Set the Dark on Fire (22 page)

Not to mention the procedures to follow in the event of a human fatality, most of which she was unfamiliar with. Right now Mike was handling the press and the state investigation, but Shay knew she’d be asked to take on some additional responsibilities.

The story of her life.

On some weekends she had extra staff, college kids and park rangers, but for the most part, Dark Canyon was a one-woman show. Her first order of business was to clean and inspect the tranquilizer guns she and Luke had inadvertently gotten wet. If they couldn’t be salvaged, she’d have to write up an extensive damage report.

Before tackling the tranquilizer guns, which would require more concentration than she was currently capable of, she went back to her office and logged on to her e-mail account, trying not to think about last night. Trying not to replay every hot, endless moment.

She’d returned home sexually satisfied but emotionally wrecked.

When Luke asked if she was still in love with Jesse, she was floored by the realization that she never had been. If anything, she’d loved him as a friend. She hadn’t continued their affair because he was irresistible; she’d done it because he was easy to resist. Like her father, Jesse was a restless dreamer, handsome and charming and very sweet when he wanted to be. His inability to remain faithful to one woman was actually part of his appeal. By tying herself to him, she’d kept her heart safe. No one could hurt her, not even Jesse, because she hadn’t invested anything in their relationship.

Then Luke Meza came along and shattered her defenses.

Making a sound of frustration, she clicked off the computer and jumped to her feet, slamming the chair against the desk. At least her little brother hadn’t done anything crazy lately. When she got home last night, he hadn’t been debauching the neighbor’s daughter in his bedroom. He’d been sound asleep.

Shay contemplated the mysterious package on the exam table, thinking she should swear off relationships with men for good. God knew she was a total failure at them.

Just as she was about to tear open the box, the office phone rang. “Dark Canyon State Preserve,” she answered, holding the receiver between her shoulder and her ear.

“It’s Mike.”

“Oh. Hi.” It was the most enthusiastic greeting she could manage. “What’s up?”

“There’s been some trouble on Los Coyotes this morning.”

“Really? What kind of trouble?”

“This is just between us, but they found Bull Ryan in his office. Dead.”

She gasped and placed a hand over the middle of her chest. “Heart attack?” she guessed, knowing Bull had watched his blood pressure.

“I haven’t seen him yet, and with the way the feds run things I doubt if I will, but I heard he was … scalped.”

“Scalped?” she repeated, shocked. “By what?”

“A person with a sharp knife, I imagine. And his scalp was lacerated, not cut completely off, but it looks bad, according to your sheriff.”

“Oh, Mike,” she breathed, saddened for him, and for everyone in the community. “I’m so sorry. Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sounding more forlorn than she’d ever heard him.

Her mind reeled, not with possibilities, but with repercussions. Tenaja Falls would be up in arms over this. Yesenia Montes’s accidental death had caused a stir, but Bull Ryan was a respected businessman. To find him scalped? The whole thing was bizarre.

Jesse would be devastated. And Dylan had just started his new job yesterday.

Shay felt a twinge of nerves. Her brother couldn’t have been on the construction site during the time of the attack. Could he?

“Be careful out there,” Mike warned. “The lion attack, the fire, and now this … it just doesn’t add up.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

“We’ve been working on tracking some untagged lions in the area,” he continued. “There aren’t a lot of big males within range, as far as we know, so we’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

She supposed he meant her knee. “I’m fine.” The swelling was gone and the bruises were fading fast. “Ready to hike, climb, track, whatever.”

“Take it easy for a few days,” he advised gruffly.

It was nice to have someone fuss over her every once in a while. “Did you leave a box here?” she asked, wondering if it was a gift.

“Huh?”

“I found a small package out front. Is it yours?”

“No,” he replied. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“Hmm,” she said, eyeing the mysterious object.

Mike cleared his throat. “Listen, we had Hamlet cremated, and I thought you might like to do something with the remains. I mean, they’re yours, if you want them.”

Shay was touched by the gesture. “Yes,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Thank you. Really. It’s nice of you to offer.”

Mike mumbled that she was welcome and said a quick good-bye, as uncomfortable with sentimental interactions as she was.

She hung up the phone and ran her hand over the surface of the cardboard box, sniffling back a few tears. Maybe someone had dropped off a late birthday present. Maybe a secret admirer—Luke, her foolish heart ventured—had brought her a romantic gift.

