Crossroads

with a force that sends her sprawling.

The woman’s eyes widen as panther crouches, circles, growls until she shrieks with fear.

It is the last sound she makes.

CHAPTER 46

WE LEAVE THE BODIES. PANTHER AND VAMPIRE run back into the desert, the sun turning sand and rock golden.

It reminds me of other times, other deserts, and I am happy to be with my friend.

When we reach the house, panther bounds through John-John’s window, heads for Sarah’s bedroom. I fol ow. Quickly, vampire fades and the human Anna, the human me, is back. I glance down at my clothes to make sure there is no blood staining them, and for a minute, vampire reasserts herself, jealous that panther fed and she had only a taste.

But reason chases petty consideration away, and I go out to find Kayani and John-John.

They are down at the corral, brushing the horses with big, flat brushes. John-John stands on a wooden crate to reach his horse’s back. He and Kayani are talking softly in Navajo.

The expressions on their faces are identical — serious, intent.

I marvel at how mature John-John is — four going on forty.

Kayani spies me first. He raises an eyebrow. “Daniel?”

“He’l be down in a minute.”

I place a foot on the lowest rail of the corral and boost myself up. “How are you two doing?”

John-John is grinning. “Want to help? We haven’t brushed Geronimo yet.”

He points with the brush to the big buckskin, watching in the corner while his two compatriots practical y swoon with delight as the brushes scratch and tickle their hides.

Geronimo looks a little resentful to me.

“Maybe another time. I’l just watch.”

John-John giggles. He knew I’d say that. His laugh says

“sil y city girl.”

Frey joins us then, freshly showered, his skin smel ing of soap. “Kayani, can I speak to you a minute?”

I release a breath. “You go ahead. I guess I can help John-John brush the horses.”

Kayani ducks through the fence and hands me the tool—

it’s not real y a brush. It has teeth.

“Currycomb,” Kayani says in response to my puzzled inspection. “Always brush in the direction of the hair.” He demonstrates with a sweep of his hand. “And by al means, avoid those back hooves. Good way to get kicked.”

Great.

John-John is giggling again behind his hand.

“Thanks a lot for the tip,” I cal out to Kayani’s retreating back. He waves a hand and keeps walking.

John-John is watching so I gather my courage and step over the fence. John-John shows me how to guide the currycomb over the horse’s back. I expect the animal to shy away and bare his teeth at me.

To my surprise, he rol s his eyes once, dances a little against his tether, then settles down to let me o work.

I grin at John-John. “Not bad, huh?”

John-John grins back. “Not bad at al.”

WHEN WE FINISH WITH THE HORSES, I SMELL OF sweat and horse shit. The look on John-John’s face, though, is worth the olfactory assault. He thinks I did a good job. We hose our faces and hands and head back to the house.

Frey is on the porch. Alone.

“Kayani?”

“Gone to take care of some business.”

John-John plops himself down beside his father. “Why didn’t you join us at the corral?”

Frey slips an arm around his son’s shoulders. “You and Anna looked like you were having so much fun, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

He leans his head against his father’s chest. “What is going to happen now? Wil you be going away?”

Much as I want to know the answer myself, I take that as a hint to leave the two alone. “I’l be inside. Showering.”

On the way to the bathroom, I stop in Mary’s bedroom to pick up fresh clothes and underwear. Her laptop is gone from the desk.

Kayani took it, I’m sure. Maybe there’s something on it to confirm George’s story. Maybe there’s nothing and Mary was never working with them at al.

But there is one other thing.

I look around. What is it that George said? Mary kept cash hidden in her room. Where would she have hidden it? Sarah didn’t strike me as the suspicious type. Mary’s “hiding place”

is most likely in plain sight.

I start with the drawers — desk and wardrobe. Pul each one out and look top and bottom. Nothing.

The closet? Clothes hung in no particular order. Nothing on the shelves.

I get down on my knees and look under the bed. A smal suitcase. I pul it out and open it.

Three stacks of one-hundred-dol ar bil s held together with rubber bands. I fan one but don’t bother to count it. A smal envelope holds a bone charm and a piece of rock. A note: Your cut from the last batch. Buyers want more. Meet me at the lodge tonight.

G.

I imagine handwriting analysis wil make it easy to verify that George wrote the note.

Here’s the proof. Al together in one neat package. I’l give it to Kayani the next time I see him.

But does it matter?

There’s no left one to face justice. Everyone’s dead.

Only the ancient drawings prevailed, saved from further exploitation.

exploitation.

Perhaps that’s enough.

I close the suitcase, shove it back where I found it.

Then I do what I started to do — head for the shower.

CHAPTER 47

SHOWERED A RID OF MY PUNGENT JEANS (I HOPE the smel of horse comes out in the laundry), I’m ready to rejoin the world. Frey and John-John have moved into the living room. I make a pot of coffee and sit myself down at the kitchen table, stil unwil ing to intrude on father and son.

The events of the last few days flood over me. My heart is heavy with guilt. My presence precipitated al that happened.

There’s no denying or rationalizing that fact.

And what have I accomplished?

Frey and John-John appear at the door. “We’re going to make breakfast. Care to join us?”

But instinct tel s me they have more to discuss. John-John’s eyes are red-rimmed. Did Frey tel him that he lost another friend — George? Or that he was leaving? My heart breaks for the boy.