Sacred Ground

Game On

Black Bear Ranch

18 months earlier

Dawn was not yet a promise when Murphy Becker opened the barn door and crept inside. He carried a five-gallon can of gasoline. Making his way to the farthest end of the row of stalls, he began dousing the floor. The horses began to whinny and snort nervously as he worked.

When the floor was soaked, he lifted the can higher to drench the walls. He shook the container and heard some liquid slosh around. He found the tack room at the opposite end of the stalls and doused it, too.

What the hell you doin’? a gravelly voice asked from the doorway.

Becker spun around in surprise, and dropped the can of gasoline. In the shadows stood a drifter, dressed in ragged clothing. He had whiskers a few days old and he reeked of alcohol. In his hands was a manure pitchfork. He didn’t look like a stable hand. He was too old to be of much use to anyone.

Who the fuck are you? Becker snarled.

This is Tom’s place, the bum said. You need to get the hell out of here before I go wake him up. He thrust the pitchfork forward in a show that he was serious.

Becker held his hands up in mock surrender. Okay, okay, I’m going. He began to move toward the door pretending to be scared. The vagrant relaxed a little and used one hand to scratch the stubble on his face. The intruder took that moment to rush the old man, wresting the pitchfork out of his hands and turning the tables.

Panicking, the horses began to kick the stalls and whinny louder.

You know Tom? Becker asked, holding the tines of the pitchfork under the deadbeat’s quivering chin. He managed to nod his head as he backed against a wall.

So you probably know that Tom helped murder my father. Him and that fuckin’ redskin. They’re both going to pay.

Becker’s powerful arms thrust the pitchfork forward through the old man’s throat, impaling him to the wall.

The bum’s gnarled hands wrapped around the tines, trying to dislodge them. He gasped for air as blood filled his mouth.

The glint of metal around the drifter’s neck caught Becker’s attention. My dad used to have one of these, he said ripping the necklace from his neck. I’ll take it. You’re not going to need it any longer.

He picked up the gas can again draining it in a trail from the vagrant to the door. Then he struck a kitchen match, dropped it and quickly moved away from the flames to watch.

The match ignited the gasoline with a menacing whoosh. The flames traveled the trail of fuel until it surged up the old man’s trouser legs, catching the edge of his ragged coat. His hands let go of the pitchfork as he tried to brush the flames away, but that only caused his sleeves to catch fire quickly. The flames were moving faster and hotter. His fingerless gloves ignited and the man held them up to a face filled with terror. He opened his mouth to scream, but only a low, guttural sound came out. The flames now completely engulfed him. His arms fell limp to his sides and his head fell forward, its final resting place the end of the burning handle of the pitchfork.

Game on, Becker said.

Chapter One

This Interview is Over

Black Bear Ranch

Sazi Falls, Colorado

Present Day

Tom McCloud had expected that someday his past would catch up with him. With each passing year, instead of feeling safer, he felt less secure.

He stood at the picture window in the dining room and watched the La Plata County sheriff’s vehicle drive up the long gravel lane to the ranch house. A second vehicle followed. Two cop cars. In this part of the country that defined a siege. Deputy Chief Gabe Esposito parked and stepped from his SUV and then turned to wait for the occupants of the second vehicle. Together they climbed the steps to the porch.

With a sixth sense, he knew this concerned him and it wasn’t good. Tom’s stomach clenched. His life was about to go to shit.

Despite the western boots he wore, Tom’s posture shouted ex-military. Many people compared him to the Jesse Stone character Tom Selleck played on TV. Both tall and fit, they each wore a moustache and goatee, although Tom preferred his in a closer shave. Tom shared more similarities with Jesse Stone than just looking alike. Both had led tragic lives.

He opened the door before they knocked.

Morning Gabe, Tom said eyeing the group. I’d ask if this is business or pleasure, but y’all seem pretty somber. What’s this about?

