Jack Slade, page 2
“Jesse.”
“I need to put some gas in my car. Is there a gas station here on the reservation?”
“Go back the way we came. The main offices for the rez are about a mile past the dirt road we came in on. There’s a gas station out front.”
Slade pulled the Jaguar in beside a gas pump and cut the engine. He climbed out, fitted a nozzle into the tank then glanced around. The administrative offices for the reservation sat back from the road across an asphalt parking lot. The walls were of stone, tinted plate glass windows stretched across the front, and pine shingles tiled the roof. A few cars were parked out front, and a group of Sioux men lounged on benches along the wall. For the most part, they were dressed in faded Levi’s, tee shirts, and cowboy boots. One wore high-strapped moccasins.
They returned Slade’s gaze coldly, their faces expressionless.
He replaced the nozzle, got back in, kicked over the engine, pulled into a parking space in front of the building, climbed back out, and walked to the front door. His tall, muscular frame moved with the sinister grace of a panther. His harsh features were set and uncompromising. His eyes smoldered with dangerous lights as he stared unblinkingly at the loungers. They watched him approach, felt the dark aura of menace that surrounded him, and as one, they turned their heads and stared off into the distance.
He pushed through the glass door and entered the air-conditioned coolness of the office. A counter with a polished granite top ran along the front. Desks clustered in a common area behind, where men and women typed at computers. Two glass-enclosed offices were set into the left wall. A young Indian woman rose from a desk and approached the counter.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to pay for the gas I just put into my car.”
She checked the screen of a computer sitting on the counter. “That will be twenty dollars.”
Slade pulled out his roll, peeled off a bill, and slid it across the counter. “I’d like to speak to the agent in charge. Is he or she in?”
She picked up the twenty and rang the register. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I just arrived at the reservation. I’m a guest of the old man called Joe.”
Her black brows went up. “Charles Dawson is the reservation agent, but he’s out of the office at the moment. Helen Elmwood is the assistant agent. She’s in her office. Just a moment, and I’ll check if she has time to see you.”
Slade waited while she picked up a phone, dialed a number, then spoke into the receiver.
An office door opened on the left wall, and a tall, slender woman in a brown business suit over a white silk blouse walked with liquid grace across the floor. Long black hair shimmered in the overhead light and poured in ebony waves down her back. Dark brown, almond-shaped eyes gazed at Slade over a straight nose and full red lips. She wore little make up, and her smooth skin had a light olive tint, suggesting to Slade that she was at least part Native American.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a deep, smooth, well-modulated voice.
“I’m here as a guest of the old man called Joe. Would it be possible to speak to you in private?”
She hesitated for a moment, then, “Certainly.” She swung open a gate in the counter. “Please come into my office.”
Slade followed her across the room, his gaze riveted on her swaying hips, rounded rear end, and well-formed calves. Inside her office, she gestured to a chair in front of her desk as she closed the door. As Slade dropped into it, she walked around the desk and seated herself in a high-backed chair.
“Now,” she said, folding slim hands on the desktop. “What can I do for you?”
Slade came right to the point. “Joe—”
“Do you mean Soaring Eagle?”
“I only know him as Joe.”
“That is his white man’s name. His Sioux name is Soaring Eagle. He’s the senior wise man here on the Twin Peaks Reservation. That you are his guest is the reason I agreed to speak to you…without an appointment.”
“Thank you for that information. It explains much. At any rate, Joe asked me to look into the killings that have taken place both in the town of Crawford and here on the reservation.”
Her dark eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Slade just stared at her.
Under his steady gaze, she glanced away. “Why would he do that?” she murmured rhetorically.
“I have certain abilities that Joe thought might be of use in solving the case.”
She looked him over dubiously. “Are you a hunter?”
“I’ve been called that.”
“I’m sorry.” Her fine black brows pulled together in a frown. “Who did you say you are?”
Slade reached into an inside pocket, pulled out his wallet, flipped it open to his ID, then placed it on the desk. She picked it up and studied it.
She glanced up at him. “You work for the Diamond Group?”
“It’s a security company that deals with crisis situations around the world. I’m a field operative for the firm.”
She flipped through and found his international concealed carry license. “I guess this explains the gun on your belt.”
“Yes.”
