Now, though, with the benefit of his store of prison-­gained knowledge, Amos was far more educated about what he found. He was able to locate plenty of takers for those items without the need for someone like Mr. Yee to act as middleman. He earned a decent if modest living and was content with his solitary life. Then John Lassiter got into trouble and was sent to juvie. Amos, claiming to be the kid’s most recent stepfather, had bailed him out and taken him home. From then on, that’s where John had lived—­in the extra room at Amos’s house rather than next door with his mother.

By then Amos could see that the die was cast. John wasn’t going to go to college. If he was ever going to amount to anything, Amos would have to show him how. From then on, Amos set out to teach John what he knew. Every weekend and during the long broiling summers, John went along with Amos on his desert scavenger hunts. Most of the time John made himself useful by carrying whatever Amos found. Nevertheless, he was an apt pupil. Over time he became almost as good at finding stuff as Amos was, and between them their unofficial partnership made a reasonably good living.

Not wanting to attract attention to any of his special hunting grounds, Amos usually parked his jeep a mile at least from any intended target. This time, he had left the vehicle hidden in a grove of mesquite well outside the mouth of the canyon. Approaching the spot where he’d left the truck, Amos caught a tiny whiff of cigarette smoke floating in the air.

John was a chain smoker—­something else the two men argued about constantly, bickering like an old married ­couple. This time, however, Amos’s spirits lifted slightly as soon as his nostrils caught wind of the smoke. This out-­of-­the-­way spot was a place he and John visited often. Maybe the kid had come to his senses after all and followed him here. Maybe it was time to apologize and let bygones be bygones, and if John wanted Ava Martin in his life, so be it.

Once inside the grove, Amos looked around and saw no sign of John or of his vehicle, either. That was hardly surprising. Maybe he had chosen some other place to park. There was always a chance John had gone out to do some scavenging of his own.

Amos turned his attention to the pack, unshouldering it carefully and settling it into the bed of the truck. He reached inside the pack, and his searching fingers located the bundle of wadded-­up shirttail. Feeling through the thin fabric, he was relieved to find that the pot was still in one piece.

A new puff of smoke wafted past him. That was when he sensed something else, something incongruous underlying the smell of burning cigarette—­a hint of perfume. He turned and was dismayed to see Ava standing a mere five feet away, holding a gun pointed at Amos’s chest.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Where’s John?”

“Don’t move,” she warned. “I know how to use this thing.”

“Where’s John?” Amos repeated. “How did you even know to come here?”

“John brought me here several times. You know, for picnics and such. He told me this was where you’d be today.”

Outrage boiled in Amos’s heart. John had brought Ava to this very special hunting ground, one Amos had shared with no one other than John?

The depth of John’s betrayal was breathtaking. Amos took a step forward. “Why, you little bitch . . . ,” he began, but he never had a chance to finish his threat.

Ava had told him the truth. She really did know how to use the weapon in her hand. The first bullet caught him clean in the heart. Amos Warren was dead before he hit the ground. The second and third bullets—­the unnecessary ones? Those she fired just for good measure, simply because she could. And those were what the prosecutor would later label as overkill and a sign of rage when it came time to try John Lassiter for first-­degree murder.

CHAPTER 1

MARCH 2015

THEY SAY IT HAPPENED LONG ago, that Sun—­Tash—­came so close to Earth that it was very hot. The corn and wheat dried up, and so did all the other plants. Soon there was no water left. The Tohono O’odham, the Desert ­People, could make nothing grow. Soon even the food they had set aside dried up and had no taste.

The Indians held a council and decided to send Tokithhud—­Spider—­to deal with Sun.

Every morning when Sun travels from his home in the East to the West, he makes four jumps. Spider decided to make the same four jumps. At the end of the fourth jump, he spun a web. The web, tokithhud ­chuaggia, was so large that, the next day, when Tash made his fourth jump, the web caught him. Spider, hiding nearby, pulled his web so tightly around Sun’s legs that he fell over and hurt himself.

Sun was very angry. No one had ever hurt him before, and he could not believe that the ­people who had always loved him and sung to him would do such a terrible thing. And so he went away to his house in the East, leaving the Earth all dull and cloudy.

Soon it was very dark. The Desert ­People worried when Sun did not return. Their food was gone. They could not see to plant. At last the Tohono O’odham sent a message to some of the Little ­People, the ones who can see in the dark, and asked them what they should do. The Little ­People said they should divide time into four parts. In two parts they should light big fires so they could see to work in the fields. The other two parts, the ones without fires, would be for sleeping and resting.

But even though they tried this plan and worked very hard, the fires did not give enough light for the seeds to grow.

DR. LANI WALKER-­PARDEE, AN EMERGENCY physician at Sells Indian Hospital, believed in being prepared. The last three things she tucked into her backpack were a well-­stocked first aid kit, followed by her somewhat frayed medicine basket and the new one she had made in hopes of giving it to Gabe. After fastening the pack shut she sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled on her hiking boots, and bent to lace them.

“I still don’t understand why you and Gabe have to do this,” her husband, Dan Pardee, grumbled. The Gabe in question was Lani’s godson, Gabe Ortiz. “It’s not safe for the two of you to be out there overnight. It’s just not.”

“I’ll have Gabe with me,” she said.

Dan hooted with laughter. “Gabe is thirteen. From what his dad tells me, the kid is next to useless these days. If you did get into some kind of confrontation, how much help do you think he’d be?”

Straightening up, Lani sighed and gazed at her husband with a look that was equal parts love and exasperation. “Whether he’s a help or not, I still have to do it,” Lani said. “I’m Gabe’s godmother. Helping out at a time like this is my duty. It’s expected. It’s what godmothers do. We’ll be fine.”

Despite her reassurances, Lani could see that Dan remained unconvinced. Theirs was a mixed but generally happy marriage. On occasion, however, things could become complicated, and this was one of those times.

Lani was born of the Tohono O’odham, the Desert ­People, who had lived for thousands of years hunting and gathering in the desert west of where Tucson is now. Daniel was Apache through and through. The Apache didn’t plant and grow. Instead, they traveled in marauding bands, stealing from others. It was no accident that in the language of the Tohono O’odham and in the languages of many other tribes as well, the word for “Apache” and the word for “enemy” were one and the same. On the Tohono O’odham reservation, Dan Pardee, a member of the Border Patrol, was a respected law enforcement officer, but behind his back and by ­people who didn’t know him well, he was often referred to as the Ohb—­the Apache.