The Shadow Page 13

  “Where do you think Phil’s going?” she asked, her voice steady.

  “My guess is he’s heading to a residential section south of the river. Most of the houses there are rentals, and in pretty bad shape. The whole area reeks of garbage, since the people living there have quit caring. But they have to. Otherwise life’ll destroy them one inch at a time.”

  She wondered if that’s how it had been for him—hardened by war and poverty here at home. Did he think that if he allowed himself to care too much—even about her—it would somehow destroy him? Yet the ability to care was what made them human, and lifted them above the debris life too often left behind.

  “There he goes,” Jonas said abruptly.

  Phil climbed out of his car, and as they passed by, she watched him enter a small house with a torn screen door hanging off one hinge. The minimal wood trim on the building needed fresh paint, and the walls were covered with a scratch coat of gray stucco. Dried weeds from last summer choked the yard, and the mailbox was missing from its wooden post. Nothing about those four walls and roof evoked the concept of home.

  Once they reached the end of the block, Jonas turned around and drove back down the street. “I’m going to have a talk with Mr. Davis. You might want to keep the doors locked, and wait here in the truck.”

  “I’m going in with you. If there’s trouble, I’ll be there to help.”

  His eyebrows rose, and the hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “What exactly would you do—theoretically?”

  “I can’t fight, but what made me a good resort manager, and will make me a great innkeeper, is my ability to communicate with people. Reason and persuasion can work wonders. I might be able to keep things from getting out of hand.”

  He shook his head slowly and let his breath out in a hiss. “If you insist on coming along, then make sure you stay a couple of steps behind me.”

  As they walked to the front door, she could feel Jonas’s tension. He was as taut as a bowstring. His eyes darted everywhere, and he seemed attuned to everything around them.

  Standing to one side of the door, he knocked hard, watching the window curtain for activity.

  As her eyesight continued to fade, Emily’s sense of hearing had grown acute—or at least more focused. When Jonas knocked for a second time, she heard the very faint sound of footsteps around the corner of the house. Placing her hand on Jonas’s arm, she cocked her head to the right.

  Jonas edged away and, with a nod, motioned for her to keep knocking. Just as Emily knocked again, he reached around the corner and yanked Davis forward by his shirt collar.

  His quarry exploded, punching him in the chest and breaking loose. Jonas kicked out and caught the big man in the gut, slamming him into the wall so hard the window beside him cracked.

  Davis came rushing back, tackling Jonas on the driveway. As they went down, Jonas kneed his attacker in the groin, rolled and came up on his feet.

  The other man was almost as quick, leaping from the ground to a low crouch in an instant. He lunged for his car door, yanking it open as a barrier between them.

  Jonas punched through the open window, catching Davis in the upper chest. He kicked the door next, hoping to pin him, but the other man slipped free, throwing a counter punch that missed Jonas’s jaw by an inch.

  Emily edged closer, looking around for a weapon and trying to figure out how best to help. Both men were remarkably agile and in good shape, though Jonas, less bulky, was quicker on his feet. So far they’d blocked each other’s blows, but that couldn’t last. Eventually one of them would score a major hit.

  As Jonas blocked another blow with his forearm, she spoke quickly. “Phil, I’m the only one who can keep you out of prison, so stop fighting and start listening. I’ve got proof that you forged the drilling-rights contract,” she bluffed, with all the confidence she could muster. “But I’m not after you. I want Grant Woods, or whoever hired you for the job. Tell me who that is, and we’ll walk away.”

  “And that’s it? No cops?” Davis asked, rubbing his jaw as he circled Jonas slowly.

  Jonas stood his ground, his eyes never leaving his opponent.

  Emily stepped back, staying out of Phil’s range. “That’s it. I get the information I need, and we walk away. No cops. It’s a fair trade,” she said, praying he’d fall for her bluff. The truth was she had no proof of anything.

  Almost as if he’d had the same thought, his eyes narrowed. “What kind of proof do you have against me?”

