Her throat constricted as the sorrow he felt touched her. “He left that box as a symbol of what he treasured,” she said. “But what he shared with you three was his real gift. He may be gone, but his legacy will remain with you always. That, to me, is the ultimate proof of a life well lived.”

  His expression gentled as he gazed at her. “Thank you for saying that. I think he would have agreed with you.” Ashe opened the box carefully. With a puzzled expression, he brought out a .45-caliber pistol cartridge that had a curious indentation on its side. “What on earth?”

  “May I see it?” She took it from his hand and studied it. “It’s a damaged, but unfired round. Looks like it jammed in the chamber. Any idea what this is supposed to mean?”

  Ashe pulled a small piece of paper out of the box. “This note has a partial explanation. It says that when the bullet jammed in the chamber of the pistol, his life was spared. That enabled him to go on and eventually become a teacher and the father of three special kids. He believed that his fate was ultimately determined by this one bullet.” He placed it back in the box, his expression mirroring his unanswered questions.

  “Was your foster father a cop at one time?”

  “Not that I knew. I don’t know if he ever served in the military, either. But somebody tried to shoot him, and failed.” He shook his head. “The more I learn about my foster parents, the more questions I have.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “We should go to the school and look through all his papers as soon as possible. We may find some useful leads there.”

  She nodded slowly. “I agree.” She wished she could have made things easier for him. Yet, she couldn’t even help him by sharing the information she did have. She had a job to do and duty made its own demands. The only way she could help him was to find the killer or killers, and that was something she intended to do. With a heavy heart, she descended the cliff with Ashe and returned to his police vehicle.

  Two HOURS LATER, AFTER a meeting with the backup officers who’d arrived at the scene, and signing the collected evidence over to them, Ashe and Casey drove to the Johnsons’ school.

  It was nearly nine when they pulled up a long gravel driveway leading to three cinder-block buildings, all with Southwestern-style flat-topped roofs. The school looked like any other private school in the area that wasn’t particularly well funded.

  Ashe strode to the entrance of the main building, and unlocked the door with his foster father’s key chain, having taken the keys from his desk earlier.

  The tiled hall, lined with metal half-lockers, echoed with the sound of their footsteps. Ashe went to the main office, unlocked that door, then walked inside, hitting the light switch as he passed. The principal’s office, which was open, had a plaque bearing Nick Johnson’s name attached to the door.

  Casey watched Ashe hesitate, then force himself to enter.

  “Would you prefer I search his office while you check the files in the outer room?” Casey asked.

  He considered it for a moment. “No. This is my responsibility. It’s something I have to do. For him, for Fox, and for myself.”

  “Okay. I’ll go find the employee files. We need to check out everyone who worked here.”

  “Let’s get started,” he said, opening the file cabinet. “I have a feeling this is going to take a while.”

  Casey, using the keys Ashe provided, unlocked and searched through the personnel files. Her admiration for Ashe was growing with each passing minute. Ashe was a strong man—the only kind a woman like her respected. He never backed down, though the case had dealt him one crushing blow after another. She wondered if she would have shown as much courage, had their positions been reversed.

  Almost forty-five minutes later, Casey uncovered a lead they could pursue. Just as she was about to call Ashe, she heard him closing the door to Nick Johnson’s office.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “No. All I found were the school’s business records, purchase orders and student-discipline folders. What about you? Anything useful?”

  “Yes, I think so.” She placed the employee file before him. “These were all locked up, of course. It looks like a man by the name of Patrick Gordon, a former teacher here, was giving your foster parents a hard time. Apparently, he had lied about his qualifications on his employment application. Since he wasn’t certified in the areas he was hired to teach, he was subsequently fired.”

  “I remember hearing about this. Gordon then decided to use this school as part of his references, probably thinking no one would really check. When my foster parents were contacted by another school system that was considering hiring him, they explained why Gordon had been fired, and refused to recommend him. Gordon found out, and threatened to sue them for defamation of character.”

  “There’s more to it than that,” Casey said. “He apparently wrote them several threatening letters.” She pulled one from the top of the stack of papers the file contained. “I’ve seen worse and, admittedly, he doesn’t directly threaten their lives, but we still should check this guy out as soon as possible.”

  He studied the file. “I knew Gordon was harassing them, but my foster father assured me he could handle the guy. He told me Gordon was harmless, though it was obvious that he had some psychological problems.”

  “Your foster father may have underestimated the man.”

  Ashe dropped down heavily into a chair. “I should have insisted that he let me take care of the matter. But he was completely convinced that it was nothing to worry about. When his mind was set, there was no arguing with my foster father. He could be incredibly stubborn.”

  “I also discovered something else,” Casey said. “Your police captain’s daughter apparently went to this school. The captain wrote a letter to your father complaining about the teaching and counseling methods used here. A copy was in each of her teachers’ files.”

  Ashe nodded. “I know about that. Like the Nakai land issue, there’s nothing secret about it. Amanda was one of the top students here. When she graduated, she decided to break with family tradition. She left to attend an Ivy League college back East on a scholarship instead of going to the community college. The captain and his wife were very upset about that.”

