Chapter Thirteen
While she was in the bathroom, Kini could hear Smoke talking to someone on the phone. No actual words were clear, just the deep rumble and rasp of his voice. It purred over her skin, soothing something battered and bruised deep in her chest.
Her reflection—sliced, slashed, and smeared with blood—only made her tense up again, so she closed her eyes to the bandages, blood, and bruises that were all she could see and just listened. His voice soothed her anxiety, slowed her breathing and pulse, and allowed her muscles to go lax.
After a couple of minutes, his voice disappeared. Damn. He had finished his conversation.
Her conversation with her boss had been better and worse than she had anticipated.
Better because no one was blaming her for all the punishment her cars had taken, and worse because she’d been tasked with a face-to-face visit with a community leader. A woman who’d called the CDC a couple of hours ago and requested assistance on behalf of the local Navajo.
Arriving covered in bandages and looking like she’d lost a fight with a porcupine wasn’t going to instill confidence in anyone.
She left the bathroom and found Smoke talking with his grandfather.
Actually, the two men weren’t talking so much as standing in close proximity, both apparently deep in thought.
Her coffee was still hot. Good. “How do you guys do it?”
The two men stared at her blankly for a moment before Smoke finally said, “Do what?”
“Communicate telepathically like that?”
They did it again, glanced at each other, then stared blankly at her.
She gestured at them. “You just did it again. Spoke to each other without speaking.”
“That’s not telepathy. It’s body language and knowing how someone else thinks,” Smoke told her.
“I don’t know, I’m thinking you have some kind of Vulcan mind meld going on.”
Smoke’s grandfather snorted, but he was smiling.
Smoke shook his head. “Ready?” he asked her.
“For what?”
“Emmaline Haskie.”
“Oh yes. Sorry.” She gulped at bit more coffee down. “So, where is this jeep of yours?”
“Other side of town.”
Did he think she could ride on that monster bike of his and hang on to her tackle box and him at the same time? “Um—”
“I think we can lash your tool box to the back of the bike.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t like there was much choice. “Okay.”
Smoke turned to his grandfather, but the older man spoke first. “A couple people are on their way to fix the window good enough to get us through the night. Take care of Kini.”
Smoke nodded and led the way out of the kitchen.
Kini didn’t immediately follow. She stood up a little straighter and said, “I’m really sorry for bringing all this destruction to your door.”
Smoke’s grandfather shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself for the decisions of others. You have a job that’s necessary and important.”
He really thought that way. She could see it in the way he met her gaze head-on, in the set of his shoulders.
Intellectually, she knew what she did had value, but it was also a role that ensured she was never in the same place for more than a few weeks at a time. Most people who did her job, only did it for a couple of years before moving into a role that allowed them a permanent address they actually lived in.
She’d kept her head down, worked hard, and worked even harder at not thinking about all the crap in the back of her head. Was she a…coward?
“Thank you. You’re very kind.”
That earned her a crooked smile and a bellow of her name from Smoke from somewhere outside.
She rushed out and met him coming back in. “I had no idea you could be loud like that.”
“I save it for special occasions.”
How did he say stuff like that without the least hint of a smile?
She didn’t know what drove her to do it, but she said in a tiny voice, “And it’s not even my birthday.”
He blinked then said, “I’ve got something much better lined up for your birthday.” His voice had a smooth, chocolate quality that made her hungry.
Wait. Was he flirting with her? Now? They both looked like they’d just broken out of prison. She wasn’t touching that with a twenty-foot pole. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“Emmaline has lived in the same house her entire life.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” She hid a smile. “Did you hit your head during the explosion, because even though I just met you, you don’t usually willingly give that much information out?”
He gave her a startled glance but only shook his head.
“Nope, not gonna fly,” she told him with a grin. “That genie is out of the bottle.”
Smoke put a hand behind her back and urged her out of the door.
Firemen surrounded her rental car, still working on extinguishing the blaze. Smoke guided her past them and to his bike. He used a couple of rubber tarp straps to attach her kit to the back of the bike and got on the machine.
Kini got on behind him and scooted up until she was plastered against his back and could wrap her arms around his waist.
God, it felt good to hold him like this. His body heat gave her a level of comfort so strong tears threatened and she managed to get a tiny bit closer, hugging him with her arms and legs.
