CHAPTER NINE
Paul Daniels had made the drive from Window Rock to Flagstaff more times than he could count over the past thirty years, but the route never felt routine.
The landscape shifted as the elevation climbed—desert scrub giving way to pine forests, red rock fading into volcanic soil—and with each change, Paul felt himself shedding one identity and assuming another.
FBI agent. Former partner. Reluctant messenger.
Today, he was all three.
James Blackhorse's office at Canyon State University occupied a corner of the anthropology building, a cramped space overflowing with books and papers and the accumulated detritus of an academic career.
Paul had been here a dozen times over the years, usually for conversations that straddled the line between professional consultation and personal catch-up.
James had a mind that Paul respected, even if their approaches to problems had always been fundamentally different.
James analyzed. Paul acted. In their years working together at the Bureau, that dynamic had solved cases and nearly ended their partnership in equal measure.
He found James at his desk, surrounded by stacks of student papers and archaeological journals. James looked up as Paul entered, his eyes narrowing in wary appraisal.
"Paul," he said slowly, as if realizing this wasn't just a social call. He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "This about what happened to Ben Tsosie?"
"Word travels fast."
"In certain circles." James leaned back, studying Paul with the same analytical gaze he'd once applied to crime scenes and suspect interviews. "How is he?"
"Recovering. Physically, at least. The rest..." Paul shrugged. "He's tough. He'll manage."
"And Kari?"
The question hung in the air between them.
Paul took his time settling into the chair, giving himself a moment to consider his approach.
James's and Kari's relationship was a minefield he'd been navigating for years—ever since Anna had returned to the reservation and James had stayed behind, ever since the divorce had drawn a line that neither father nor daughter had fully learned to cross.
He wanted to be honest, but he didn't want to put himself in the middle of things.
"She's doing what she always does," Paul said. "Working the case, pushing forward, refusing to let the bastards win. But she's running out of road, James. We both are."
"Which is why you're here."
"Which is why I'm here."
Paul pulled a folder from his bag and set it on the desk between them. He'd spent the drive organizing his thoughts, figuring out how to present the information without overwhelming James or triggering the skepticism that had always been his former partner's default setting.
"I'm going to give you the short version," Paul said. "Stop me if you have questions, but save the detailed analysis for after. You'll want the full picture before you start picking it apart."
James nodded, his expression settling into the focused neutrality that Paul remembered from their years working cases together. Whatever personal complications existed between them, James had always been able to set them aside when the work demanded it.
Paul walked him through everything: Evan Naalnish's remains and the suspicious three-day investigation that had ruled his death inconclusive.
Ben's unauthorized entry onto Devco property, his discovery of mining equipment and test holes, his capture and interrogation by men who operated like professionals.
The shell corporations that obscured ownership of the land, the pattern of suspicious deaths that Anna had documented, the mounting evidence that someone with significant resources was systematically eliminating threats to their operation.
James listened without interrupting, his eyes moving occasionally to the documents Paul spread across his desk—photographs, corporate records, Anna's handwritten notes. When Paul had finished, the office was silent except for the distant sounds of students passing in the hallway outside.
"You're describing a conspiracy," James said finally. "A coordinated effort involving corporate interests, potentially corrupt law enforcement, and multiple homicides spanning decades."
"I know how it sounds."
"It sounds like the kind of theory that gets people labeled as paranoid." James picked up one of Anna's notes, studying her familiar handwriting. "It also sounds like exactly what Anna was trying to prove before she died."
"That's not a coincidence."
"No. It wouldn't be." James set down the note and rubbed his eyes. "I looked at this material months ago, when Kari first brought it to me. I told her there were patterns, connections worth investigating. Then I handed her a thumb drive and sent her on her way."
"She mentioned that."
"Did she mention that I made excuses for not getting more involved?
That I told her I had other commitments, other responsibilities?
" James's voice carried a bitter edge. "I've been telling myself for months that I did the right thing, that getting entangled in a case this dangerous would only make things worse.
