Fatal Intent (Desert Heat Book 3) (18 page)

“I want those bastards stopped. It’s your job, damn it. Put them away. Put them fucking
away.
”

During the thirty seconds or so of her tirade, Watson remained seated, his head down. Now he stood. “I’m sorry, Alex. You’re right, and I won’t make excuses. We’re rounding them up, and this time we won’t let them go until the DA forces us to. We’ll find the ones responsible, and we’ll find out why. And you’ll be the first to know. Take care.”

When Watson had gone, Alex sat down and cried until it was time to leave to pick up the boys. Then she called the school and told the receptionist she wouldn’t be there today. She sent Dylan a text that something had come up and he’d need to pick up the boys. Ten minutes later, she was out the door and on her way to the Gila River reservation, to see Dawn’s parents. What had she done? If she hadn’t made it her business to make Dawn a story, the girl might still be alive. This was her fault.

THIRTY

Dylan’s cell phone was turned off while he was at work, but as soon as he left for the day, he turned it back on and checked for any messages from Alex, in case she needed him to pick up something from the grocery store. When he saw her text about picking up the boys, he assumed she’d received a call for an interview or something, since she’d been applying for jobs.

After picking up the boys and arriving home, Dylan waited awhile for her return, but when the regular dinnertime came and went, he ordered a pizza and sent her a text asking when she’d be home. Dylan only became alarmed when his text went without an answer and the pizza arrived, well after six p.m. with no sign of Alex.

Surely, any job interview would have been long past, wouldn’t it? He called the boys to the table and gave them each a slice of pizza, before going into the bedroom to make some calls. His first was to Paul, who told him the only thing he knew of was someone had confirmed the identity of his wife’s remains.

He told Dylan there would be a delay in releasing the remains, since the man who was in prison for life for her murder had demanded a new trial, claiming he hadn’t known the woman in question. The authorities didn’t expect that to take long, since the baby she carried was a match to his DNA. They’d like to know how that happened if he hadn’t known her.

Dylan made the appropriate remarks and then ended the call. It was interesting information, and he knew Alex would be relieved to have her hunch confirmed, but it didn’t explain her disappearance. Did it? Although it was after office hours for the lieutenant in charge of her case, Dylan decided to try to reach him. Maybe he could throw some light on her absence, or at least tell Dylan how she’d seemed to take the news.

Before he called, he checked on the boys and munched down a slice of pizza himself. Davi was going to need a change of clothes after smearing red sauce all over his face, hands and t-shirt.

Dylan spent a frustrating half-hour explaining his mission to various people in the Pinal County sheriff’s department as he was transferred from place to place only to discover he should have called Casa Grande police. Before starting over, he chased Davi down and put him in the tub with strict instructions to stay there and not to splash.

By the time he reached Lt. Watson, he was nearly frantic. It was nearing nine o’clock when he managed to get the boys to bed so he could have the time to explain what and whom he wanted, only to be transferred another half a dozen times. Where the hell could Alex be this late?

A grumpy Lt. Watson called him back at nine-fifteen. The last person Dylan had talked to in the department wouldn’t transfer him to the lieutenant’s personal phone, but did promise to pass on the message. Dylan hadn’t counted on it, but Watson was on the line now, and not happy to have been interrupted at home after hours. As soon as he heard Dylan’s question, though, his attitude did a one-eighty.

“Did you just say Alex isn’t at home and didn’t leave a message where she was going?” he asked.

Dylan wiped his face with an open palm, gathering patience to answer civilly. “Yes, that’s what I said. Do you know where she could be? I’m sorry, what I meant to ask was how she took the news about her mother. I spoke to her dad, and that’s the only thing he knew of that could have knocked her off balance.”

“Oh,” said Watson. “Actually, she took that pretty well. It was the other news that upset her.”

“What other news?”

“About her friend, that Native girl. The Patriots got to her. She’s dead.”

Dylan went cold. Now he knew exactly where Alex was, and it wasn’t good news. Urgency colored his tone when he replied. “You need to get your people, and the county people, to look out for her. She drives an old Sentra sedan, silver. I’ll text you with the license number. She’s gone to get this story, and I’ll guarantee you she’ll be up to her neck in shit if she thinks the only place she can get it is from the Patriots themselves.”