He put one hand over hers and pressed them to him. That just made her want to cry even more. He had to take his hand off hers to start the engine and get the bike rolling, but as soon as he didn’t need two hands on the bars, he was covering hers again.
Giving her the comfort only touch could provide.
Establishing a connection.
No questions asked.
Tears rolled down her face, and she closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see the faces of the onlookers who’d gathered across and down the street. Couldn’t see their expressions of curiosity, condemnation, and suspicion.
She didn’t open her eyes until Smoke took his hand off hers again to stop the bike at a stop sign. No one was around. All the excitement was behind them.
Her head hurt and the various lacerations on her body were making themselves known with sharp, jarring jabs.
They drove through town to his parent’s house, and he parked in front. For several moments, neither of them moved.
He got off his bike, so very careful not to jostle her. His gaze was sharp as he looked into her face. “Okay?”
“Not really,” she managed a weak smile anyway. “I’m starting to feel it.” She pointed at various lacerations.
He studied her for a couple of seconds then nodded. “After this, we’ll come back here for food, painkillers, and rest.”
“Sounds like paradise to me.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “You need to get out more.”
“Ha-ha.” She got off the bike and had to steady herself.
The door to his parents’ house flew open, and his mother came out at a run. “Oh my God, are you two okay?” she called as she hurried toward them. “I just got off the phone with your grandmother and—” She’d obviously gotten close enough to see both of them clearly, because her jaw dropped.
“It looks worse than it is,” Kini said.
Smoke turned and gave her a look that clearly said, “You’re full of shit.” But he didn’t say anything out loud.
“What happened?” Susan demanded, almost as if it were their fault.
“I thought you spoke with Grandmother?” Smoke asked.
“She didn’t say you lost a fight with an entire squad of ninjas throwing pointy knives at you.”
“Pointy?” Smoke sounded scandalized by her choice of words.
“None of your sass.” She shook a finger at him. “Get in the house, both of you. Some TLC is what you need.”
“That would be lovely, but we can’t,” Kini said with a wince. “We’re under orders to interview Emmaline Haskie. She called the CDC to demand some answers. And the CDC has a few it would like to ask as well.”
“Emmaline is a tribal elder,” Smoke’s mother explained. “She not listed anywhere official, but she’s respected.”
“We’ll be back after we speak with her,” Smoke promised.
“Fine, but if I don’t see you walking in the front door within an hour, I’m sending out the hounds.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Smoke nudged Kini toward the garage and she took the hint. Inside was a tarp-covered vehicle. He pulled the cover off to reveal a jeep, one that looked like it had seen action in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam. It was beat up, bent, and had a few bullet holes in the driver’s side door.
Smoke grabbed a set of keys off a peg, got in, and started the engine. She’d expected it to sound as rough as it looked, but the engine hummed.
“Wow.”
“I put a new engine in it the last time I was here,” he said.
She got in the passenger side. “Are you going to work on the body next?”
“Nope.” He smiled at her. “I like the contradiction of the body looking a little like a battlefield wreck and it running like it’s brand new.”
“A little like a battlefield wreck?” she asked. “This thing looks like it’s going to fall apart as we’re driving.”
“Don’t insult my ride. Looks aren’t everything; what’s under the hood is far more important.”
Kini rolled her eyes at him. Men and their cars were weird.
Smoke backed them out of the garage and headed for the highway. Emmaline’s house wasn’t far, but it was distant enough that she couldn’t hear the sirens anymore.
They pulled up in front of a house that looked like it had been built in the 70s with the cheapest building materials available. No one was visible, so she and Smoke walked up to the front door. A rickety screen door was the only thing keeping the bugs out.
Smoke knocked hard on the frame and called out, “Emmaline?”
“Come in.” The voice sounded rough and old. Sickly.
That voice had Kini bracing herself as she opened the door, Smoke right behind her. A few steps in, a ragged cough led her to the right into a tiny kitchen occupied by a gray-haired Native American woman who looked weathered, lined, ancient.
Smoke sucked in a sudden breath.
So, this wasn’t normal then. “Emmaline?”
“Thank you for coming,” she said to both of them. “Have some tea.”
On the table in front of Emmaline was a pot of tea along with cups, cream, and honey. The old woman looked both of them over and began to chuckle. It was a dry sound, like the wind rustling husks of corn plants after the harvest. “And I thought”—she paused to take in a breath—“I was the sick one.”