But the truth is, I was afraid. Afraid of what we might find, afraid of what it might mean for Anna's death, afraid of—" He stopped, shook his head. "Afraid of failing again."
Paul had known James Blackhorse for thirty years.
They'd worked cases together that had tested every skill they possessed, had seen each other at their best and worst, had developed the kind of professional respect that came from surviving the trenches together.
But he'd rarely seen James this raw, this openly vulnerable.
"Anna reached out to me too," Paul said quietly. "Before she died. She wanted help accessing federal records, and I told her I'd call her back when I had time. I never did."
"I know. You told me at the funeral."
"We both failed her, James. The question is whether we're going to keep failing her, or whether we're going to do something about it."
James was quiet for a long moment, staring at the documents spread across his desk. Paul let the silence stretch, knowing that James needed time to process, to weigh the risks against the obligations, to find his own path to the decision.
"What exactly are you asking me to do?" James finally said.
"Analyze. That's what you're good at—finding patterns, identifying connections, seeing the shape of things that other people miss.
" Paul leaned forward. "I can't investigate this officially anymore.
My superiors have made it clear that my interest in Devco is unwelcome, and every move I make is potentially being monitored by whoever's leaking information.
But you're outside the system. You have no current ties to the Bureau, no access that would raise flags.
You can dig into this without triggering the same alarms."
James picked up Anna's notes again, leafing through pages covered in her careful handwriting. Paul watched him read, watched the emotions play across his face—grief, regret, and something else that looked almost like hope.
"She was right," James said softly. "All those years I thought she was chasing shadows, seeing conspiracies where there were just coincidences. And she was right."
"She was."
"Which means her death—"
"Fits the pattern. Experienced person dies in terrain she knew intimately, investigation closes quickly with minimal follow-up." Paul held James's gaze. "I can't prove it was murder. Not yet. But if you help me with this, if we can find what Anna was looking for..."
James set down the notes and straightened in his chair. He nodded to himself, as if coming to a decision. "All right. I'm in. But I have conditions."
"Name them."
"First, everything goes through you. I don't contact Kari directly unless she reaches out to me first. She needs to come to this on her own terms, not because her father inserted himself into her investigation."
Paul nodded. This aligned with what he'd been thinking—Kari needed to feel in control of any reconciliation, not have it forced upon her.
"Second," James continued, "I need access to everything. Not just what you've shown me today, but anything new that comes up. If I'm going to analyze this properly, I can't be working with incomplete information."
"Agreed. With the caveat that some things may need to stay compartmentalized for security reasons."
"Understood." James paused. "And third... I need you to tell me the truth about Kari. How bad is it? How much does she hate me?"
Paul considered the question carefully. He owed James honesty, but he also owed Kari loyalty. Finding the balance between those obligations was never easy.
"She doesn't hate you," he said finally.
"But she doesn't trust you either. You hurt her, James—not by leaving, but by checking out.
By building a new life while Anna was still fighting, still trying to expose the people who eventually killed her.
By making excuses when Kari asked for your help.
" He paused, letting the words land. "She's not looking for an apology.
She's looking for proof that you'll show up when it matters.
That you won't bail when things get hard or complicated or inconvenient. "
"I deserve that."
"Yeah. You do." Paul softened his tone. "But you also have a chance to change it. Not by grand gestures or emotional conversations—Kari doesn't trust those. By doing the work. By being reliable. By proving through actions that you're committed to this, whatever it costs."
James nodded slowly, absorbing the advice. "She's so much like Anna. That same stubbornness, that same refusal to let anything go once she's got her teeth in it."
"She's like both of you. Anna's passion, your analytical mind.
It's a powerful combination." Paul stood, gathering the documents he'd brought.
"I'll leave copies of everything with you.
Take a few days to go through it, see what patterns emerge.
And James—be careful. These people have killed before, and they'll kill again if they feel threatened.
The moment you start digging, you become a potential target. "
James snorted. "I spent twenty years at the Bureau. I know how to watch my back."
"I know you do. Just don't get so focused on the puzzle that you forget someone might be watching you solve it."