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  BONE MESA

  A Skye Cree Novel

  Published by Beachdevils Press

  Copyright © 2021 Vickie McKeehan

  All rights reserved.

  Bone Mesa

  A Skye Cree Novel

  Copyright © 2021 Vickie McKeehan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, locales, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, businesses or companies, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 8758513996

  ISBN-13: 979-8758513996

  Published by

  Beachdevils Press

  Printed in the USA

  Titles Available at Amazon

  Cover art by Vanessa Mendozzi

  You can visit the author at:

  www.vickiemckeehan.com

  www.facebook.com/VickieMcKeehan

  http://vickiemckeehan.wordpress.com/

  www.twitter.com/VickieMcKeehan

  Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

  ~ William Shakespeare

  The Tempest

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Bone Mesa

  by

  VICKIE McKEEHAN

  Prologue

  Eighteen months earlier

  San Juan Canyon

  Latigo County, Colorado

  The call came into dispatch at eight-twenty-two on a cold, bleak February night. Someone reported a vehicle stuck in the snow on top of the scenic overlook.

  Sheriff’s deputy Dax Lockwood was the first responder, turning his police cruiser around in mid-patrol to head that way. By the time the forty-year-old cop entered the canyon, two feet of snow had already fallen.

  Up ten thousand feet, with temperatures hovering around twenty-four degrees and the north wind making it feel much colder, Deputy Lockwood wondered why anyone would try to reach the summit on top of the canyon in this kind of weather. The only access road had been closed to traffic for hours.

  But in his fifteen-year career in law enforcement, he’d seen people do all kinds of crazy things. Maybe some brainless tourist had lost their way off the main road and got stuck at the top sightseeing when the storm hit. It amazed him how stupid the public could be when listening to a weather report and refusing to heed a blizzard warning. In his experience, there was always some dang fool trying to push the limits.

  The only lights around for miles were the headlights from his patrol car shining past the snow-covered roadway and beyond into the thick forest. Dotted with lofty cottonwood, Douglas fir, Engelmann spruce, and Limber pine, the woodland mountainside lay covered in a carpet of white and green. With every sharp burst of wind, the loose snow swirled, encircling his car like an angry dust devil.

  He slowed his Ford Explorer to a crawl before reaching the narrow pass, then braked. He slid the gearshift into Park, turned on his emergency flashers, and cut the engine. For several long minutes, he sat there staring straight ahead, his eyes glued to what blocked the roadway. To his surprise, it wasn’t a vehicle. It looked like someone had dumped a stack of clothes between two boulders and left them there. Perplexed, he squinted into the darkness to better make out the obstruction. But in the blinding snow, it wasn't easy to see what it was.

  Was it an injured human or maybe a bear, maybe some other kind of dead animal?

  Deputy Lockwood couldn’t say for sure at this distance, which meant he had to get out in the cold and check.

  Grabbing his flashlight, he opened his door, stepped out into the darkness, preparing to face the blast of cold air. Shivering already, he put the hood up on his parka and zipped up the front of his jacket to just below his neck.

  As the north wind howled in and around the boulders, the only sound was that of his boots crunching on the packed, frozen pavement. He began making his way up a slight incline, a fifteen-degree angle that rose just before the road leveled off and opened up to a small parking lot for tourists to park.

  During daylight hours, the deputy knew the view from the scenic overlook gave tourists a fantastic panoramic view of an old ghost town at the bottom of the ridge. You could also see the scenic railroad track used to take visitors through the San Juan Mountains. No wonder the county’s tourism was practically a year-round thing.

  Having spent all his life in Latigo, Dax Lockwood also knew that you could stand at the summit and take in the highest point on the mesa. But tonight was a different story. Tonight, he could barely make out anything further than ten feet in front of him.

  Cautious, Lockwood continued to walk toward the lump of clothing. Keeping his flashlight aimed at the bundle as he got closer, it now looked like blankets piled into the middle of the road and left there.

  He narrowed his eyes. Just as the pile began to move, the officer reached for his revolver out of pure instinct.

  There was a moment of surprise and then realization. By the time Dax Lockwood recognized the danger he was in, a man dressed in all black reared up out of the blankets. Lockwood saw the glint of a knife right before the cold steel blade ripped open his throat.

