AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Essentially," she said, remembering the call from Dawes. Dawes had never much liked her since she'd left the reservation.
But if he'd called, it meant things were really rough.
"Besides," she added, "Thomas Greywolf had a hand in assigning the case."
"Ah, gotcha. Makes sense."
Ethan's laughter cut through the cab, a sharp contrast to the gritty silence outside. "What do you think, Rach? The perp is local, or we looking at an outsider?"
She met his gaze briefly, her nod slight, noncommittal. His grin widened, undeterred by her taciturn nature.
"Dunno yet," she finally said, voice as dry as the terrain they traversed. It was enough.
"Ah, gotcha. Keeping your cards close, as always." He chuckled, tapping the wheel. "You're probably right."
Rachel's fingers traced the armrest, her eyes taking in the lay of the land—the way the horizon seemed to swallow the road whole. Ethan's presence was reassuring, a steady pulse beside her. His eagerness was infectious, his protectiveness not unlike a golden retriever, ever-present and loyal to a fault. In this vastness, where trust was as scarce as shade, Ethan was a steadfast shadow.
A dog barked in the distance, its sound forlorn against the vast sky. Ethan glanced her way again, his forehead creased with concern this time. "You holding up okay?"
"Fine," she murmured, more to the window than to him, her reflection ghosting back at her.
"Hey, if anyone gives you grief up there..." He gestured vaguely toward the windshield mirror, where dust plumes marked the horizon. "Just say the word."
"Thanks," she breathed out, the word barely making it past her lips. But he heard it, he always did, and that single syllable seemed to settle him.
"Anytime, partner."
The cruiser slowed, gravel crunching beneath tires, a storm of fine silt rising to meet them. Rachel's hand moved to her door handle, her mind already calculating, observing. She took in the scene—a tableau of tension and jurisdictional lines drawn in the sand.
"Alright," Ethan said, reaching for his own door, "let's see what we've got."
The car wheels crunched over the gravel, as it finally came to a full stop, kicking up a haze of dust that clung to the windshield before being swept away by the wipers' futile swat. The scene outside was a blur of muted colors, the ochre earth merging with the drab sky. Rachel felt the vibrations beneath her as if the rough terrain were pulsing directly into her bones.
"Looks like we're the last to arrive," Ethan's voice cut through the silence that had settled in the car like another passenger.
Rachel merely nodded, her eyes scanning the line of vehicles parked haphazardly on the side of the road. She pressed her lips together—a sealed envelope.
She pushed out of the car, the heat and dust catching her face. The memories of this scent, this place, lingered long after she waved a hand to clear the air.
The sun was a relentless interrogator, its bright gaze scouring the landscape, leaving no shadow unexplored. Rachel squinted against the glare, the dust from the road rising to meet them like a bitter greeting. There was something almost sacred about the desolation, the vast openness that held secrets in its arid embrace.
Ahead, the tableau unfolded. A multitude of vehicles formed an uneven barricade across the road, their metallic surfaces glinting under the harsh scrutiny of the sun. Police cruisers and unmarked cars created a dissonant chorus line near the old field, their doors flung open, the urgency palpable even from a distance.
"Looks crowded," Ethan said, joining her and slamming the door shut behind him.
In front of her, two distinct groups faced off - the Native police and local cops, their postures rigid with confrontation. The jurisdictional lines, invisible but palpably drawn in the sand, sparked a friction that crackled through the arid atmosphere. The native police force's uniforms were brown and trimmed with black, but more than one officer had adorned their uniform with symbols of their heritage, feathers and beadwork mingling with the badges of authority. The local police, in contrast, wore their standard blue uniforms, their badges gleaming under the relentless sun. It was a collision of worlds, cultures clashing like tectonic plates beneath the surface.
Rachel took a moment to observe the faces on both sides. Tensions were high—determination etched into the furrows of foreheads, lines of resilience carved into weathered skin.
"Back off! This is our land, our case," a reservation officer's voice cut sharply through the dry heat.
"Your land, maybe. But this crime crosses boundaries," retorted a state trooper, his hand resting purposefully on his belt near his holster.
Rachel edged closer, her eyes flicking between the clashing uniforms, absorbing every detail—the clenched jaws, the flaring nostrils, the balled fists ready to underscore arguments with force.
"Looks like we're not the only ones who got the call," Ethan noted, his tone sober now as he moved beside her, eyes on the scene ahead.
"Seems so," Rachel replied tersely, her gaze scanning the collection of metal and uniforms. They had arrived at the nexus of the storm, the eye yet unseen.