  “Why would the captain and his family blame your foster parents and the teachers here for their daughter’s choices?”

  “The captain and his wife both believed that the people at this school encouraged Amanda to follow her own heart, even if it meant bucking tradition. The Todacheenes were right about that, too. My foster parents believed each person deserved a right to choose their own life’s path. The staff here mirrored that philosophy.”

  Casey saw the lines of weariness that edged Ashe’s eyes, and compassion filled her. “It’s late. Let’s call it a day. We can start early tomorrow and get a fresh start.”

  “You’re right. I’m too tired to think straight and that’s always a bad sign.”

  Casey gently placed her hand on his arm. “I know this has been very difficult for you. I just want you to know that it’s okay with me if you need to let off some steam now and then. I promise to ignore it if you decide to suddenly punch the wall or something. It’s one of those things partners do for each other.”

  Ashe gave her a tender smile that practically tore her breath away.

  “The way we work together has a certain magic all its own, doesn’t it?” he murmured.

  Her pulsed raced as she surrendered for a few precious seconds to the power he exerted over her senses. Desire ribboned through her. Aware of the danger, she took a step away from him and averted her gaze. She had to be more careful. She would not lose her heart to this man who would never be part of the world outside the Rez, where she belonged.

  As they rode to the motel, she forced her mind back to the case. “Tomorrow we’ll go over the evidence from the site where the sniper was, and then we’ll track down Gordon.”

  “We’ll have to work hard and make our own breaks on this. I have a feeling nothing’s going to come easily to us,” he said.

  “I don’t mind fighting for results,” Casey admitted softly. “A case is solved through logic, and that’s something I can deal with just fine.”

  “As opposed to feelings? Those aren’t as reliable, are they?” Ashe whispered in the darkness of the carryall.

  “No, they’re not,” she managed in a thin voice. “Emotions can’t be trusted. Life taught me that a long time ago.” Even as she said it, she knew that the words she’d lived by once no longer applied. Life on the Reservation was teaching her a whole new set of rules.

  Chapter Seven

  Ashe walked Casey to her motel-room door. He wouldn’t get much sleep tonight. It was more than the case; it was the way Casey was getting under his skin. There was something special happening between them. Being with her felt right, despite their occasional clashes.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, stopping by the door.

  A battle raged inside him. He wanted to kiss her, but knew that she would not welcome it. Casey, like him, was struggling to put things in the right perspective. “Yes, tomorrow,” he said, but did not move.

  He saw his own desires mirrored in her eyes as she gazed at him. She wanted him to stay, probably as much as he wanted to spend the night with her. The thought of her reddish gold hair threaded through his fingers, falling against his chest, her softness against his hardness, made his gut tighten with needs too powerful to suppress.

  “I should go,” he said, his voice taut.

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  The hesitation he heard in her voice was practically his undoing. He touched her face, caressing it with the palm of his hand. She pressed into it, kitten-like.

  “We have duties...” he said.

  “Yes.” Casey looked up at him.

  He had to leave now, while he still could. Looking into her hazel eyes was like being pulled into a pool of enticing warm water that held a myriad of untold dangers beneath the surface.

  “Good night,” he said, and somehow found the will to walk away. She was not his, but, tonight, images of Casey would fill his heart and help ease the coldness there.

  CASEY WALKED INTO THE station a bit after 8:00 a.m. She looked edgy and filled with restless energy. Yet there was a vibrancy about her every movement that made it impossible for Ashe to take his eyes off her as she approached his desk.

  She came up beside him and looked down at the computer screen. “I see you’re researching your foster father’s background. Good move. Did you turn up anything I should know about?”

  “All I’ve managed to learn at this point was that he was never a cop in this state.” Frustration and anger over his foster parents’ deaths had formed an ever-present shadow clouding everything he did. “Accessing any military records that might exist is going to take some time. I’ll have to fill out a dozen requests.”

  “The military doesn’t usually cut corners for anyone,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve dealt with them in the past and it’s never easy.” She sat down in the chair beside him. “I checked with the sheriffs department. The only usable trace evidence on the jacket from the suspect in Mrs. Garwood’s apartment came from the ski mask. It matches the fibers found at the murder scene. What we have to do is follow up on the boot prints the sniper left, and we still need to follow up on the expensive size-ten boots found at the crime scene.”

  “I followed up on the sniper’s tracks, and it looks like the man who shot at us last night was wearing boots a size smaller than the killer’s—a size nine, and a common, inexpensive brand. The tire prints from last night match the van that chased us, however, and the shell casings seem identical, though the experts will have to confirm that. If we’d been able to get that guy last night, we probably would have had the killer’s partner.” Ashe shook his head. “Now we have to start from scratch to ID a suspect. I’ll see about getting that list of stores carrying the expensive brand. We should have gotten that information by now, but with an understaffed department, things tend to take longer than planned.”

  Loud voices and the sound of a physical struggle breaking out a few feet away made Casey turn around quickly.

