The Shadow Read online

  The world needed warriors who could fight the good fight, and Jonas Slowman, Navajo name “The Shadow,” was the best of the best.

  Gun in one hand, Emily’s hand in the other, Jonas continued his progress along the wooded side of the road in pursuit of a lead. Between his ranger training in the military and his experience with the Brotherhood of Warriors, he knew all the tricks of the trade. But one moment’s distraction could result in lethal consequences. Jonas knew how to stay alive, and that’s why he was here now instead of in a cemetery on the Navajo Nation. Without focus, he and Emily would be nothing more than the walking dead. That, more than anything, confirmed for him that there was no place for love in his life. It softened a man and muddied his objectivity. And he had to keep Emily safe.

  Dear Reader,

  Several years ago I began to experience a loss of vision. Those months were without a doubt the most terrifying of my life. Like the heroine, I told no one at first, but eventually David, my husband, guessed what was going on. Throughout that difficult time David stood beside me. It was his love that bolstered my courage whenever it sagged.

  For the purposes of this story I’ve chosen to mirror some of the symptoms I experienced and the issues I confronted, hoping to give you a more intimate glimpse into my life at the time. The terror, the feelings of isolation, the desperate need to plan for the unknown, are all part of my heroine Emily’s story, too.

  Emily has her project—constructing an inn—to keep her hopes alive. I had my writing. Bringing these stories to you kept me focused and eventually saw me through that period in my life.

  I’ve recovered my sight, but the lessons I learned during those days will remain with me forever. I now know that there’s no greater blessing than a love that neither time nor circumstance can stem.

  With that in mind, I bring you The Shadow.

  Aimée Thurlo

  AIMÉE THURLO

  THE SHADOW

  To Peg, because between the both of us,

  we give new meaning to mi casa es tu casa.

  And Deb Hetrick who always has something nice to say.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Aimée Thurlo is a nationally known bestselling author. She’s the winner of a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews, the New Mexico Book Award in contemporary fiction and a Willa Cather Award in the same category. She’s published in twenty countries worldwide.

  She also cowrites the bestselling Ella Clah mainstream mystery series praised in the New York Times Book Review.

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

  Books by Aimée Thurlo

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  988—COUNCIL OF FIRE*

  1011—RESTLESS WIND*

  1064—STARGAZER’S WOMAN*

  1154—NAVAJO COURAGE*

  1181—THE SHADOW*

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Jonas Slowman—He had the power to make things happen, but what he wanted most was out of his reach.

  Emily Atkins—Her hopes and dreams for the future demanded she stay strong. Yet the warrior who fought beside her was her greatest weakness.

  Dinétsoh—The trusted member of the Brotherhood had disappeared with a fortune in bearer bonds that Emily desperately needed.

  Robert Jefferson—A real estate lawyer about to make the deal of his life—if he lived long enough to collect.

  Grant Woods—He wanted the Atkins property, and wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer.

  Jen Caldwell—Not so innocent, the legal assistant was in a position to know everything…or so she thought.

  Sam Carpenter—He was Grant Woods’ handyman, but who was he really working for?

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Prologue

  Dinétsoh gripped the heavy briefcase tightly with his uninjured hand as he tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t afford to lose those bearer bonds; anyone could cash them in. The Navajo Nation needed the funds to buy the land where their ancestral refuge had been hidden—then rediscovered, less than ten years ago.

  He checked the makeshift bandage on his wounded arm as he stopped behind a tall juniper to catch his breath. The bullet from the high-powered rifle had passed through his arm cleanly, leaving two gaping holes in his biceps. The improvised bandage had temporarily stemmed the flow of blood, but just barely. His head felt light from the loss of blood, and he was running out of time. His strength was fading and he was finding it increasingly difficult to walk, much less run.

  Duty drove him now. The Brotherhood of Warriors was counting on him to see this mission through. He’d been their only contact with the Anglo attorney, Powell Atkins. Now he was the only one alive who could identify the person who’d caused the wreck that had killed the attorney, and almost cost Dinétsoh his own life, as well.

  Determination kept him moving. He had to live long enough to insure his tribe’s future, and the safety of the attorney’s daughter. If he failed to survive, the one hunting him would certainly turn on her next, and the promise the Brotherhood had made her father would be irreparably broken. Only one other Brotherhood Warrior had all the skills to prevent the unthinkable, but there was no way to reach him now.

  Dinétsoh suddenly heard a sound in the brush below him. He tightened his grip on the briefcase once more and climbed wearily toward the bluffs. If he couldn’t make it to Fire Rock Hollow before dark, all would be lost.

