Her Hero Page 2

  Nydia was almost to the telephone when a hand clamped onto her wrist. The manaclelike hold effectively immobilized her entire arm. Unable to see directly behind her, she reached back desperately with her free hand, aiming for his face. Her arm was forced away firmly, and brought down beside the other. Quickly, her captor shifted both her hands into one of his. Terrified, she struggled wildly.

  “Stop fighting,” he commanded, then as if to make his point, jerked her back toward him.

  Nydia slammed into a man’s bare chest. It was solid and hard, and felt a bit like running into a brick wall. As his breath touched her cheek, her skin prickled, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. “What…what do you want?”

  “I want you away from the truck,” came the reply.

  His voice was low, and held a velvety smoothness that affected her more than it had a right to. Without further word, he moved her aside as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. His strength amazed her.

  At last his grip eased, and taking advantage of the moment, Nydia jumped away. As she turned to face him, she inhaled sharply. The man who had held her was Joshua Blackhorse. Without taking his eyes off her, he reached down and retrieved a rifle on the ground at his feet.

  As she remembered from their first encounter, Joshua possessed a mesmerizing quality that made him totally unforgettable. His shirt was open and hung down over a pair of faded jeans. His chest gleamed with perspiration, and small scratches crisscrossed his bronzed skin. An intense virility defined him.

  As his eyes gleamed down on her, a shiver raced up her spine. Yet on a level she wasn’t sure she could explain, even to herself, she sensed something dark and deadly within him.

  “You have nothing to fear from me, now that I know who you are,” he said, and went directly to the man on the ground.

  Nydia rushed back to the truck and lifted the other rifle out of the rack. She’d heard of Navajo singers turning bad before. It was said that by taking the life of a close relative, they could gain the powers of a skinwalker. “Stop where you are.”

  Joshua glanced back at her, but ignored her order. “My father needs me, woman.”

  “Set down your weapon or I will shoot you,” she said, her voice shaky but determined.

  “The rifle you’re holding is my father’s. It’s not loaded.”

  Nydia’s stomach fell, fear spiraling through her. She opened the bolt action, and the chamber and clip below were empty. She took a step back, wondering if Joshua would come after her now that she’d angered him. But his attention was focused solely on his father.

  Nydia forced herself to calm down. Had he wanted her dead, he could have killed her by now. She’d never heard him approach. And if Joshua had wanted his father dead to gain skinwalker powers, why was he helping him now? She recognized the herbs that Joshua had taken from a pouch on his belt and was applying to his father’s wound. They were ones commonly used on the reservation to stop bleeding. Then she heard him start a powerful sing. His voice was like a raging fire that robbed the oxygen from her lungs. She understood now why he was so sought-after as a singer and why so many of the People placed their trust in him. It was more than charisma. His prayer was vibrant, as if he possessed the magic that could summon the Earth Mother herself.

  As he glanced up, she saw that his eyes now blazed with pain. Unable to bear the raw emotions there, Nydia looked away. As her gaze fell on the rifle by his side, she felt a cold chill envelop her, and common sense returned.

  She had no way of knowing what had happened here. What she did know was that she needed help, and so did the gravely wounded man. She used the phone in her hand and dialed the operator, uncertain if 911 would work here. Joshua didn’t try to stop her. As soon as help was on the way, she announced that the police and medical help would be there soon.

  Joshua nodded and went on with his sing. Finally, he paused to replace the herb and met her gaze. “Regardless of how it seems, I didn’t do this,” he said. “But I willpunish whoever did.”

  “If you didn’t shoot your father, who did?”

  “There was a man up on the ridge. He’s responsible for this. When my father can talk, he’ll confirm what I’m saying.”

  Nydia didn’t respond. As Joshua renewed the sing, she once more sensed the raw power that came from him. She watched him apply pressure to certain points around his father’s chest, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood that continued despite the herbs.

