered the more densely populated neighborhood where she lived, the pavement began and the dust level dropped noticeably. Turning onto the street that led to her home, Laura looked down the block and caught a glimpse of her new neighbor, Burke, sitting astride his motorcycle, adjusting something on the engine. The tall, black-haired Navajo man had the palest brown eyes she’d ever seen and a smile that, although rare, could undoubtedly coax a pulse out of a stone.

As she slowed to make the turn into her driveway, her gaze strayed over him. Looking up just then, Burke waved. She smiled back at him, feeling her heart start to beat a little faster.

Aware suddenly that she hadn’t been watching where she was going, she focused back on the turn, hoping she wasn’t about to hit the mailbox—again. She’d been checking him out last week, daydreaming, when she’d brushed against it with the front bumper. The pole that supported the box had broken off at the ground, and the custom-designed mailbox, shaped like a house, had ended up looking like something used in a television commercial to advertise tornado insurance. At least Burke had been stepping inside as she’d knocked it down, so she hadn’t had to make a lame excuse.

The man had moved in about a week ago, and had already doubled the machismo level on their street, as every woman on their block would have happily attested. There was something powerfully and wonderfully masculine about him. Laura had no doubt that it was partly due to the arrogant confidence with which he did virtually everything. His long-legged stride, so filled with purpose and a hint of aggression, gave something as mundane as “walking” an entirely new meaning.

She sighed and lowered her head, resting it on the steering wheel. Reality-check time. The romantic in her was taking her very good-looking neighbor and rewriting him into a fantasy hero. Burke was probably a businessman or some form of engineer, like many of the men in her new, upper-middle-class neighborhood. His masculine walk was probably due to a sore spot left after taking a corner too fast on his motorcycle down one of the graveled back roads.

She’d have to make a point to talk to Burke and find out more about him next time he came up to the cedar fence that bordered their properties. So far only her madrina, Elena, had actually spoken to him. With luck, Laura’s fantasies would come to a screeching halt once she met him and found out he was a salesman with a high-pitched voice and the tendency to try and sell life insurance policies to everyone he met.

Laura switched off the ignition, grabbed her purse and climbed out of her sporty but sensible Chevrolet sedan. Flipping through her Scooby-Doo key chain on the way up the sidewalk, she found the right key and unlocked the front door.

The second she stepped across the threshold, an invisible cloud of foul-smelling gas slammed into her like a massive wave. She staggered back, coughing and fighting to catch her breath.

She turned her head away from the house, trying to catch her breath so she could go back inside. All the oxygen inside the house had been replaced by natural gas, making her light-headed.

“Elena!” she called out frantically, but there was no response.

“Elena, where are you?” Laura yelled again, fighting the feeling of nausea from the noxious gas. She stepped back from the door, looking around for Burke, hoping she could ask him to call 911, but she couldn’t see him now. Knowing there was no time to lose, she took two deep breaths of fresh air, then rushed into the house.

For a moment, her blood turned to ice and she couldn’t move. The interior of her home was in shambles. Everything that had been on the bookshelves was now on the floor, swept into random piles. Cushions from the sofa and chairs had been slashed, then torn open and gutted. Stuffing lay scattered around the room like the aftermath of a bizarre snowstorm.

She tried to focus her thoughts quickly, feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen. Her godmother was here someplace and she had to locate her and get her outside, fast.

Laura’s lungs felt as if they’d burst any second. Knowing that she had to take a breath, she rushed to the living room windows and threw open the first one she reached. She took a deep lungful of air, then plunged back into the nightmare her home had become.

Laura quickly searched the bedrooms and the kitchen, resisting the urge to turn on the lights and risk a spark-initiated explosion. But Doña Elena wasn’t there. Halfway back to the living room Laura was forced to take a breath. She tried to make it a shallow one, but the smell was overpowering. She ran into the bathroom, slid back the small window and breathed deeply, then dove back into the poisoned atmosphere.

The hall seemed endless as she ran along it, heading directly for the next closest window. But when she tried to lift the sash, it was stuck tight. Out of air now, she was forced to take a short breath, but that proved to be a mistake.

Suddenly very dizzy, she leaned against the wall. Elena was in here somewhere and Laura had to find her, but her eyes had lost the ability to focus. Vaguely, she remembered the garage and turned to head in that direction. As if someone were playing with a dimmer switch, the room grew darker and she slipped slowly to the floor.

Laura fought to stay conscious, but oddly shaped patterns exploded before her eyes. Asphyxiation—she didn’t want to die this way. Yet even as the thought formed, it slipped away and darkness greeted her.

