Firewalker (29 page)
Authors: Allyson James
Tags: #Paranormal, #General, #Romance, #Paranormal Romance Stories, #Shapeshifting, #Fiction
“He shouldn’t have been able to,” Bancroft said. “Not through my wards.”
I knew damn well how Nash had walked in through the dragon’s heavy spells, but I wasn’t about to volunteer the information.
“Mick got in through your wards,” I pointed out.
“We allowed him in,” Drake said. “And knew when he arrived.”
“Let her walk out of here and get into my truck,” Nash said, ignoring us. “If you do that, I won’t charge you with kidnapping and assault.”
“Mick too,” I said.
Nash didn’t betray any surprise to see Mick other than a minute flicker of his gray eyes. “Mick too.”
“Stand down,” Bancroft said to his gunmen. “Let her go.”
The gunmen lowered their weapons without arguing. I knew they didn’t give a shit whether Bancroft showered me with gifts or ordered me shot. They were like Todd—either way, they got paid.
Drake, with great reluctance, lowered his gun as well. I lost no time stepping around him and Nash, putting myself out of the line of fire. Mick was right behind me, his hand on my back to guide me.
We didn’t stop walking until we’d reached Nash’s familiar SUV, parked just outside the open gates of the compound. I was glad I’d grabbed my coat when I’d gone down to see Bancroft, but I’d left the shard of mirror in the bedroom. No matter. The mirror couldn’t obey them if I ordered it not to, but it was free to shower them with snarky comments. I smiled.
Nash came out with Drake and Bancroft. He’d holstered his weapon, but he was clearly in charge. The deputy followed, continuing to apologize. I wondered how much Bancroft paid him.
Mick had already helped me into Nash’s front seat and taken a place in the back by the time Nash climbed into his SUV. He said nothing to us as he drove down the winding road that led to a highway. Nash picked up his sunglasses from the dashboard and shoved them on, one-handed, but not before I saw the dark smudges under his eyes.
“He do anything to you?” he asked me as he pulled onto the freeway.
“Nothing dire,” I said. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here, you know.”
“It’s my job. Maya told me that you’d been kidnapped at gunpoint, and Lopez lost you out in the desert.”
Mick spoke from the backseat, sounding tired. “I think she means you could have reported the abduction and let the Santa Fe police take care of it.”
“I did. Lopez saw the number of the helicopter, and the Sante Fe County sheriff’s department recognized it as belonging to one Mr. Bancroft, reclusive billionaire. The entire department refused to bother him and make sure you were all right, so I decided to bother him for them. Thank Maya. She was hysterical about what happened, adamant that I go after you.”
I could imagine. Maya could be loud and resolute and didn’t tire easily. Likely Nash had come to find me to get her to shut up.
“I’ll be sure to thank her when we get back to Magellan. Maybe you should go see her too, to tell her what happened.”
Nash gave me a flat stare from behind his sunglasses. “I’m not taking you to Magellan yet.”
“No?” I really wanted to see my own bed. “Where, then?”
“Flat Mesa. I have in my custody a man who has confessed to killing your hotel guest, Jim Mohan.”
Twenty-one
A Native American man sat across the metal-topped table from me in the interrogation room in the Hopi County jail. Mick, surprisingly, agreed to wait outside when Nash told us that the man refused to speak to anyone but Janet Begay. Nash wasn’t about to let me stay alone in here with the suspect, so he took an intimidating seat at the end of the table.
The suspect was a Hopi, large and muscular, and he sat with his head bowed. His black hair was brushed with dust but pulled neatly back into a braid. He wore nondescript clothes—jeans and a loose shirt—and his large hands were scarred.
When he looked up at me his dark eyes were filled with sorrow and shame, his mouth pulled down at the corners. I’d rarely seen a more miserable-looking human being. And he was completely human. No aura of the supernatural hung anywhere about him.