As she started opening the top, a faint noise sent her tumbling back in time. It sounded like the rain stick her mama had given her when she was a little girl. She hadn’t thought of it in years. The arm-length section of bamboo had been hand-painted and filled with stones. It made a rattling noise, like rain hitting an aluminum rooftop, when it was turned upside down.

Shay saw her mother’s face in her mind, the way she’d looked before she got sick. She had been so vibrant, so joyous, so full of love and life and light.

After Dylan was born, her light dimmed. As a child, Shay didn’t know about postpartum depression or any of the other maladies her mother suffered from, but she’d learned quite a bit about how to take care of a baby.

How many nights had she fed Dylan, and bathed him, and rocked him to sleep? She couldn’t remember. He’d liked the rain stick, too. Sometimes she turned it up and down, over and over, its soothing sound calming him when nothing else would.

So lost in the memory, she didn’t see the snake in the box until it bit her.

21

Luke met Clay at the tribal police station a few minutes after he contacted Garrett.

Apparently, Dylan Phillips hadn’t shown up to his first class this morning. Not an uncommon occurrence, according to Principal Fischer, especially for a kid with Dylan’s track record, but Luke was worried. He tried to reach Shay at home and at Dark Canyon. She must have been between the two places, because he couldn’t get ahold of her at either.

Garrett promised he’d find Dylan, and Luke was almost afraid he’d be successful. Luke would go after the boy himself, but he had another dead body to worry about, and a whole mess of suspicious circumstances.

Not that the case was his to solve.

He was out of his jurisdiction, out of his element, and way out of his comfort zone. Small town politics and race relations were complex issues on their own. A suspicious death with bizarre cultural implications, on top of a mountain lion attack, would put Tenaja Falls on the national map and generate the kind of media circus Luke didn’t want to deal with.

Being new in town and new on the job left him at a distinct disadvantage. He felt like the stranger on the reservation again, the kid who got hard looks and took hard hits, the one who kept his mouth shut because he didn’t know what to say, the one who’d learned that acting aloof was an excellent defense mechanism.

Something about Tenaja Falls stripped away those artifices, like the desert wind laying a man down to his bare bones. Vegas was a place of flattery and falsehoods. Here, everyone seemed like a straight shooter, but Luke still had to watch his back.

His last conversation with Shay had also left him feeling uneasy. He knew he’d mishandled almost every interaction between them so far, from his casual dismissal of her on the sun-warmed rock that first afternoon to his mangled apology attempt in the fertility cave after a round of bone-melting sex.

He’d gotten off on the wrong foot with her from day one, and he could only hope she’d give him a chance to make it up to her.

Trying to roll the tension out of his shoulders, he followed Clay down the hall to the drunk tank, thinking he was lucky that their earlier confrontation hadn’t come to blows. The younger man was lanky but strong, quick of mind and light on his feet. Unlike Jesse Ryan, Luke figured Clay wouldn’t go down on the first hit.

Instead of throwing punches, Clay led him back to the holding tank. The cell was large enough to accommodate a half-dozen detainees, but Jesse Ryan was the only soul inside. With its concrete benches, aluminum toilet, and stainless steel sink, it was a dreary, uncomfortable-looking space.

Jesse didn’t appear bothered by the lack of ambience. He was flat on his back, snoring.

Clay was understandably upset, but he didn’t need to be told not to mention Bull Ryan’s death. He and Luke exchanged a weighted glance, by tacit agreement promising not to give away any information.

“Rise and shine, bro,” Clay said.

Jesse lifted his head, opened one eye, and groaned.

He shoved a lined paper cup through the bars. “I brought you some coffee.”

Luke didn’t think it was a good idea to give a disgruntled detainee a cup of hot liquid, but that was Clay’s business. He hoped Jesse wouldn’t throw it in his half-brother’s face.

Jesse stood, rubbing a hand over his shadowed jaw. “Which one of y’all hit me?”

Clay hooked his thumb in Luke’s direction.

“Remind me not to mess with you again,” Jesse said amiably, staggering forward and taking the coffee from Clay’s hand.

“The sheriff’s here to ask you a few questions.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Jesse announced. “What the hell happened?”