Laura wasn’t sure when her thoughts began again, but she awoke to the feeling of being carried. A man’s arms, strong and warm, were wrapped around her, pressing her securely against a rock-hard chest. His strength was comforting, but also deeply stirring on a primitive level.

Still groggy, she wondered if this was what happened to romance authors when they died—perhaps God had created a special heaven for them. She didn’t struggle. If she’d gone to romance writers heaven, she would enjoy every single moment of it.

As a strong light hit her eyes, she buried her face against his chest. The Light. It was harsh. She’d expected more—or maybe less. And where was that tunnel she’d heard about, and those departed loved ones stepping up to offer encouragement?

Slowly, she realized that she was able to breathe now. Did the dead breathe?

“You’re going to be okay,” a deep, sure voice said.

She turned her head to look at her rescuer, but his face was lost in an iridescent haze. A soft glimmer in his eyes seemed to pierce it somewhat, and she found herself captivated by the light brown eyes that held hers. “Am I dead?”

“No, not hardly, though you’ll probably have a killer headache later on.”

The haze that clouded her vision began to give way and, like a slowly developing photograph, his face grew clearer. She knew this man. It was her next-door neighbor, Burke, and his eyes were shining with a vibrant inner fire. She allowed herself to bask in the warmth of his gaze, and in the knowledge that she was alive and safe.

Then suddenly another thought made a bolt of panic shoot through her. “Elena!”

“She’s not at home. Relax,” he said, his voice utterly compelling and reassuring.

Burke laid her down gently on the grass of her front lawn. “I heard you calling for her and coughing, then saw you rush inside the house with your hand over your mouth. I tried to stop you but I couldn’t reach you in time.”

Relief flooded through her, erasing her fear. “I thought—” Her voice broke and she buried her face against his shoulder again.

Burke held her tightly. “What you did was very brave, but completely unnecessary. Doña Elena—Mrs. Baca—left over a half hour ago in the senior center’s van.”

It felt wonderful to be held by him. He was all hard muscle and lean strength. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Let me show you.” He leaned down and captured her mouth in a tender kiss.

He tasted of cinnamon and strong, dark coffee. Seconds stretched out as a sweet, slow fire coursed through her veins.

But it was over too soon, and he drew back.

“Now we’re more than even. In fact—I may owe you, lovely lady.”

Chapter Two

Laura took a long ragged breath. The taste of Burke still lingered in her mouth, teasing her. What she’d found in his arms was pure fire. He remained close to her now and she breathed in his incredibly masculine scent. It was a blend of the rugged outdoors and pure danger.

She sat up slowly, trying to get her bearings. She’d spent years writing about the devastating magic of a man and a woman’s first kiss—but she’d never thought this would happen to her. Now, out of all the places in the world where she might have found that sweet fire, it had happened here on her own front lawn.

Laura shook her head. She was still daffy from the gas. She was confusing life with the Wizard of Oz.

“You’re darned tootin’ you owe me,” she answered him at last. “And just to make it even, the day I collect, I’ll take you by surprise.”

His eyes grew dark and sparkled with the excitement of a challenge. “Anytime.” His voice was like steel and velvet. “I’m a man of honor—most of the time.”

She laughed. “I’ll remember that.” And everything else that had just happened, for as long as she lived.

Burke stood and, holding her firmly by the waist, brought her to her feet.

She gripped his shoulders, enjoying the hardness of his body. For a second their eyes met and she experienced something else that had never happened to her before—she was at a loss for words.

She was suffering from oxygen deprivation. That was the only answer that made sense. “I need to call the gas company and have them fix that leak. I should also call the police.” Hearing sirens, she looked down the street and added, “Or did you do that already?”

“I called 911 before I went after you.” As the paramedics drove up, he waved them over.

It took fifteen minutes for Laura to be checked out and for her to convince the paramedics that she was okay. Fortunately, her vital signs were normal, and the medics didn’t believe she was in any more danger. Laura agreed to see a doctor if any symptoms reappeared.

During that time the gas supply leading to the heater was turned off inside her home. After signing a release form the paramedics presented, she went to meet the gas company serviceman as he came out her door.

“I’ve opened every window I could find in there, ma’am, but you should still be careful inside. The connector leading to your furnace is damaged and will have to be replaced, and the furnace itself will need some work. You’ll still smell the chemical added to the natural gas so you can detect a leak, but that will fade pretty soon. The rest…” He shrugged. “What happened in there?”

“Someone must have broken in and trashed the place. That’s all I’ve figured out so far.” As the man walked back to his truck, Laura looked up and down the block, trying to figure out if the police were coming or not. Giving up on them, she started to go back into the house.

Just then Burke came up to her. “Can I help?” he asked.