  An item fell from his torn pocket onto the sand, but before he could turn to pick it up, he heard the sound of footfalls crunching on the dry ground, coming closer. Ducking behind cover again, he waited. In the fading sunlight, the turquoise key took on a deep green glow. As the tribal artifact fell under a deep shadow, Dinétsoh reluctantly slipped away.

  Chapter One

  Emily sat in her father’s cozy leather chair and leaned back wearily, stretching her muscles. His combination library-office was a total mess. Every inch of the old oak floor was littered with papers, documents and manila folders—a leftover from a burglar’s visit two days ago, during her father’s funeral. Having learned how to track during her early teens, she’d followed the footprints left by the thief, hoping to find a clue. Unfortunately, the trail had disappeared at the road, replaced by tire tracks. The official police department search had yielded no further answers.

  She still had no idea what, if anything, had been taken, except for her father’s collection of maps. They’d been in a folder, but she doubted they were of much value.

  Emily looked around her. Daylight was only a memory now, and the pair of battery-powered lanterns atop cardboard boxes in two corners of the room were the only sources of illumination. She’d had all the utilities turned off yesterday. The main house, where she was currently, was scheduled to be torn down soon. Though money was tight, she’d given the construction crew the go-ahead, knowing her father would have approved.

  Time was her enemy now. Her eyesight was becoming progressively weaker. A month ago she’d been diagnosed with a rare, genetic and progressive form of macular degenera
tion.

  Learning that she was slowly going blind terrified her. A dark wall was descending around her, one that would keep her trapped behind it. Yet the diagnosis, though dire, still held out hope. Recent discoveries in gene therapy hinted that a cure would be found—someday.

  After hearing of her condition, her father had encouraged her to quit her job at an Albuquerque area resort and come home. His belief in her had renewed her courage, and with his added financial support, they’d made plans to build a new future—for her and for him.

  She missed her father. His passing, in an auto accident, had left a hole inside her. He’d been her only living relative. As she looked around the room, she felt achingly alone.

  Suddenly aware that her isolation would make her an easy target if the burglars came back now, she stood. The fading light from one of the battery-powered lanterns was casting long shadows on the wall, and that increased her anxiety.

  It was time to go back to the small trailer she’d brought in to serve as her temporary living quarters. Emily slipped out of the main house, locking the door with the knob button by feel. Using her small but powerful flashlight to light the path before her, she picked her way across the grounds.

  She was halfway across the yard when she caught the unmistakable scent of gasoline. Shining the beam about, she spotted the vague outline of a person moving around the stack of two-by-sixes the construction crew had left there earlier. She aimed her flashlight at the figure, hoping it was her construction foreman, Ken. As the man turned, she saw that his face was covered with a ski mask.

  Emily turned off the light instantly. Taking several quick steps back, she collided with the side of the shed and nearly fell.

  The man came toward her with raised arms, holding a board over his head like a big club.

  Emily moved to her right, but a second man, also wearing a mask, suddenly came around the other side of the shed, trapping her between them.

  The first man lunged, swinging the board at her head.

  Heart hammering in her chest, she ducked under its arc and chopped him on the wrist with her flashlight.

  As he yelped and staggered back, she picked up the only close weapon she could find—a cottonwood branch about the length of a yardstick. It was too light to serve as a bludgeon, but it would give her some reach, and she could aim at their faces and target her assailants’ eyes.

  “What do you want from me?” she demanded, angling her flashlight at the closest man, hoping to blind and confuse him.

  He remained silent, but continued to inch forward, shielding his eyes from the glare with a gloved hand.

  Without warning, a figure in dark clothes dropped off the roof of the shed, landing beside her in a crouch, like a panther. “Stay put,” he whispered.

  Turning, the newcomer positioned himself between her and her assailants, and rose to his full height.

  Her rescuer’s face wasn’t masked, but he’d moved too fast for her to get a clear look at him. Grateful for any help, she continued to train the powerful beam of her flashlight on her first assailant, hoping to blind him. From what she could see, her ally’s only weapon was the small cylinder he held in his hand—even smaller than her flashlight. Fear pounded through her.

  “Back off—while your head’s still attached to your shoulders,” her rescuer growled.

  His voice made her skin prickle. Deadly intent dripped from every syllable.

  The closest man automatically took half a step back in response, undoubtedly wondering, like Emily, why anyone holding such a small weapon would show such confidence.

  “Walk away while you still can,” the first man responded, coming up. His voice was artificially low, clearly disguised. He didn’t have the board now, but his gloved fists were huge.

  With a flick of her ally’s wrist, the stick in his hand clicked with a low, metallic ring and suddenly became three times as long.

