Hunter Moon (12 page)

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Floyd was sweating now, but he shook his head and followed Gabe to his cruiser. Clay made a careful study of their passing and then nodded to Gabe.

Gabe asked Floyd to wait and retraced his steps, being careful not to walk over the tracks they had made.

“You sure?” he asked Clay.

“Positive.”

“Well, now.” Gabe returned to Floyd who sputtered and demanded to know what was going on, so Gabe told him.

Celia hurried out in the yard, but her bluster vanished when she saw her brother’s face turn ashen.

“So,” said Gabe to Floyd, “you going to tell me how you got a hold of Isabella’s brand here or at the station?”

Floyd said nothing. Ron and his wife exchanged a long look. His wife shook her head, her hands now clasped stiffly over the most prominent roll of her belly.

“Floyd, I’ve got you for cutting fences and tampering with Izzie’s herd. I’ve got your tracks leading right into her fence line. And I suspect you’re the one who rebranded your own cattle and you’re the one who let some of her herd out on the highway last week. So someone would notice the rebranding.”

Floyd was rubbing his neck as if he were a chiropractor.

“I hope that’s the worst of it,” said Gabe, sounding conspiratorial now, as if showing serious concern over Floyd’s welfare. “But there’s things going on here, Floyd. Serious federal crimes.”

“Don’t say anything, Floyd,” said his sister.

“Hush up.” He turned to Gabe. “I got the branding iron from Eli Beach. He helps her out, and sometimes he works over here with Ron and me. I said I wished I could get her to sell out, and he suggested rebranding.”

“Eli suggested it?”

“Yeah.” Floyd’s hand dropped back to his side.

“Where is he?”

“Not here.”

“Well, that was real helpful of him,” said Gabe. “You pay him?”

“No.”

“Strike you as strange that a man would do something like that for free?”

Floyd hiked up his jeans. “Well, it does when I hear you say it.”

Clay couldn’t keep the smile from forming on his face. Izzie was innocent.

“Why’d you want her cattle?” asked Gabe.

“Not her cattle, really. I wanted those permits. Her land is better.”

Because Izzie’s dad had busted his hump clearing trees instead of complaining about it like Floyd, thought Clay.

“If she sold, she wouldn’t need them,” Patch went on, his voice now whiny as a mosquito. “Isn’t right that she gets those permits year after year. She can’t hardly keep that place running, even with help.”

Especially with help from a man who was stealing her branding iron, thought Clay.

“Your brother-in-law in on this?”

“Floyd,” screeched his sister. Then, seeing Floyd hesitate, she hopped right in. “He didn’t know.”

“Except he drove the four-wheeler through her pasture,” added Floyd.

Gabe had a heck of a time keeping Celia from beating her brother, and Clay found he was enjoying himself for the first time in days. Gabe got Celia off Floyd but had to threaten to arrest her before she calmed down. Gabe lost his hat in the scuffle, which Clay retrieved and returned. Gabe replaced it on his head and turned back to Patch.

“You know anything about those meth cooks up there?”

Floyd lifted both hands in a gesture of rejection. “I surely do not.”

Gabe leaned in toward Floyd who cowered back.

“If I find out you are helping the traffickers or the cooks,” said Gabe, “I swear I will fight for federal prosecution, Floyd, unless you come clean right now.”

The color drained from Floyd’s face, and he pressed both hands over his heart as if fearful it would stop. It was one thing to be caught rebranding. But it was quite another to face a federal charge for narcotics, a drug-related offense that the tribe would most likely turn over to the district attorney to be tried by the State of Arizona.

“I don’t know nothing about the crystal meth cooking. I swear.”

Clay’s smile vanished. If Floyd was telling the truth, then Izzie’s troubles were far from over.

Chapter Eighteen

Izzie waited in the cell all morning, expecting her mother to come bail her out. But her mother didn’t come. Her mom wouldn’t like idle talk about her daughter being mixed up in something like rebranding. Was her mother’s reputation more important to her than her daughter?