  She was no doctor, but it didn’t take a degree in medicine to see that the man on the ground was dying. As the blood drained away the elder Blackhorse’s life, Joshua’s song became distorted by loss and dark despair. It seemed to lose its vitality, as if the healer’s faith was slowly being shattered.

  Nydia felt his anguish with each mournful phrase. She felt the moisture gathering in her lashes and tried to push the emotions back. If there was ever a situation that called for staying cool and analytical, this was it. She couldn’t afford to forget the look in Joshua’s eyes when he’d first appeared. There had been something dark and frightening there. It might have been directed at the attacker, if Joshua’s story was true, but she had no way of knowing for sure.

  As the dying man’s breathing became shallower, Nydia heard Joshua redouble his efforts, singing and applying herbs with a desperation that she couldn’t believe would ever come from a murderer.

  A ragged gasp came from the wounded man. The next instant, there was only silence.

  Joshua’s hands curled into fists as he leaned over his father’s body. The strangled, desperate cry that he uttered came from his soul.

  Nydia mourned his loss, but with a burst of will, forced herself to think clearly. Moving quickly, she picked up Joshua’s rifle from the ground.

  When Joshua rose back to his knees, he saw her holding his weapon. He stood slowly. “Woman, my father is dead, and his murderer is out there, running free. Give me that rifle. I have a killer to hunt down.”

  “No,” she said calmly. “You’re not going anywhere until the sheriff arrives.”

  “As we talk, the killer gets farther away. It’ll be completely dark soon.”

  Nydia hesitated. She wanted to believe him. There was something about Joshua that made it nearly impossible to think him capable of such a crime. But the facts were less plain. She finally shook her head. “You’re staying. I’m honestly not sure what’s going on here, but that’s not up to me to decide. You’ll have to settle this with the sheriff.”

  “I’m a healer. I don’t take lives, especially my father’s.”

  She sensed the truth in his words, but she just couldn’t be sure. He was charismatic, and his voice had an oddly compelling timbre that would make anything he said sound plausible. “What happened, then? How could someone sneak up on you? It’s so quiet.”

  “My father and I did hear a vehicle approach, but neither of us was concerned. A lot of fishermen come out this way. Then, fifteen minutes or so later, someone fired two shots at us from up on that ridge. I was closest to the trees, so my father told me to go into the forest and outflank the sniper. I almost had him, too. But then you drove up. The sniper fired once more, hitting my father, then ran when you honked the horn. I couldn’t catch him, but I picked up the weapon he discarded. It’s my own rifle.”

  “Are you’re telling me that the murder weapon belongs to you?”

  “I reported it stolen last week. I’ve never even fired it. Now, you have to give me the rifle and let me go. You’re playing right into the murderer’s hands by keeping me here while he escapes. Don’t help him get away twice.”

  The words stung. If his story was true, then in her effort to help, she’d given a killer the opportunity to escape. But that was no answer. She couldn’t fix what had already happened. It was the present she had to worry about. “I can’t let you go. It may have happened the way you said, or it may not. In either case, you have to talk to the sheriff first.”

  The gathering darkness around them seemed to concentrate in
to the obsidian eyes that held hers. The impact of his strength of will and determination almost overwhelmed her. She felt the battle going on within him and his struggle to control his emotions. For one wild moment, she felt a primal desire to touch him and soothe his anguish. Though he didn’t realize it, she desperately wanted his story to be true, if only to help those who were counting on her. Everything she had ever heard about Joshua Blackhorse supported her belief in his innocence now. Unfortunately, the facts were less clear.

  “Look, if nothing else, you are the last person who should be tracking the killer,” she said.

  Joshua said nothing and remained rock still, but that stillness was too pronounced to pass as natural. It was more in line with a man who was conserving his energy.

  “Tell me this,” he said. “Did you see anyone when you came over the hill?”

  “There was someone.” Nydia searched her mind for a clearer image of the person she’d seen standing in the shadows. If memory served her right, it had been a much smaller man than Joshua. But she couldn’t be one hundred percent certain.

