"But someone was ready," Kari said."Ready enough to kill to keep it secret."
"Yes."The Chief's voice was heavy."And until we figure out who, this cloud is going to hang over the entire community.Everyone wondering who knows what, who might be next, who among them is capable of murder."
He headed into the station, leaving Kari and Polacca standing in the parking lot as the sun dropped lower toward the horizon.
"What now?"Polacca asked.
"Now we regroup.We go through everything we have from the crime scenes.We look at our suspects more carefully.We find another angle."Kari pulled out her notebook, flipping through pages of notes, looking for anything they might have overlooked."And we hope that Lucas cracks those encrypted files before the killer decides anyone else knows too much."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Emma Talayesva had always felt safest at home.
Her house was small but comfortable—a two-bedroom dwelling on the quieter edge of the village, surrounded by a garden she'd spent years cultivating.The walls held photographs of family gatherings, certificates from social work conferences, and a framed letter from a family thanking her for helping them connect with relatives they hadn't known existed.It was a life built on helping people, on bridging gaps, on bringing light to hidden histories.
Tonight, though, the comfort felt thin.
She sat at her kitchen table, a cup of chamomile tea cooling beside her laptop, staring at the encrypted files Patricia had given her for safekeeping.The files she'd refused to share with Detective Blackhorse that afternoon.The files the tribal council had explicitly forbidden her from releasing.
The decision still sat heavy in her chest.Two people were dead—good people, people she'd worked with, people who'd trusted her coordination of the genealogical project.And now a detective was trying to find their killer, and Emma had information that might help, and she'd said no.
Because the council had told her to say no.Because privacy mattered.Because the potential harm to families who'd participated in good faith had to be weighed against the need for justice.
But was that true?Or was she just telling herself comfortable lies because following orders was easier than making the hard choice?
Emma took a sip of her tea—still hot enough to sting her tongue—and closed the laptop.She wished she didn't have access to Patricia's files, wished she could have avoided this moral quandary entirely.She felt helpless, caught between competing obligations with no good path forward.
Outside, the April night was cool and clear.Through her kitchen window, she could see the stars beginning to emerge, that vast canopy that had watched over her people for thousands of years.
The same stars that had watched Patricia die.That had watched Robert die.That would watch whoever was next if this killer wasn't stopped.
Emma shook off the morbid thought.Restless, she rose and leaned against the sink, unsure what to do with herself.The kitchen was warm from the small space heater she kept running in the evenings.Beyond the window, her modest backyard was dark, the garden beds just visible shadows in the starlight.Everything was quiet, normal, peaceful.
Then the dog started barking.
Her neighbor two houses down—the Talahytewa family—had a large German Shepherd that spent most evenings in their backyard.It barked sometimes at passing wildlife, at cars on the distant road, at the wind when it carried unfamiliar scents.
Emma moved to the back door, peering out through the small window.She couldn't see the Talahytewa property from here—it was blocked by her storage shed—but she could hear the dog clearly.The barking continued, a steady alarm that made her skin prickle with unease.
Just a coyote, probably.Or a stray cat.Nothing to worry about.
But she found herself moving through her house anyway, checking the front door—locked—and the windows—all closed and latched.She told herself she was being silly, letting the stress of the past few days make her paranoid.But her grandmother's voice echoed in her memory, words from childhood:When the dogs warn you, listen.They know things we've forgotten how to see.
The barking stopped abruptly.
Emma stood in her living room, straining to hear anything else.The silence felt heavier than the noise had been, pressing in from all sides.She reached for her phone on the coffee table, not sure who she would call or what she would say, just knowing she wanted the device in her hand.
That's when she heard it.A soft sound from the back of her house.Wood creaking.The subtle protest of a window being opened.
Someone was breaking into her house.
The realization hit her like ice water, shocking and clarifying.This wasn't paranoia.This wasn't stress.Someone was sneaking into her home, and the only reason someone would break in at night while she was here was because they wantedher, not her possessions.
Emma's first instinct was to run for the front door, to get outside where she could scream for help.But to get there, she'd have to pass the hallway that led to her bedroom—where the sound had come from.
She was trapped in her own living room.
Her phone.She still had her phone.She could call 911, get help coming, but how long would it take them to arrive?Five minutes?Ten?Too long if the intruder was already inside.