  Ashe saw Officer John Nakai lift an unruly suspect off the floor and then push him into a chair. “Knock it off, Spencer. You’re only making things worse.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get away. I was just going to go pay my old buddy Ashe Redhawk a visit—up close and personal.”

  Ashe leaned back in his chair and regarded him coolly. “I hope you didn’t go to all the trouble of getting arrested just to come look me up.”

  “The only place I want to see you is in a coffin.”

  Ashe didn’t move a muscle. He knew Delbert Spencer wanted a confrontation.

  “You’re a double-dealing cop whose word isn’t worth a plug nickel.”

  “I’m glad to know I’m appreciated. Tell me, are you trying to get sent back to prison for threatening a cop?”

  “I’m just telling the truth, and you know it. You set me up and nearly got me killed,” Delbert Spencer said, getting to his feet.

  Nakai pushed him back down into the chair. “You move one more time, and I’m throwing you in jail. Your parole will be revoked and your next stop will be a prison cell. It’s your call.”

  Spencer remained sitting and glared at Ashe. “Man, you’re still setting me up.”

  “You’re wrong. You’re doing it all by yourself.” Ashe looked at Nakai. “So, what’s he in for now?”

  “He’s not being charged—yet. I went out to question him about a recent car theft and he suddenly decided to split. I figured a trip to the station might calm his nerves a bit.”

  Ashe looked at Spencer. “He’s cutting you some slack. I hope you appreciate it.”

  “Some favor,” Spencer spat out. “I was on my way to a job interview. I need to find work so I can stay out of prison. It’s a condition of my parole. Now, thanks to this harassment, I can forget about that job.”

  “You still have an hour. You’ll get there in time if you answer my questions and stop messing around,” Nakai said.

  Spencer shot Ashe a hate-filled look. “Don’t you have better things to do with your time than hang around the station? I understand you don’t even have a clue as to who killed your white parents.”

  Ashe swallowed back his anger and remained silent, looking thoughtfully at Spencer’s shoes instead.

  “Or maybe that’s the real reason I’m here,” Spencer continued. “Not this bogus story about a car-theft ring. You were responsible for spreading that phony story around saying I was a police informant. You nearly got me killed. Maybe you figured I’d even the score by whacking the people you care about.” He smiled. “I’ve got to admit that certainly fits my idea of justice.”

  Ashe took a step toward the man. Sensing the darkness that had descended over him, Casey quickly blocked his way before he could reach Spencer.

  “Don’t do it,” she whispered, and turned to face Spencer. “Murder is a federal crime on the Reservation,” Casey said, flashing her badge. “Are you claiming responsibility? I’d like you to sign a confession right now, if you are. Let’s hear the details, including your shoe size.”

  “Confession? Shoe size?” Spencer smiled, shaking his head. “You guys haven’t got a clue, and now you want me to make things easy for you? Do your job, and if you really have evidence that I did those people, then we’ll talk,” he said calmly.

  Ashe turned away from Spencer and strode back to his desk. “Your feet are too small, and you don’t have the brains to commit a crime like this. Stupid criminals like you always get caught.”

  Spencer bolted to his feet and lunged at Ashe, but Nakai intercepted him and forced him against the wall. “That’s it, buddy. You’re going down.”

  A tall, middle-aged, auburn-haired woman walked into the room. “I’m Ruth Austin,” she announced. “I’m Delbert Spencer’s parole officer. What’s going on?”

  Spencer, still being pressed to the wall, turned his head and gave her a contrite look. “None of this is my fault, Ms. Austin. They came to my place just as I was getting ready to leave for the job interview you arranged. They hauled me here. I had no choice in the matter.”

  “That’s because he refused to answer my questions,” Nakai said. “And just now he compounded his problems by attempting to assault Detective‘Redhawk.”

  “I don’t know what they’re talking about, Ms. Austin. I was going to the coffee machine, that’s all.”

  “What about your confession?” Casey asked. “Are you rescinding that, too?”

  “Confession? What confession?” Ruth Austin asked.

  “They think I had something to do with the schoolteacher murders. I told you that sooner or later they’d try to pin that on me. Apparently they’re looking for someone with big feet. Look at my shoes-they’re size eights.”

  “Everybody knows about those murders. About what time did they take place?” Ruth asked, ignoring Spencer.

  “Somewhere between 9:00 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. The medical examiner hasn’t narrowed it down any more than that so far,” Casey stated.

  “Then this man’s not guilty. Spencer spent that morning in my office. I was trying to teach him how to handle himself during a job interview.”

  Prescott strode into the room from an adjoining office. “I was in the next room, but I saw Spencer lunge at Detective Redhawk.” He looked at Ashe. “It’s your call. I’m more than willing to contact the parole board.”

  Ashe looked at Spencer consideringly, ignoring the venomous look the ex-con gave him. Despite the temptation, he knew it would serve no purpose to throw him in jail now. If he was going to be pivotal in sending Spencer away, Ashe wanted it to be on more substantial charges that would put him away for a long time.