“She wouldn’t… would she? She knows how dangerous they are.”

“That’s never stopped her before.”

“Oh, shit. I’ve already got one dead girl on my hands, I don’t need another. Okay, I’ll call out the troops. You sit tight. I don’t want civilians mucking up my case.”

Dylan could have told Watson there wasn’t a damn thing he could do, with two little boys sleeping in the other room and no one to come and stay with them. He could have explained the long list of foolhardy things Alex had done in pursuit of a story. But that wouldn’t find Alex any faster. “I’ll be right here. I’ll let you know if she shows up. Lt. Watson?”

“Yeah,” Watson answered.

“Find her first, okay?”

“We’ll do our best, son.”

Dylan wandered into his kitchen, worried and more than a little angry. She’d just promised him to stay safe, and now this. He made a pot of coffee, expecting it to be a long night.

~~~

Alex hadn’t stopped to think, when she raced to Gila River reservation. Dawn’s parents might not want to see her. However, by the time she got into their neighborhood she’d thought better of her plan. Instead of knocking on their door, she did a quick search on her smartphone to figure out where the tribal government building was. She took some time to ponder her approach, and then went there, hoping to find someone who could tell her whether she’d be welcome at the Redbirds’ home.

Because of the delay, once she learned they’d be glad to see her, the small house was overrun by neighbors, church members and other well-wishers. Alex parked a block or more away, since the street was lined with cars parked on both sides, and made her way through a throng of people who’d spilled out into the yard. A lump formed in her throat as she saw the evidence of how well loved Dawn had been. She nodded at one or two young people she’d seen on the marches she’d attended. Most of the faces she saw were brown, and she began to shake as she walked through the crowd and they fell silent as she passed. They were condemning her for getting Dawn killed, and she didn’t blame them.

What seemed like an eternity passed by the time she got into the house. There, she found the crowd had separated by gender. Most of the people in the living room were men, while the women had gravitated toward the kitchen. That’s where she headed as well, finally finding Mrs. Redbird in the center of a knot of women, all of whom were crying. All except Mrs. Redbird. Alex went straight to her.

“Mrs. Redbird, I don’t know what to say. I’m so, so sorry. I can’t help but think this is my fault. I made her a target.” Alex started to cry again as she said the last. She closed her eyes to stem the tears leaking from them, and then felt arms go around her.

“This is not your fault, Alex. They’ve been out to harm us ever since we called them out for targeting our distant relatives on the other side of the border. Thank you for coming. You were a good friend to Dawn.”

Alex wept even harder for a few moments, and then struggled to control her emotions. If Dawn’s mother could be this strong, surely she could too. She stepped back to give someone else a chance to embrace Mrs. Redbird as she patted her eyes dry with a crumpled tissue.

When the other person had withdrawn, she said, “You’re very kind to say that, Mrs. Redbird. I still feel somehow responsible, and I’ll miss Dawn very much. I’ll carry on the fight against those monsters until every one of them is in jail. And I won’t let Dawn’s sacrifice be forgotten.”

Mrs. Redbird gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you, dear, but please be careful. Would you like to come to her memorial service?”

“Of course I would. You’ll let me know when?” Alex fished in her purse for a piece of paper on which to write her number.

“Your number is in Dawn’s phone,” said Mrs. Redbird, when she noticed Alex’s frustration. “Yes, I’ll call you. Won’t you stay awhile today? We’re going to have a meal soon.”

Alex looked around the crowded kitchen, where there was no room to cook and no apparent attempts. Mrs. Redbird laughed and then choked it off in a sob.

“They’ll be here soon. I can almost guarantee mutton stew,
posole
and fry bread. Please stay. I’d like to introduce you to some of the older members of our group. They’ll be excited to meet you. You have done more for our recruiting than we’ve ever seen before.”

“
I
have?” Alex questioned. “How?”

“When you started reporting on our cause, it was no longer just a Native issue. People took notice. Alex, you are a very persuasive advocate. Didn’t you know that?” Mrs. Redbird wiped away a tear. “Dawn rallied the Native students, but others joined in their last march before her accident. Even adults. Have you spoken to Jesse lately?”

Alex dropped her head. No, she hadn’t. She’d been so absorbed in her own issues that she hadn’t kept up with the activist group after Dawn’s accident. She didn’t deserve the praise Mrs. Redbird was giving her. Ashamed, she shook her head.

“He is leading the group now, arranging for the marches. They have doubled in size, and almost all the new members are whites. We have never felt so accepted. It’s because of you, and your passion for justice. Don’t ever lose that, Alex.”

“I won’t.” Even as Alex spoke, she remembered her commitment to Dylan only last night. How could she honor Dawn and her own beliefs, while still honoring Dylan’s need for her to be safe and not controversial?

Just then, a commotion came at them from the front of the house and the women around her began shuffling to make room for a veritable parade of other women bearing covered baskets releasing the familiar aroma of hot fry bread, pots of steaming soup or stew, and trays of fresh fruits and vegetables. The men from the living room followed them, as the women waited their turn. Mr. Redbird stepped out of the line when he saw Alex and came to give her a hug.

“Thank you for coming, Alex. You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?”

“How can I not? That fry bread smell is making my stomach growl!”

Alex spent the rest of the evening talking to people about Dawn. It was amazing to learn more about Dawn’s childhood and what her friends and family thought of her. An idea began forming—how to write the third story for the Casa Grande newspaper. It would be a memorial for Dawn, rather than mentioning the Patriots.

She would weave the theme of acceptance for people despite their differences throughout the story. Maybe Mrs. Redbird was right. Maybe she was persuasive. If so, there was a larger goal here than just stopping the Patriots.

Alex lost track of time as she talked to more and more people. When the house started clearing out, she finally took out her cell phone to see what time it was. Nearly eleven! And she’d missed calls and texts from Dylan, her dad, even Lt. Watson. What was going on? She called Dylan.