  What happened next was a blur. Emily saw her newfound friend rush her closest assailant, and in a heartbeat, that man crashed to the ground. The second one leaped into the fight, but was struck behind the knee and fell face forward.

  “Run!” one yelled to his partner. Both men scrambled to their feet and raced away into the brush.

  As her rescuer turned around to face her, Emily’s mouth went dry and her heart began to pound. Although her night vision was poor, her heart filled in all the small details her eyes were unable to pick up.

  “Jonas,” she managed to gasp at last. “What are you…?”

  He smiled. “Emily. After five years, you still remember?” His voice was smooth and caressing now.

  “How could you think I’d ever forget? You saved my life—then, as well as now,” she declared, her heart lodged at the back of her throat.

  “Get inside, quickly,” he urged, collapsing the metal baton and jamming it into his jacket pocket. “I want to take one last look around and make sure nothing here can catch fire. Then you and I need to talk. You’re still in danger.”

  TEN MINUTES LATER, Jonas Slowman sat on a small bench—what was really a storage bin in the trailer—as Emily prepared them something hot to drink. Though it was mid-March and nearly spring, the temperature at night was still in the low forties.

  Jonas gazed at her appreciatively. Emily was as beautiful as ever. He pushed back the thought quickly and forced himself to focus. As a member of the Navajo tribe’s elite Brotherhood of Warriors, he’d worked many missions, but this promised to be the toughest yet.

  Seeing Emily again was more difficult than he’d originally thought. She’d been a part of his dreams since that night on the mountain years ago. He’d stayed away from her for that very reason. But his orders were clear—protect her at all costs—and there was no room for emotions on a mission.

  “It’s decaf coffee. It’s all I’ve got,” she said, turning her head in his direction.

  He saw her gaze drift down to his hands, and wondered if seeing his bruised knuckles bothered her. Then, noting the faraway look on her face and the ghost of a shiver that rippled through her, he knew she was remembering the pleasures of his touch. The knowledge bit into him hard.

  Finished assembling the four-cup percolator, she came to join him. “Those men…” she began, then took a shaky breath and looked away.

  “Are gone and can’t hurt you,” he said flatly.

  “Nothing in my life makes sense anymore—even the fact that we’re sitting here face-to-face,” she whispered, taking a seat on the folding chair across from him. “I never thought I’d see you again. Over the years, I almost convinced myself that you were a dream.”

  “I’m not a dream. What we had was real.”

  He held her gaze, though it cost him. Everything about Emily was made to tempt a man. Dark brown hair spilled over her shoulders, and those soft hazel eyes spoke of gentleness—a quality sadly lacking in his life. But there was more to her than the sum of her parts. The stubborn set of her chin spoke of pride and an independent spirit. And that was the woman he remembered—the one who’d haunted his dreams.

  “When the snowstorm ended and you took me back to the lodge, everyone was so excited I’d turned up alive they just closed in around me. I tried to push people back so I could find you again, but you were gone. And I didn’t even know your full name. I described you to everyone there, but no one remembered seeing you.”

  He nodded. Disappearing into the shadows was his specialty. It was a skill he’d learned in the Rangers and had perfected after becoming a member of the Brotherhood of Warriors.

  “Once I had a chance to think things through, I understood why you didn’t stick around,” she continued. “Navajos aren’t supposed to show pride, and you didn’t seem the kind of man who’d be comfortable getting a million thank-yous. But you never got in touch afterward, not even to say a quick hello.”

  He heard the trace of disappointment in her voice and, as he met her eyes, felt the tug on his senses. He could still remember every detail of their first meeting—the
tiny nylon tent, a woman close to death, one sleeping bag and the heat that brought life.

  Yet looking at Emily now, he saw more than the lost girl he’d rescued back then. There was maturity and new strength in her. Clearly, she could handle herself. He’d seen it in the way she’d fought those men, though she’d been armed only with a stick and a flashlight. That had taken guts. To win the fight ahead, all Emily needed was an edge—and that’s exactly why he was here.

  Seeing the long, thoughtful look she was giving him, he sat back and waited for her to speak.

  “After all this time, here you are again, out of nowhere, and right when I need you,” she said. She pressed her palm to his heart, and felt it beat against her palm. “You’re real.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “I’m flesh and blood just like you.” He heard the small catch in her breath and gave her a thoroughly masculine grin.

  She took a step back. “How…why?” she stammered, confused.

  “I was sent by the tribe to help you out, and make sure you stay safe. Your father was our friend, and we take care of our own.”

  “You’re a tribal police officer?”

  “No, not exactly. But even if I were, this would be out of my jurisdiction. Right now what you need to do is report this incident to the sheriff’s department. When you do, give them my Anglo name—Jonas Slowman.”