Secrets of the Lynx. Aimee Thurlo
near the center of the large open space, was a sofa covered in heavy, rich brown leather. The pine frame, with its decorative grooves and diamond-shaped patterns, matched the design on the table and chairs.
Beautiful red, black, and indigo Navajo rugs were hung on the walls facing the big stone and iron fireplace. A smaller one woven in red, black and white was draped over the back of the couch.
“I like this place,” she said. “It feels...welcoming.”
Paul smiled. “Over the years I’ve heard it described in many ways. Each person sees something different, but the consensus is always the same. Our foster father’s home agrees with people and sets them at ease.”
“I love the pattern on that Navajo rug draped over the couch,” she said.
“That’s an antique blanket our foster father was given in payment for a ritual he performed for one of his patients. Almost everything woven prior to 1890 is a blanket. Navajos had little use for floor coverings since keeping warm was their priority. Then trading post owners started encouraging The People to weave rugs instead. Those were thicker and more appealing to the tourist trade.” He went over to the couch. “Touch the blanket. It’s soft and very warm.”
She ran her fingertips over the woven fabric. “It feels wonderful, and so beautiful, too.”
As Daniel and Preston came back in with armloads of firewood, talk naturally shifted back to business.
“I’ve read through your files, Paul,” Kendra said. “From the reports I saw, you were on protection duty, fully prepared. Things went south for you and your partner after you reached the DC courthouse’s steps.”
He nodded. “I’d checked the whereabouts of the judge’s known enemies, including the ex-soldier Chris Miller, the Hawthorn cartel’s wet-work specialist. Our intel said he was hiding out in Mexico, well out of reach. That turned out to be wrong. Later, video surveillance cameras across the street from the shooting revealed he’d been on the scene.”
She nodded slowly. “Our problem’s been that Miller’s a master at changing his appearance,” Kendra said, glancing at Daniel and Preston who were stacking wood. “Following an auto injury that took place just after he left the military, he had substantial facial reconstruction. The only subsequent photo we have of him is a very low-quality one taken from that video. It was actually thanks to a partial fingerprint lifted from a parking meter, combined with facial recognition software, that we were able to confirm his ID at all.”
“That faulty intel cost my partner her life,” Paul said. “What’s worse, Miller’s still in the wind.”
She could feel the pain vibrating through his words. Though it hadn’t been in his file, she’d interviewed other marshals before coming here and been told that Judy and Paul had been very close. Some had speculated that the two had become lovers.
As her gaze drifted over the man before her, she could understand the temptation he might have posed to his late partner. There was something about Paul, an intangible that went beyond those long legs, narrow waist and a chest any woman would be tempted to nestle into.
Yet all things considered, what drew her most was the mercurial quality reflected in his gaze. Those dark eyes could sparkle with intent, determination, or even gentleness, in a flash.
Paul Grayhorse intrigued her, but this wasn’t the time for distractions. She looked away immediately, refocusing on her mission.
Having replenished the fire, Preston patted his brother on the back. “Police work is always filled with the unexpected, bro. What we do only comes with one guarantee—a lousy paycheck.”
“We all go into this kind of work knowing the risks,” Daniel, a security consultant, said, “but at least we don’t die by inches, chained to a desk.”
Paul crossed the room, stopped at the coffeepot on top of the stove, and poured himself a cup. “That’s exactly why I had to expand my business to include actual cases. Sitting in front of surveillance monitors all day was driving me nuts.”
“No one’s arguing that, but you should have waited until you had full mobility in your arm again.” Preston checked the handgun at his waist, then zipped up his jacket and brought out a set of keys from his pocket.
“You leaving?” Paul asked.
“Yeah. I want to find Yolanda Sharpe, then run tonight’s events past my informants. I also want to know if any new talent, Chris Miller in particular, has shown up in the area recently.”
“That’s why I won’t be staying here long either,” Paul said. “If someone’s gunning for me, I won’t be hard to find. Next time, I’ll be waiting.”
“I can’t stop you, but that’s a bad idea, Paul. You’re too close to this,” Kendra said. “I’m here to bring Miller in, so we both want the same thing. Give me a chance to work this case first.”
“Are you officially taking over the investigation?” Preston asked her.
“Not yet,” Kendra said. “Until we figure out who we’re dealing with I’ll be working closely with your department, but it’s still your case.”
Daniel grabbed his jacket next, then nodded toward a rifle case barely visible beneath the sofa. “I’m leaving you my AR-15, with three full magazines. It’s got a thermal imaging kit you won’t believe. Just take care of it. I’ve got to hit the road, too. I’m conducting a training op at New Horizon Energy, the tribe’s secure facility. Lots of VIPs coming in to observe.”
Kendra waited for the two men to leave, then spoke. “Now that it’s just the two of us, brief me on what went down earlier this evening.”
“You must have seen my report,” he said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. He removed his pistol and holster, leaving them within reach.
“Of course, but I want to hear it directly from you, Paul, particularly anything you may have remembered since then.” She scooted her chair back, then took off her dark blue cardigan. As she did, sparks of static electricity lit the air. Her shoulder-length auburn hair stood out, twirling erratically, some strands tickling her nose. She brushed her hair back with a hand, trying to tame it into place.
As he recounted the events, Kendra jotted down the new details in a small spiral notebook, noting how sharp his instincts were.
Kendra tried hard to focus exclusively on Paul, but one strand of hair kept evading her and tickling her nose. She jutted out her bottom lip and blew hard, trying to force it away.
“Why did you stick around once you realized that something was off?” she asked, wanting to know more about the way he thought things through out in the field.
“I couldn’t be sure that she was setting me up, and I didn’t want to bail on someone who needed my help.”
Kendra watched Paul as he spoke. She couldn’t help but notice how calm he was. It was normal for people to shift and move around when they were being questioned, not necessarily a sign that anything was wrong, but Paul remained perfectly still.
The rigid control he held over himself reminded her of her father, the colonel. Never show anyone what you’re thinking—that had practically been the colonel’s mantra. She and her brother had learned that lesson well.
When he finished his account, Paul waited as she walked to one side of the window and studied the area outside. “You don’t have to keep checking,” he said as she returned to the table. “We’re safe here. If you’re unsure, all you have to do is listen.”
Kendra did. After half a minute, she heard the cry of a coyote baying at the moon.
“Coyote wouldn’t be indulging its instincts to call to the night if intruders were in the canyon,” he said.
“I never heard him at all until right now.”
“No problem. I did.”
She