  “Your work has certain…shall we say trademarks?” Jonas answered for her. “If we take what we’ve got to the law, or the parole board—you’ll be back in Santa Fe before the weekend.”

  “But you’re not our target,” Emily repeated. “We don’t want to waste our time on the hired help—we want the boss. Cooperate and we’re gone.”

  Davis brushed away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. “Yeah, yeah. We can work something out. Let’s go inside, I’m feeling a little thirsty.”

  The living room-kitchen was clean and smelled of fresh paint. A small TV stood in a corner. There was a torn sofa and a wooden kitchen table with three chairs. “Beer?” Phil asked, walking over and opening the fridge.

  “Just information,” she answered, after glancing at Jonas and seeing him shake his head. “But thanks for offering.”

  “No prob,” Davis replied, opening his beer with a whoosh and taking a deep swallow. “I did forge the contract you’re talking about,” he said, holding the cold bottle against his jaw. “I learned that trade in the pen. It was some of my best work, too, though I couldn’t get to the clerk’s notary stamp. That would have sealed the deal, literally. But don’t think I’m holding out on you when you hear the rest. I can’t tell you who hired me, not for sure.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Jonas countered.

  “Can’t,” Davis answered. “No games, man. All I know about Grant Woods is that his was the only signature I wasn’t asked to forge. I was paid by a blonde, who turned out to be using a phony name. I should have guessed that, considering the job, but I only found out when I tried to track her down. She sure wasn’t phony where it counted—hot bod, low-cut top, skintight shorts. You should have seen her.”

  “How did she contact you?” Jonas pressed.

  “She just showed up here about a week ago. She gave me a copy of the text, samples of the signatures she wanted forged, and two days to get the job done. She came back right on schedule, dressed and looking the same as the first time—hot, hot, hot. She checked the job, paid me in cash and that’s the last I saw of her. Wish I’d have gotten a look at her plates. Maybe I could have tracked her down.”

  “And you have no idea who she was?”

  “None. I asked around plenty, too. She’s not the kind any man’s likely to forget, but I didn’t get anywhere.”

  “Give me a better description of her,” Jonas said.

  “Midtwenties, five-two, bottle blonde but who cares, dark eyes, nice smile and, man, was she built.”

  “That description could fit a number of women. Anything specific?” Jonas said.

  “I never looked past her…top,” he admitted, giving Emily a sheepish look. “There was more than enough there to hold my attention, if you know what I mean.” He paused. “Come to think of it, she played it real smart, focusing my attention like that. There was nothing, except her clothes and those…to ID her. No jewelry, watch or anything.”

  Emily remained quiet until Jonas and she were back in the truck, heading out of the neighborhood. “That woman must be connected to either Grant or Robert Jefferson.”

  “If you think about what Davis said, ignoring the clothes—and the hair, which sounded like a wig to me—the description could fit Jefferson’s legal assistant.”

  “Jen?” She remembered the woman in the sensible business suit. “She’s good-looking enough, and certainly has the figure. But it’s hard to imagine her in the kind of outfit Davis described.”

>   “Exactly. That’s why she wore it. Most men would have had their eyes fixed on her—” he stopped abruptly, then added “—her other attributes, not her face.”

  “If it really was Jen, then it seems likely she was working with Jefferson. If I recall correctly, she didn’t like Grant, because he’d hit on her.”

  “That could have been an act meant to misdirect us. We can’t rule out the possibility that maybe Woods paid her to do the job,” Jonas mused.

  “So we’re still nowhere. We can’t prove a thing.”

  “The Navajo Way teaches that everything is connected. Nothing happens without affecting something else. Once we identify the overall pattern that weaves the events together, we’ll be able to restore balance.”

  Emily gazed at him for a long moment. “The Navajo perspective brings beauty and practicality. You can’t beat that.”

  “My number one priority is always to restore harmony.” He glanced at his bruised knuckles and gave her one of his devastatingly masculine grins. “But to do that it’s sometimes necessary to get a little dirty.”