Can we come in, Tom? Gabe asked. He wore tactical pants, combat boots and a short-sleeve polo shirt. The badge clipped on his waist confirmed his occupation.

The family was cautious in its friendship with Gabe. A few years earlier, the Army reported that Tom’s son, Chase, had been killed in action in Afghanistan. His death devastated Chase’s fiancé, Kate. Gabe took her under his wing and befriended her, protected her and fallen in love with her. Then Chase came back from a prisoner of war camp, wounded but alive. Kate at once became Chase’s again. The intimate relationship Gabe and Kate once shared and that history sometimes affected how the family treated him.

Of course, Tom said. Please come in. I’m sure there’s coffee left from breakfast if y’all would like a cup.

No thanks, Tom, Gabe said. I’m fine.

The others also declined. Tom led the group into the living room and invited them to sit although no one did.

What can I help you with? Tom asked. He looked at the other two men. They had cop written all over them. It showed in the way they walked and stood, the way they noticed everything around them without making a point of it. They looked alike, too. Short dark hair, medium height. Solid.

First, let me make introductions, Gabe said. This is Detective Ganaway and Detective Johnson from the Durango PD. We’re here because the body that burned along with your barn last year has been identified. They’d like to ask you a few questions about it.

Detective Johnson took over the conversation. Tom didn’t like him, pegging him as the bad cop in good cop/bad cop interrogations. In real life, an asshole. Probably bullied as a kid. We received a request for dental info on the body and the computer made a match.

That’s good. Tom tried to stay calm. It’ll be nice to have that mystery solved. He waited for the detectives to continue.

Do you know a Woodrow Ray McCloud? Is he any relation to you?

Tom’s breath burst in and out. He blindly reached for the armchair behind him to steady himself. Jesus, he said sinking into the chair. He – he started, unable to finish. Confusion and grief clouded his mind.

Would you tell us who he is, Mr. McCloud?

Tom ran his hands through his dark hair. Yes, he’s my uncle. Jesus, are you positive? Woody died in that fire?

Yes sir, Johnson said. This is an official investigation and we’ve listed you as a ‘person of interest’ in the case.

Tom’s eyes widened. What? You think that I killed him?

We’re only in the preliminary stage of the investigation, Johnson said.

At that moment Tom’s sister-in-law, Olivia strode into the room. What’s going on? she asked.

Tom filled her in on the identification of the body in the barn. They have a few questions to ask me.

Detectives, Olivia said. I’m Olivia Chelouche. Tom is my brother-in-law. I’m legal counsel for the family and represent Mr. McCloud. If there are any questions he shouldn’t answer, I will stop this interview.

Of course, Johnson said.

Tom’s wife, Wenonah, had followed Olivia into the room and Tom pulled her close to his side. This is my wife, he said.

Ma’am, the detectives said almost in unison as they nodded to her.

I understand you own this ranch, Detective Ganaway said with a smile. The change in the air was palpable.

Ganaway was attempting to establish rapport with him, to show Tom that he was his friend. He changed to good cop, playing to Johnson’s bad cop.

Tom shook his head. I own a very small share.

Hunh, someone said you owned it. What kind of ranch is this?

Olivia interrupted the play between the cops. Gentlemen, this is a horse ranch. We train and breed and we’re building a good reputation. I’m surprised you weren’t aware of that.

When did you last see Woodrow McCloud? Johnson asked, pointedly ignoring Olivia.

Woody? Tom asked and glanced at Wenonah. He exhaled a breath. The day before the fire. My wife and I had gone into town and he approached us.

Well, Mr. McCloud, that’s the thing, Johnson said. I showed his picture around. Granted, it’s been a year since your uncle stepped foot in Sazi Falls, but people remember you being down right angry with him. Raised your voice and threatened him.

Look, Tom said. I don’t like what you’re implying. I didn’t kill Woody.

What ticked you off about him?