“This is Ben Kavena,” Nash said. “Early this morning, he walked into a tribal police station and confessed to killing a white tourist at the Homol’ovi ruins. The police knew I’d been looking into Jim Mohan’s disappearance and death and called me. I showed Mr. Kavena a picture of Jim Mohan, and he confirmed it was the same man.”
I looked at Ben, not Nash. “Why?” I asked him.
“I was very angry,” Ben said. “He violated a sacred place, and I became crazy with anger.” Tears stood in his eyes. “But I committed a worse violation. I have lived with the knowledge ever since.”
“What did Jim do?” I asked.
For answer, Nash shoved a lidless cardboard box at me. “We found Mr. Kavena with these.”
Ben made a noise of protest. “I was not stealing them. I want them put back where they belong.”
I looked inside at several substantial chunks of clay pots. They looked old, very old, and had yellow and black designs on them.
“Jim was pot hunting,” I said. “The asshole. The photography story was just a cover.”
Pot hunters—looters—grazed out-of-the-way places for ancient pottery, which could fetch large prices in museums whose curators might not pay much attention to laws or ethics. The pottery in the Homol’ovi area belonged to the pueblo peoples and dated back a thousand years and more, and these artifacts could be sold for high dollar to collectors.
But the same pots that people prized for intrinsic value were sacred to the pueblo tribes. The pottery had belonged to their ancestors, used both for everyday tasks and in burials. Someone digging a pot out of a grave was like someone removing your great-grandmother’s tombstone and flogging it to a collector.
I could imagine Ben witnessing this rape of his ancestors and growing furious. If he considered himself a descendant of the people of Homol’ovi, he’d be even more enraged.
Studying his face, I realized that his anger went even deeper than that.
“You’re the Koshare,” I said, realizing. “The one who scared me up there the other day. At least, you were his channel.”
Ben nodded. “I had gone up there to look around, to keep an eye on the place. There is no one now to keep the stealers of the sacred away. And I saw this Mr. Mohan next to the river, putting pieces of pots into a box. When he left the box and went back up the hill to look for more, I followed him. He laughed at me when I demanded he return what he was stealing, thinking I was just a stupid Hopi. Why should I worry about a few pieces of broken pottery? I had a knife with me. When he turned around, I struck out.”
I remembered my vision, Jim falling forward with the knife in his back and a man’s muscular hand grasping the hilt. The hand hadn’t been covered in the Koshare’s black-and-white paint. Ben had done the killing, not the Koshare that sometimes inhabited him.
“I have taken a life.” Tears spilled down Ben’s leathery cheeks. “I have destroyed myself.”
“After you killed Jim, what did you do?” I asked.
“Ran away. I was a coward. I grabbed the potsherds and went home. I couldn’t risk lingering to put the pots back. I was going to do it later.”
“I mean before that.” I mulled over how to put it. “Did the Koshare—the spirit that fills you—did he come to you? Maybe tried to heal Jim?”
Ben didn’t change expression as he shook his head. “The Koshare didn’t dare come to me. I was unworthy of him.”
“But he came to you when I went up to Homol’ovi to investigate. He was in you when he frightened me.”
“I don’t know why he came back. Yes, I was there when you came. I’d put on my paint, hoping he would come to me in that sacred place and forgive me, but when he entered me, he was so angry. He was angry at you too, and afraid. After that day, he has left me and not returned.”
He finished, silently weeping.
Damn Jim, anyway. If he hadn’t gone out looking for what he thought was easy money, Ben wouldn’t have been driven to murder, and we wouldn’t be stuck with an undead maniac turning people inside out.
But then, Ben should have simply reported Jim to the police, not taken it upon himself to seek retribution. Pot theft was a crime, and Jim could have done time for it. Now Ben would do time for murder.
“What’s going to happen to him?” I asked Nash.
“I’m not sure. You and I both have seen Jim Mohan alive and well, after he was supposed to have been killed.”
Ben looked up, puzzled. “The man was dead. I’ve seen death; I know what it looks like.”
“He isn’t alive,” I said softly. “He was resurrected.”
