Eagle's Last Stand (9 page)

“Sandoval sounds like a good suspect,” Kim said as soon as they left the store.

“I’ll have my brothers run him through the system. If he has a record, we’ll get a better idea of who we’re dealing with.”

After he made the call, Kim shifted in her seat, facing him. “I never imagined that a medicine man would make deadly enemies.”

“It’s not unusual. Sings gone wrong.... Jealousy.... Hosteen Silver had a strong personality and high standards.”

They were soon traveling down Hartley’s main street. “I was really surprised to see Joe. I always liked him, and from what I can tell he hasn’t changed much, despite all he’s probably been through. I don’t think he ever noticed the scar on my face. To him, I’m still just Rick.”

“That’s because of
you,
Rick. When you walk into a room, you own it. That’s why I can’t picture you working undercover anywhere. You stand out, and it’s not the scar on your face.”

“Is that a compliment?” he asked, enjoying the stirring he saw in her eyes and the flash of heat that coursed through him.

“It’s a fact...and a compliment,” she added with a tiny smile. “So how did you ever make it undercover? You just don’t blend in.”

He laughed. “Going undercover is tricky. You have to play a role, much like an actor, and create a whole new personality. Sometimes you do it so well, you start to forget who you really are. That’s when it’s time to get out,” he said, his voice somber. “The fight that left me with the scar you see on my face gave me the final push I needed to come home.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“That’s for another time.”

He’d kept his eye on the rearview mirror as he drove through Hartley. “We’re being followed,” he said at last.

Chapter Ten

Rick’s hands tensed as he gripped the steering wheel, trying not to make any sudden moves. Patience was required until he came up with a strategy.

A few blocks farther down the street, Rick checked the mirror again. “He’s staying well back, but he’s still there.”

Kim was about to turn around in her seat when he reached over and touched her on the shoulder. “Don’t look. Glance in the side mirror, but don’t do anything that’ll attract his attention and signal that we’ve spotted him,” he said. “I want to see if I can draw him out.”

Rick took a slower route and paced himself to catch every stoplight. The beat-up ’60s Ford pickup followed his lead and remained at least three to four car lengths behind.

“I could call my brothers and see if we can trap him between us, but he’s being too careful. He’ll take off the moment he smells a trap.”

“When did you first notice him?”

“A few minutes after we left Turquoise Dreams.” Rick slowed and turned the corner. “He’s not there anymore. I think something spooked him.”

Rick continued moving slowly for several more minutes, giving the tail a chance to catch up, but the truck had disappeared. They rode in silence for a while longer, then he heard a faint electronic click coming from somewhere up front.

He looked around, trying to find out what might be making the sound. Nothing was on at the moment except for the engine—not the radio, heater or anything else. “Did you just hear something?”

“That click? I thought maybe you’d switched on the cruise control or something like that,” she replied.

He glanced below the instrument panel in the area of the steering column. The low tone was coming from beneath the floorboards; a hum he’d never heard before.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” He pulled into the lot of an empty store with a For Rent or Lease sign in the window. “Something’s wrong. Get out and get away from the vehicle.”

“What is it?” she replied, throwing the door open and jumping out quickly. “Aren’t you coming? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, but I want to check this out. Stay clear until I’m done.” Taking a flashlight from the glove compartment, he studied the steering column, then directed the beam slowly down toward the floorboard. “Nothing.”

“You think it’s a bomb?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “If you do, get away from there right now and call the police.”

“It’s not a bomb. I’ve never heard one that sends out a warning. That would defeat its purpose.” He climbed out his side, dropped to the asphalt and aimed the flashlight underneath the vehicle. Attached to the frame just inside the left wheel well was a black vinyl box that looked like an eyeglass case.

“I found something,” he said. Where it was attached to the wheel well he saw a chunk of gray metal that had been glued to the bottom of the case. “It’s attached by a magnet, like one of those hidden car key things.”

He put on his gloves, detached the box and then set it on the ground about ten feet from the SUV.

“Let me take a look,” she said, inching closer.

“No, stay around behind the engine block until I’m sure what this is. Could be a jerry-rigged tracking device of some sort.”

“You think maybe one of your brothers put it there?” she suggested.

“My brothers wouldn’t have attached something that had a tone anyone in the front seat could hear. Listen.”

“It’s humming.”

“Stand back,” he said, reaching for it with a gloved hand.

Holding it away from him, he turned his head and opened the top.

It popped loudly and threw confetti into the air. Rick automatically flinched and dropped it to the ground. A moment later, realizing that there was no danger, he bent to pick it up. “Someone’s messing with us,” he growled.