“I’m going to take a look inside, now that it’s safe. If I remember right, my house was in a shambles. I must have had a burglar.”

“Let me go with you. And by the way, as a precaution, don’t turn on any of the lights just yet. The gas should have dissipated enough, but there’s no sense in testing it with a spark.”

As Laura walked into the living room she grasped the full extent of the damage clearly for the first time. All the things she’d loved, that had defined her home and herself, had been tossed onto the floor like trash. She saw her collection of music boxes there, chipped and cracked, some smashed beyond recognition. The small knickknacks that held little value but gave her so much pleasure, like the wind-up toy drummer bear and her collection of mice, had been stepped on, probably not even on purpose. There was so much clutter on the floor it was nearly impossible to pick a path.

“Why would anyone do this to me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Take it one step at a time. See if there’s anything missing.” In a gesture of support, Burke placed his hand on her shoulder.

The warmth of his touch melted the coldness that enveloped her. Yet even as it comforted, it stirred other unsettling emotions.

She moved away and picked up a brightly decorated clay pot that had somehow survived undamaged. The miniature rose that had been inside it lay next to it. Laura placed the plant back into the pot along with all the soil she could scoop up.

The small act of restoration made her feel better.

“Look, but don’t touch anything else yet,” Burke said, gazing around the room. “The police will want to work the scene and check for evidence. They’ll search for fingerprints.”

As she saw the debris in the hall, Laura felt a new wave of panic slam into her. Her office. She had to check her computer. The book was finished, but she had other important files on her hard drive—the beginning of a future book, for one.

She rushed down the hall, but although the room was in shambles, her computer appeared untouched. She counted that as a major blessing, and tried to ignore the way her chest tightened as she looked at the chaos surrounding her. Files lay all over the floor, papers everywhere. Reference books had been tossed around, and some of the older ones had lost pages and had their spines broken. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she stepped back out into the hall.

As she went into the bedrooms, she saw they had not fared well, either. Everything had been rifled through. In her room, the contents of every drawer had been dumped onto the floor. Her small jewelry box had been upended, but as she sorted through the jumble of pieces, she saw that nothing was missing, not even her most expensive watch, earrings or matching pendant.

Laura went through the rest of the house numbly. She checked for the obvious things burglars usually took, like the TV set and VCR, but both were there, intact, and none of the simple tools in the garage had even been touched.

“I just don’t understand this,” she muttered. “What on earth were they after?”

Hearing a loud knock, she returned to the living room. A police officer in a blue uniform had come in the open door and was looking around. She introduced herself and took him from room to room.

“Any idea who did this?” he asked her. Seeing her shake her head, he added, “Smells like you had a gas leak, too.”

She gave him a quick rundown of what had happened, including what the gas company serviceman had said.

“I’m going to check for the point of entry and dust that area for fingerprints, but I’ve got to tell you, we generally don’t have a lot of luck finding the perps in these cases. Our best chance is if we catch them in the act somewhere else, or fencing the stolen property. Of course, we’ll ask your neighbors if they saw or heard anyone or noticed an unfamiliar vehicle. We’ll cover all the usual bases, but after that…”

Laura felt her stomach plummet. In her books the cops always had sufficient resources and the determination to solve every crime. But this was real life, and too often victims were just that—victims. The label made her angry. Someone had broken into her home and turned her life into chaos, and she was supposed to just shrug it off?

Burke came to stand beside her. It was a small gesture, but one she appreciated. He had a commanding presence about him that she found oddly reassuring.

“What you can do is figure out how to get your life back to normal—fast,” Burke advised. “For starters, you’ll need to have dead bolts installed and a good, solid back door. I think the burglar was able to kick it in because it wasn’t constructed to stand up to punishment. Learn from this and you can keep it from ever happening again.”

“And who knows?” the officer agreed. “We may get lucky and catch the perp and recover whatever he stole from you.”

“For now, let’s finish going through the house and see what that could be,” Burke said. “You’ll need to make a list.”

It was like walking through a nightmare. Laura went down the hall with the men and, as they passed the closet containing the gas furnace, Burke stopped and crouched down beside it. The metal panel had been ripped off the heater.

“From the marks I see, it looks like they were trying to search the space between the furnace and wall,” Burke said. “Of course, in doing that, the intruder moved the furnace enough to extinguish the pilot light and break the gas connection. It looks like he damaged the furnace as well.”

As they entered Elena’s room, Laura saw a tiny silver pendant Elena cherished on the floor, along with other items from the top of her dresser. She picked the pendant up, grateful that it hadn’t been stepped on. It had been the last gift Elena had received from her husband before he died. Laura placed it inside her jacket pocket in an attempt to protect this one special thing.