I sort them away in my head.
It looks like I’l be going after Chael first.
It’s stil quiet in the kitchen. I have Frey’s keys but don’t want to leave without letting him know. I swap the address book for a piece of paper and pen from the desk and scribble a hasty note. When I tiptoe into the kitchen, I find Frey and John-John both asleep at the table. I leave the note, kiss the top of Frey’s head and tiptoe back out.
Frey’s Jeep has everythingincluding a GPS system. The operator was kind enough to provide latitude and longitude and I plug it in: N 37 00 39 W 110 12.116.
I have no clue what it means, but the Jeep does. In less than a minute, I’m on my way.
I haven’t gone more than a couple of miles before I pass another vehicle headed toward Sarah’s. Through the driver’s side window, I see gray hair and a pinched, hol owcheeked profile. It’s just a quick glance and the driver doesn’t look over at me even though we’re the only two cars on a deserted stretch of desert. But I’m pretty sure I recognize him from one of the pictures on Sarah’s bookcase.
Sarah and Mary’s father.
For a moment I wonder if I should go back. Then reason takes over. If he recognized what I was, it would be that much harder on Frey. Better to let them have this time alone.
Finding Chael and getting him out of our lives is more important than anything else.
My jaws ache with anticipation. I wil take great pleasure in kil ing him.
CHAPTER 27
GOULDING’S LODGE IS LOCATED ABOUT TWENTY miles from U.S. 163. Not built exactly the way I would have imagined — nothing rustic here though its modern sand-colored stucco and red-tile roof do blend in against the backdrop of steep red cliffs. It’s only eight and already the parking lot is ful of cars, RVs and campers. Now that I’m here, I wonder how I’l find Chael. I doubt he’s registered under his name.
There is one way.
A light mist is stil fal ing, but it doesn’t seem to be discouraging visitors from flocking to the lodge. I make my way past a motel, museum and gift shop to fol ow the crowd to the lobby. I find an out of the way corner and close my eyes.
I cloak my own thoughts while opening the conduit that wil permit me to pick up on the unguarded thoughts of other supernaturals.
At first, I don’t sense anything. The drone of mortal voices makes it hard to concentrate. I try harder, filtering out ambient noise and the high-pitched wail of an unhappy baby.
Then I get a psychic hit.
A voice from the far corner of the lobby. Then another. I make my way over, stand a few feet away and watch.
But it’s not Chael. It’s a family of shape-shifters. Two adults and a petulant teenage daughter. From Minnesota. They’re arguing because the girl wants to cal her boyfriend and her mother tel s her there isn’t time before the tour.
You’re just saying that because you don’t like Jack, the girl whines.
You’re right, her mother snaps back. I don’t. He’s a werewolf and can’t be trusted.
Shit. I tune out. Retreat back a few steps and try again.
Chael has to be here. There aren’t that many places to stay on the reservation. He would want to be close enough to enjoy the havoc he’s created, to taste the pain.
“Anna Strong? What are you doing?”
The voice makes me jump — not only because it comes right at my elbow but because I was concentrating so hard on picking things out of the air, I didn’t sense the physical approach of this very real human.
“Officer Kayani. You startled me.”
He narrows his eyes. “What were you doing?”
How do I explain? “Just — people watching.”
“With your eyes closed?”
Now would be a good time to change the subject. “You’re in civilian clothes. Off duty?”
“Just. Stopped by for a cup of coffee before heading home. Care to join me?”
I nod and he motions me toward glass doors at the back of the lobby. I let him lead the way, stil keeping the vampire radar on alert for a ping of recognition. Al I get though is another nasal round of squabbling from the shape-shifters.
I give up with a sigh and turn my attention to Kayani. He’s changed into tan chinos and a long-sleeved black shirt, untucked, and on his feet he’s wearing leather sandals. He asks what I’d like. I order coffee, black, and when he’s been handed the cups, he leads the way once again to a long deck spanning the length of the lodge.
It’s not very crowded; the rain keeps most of the tourists inside. But the view from the deck is astounding. It’s a panorama of ragged rock formations stretching unbroken for miles. Once again I feel the tug of immortality, a sense that I belong here. I cross the deck to stand by the railing, drawn by a force I don’t understand.
Kayani joins me. “Wouldn’t you rather sit in the back? Out of the rain.”
Reluctantly, I nod and pul myself away. There is a sheltered area with a dozen café tables and chairs and Kayani picks one. We sit, but my eyes keep drifting back to the view.
“First time here?”
“Is it that obvious?”
Kayani smiles. “There is no place like this on earth. It has been inhabited by indigenous people since the beginning of time. A holy place. At least until silver was discovered in the 1800s. Then we Navajo were rounded up and driven out. It wasn’t until the mid-1800s that we were al owed to return and 1884 before it was declared official y the Navajo’s. This is our land by right, and we wil never be driven out again.”
He speaks as if I might be planning to make an attempt at it. “Those days are over.”
He gives me a look that might be put into the “are you real y that naive?” classification — brows lowered, lips drawn back into a frown.
Is he this touchy with al the tourists? Or is it because of my connection to Frey.
Regardless, I don’t jump to the bait. Instead I sip coffee and let my gaze linger on the countryside, al the while deciding how best to broach the subject I intended to when I set out this morning. I don’t know any way to do it but to speak directly. He’l respond one way or the other — be receptive and stay or get angry and leave.
I place the cup on the table, lace my hands together and lean in toward him. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know you and Sarah were close.”
No response. No tightening of the shoulders or jaws. No sharp intake of breath. Is this stone face because he’s Navajo or because he’s a cop?
“The way you and John-John greeted each other made me suspect. And George confirmed it. I want you to know Frey was no threat to you and Sarah. He came here to see his son. That’s al.”
Kayani is watching me more closely now. Stil, he lets nothing of his own feeling show. I wis could penetrate his thoughts, figure out the best way to proceed. I can’t. So I fumble onward.
“There was a second reason we came. Had nothing to do with Frey and everything to do with me. Sarah was speaking on my behalf before the council. You may already know it.”
Final y, a response, a tiny nod of the head. I take that to mean “go on.”
Now we tred on dangerous ground. Do I tel Kayani what I am? Wil he react like George? Maybe I won’t have to admit the whole truth right now. I gather my thoughts, continue slowly.
“Frey is a Keeper of the Secrets. I assume you know that.
He is a friend of mine who has helped me through some trying times. I asked him about Sani. He told me where I could find him. Here.”