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Pablo glared at her as she spun on her heel and began stalking away, tilting her hat back, the brim shielding her eyes.
The shrill ring of her phone cut through the alley's stale air, a stark contrast to Pablo's ragged breathing behind her. Rachel glanced at the screen – an unknown number with the area code from the reservation. She hesitated before answering with a terse, "Blackwood."
"Rachel, it's Sheriff Dawes," came the strained voice on the other end.
"Sheriff... Dawes?" she said. Then her eyes widened. "As in Dawes? How'd you get my number?" Her memory flitted back to experiences.
"Your aunt."
"Right..."
She hesitated, swallowing a single time.
Dawes was the old sheriff from the reservation where she'd grown up. Her aunt, Sarah, was still somewhat estranged from Rachel. The two of them had never really been able to see eye to eye about the disappearance of Rachel's parents.
After joining the rangers, Rachel's aunt had seemed to blame her for not finding out what had happened.
Not to mention, pressure in the reservation abounded for anyone who strayed into the "white man's" organizations.
She'd been expected to join the reservation police.
Dawes had been one of those most disappointed.
Now, though, his voice sounded strained. "We've got a situation here... You need to come."
Her grip on the phone tightened. The reservation was a place of ghosts, its dusty roads imprinted with memories she couldn't shake. "What kind of situation?"
"A body... looks like murder," Dawes replied
"Damn it." She glanced down at Pablo, who was eyeing her warily, his face swollen and dirt-streaked. "I... Did you go through the Rangers?" she said.
"No. I'm going through you."
"Sir, that's not really how things work."
"You can make it work," he said stiffly.
She sighed, picturing his wrinkled features, like map leather. Picturing those solemn, baleful eyes.
She closed her own eyes briefly, and exhaled.
With one last scathing look at the man on the ground, Rachel stepped back, her boots scraping against the gravel. Every fiber in her being screamed to stay, to pry every last secret from Pablo's form. But duty called—another mystery beckoned from the land that had cradled her darkest days.
"Remember," she growled, the threat implicit as she briefly muted her phone. "Stay silent about this, Pablo, or I will find you. I know where you live."
Pablo nodded, fear etched into his features, and Rachel turned away. The sun continued to rise, shadows stretching out like fingers trying to pull her back, but she pushed forward, her resolve unyielding.
As she made her way out of the alley, her thoughts churned. The cartel, the heist, her parents' enigma—it all simmered beneath the surface of her mind, a brew of secrets and lies. But now, a new urgency propelled her. Someone else's tragedy demanded her attention.
Besides... if anyone would know her parents' involvement in a heist, it would be Sarah Blackwood. Rachel's aunt had been very close with her sister. Then again, Aunt Sarah did things her own way. She was the definition of a lone wolf, and over time, Rachel had often wondered exactly how much Sarah had shared about her sister... It was often like drawing water from a rock.
"Let me see what I can do," she said at last, raising the phone and unmuting it.
"Come," Dawes said simply. "This isn't the first body. People are getting scared. You went federal, so now help your people." He hung up.
She stared at the phone, released a sigh.
Rachel slipped into her car, the engine roaring to life under her command. The rearview mirror reflected a woman with determination carved into the hard set of her jaw, eyes that held storms.