  Hearing a vehicle, Nydia turned her head for a second and saw flashing red-and-blue lights approaching. By the time she glanced back at Joshua, he’d moved toward the road and was standing there waiting. She lowered the rifle. Had he wanted to, he could have easily made his escape then, not just moved. More to the point, once again he’d never made a sound. She remembered the clumsiness of the gunman she’d seen by the tree, the man who’d fired the shots. Comparing the two men in her mind, she became certain they couldn’t have been the same person.

  A minute later, the sheriff pulled up and stepped out of his Jeep. She recognized Gabriel Blackhorse from her last visit to Four Winds.

  Grim faced, Gabriel went directly to his father’s side and knelt by the body. Finally, he looked up at his brother. “What happened?”

  Joshua gave his brother the same story he’d told her, pointing to the spot where the gunman had hidden. “Whoever it was is long gone now, probably. But I may still be able to track him.”

  Gabriel looked at Nydia curiously, as if wondering what she was doing here, but focused on the more vital question. “Can you confirm my brother’s story?”

  “I came here to look for the hataalii, because my fatherin-law is sick. When I drove up, I saw the gunman briefly, but not clearly enough to identify him. Your brother was not with your father when I reached him, but arrived shortly after I did.” She recapped what she’d found upon her arrival, and what had happened subsequently.

  Joshua’s voice was taut as he glared at his brother. “I am the best tracker, but time is slipping by. I have to get going before the man covers his trail.”

  “I can’t let you do that.” Gabriel said. “This is my job, and you have to trust me to do it the right way.” Turning to Nydia, he said, “Mrs. Jim, I want you to take me to where you saw the sniper.” When she nodded, he turned his attention back to his brother. The sheriff met his younger brother’s fierce gaze. “We’ll catch whoever did this, but not by going off half-cocked. You, of all people, should know the value of patience, Tree.”

  Nydia looked at Joshua, wondering now if her errand of mercy to Four Winds would become nothing more than a waste of time, a dream that, like so many others, faded into nothing when one got too close. The emotions flickering in Joshua’s eyes now had nothing to do with harmony and balance. There were some very unhataaliilike emotions there, and she sensed that until he restored his inner balance, Joshua could not act as a healer. Despairingly, she thought of the errand that had brought her here. Joshua was the only known keeper of the ancient song needed to restore her father-in-law’s health.

  She thought of her son, John, and the faith he’d placed in her when he’d asked her to bring Joshua back to his grandfather. She couldn’t fail him. But before she could fulfill her promise to John, this matter facing the hataalii would have to be resolved.

  As the flashing lights of another vehicle appeared at the top of the hill, Gabriel motioned to his brother. “Ride back with them. I need to have gunpowder-residue tests run on your hands to prove that you didn’t fire the rifle. That will clear you in the eyes of the court.”

  “I’m not guilty and you know it. What we need now is to work together to catch our father’s killer. Let’s get going while the trail is still there.”

  “No, Tree. Clearing you is the first order of business. Do as I say.”

  She heard the whisper in her mind once again. Stay on your guard, the inner voice warned. As she saw Joshua stick his hand absently into his pocket, a cold chill ran up her spine and she stepped back. In a heartbeat, the air was filled with a red powder that made her eyes sting. She began to cough, unable to stop. By the time the spasm passed and her eyes cleared, Joshua was gone.

  Chapter Two

  Joshua ran as silently as his father had taught him many years ago. Neither of his brothers would be able to follow his trail. Fuzz and Shadow were the fighters in the family—quick to anger, loyal to a fault, but they were lacking in the old skills.

  Admittedly, Gabriel was persistent and would eventually find him. After all, he’d just injured his brother’s pride on two counts: by showing little faith in Gabriel’s methods of catching the killer, and by deliberately flouting his judgment.