Kim came closer and looked at the container. “Was it some kind of firecracker?”

“No, it’s a party popper. Whoever did this fixed it so that when I opened the top, it pulled a hidden string, setting it off.”

“I’ve heard of those, but never seen one.”

“Back in high school I hooked one inside Kyle’s locker. He opened it up one morning and
bam!
He dropped his books, jumped about three feet and ended up looking like an idiot. He caught me and there was all hell to pay later,” he said with a quick half grin.

“What’s the little plastic box in there?”

“Some kind of battery-powered noisemaker, like the ones you find in some stuffed animals and toys,” he answered. “Reach into the glove compartment. Dan keeps evidence bags there. I want Preston to see if he can lift prints from the case or the box.”

“This may be the work of the person who left the snake fang in my apartment and that fake snake on the road. If the arsonist had done this, there would have been more than confetti and a pop by now.” She’d meant to sound brave, to shrug in the face of danger, but her voice broke.

“We’re okay,” he said in a quiet, steady voice. “Don’t let him get inside your head.”

Within minutes they were on their way again. Rick drove around the block slowly, checking out the immediate vicinity.

“You’re hoping to spot the old truck again?” Kim asked.

“Yeah, sure, though the odds are against it,” he answered.

“Considering what Big Joe told you about Nestor Sandoval, wouldn’t you say that this kind of stunt fits something he’d do?”

“Back in high school, maybe, but now that he’s gang connected, a brick through our windshield might be more his speed.”

As they drove past the lot where they’d been parked, Kim noticed someone enter the alley behind the empty building. “Circle the block,” she said quickly. “I think I just saw Mike.”

He turned the corner and drove to the other end of the alley.

“Mike, are you in here?” she called after rolling down the window.

The big man came out from the recess of a doorway. He was wearing a backpack and thick camouflage jacket.

“Hungry?” Rick called out. “I think we can rustle up a cheeseburger and some fries.”

Mike didn’t answer, but he pointed down the street.

“Total Burger? No problem,” Rick said. “Hop in. We’ll give you a ride.”

Mike shook his head.

“How about if we all walk there?” Kim suggested.

Mike smiled, so Rick inched forward and parked beside the curb in a legitimate parking spot.

They strolled down the sidewalk side by side in silence. Then to their surprise, Mike spoke.

“Saw a guy watching from the alley when you removed the confetti popper from beneath the SUV. He was Navajo, five ten, maybe...jeans and a red sweatshirt that said Chieftains. When you were done, he got in a pickup and drove off.”

Kim’s look of surprise quickly turned into a smile.

Rick recognized the name of the Shiprock high school team. “What was he driving?”

“Old truck,” Mike said. “But at least there were no bullet holes in it,” he said, a trace of a smile on his face for a moment.

As they reached the fast-food place, Rick walked to the entrance and held the door open for all of them, but Mike shook his head.

“It’s okay, Mike, we’ll eat out here,” Kim said. Looking at Rick, she reached into her purse for her wallet. “Wanna get us all something?”

“I’ve got it.”

Rick came back moments later and placed a sack filled with food and a milk shake in front of Mike. He had another bag with burgers and fries for himself and Kim.

They all dug in quickly and after a few minutes Rick spoke. “We’re both glad to help you, soldier, but we could use your help today.”

Mike took another big bite out of a burger, chewed silently for a while, then swallowed, all the time avoiding Rick’s gaze. “No one will believe anything I say.”

As Mike continued to eat, Rick allowed the silence to stretch out.

“You’re hoping I saw someone the night of the explosion. But I didn’t see anything until the day after,” Mike said. “When you two were inside looking around, I saw a guy pushing against one of the damaged walls.”

“Did you recognize who it was?” Rick asked instantly.

“I didn’t see him clearly, just his gray hoodie and sweatpants,” he said.

“Could it have been Bobby Crawford?” Kim asked, knowing Mike would have known the staff at the Brickhouse.

“Too tall for the boy.”

“Was he the same height as the man you saw watching us today?” Rick asked.

“Maybe.” Mike wadded up the hamburger wrapper and tossed everything in the trash. “People don’t want to look at me. That makes it easier for me to keep watch. If I hear or see anything else, I’ll find you.”

“Mike, there are veteran organizations—” Rick began.

Mike held up a hand, interrupting him. “No thanks. I can take care of myself.” With that, he walked off down the alley.

Wanting to give Mike a card with his cell phone number, Rick raced to catch up with him, but by the time he got to the end of the block, Mike was gone.

“I should have known,” he said, shaking his head as he returned.

