His third thought was that he should run.
But his legs wouldn't move.He stood frozen at the edge of the basin, staring at the woman beneath the tree, his heart hammering against his ribs.She wore running clothes, the expensive kind that Danny saw on tourists sometimes—tight leggings, a fitted top with mesh panels, shoes that probably cost more than his mother made in a week.Her skin was pale beneath a layer of sunburn, her hair pulled back in a ponytail that had come partially loose.
She was thin.Too thin, the kind of thin that came from pushing a body past its limits.And her skin had an ashy pallor that didn't look right, didn't look healthy, didn't look like anything Danny had ever seen on a living person.
"Hello?"His voice came out as a croak.He cleared his throat and tried again."Hey, are you okay?"
No response.No movement.Not even the rise and fall of breathing.
Danny took a step closer.Then another.His grandfather's voice echoed in his head, warnings about disturbing the dead, about thechindithat lingered near bodies and could bring sickness to the living.The traditional beliefs held that death left a residue, a dark part of the soul that could contaminate the living if they weren't careful.You weren't supposed to touch the dead, weren't supposed to be alone with them, weren't supposed to speak their names for four days after they had passed.
But this was the twenty-first century, and Danny was seventeen, and ghosts weren't real.
Danny stopped about ten feet from the woman.Close enough to see details he'd missed from a distance.The way her lips were slightly parted, as if she'd been about to speak.The way her eyelids were smooth and peaceful, no tension in her face.The way her hands lay open at her sides, palms up, fingers slightly curled—a posture of surrender, or acceptance, or something else that Danny couldn't name.
She looked like she was waiting.That was the strangest part.Not like someone who had collapsed from exhaustion or injury or illness, but like someone who had lain down and simply...stopped.
Danny's throat tightened.The sight reminded him of his grandfather's body in the casket at the funeral home, and how wrong it had looked—not like sleeping, despite what everyone said, but like an absence, a space where a person used to be.This woman had that same quality of absence.Whatever had made her who she was, it wasn't here anymore.
He pulled out his phone with trembling hands.No signal, but the camera still worked.He took a picture, then immediately felt guilty, like he'd violated something sacred.But he might need proof.He might need to show someone where he'd been, what he'd found.
He might need to convince someone that this was real, because standing here in the desert sun, staring at a dead woman who looked like she was sleeping, Danny wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't slipped into some kind of nightmare.
He backed away from the body, his eyes fixed on the woman's face.Part of him expected her to move—to open her eyes, to sit up, to prove that this was all some strange misunderstanding.She didn't.She just lay there, peaceful and still, while Danny's breath came faster and his thoughts spiraled into panic.
He had to tell someone.He had to find a phone, find an adult, find anyone who could take this weight off his shoulders and tell him what to do.This wasn't his responsibility.This wasn't his problem.He was just a seventeen-year-old kid who had skipped school to meet a girl, and instead he'd found something that would probably haunt him for the rest of his life.
Danny turned and ran.
He ran back through the wash, back along the sheep trail, back toward the dirt road where he'd left his bike.His lungs burned, and his legs ached, but he didn't slow down, didn't stop, didn't look back.The image of the woman's face was seared into his mind—the closed eyes, the parted lips, the terrible peaceful stillness that was nothing like sleep and everything like death.
His bike was where he'd left it, leaning against a wooden fence post.Danny grabbed it and pedaled furiously toward the highway, toward the gas station three miles away, toward civilization and phone signals and other human beings who could help him make sense of what he'd seen.
Danny wasn't sure if his grandfather was right about the land remembering everything, but he knew for damn sure he would remember this day for the rest of his life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Thunderbird Café had been serving coffee and fry bread to travelers since 1962, and from the look of the décor, not much had changed since opening day.
Kari slid into a booth near the back, the red vinyl seat cracked and faded from decades of use.The walls were covered with photographs: black and white images of the café's early days, color shots of customers posing with the owners, faded newspaper clippings celebrating various milestones.A jukebox in the corner played Patsy Cline, the volume low enough to allow conversation but loud enough to mask it from anyone who might be listening.
She'd chosen this place deliberately.It was off the main highway, frequented mostly by locals, far enough from Chinle that she was unlikely to run into anyone from the department.More importantly, it had no security cameras—the owner, a heavyset Navajo woman named Dolores, had strong opinions about surveillance and privacy that Kari happened to share.
Paul Daniels arrived ten minutes later, sliding into the booth across from her with the practiced ease of a man who had conducted countless conversations in places just like this.He looked tired—more tired than she'd seen him since Ben's rescue, the kind of exhaustion that came from carrying too much weight for too long.
Dolores appeared with two cups of coffee, set them down without being asked, and retreated to her post behind the counter.She'd known Kari since childhood, had known Anna before that, and understood without being told that some conversations needed space.
"Thanks for meeting me," Kari said.
"You said it was important."Paul wrapped his hands around his cup without drinking.The coffee here was strong enough to strip paint, but most people didn't come to the Thunderbird for the coffee.They came for the privacy and for Dolores's fry bread, which was legendary across three counties."I'm guessing this is about Ben."
"It's about everything.Ben, the Naalnish case, Devco, my mother's research."Kari lowered her voice, though there was no one close enough to overhear.The elderly couple near the window had left, and a trucker at the counter was focused on his breakfast.
"We're stuck, Paul.Ben's out of the hospital, but he can't report what really happened without tipping off whoever's leaking information.I can't investigate Devco without drawing attention.And meanwhile, whoever killed Evan Naalnish—whoever killed my mother—is just sitting there, waiting us out."
Paul nodded slowly."The Bureau has closed the book on Naalnish, and my supervisors have made it very clear that my continued interest in the case is unwelcome."He finally took a sip of coffee, grimacing at the bitterness."I've been trying to work back channels, see if I can find anyone willing to talk off the record.But everyone's either scared or has probably been bought off."
"So what do we do?"