Tom looked through the picture window again. Part of the newly built barn reflected onto the glass, but he remembered the devastation of the old - the charred and smoking embers of the beams lying in a mess of water and mud. He had been inside that inferno with his brother-in-law Henry and his son Chase, releasing the horses from their stalls. It never crossed his mind to check the tack room. If only he’d known, maybe there had still been time to save Woody.

He wanted money, Tom said, his voice low and full of grief. I refused him. Any money I gave him would end up on the poker table in the back room of some bar. I’ve been there, done that with Woody. I sent him on his way. He must have found his way here and slept in the barn.

The detectives stood silent. As a cop, Tom had used this ploy many times waiting for the suspect to say something. He’d learned that people would tell you secrets hidden deep in their hearts just to avoid the silence. As a sniper, the army taught him long ago how to wait.

The clock on the mantle ticked away the seconds as the floorboards above him creaked. The winner of this standoff was clear.

Johnson cracked first. Are you sure you never saw him or talked to him after that?

Of course I’m sure.

Johnson continued. What kind of threat did you make to him?

Only to ask a deputy to give him a warning for harassment, that’s all. I never threatened to kill him. Tom felt the noose slip around his neck and his anger began to rise as the noose tightened. For fuck’s sake, he’s family. I’d never harm him.

Tell me your whereabouts that night. I suppose you have a good alibi.

Here, at home.

Here where? Johnson asked.

Tom narrowed his eyes and curled his lip as he stared at Johnson. He had to fight hard to restrain from hurling his fist into his face. In bed - with my wife. Asleep for most of the night.

Johnson turned to Wenonah. Sorry, ma’am. Can you corroborate that?

Wenonah looked at the detective and placed her hand on her stomach, swollen by pregnancy. Her point was clear. Yes, Detective Johnson. My husband slept by my side all night long, until the sound of the horses and the fire woke us.

Detective, Liv said. "Do you know about the demented revenge Murphy Becker has against this family? His father, Hardy Becker, was a crazed man who hated anyone of Arab descent so much that he caused the death of an American soldier in the Ranger program. The important thing is this: His son is just as psychotic as his father is.

We believe Murphy Becker set that fire. It follows that he also killed Woody McCloud. You need to talk to my friends in the San Francisco police department.

We’re acquainted with Murphy Becker’s reprisal against your family. We interviewed him at San Quentin, but he wouldn’t confess to the arson, Johnson said. In fact, he denies being in Colorado at the time.

Of course he denies it, Tom said.

Listen, you’ve had a rough go of it the last few years, Ganaway said. Sometimes, stress can get to a man, make him do things he wouldn’t normally do. It’s understandable.

Olivia stepped forward. All right, that’s it. We’re finished, she said. This interview is over.

Mr. McCloud, Johnson said holding out a business card. "We’ll be back. Next time the questions will be harder. Please check with us before leaving town for any reason.

Chapter Two

White Wolf

Wenonah woke with a start.

Her hand went out, searching for Thomas, and she relaxed when her fingers touched his arm beside her. She moved next to him and whispered her fingers across his chest, and then stopped. If she continued, he would wake. She sat up and swung her legs over the side, pushing herself up and off the bed.

Something big was coming, something dark, ruthless, and uncontrollable. She tried to shake off her fear.

Her husband was going to be taken from her. The police worried her, thinking that he killed his uncle. In the army, Thomas killed many times. He could kill a man with his bare hands. On the reservation, he once killed to save her life. Death haunted him, lay heavy on him. That he would take a life simply because a relative asked for money was absurd.

The full moon lit the grounds outside the main house. She stood in front of the doors to their little balcony, looking out at the night, until her eyes caught the white wolf watching her. She had seen it several times, always at night.

The wolf saw what Wenonah did not. The darkness was coming for her.

* * *

Tom stirred and opened his eyes. Something woke him. A noise? His hand went to the right side of the mattress, searching for his wife. Ah, he thought, that was it. Not a noise, but her absence woke him. The sheets felt cold; she’d been out of bed for a while.