When Izzie had paced herself out, she settled on the narrow stainless steel bench that was bolted to the wall and wondered if this would be her bed tonight.

As soon as she stopped moving, her mind dragged her right back to the look on Clay’s face when Gabe put her in the squad car. It hadn’t been indignation or worry or even disbelief. She would have loved to see disbelief on his face, because that would have meant that he thought she was innocent, that some mistake had been made.

No, what she had seen on his face was shock as he reached the conclusion that she had betrayed him, just as Martin had done. A moment later his jaw had turned hard as setting concrete.

But she had not used him. She had called him from the station to tell him so. He had ignored her phone call. Cut her loose. Decided already that she was guilty.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t done it. What mattered was that he could believe she would. He didn’t trust her. Oh, he’d slept with her. He might even have loved her once. But he just wasn’t willing to take the kind of risk involved with trusting her with his whole heart.

She could just smack Martin Ethelbah right in the teeth, if he wasn’t already dead. Gone but not forgotten, she realized. Never forgotten because his ghost still haunted Clay Cosen. Maybe he always would.

She didn’t recall Martin’s exact last words to her before she broke it off, but it was something to the effect that if she wouldn’t have sex with him, he would find a girl who would.

She cradled her head in her hands and wondered why, with all her problems, the thing that cut her straight across her heart was Clay’s face when she drove away.

He’d let her call go to voice mail. Izzie sagged and then straightened as she remembered his call to her after
his
arrest. How he left a message telling her he was innocent and begging her to believe him. She’d never picked up and never called back. Now he had done the same thing. The shame hit her deep. What a horrible thing, to be denied the chance to explain. Yet she had done that to him for
six years
. Perhaps she deserved to be sitting in this cell, if for no other reason than it made her realize what she had done to him. No. To them.

As the morning turned toward midday, Izzie began to wonder who was setting her up.

“Izzie?”

She startled at the sound of her name, rolling off the tongue and ringing with a familiarity that made her tingle and the hairs on her arms lift straight up. Clay stood before her, his hands on the bars as if he were the one in the cage.

He glanced up and around.

“Still looks the same,” he said and then gave her a gentle smile.

A ray of hope entered her heart.

“Clay?” She rose. “I didn’t do it, Clay.”

She went to him, expecting him to pull back. But he didn’t. Instead he extended his arms through the bars and took hold of both her hands, dragging her to him until they were separated only by the vertical steel.

“I know,” he said.

“How?”

“Because I know you, Isabella Nosie. I know you promised your dad to look after that place for his sons. I know you’d do just about anything to keep the ranch going, but just about is a far cry from anything.”

She beamed at him. He believed her.

“Your brother thinks I’m guilty.”

“Naw. He just had enough evidence to make an arrest. But I’ve been doing some investigating myself.” Clay held up a ring of keys.

She gasped and stepped back. “Clay, you cannot break me out of here.”

“See,” he said. “Still the good girl. Won’t even leave the jail when the door swings open.”

He tried a few keys before finding the right one and then grinned.

“Gabe asked me to bring you out. He’s dropping the charges.”

She peered through of the open door and down the hall to the police offices in the tribal headquarters.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you’re not guilty and because we found who is.”

He took her arm and guided her out past the series of desks and into the office of the chief of police. Clay positioned them between the chairs before Gabe’s desk and the bank of glass windows looking out to small desk-filled room that was the tribal police station.

“Thought you’d like to see this.” Clay pointed, and Izzie watched from behind the clear glass as Floyd Patch and their shared ranch hand, Eli Beach, were marched past them toward the booking area.

“Eli?”

“He took your brand and gave it to Patch. Might have been his idea. Patch rebranded some of his own weaned calves and then he and Ron broke into your pasture again to add them into your herd.”

“And they were spotted in impoundment.”

“Yes, as you left. Bustros, the brand inspector, noticed it. I believe Gabe is looking into that. Trying to sort that out. Matching stories up. Looking for inconsistencies. He’s really good at that—details, I mean. Scary good.”