Ben’s tears ceased, and his eyes widened in horror. “No.” He moaned it, rocking slightly back and forth. “No.”
“Did the Koshare resurrect him?” I asked.
“No. No. He would not do such a thing.”
“Does he know who did?”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Nash pulled the box of potsherds back toward him and stood up. “Ben Kavena, I’m going to hold you until I can find this Jim Mohan and figure out what really happened. I’ll tell you now that the least you’ll be charged with is assault and attempted murder.”
I sprang to my feet. “Nash, don’t try to find Undead Jim yourself. Don’t send your deputies out to hunt him either. He’s a killer. He’ll destroy whoever tries to approach him.”
Nash gave me an annoyed look. “I can’t very well tell a judge that I want to press charges against Ben for murder, but sorry, I can’t produce the body because it’s been resurrected.”
“I bet a judge who was raised in Magellan would believe you.”
Nash scowled, not finding me funny. “I still need to find this Jim. He killed the man in Maya’s front yard, not to mention the hiker south of town and your assailant in Las Vegas.”
Ben looked terrified. “If such a one finds me, he will kill me. He will tear me open.”
“Can you put a good guard on him?” I asked Nash. “Or at least let Mick ward his cell?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “Please, I will stay here under your protection.”
Nash wanted to argue some more, but I walked out before he could and went to find Mick. Ben Kavena was smart to be afraid. I needed to find Undead Jim, sooner rather than later. He responded to me—fine, I’d let him come to me.
What I’d do with him after that, and how I’d stop him, I didn’t know. I very much feared I’d have to kill him, and I wasn’t at all certain I was strong enough for that. What worried me even more was that something out there was powerful enough to resurrect a human being, and I still hadn’t figured out who.
Nash wouldn’t let me go until I’d signed forms and promised to not discuss what I’d heard with the press. Not that Magellan or Flat Mesa had much press, and it didn’t matter anyway, because the rumor mill was far quicker and more accurate. But I signed the papers to make him happy.
“How is Maya?” I asked.
“Fine when I left her,” was Nash’s abrupt answer. Nash looked awful, running on adrenaline and pure stubbornness. I doubted he’d slept in the last twenty-four or so hours.
“Which was?”
“Last night. I asked Lopez to make sure she didn’t need any medical attention or counseling.”
“You are such a romantic, Nash,” I said.
“I followed procedure. Get the hell out of here and let me keep following it.”
I gave up and left him. I did tell Mick everything I’d learned from Ben Kavena, and Mick agreed to set wards on the cell. He stayed behind to do that, and one of the deputies ran me back to the Crossroads Hotel.
Cassandra was relieved to see me, although Pamela gave me a steady look and said nothing. I wondered how long the Changer woman was going to stay. Until she conquered Cassandra? Looking at the two of them, I couldn’t tell whether that had happened or not.
“Dragons can’t be trusted,” Cassandra told me in a low voice after I’d showered and changed my filthy clothes. “They talk a lot about honor, but they don’t extend that honor to humans. Don’t trust them.”
“I don’t, much.”
“Good. Then maybe you could persuade Colby to leave the saloon and return to his hotel. He sets the wrong tone.”
Cassandra turned away to greet a couple checking in with a courteous smile on her face. As I moved to the saloon, I wondered how Cassandra knew so much about dragons. Mick had told me they preferred to remain hidden from humans, and yet Cassandra spoke her opinions about them with conviction. I wondered where she’d encountered them before and what had happened.
Both Colby and Mick sat at a table in the saloon, Mick having returned from Flat Mesa while I’d been in the shower. I’d been a little disappointed he hadn’t come in to wash me again, but now I was glad to see him in here keeping an eye on Colby.
As I sat down, Mick flashed me a warning look and said, “The magic mirror showed him everything.”
“Everything.” Colby’s grin became a leer. “You have stamina in the sack, girl. It was stimulating, even if I had to watch through a lot of cracks.”
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