“You stormed into the Round-Up, drunk off your ass, and shoved Shay so hard she fell backward,” Clay replied. “If I hadn’t been there to catch her, she’d have been hurt.”

For a moment, Jesse looked as though he not only remembered, but regretted his actions. Then disdain soured his handsome features and he only appeared surly. “Yeah, you’re always there to help out the ladies, aren’t you?” He took a sip of coffee and made a bitter face. “Clayton Trueheart. Mr. Chivalrous.”

“That’s me,” Clay responded, giving him a humorless smile.

“Why did you go to the bar last night?” Luke asked.

“I heard this no-good Indian was cozyin’ up to my woman,” Jesse said.

Luke bristled, taking instant offense.

So did Clay. “That’s a goddamned lie,” he growled. “I only went over there to see the baby. Tammy needed money for diapers.”

Luke realized they weren’t talking about Shay, and the slur wasn’t intended for him. Jesse hadn’t gone to the bar last night to confront Luke; he’d been there to fight with Clay over Tamara.

“If my wife needs anything, she can get it from me,” Jesse said, squinting at Clay. “And I mean
anything
. You hear?”

A dull flush crept up Clay’s neck, but he didn’t respond to the provocation. Again, Luke suspected Clay’s interest in Tamara Ryan went beyond chivalry, and he would give the lady whatever she asked for.

It seemed as though Jesse knew it, too. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to Luke. “Is Shay all right?”

Luke thought about his encounter with her at the Visitors’ Center and started to feel a little hot under the collar. Last night, she’d been ridiculed, manhandled, and pushed around. Jesse hadn’t been very nice to her, either.

“She’s fine,” he said, clearing his throat.

Jesse studied his face. “I wouldn’t want to see her get hurt.”

It amazed him how quickly the man could transition from one female to the next. “Shay isn’t your concern, slick. And from what I gather, she hasn’t been for quite some time.”

“Shay will
always
be my concern. If you treat her wrong, I’ll tear you apart.”

Luke rubbed his thumb over his itching knuckles, tempted to let Jesse out and give him his best shot. But he recognized that Jesse’s attitude was more protective than proprietary, the reaction of a friend, not a lover. Although their relationship was over, Jesse still cared about her, and Luke couldn’t fault him for that.

He also felt a surge of possessiveness. Shay was
his
.

“Like Yesenia Montes was torn apart?” he asked after a moment, not ready to let Jesse off the hook.

Jesse blanched. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Luke surveyed their surroundings. “You look pretty comfortable in there. Have you done time?”

Jesse’s mouth twisted with resentment as he pushed away from the bars. Placing his cup down on the concrete bench, he stood in front of the urinal and unzipped his pants, showing Luke exactly how he felt about the question.

“What do you drive?” Luke asked, unconcerned by Jesse’s bad attitude.

“I have an old Monte Carlo,” he said over his shoulder. “But I usually ride my bike.”

A car and a motorcycle. Neither of those had bed liners, last time Luke checked. “You have any trucks in the garage?”

“Nope,” he said, hitching up his pants when he finished. “Am I free to go, or what?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Luke arched a glance at Clay.

“Did you see Dad after work yesterday?” Clay asked.

Before that moment, Jesse’s behavior had been belligerent, but predictable. Now his expression changed, and a hint of guilt flickered across his face. “Yeah,” he said, hiding the reaction behind more bluster. “So?”

“What did you talk about?”

“None of your goddamned business,” he sneered.

“Did he tell you I’d been over at Tamara’s?”

“Maybe.” An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

Jesse finally seemed to realize this visit wasn’t about the minor brawl at the Round-Up last night, and he turned a little green. He swallowed a few times, fighting with his hangover. “What are y’all here for?” he asked. “Is Tammy … is something wrong?”

Clay stared at his brother, his expression full of disdain. And pity.

Jesse reached through the bars, grasping the front of Clay’s shirt. “Is something wrong with Grace?”

Clay disentangled himself coolly. “Nothing’s wrong with Grace. But I can’t let you go just yet. I’ve got some paperwork to finish first.”

Jesse nodded, but he appeared shaken. “Sure, man,” he said, sitting back down on the bench and putting his head in his hands. “Do whatever you have to.”