Rolling over, he saw her standing by the French doors, her left hand holding back the long, sheer white curtain from the glass. She was in full profile to him and the sight of her in the moonlight stunned him.

The soft moonlight illuminated her face, and her long white nightgown glowed, streaming over her rounded belly as her right hand rested there, protecting and caressing their unborn baby. God, she was so beautiful. A classic Native American beauty. High cheekbones and a strong, straight nose delicately carved in a perfectly oval face. Her lips were full and sensual and he’d known the pleasure of her generous mouth many times.

Wenonah let out a stuttered sigh, unaware that he was awake. Tom eased himself out of bed and went to her, a blanket in his hands. Draping it around her, he leaned in and kissed her neck, his lips warm against her cool skin. His arms went around her and one hand brushed softly against her breast as it traveled downward to stroke her belly.

Come back to bed, Noni, he whispered.

"I didn’t mean to wake you, mihinga," she said, moving the backs of her fingers to his cheek and absently stroking it, her eyes not leaving the shadows of the grounds outside the window.

Tom took her fingers and pressed them to his lips, smiling. His wife’s name for him was always Thomas, never Tom. In quiet, intimate moments, she called him mihinga, Lakota for husband. He closed his eyes and let her gentle voice sooth him.

Look outside, she said. The moon was full and it lit the grounds outside the main house. Do you see my wolf? She is always here at the darkest part of night. I think she is on vigil, protecting me.

The timber wolf was directly below their window. As Tom looked, her eyes darted to him and seemed to soften as they lingered on him. Mesmerized, Tom was unable to break the connection. After a while, the wolf stood and turned. Before it sprinted away, it twisted its neck, looking at Tom one more time before joining a larger, black wolf.

What do you suppose that was about?

She gave a slight shake to her head. I’ve sensed for a few weeks that, a tear escaped, slowly tracking down her cheek. You’re going to be taken from me.

"I’m not going anywhere chuntay skoo ya, Tom said calling her sweetheart. He pressed his face into her hair. Her lavender scent surrounded him and he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms. They stood silently together for a while, Tom’s arms wrapped around her. Life will be perfect if you give me a daughter that looks like you. Come, let’s go back to bed," he said.

He eased her onto the bed and then he was behind her with the curve of her back and bottom snuggled tightly into him. He brushed her hair away and kissed her neck. A shiver swept through her.

Make love to me, she whispered.

The night was quiet except for her sigh as Tom began to caress her, his hand lightly stroking her belly. He lifted her nightgown up and over her head, wanting the silkiness of her skin. Gently pulling her toward him, he raised her leg and entered.

"Thečhíhila, Thomas."

His hand moved to cup her breast, his touch soft. I love you, too, Tom whispered.

Later, as he held her in his arms, he felt the complete relaxation of her body. He didn’t dismiss her fear that something was going to happen. Several premonitions had come true. He continued to hold her, studying her. Her raven hair swirled around her pillow; long eyelashes swept across her cheekbones.

He sensed the exact moment that she fell asleep; her breathing was deep and even. Finally, sleep came and embraced him, too.

Chapter Three

Just Doing My Job Ma’am

The fall day was warm and bright as Tom made his way home from the pasture where his son and nephews had built a shooting range last year. They all headed back to the ranch after an hour of practice. Checking his cell phone, he saw it was almost dead so he plugged it into the charger in his truck.

Tom shrugged off his barn jacket and threw it on the bench seat, then turned to unload the weapons from the truck bed.

Flashing red and blue lights could be seen on the county road.

Tom, Henry said. Lay the rifles back down. We have company.

Tom looked up and saw two police units heading their way. Dread surged through him, beginning in his gut and ending in a lump at his throat. This was not a friendly follow up to the questioning of a few days ago.

As the vehicles turned onto the graveled lane, Tom did as Henry asked. He wished he had a tarp to lay over them, to keep them out of sight.

