“And has it?”
He shook his head.
She led him through the kitchen, returning to what had been her father’s office. “I’ve gone through all the files Dad kept here. His maps are missing, as I told you, though the folder was still in the cabinet. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. I also didn’t see anything that pertained specifically to the tribe, so I stopped trying to sort and just stuck everything in those boxes. They’ll go into storage alongside the furniture.”
Hearing a truck engine, she looked out the window and smiled. “Finally! Here are the movers. They’ll load the rest of the big stuff into the truck and haul it over to the rental storage place in town.”
Still uneasy but unable to identify the threat, Jonas walked out with her and remained by her side while the workers loaded the truck. As soon as they drove off, he and Emily returned inside the house.
“I’ve never heard of that moving company,” he said. “I assume you checked them out?”
“Of course. They’re new, but legit, and they gave me a great price. I’ve got to cut corners now. Every dollar counts.”
She hadn’t asked for, nor did she want, his sympathy. She’d simply stated a fact. His admiration for her continued to grow.
He looked around the interior, noting that nothing except portable lanterns and labeled boxes remained.
“Everything else in here will be transferred across the driveway to that railroad-car-size metal storage container,” she said.
“Since the bulk of the work is finally done, how about you and me taking a break? There’s a real nice coffeehouse out on east Main, at the mall. They serve the best pancakes for miles. We can have a quick brunch, then get back to work.”
“Great idea,” she said, walking outside with him.
Jonas studied the area around him carefully. Someone was out there. He could feel him. As it had been when snipers had stalked his unit, his muscles were wound tight, and he was ready—itching, really—for a challenge.
They were several feet from his truck when he saw a flicker of movement to his left, between two stacks of plywood. Jonas urged Emily quickly into his truck and, motioning for her to stay down, made his way toward the intruder, creeping silently in his soft deerskin boots.
The man never heard or saw him coming. As soon as he was within a few yards, Jonas dived for him, but only caught the heel of his shoe. The intruder, dressed in green coveralls and a cap, dropped something as he kicked loose, then took off at breakneck speed, rounding the corner.
Jonas raced across the yard after him, but before he could narrow the distance, he heard a small motor revving up somewhere ahead. Suddenly a dirt bike roared around the side of the house, raising a cloud of dust as it accelerated straight at him.
Two men. He should have expected it. Jonas automatically reached for the holstered Beretta at the small of his back, then changed his mind. He needed a prisoner, not another casualty. There was a better way to unseat this guy, but his timing would have to be perfect.
Jonas crouched slightly, wondering if his baton would do the trick, then decided it was too light. His forearm was the best choice, though the risk of collision and broken bones was greater. He waved the cyclist forward, goading him with a look of defiance.
The rider, his features hidden by a helmet, didn’t waver for a second. He came right at him, engine roaring.
Jonas jumped clear at the last second, throwing out his arm to clothesline the punk. But fate wasn’t on his side. The bike suddenly fishtailed, and the rear wheel whipped around. The rider’s boot caught him in the shin, spinning Jonas out of position. His fist ricocheted off the top of the biker’s helmet as he passed.
The man raced away, fishtailing again about fifty feet farther down the road, then disappearing in the direction of the highway.
His leg throbbing with pain and his fist numb, Jonas tried to locate the man who’d run off on foot. He was out of sight now, and probably making a beeline for his partner on the bike.
Jonas sprinted after the cycle, suspecting the biker would have to stop soon to pick up his cohort. After running another fifty yards, Jonas spotted the bike through the trees, and saw the second man jump behind the driver. As the motorcycle raced off in a cloud of dust, Jonas knew he’d never catch them now, even if he went back for his truck.
Coming to a stop, he opened his cell phone and punched out the number of his contact in the sheriff’s department, Sergeant Charlie Nez. Charlie’s code name was Ha’asídí, Watchman. After identifying himself and giving him the highlights of the incident, Jonas returned the phone to his jacket pocket and jogged back toward the house.
He was picking up the object his first attacker had dropped—a Taser—when he heard running footsteps. Just then Emily came around the eight-foot-high stack of sheeting, a double-barreled shotgun gripped in her hand.
“They’re gone,” he assured her quickly.
“What about you? Are you all right?” she asked. “I called the sheriff’s department and they said they were sending a deputy.”
“I called them, too,” he said, noting that she’d wrapped her fingers around the trigger guard. If it was loaded, and the safety off… “Do you know how to use that?”
She looked down at the weapon, then drew it closer, fortunately moving her grip away from the trigger area. “How hard can it be? Point and shoot.”
He gently took the weapon from her hands and thumbed the safety on. “Nice. Remington over/under. Where did you get it?”
“It belonged to my dad. He used to go duck hunting. I took it to my trailer a few days ago, just for safety’s sake. I don’t really know if it’s loaded or not,” she added. “I’m not sure how to check. The gun was always off-limits to Mom and me.”
Jonas opened the action and checked. “It isn’t loaded,” he answered. “What were you planning to do if it wouldn’t fire?”
“It’s nice and heavy. I’d use it as a club.”
“To protect me?” he asked, doing his best, but not quite succeeding to bite back a smile.
“Of course. Anyone who got whacked on the head with this would be out of it for a while.”
He took a step closer to her, then brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. Hearing her draw in an unsteady breath, he felt a surge of pure masculine satisfaction.
Emily moved away and cleared her throat. “We’ve had two vandalism attempts here in the past twenty-four hours. What’s going on? The bad guys don’t normally come back to a crime scene, do they?”
“It depends on how serious they are about putting you out of business.”
“But why? An inn brings visitors and more business to the community. This doesn’t make sense. Were the men who came today the same ones who were here last night?”
“Probably. The boot and shoe prints match, and the body types fit, at least with height and build.” He glanced down at the Taser, studying it. “This was meant to incapacitate me, and maybe you, as well, while they did whatever it was they came for.”
“Vandalism wasn’t their only objective today. They want to scare me into leaving,” she said flatly. “Otherwise, they would have waited until I’d left on an errand, and wouldn’t have brought a Taser along.”
“I agree. Like last night, scaring you was one of their objectives. If they’d wanted to kill either one of us, they’d have come better armed.” He paused for several moments, looking for anything on the Taser that might give them a clue. The serial numbers had been removed, and the insulated grip probably meant no fingerprints could be recovered.
“Do