The tears Izzie had swallowed down all morning erupted like a thundercloud, and she wept. Clay gathered her in.

“Shh, now. Everything will be all right.”

When she finished choking and sputtering, she asked Clay why they had done this to her.

“Permits,” he said. “Floyd wants them, and he can’t have them unless you give them up.”

“What about the pasture renourishment? I still have the permits, but I won’t be able to graze my cattle there for over a year.”

“Something stinks about that, too. Gabe is looking into that, as well.”

She stepped back and tilted her head to study his face. His smile was a little too fixed and did not reach his eyes, which she knew sparkled with his smile and danced when he laughed. His smile faltered.

“It’s not over, is it?”

“No.”

“What should we do now?”

“I’m not sure.”

Gabe arrived, looking rushed and overworked as usual.

“He’s got a strong alibi for the seventh.” Gabe glanced to Izzie. “Hello, Izzie. I see he figured out which key.” He extended his hand to Clay, who gave him a large ring of keys. “Patch says the veterinarian was over at his place in the morning of the shooting. He recalls seeing the police vehicles go by. If it checks out, then he might not be tied up in the drugs.”

“Can we go?” asked Clay.

“Sure. I might have more information tonight if you want to come to Grandmother’s for supper. And Friday, Luke will be there.”

Luke Forrest, the war hero, FBI agent who folks around here either idolized or despised. He’d gotten off the Rez. He’d made good. But he was a Fed and that was something that Apache just didn’t do.

How had Clay’s uncle done it? Clay’s father, Luke’s older half brother, had been a drug trafficker who had been murdered in his kitchen, and Forrest had ended up enforcing the law against such things. Strange world, she thought.

“Can I bring Izzie?” Clay asked.

She could tell from the long pause that Gabe didn’t like that idea.

“Tonight?” Gabe asked, clarifying.

The brothers exchanged a long look that Izzie could not read. Finally Gabe nodded and then went back to the interrogation room. She watched him go.

“Ah, Clay? I don’t think I’m coming over for supper. I’ve got things to do.” The auction was tonight. She had cattle to sell and a fine to pay.

Clay’s shoulders sagged, and his mouth went tight. The muscles at his jaw twitched.

“Sure.”

She’d hurt him. She knew it. She just didn’t know how.

“Come on. I’ll drive you back to my place.”

“Your place?”

“To get your truck.”

She felt her face flush, as she realized what was happening. Clay thought she didn’t want to be seen with him. And why wouldn’t he? There had been a time when that was true. But that was before he helped her prepare to face the tribal council. Before he figured out what was happening on her land. Before he came and got her out of jail. Before she spent the best night of her life in his bed.

“Clay, I think you have the wrong idea about this. I’m not ashamed to be seen with you.”

His brow arched and he cast her a hard look.

“Sure. I understand.”

But he didn’t. And she didn’t think telling him otherwise would do a thing but waste her breath. Since Clay’s return to the Rez, so many people had turned their backs on him. And she had been no different. The shame of that now ate into her bones like cancer.

Clay was exactly the kind of man she had always wanted, and now she needed to be the kind of woman he deserved.

Chapter Nineteen

Clay took Izzie to his place, and she kissed his cheek goodbye. He didn’t try to hold her or to kiss her back. He had freed her from jail. And she said she wasn’t ashamed of him. But there were six years that said otherwise. As Clay saw it, the only way to know whether Izzie was really willing to accept him was to solve her troubles and then see if she still wanted to become a part of his life.

Until then, he would keep his head down and his eyes open. Clay headed inside alone and found the place too quiet, but it was only Thursday, and Kino wouldn’t be back until next Sunday at the earliest. He spent the evening haplessly moping and packing some of his belongings. He opted to sleep on the couch to avoid the memories of Izzie in his bed, but they just followed him out to the living room. He slept badly and was up and to work so early on Friday morning that he found the office was still locked. The morning chill chased him back to his truck, where he was when Donner rolled in twenty minutes later. He gave Clay an odd look as he parked beside him.

