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“Hunting?”

“Sometimes.”His eyes remained on the road.“Mostly just learning.”

“Learning what?”

He seemed to consider this for a moment.“How to read the land.Where to find water.Which plants heal and which harm.”After a pause, he added, “My father believed a boy should know these things.”

It was more personal information than Tsosie had offered in their entire three weeks working together.Kari filed this away—he responded to direct questions about the land, about tradition.Things that mattered to him.

“My mother tried to teach me some of that,” she said.“During the weekends I spent here.But I was more interested in my father’s stories about the FBI.”

Tsosie’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted.“Your father was federal?”

“Twenty years with the Bureau.Behavioral Analysis Unit for the last ten.”

“Hm.”The noncommittal sound might have meant anything.

“You don’t like the feds?”Kari asked directly.

Tsosie glanced at her.“They have their place.Just not here.”

“And where’s my place?”The question came out more sharply than she’d intended.

This time, Tsosie turned to look at her fully before returning his eyes to the road.“That’s for you to figure out, Blackhorse.You came back for a reason.”

“To care for my grandmother,” Kari said automatically, the explanation she’d given everyone, including herself.

Tsosie just nodded, neither accepting nor rejecting the statement.The SUV crested a small rise, and the vast expanse of Canyon de Chelly opened before them, its red walls catching the morning sun like ancient fire.

“Is that really the only reason you came back?”he asked, so quietly she almost missed it.

Kari didn’t answer immediately.The question hit closer to home than she was comfortable with.She’d left Phoenix at the height of her career—three commendations in as many years, the fastest promotion to detective in her precinct’s history.The department had thrown her a goodbye party no one really believed she needed.

“My mother’s death changed things,” she said finally.It wasn’t a complete answer, but it was the most honest one she could offer at the moment.

Tsosie accepted this with another nod.“Loss has a way of pulling us back to our beginnings.”

The simple observation, delivered without judgment, surprised her.There was a depth to Tsosie she hadn’t expected based on their limited interactions so far—a perceptiveness beneath his professional reserve.

“You lost someone?”she asked.

“My sister.Four years ago.”He said it matter-of-factly, but Kari caught the subtle tightening of his grip on the steering wheel.“Car accident near Gallup.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tsosie acknowledged her sympathy with a slight inclination of his head.“She was studying to be a doctor.Would have been the first in our family.”

The conversation lapsed into silence again, but it felt different now—less a barrier and more a shared space, each of them processing the small pieces of themselves they’d just revealed.

The SUV bounced over a particularly rough patch of road, sending a plume of red dust in their wake.Tsosie handled the terrain with practiced ease, slowing only when necessary to navigate around larger obstacles.

“You think we’ll catch any jurisdiction issues with this one?”Kari asked, thinking aloud.“Canyon de Chelly is technically a national monument.”

“Managed by the Navajo Nation,” Tsosie countered.“But it depends on the victim.If it’s a tourist…”

“The feds will be all over it,” Kari finished his thought.

“And if it’s one of ours, they’ll lose interest fast.”There was no bitterness in his tone, just a pragmatic assessment of reality both of them understood.

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