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“Blackhorse,” she answered quietly, keeping her eyes on Livingston.

“We’ve got another body,” Tsosie said without preamble, his voice tight with urgency.

The words landed like stones in still water, ripples of implication spreading outward.A third victim.The killer escalating, confident enough now to strike again despite the investigation, despite Thomas Begay’s detention.Whatever Livingston was up to, it would have to wait.

“I’m on my way,” Kari said, starting her engine.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Desert darkness fell differently than city darkness—complete, unfiltered, ancient.No streetlamps softened its edges, no ambient glow held it at bay.

Kari drove with her high beams cutting a tunnel through the void, following the GPS coordinates Tsosie had sent to her phone.The narrow BIA road snaked through scrub and stone, climbing gradually toward the silhouette of Antelope Mesa.

Red and blue emergency lights pulsed in the distance, their rhythmic strobing visible long before she could make out the vehicles themselves.As she approached, Kari counted five tribal police units, Tsosie’s SUV, and—her hands tightened on the steering wheel—two FBI vehicles already parked in a loose semicircle.

She’d hoped she might have a head start on Daniels.Apparently not.

She parked behind Tsosie’s vehicle and grabbed her field kit from the back seat, slipping the slim metal case under her arm as she approached the perimeter tape.Officers nodded in recognition as she ducked beneath the yellow barrier.Dr.Hatathli’s medical examiner van was positioned closest to the scene, its rear doors open, equipment waiting.

Tsosie materialized from the darkness, his expression grim.“Glad you made it,” he said, falling into step beside her.“We’ve been here about forty minutes.Daniels showed up right after we secured the perimeter.”

“Of course he did,” Kari muttered.“What are we dealing with?”

“Male victim, late fifties to early sixties.Positioned on his back with arms extended.”Tsosie lowered his voice.“It’s Alan Mitchell.”

Kari stopped short.“The archaeologist?”

Tsosie nodded.“The same.”

Professor Alan Mitchell was infamous among Southwestern tribes—an archaeologist whose academic reputation was built on excavations that pushed the boundaries of both legality and ethics.His papers on “previously undocumented burial practices” routinely featured artifacts that tribal authorities insisted should have remained undisturbed.Three years ago, he’d fought a bitter public battle with the Navajo Nation over artifacts he claimed were “scientifically significant,” while the tribe maintained those artifacts were sacred items illegally removed from burial grounds.

“What was he doing out here?”Kari asked.

“No official research permits filed,” Tsosie replied.“His car contains excavation equipment—trowels, collection bags, soil screens.Coordinates marked on a topographical map that doesn’t align with any authorized dig site.”

“So he was grave-robbing,” Kari said flatly.

“That would be my assessment.”Tsosie’s voice betrayed no emotion, but the tightness around his eyes spoke volumes.“Came alone, after hours, to a site within tribal boundaries.”

They crested a small rise, and the scene came into full view.Portable lights had been set up, their harsh brightness creating sharp shadows that made the landscape seem even more alien.In the center of the illuminated area lay the body, surrounded by the now-familiar ceremonial arrangement—but with differences Kari noted immediately.

Mitchell lay on his back, arms extended to form a cross, palms facing upward.His head was positioned toward the east, where the moon would rise later that night.Around him, a perfect circle had been traced in white cornmeal, unbroken this time, with the stolen herbs placed at cardinal directions rather than haphazardly around the body.A small fire had been lit near his feet—now extinguished, but its ashes still arranged in a ritual pattern.

Daniels stood nearby, dictating notes to Agent Keller, who typed rapidly on a tablet.He looked up as Kari approached, regarding her with detachment.

“Detective Blackhorse,” he said.“Glad you could join us.”

“Time of death?”Kari asked.

“Dr.Hatathli estimates between eight and nine PM,” Tsosie answered.“Jogger found the body at nine twelve.Called it in immediately.”

The realization sent a cold prickle down Kari’s spine.She’d been watching Livingston load boxes into his car when Mitchell was being killed miles away.Whatever the curator was involved in, it wasn’t this murder.

At least not directly.

“The ceremonial elements are different,” she said, circling the body at a respectful distance.“More precise.The directional alignments are correct this time.The herbs are placed at the proper cardinal points.”

“Which supports my profile,” Daniels interjected, moving to stand beside her.“Our killer is evolving, becoming more confident in their ritual expression with each murder.”

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