The two men exited their respective vehicles simultaneously and headed toward the office together. Donner’s face was inscrutable, and Clay slowed to a stop at the door as dread hit the lining of his stomach. Hadn’t Veronica told Donner that Clay was taking a personal day yesterday?

Clay thought of the time he’d been away with Kino and the days he’d missed all or part of the day while helping Izzie.

“I can make up the hours,” offered Clay.

Donner made no answer.

“I’m fired. Aren’t I?” asked Clay.

That made his boss’s brows lift in surprise. “No, you’re not. Gabe was here yesterday. He wanted to ask me some questions. He wouldn’t tell me exactly what was happening, but I gather that you figured out how Isabella’s cattle got loose and how they got rebranded. That’s good work.”

“You’re not firing me?”

“Clay, you are one of my best men. I wanted to offer you my help. I’m not the tracker you are, but I’m a good shot and good with cattle. Plus, Isabella’s father was a friend of mine. So if you need a man, call me.”

Clay blinked in surprise.

“I also wanted to tell you that if you think Izzie’s pastures don’t need renourishment, then you should look to Pizarro. He’s the one who makes that call, and until this happened, I’d have said he was an honest man. But when I questioned him, he told me that I should mind my own business. That’s no answer.”

“Really?”

“He did. So I thought you might want to send Gabe to see him.”

Clay looked at his boss with new eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

“Same reason as you. Someone is messing with Izzie Nosie, and I don’t like it.”

The two shook hands, and it felt different somehow, as if he and Donner were equals. Clay left the office a few minutes later with orders to move the branded yearlings and cows to a new pasture. First he called Gabe and told him about Donner’s suspicions. Then he went to work. It wasn’t enough work to keep his mind from Izzie. It was hard not to call her. He checked his phone often to find no message, texts or missed calls. Finally, he gave up and called Gabe again, asking for an update, but Gabe told him if he wanted information, he should come to supper at their grandmother’s that night.

At quitting time Roger asked if Clay wanted to go grab something to eat, but Clay turned him down in favor of dinner at his grandmother’s table.

Clyne had sent him a text that their uncle Luke had arrived. Clay wanted to find out if his visit was official business or social, so he headed over to his grandmother’s, stopping only long enough at his place to shower off the dust and grime earned from a hard day’s work.

At his grandmother’s, Clay was greeted to the mouthwatering aroma of a roast in the oven. The beef, potatoes and onions all combined to make Clay’s salivary glands fire and his stomach rumble. He closed the front door, and Clyne called a greeting from the dining room. He found both his eldest brother and his father’s half brother sitting at his grandmother’s table before the remains of a pumpkin pie. Luke rose to hug Clay and slap him on the back.

When they drew apart, Luke took a long look at him.

“More good news about your sister,” he said.

Clay’s gaze flicked to Clyne.

“I don’t think he knows yet.”

“Oh,” said Luke. “Well, let me be the first to tell you. Kino spoke to the case manager and found out that Jovanna was in a foster home on the Sweetgrass Reservation until 2008. When it shut down, she was moved off the Rez with a foster family.”

Clay’s gaze flicked to Clyne. He knew how strongly Clyne felt about Native American children being removed from Indian homes and raised by white families. Clyne’s expression was stormy, as expected.

“Is she still in that foster home?” asked Clay, as the hope began to rise in him, becoming real. Kino was getting close. His little brother might not be able to read sign as well as he could, but he sure could do investigative work. The only one better was Gabe.

“We don’t know yet. He’s on his way to Rapid City to find out.”

“Well, that’s great.” He looked about the kitchen. “Where’s Grandma?”

Clyne chuckled. “She’s off to talk to her sisters. Planning an invitation list for the Sunrise Ceremony. I think she’s going to invite the entire tribe. We’ll need every bit of the cow Nosie is going to give you.”

