LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

events had eventually been proven to have been orchestrated by an ex-con named Jasper Scudder, but even Del’s normally hardheaded composure had been disturbed by the warnings of Navajo matriarch Alice Tahe, who’d predicted that the evil spirit her people called Skinwalker had been behind Scudder’s actions…and that although Scudder had perished, the presence of Skinwalker still threatened the Double B and Del.

      With no disrespect intended toward either the old lady or her traditional beliefs, Connor thought now, he just didn’t buy into the existence of a supernatural big bad. So when Alice Tahe had spoken about a thing that walked like a man, talked like a man, but was all the darkness from the beginning of the world personified, he’d dismissed her Skinwalker as merely one of the myths of the Navajo people.

      From her tone, he got the feeling Tess didn’t. A slight impatience rose up in him.

      “Yeah, I’ve heard the legend. Why?”

      Something sparked behind the amber of her eyes. “Because that’s who I’m protecting Joey from, Agent. You might believe he’s in danger from MacLeish or Leroy, but Joey’s convinced Skinwalker’s the one who wants him dead. And although I wasn’t brought up in the Way—the Navajo Way,” she added in explanation, “I’m Dineh enough to think he could be right.”

      The spark in her gaze fanned to a tiny flame, and color lent a wild-rose tinge to the cinnamon of her skin.

      “Don’t you get it yet? He doesn’t remember what happened between Quayle and MacLeish because everything else was blotted from his mind when he was almost killed himself. I don’t know if there was a third person at the safe house the night of the ambush…but there was a third presence in the alleyway the day Quayle was murdered. Joey swears it was Skinwalker. And he says that just before the police showed up, Skinwalker started toward the Dumpster where he was hiding to kill him.”

      “Skinwalker,” Connor repeated. “We’re talking about the Navajo Skinwalker, right? An evil ghost, uses his shapeshifting powers to take on the form of a man or a wolf or whatever he wants?” He glanced at the small sleeping form in the bed and then back at her. “I guess it’s possible a kid might see him as the bogeyman, if he’d been told stories about him in the past, but encouraging him in that belief—”

      “Is that your theory?” Her gaze darkened. “Joey translated his terror at witnessing Quayle’s murder into something a nine-year-old could understand—a monster, just like the ones other children see hiding behind a half-open closet door?”

      “Or just like the ones you make a living writing about,” Connor agreed, not bothering to soften the edge in his voice.

      Now it made sense, he thought, annoyed with himself for not figuring it out before. Now he knew why she’d risked going on the run with the boy long before she’d discovered there was a family connection between them. He didn’t know who he felt angrier at—her, for turning out to be the journalistic equivalent of a conartist, or himself for not seeing from the start what she was up to. Hell, for all he knew maybe she’d somehow faked that photo she’d conveniently found in her purse.

      “That’s what all this was leading to, wasn’t it? You hoped you could get a National Eye-Opener front page out of this, complete with you in your ghost-busting gear facing down some guy in a monster costume. Lady, whatever hare-brained notion you’ve got of parlaying a federal investigation into journalistic glory for yourself—”

      “Journalistic glory?” The pink in her cheeks flared to bright patches of anger. “In a rag like the Eye-Opener that gets shoved between the milk and eggs in a sack of groceries? I’m not that delusional, Agent, and even if I were I wouldn’t use a child’s fear to my own advantage.” Her voice shook. “Believe me, I know how damaging that can be.”

      Her vehemence rang too true to have been put on for his benefit, Connor thought. And behind it was something else—something that held an echo of pain and guilt.

      But he’d allowed himself to be distracted by Tess Smith’s seeming vulnerability once already, he reminded himself. Any pain he thought he detected in her voice wasn’t his concern.

      “Let’s say you didn’t intend to use this in one of your stories.” He shrugged. “What does that leave me with—that you really believe Joey saw an evil spirit in that alleyway?”

      “I told you you’d think it was crazy.” Her gaze was shuttered. “But yes, if Joey says Skinwalker’s after him, that’s enough for me. He needs to know someone’s on his side.”

      As she spoke, Connor was half-convinced he could feel the warmth of her breath on his own lips, could discern the faintest scent of cloves and carnations coming from her. There was no good reason why he kept thinking of flowers when he looked at Tess Smith, he thought in irritation.

      Besides, his involvement with the woman had begun with her leveling a gun at him. If he needed a botanical reference to compare her to, a cholla cactus was probably his best bet—wild fuchsia blossoms behind a formidable barricade of thorns.

      But neither her prickliness nor his own inappropriate musings were enough to completely distract him from the care she’d taken in framing her answer to his last question. He knew with sudden certainty what she was trying to hide.

      “You don’t believe in any of this, either, do you?” He frowned. “You said you weren’t brought up in the Way. Admit it—Skinwalker’s nothing more than a dim folkloric tradition to you, like the kelpies my Irish grandmother used to tell me about were to me.”

      “He’s real to Joey.” She bit off the words. “And despite my sketchy knowledge of my own heritage, I have more respect for the old stories than to dismiss them completely.”

      “Maybe, but you’re standing by Joey for your own reasons, not because you think there’s any possibility he’s telling the literal truth.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “Why is it so important to you that he doesn’t go back into protective custody? Is there another threat to him you’re not telling—”

      Connor broke off abruptly. From the parking lot outside had come the solid thunk of a car door closing, and even as he strode to the window he heard a second thunk. He pushed the drapes aside and saw an unmarked sedan almost identical to his own, two men standing by it in neatly unobtrusive suits and with expressions of grim alertness as federal issue as their car.

      He let the curtain fall closed. “Your ride’s here,” he said shortly. “When you get to Albuquerque, take my advice and don’t count on Area Director Jansen cutting you as much slack as I have. You should have come clean with me from the start.”

      “I’ve come as clean with you as I can, Agent Connor. I know you don’t accept that, but it’s true.”

      Tess bit into her lower lip. She shook her head, her gaze searching his.

      “The thing is, Virgil, I think you do believe in monsters,” she said slowly. “You just can’t admit it, because if you did your world wouldn’t be controllable anymore. What happened that made you build that rigid box around yourself? Did you go up against them once and lose?”

      His first impression of her had been correct, Connor told himself tightly, slipping his gun into his shoulder holster. The woman was more than a little out of touch with reality.

      “I don’t see operating on logic and reason as being boxed in,” he grated. “Which is why I’m not the one who’s going to have to tell a nine-year-old boy that I’m not the person I let him think I was,” he added.

      He regretted his comment even before he saw the suddenly stricken look in her eyes. “Sorry, that wasn’t necessary,” he muttered. “Whatever I thought when I first saw you with Joey, you’ve convinced me that you only wanted to—”

      “No, you’re right.” The husky tones came out unevenly. “I shouldn’t have acted as impulsively as I did. I should have thought things out more logically, like you say.”

      She was finally beginning to see the light.

Скачать книгу