The Stronghold. Lisa Carter

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СКАЧАТЬ a memory too terrible for words forced itself to the forefront of her mind. Of another time and place. Of utter desolation.

      Sucking in a breath, she squeezed her eyes shut.

      Flashes. The smells. The terror.

      This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening again. She was better, stronger than this.

      But sometimes retreat was the better part of valor. Her eyes flew open. Maybe best to wait for the feds at the road in the safety of her cruiser.

      Adapt or die. Adapt or die.

      Canvassing her escape route with her gun extended, she backpedaled across the scrub grass. Clambering across an arroyo, she struggled to regain control of the distorted images filling her mind. She hurried around a massive butte, desperate to push the horror once again into the black pit of nothingness. But unable to deflect the inexplicable panic, finally she just ran.

      Out of the canyon. Toward the road. Toward sanity.

      And the farther she traveled from the canyon, the farther the darkness receded.

      Reaching the sanctuary of the tribal cruiser, she reholstered her Glock and gathered the carefully constructed shards of her numbness once more. Her breathing rapid, she willed herself to think of Manny. To remember her life now.

      She scrambled inside the car and concentrated on taking even breaths to slow her heart rate. Slamming and locking the door, she cranked the engine. Pilar threw the car into drive and gunned the vehicle. Ten minutes later, on the cusp of the San Carlos rez, she parked off the graveled shoulder of the road.

      As the sun rose over the dusky pink horizon, so too did the September temps. Loosening the collar of her uniform, she got out of the car to wait for the feds. Here in the sunlight, where you could see friend and foe coming for twenty miles, she felt foolish over her sudden terror in the canyon. Maybe not so over the PTSD as she’d hoped.

      Sound, too, traveled far over the desert floor. Her breath whooshed out in relief at the red haze preceding the feds’ arrival. She shaded her eyes with her hand and watched the dust cloud kicked up by the tires as the black SUV drew closer. Typical fed vehicle.

      Took them long enough. Always a federal case when a major crime occurred on the rez. Special Agent Edwards wouldn’t be pleased to find “his” crime scene already tampered with.

      And as first responder for the tribal police, she’d be blamed for the trampled evidence. She blew out a breath. As if anyone, much less the tribal archaeologist from the college, had expected to find a fresh corpse amid a nineteenth-century Apache campsite.

      The SUV braked and shuddered to a stop. She closed her eyes as the dust cloud billowed. Voices emerged from the vehicle. Male and female. Car doors banged shut.

      Out of habit, she kept her elbow against her ribcage. Her hand hovered within easy reach of her Glock. She coughed to clear her throat. She opened her eyes.

      And when the dust particles dissipated, he—not Edwards—stood not six feet away from her. Plus two blond women, one on each side.

      Pilar blinked to clear the grit from her eyes.

      It couldn’t be—her stomach muscles tightened. A mirage. The dust and sun playing tricks on her mind. Conjured by her subconscious, as happened so often in the years since she’d seen him.

      But then he tilted his head in that way of his.

      And her heart raced.

      His eyes lit as the air cleared between them.

      Alex was supposed to be on assignment out of the country. Not here. Not close enough to—She ground her teeth.

      Where was Edwards? Why was Alex here? How—?

      Her mouth tightened. Abuela.

      Abuela knew everything. And Pilar recognized an ambush when she saw one. She’d deal with Alex’s grandmother later.

      Pilar took a step back. “Still a blonde on each arm, eh, Alex?”

      The warmth in his eyes seeped away.

      Alex—Special Agent Alex Torres—lifted his chin a fraction. “Is that, too, a crime on the rez these days, Officer To-Clanny?”

      She met his glare with an unfriendly glower of her own. “If it isn’t, maybe it ought to be.”

      An uncomfortable silence ticked between the members of Alex’s team. Five, including Alex. The two blondes, an Asian man, and a real Indian—the ones Columbus had been looking for when he stumbled upon her people’s continent.

      “Where’s Edwards?” Pilar widened her stance. “Why are you here?”

      A muscle pulsed in Alex’s jaw. “We’re working a serial. The description your tribal archaeologist gave of the body matched another case we caught. So they sent me. Deal with it.”

      One of the blondes disengaged from the pack. “I’m Dr. Emily Waters, a forensic anthropologist.” She extended her hand to Pilar.

      “Don’t,” Alex barked. “She—they—Apaches don’t like to be touched.”

      Emily Waters stopped mid-stride and dropped her hand.

      The look Alex threw Pilar seared her flesh. “Isn’t that right, Officer To-Clanny?”

      She quivered as the memory dangled between them, taut as a bowstring. Across time and distance. The caress of his hand against her cheek as real as if yesterday.

      Emily Waters’s gaze ping-ponged between them. “I take it you two already know each other?”

      The connection between Pilar and Alex snapped.

      Adapt or die. Adapt or die.

      Folding his arms across his blazer, Alex leaned against the hood of the SUV.

      Pilar’s lips twisted. “You could say that.”

      She gave them a nice view of her back as she pivoted toward the trail where the corpse waited. “A lifetime ago, when we used to be married.”

      ***

      Alex jerked and straightened.

      His forensic specialist, Emily, threw him an uncertain glance.

      Alex fought to remind himself of his purpose here.

      Pilar nudged her chin toward the butte. “You’ll need to follow me in the rest of the way.” She gave him a look. “If you think you can keep up.”

      “I’ll keep up.” He broadened his shoulders. “I’m not as easy to get rid of as you think.”

      Uncertainty passed over her face before the aloof Pilar regained control. “You can try.”

      His hands gripping the steering wheel, he ate the dust of Pilar’s tribal car as they hurtled toward the crime scene. She veered off the main highway and onto a gravel СКАЧАТЬ