“We’re an open carry state, so that’s no problem. Still,” she closed the wallet and handed it back to him, “that doesn’t explain why Soaring Eagle asked you to look into the killings. It seems a bit of overkill. The police in Crawford are investigating the situation, and our local reservation police are looking into the death that happened here on the reservation. We have hunters out every day searching for the wolf, wolves, or possibly a mountain lion that’s responsible. I really don’t see what you can add to the equation.”
Slade nodded. “I have two requests. One, can you tell me all you know about the killing here on the reservation? And, two, can you have an officer take me to where the killing took place?”
Slender fingers drummed the desktop. “I can tell you all we know very briefly. A member of the tribe was hunting in the mountains to the north of here and didn’t come back. A search party went out to look for him. They found him dead in a pool of his own blood, mutilated as if a pack of wolves had torn him apart. The photographs are grisly.”
“May I see them?”
Sighing heavily, she stood up and went to a vertical file standing against the wall, pulled out a manila folder, came back and handed it to Slade. As he glanced through it, she re-seated herself.
Her assessment was accurate—the photos were grisly. The man had been torn limb from limb. Blood spattered the leaves and nettles around the body. The head was detached from the body and lay in a clump of bushes nearby. Its features were twisted with terror, mouth gaping, blood-gorged eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.
He sighed, closed the file, and placed it on the desk.
“That corresponds to what Joe told me.” He thought for a moment. “I’d still like to see the spot where the body was found.”
“Really, Mr. Slade…” she began, then thought better of it, lifted the phone and dialed a number. She replaced the receiver and glared crossly at him. “Jim Tall Elk is the senior officer on the reservation police force. He’ll be out front in five minutes. He’ll be driving a Jeep. Now,” she gestured toward the door, “if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside, I have work to do.”
2
Hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets, Slade watched a Jeep pull off the road, race across the parking lot, then skid to a halt in front of him. The driver appeared to be in his mid-thirties with the craggy features of a full-blooded Native American. His long black hair was pulled back and secured by a leather thong. Well built, he wore a grey uniform shirt with captain’s bars on the shoulders, Levi’s, and heavy hiking boots. He nodded to the men still lounging on the bench against the wall, then looked Slade over. Black eyes passed over Slade’s straight black hair, combed straight back, harsh features, black leather jacket, black silk shirt and dark trousers, then paused at the automatic holstered at his belt.
Slade’s face was stony as the two men stared for a long moment into each other’s eyes.
“I’m Jim Tall Elk,” the driver called finally over the noise of the engine. “You Jack Slade?”
“Yes.”
“Climb in.”
Jim popped the clutch, took off in a cloud of dust, turned right at the highway, drove east for about a mile, then spun the wheel and cut down a dirt road leading north up into the mountains. As they bounced over the ruts and holes in the road, Slade sat relaxed, his body adjusting automatically to the erratic motions of the Jeep.
Jim glanced over at him and broke the silence. “Helen said you’re here at the request of Soaring Eagle.”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t look like a hunter. What do you do?”
“I’m a field operative for a security company.”
The Indian glanced at him again, a puzzled expression on his face. “Field operative? Do you specialize in solving killings involving wild animals?”
“Quite often.”
“Well, you sure aren’t dressed for it. This fire road ends about a mile before we reach the scene of the killing. We’ll be hiking in over rough ground. You’re going to wreck those city shoes of yours.”
“I haven’t had time to buy other clothes. I’ll do that later in the day. I didn’t want to waste any time before looking over the killing scene.”
Jim slammed on the brakes, and the Jeep skidded to a halt in the shade of a tall pine. He reached behind, lifted out a hunting rifle with a scope, then stepped down into the dirt. “This is it,” he grunted, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. “We walk from here.”
It was cool in the shade beneath the arching branches, but Jim was right, the going was rough. Occasionally, they were able to use deer trails, but mostly they were forced to hike over ground blanketed in a thick layer of nettles and leaves, broken by rocks, boulders, and fallen trees. Slade was dripping with sweat by the time they waded through a clump of prickly brush and emerged into a clearing that he knew, even before he saw the dried blood on the grass and bushes, was the scene of the killing.
“This is where it happened,” Jim stated in a subdued voice.
While the Indian watched, Slade stood in the middle of the grove, closed his eyes, and tuned into the atmosphere. The reek of terror and violent death polluted the air. Grisly images of blood and carnage passed across his inner vision. A wolf more massive and ferocious than anything he had ever seen chased the hunter down from higher ground. Finally stumbling into the clearing, he got trapped by the impenetrable ring of brush, and was torn limb from limb by the wolf. No wonder he had died with such a look of terror on his face. Only a human maddened by blood lust could transform himself into a creature of such viciousness and horror.