Luke and Clay walked away from the holding cell, heading down the gleaming hallway together. Before they reached the exit, Clay stopped short, as if he had something to get off his chest. “Jesse wouldn’t hurt our dad,” he said, giving Luke a warning glance. Daring him to dispute the words.

Luke just shrugged. “But?”

“He owes people money.”

“Indians?” he interpreted.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Some guys at Wild Rivers. Loan sharks.”

Luke was familiar with Wild Rivers Casinos. It was a multimillion-dollar corporation, and co-investors in the current project on Los Coyotes. But surely Clay wasn’t suggesting a loan manager would try to collect Jesse’s debt from Bull Ryan, and scalp him in the process. “You don’t suspect them of—”

“No,” Clay said with a scowl. “I’m just getting it out in the open. Jesse can be irresponsible and selfish. But he’s not a killer.”

Luke appreciated his honesty. He also found it telling that Clay seemed genuinely worried for his half brother. What was it about Jesse Ryan that everyone found so goddamned loveable? His utter lack of integrity, or his puppy dog eyes?

“Let him stew in there. The feds will make him cry like a baby.”

The corner of Clay’s mouth turned up. “They’ll want to interview me, too.”

“Were you and Bull close?”

Some of the light drained from Clay’s eyes. “No. He acted like he didn’t know I was his. But he did know. He had to have.”

Luke was saddened, but not particularly surprised, by the admission. During his summers on the rez, he’d seen other men like Bull Ryan, married men who treated Indian women like conveniences and fathered children they never acknowledged. It was only natural that Clay resented the situation. Jesse had been born under the sanctity of wedlock, and he was accepted by his family despite his multiple screwups. Clay was the brother who had done well for himself, but due to the circumstance of his birth, was unable to gain his father’s respect.

The radio on Luke’s belt kicked on, emitting garbled language and a slew of static. Hearing the words, “Dark Canyon,” he turned up the volume.

“Twenty-six-year-old female, five-ten approximately 150 pounds,” the operator said. “Possible venomous snakebite. Patient is being admitted to Palomar Medical Center.”

Holy Christ. They were talking about Shay.

“You know where that is?” he asked Clay.

The younger man was already moving toward his truck. “I’ll drive.”

“I’ll follow you,” Luke decided.

The next thirty minutes were the longest of his life. Palomar Medical Center was the closest hospital in the Tenaja Falls area, but it wasn’t nearly close enough. Luke computed the time it would have taken an ambulance to reach Shay and get her to the hospital.

Over an hour. An eternity.

With the miracles of modern medicine, very few people in the United States died from snakebites. As a public servant, Luke knew this was partly due to fast medical treatment and the availability of antivenom. If there wasn’t any on hand, she’d be in trouble.

He communicated via CB radio with the emergency services operator and the EMT who responded to the scene, neither of whom were able to give him any detailed information. All he knew was that Shay had been bitten by a rattlesnake, and was in stable condition.

Luke wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel, maneuvering past cars that had pulled to the side of the road. Both he and Clay had their lights flashing, and although it wouldn’t be safe to go any faster around the curves, Luke wanted to. For the first time in his career, he wasn’t the least bit concerned about public safety.

Some of the damned fools on the road wouldn’t even pull over. Luke gritted his teeth, suppressing the urge to fire off a few warning shots.

Finally they were in the parking lot outside the ER. Luke didn’t bother to find an open space. He jerked to a stop beside the curb, yanked his keys from the ignition, and hopped out, not waiting to see if Clay would do the same.

At the front desk, there was a blue-haired old lady with wire-rimmed glasses. Luke did a quick survey of the waiting room and didn’t see anyone who looked more helpful. “Shay Phillips,” he said, surprised he wasn’t short of breath. His heart was hammering in his chest as if he’d been running for miles.

The lady smiled placidly. “Are you a blood relation?”

Luke left her sitting there. Ignoring the protests of a couple of nurses in colorful scrub outfits, he stormed through the double doors leading to the emergency room. Growing frantic, he searched the beds, jerking back curtains and calling her name. He startled a gray-faced older gentleman and a boy with a crooked wrist before he found her.

She was reclining in a hospital bed, wearing a faded blue gown, eyes closed, dark lashes fanning her pale cheeks. Tubes were coming out of her nose and she had an IV and a blood pressure monitor attached to her left arm.