  The blood oozed out, first a trickle, then gushed. Lockwood’s hand flew to his throat, trying to stem the flow. He went down to his knees onto the cold, white ground, then fell face
first. The snow around him turned crimson as his attacker relieved him of his service pistol, jerking the weapon out of his fist.

  When the darkness closed in, the last thing Dax heard was the shot that ended his life.

  One

  Present Day

  Durango Regional Airport

  LaPlata County, Colorado

  Inside Gate Number Five, people rushed past Skye Cree down the jetway, eager to get to baggage claim. Or maybe they were excited about getting to their destinations. Whatever the reason, Skye wished she could match their enthusiasm.

  She’d been summoned. That’s the way Josh had put it before she had left him and their five-year-old daughter, Sierra, back in Seattle. And she wasn’t happy about it. Leaving her family behind had never come up before. But things were different. Life had changed. With Sierra starting kindergarten and Josh in the middle of negotiations to buy out his last limited partner, it made sense that she do the traveling.

  So while she made her first trip to Colorado, Josh got their daughter to and from school every day. And in between, he fought one lone holdout for complete control of his gaming company, Ander All Games.

  It wasn’t like in the old days when they could pick up and head off somewhere to hunt down the latest serial killer. Sierra came first. And Josh had responsibilities to his employees, who counted on him to maintain the company’s success rate and continue to provide the best workplace environment. He couldn’t do that if someone else kept interfering with how he ran things.

  Her stomach rumbled from hunger. The sandwich she’d grabbed during the layover in Salt Lake City was wearing off. She sniffed the air and smelled greasy burgers grilling somewhere in the small regional airport that served the Four Corners—southeast Utah, northeast Arizona, northwest New Mexico, and all of southern Colorado.

  Skye vowed to grab her luggage, find her rental car, and locate the nearest burger joint for dinner. But for now, she followed the signs to the baggage claim area, then huddled around the crowded carousel until she spotted her one suitcase—an ugly teal green and tan hard-shell—that stood out from the rest.

  After squeezing in between two muscle-bound rock climbers, she snagged the ancient bag, gripped the handle, did a one-eighty, and wheeled the suitcase toward the parking lot to pick up her transportation.

  Today of all days, there were benefits to VIP member status. She bypassed a line of tourists standing at the counter—hikers, whitewater rafters, mountain climbers—many she recognized from the plane in town for an adventure convention. She strolled past the double doors, grateful that her plans were outside the city and nowhere near the hotels hosting what would surely be a boisterous sportsman’s dream paradise.

  In a showy evening haze that signaled the end of summer, the San Juan peaks greeted her with a whoosh of dry mountain air. She walked to a line of compact SUVs—the only cars still available—and picked out a dark, gray metallic Ford Escape. So much for the Presidential Circle. She tossed her luggage in the back and slid behind the wheel, dropping her purse and laptop bag into the passenger seat.

  She dug around in her handbag before pulling out a purple scrunchie. She used the elastic to bundle her long dark hair back off her face and into a sleek ponytail. She flipped down the sun visor to check her image in the mirror. She ignored the tired eyes and the exhausted look because she knew her long whirlwind day was about to get weirder.

  After letting out a long, pent-up breath, she started the engine. Before reaching the exit where she needed to show her paperwork, her phone dinged with a text message. She had to wait to answer the text until she talked to the gatekeeper attendant and drove out of the parking lot. Only then did she pull to the side of the road.

  Have you eaten yet?

  No. I’m starving.

  Then meet me at Sam’s Grill. Take a left out of the parking lot and get on the highway. Go about four miles west. It’s on the way out of town. You can’t miss the place. You’ll see the sign for the restaurant on your right. Don’t get lost.

  I won’t get lost. If you get there first, order me the biggest burger they have on the menu with everything on it, cooked medium-well with fries and an iced tea.

  You got it. And thanks for doing this.

  No problem. But you owe me. Big.

  I know. I’ll be sitting outside on the patio.

  Smiling, Skye left it like that and put the Ford into gear again. Eager to eat, she stepped on the gas.

  ****

  Sam’s Grill looked like an old general store out away from everything else. On this Thursday evening, the enormous log-cabin-style eatery had a full-up parking lot. She had to drive around the building twice before landing a parking space.

  The inside was just as crowded.

  People packed the lobby because the wait time for seating was thirty minutes. She sidestepped the perky hostess and veered into the bar area, looking around for the door to the patio.