Slade opened his eyes to find Jim staring at him quizzically.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Ignoring the question, Slade commented, “There’s plenty of tracks from the victim, but I don’t see any animal tracks.”
“That’s the strange part. It’s why we’re not sure whether it was a lone wolf, a pack of wolves, a cougar, or maybe even a pack of wild dogs.”
“Have your hunters sighted any cougars or dogs?”
“Nope.”
Slade pointed up the slope. “The victim was chased down from up there.”
“Yeah, we figured that out. We’ve got some pretty good trackers on the rez.”
Slade grinned. “I don’t doubt it. Let’s hike on up.”
Jim led the way up the slope, the rifle cradled in his arms. Slade followed behind, shifting his vision so he could see astrally. The trees were thinning out, forcing them to push through dense stands of brush.
Slade stopped suddenly. “Wait,” he grunted.
As Jim spun around to watch, he closed his eyes again and turned his whole body as he scanned the terrain. He knew the quality of the wolf’s energy from the clearing, and he detected it again, riding the wind that blew down from the heights. When he felt it most strongly, he opened his eyes and looked up the slope. Far above, a rocky crag glittered in the sunlight. In the middle of the glare, Slade detected a dark oval that he recognized as some type of cave. The energy was emanating from there. More disturbingly, he felt the dark, terrible power of two glowing eyes watching them.
Their lives were in danger, and Slade knew that the Indian’s rifle wouldn’t protect them. While he could attempt to fight the beast, to do so would still jeopardize Jim’s life, and he was loath to risk it. He’d found out what he wanted to know—the location of the wolf’s lair. A confrontation between them could wait until there would be no risk to anyone else.
“We need to leave,” he said shortly and started back down the slope.
They hiked in silence, both lost in their thoughts, all the way back to the Jeep. They climbed in, Jim placed the rifle in a gun rack then turned to Slade, a frown on his face.
“Would you mind telling me what’s going on? You look around the scene with your eyes closed. Then you stop up on the mountain, look around again with your eyes closed. Then you suddenly say we need to leave. What can you see with your eyes closed?”
Slade shrugged. “Sometimes I can tune into a place better with my eyes closed.”
Jim thrust his face close to Slade’s and studied his harsh features, cold grey eyes, high-bridged nose, and wide, pitiless mouth.
Slade returned his scrutiny calmly.
“Who the hell are you?” the Indian blurted.
“A wolf hunter.”
“Are you some kind of psychic or shaman or something? Is that why Soaring Eagle asked you to look into the killing?”
“I have certain abilities.”
Jim stared at him in silence for a long time. Then he shot a disgusted burst of air out between his teeth. Shaking his head, he fired up the engine, spun the wheel, skidded the Jeep around in a cloud of dust, and roared back down the mountain.
Jim Tall Elk dropped Slade in the administrative parking lot then drove off without speaking. As he walked to the Jaguar, he noticed that the group of men no longer lounged on the bench. He was putting the key into the lock when the door of the office swung open, and Helen Elmwood stepped into the sunlight. He paused to admire the gleaming black hair tumbling over slender shoulders in liquid waves, olive skin shimmering like polished bronze, and the way the sun ignited golden lights in her dark brown eyes. His gaze lingered on her full red lips, then realized they were moving.
“Mr. Slade,” she called. “Could I talk to you for a moment?”
He dropped the keys into his pocket and started toward her, white teeth flashing in a wide grin. Her dark eyes widened as he got closer, apparently fascinated by how the grin transformed his features into something almost handsome.
“I’d be only too happy to speak to you for a moment, Ms. Elmwood,” he said warmly.
Her eyes dropped before the ardor in his then she raised a slim hand and gestured inside.
“Let’s go into my office.”
He followed her across the floor, conscious of the curious stares from the staff at the desks. He entered the office and dropped into the same chair he had occupied earlier. She closed the door, walked around her desk, and sat down. Clasping her small hands on the desktop, she stared at him for a long moment. He gazed silently back at her, intrigued by how the different lighting wrought shifting nuances in the smooth skin of her face and the lights glimmering in her almond eyes. He found her deeper, more intriguing, more mysterious, more alluring.
