He chuckled. "All rangers are required to undergo training in local history and indigenous culture. As for how I knew you were Navajo, you told me in the restaurant. You said your family lived in a hogaan, remember?"
"Yes, I remember." So he was a man who listened. She liked that.
"What clan are you?"
"I was born to the
Ashiihi
--Salt Clan." If she'd had a Navajo father, she'd have been able to tell him what clan she'd been born for--one was born to the clan of one's mother and for the clan of one's father--but she didn't even know who her father was. She wondered if Gabe would be able to tell that she was fatherless. If so, he said nothing, so she changed the subject. "You did very well--much better than the average
Bilagaanaa.
But let me explain what we know."
She told how any place where two rivers came together was believed to be sacred by itself and how two rivers at the base of a high place like Mesa Butte marked it as special, a place set aside by Creator for people to pray. She told him how the Old Ones would have found everything they needed right here--wood from the river valley below, stones that retained heat well, deer, bison, and antelope for food and clothing, and a clear view in all four directions should enemies approach.
They were near the top now, the access road widening as it came to its end. And there up ahead she saw a familiar pickup truck, the driver's side door open.
"Grandpa Red Crow is here."
"He's the old guy who was pouring water for the
inipi
that night, right?"
Kat nodded. "He's one of our most revered elders, a Hunkpapa Lakota medicine man from Rosebud. He wants me to invite you to tonight's
inipi."
"He's holding an
inipi
up here tonight?" The tone of Gabe's voice told her he didn't think this was a great idea.
"Yes. Now that we know what happened, he says he sees no reason why we can't go on as we did before. Besides, he refuses to be driven off the land. He wanted me to invite you to join us. He thinks we might be left in peace if there's a ranger with us."
"Oh, I see. He just wants me there for my badge--is that it?"
Realizing what she'd said--or, rather, how she'd said it--Kat rushed to explain, afraid she'd hurt his feelings. "Oh, no! No! That's not what I meant. He--"
A grin spread across Gabe's face, and Kat realized he was teasing her. "I'm honored by the invitation. Still, it might not be such a great idea to hold another ceremony here until the city clarifies its position on the land-use code."
"Why should we wait when we have a right to be here?"
The butte leveled out, the sweat lodge standing off to their left, a pile of firewood beside it, waiting to be split. Grandpa Red Crow's ax was there, but he wasn't.
"Does he usually arrive this early?" Gabe asked, turning and glancing about them.
Kat nodded, expecting to see Grandpa Red Crow any moment. "He cleans the lodge and splits wood for the fire chief to use."
They stood there for a good fifteen minutes, debating whether it was wise to hold another
inipi,
but still Grandpa Red Crow did not appear. Kat began to worry about him. He wasn't a young man. If he'd twisted his ankle on the steep terrain or gotten sick...
"Have you ever been to the top?" Gabe asked, looking up at the flat, rocky crown that formed the butte's summit.
Kat shook her head. "It's almost always dark when I'm here."
"Come on. The view is amazing."
"I... I don't know if I should."
His brows knitted together in a frown. "Is it against your beliefs to go up there?"
"No. Nothing like that. It's just..." How was she going to explain this to a man who hung upside down from cliffs for fun? "Ever since I fell, I've had a bad fear of heights. I... I get dizzy and..." She willed herself to meet his gaze, expecting to see disappointment in his eyes, but finding understanding.
"I'm not surprised. You took one hell of a fall. But that's a solid basalt dike. It's not going to disappear from beneath your feet." Then he looked straight into her eyes. "And I promise I won't let you fall."
She followed him up the rocky, winding trail to the top, listening as he told her about the great surge of hot, volcanic rock that had created the butte, the wind picking up and tousling her hair as they neared the summit.
And then she was there on the highest point of Mesa Butte, the four directions stretching out before her. The summit was flat. No plants. No trees. Nothing but an empty liquor bottle. She took one step forward--and regretted it.
The dizziness hit her, making her head spin. Trying to shake the feeling, she drew air into her lungs, reminded herself that the rock beneath her boots was solid. But it didn't seem to help. Her stomach sank toward the ground, her knees turning to rubber, her lungs too constricted to draw breath.
Gabe caught her around the waist and drew her up against the hard wall of his chest. "Easy, Kat. Open your eyes."
She hadn't realized she'd closed them. She did as he'd asked and found herself looking up into his eyes.
"Now breathe. Slowly. That's the way." After a moment he moved to the side, the view opening before her once more.
"Don't--!" She grabbed for him.
Warm fingers clasped hers. "I'm not going anywhere."
Reassured by his presence, she looked at the chain of white-capped mountains that stretched as far as the eye could see to the west, then she turned in a slow circle, seeing the sweat lodge and Grandpa Red Crow's pickup below to the south. Open prairie spread like an undulating sea of grass to the east and beyond that the skyscrapers and brown cloud of Denver. To the north stood a cluster of farmhouses separated from the road by the conjoined rivers. What she didn't see was Grandpa Red Crow.
"Are you up for a view off the edge?"
Kat shook her head. "No, I don't think I..."
"I bet you can." He drew her forward, stepping over the whisky bottle. "Just try. Trust me. Keep your eyes on me if you have to."
Holding fast to his hand, she followed, a feeling of exhilaration sweeping through her as, step by baby step, her fear began to lessen.
An arm's length ahead of her, Gabe stopped at the very edge and looked down. Something--surprise?--flashed across his features, then a muscle clenched in his jaw. He turned to her. "We're going back to my truck--now."
Something in his voice, something in the hard look on his face, set her heart to pounding. She stepped forward, felt his arm catch her around the waist, holding her back from the edge--but not so far back that she couldn't see.
