He straightened. “I’m Zarek’s top investigator and he sent me here to find out what the Navajo people are hiding.”
“I don’t have time for your stupid games. I have a serial killer to find and stop. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
“I’m not going anywhere, buttercup.”
Other than critiquing my techniques, the Jackass didn’t lift a finger to help me process the crime scene.
A sleek black shuttle landed two hundred yards away from the crime scene. A brawny Coletti warrior hurried down the ramp with a funky looking gurney.
“Don’t forget to photograph the intestines hanging from the tree,” Jake commanded and hurried over to the warrior.
What a bossy prick. While General Jones and Jake spoke with the warrior, I headed over to my father.
A frown knotted his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
I pulled out the evidence bag with the bracelet. “It’s Dezba’s.”
The color drained from my father’s face. “You think she did this?”
“The dark magic does call to her. I spoke with the victim and she described the suspect’s vehicle as a blue van. She said an older Navajo woman was driving the car.”
“No. Dezba wouldn’t do this,” Father said emphatically.
“I hope not, but we need to check her hogan. Any idea on how to ditch the warlords?”
Father nodded. “We have a Blessingways ceremony to attend.”
Chapter Three
Jake snorted. “A holy ritual. What a load of crap.”
“The Blessingways ceremony is not a load of crap. It’s used to restore equilibrium to our lands and invoke positive blessings. The event is sacred and private. No Coletti warlords are allowed,” I retorted.
Jake narrowed his eyes in a hard, studying look. “It’s an excuse to ditch us.”
“Our lands have been desecrated and balance must be restored,” Father replied.
I added, “It’s in our treaty. I suggest you read it.”
“CeeCee’s correct. We aren’t allowed to interfere with their ceremonies,” General Jones said.
Every inch a Council Elder, Father stated, “Officers Yellowhorse and Begay will stay and assist you. Now, if you will excuse us, we must leave.”
As we walked away, I gave Jake the one-fingered-salute.
“If you run, I will find you,” he growled in my head.
“I took an oath to protect my people and I intend to honor it. So, back the hell off.”
“You have three hours. Not a minute longer.”
“I suggest you use that time to read the damn treaty,” I snapped, and literally had to climb up to the driver’s seat of Yellowhorse’s official high-rider truck.
My father slid into the passenger seat and began chanting softly in Navajo. None of the superior Coletti Empire’s technology could penetrate one of his cloaking spells.
Jake held up three fingers as I drove by him.
I waved at him all friendly like and had the flies show him some lovin’.
“Not funny.”
Grinning like a lunatic, I pulled out on the main highway and put the pedal to the metal. It was also a good thing Dezba’s hogan was on sacred land and the warlords had no idea what happened during a Blessingways ceremony.
Ten miles down the road, I mentally scanned the area for any signs of the alien monster. To my surprise, my internal radar was quiet. I couldn’t sense the Chupacabra or Dezba. Which was bad. Very bad. Dezba had a very distinct aura.
I glanced down at the speedometer. Damn. I was doing a hundred and twenty miles an hour. I eased off the gas pedal. The last thing I needed was a blown engine. I glanced over at my father. Even at seventy-three he still had the face of a warrior and the wiry strength of a street fighter. His magic roiled around the car. If the Overlord knew what he was truly capable of, he would either kill my father or lock him up.
Fifteen minutes later, I turned down a narrow, rutted dirt road. The truck shook and vibrated as it kicked up a boiling cloud of red dust. A few skeletal trees dotted the flat, seemingly featureless land.
Father stopped chanting. “I cannot sense Dezba.”
“Me either. Let’s hope she went to Window Rock to do some shopping.”
Dezba’s traditional Navajo hogan came into view. The dome shaped dwelling was constructed from cedar poles and plastered with mud for insulation. The door faced the east so she could greet the morning sun with prayers. There was no sign of her blue van.
Father stiffened and pointed.
Shit! Dezba’s prized sheep had been slaughtered. I brought the truck to a stop and surveyed the carnage. “I don’t see her mare. You think she made a run for it?”
“No. Dezba would stay and fight.”
We got out of truck and reluctantly approached the hogan. Blood covered the shattered front door.
One look inside and I knew the bloody remains on the floor were Dezba’s. I opened my psychic eye. “Her soul has passed Father.”
His face a mask of grief, Father commanded, “Burn it.”
“Let me do my job first.”
“No. Burn it down. I will not allow the Coletti to take her body.”
A coyote howled in the distance.
My mouth tightened into a hard line. Evil prowled our land.
Taking a pouch of ash out of his satchel, Father smeared it over his hands and face. The Navajo believed ash protected them from the dead.
I took the pouch from him and quickly rubbed the ash over my exposed skin. Grabbing a fuel can from the truck, I splashed gas around the interior of the hogan. If Jake or the General found out about this, I would simply tell them it was a Navajo death ceremony.
Father spread his arms and began chanting. Dark gray clouds gathered overhead. Whoever had killed Dezba would soon feel my father’s wrath.
Retrieving a flare from the emergency pack, I struck it and tossed it inside the hogan. Whoosh! Flames flared, golden and greedy and raced along the floor. Within minutes the hogan was engulfed in flames.
Thunder cracked and incandescent red lightning bolts arced across the building clouds.
My internal radar screamed a warning. I whirled to face the threat and caught a brief glimpse of sunlight flashing off metal.
“Sniper,” I yelled.
The crack