~~~

It was almost like d
éjà
vu, except for one thing, and that was Alex’s new perspective. Dylan’s explosive “Where have you been? Where are you now?” would have put her back up in the past. Something very like it
had
put her back up recently, in fact. It appeared her talk with her counselor, and even more recently, her determination to see things through the eyes of others and accept them stayed her temper this time.

“I’m sorry, honey. You’ve been worried, I can tell. I’m on my way home and I’ll explain when I get there, or in the morning since you should already be asleep by now. Please don’t worry.” As she babbled sentence after sentence to placate Dylan’s worry-driven anger, Alex put herself in his shoes.

She’d be angry, too. She should have left a longer text or a note at home to explain what happened and where she was going. Then, when the visit lasted longer than expected, she should have sent him a text. She certainly should have called him when she decided to stay for dinner and then talk at length with so many people afterward.

Dylan’s clipped tones told her he was still upset, even as he said he was glad she was okay and he’d see her when she got there.

Alex didn’t know what kind of reception she’d get at home, but she would do her best not to react. Dylan had a right to be concerned, even angry. She would let him know she understood, and next time she’d try to do better. During the hour it took to get home, she tried out her explanation in every way she could think of so it wouldn’t sound self-serving.

In the end, she decided to say nothing more than sorry until and unless he asked for an explanation. That way, there would be no need for ‘but’. Sorry,
but
I was devastated about Dawn. Sorry,
but
I had this amazing opportunity to get to know her better for a tribute story. Sorry,
but
I lost track of time. No, those were excuses. So no
buts
allowed. She was simply sorry.

She couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again. Alex only hoped Dylan could try to understand that there would be times when she wouldn’t have time to leave a note or get in touch while a story was unfolding. She wouldn’t ever escalate an argument by being overly defensive again, though. She got it. He loved her, cherished her even. The thought of her getting hurt or worse tore him up, and she needed to do her best to keep that worry at bay.

When she walked into the house, Dylan was asleep in a chair. He’d tried to wait up for her, but a five-thirty wake-up call meant midnight was far too late to stay up on a work night. Alex tiptoed past him and got herself ready for bed before going back and waking him as gently as she could. Even her lightest touch, though, startled him into violently flinching when she put her hand on his arm. He looked at her, wild-eyed and still in the grip of sleep, and then lurched up to hug her tightly, possessively. He kissed her hard and she kissed back. It would be okay now.