She spread her hands on the desk. “I want to apologize for the abrupt way I spoke to you earlier in the day.”
“I think your attitude was completely justified,” Slade responded quietly. “I come bursting in here, wanting information. You have no idea who I am. How else could you be expected to react?”
She smiled gratefully, revealing straight white teeth. “Do you always make apologizing so easy?”
“Not always.”
She became serious. “The point is, I talked to Soaring Eagle over the phone after you left. He assured me that you’re the only man qualified to solve this case and ensure that nothing like it happens again.”
“That’s quite an endorsement. I hope I can live up to it.”
She studied him for a moment, her eyes suddenly lambent, like glowing coals, then she said quietly, “Something tells me that you will live up to it.” She chuckled suddenly to lighten the mood. “I have unlimited confidence in Soaring Eagle’s judgment. You see, he’s my grandfather.”
“Really!”
“My mother is one of his and Jesse’s daughters.”
“Then you must have a pretty clear idea of who he is.”
“He’s a great shaman. A man of tremendous power.”
“Which means you must have a clearer idea of who I am.”
“I know what Soaring Eagle told me. He said that you are a mighty warrior, a Demon Hunter, victorious in many battles, both on this plane and in the vision world. He believes your power may be greater than his.” She paused then went on quietly, “Which brings me to the real reason I asked to talk to you.”
Slade waited.
“Who is this killer? We’ve all been going on the assumption that it’s a rogue wolf. But normal hunters can take care of that. My grandfather brought you to the reservation because your specialty is hunting demons. Is that what we’re up against here? A demon?”
“What did your grandfather tell you?”
“He said that what we’re facing is more dangerous than anything we’ve ever dealt with. He said that if the case isn’t solved quickly, it could threaten the very existence of Twin Peaks. And that’s when he said that he believes you’re the only man who can bring it to a speedy conclusion.”
Slade felt the weight of responsibility press down on his broad shoulders. But he merely said, “Why don’t we leave it at that. I’m still looking into things. When I leave here, I’m going to drive down to Crawford and talk to the police, see what they can tell me. I believe the killings in Crawford and the reservation are related. Once I’ve looked over the situation there, I’ll have a better idea of what’s what and a clearer idea of how to proceed.”
“I need to put some gas in my car. Is there a gas station here on the reservation?”
“Go back the way we came. The main offices for the rez are about a mile past the dirt road we came in on. There’s a gas station out front.”
Slade pulled the Jaguar in beside a gas pump and cut the engine. He climbed out, fitted a nozzle into the tank then glanced around. The administrative offices for the reservation sat back from the road across an asphalt parking lot. The walls were of stone, tinted plate glass windows stretched across the front, and pine shingles tiled the roof. A few cars were parked out front, and a group of Sioux men lounged on benches along the wall. For the most part, they were dressed in faded Levi’s, tee shirts, and cowboy boots. One wore high-strapped moccasins.
They returned Slade’s gaze coldly, their faces expressionless.
He replaced the nozzle, got back in, kicked over the engine, pulled into a parking space in front of the building, climbed back out, and walked to the front door. His tall, muscular frame moved with the sinister grace of a panther. His harsh features were set and uncompromising. His eyes smoldered with dangerous lights as he stared unblinkingly at the loungers. They watched him approach, felt the dark aura of menace that surrounded him, and as one, they turned their heads and stared off into the distance.
He pushed through the glass door and entered the air-conditioned coolness of the office. A counter with a polished granite top ran along the front. Desks clustered in a common area behind, where men and women typed at computers. Two glass-enclosed offices were set into the left wall. A young Indian woman rose from a desk and approached the counter.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to pay for the gas I just put into my car.”
She checked the screen of a computer sitting on the counter. “That will be twenty dollars.”
Slade pulled out his roll, peeled off a bill, and slid it across the counter. “I’d like to speak to the agent in charge. Is he or she in?”
She picked up the twenty and rang the register. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I just arrived at the reservation. I’m a guest of the old man called Joe.”
Her black brows went up. “Charles Dawson is the reservation agent, but he’s out of the office at the moment. Helen Elmwood is the assistant agent. She’s in her office. Just a moment, and I’ll check if she has time to see you.”
Slade waited while she picked up a phone, dialed a number, then spoke into the receiver.