Luke knew about that? What else did he know?

“So,” said Clyne, “what’s up?”

“Gabe said that he got tipped about the rebranding from Victor Bustros,” said Clay.

“The livestock brand inspector?” asked Luke.

“Yeah,” said Clyne.

“Bustros works for Pizarro,” added Clay.

Clyne picked up the story. “And at the council meeting, last week’s, not this week’s, Pizarro—he’s the general livestock coordinator—listed Izzie’s land for renourishment with several others. I’ve looked at her pastures since. They’re healthy. Tessay seemed in a hurry to call the question, and he had the votes, four to two. It’s a routine matter. Motion passed. I never knew until afterward that none of the four who voted to renourish had seen the pasture beforehand, which is unusual.”

“Why unusual?” asked Luke.

“Most times one or two of the council members go to look at the overgrazed pastures.”

“Isn’t that Pizarro’s job?” asked Luke.

Clyne shrugged. “Never popular, closing a pasture. Sometimes he wants the backup.”

“But not this time,” said Luke.

“No.”

“So you’ve got Patch, guilty of rebranding, releasing another rancher’s cattle and actually slipping his cattle in with hers. And the second problem of the permits,” said Luke. “And that little trouble with the gunfire, dead cattle and the evidence of someone cooking crystal meth on Izzie’s soon-to-be-renourished land.”

“Also the improved road,” said Clay.

“Right,” said his brother. “I checked into that. And we have no order for road improvement from the tribe. Yet there it is on Nosie’s upper pasture, big as life.”

“The kind of road you would need to bring in big trailers?” asked Luke.

“Yes,” said Clay. “But why is it there?”

“I can handle that one,” said Luke. “We have intel that the cartels are moving the ingredients for cooking crystal meth over the border. Because of what Gabe has told us, we believe they are setting up on the reservations to avoid federal jurisdiction. According to our contacts in Mexico, we have got a lot of agricultural precursor unaccounted for, and they would need that to make the drugs. And that area, where Izzie lives, is just inside the reservation boundaries but in a spot way off the beaten track. The road in and out is easy to defend, because you can see traffic coming from both directions.”

“Gabe should hear this,” said Clay.

“He has,” Luke said. “What you can’t see is someone riding up on them from the lower pasture.”

“Like you and Izzie did,” said Clyne.

“Also, since that spot is secluded and close to the main highway, it would be easy to move product. Good place to store product, too, except for the problem of the rancher and her cattle. So they need to get Izzie off that land.”

“Who?” asked Clay.

“That’s what we aim to find out,” said Luke.

“Are you going to the council?” Clay asked.

“Nope.”

“I thought you needed permission to bring in the FBI or any outside agency on to the Rez,” said Clay.

“That’s so,” said Clyne.

“But I can come back home visiting anytime I want,” said Luke, “because I’m still a member of this tribe.”

“This is an unofficial visit. That way there is no paperwork.”

Clay turned to his brother. “But word will get out that Luke is here, and everybody knows he’s with the FBI.”

“We don’t need much of a head start,” said Clyne.

Clay put it together. “You think someone on the council is involved.”

Clyne shrugged. “Gabe says the bad guys always know when the Feds are around.”

“And where they will be,” added Luke. “So while I’m here, I might ride along with Gabe or come chat with Clyne. Unofficially. I was hoping you might bring me over to Izzie’s for a visit.”

“I could do that.”

“Great.”

“What about your partner?”

“She’s close. In case I need her.”

“She ever been on the reservation?”

“Not this one. She worked up in South Dakota. Covered the same territory where Kino is now.”

“She Indian?” asked Clay.

Luke laughed, and he and Clyne exchanged a look of confusion.

“She’s white. Very, very white. And serious.” He whistled. “She has a daughter, so that proves she’s human, but other than that...well, all business. She’s a widow and a mom, so...” He shrugged.

“That’s tough,” said Clyne.