  Near the restrooms at the back, she spotted the exit to the outdoor dining area. Outside, diners enjoyed a panoramic landscape of the fertile Animas River Valley stretched out along the foothills of the San Juans. Why sit inside when you could grab a meal with a view and a show? Beyond the patio, a grassy lawn stretched out in a half circle where the owners had set up a stage for a celebration of sorts. Native American dancers gathered on the platform, preparing to showcase their talents.

  With Nez Perce blood running through her veins, Skye recognized the ritual and the tribe. The Ute dancers filled the lush green arena dressed in their authentic outfits. They performed their ceremony to flutes, shakers, and drumbeats in the background.

  Surprised at the revelry, she looked around and spotted him almost immediately, sitting at a table as far away from the show as possible.

  Quade Grayhawk.

  His face hadn’t changed much in two years. She would’ve recognized the man anywhere, probably because Quade had a way of looking deadly serious even when surrounded by festive songs. She noted his face hadn’t aged much. His prominent features were still those high cheekbones he’d inherited from the Coeur d’Alene tribe. But it was the dark, brooding eyes that gave away the key to his soul.

  He’d whacked off his braid. Skye knew grief could be one reason for the new look. Another more fitting reason signaled that he’d made a significant life change—starting a new life, a new beginning.

  Without the braid, Quade’s loose hair was now in a wavy cut down to his chin. He still didn’t care much for uniforms. Instead of khaki, he’d opted for a pair of dark jeans and the white cotton shirt he preferred. Maybe because the white made the gold badge over his left breast pocket more prominent. His sidearm had changed to a Smith & Wesson 40-caliber.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Quade Grayhawk. Fancy meeting you here. I didn’t know you went in for all this frivolity.”

  The man’s lips barely bowed into a grin. “I don’t.”

  “And the last time I saw you, it was all about facts, facts, just the fact, ma’am. No thinking outside the box for Hardline Quade.” Skye bobbed her head toward the dancers. “I didn’t think celebrations were your kind of thing.”

  “They’re not.”

  She slid into the booth across the table from him. “Well, now that we’ve established nothing, as usual, where’s my burger?”

  He pushed the glass of tea closer with the ice melting. “It’ll be here. The kitchen is probably a madhouse in there, backed up with orders. If you can’t tell, this place is packed.”

  “I see that. We could’ve eaten somewhere a lot less noisy.”

  “True. But you won't be disappointed in the burger. Trust me.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. You like it here in the shadow of the Rockies?”

  “I like that I’m Sheriff.” That statement brought a faint smile to Quade’s mouth, his lips slowly stretching out, relaxing his face.

  “I gotta say I was shocked to learn you left Idaho. You could’ve gone to another Tribal Police Department. Why di
dn’t you?”

  “Hated the politics of it all. Plus, I took the first opportunity that came along to get out of Idaho, start fresh. Somewhere. Anywhere. At the time, this job offer seemed the best option. Latigo County needed a top cop and I got to head up my own agency. Sure, Latigo is smaller than what I’m used to, it might be less populated than most other counties, but this patch belongs to me now. And I don’t like the idea that a killer’s out there stalking tourists. I just have to prove it.”

  “We,” Skye corrected. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

  “Yeah. But I’m also glad to see a friendly face. After nine months, I’m still the new guy on the block. The workplace feels like a very different vibe than what I’m used to at work.”

  “It’s always stressful to start a new job, especially when the buck stops with you. Let alone one where people are dying on your watch.”

  “See? You get it. I knew you would. How’s the family?”

  “It’s chaos. My baby is starting school. Josh is in the middle of messy discussions to become the sole owner of Ander All Games. And I’m here in the gunslinger Old West sitting across from the sheriff. How’s Wren? How’s your dad?”

  Quade’s face brightened. “Mom’s doing great. She’s heading up an after-school tutoring program for teen dropouts, hoping to get them interested in learning again and back in school. I’m trying to talk Mom into moving here.”

  “But she doesn’t feel the same way you do about leaving her home, distancing herself from the tragedy of losing Sara, even after all these years, at least not the same way you do. Have you asked your father to move here?”

  Quade feigned annoyance. “No. Dad’s fine. It’s Mom I’m worried about more than him. Do you read everybody’s family as well as you do mine?”

  “It’s a gift.” She grinned more from spotting the server over Quade’s shoulder heading their way with food rather than from the joy of giving Quade a hard time.