"I'm serious, Kari. Your mother was careful, and she still ended up dead. You can't just charge into this. Not alone."
"I'm not alone."
James shook his head ruefully. "I'm not going to be much help. I have a life, other commitments…" He trailed off, as if suddenly realizing how selfish it sounded that, now that he had strong reason to believe his first wife had been murdered, he was making excuses not to find the truth.
Before he could apologize or try to explain, however, Kari cut him off. "It's okay," she said. "I understand. You've moved on with your life, emotionally. I haven't."
"That's part of what scares me."
She smiled to reassure him. "I'll be okay. And anyway, when I said I wasn't alone, I didn't mean you."
"Oh? That's a risky idea, dragging others into this."
"Not 'others.' Just one." She gave his arm a squeeze. "Thanks again, Dad. This means a lot."
He studied her, looking like he was feeling something he didn't know how to put into words. She left before he could figure it out.
CHAPTER TWO
Ben Tsosie lived in a small house on the southern edge of the reservation, a modest place he'd bought four years ago when he'd made detective. Kari had been there a handful of times—once for a barbecue he'd hosted for the department, twice to drop off case files when he'd been on modified duty with a shoulder injury. She knew the way without needing directions.
She pulled up to find Ben's truck in the driveway and smoke rising from a grill in the backyard. It was just past noon on a Saturday, and apparently he was taking advantage of the good weather. Kari felt a pang of guilt for interrupting what was probably one of his rare days off.
He appeared around the corner of the house as she got out of her Jeep, wearing jeans and a faded Navajo Nation Police softball league t-shirt, a spatula in one hand. His expression shifted from surprise to welcome.
"Kari. Didn't expect to see you today." He gestured with the spatula toward the backyard. "I'm just making lunch. You hungry?"
"I don't want to intrude."
"You're not. I made too many burgers anyway. Come on back."
Kari followed him around the house to a small backyard with a patio, a weathered picnic table, and a propane grill that had seen better days. The smell of cooking meat made her realize she'd skipped breakfast in her rush to meet her father.
"How've you been?" Ben asked, flipping burgers. "I heard the Hopi case wrapped up. Tough one."
"Yeah." Kari sat at the picnic table, grateful for the shade from a juniper tree. "Cultural preservation officer killed two people to protect his daughter's adoption secret. Staged thebodies at sacred sites to make some twisted point about respecting tradition."
"Shit." Ben shook his head. "I saw some of the preliminary reports that came through. Glad I wasn't on that one."
Kari felt the opening. "I never did ask what you've been up to while I've been gone."
"Mostly covering for Rodriguez while he was out with his appendix surgery. Been running pretty much nonstop." Ben moved the burgers to a plate. "But nothing as intense as what you were handling. Cross-jurisdictional politics, cultural sensitivities. Sounds like a nightmare."
"It had its moments." Kari accepted the burger and fixings he brought over. "But it's done now. I'm back, and hopefully things will be quiet for a while."
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. This was one of the things Kari appreciated about Ben—he didn't feel the need to fill every silence with conversation. He was comfortable just being, letting moments exist without forcing them into something they weren't.
But eventually, she had to break that comfortable silence. She hadn't come here for a burger.
"Ben," she said, setting down her burger. "I need to talk to you about something. Something that's not exactly department business, but... it might become that."
He studied her face, his expression shifting from relaxed to attentive. "Okay."
"It's about my mother. About the investigation she was doing before she died."
Ben's expression grew more serious. He set down his own burger and gave her his full attention. "I'm listening."
Kari pulled out the thumb drive her father had given her, turning it over in her hands. "Mom was investigating a pattern of deaths on tribal lands. Seventeen cases over twenty-threeyears, all ruled as accidents or natural causes, but all involving people who'd discovered or were about to expose corporate wrongdoing. Environmental violations, illegal construction, dumping—things that would've been expensive or criminal if they'd come to light."