“Ma’am, we need to get you to the hospital.” Kini could hear her lungs rattling from five feet away.
The old woman shook her head. “You work for the CDC?” she asked Kini.
“Yes, ma’am. Smoke does, too, but that’s not important right now.”
“Child,” Emmaline said with what sounded like infinite patience. “Nothing at the hospital is going to help me.” She turned to Smoke. “I hadn’t heard about your new job.”
He lifted one large shoulder up and down. “Got hired yesterday. Phone interview.” He cleared his throat. “Kini is right. I’ll call an—”
“Lyle Smoke, sit your ass down in a chair and listen.” She leveled the same glare at Kini until she sat. “Some strange goings-on in the desert.”
“Ma’am?” Kini asked.
“Lights on all day and night, and a bad smell in the air.”
“Where?” Smoke asked.
Emmaline smiled. “The old Rogerson place.”
“That heap of wood?” Smoke shook his head. “I can’t believe it hasn’t been blown over by now.”
“Nope, still standing.” She took a sip of her tea. “Some developer from Arizona bought it from the bank a couple of years ago. They haven’t done much more than survey the land and put a big-assed fence around it.” She paused to breathe. “People are living in the house. Men who shoot at you if you get within sight of the fence.” She took another sip and a smile lifted the corners of her lips. “I could see a couple of fresh graves in the dirt not far from the house.”
What? Kini stared, open mouthed at the old woman, her stomach so cold it was another ice age in there.
“Did you tell the sheriff?” Smoke asked.
“I complained when one of the assholes living in the house took a shot at me. The sheriff told me to mind my own business and stay away. He said he’d talked to them, and they had a garden with a potato patch.” She shook her head. “That idiot couldn’t find his ass without three deputies with maps and the fire department holding the lights on the situation.”
“Why did you call the CDC?” Kini asked.
“Because none of those people died of natural causes,” she said sharply. “They died because they couldn’t breathe.” She had to stop and take several breaths herself. “I’ve seen this before.” A few more labored breaths. “Twelve years ago, my youngest boy played in one of the sheds out back and ended up in the hospital with that virus. He died the same way those people did.”
“How do you know this?” Kini asked.
“I came back later, climbed the fence, peeked through the windows, and watched.”
Kini could not have heard that correctly. “You snuck up to a farmhouse populated by armed men doing suspicious things, and sick with an illness you know kills, and watched them?”
Emmaline looked at Smoke. “Is she hard of hearing?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That was dangerous,” Kini said.
“Not as dangerous as getting sick.” She smiled, but it held no humor. “As you can obviously see.”
“How many?” Smoke asked in his traditionally brief way.
“Live, four or five. Dead, two.” She frowned. “Though there could be more. The air smelled of rotting meat, so they might not have had time to bury any recently dead bodies.”
“When were you there?” Kini asked, horrified at the thought that this frail-looking lady had gone investigating on her own.
“A couple of days ago. I talked to that jackass of a doctor at the hospital. Told him to call in the CDC, but he told me I needed to come in for a checkup. He thought I was seeing things, and that it was a medication problem.” She laughed, but it quickly became a body-wracking cough that refused to let go of her.
“May I listen to your chest?” Kini asked.
Emmaline stared at her for several seconds, her breathing so loud it seemed to echo through the kitchen. “I’m not going to that damned hospital.”
“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
Finally, the older woman nodded.
Kini opened her box and took out her stethoscope. She put the ends in her ears and the diaphragm of the chest piece against Emmaline’s chest. She didn’t really need the device to hear what was happening inside. Fluid popped as Emmaline breathed and forced air through it, sounding like an old-fashioned coffee percolator. That was in the upper parts of her lungs. In the lower areas, there was no sound at all.
She pulled away, took the stethoscope off, and put it back in the box. “You have pneumonia. I can’t hear anything from deep in your lungs. They’re too full of fluid.” She considered the older woman. “If you don’t get treatment, it could kill you.”
That made Emmaline laugh, but it was a wet sound and it sounded…wrong. A sound that shouldn’t have come out of anyone living. “I’ve been dying since the day I was born. This ain’t nothing new.”
“This time it might be permanent,” Smoke told her.