  “You enjoyed that fight!”

  “Enjoyed?” His eyes held an almost dangerous gleam. “I wouldn’t say that. But I do whatever has to be done. That means I can be nothing but trouble for some people.”

  The edge in his voice caught her attention, and she suddenly realized that he was warning her. “Life comes with trouble. It’s one way of keeping us alert and helping us take notice of the good things we already have,” she replied.

  Jonas felt the gentle strength behind her words. Her sense of mission made her an unstoppable force. Even if he hadn’t been under orders, he would have stood beside her. Though their ways of fighting were vastly different, she was a warrior in her own right—one who’d claimed a piece of his heart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As they headed back to her home, awareness shimmered between them. Being with Jonas was exciting, Emily mused, though admittedly, a little boredom every once in a while would have been fine with her, too.

  As they approached the work site, the lack of activity got her attention instantly. “Where’s the rest of the crew, and the cement mixer?” From what she could see, there were only three men present, and they were just standing around. The wooden forms for the concrete foundation were in place along with rebar, and the ground work on the plumbing had been finished, but no work was under way. “I was told they’d be busy pouring the new foundation today.”

  As Jonas parked, Ken jogged over to meet them. “I’ve got some bad news. I’ve had to postpone the concrete delivery until noon because I’m having trouble getting a full work crew here this morning. Several of my men had their vehicles vandalized last night—everything from a smashed windshield to slashed tires. And there was another surprise waiting here for the ones who made it in. Someone drew weird figures on the side of the portable shed where we keep our supplies. The tribal guys took off after one of my framers said they looked like Navajo witchcraft symbols drawn with corpse poison.”

  “Where did you say the drawings were?” Jonas asked, getting out of his pickup.

  Ken gestured ahead.

  Jonas walked over to the shed and studied what appeared to be a charcoal drawing of a snake with an odd diamond pattern on its back. Beside it was a horned stick figure. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s not Navajo witchcraft. Someone took Navajo lore and Christian symbols of evil, and mixed them together. The horned guy, I’m thinking, is the devil. The snake thrown into the mix is supposed to represent evil, I guess, but in Navajo tradition, Snake isn’t evil. Snake represents the Lightning People, who bring us rain.”

  “What about that corpse poison stuff?” Ken asked.

  Jonas took a look at the powdery substance and sniffed it. “It’s charcoal—corpse poison is made of other ingredients you don’t want to hear about. This is just an attempt to scare people. Who said it was corpse poison?”

  “Larry Green. He’s married to a Navajo woman.”

  “Is he still here?” Jonas asked.

  “Yeah, right over there,” Ken said, pointing.

  “Let’s go talk to him,” Jonas said.

  As they walked down the road toward the group of workers, Jonas saw one man turn and walk casually toward the parked vehicles, not making eye contact.

  “Is that Green?” Jonas asked, moving to cut him off.

  “Yeah,” Ken answered.

  Seeing Jonas had blocked him from his truck, Green sprinted into the bosque. Jonas took off after him. He was used to running for miles at a grueling pace in heavy combat boots, often with full gear. He knew he could outdistance Green easily, even though the man had a good head start.

  When it became clear that Green was circling, intending on returning to his truck, Jonas increased his speed, running like the wind.

  He was closing in when Green suddenly stopped, whirled around and dived at his knees. Jonas dodged the tackle with a fake to the right, and Green fell headfirst into the dirt. As Jonas turned to move in, his opponent flipped onto his back and kicked out, narrowly missing his groin.

  Green scrambled to his feet, but Jonas delivered a hard punch to his solar plexus in the process. Green reeled and fell into the brush behind him, gasping for air.

  Jonas cut him off just in case he tried to make one final attempt to reach the truck. “Move and I’ll put some holes in your ride,” he said, opening his jacket enough to show the Beretta at his side. “Those tires look new. I’ll start with them.”

  “Don’t do that. I’m done running,” the man muttered, sitting on the ground.

  Ken and Emily ran up just then.