I’m here, Tom, Liv said coming down the steps from the wrap-around porch. They stood side by side as the detectives got out of their vehicle. His son and nephews came to stand next to him.

We have a few more questions, Ganaway said.

Why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk, Olivia said.

Appreciated, ma’am, Detective Ganaway said.

Olivia led the way, with Tom and Detective Johnson bringing up the rear. Johnson glanced inside the bed of the pickup as they passed it.

Practicing your sharp shooter skills?

Never hurts, Tom said, shrugging his shoulders.

I did a background check on you. You were a sniper in the Army, one of the best. Won a big-time award, too.

That’s right, Tom said. Top Sniper.

Just like Chris Kyle, Johnson said with a smirk on his face.

Tom turned and glared at Johnson. I never came close to being a hero like Chris Kyle. What’s your purpose in this line of conversation, Detective?

Johnson ignored his question. You must have been proud of your accomplishments. It was his next question that told Tom where Johnson headed. He acted confident, as if he couldn’t wait for the conclusion he knew was awaiting him.

How many kills did you have?

I don’t remember, Tom said. Those kills didn’t make me proud. They were only a necessary part of war. All that’s in the past. Other things make me proud. My family, for one.

As they headed inside, Olivia walked next to Tom. Be careful, she said quietly. He’s trying to see how you feel about killing.

Yeah, already figured that one out, he said walking up the porch steps.

They assembled at the long, trestle table in the dining room. Olivia sat at the head, with Tom on her left. The detectives sat, but Gabe stood off to the side.

Tom looked at his family gathered at the end of the table, dismayed that his son, Chase, and his nephews Ten and Micah would witness this interrogation. Wenonah and Henry, Olivia’s husband and his best friend, rounded out the group.

We have a few more questions and hope you can answer them for us, Detective Ganaway said.

Along with the background check, Johnson said with an arrogant dark look, I pulled your juvie record. You were in a lot of trouble as a teenager.

Tom stiffened. This was trouble. Juvenile records are sealed. What gave you the right to open them?

Juvenile criminal records are sealed, but only if a formal request is made. There was none in your case, and I must say it gave me great pleasure to read them. Your rap sheet includes truancy, assault, breaking and entering, drinking under age, even arson. How did that one go down, McCloud?

Johnson was trying to crucify him and he was doing it with glee. They cleared me of that arson charge, Tom said trying to hold back his anger. Another kid in my class confessed.

Tell me why you enlisted in the army when you were barely eighteen?

This was an exercise in futility. Johnson knew exactly why Tom had enlisted. Tom was silent. Fuck if he was going to play games with this prick.

You became an Army Ranger, one of the elite. Can you kill a man with your bare hands? Isn’t that a skill learned as a Ranger? Probably something a man would never forget how to do.

Johnson stood up from his chair. Know what I think? he said putting his hands flat on the table and leaning toward Tom, getting in his face. I think you’re lying about the last time you saw your uncle. I think that you saw him here, the night of the fire. You told him to leave or you’d kill him. Johnson paused. Tell me about the murder.

Tom’s body tensed and he scooted his chair back and stood. For the last time, I did not kill my uncle, he said through clenched teeth.

I’m not referring to McCloud.

Fucking hell. Tom’s ears began to buzz and the heaviness of his hammering heart threatened to shut down his body. He couldn’t hear all of what Johnson said next, but he knew the gist of it.

I’m referring to Hamilton Buchanan, your step-father. You killed him with one shot. That was the reason you enlisted in the military. It was that or go to prison.

What? Olivia gasped, swinging her gaze to Tom. Wenonah choked back a scream and her knees began to buckle. Henry put his arm around her to hold her up while he glowered angrily at Johnson.

I’ve already paid for his death, Tom said in a whisper.

You killed before, not to mention all your kills as a sniper, Johnson snarled. "Makes it a hell of a lot