Under The Western Sky

“Are you Hopi?” Aquilon demanded. He and the desk sergeant exchanged glances.

She realized if she answered in the affirmative she would probably be turned over to the tribe for them to deal with the crime. However, while she was one-eighth Native American on her maternal side, she didn’t belong to the local tribe.

“No, but as a nurse-midwife, I do prenatal and delivery care for the tribe. I also run a clinic three days a week and do home visits in special cases.”

After her explanation, the sergeant nodded to the investigator and left the room. The inquisition continued.

“Why were you transporting and selling artifacts?”

“I wasn’t. Those were Josiah’s pots, not artifacts.”

“Guess again. All six are priceless antiques stolen from the new dig down in the canyon.”

“Chaco Canyon, yes, you said that earlier. But I’m sure you’re mistaken. Josiah wouldn’t—”

“What was your cut?” he demanded, startling her by suddenly leaning across the table and getting right in her face while he gave her a really mean stare.

“Nothing. Didn’t you hear me? This is some kind of misunderstanding. Those pots aren’t priceless.” She tossed the paper towel on the table and crossed her arms. “Get an expert in here. Dr. Jones from the museum will set you straight.”

The older detective came in. He set a cup of coffee in front of her and kept one for himself. “Here. Sorry, we’re out of cream and sugar.”

“Thank you.” She took a sip of the coffee that tasted as if it had been made a week ago and left on the burner ever since. Nonetheless, she didn’t complain.

“Tony, here, is an expert on Native American art, including the ancient stuff,” the older man continued, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her.

“Him?” she said skeptically.

“That’s right,” the man called Chuck assured her. “He’s practically a professor.”

They both looked at the younger man, who leaned against the dingy wall. “Not quite,” he said with an irritated glance at the other man, as if Chuck had given away secrets he didn’t want to share. “I still have the dissertation to complete.”

“For your Ph.D.?” she questioned in open disbelief.

“Yeah.” His steady stare dared her to make something of it.

“I’m impressed,” she said, but with a sardonic edge she couldn’t quite conceal.

She tried to picture him as a staid professor of antiquities. The image was too stiff and formal to associate with the dynamic man who’d wrestled with her, arrested her and now observed her in an impassive manner as if her protests of innocence made no impression on him at all.

Tony Aquilon. Where had she heard the name?

She sighed. “I don’t know anything about ancient artifacts or any finds in Chaco Canyon or anywhere else. The couple needed money and asked me to take the pots to town. I said I would since they live over an hour from here and had just had their first child. He needed to stay with the mother and baby. It was the cutest little boy—”

A snort from the younger detective cut her off.

Okay, so she did love babies and tended to go on and on about them. But they were so sweet and trusting, something she hadn’t been in a long time.

Not since she was ten years old.

At that time two men had broken into her home and raped and killed her mom. She’d come home from school and found the horrible crime scene. Since that day, her father had made sure she and her two brothers learned self-defense, sending them to more advanced courses each year until they’d passed them all. Lots of noise and surprise tactics were the keys to escaping an enemy.

Her training hadn’t stopped her captor from arresting her, though. Recalling the strength in his embrace as he’d locked her in his arms, she was somewhat stunned as she realized he’d been incredibly gentle with her, not hurting her at all during the struggle.

She examined her wrist. Not a mark on it, not even a bruise from the handcuffs. Studying the special investigator covertly, she had to admit he was an enigma—a man who applied his strength with care instead of brute force.

“If you’re innocent, why did you run?” the special investigator demanded. He gingerly felt his nose.

“Because that’s what a normal person does when a stranger tries to nab you,” she informed him. “You need to put ice on that. It’ll stop the swelling.”

He gave her a narrow look, considered, then headed out of the room. “I should take a bath in the damn stuff,” she heard him mutter just before the door closed behind him.

“I think you bruised his pride,” the older detective said in a kind manner. “Who was it you said we should call?”

“Chief Windover. I have a number for him.” She gave the man the information. Once they checked her credentials, they would realize they had made a mistake and she would be free to go home.

The older man nodded. “Okay. I’ll see if we can’t get this straightened out.”

After he left, Julianne slumped into the chair. While she hadn’t been injured, she felt sore and just plain beat. Well, no wonder, after all that running and then wrestling around with the superhero.

Okay, so he was a special investigator with the National Park Service and the other cops obviously knew and respected him. That he was also an expert on ancient artifacts and a hunk was rather intriguing.

So?

So she didn’t know, except he made her feel…funny. Studying her wrist, she conceded he’d used no more force than necessary to subdue her, while she’d used every evasive maneuver she knew.

“Ohh,” she groaned, recalling all she’d done to get away. The judge would probably lock her up forever for breaking his nose.

Which he deserved for scaring the devil out of her by yanking out those handcuffs and trying to clamp them on her without warning. If he’d explained himself, then she could have explained her part in the supposed crime and all would have been resolved.

She was still frowning when he returned, holding an ice pack to his nose. Seeing it made her feel somewhat guilty for being the cause. But only a little bit, she added, since it was his fault in the first place.

“Chief Windover is gone for the weekend,” he said.

“Oh, that’s right. He’s taken his family camping and fishing at Many Farms Lake.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s where I heard of you.”

“I haven’t been to Many Farms Lake, wherever that is.”

“Arizona, near Canyon De Chelly. However, it was while I was in the chief’s office that I heard of you. He got a call from the park service. Your name was mentioned. He said he would alert the tribal police. I assumed you were an escaped convict.”

“I let the authorities know I was investigating a case and would be on the reservation at times. I needed a counterpart with their law enforcement department to work with me.”

“Like Officer Diaz with the state police here?”

“Yeah, like Chuck.”

“Well, that explains everything,” she said, standing. “I’m glad we had this chat. Now I need to get home and—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he informed her.