  “Larry, what the heck are you up to, man?” Ken demanded angrily. “Did you draw that crap on the shed?”

  “It was him, all right,” Jonas said, before he could answer. “Look at his hands. He’s still got charcoal under his fingernails. Call the sheriff and let the deputies sort this out.”

  “Deputies?” Larry got up slowly, putting his arms out, palms up, as Jonas took a step toward him. “Ease up, man. So I drew some stuff on a wall. You’ve got me for graffiti, or tagging or whatever you call it. But it’ll wash off. So what’s the big deal?”

  “You scared off some of my men,” Ken yelled. “What the heck were you thinking? We don’t do the work, nobody gets paid.”

  “It’s just a prank, boss. Take a pressure washer to it and it’ll come right off,” he said. “There was no real harm done. These days we can all use a few extra bucks.”

  “Is that why you did this? Extra bucks?” Jonas pressed.

  “Yeah. And again, what’s the harm? So some guys got spooked. It was that stuff I said about corpse poison that really got them worried,” he added, laughing.

  “Do you know what corpse poison is?” Jonas snapped.

  “It’s supposed to be ground-up bones—like the stuff Navajo witches collect. I knew about that because of my wife. When she found out my will specified that I be cremated and my ashes scattered, she went a little nuts. She said that was corpse poison and she wouldn’t touch it.”

  “Did you screw with J.D.’s and Billy’s pickups, too?” Ken demanded. “If you did, I’ve got news for you, buddy. They’re going to take it out of your hide.”

  “That wasn’t me, boss. I wouldn’t mess with anyone’s truck,” he added quickly.

  “If you’re lying and the law finds your fingerprints on those trashed vehicles, or a witness points you out, forget about apologies and excuses. Either pay up on the spot when the guys get here, or they’re going to take it out on that shiny pickup of yours.”

  “I didn’t do anything to their stuff,” he protested. “No way I’d ever mess with someone’s ride.”

  “Save yourself some major-league trouble. Tell me who hired you to put up that graffiti. Were you told what to draw?” Jonas pressed.

  “A girl—well, a woman—approached me. I don’t know her name. She told me it had to look like witchcraft, the Navajo kind, and to make it s
cary. She figured I’d be able to get the information I’d need from my wife, but Clara never talks about stuff like that. She says it calls evil to you.”

  “So where did you get the idea for those drawings, and what are they supposed to mean?” Emily asked, glancing back at the shed.

  “The stick figure with the horns, that’s like the devil, you know? And everyone’s afraid of snakes, right? I put some extra lines on the body because I thought that would make it look more like a rattler.”

  Jonas glared at him. “The woman who hired you—tell me more about her. Start with what she looked like.”

  “I never saw her. She was just a voice over my cell phone. But she knew my name and told me what she wanted. I asked to meet her. She had a real sexy voice and I was just curious, you know? But she said no, and told me that I either did things her way or not at all. The morning after I agreed to do the job for her, I found an envelope in my truck, and a typed note saying I’d get the other half after the job was done.”

  “Where’s the note?” Jonas demanded.

  “I threw it out. But, hey, she still owes me the second half. Why don’t you stake out my truck? Maybe she’ll come by tonight. It’s worth a shot, right?”

  Jonas stared at him in disbelief. “Einstein, do you really think you’re going to get paid now? She got what she wanted.”

  “And, Larry, you’re fired,” Ken added. “Grab your tools and get out of here.”

  “Hey, come on! Just for a little graffiti? Give me a break.”

  “You cost me an entire morning’s work.”

  Emily saw the expression of sheer dismay on Green’s face and felt a wave of sympathy. “Ken, give him one more chance. He really had no idea what he was doing.”

  “I didn’t think it was such a big deal. Really,” Green insisted.

  “You’ve got a good heart, Emily,” Ken said, then glanced at Larry. “I don’t want to look at your dumb face, so forget about getting paid for today. Come back tomorrow and see if you’ve still got a job.”