  Joshua returned to the north side of the ridge where his father’s killer had run after Nydia Jim had appeared. The forest extended for miles in almost every direction, but the killer had left a trail Joshua could follow even in the twilight. He reached the dirt track he knew led to the road and followed the tire imprints he found there. They led toward the highway. The killer had driven into the trees, hiding his vehicle before he stalked them.

  Joshua moved cross-country, making a straight line for the highway, yet knowing that unless he could get a vehicle, he wouldn’t be able to go any farther than that in pursuit. He was moving through a thicket of scrub oak when the wind suddenly rose. Wind carried messages. He listened carefully. The sound of a vehicle rose in the distance. It wasn’t his brother’s Jeep; he could tell.

  He hurried toward the sound instead of away. He was no thief, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Hiding in the shadow of some pines, he waited until the vehicle’s headlights appeared, then jumped out into the track, waving his hands in the air.

  The pickup stopped abruptly, and he saw the driver was Nydia. Not giving her time to react, he jumped up onto the driver’s-side running board, threw open the door and grabbed both of her arms before she could move.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she yelled, struggling to loosen his grip.

  To his surprise, as he pulled her out of the truck, she managed to snag the car keys, holding them tightly in her fist. “I need your truck, woman.” He noted her expression. Nydia Jim was afraid, but not too afraid to stand up to him.

  “You said you’re not guilty, but by your actions you’re going to make it tough for your brother to prove otherwise. You’re not helping by running away, you’re just muddying the waters.”

  He lowered her arms to her sides, and glowered at her. His size alone had intimidated men twice her weight, and he’d learned how to make people back down with one look. It was the best way he’d found to avoid violence. “The keys,” he snapped.

  Nydia swallowed hard, and her voice nearly cracked as she answered. “No. You can have the truck with me as driver, or nothing at all.”

  “I can take the keys from you, but I have no desire to hurt you in the process.”

  Nydia studied his expression, then smiled hesitantly. “You aren’t a violent man, hataalii. Stop trying to make me believe you’re something you’re not.”

  Frustration ate at him, but he had to admire her courage.

  She was right, too. He would not risk harming her or anyone else to get what he wanted. “All right. You’re my driver. Head back to the highway slowly while I study the ground and look for signs of a trail.”

  Nydia did as he asked, keepin
g her eyes on the road. He might have believed she wasn’t in the least bit afraid if she hadn’t kept a death grip on the wheel.

  “You worked very hard to become a hataalii,” she said. “Your brothers follow modern ways, and so did your father, so I suspect you had to overcome their doubts to follow a traditional path. You apprenticed for years, and put your heart into learning. Now you finally have the knowledge of a singer, and our people look to you, even though you’re still very young. Don’t throw all that away. Your brother is the sheriff, a trained police officer. Let him prove your innocence, then you’ll be free to use your own skills, your knowledge of people and the Way, to track down the killer. You’ll have a better chance of catching him if you work with the law instead of running from it.”

  “You should be concerned with your own problems, not the ones I face. Why are you getting involved in this? Haven’t you even stopped to wonder if I’m trying to become a skinwalker by killing my father?”

  “It crossed my mind, but logic works against that theory. If you’d wanted to follow the path of a skinwalker, you had the perfect opportunity last year when your brothers discovered the bowl that held a Navajo witch’s power. I heard the stories-that’s why I came to Four Winds before, remember? You knew about the bowl, too, yet you chose to stay on the rez with the singer who was your teacher to learn a new healing song. You didn’t come to Four Winds to claim the bowl and its power.”

  “I’m of no use to you as a healer until the killer is punished,” he said, hating to admit that. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “My father-in-law is ill now. My son, who is following the old ways, heard about you, and it was he who convinced my father-in-law that you could help. I came here today to find you. Since the hataaliiwho taught you passed away, you are the only one who knows the ancient lifegiving song my father-in-law needs. As a hataaliiyou have a debt you owe the People. You can’t turn your back on someone who needs you, who will pay for your services and asks nothing of you except the knowledge that you alone have.”