Tapahe nodded. “We’ll send it in. I just can’t flag it as high priority at this point. That doesn’t mean we won’t still get the results eventually.”

Eventually. Joe swallowed his irritation. Eventually usually meant after a case had gone to trial. He wasn’t going to be able to depend on lab results to help determine what had been going on at that cave site.

“I got something else.” He showed the captain the photos he’d taken of the tire tracks. “I spent a couple hours on the computer trying to match it against the tire manufacturers’ tire tread images, with no luck. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Tapahe studied it. “Looks like a Mexican recap, to me. I did a stint on Border Patrol when I was starting out. I think they still do these in some places down there. You salvage a worn-out tire by replacing the original tread with new rubber. They sort of melt it on, pressing a tread into it when the rubber is still soft.”

“Mexico, huh?” Joe looked at the photo with renewed interest. The crystal ice that had started showing up on Navajo Nation lands was thought to come from there. It was far more pure and lethal than the meth manufactured in the homemade labs in remote areas on the reservation. “I’ve got a friend on Border Patrol. I think I’ll give him a call.”

“Let me know if you get something. In the meantime-” Tapahe cast a look at the clock on the wall “-I better get back to President Taos. He’ll be reassured to hear that the person shooting at Carson probably wasn’t expressing a statement on the council’s decision to hire a non-Navajo for their book project.”

At the man’s dry tone it struck Joe that the captain had frustrations of his own. The difference was, his came in the form of bureaucrats and paperwork.

Joe rose. All things considered, he’d take his daily annoyances over those of his superior any day. “I’ll let you get to that.” The mention of Delaney had him edgy. She’d been silent all the way home. Not the kind of silence that had followed their argument on the trip to the bluffs. No, this time instead of frost there had been misery, real and palpable. He’d wanted to say something to break through it. But he recognized the tilt to her chin, her brittle air and knew instinctively that anything he could have said would have worsened the situation. It hadn’t made him feel any better watching her stride unsteadily from the Jeep to the house.

He knew what it was to be alone. But he didn’t think he’d seen anyone look as solitary as Delaney had as she’d slipped up those steps and shut the door on him and the rest of the world.

“Search warrant should be here first thing in the morning,” Tapahe said. He was already punching the president’s number into the phone.

“We’ll be ready.”

Going to his desk, Joe rummaged through the drawers until he found a small black address book. He and Bernie Silversmith had graduated high school together. They still sometimes got together when the man came back to town to visit family.

Checking the time, he called Bernie at home. The sound of his friend’s voice when he answered brought a smile to Joe’s lips. “Bernie. You back at work yet or are you still milking what’s left of your medical leave?”

“Youngblood? Let me tell you, pal, you can’t rush healing. A hernia is nothing to mess around with.”

“And what was it that gave you that hernia, again?” Joe wondered aloud. “Lifting all those crates of Twinkies?”

Bernie made a derisive sound and invited Joe to do the anatomically impossible. “I go back tomorrow, as a matter of fact. Against doctor’s orders, I’ll have you know. It was a major operation.”

“Listen, I have something I want to run by you.” He described the tread he’d seen at the cave site. “My captain called it a Mexican ‘recap.’ That sound familiar to you?”

“Sure.” The man’s shrug sounded in his voice. “We see them from time to time. If you want to fax me the picture and the track dimensions, I’ll take it to work, fax it to the other offices. Maybe it will ring a bell with one of the officers.” He reeled off the fax number and Joe fumbled for a pen to write it down.

There was a moment of silence, before his friend said awkwardly, “So how are you doing, Joe? I mean I heard the divorce is final and all.”

Stomach tightening, Joe twirled the pen in his fingers. “I’m okay.” Sympathy wasn’t any easier to take, he’d discovered, for being well-meant.

“Yeah? Well, good. Good. Next time I’m up to see the family, I’ll stop in. It’s been a while.”

“You do that. Bring me a Twinkie when you do.” His friend’s fondness for the treats was a running joke between them. Bernie made another cheerfully rude suggestion and Joe laughed, hung up.

He jotted down the measurements he’d taken of the tracks onto the clearest picture of them and crossed the room to feed it into the fax machine for Bernie. Then, stealing a look at his watch, he winced. Too late to go see his grandfather. With the exception of Monday nights, the man went to bed early and rose before dawn. Joe would have to put it off another day, and the guilt was beginning to eat at him. Charley Youngblood had raised him, and despite the older man’s traditional ways, they were close. Respect for elders was a trait instilled in his culture, and his remorse over this disagreement was growing with every day that passed.

The thought of home wasn’t inviting. He was still restless, from thoughts of the arrest they’d make tomorrow and the discovery he’d made today with Delaney.

Delaney. Bernie would probably be surprised to know that it wasn’t thoughts of his ex that disturbed his concentration these days, but thoughts of a near stranger. After the hours he’d spent with her he had more questions than ever about the woman, questions she’d made quite clear she was tired of answering.

Without conscious decision he went back to the computer and brought up a search engine.

He shouldn’t have come.

Joe stood on the porch of Charley’s rental property and knocked again on the open screen door, knowing it was a mistake. He’d had no intention of coming here. Had given himself half a dozen excellent reasons not to. Yet here he was, peering into the dimly lit house looking for a woman who wouldn’t welcome his presence. Hell, she’d probably gone to sleep hours ago.

He rejected that thought as it occurred. Given the last sight he’d had of Delaney, sleep was the last thing she’d seek. And now that he had a little understanding of what she’d gone through today, sleep would elude him as well until he assured himself that she was all right.

So here he was, a man unused to offering comfort, looking for a woman probably in need of it. He couldn’t imagine a more stupid move.

He almost convinced himself to leave. It was late. Past the time most people would be in bed. But Delaney wasn’t in bed. There was a dim light shining in the kitchen and from where he stood he could see the shadow of her sitting at the table, head down.

Alone. His mind flashed back to hours earlier when he’d noted the solitary air she wore, like a woman so used to the feeling that she didn’t even notice its weight anymore. And he knew he wasn’t going to leave. Just as he knew he was going to regret coming.

Joe reached out, tried the door, unsurprised to find it open. Soundlessly he let it close behind him, walked to the kitchen doorway. She didn’t look up.

“I don’t want you here.” Her voice was flat. Devoid of expression.

“I know.”

“Leave.”

He folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “No.”

“You could top off my day and arrest me.” She nodded to the bottle of vodka placed precisely in the center of the table before her. “Alcohol of any kind is strictly prohibited on the reservation, isn’t it? The seal’s been cracked.”

She turned to look at him, and held out her hands, wrists together. “Gonna cuff me, Youngblood? Throw me in the drunk tank?” There was mockery in her voice, but he knew it wasn’t aimed at him. He would have preferred it if it were.