CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Rachel was running late for date night with Ethan.

But she'd put it off long enough.

Even the two-hour drive back home hadn't managed to leave the scenes of chaos behind. Miguel's accusing, lifeless eyes still haunted her.

"What a waste," she murmured as she pulled up to the small police station on her aunt's reservation.

Chief Dawes was waiting for her.

The leathery-faced, native man wore a traditional headdress. Not something she'd often seen him wear. His skin was wrinkled like jerky, and his eyes were like chips of onyx, studying her as she pushed out of her car and approached slowly across the ground.

Miguel dead. Hostages alive.

It had been a close thing.

And yet, somehow, she felt as if she were stepping foot into an even more volatile situation.

"Your son here?" she asked.

Dawes just shook his head. His son didn't like Rachel, and they'd had more than one run-in.

"Deputies went home. Your phone not working?"

Rachel shrugged. "Was busy."

Dawes gave a grunt, and she grunted back. For several heartbeats, the two of them simply stared at each other.

"My aunt says you have a tape," Rachel said at last.

Dawes merely shook his head, and Rachel frowned with a defiant blast from her nostrils.

"Not anymore."

"What happened to it?" Rachel demanded coldly.

"Stolen."

She let out a slow sigh. "You know what happened to my parents?"

Dawes nodded. "Dead."

"You know how?"

A shake of the head. "No."

She could feel herself growing irritated. A cold night zephyr ruffled the feathers in his headdress, casting long shadows across his weathered face. Yet, his gaze remained steady on her. "When were they stolen?" she asked, trying to keep the edge from her voice.

"Long time ago."

Rachel could feel a knot of frustration forming in her stomach. Even the cool night air wasn't enough to quell the heat of anger that pulsed beneath her skin. "Does anyone else know about the tapes?"

Dawes shook his head. "Just us and the thief."

She took a moment to gather herself, inhaling the crisp air and letting it out slowly. The tension in her body started to ebb away as she refocused on the task at hand.

"Alright," she said, her tone firm, "What was on the tape?"

"I didn't listen."

"Bullshit."

He shrugged.

"Did you call me here just to be vague and elusive? I could've had that over the phone."

He shook his head. And then he reached behind his back, pulling out a manilla folder from the folds of his cloak. He extended it to her without a word. Dawes had never liked Rachel very much, and this continued to be apparent in his cold, detached demeanor. One might have interpreted his quiet as a form of stoicism, but she knew it was mostly dislike. But because he knew her aunt, and because he knew her family… He was here.

The only question remained, why?

"What is this?"

"Brothers. Both from the reservation. Both in your mother's crew."

Crew. Her mother had been involved in a crime… or so the story went. And her father and mother had been killed for double-crossing the thieves.

She didn't buy it for a second. At least… not much of a second.

She took the folder, opened it, and read the two names.

John Red Bear. Joseph White Cloud. She stared at the names, their black ink seeping into her consciousness like a stain. Rachel closed the manilla folder and looked up at Dawes again.

"Why are you giving this to me now?"

Dawes simply shrugged, his old eyes reflecting moonlight and silence.

"You find them," was all he said.

Rachel tucked the folder under her arm. The weight of it felt heavier than just a few pieces of paper. Whatever was going on here, it wasn't as simple as a stolen tape.

"What do you have against them?"

A shrug. "They left. They're no longer here."

"Where'd they go."

"Off-grid," he said simply. "Find them."

The folder crinkled in her tightening grip, and her eyes narrowed to slits. And then he turned, marching away from her without another word, leaving her standing alone in the moonlight with the only lead she had to her parents' killers.