AS SOON AS CHAEL IS OUT OF SIGHT, FLEEING BACK toward the hotel, I turn and trek farther back into the cave.

"Okay, Frey," I call out. "You can come out now."

At first there is no sound-just water dripping from somewhere out of sight. Then shuffling. Frey's scent, soap and shampoo, tickles my nose before his form materializes from the gloom. He's rigid with anger.

"You let him go. You didn't kill him."

We retrace our steps to the mouth of the cave.

I hunker down, squatting on my heels. Frey joins me. I know he couldn't pick up my thoughts, but he would have been able to pick up Chael's. "You heard that Sarah didn't address the council?"

He nods stiffly. "That will be easy enough to check. What about the other things? Do you really believe he had nothing to do with the skinwalker attack on you?"

"Yes. I think it's time we looked at this from another angle. George lied to me. He lied to you, too. He made it clear he would like to see me dead. I think he knows more than he is letting on. You must, too, or panther would have made quick work of Chael."

Frey picks up a rock and tosses it outside. "Judith Williams," he says, regret softening his tone. "I killed her, and she was an innocent."

"Not exactly an innocent. Remember how she killed those two hosts in Mexico? It's taken months for Culebra to win back the trust of both host and vampire. She had a taste for killing. You said yourself, she intended to kill the young girl she was taking from the hotel when you found her. That girl was the innocent. Not Judith Williams."

I pause. "And you did it at my bidding. I am as much to blame as you."

Frey peers out toward the hotel. "I can't believe George attacked you. He'd have no reason. Sarah was to speak to the council; he must have known there was a good chance your request would be turned down. With Sarah dead, he could lie about it, he did lie about it, and the logical assumption would be that you and I would be gone before we knew any different. Attacking you made no sense."

Ah. "So you believe he may be a skinwalker."

He doesn't meet my eyes, not ready to make the concession. His words come slowly. "It's such an inconceivable notion. George is Navajo. He leads tourists and tells them of the connection between the people and the land. He is a respected member of the community. How could he commit such an onerous cultural taboo? And why?"

I can think of one reason. The smugglers Chael mentioned. Is he in league with them?

Doesn't explain why he attacked me, though. I knew nothing about the counterfeiting operation until a few minutes ago.

Maybe George just doesn't like vampires.

Imagine that, vampire growls.

I sense Frey's eyes boring into my head. "What are you thinking? Do you know something?"

Not really. If Frey is having a hard time believing his friend could be a skinwalker, how will he react when I tell him he may also be a smuggler?

Especially since I have no proof.

"Let's get back to the house. Kayani will know about the counterfeiters. At least that's one part of Chael's story we can check out."

We push to our feet. "Where's the Jeep?" I ask.

Frey makes a vague sweeping motion with his hand. "Off the road, about a half mile back."

And then we're off, jogging across the desert floor like two friends out for a little run. Under a midday desert sun. In ninety-plus-degree temperatures. Fully clothed.

Business as usual.

THE DRIVE BACK IS QUIET, NEITHER FREY NOR I WILLING to share our thoughts. I have a question for Kayani that I think will do more to persuade Frey that George is not the good guy he thinks he is.

And to let Chael off the hook.

For Sarah's death anyway.

Still, that her accident might have been caused by a moment's inattention or carelessness rings false. The worm of doubt slithering around my gut is fast turning into a python.

It could just as easily been a skinwalker that frightened her off the road as a vampire.

Where was George the night of the concil meeting?

THE HORSES ARE BACK IN THE CORRAL WHEN FREY and I arrive at the house. Kayani and John-John are on the porch, drinking out of plastic tumblers. Kayani's feet are on the railing, his chair tipped back. John-John mimics Kayani, but his feet are too short to reach the railing so his rest on a small table, his chair tilted back against the house.

I don't usually react to cute, but this makes me wish I had a camera.

John-John squeals when he sees his father, lets his chair bang forward and rushes down the steps. Kayani rises, too, and the smile he has at John-John's delight increases my estimation of him a hundredfold. There is not even a shadow of jealousy on his face.