An office door opened on the left wall, and a tall, slender woman in a brown business suit over a white silk blouse walked with liquid grace across the floor. Long black hair shimmered in the overhead light and poured in ebony waves down her back. Dark brown, almond-shaped eyes gazed at Slade over a straight nose and full red lips. She wore little make up, and her smooth skin had a light olive tint, suggesting to Slade that she was at least part Native American.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a deep, smooth, well-modulated voice.
“I’m here as a guest of the old man called Joe. Would it be possible to speak to you in private?”
She hesitated for a moment, then, “Certainly.” She swung open a gate in the counter. “Please come into my office.”
Slade followed her across the room, his gaze riveted on her swaying hips, rounded rear end, and well-formed calves. Inside her office, she gestured to a chair in front of her desk as she closed the door. As Slade dropped into it, she walked around the desk and seated herself in a high-backed chair.
“Now,” she said, folding slim hands on the desktop. “What can I do for you?”
Slade came right to the point. “Joe—”
“Do you mean Soaring Eagle?”
“I only know him as Joe.”
“That is his white man’s name. His Sioux name is Soaring Eagle. He’s the senior wise man here on the Twin Peaks Reservation. That you are his guest is the reason I agreed to speak to you…without an appointment.”
“Thank you for that information. It explains much. At any rate, Joe asked me to look into the killings that have taken place both in the town of Crawford and here on the reservation.”
Her dark eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Slade just stared at her.
Under his steady gaze, she glanced away. “Why would he do that?” she murmured rhetorically.
“I have certain abilities that Joe thought might be of use in solving the case.”
She looked him over dubiously. “Are you a hunter?”
“I’ve been called that.”
“I’m sorry.” Her fine black brows pulled together in a frown. “Who did you say you are?”
Slade reached into an inside pocket, pulled out his wallet, flipped it open to his ID, then placed it on the desk. She picked it up and studied it.
She glanced up at him. “You work for the Diamond Group?”
“It’s a security company that deals with crisis situations around the world. I’m a field operative for the firm.”
She flipped through and found his international concealed carry license. “I guess this explains the gun on your belt.”
“Yes.”
“We’re an open carry state, so that’s no problem. Still,” she closed the wallet and handed it back to him, “that doesn’t explain why Soaring Eagle asked you to look into the killings. It seems a bit of overkill. The police in Crawford are investigating the situation, and our local reservation police are looking into the death that happened here on the reservation. We have hunters out every day searching for the wolf, wolves, or possibly a mountain lion that’s responsible. I really don’t see what you can add to the equation.”
Slade nodded. “I have two requests. One, can you tell me all you know about the killing here on the reservation? And, two, can you have an officer take me to where the killing took place?”
Slender fingers drummed the desktop. “I can tell you all we know very briefly. A member of the tribe was hunting in the mountains to the north of here and didn’t come back. A search party went out to look for him. They found him dead in a pool of his own blood, mutilated as if a pack of wolves had torn him apart. The photographs are grisly.”
“May I see them?”
Sighing heavily, she stood up and went to a vertical file standing against the wall, pulled out a manila folder, came back and handed it to Slade. As he glanced through it, she re-seated herself.
Her assessment was accurate—the photos were grisly. The man had been torn limb from limb. Blood spattered the leaves and nettles around the body. The head was detached from the body and lay in a clump of bushes nearby. Its features were twisted with terror, mouth gaping, blood-gorged eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.
He sighed, closed the file, and placed it on the desk.
“That corresponds to what Joe told me.” He thought for a moment. “I’d still like to see the spot where the body was found.”
“Really, Mr. Slade…” she began, then thought better of it, lifted the phone and dialed a number. She replaced the receiver and glared crossly at him. “Jim Tall Elk is the senior officer on the reservation police force. He’ll be out front in five minutes. He’ll be driving a Jeep. Now,” she gestured toward the door, “if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside, I have work to do.”
2
Hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets, Slade watched a Jeep pull off the road, race across the parking lot, then skid to a halt in front of him. The driver appeared to be in his mid-thirties with the craggy features of a full-blooded Native American. His long black hair was pulled back and secured by a leather thong. Well built, he wore a grey uniform shirt with captain’s bars on the shoulders, Levi’s, and heavy hiking boots. He nodded to the men still lounging on the bench against the wall, then looked Slade over. Black eyes passed over Slade’s straight black hair, combed straight back, harsh features, black leather jacket, black silk shirt and dark trousers, then paused at the automatic holstered at his belt.