There, two hundred feet below, dressed in his red shirt and black vest, lay Grandpa Red Crow, shattered upon the ground.
Her knees gave way, the world spinning beneath her feet, and her heart seeming to burst in her chest. Strong arms held her fast, drew her back from the precipice. As if from far away, she heard herself scream "No!"
CHAPTER 5
GABE KNELT BESIDE the old man, knowing before he checked for a pulse that he wouldn't find one. No one could fall that far and survive. Cold to the touch, Grandpa had been dead for a while, his head at an unnatural angle to his body, his eyes staring unseeing at the sky.
In the distance Gabe could hear the approaching wail of sirens. But there was nothing anyone could do for the old man now, except try to figure out how this had happened. Had he fallen--or had he been pushed?
Gabe's instincts told him it was the latter.
He stood and took a step back from the body, not wanting to disturb a potential crime scene more than he already had. Then he saw it.
A potsherd.
The same reddish color as the soil and painted with black lines, it lay in pieces beside the body. Though Gabe was no archaeologist, he'd bet his ass that it was an American Indian artifact, part of a small bowl judging by the curved shape of the pieces.
What the hell?
This could not mean what he thought it meant.
From behind him, he heard the soft sound of Kat's weeping. He turned to find her walking slowly toward him, her face wet with tears and lined with grief, her gaze averted from the body. He'd told her to stay in the truck, not sure how much of a mess he'd find and hoping to spare her memories she didn't need. Falling two hundred feet could do serious damage to the human anatomy.
"You don't have to see this, Kat."
But she didn't seem to hear him, sinking to her knees in the dirt near the old man's feet. "H-help h-him! L-like you helped m-me."
"There's nothing I can do, honey. It's too late."
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressed a hand to her mouth, clearly struggling to believe that someone she loved was gone forever.
Gabe knew only too well what that was like--disbelief, shock, grief so strong it ripped through you. He walked over to her and knelt beside her, then, unable to do anything else, drew her into his arms and held her. "I'm so sorry."
She was trembling, probably as much from shock as from grief, her hair soft against his cheek, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, her quiet sobs tearing at him. "I-I t-talked to h-him just a f-few hours ago. H-how could he be d-dead?"
"It doesn't make sense, does it?"
"Why w-would anyone want to k-kill him?"
"We don't know for sure that's what happened. It could be an accident of some kind. Maybe he got too close to the edge and slipped." Strictly speaking, what Gabe said was true, and yet his gut told him she was right.
The old man had been murdered.
The fire truck arrived first, the approaching sound of its siren seeming to bring Kat back to herself. She stiffened, drew away from him. "I-I'm sorry."
Gabe cupped her tear-streaked cheek, forced her to meet his gaze. "You have no reason to apologize. I only wish I could have done something for him."
She sniffed. "Thanks."
He drew her to her feet, watching as she wiped the tears from her eyes and somehow found the inner strength to put her grief aside. By the time the fire truck had arrived, the haunted look in her eyes was the only sign of the anguish she was feeling, her courage making him want to protect her all the more.
Two firefighters took in the situation at a glance, realized there were no lives to save, and giving Gabe a nod, went to stand by the truck, waiting for law enforcement.
Hatfield and Chief Ranger Webb were the first on the scene. Webb drew Gabe aside. "Want to tell me what the hell you're doing out here with her, Rossiter?"
Gabe filled his boss in, watching as a sympathetic firefighter brought Kat bottled water and a blanket. He'd just finished bringing Webb up to speed when a squad car pulled up and Frank Daniels got out, all blond crew cut and Kevlar.
Gabe saw Kat tense, her body going rigid as she recognized the bastard. Then he met Webb's gaze. "He is not going to question her. He's not going anywhere near her. He's already brutalized her once, and that was before she ripped him a new one in her news article."
Webb leaned in, his voice dropping to a pissed-off whisper. "Do you know how bad this looks--the two of you together? It's damned hard for me to argue that your complaint against Daniels is legit when you're fraternizing with her and watching over her like a guard dog."
"We're not fraternizing. I told you--"
"You met her here for a nice afternoon of cultural exchange. Yeah, you told me." Webb rolled his eyes, obviously not believing it. "You let me deal with Daniels, got it? If this is ruled a homicide, BPD is going to claim jurisdiction, and the last thing we need is you turning this into some kind of interdepartmental dick fight."
"Me? He's the asshole who ignored our jurisdiction and--"
"Stay away from him, got it? And if you can manage it, stay away from her, too!" Webb jabbed a finger in Kat's direction.
But Gabe had no intention of leaving Kat to go through this alone.
IT DIDN'T SEEM real.
None of it seemed real. Not the police cars and flashing lights. Not the gloved officers going inch by inch over the ground. Not the yellow crime-scene tape.
Faces swam in and out of her vision. Sirens wailed and fell silent. Snatches of conversation drifted just beyond reach of her conscious mind.
"You think it was someone stealing artifacts?"
"We'll see what the autopsy and toxicology results say."
"Did she identify the body?"
He was dead. Grandpa Red Crow was dead.
She knew she ought to find her cell phone and call Glenna or Uncle Allen so they could let everyone else know. She ought to call the paper and get a reporter and photographer out here. But she couldn't seem to think straight long enough to figure out where her cell phone was. And then an officer started asking her questions.
How did she know the deceased? How had she spent her day? When had she arrived at the butte? Why had she come here? What had she done once she'd arrived at the butte? When had the body been discovered? Who'd found it?
Gabe came up from behind, his nearness and the sound of his voice more reassuring than she could have imagined. He stayed with her as she answered the officer's questions, his presence steadying her, holding her together.