Death Echo

just fished around on the floor and tossed her one of the black knit caps he had stuffed under the seat.
    â€œPull it on,” he said, reaching down again for his own cap.
    â€œYou carrying?”
    â€œKnife,” he said. “Quieter than a gun.”
    â€œRange bites.”
    His lips quirked. “I’ve got a good arm.”
    Together they eased out into the night. Emma followed him as he angled through brush and around bigger trees, always holding his course to the same general direction. When the moonlight was bright enough, she could see the faint line of the overgrown trail Mac was following. She tried to make as little noise as he did, but it had been a long time since she’d gone through night training.
    They walked for ten minutes before they began to catch the smell of burning excrement and garbage, bitter and foul and disgusting, like a trash fire jacked on steroids. Through a screen of trees and brush, they saw flashes of bright red lights on emergency vehicles and the steady white spears of headlights parked at all angles.
    Emma didn’t need Mac’s signal to freeze and drop. She was already on her belly, wriggling as close as she could. A hand on her ankle halted her. Mac slithered along her left side and breathed into her ear.
    â€œEyes.”
    For an instant she didn’t understand. Then it came back to her in a rush of memory and knowledge. She nodded. She wouldn’t get close enough to the action that her eyes reflected light.
    What remained of the trailer was a sullen, stinking pile of twisted wreckage. Firemen circled it in turnout gear. They called back and forth, kicking at rubble and bent metal, looking for anything that still was hot enough to produce flames. Occasional bursts of water from their hoses added to the stench.
    She leaned close enough to Mac’s ear to feel the heat of his body. “Overgrown wreck,” she breathed. “Two o’clock.”
    Eyes narrowed, Mac judged the possibilities. His face looked grim in the pulsing light from the clearing. His black gaze switched to hers, then vanished as his lips brushed her ear.
    â€œWait here. You’re out of practice.”
    She went stiff, then relaxed. When it came to slithering through the woods, he was better than she was. A lot better. She’d been trained for city work, recruiting rather than recon.
    She signaled for him to go. Then she got as close to the pungent forest floor as she could and still peer through the undergrowth into the clearing.
    Mac set off at an angle to a place where there was a group of rez types talking and gesturing. They were so engrossed by the grisly scene that Mac could have walked right up to them.
    He didn’t. He just got close enough to eavesdrop.
    â€œâ€¦was always looking for trouble.”
    â€œSure found it.” The man spat on the churned ground.
    Mac saw the glint of a badge at the man’s belt and recognized him as a tribal cop.
    â€œArson. Damn.” The smaller man almost danced in place with excitement. “Wonder who did it?”
    â€œHalf the rez hated Tommy’s ass.” The cop spat again, as though the taste of the air was getting to him. “Besides, he might be out on a boat. Might be someone else was sleeping in his trailer.”
    Mac hoped the cop was right but doubted it. Tommy hadn’t had any other place to go while he waited for Blackbird .
    And he’d been scared.
    Floodlights from two fire engines played back and forth over the lumpy, twisted rubble like stiff white fingers combing the wreckage.
    â€œThere,” called one of the firemen.
    The floodlights paused, then converged on a corner of the ruins. The wind swirled, increasing the unmistakable odor of barbeque gone wrong.
    Ugly memories drenched Mac, men burning, dying, dead. Long ago, far away, and as fresh as the bile rising up his throat. He’d hoped never to smell that particular kind of death again.
    â€œJesus Christ,” the fireman said. “Half his skull is gone. I mean, just flat gone. What the—”
    â€œKnock it off!” said a woman’s voice. “This is a crime scene.”
    Mac understood the words that the woman was too well-trained to say: Civilians around. Shut up.
    The woman who spoke wasn’t from the rez, but people gave way to her just the same.
    Silence descended as she strode into the harsh light of the clearing.
    She was on the downhill side of forty-five and didn’t