“He’s like a puff of smoke, here one second, gone the next. How does a big man like him do that?” Kim asked.

“He’s learned to become invisible on the streets. It’s how you keep breathing.” Rick stopped at the trash can and picked up the clear plastic top to the empty milk shake container. “Let’s see if I can find out who he really is.”

“Mike won’t like that.”

“I don’t have to tell him I know. I just want to know who I’m dealing with.”

Hearing the haunted tone in Rick’s voice, she wished she could have asked him about his life, but a man like him didn’t share personal information easily. First, she would have to earn his trust and respect. Yet having him see her as an equal promised to be a tough proposition, particularly since she was now his intern.

* * *

T
HEY
WERE
IN
Daniel’s tactical room some time later with three of Rick’s brothers. Preston had accessed Sandoval’s record, which was extensive, and had sent it to one of the wall monitors.

“Nestor lives on the Rez. He’s out of my jurisdiction unless he commits a crime in the city and I’m in pursuit,” Preston said. “I’ve got his file thanks to my contact in the Shiprock P.D. I’ll be meeting him later today to see what else I can find out.”

“You may not be able to question Sandoval, but I can,” Rick said.

“Not officially, you can’t. Give me time to persuade tribal detective Bidtah to go with you. That’s his turf.”

“I’ve got practically nothing on Bobby Crawford,” Paul said, looking up from the big tabletop computer. “A couple of parking tickets is all.”

“My uncle would have had a background check done,” Kim said. “He was always careful who we hired.”

“Anything on the transient, Mike?” Rick asked Preston.

“Yes. Once I had his prints, the rest was easy. His real name is Raymond Weaver. Ray made sergeant in the army, serving with the First Cavalry. A week before he was scheduled to rotate home his recon unit was ambushed. He managed to recover and evacuate the wounded in his troop, carrying them to safety one at a time. Most of the men died while being treated, but Ray saved four lives. One of those survivors, who lost a leg, later committed suicide. Sergeant Ray Weaver, the man you know as Mike, was awarded several medals. After being diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, he left the service at the end of his enlistment and dropped out of sight. No credit cards, no bank accounts, and his driver’s license has expired.”

“He’s lost until he heals from the inside out,” Rick noted in a taut voice. “PTSD isn’t something you can overcome without a struggle.”

“You want me to have one of our officers pick him up?” Preston asked. “Maybe we can convince him—”

“No.” Rick cut him short. “That’s the worst thing you can do. He can’t be pushed. He has to do this his own way.”

Rick remembered his days in the hospital after being pulled out of his undercover assignment. The scar on his face had been only one of many wounds. Long months of recuperating and rehab had challenged him at every turn, and during the dark days that followed, he’d battled his own demons.

“Something about you drew him out, Rick. Was it something you said?” Kim asked.

“Not so much. I think he senses that in a lot of ways we are two of a kind.” He shook his head, signaling her not to ask him any more questions.

From across the room Gene spoke up. “Kim, I think your uncle Frank might still be able to add something to the arson side of the investigation. You should talk to him.”

“He was released from the hospital yesterday,” Preston added. “He’s home.”

“I’m ready to pay him a visit as soon as you are, Rick,” Kim said.

“First, you two better get another ride. The one you’re in looks a little too conspicuous,” Preston joked.

“Good idea.” Rick grabbed a set of keys to one of Daniel’s other SUVs from a hook on the wall.

“Let’s go, but stay focused on Sandoval, Preston. He’s involved in this and I want to know how,” Rick added.

“On it,” Preston answered. “I’m also going to take a real close look at Angelina Curley. For all we know, the person who clocked Frank Nelson was a woman.”

“Did any of you look into Frank’s silent partner, Arthur Johnson?” Rick asked.

Preston nodded. “He’s a former lieutenant colonel in the marines, honorable discharge, has no record other than an old speeding ticket and drives a 2001 green Mercedes with a vanity plate that says
Ellie.
That was his wife’s name. She died about eighteen months ago.”

As Rick drove out of the compound in the new SUV, Kim leaned back in her seat. “I don’t know much about Art, but Uncle Frank doesn’t make friends easily, and he trusts him completely. That should count for something. Do you want me to ask Uncle Frank about him?”

“Sure, but don’t dive right in. Ease into it.”

“Do you think my uncle’s hiding something?” she asked, curious about his suggestion.

“Not necessarily, but I’ve learned that people speak more freely and tend to remember important details when they don’t feel pressured.”

They were driving past what remained of the Brickhouse when Kim noticed three muscular teenage boys circling Mike, feigning punches and grabbing at his backpack. One was waving around a small baseball bat like a club.