Slade’s face was stony as the two men stared for a long moment into each other’s eyes.
“I’m Jim Tall Elk,” the driver called finally over the noise of the engine. “You Jack Slade?”
“Yes.”
“Climb in.”
Jim popped the clutch, took off in a cloud of dust, turned right at the highway, drove east for about a mile, then spun the wheel and cut down a dirt road leading north up into the mountains. As they bounced over the ruts and holes in the road, Slade sat relaxed, his body adjusting automatically to the erratic motions of the Jeep.
Jim glanced over at him and broke the silence. “Helen said you’re here at the request of Soaring Eagle.”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t look like a hunter. What do you do?”
“I’m a field operative for a security company.”
The Indian glanced at him again, a puzzled expression on his face. “Field operative? Do you specialize in solving killings involving wild animals?”
“Quite often.”
“Well, you sure aren’t dressed for it. This fire road ends about a mile before we reach the scene of the killing. We’ll be hiking in over rough ground. You’re going to wreck those city shoes of yours.”
“I haven’t had time to buy other clothes. I’ll do that later in the day. I didn’t want to waste any time before looking over the killing scene.”
Jim slammed on the brakes, and the Jeep skidded to a halt in the shade of a tall pine. He reached behind, lifted out a hunting rifle with a scope, then stepped down into the dirt. “This is it,” he grunted, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. “We walk from here.”
It was cool in the shade beneath the arching branches, but Jim was right, the going was rough. Occasionally, they were able to use deer trails, but mostly they were forced to hike over ground blanketed in a thick layer of nettles and leaves, broken by rocks, boulders, and fallen trees. Slade was dripping with sweat by the time they waded through a clump of prickly brush and emerged into a clearing that he knew, even before he saw the dried blood on the grass and bushes, was the scene of the killing.
“This is where it happened,” Jim stated in a subdued voice.
While the Indian watched, Slade stood in the middle of the grove, closed his eyes, and tuned into the atmosphere. The reek of terror and violent death polluted the air. Grisly images of blood and carnage passed across his inner vision. A wolf more massive and ferocious than anything he had ever seen chased the hunter down from higher ground. Finally stumbling into the clearing, he got trapped by the impenetrable ring of brush, and was torn limb from limb by the wolf. No wonder he had died with such a look of terror on his face. Only a human maddened by blood lust could transform himself into a creature of such viciousness and horror.
Slade opened his eyes to find Jim staring at him quizzically.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Ignoring the question, Slade commented, “There’s plenty of tracks from the victim, but I don’t see any animal tracks.”
“That’s the strange part. It’s why we’re not sure whether it was a lone wolf, a pack of wolves, a cougar, or maybe even a pack of wild dogs.”
“Have your hunters sighted any cougars or dogs?”
“Nope.”
Slade pointed up the slope. “The victim was chased down from up there.”
“Yeah, we figured that out. We’ve got some pretty good trackers on the rez.”
Slade grinned. “I don’t doubt it. Let’s hike on up.”
Jim led the way up the slope, the rifle cradled in his arms. Slade followed behind, shifting his vision so he could see astrally. The trees were thinning out, forcing them to push through dense stands of brush.
Slade stopped suddenly. “Wait,” he grunted.
As Jim spun around to watch, he closed his eyes again and turned his whole body as he scanned the terrain. He knew the quality of the wolf’s energy from the clearing, and he detected it again, riding the wind that blew down from the heights. When he felt it most strongly, he opened his eyes and looked up the slope. Far above, a rocky crag glittered in the sunlight. In the middle of the glare, Slade detected a dark oval that he recognized as some type of cave. The energy was emanating from there. More disturbingly, he felt the dark, terrible power of two glowing eyes watching them.
Their lives were in danger, and Slade knew that the Indian’s rifle wouldn’t protect them. While he could attempt to fight the beast, to do so would still jeopardize Jim’s life, and he was loath to risk it. He’d found out what he wanted to know—the location of the wolf’s lair. A confrontation between them could wait until there would be no risk to anyone else.
“We need to leave,” he said shortly and started back down the slope.
They hiked in silence, both lost in their thoughts, all the way back to the Jeep. They climbed in, Jim placed the rifle in a gun rack then turned to Slade, a frown on his face.
“Would you mind telling me what’s going on? You look around the scene with your eyes closed. Then you stop up on the mountain, look around again with your eyes closed. Then you suddenly say we need to leave. What can you see with your eyes closed?”