Frey scoops John-John into his arms and turns to me. "John-John is going to tell me all about his ride. Why don't you visit with Kayani and we'll go inside."

He doesn't wink or give me a nudge. Doesn't have to. I get it. I touch the top of John-John's head. "I'll want to hear about your ride, too, later, okay?"

The two disappear inside. Kayani watches me as I climb the steps and join him. He holds up his glass.

"Want some? Ice tea. This stuff is not nearly so bad cold with lemon and sugar."

I hold up a hand. "No, thanks. I'll take your word that it's good."

Kayani motions to John-John's chair and I take it. For a minute I wonder how to broach the subject of the counterfeiters. A minute. Kayani doesn't seem the type to require subtlety.

"Frey and I heard a rumor today. Counterfeiters smuggling fake artifacts off the reservation. I hear it's become top priority for all law enforcement."

Kayani doesn't register surprise or feign indifference. "Yes."

"That was the subject at tribal council?"

He finishes his tea and places the tumbler on the table. "Yes. It's of great concern. There is already too much authentic Native American jewelry and rugs peddled everywhere from the local Wal-Mart to eBay. We can't do much about it. But to counterfeit petroglyphs and the works of ancients and have them displayed as real is a desecration to the honor of our ancestors. That it may be done here by members of our tribe is unforgivable."

"I saw some of those petroglyphs. They are beautiful in their simplicity and elegance. I understand why you would want to protect them."

"You've been to Canyon de Chelly?"

I shake my head. "No. I saw them not far from here. In a cave."

Kayani's demeanor changes so fast, it almost gives me whiplash. His face loses its friendliness and becomes hard. "What do you mean?"

His tone is as harsh and accusatory as his expression. I raise my eyebrows. "I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

"Who took you to the cave?"

The cave? "No one. I found it by accident. Coming home the storm had turned sand to mud. The Jeep was having a tough time slogging through it. I pulled over to wait until it dried."

Kayani doesn't look satisfied with the explanation. "And you decided to do a little exploring?"

"I saw a faint p. I followed it to the cave. Kayani, I disturbed nothing." Just had a secret meeting with the most sacred member of the tribe.

"Did you see anyone?"

Since I assume he means anyone up to no good, I can answer honestly.

"No. I only know two people here on the reservation. You and George Long Whiskers."

There's a moment's hesitation before Kayani says, "You told me to keep an eye on him at Sarah's burial. Why?"

Perfect segue. "I don't trust him. He's said-" Shit. How do I put this? "He's said some pretty harsh things to me. In fact, he lied about what went on at the council."

"What did he say?"

"Can I ask you a question before I answer that?"

Kayani bobs his head once.

"Was George at the council meeting?"

"No. He is not an elder."

"I know you weren't at the meeting, either, but I assume you know where the meetings are held?"

"The lodge. What difference does that make?"

"Were you around there that night?"

Another quick bob of the head. "Sarah and Mary and I had dinner before Sarah had to leave for the meeting. I left Mary to go back to the station not long after."

"Did you see George that night?"

A reflective pause. "Yes. He was at a table on the deck with two men." He draws a quick, sharp breath. "I didn't recognize them."

Kayani and I both retreat into our thoughts. Can it be this easy? The cynic in me says no, the pragmatist says sometimes things are just what they seem.

Still a long way from connecting George to the deaths of the sisters. Could Mary have overheard a snatch of conversation that might have made her suspicious? Could George have suspected that she did?

"Kayani, how much money can be made from selling counterfeit artifacts?"

"Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. There's a thriving market both legitimate and black market for Native American art. Especially the art of the ancients."

Well, there's motive. If George was meeting with the two strangers to talk business, and Mary heard something incriminating, George could easily have arranged that accident.

Kayani snatches his car keys from the table. "Let's take a ride. Copies of art from that cave are the newest ones to show up on the black market. If you show me how you gained access, maybe I can find out how the counterfeiters are doing it."

He opens the screen door and tells Frey that we'll be right back. We're down the stairs and at the car before Frey can offer a reply.