“What happened to him?” asked Clay.

“She never said. Doesn’t talk about it. Anyway, she worked in South Dakota and then in California and now down here with me.”

Clyne jumped in. “Gabe met her. Said she’s so white she’s really pink. Got blond hair the color of corn pollen and blue eyes. He said she looks like she’s from Sweden or something.”

Clay knew that Clyne, with his traditional values and aesthetics, had never even dated a white woman. Though he had many white friends. Political friends, activist friends. Clyne never seemed to be off duty.

“Norway. Her ancestors, I guess. Anyway, they didn’t hire her for her looks,” said Luke. “She’s tough as rawhide. Officially, she’s trout fishing. I also suggested she visit Pinyon Fort and the museum for a little culture.”

“You should bring her and her daughter over for supper,” said Clyne. “Grandma will want to meet them.”

“Her girl is staying with her mom, I think. And I don’t want Cassidy connected to me. Not yet. Far as anyone knows, she’s a tourist.”

Before Clyne could respond, his phone rang and he excused himself. Luke and Clay settled at his grandmother’s table and Luke helped himself to another generous slice of pie.

“She know you ate that pie?” asked Clay.

“Not yet, but I plan to be gone before she finds out.” Luke grinned.

Clay debated waiting for the roast, but opted for the last slice of pie, destroying the evidence.

“So, how are you doing with Donner?” asked Luke.

“It’s a good job, and I’m grateful to you for getting it for me.”

Luke waved away the thanks. “I just got him to give you a shot. You’re the one who’s kept it. I admire you, Clay.”

Clay lowered his fork. “Me?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. His uncle was a shining example of what a man could make of himself. And he’d done it all on his own.

“Yes. You.
You
stayed.
You
faced your past, and you are making a name for yourself. Folks speak highly of your honesty and work ethic.”

That was just nonsense. When folks spoke of him, it wasn’t to mention his work ethic.

Clay pushed away the remains of the pie and studied his uncle. He looked like his father in many ways. Same shape to his face. Same easy smile. Same peaked hairline. Only Luke’s hair was bristling short, and his father had always worn double braids.

“My work ethic?” He snorted. “I wouldn’t have had a chance at that position if not for you. That job means everything to me, and I know how lucky I am to have it.”

Luke’s smile dropped, and he sat back in his chair. “Everyone needs help sometimes. Like the help you’ve been giving your girl.”

“She’s not
my
girl.” Though he was thinking that was what he really wanted her to be.

“My mistake,” said Luke.

Clay held back his frustration but made a poor job of it, judging from his uncle’s curious expression.

“What?”

“You’ve never made a mistake,” said Clay.

“
Everyone
makes mistakes.”

Clay cast him an impatient look and then dropped his gaze. Luke was his elder. Even if he were not, he was also family and due respect.

Luke patted his arm, and Clay met his gaze. Something had changed, but he didn’t know exactly what.

“Okay,” said Luke, “I think it’s time I came clean about a few things. You’re family, and so I think you have a right to know just what kind of help I had.”

Clay placed his fork on the empty plate and directed his attention to his uncle. What had he done? Stolen loose change off their father’s dresser?

“You know I wanted to join the US Marines. You might even know how
much
I wanted it. But when I was seventeen, I got drunk at the quarry, and your dad didn’t want me to drive. He was drunk, too. Not as bad as me, but pretty drunk. I wouldn’t give him the keys to the truck.
My
truck. So I drove.” Luke’s hand settled on his own neck. “I drove right into an embankment. Six months from graduation and enlistment papers all signed and I crashed my truck. Your dad was nineteen. He’d already been expelled from school. You know what he did that night?”

Clay leaned in, waiting, hoping this wasn’t another story of his father’s failings. It was a long list. But this was before Clay was born. Before Clyne was even born. Before his mom and dad were married, before the drug charges.

“He switched places with me. Told me he was driving. Told me not to say otherwise. And you know what? I did. That sound like a hero move to you?”