Lani attributed the fact that she and Dan—opposites in many ways—had met, fallen in love, and married to the behind-the-scenes workings of Ban—Coyote. Ban had a reputation for being a trickster—someone who loved practical jokes. The irony of Dan and Lani’s relationship, an American Indian take on Romeo and Juliet, was apparently one of those.
For years now, Daniel Pardee had worked as a member of the Shadow Wolves, a unit of the Border Patrol made up entirely of Native Americans who operated exclusively on the Tohono O’odham Nation, patrolling the areas where the international border with Mexico passed through tribal lands. Even though Dan was Apache, he was regarded with a good deal of trust on the reservation not only because of the respectful and honorable manner in which he did his job, but also by virtue of his being married to Lani, who, despite her relative youth, was a well-respected tribal elder.
“Look,” Dan argued. “I know how serious you are about your obligations as a godmother, and I understand that the location on Kitt Peak is the same place you went to when you were a girl. I also know that you stayed out there day and night by yourself for a number of days. But the world has changed since then, Lani. Things aren’t like they used to be. The desert around the base of Kitt Peak is a dangerous place now—a war zone.”
Lani sighed. “But that’s the whole problem. Ioligam is where we need to go.”
“You can call the mountain Ioligam all you like and claim it as a sacred place, but believe me, the smugglers who are out there—terrorists who are using observation posts, combat gear, encrypted radio transmitters, and AK-47s to protect the cartels’ drug shipments—don’t see it that way. Too many of the bad guys out prowling the desert night after night are armed to the teeth, and they don’t give a crap about the Tohono O’odham belief system. They shoot first and ask questions later. It’s not safe, Lani. You can’t go. I won’t let you.”
“Look,” Lani said, “with all the Anglos coming and going from Kitt Peak, it’s a lot more dangerous on the other side of Baboquivari and in the valley north of Ajo than it will be where we’re going. As for smugglers on foot? They’re more likely to stick to the lowlands. I doubt they’ll bother climbing partway up a mountain when they could just as easily go around it. Besides, it’s not a matter of your letting me do anything, Dan,” she reminded him gently. “That’s not how it works. Gabe’s parents asked me for help, and I have to give it to them. This is important. I simply have to go.”
Micah, Dan and Lani’s four-year-old son, had been sitting on the floor, happily playing with a set of giant Legos, ones his mother deemed safe to play with because they were too large to be swallowed. Now, sensing tension between his parents, he looked up from his solitary game and gave his mother a beseeching look with his striking azure eyes. “Can I go, too?” he asked.
Brandon Micah Walker-Pardee had been named after Lani’s Anglo adoptive father, Brandon Walker, and after Dan’s grandfather, a full-blooded Apache named Micah Duarte. Part Anglo and part Indian, the boy resembled neither of his parents and was instead a throwback to Dan’s Anglo father. Adam Pardee had been a reasonably good-looking Hollywood stuntman who had eventually murdered Dan’s mother in a frenzied act of domestic violence.
Smiling, Lani reached down, scooped up her dark-haired, blue-eyed boy, and hugged him close. “Most certainly not,” she told him. “You have to stay here and take care of Daddy while Mommy goes with Gabe. We’ll be sleeping outside. The ground will be hard and cold. You need to stay here and sleep in your bed where it’s warm.”
Lani understood that Gabe Ortiz was the real point of contention here. And maybe, just maybe, Dan was slightly jealous of Lani’s close relationship with the boy. Now two months short of his fourteenth birthday, Gabe seemed to have come to a critical fork in the road. The kid, one who had always been amenable to direction and biddable by his elders, had suddenly developed a rebellious streak and morphed into a preteen Tohono O’odham version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Delia and Leo Ortiz, Gabe’s frustrated and worried parents, had turned to Lani for help in steering him away from serious trouble. Since Gabe was the grandson of Lani’s own beloved mentor, Gabe “Fat Crack” Ortiz, she was determined to do whatever she could to fix the problem.
“I stopped by the garage earlier today and talked to Leo about this,” Dan said. “He’s afraid Gabe is a lost cause, and so am I. Leo’s not even sure Gabe will agree to go.”
“He’ll go,” Lani said determinedly. “I’ll see to it that he does. Not going is not an option.”
“Then let me go with you,” Dan said, “please. If I ask Mrs. Hendricks, I’m sure she’d be happy to look after Micah and Angie. I promise, I’ll stay in the background and won’t get in the way of whatever you two need to do.”
Angie was Dan and Lani’s ten-year-old adopted daughter. She was a responsible kid, but she was still far too young to be left in charge of her little brother overnight.
“No,” Lani said firmly, “this is a private transaction between Gabe and me. It has to be just the two of us.”
Dan was inordinately proud of Lani’s role as a physician on the reservation, but he was somewhat less enthusiastic about her status as a traditional medicine woman. Although they had both been raised and educated off the reservation, Lani was the one who seemed to cling to the old ways and honor them, while Dan was more likely to shrug them off.
Still, Dan wouldn’t give up. “But why does it have to be now?” he asked. “It’s still cold as hell out there at night, freezing in fact. Couldn’t all this wait until after it warms up a little?”
“It can’t,” Lani said simply. “The next time we both have the weekend off, it’ll be the middle of May. This has to be done tonight, Dan. Gabe and I will spend the night sharing stories—I’itoi stories. Tomorrow at midnight it’ll already be the middle of March. After that, it’ll be too late.”
Dan knew then that he was licked. When it came to storytelling, Lani was a strict observer of all applicable rules and rituals. Among the Desert People, stories were traditionally called “winter-telling tales.” They were to be shared only in the wintertime. That meant they could be told between the middle of November and the middle of March. The rest of the year they were off-limits.
“Got it,” Dan said, capitulating at last. “But you will take your Glock, right?”
In the past several months, at least two Tohono O’odham women driving home alone from shopping trips to Tucson had been forced off Highway 86 at gunpoint by bands of illegal immigrants. One woman had been raped by the men who had jacked her car. The other had been beaten and left for dead. After the second incident, Dan had insisted that Lani obtain a concealed carry permit. He had purchased a Glock for her and made sure she knew how to use it.
“Even if you’re not worried about smugglers, then have it along in case you run into a snake fresh out of hibernation.”
“Yes, sir,” Lani said, giving her concerned husband a smile and a mock salute. “Wouldn’t leave home without it. Now, how about helping me drag this stuff out front? Leo and Gabe will be by any minute to pick me up.”
“You’re sure you don’t need my help carrying gear up the mountain and making your campsite?”
“Stop worrying,” Lani said. “Leo promised to handle all that.”
Dan sighed. “All right then,” he said. “Have it your way.” With that, he picked up Lani’s loaded backpack and headed for the front door.
“DO I HAVE TO GO?” Gabe Ortiz whined. He was lying on the bed, playing with the controls on his Xbox. “Why can’t I just stay here? It’s going to be cold out there. We’ll probably freeze to death up on the mountain.”