Slade shrugged. “Sometimes I can tune into a place better with my eyes closed.”
Jim thrust his face close to Slade’s and studied his harsh features, cold grey eyes, high-bridged nose, and wide, pitiless mouth.
Slade returned his scrutiny calmly.
“Who the hell are you?” the Indian blurted.
“A wolf hunter.”
“Are you some kind of psychic or shaman or something? Is that why Soaring Eagle asked you to look into the killing?”
“I have certain abilities.”
Jim stared at him in silence for a long time. Then he shot a disgusted burst of air out between his teeth. Shaking his head, he fired up the engine, spun the wheel, skidded the Jeep around in a cloud of dust, and roared back down the mountain.
Jim Tall Elk dropped Slade in the administrative parking lot then drove off without speaking. As he walked to the Jaguar, he noticed that the group of men no longer lounged on the bench. He was putting the key into the lock when the door of the office swung open, and Helen Elmwood stepped into the sunlight. He paused to admire the gleaming black hair tumbling over slender shoulders in liquid waves, olive skin shimmering like polished bronze, and the way the sun ignited golden lights in her dark brown eyes. His gaze lingered on her full red lips, then realized they were moving.
“Mr. Slade,” she called. “Could I talk to you for a moment?”
He dropped the keys into his pocket and started toward her, white teeth flashing in a wide grin. Her dark eyes widened as he got closer, apparently fascinated by how the grin transformed his features into something almost handsome.
“I’d be only too happy to speak to you for a moment, Ms. Elmwood,” he said warmly.
Her eyes dropped before the ardor in his then she raised a slim hand and gestured inside.
“Let’s go into my office.”
He followed her across the floor, conscious of the curious stares from the staff at the desks. He entered the office and dropped into the same chair he had occupied earlier. She closed the door, walked around her desk, and sat down. Clasping her small hands on the desktop, she stared at him for a long moment. He gazed silently back at her, intrigued by how the different lighting wrought shifting nuances in the smooth skin of her face and the lights glimmering in her almond eyes. He found her deeper, more intriguing, more mysterious, more alluring.
She spread her hands on the desk. “I want to apologize for the abrupt way I spoke to you earlier in the day.”
“I think your attitude was completely justified,” Slade responded quietly. “I come bursting in here, wanting information. You have no idea who I am. How else could you be expected to react?”
She smiled gratefully, revealing straight white teeth. “Do you always make apologizing so easy?”
“Not always.”
She became serious. “The point is, I talked to Soaring Eagle over the phone after you left. He assured me that you’re the only man qualified to solve this case and ensure that nothing like it happens again.”
“That’s quite an endorsement. I hope I can live up to it.”
She studied him for a moment, her eyes suddenly lambent, like glowing coals, then she said quietly, “Something tells me that you will live up to it.” She chuckled suddenly to lighten the mood. “I have unlimited confidence in Soaring Eagle’s judgment. You see, he’s my grandfather.”
“Really!”
“My mother is one of his and Jesse’s daughters.”
“Then you must have a pretty clear idea of who he is.”
“He’s a great shaman. A man of tremendous power.”
“Which means you must have a clearer idea of who I am.”
“I know what Soaring Eagle told me. He said that you are a mighty warrior, a Demon Hunter, victorious in many battles, both on this plane and in the vision world. He believes your power may be greater than his.” She paused then went on quietly, “Which brings me to the real reason I asked to talk to you.”
Slade waited.
“Who is this killer? We’ve all been going on the assumption that it’s a rogue wolf. But normal hunters can take care of that. My grandfather brought you to the reservation because your specialty is hunting demons. Is that what we’re up against here? A demon?”
“What did your grandfather tell you?”
“He said that what we’re facing is more dangerous than anything we’ve ever dealt with. He said that if the case isn’t solved quickly, it could threaten the very existence of Twin Peaks. And that’s when he said that he believes you’re the only man who can bring it to a speedy conclusion.”
Slade felt the weight of responsibility press down on his broad shoulders. But he merely said, “Why don’t we leave it at that. I’m still looking into things. When I leave here, I’m going to drive down to Crawford and talk to the police, see what they can tell me. I believe the killings in Crawford and the reservation are related. Once I’ve looked over the situation there, I’ll have a better idea of what’s what and a clearer idea of how to proceed.”
