Page 33 of Chaos has a Name (An FBI Romance/Thriller #66)

“No, we’re going to investigate, as murder gives us jurisdiction. The permission is for the Secret Service to be laying low to help monitor our daughter-in-law’s safety,” he admitted. “They are exclusive of each other, and one has far more concerning precedence than the other.”

Callen tried to make it clear that they weren’t backing off of the investigation, since their wife was handling it.

Honestly, the pushback they were getting was ridiculous.

What kind of complicity did it take to let some lunatic run around killing a person a year to fend off the Wendigo’s wrath?

Then, twist up their family so much that they managed to convince them to take over after they died?

That was all kinds of crazy and problematic.

“We need to consider this,” Tom said. “The Hollow is not something to mess with. It protects us, and it has always been part of our lives. If you are a good human, and you don’t break tribal laws, you have nothing to worry about. You will be safe.”

Again, what the unsanctimonious fuck?

Who got to decide a ‘good’ human from a ‘bad’ human? Looking at him and Ethan, many people might think they were ‘bad’, but they weren’t.

Since when was another person allowed to be judge, jury, and executioner?

This was insanity times ten.

From where he sat, Abe agreed with his fellow council member.

“We’ve lived among The Hollow for many eras. It is part of us. We should leave it alone. Testing The Hollow is something dangerous, and not a good idea.”

Well, that wasn’t happening.

Callen didn’t care if it was Jesus Christ himself taking a life on the rez.

Murder.

Was.

Murder.

This wasn’t sixteen ninety-three.

This was the current times, and murder wasn’t permitted on or off of a reservation. That the elders knew and let it happen…

It ended here.

That was the bottom line. They now knew it was happening, and it was time to put a stop to it. What could The Hollow do to them?

They had protection.

Despite security, his kids were here, and so was their family. For all he knew, they could be here next year when this wackadoo went hunting for an offering and decided CJ and EJ were just like them and deserved to die.

Pass.

Callen was not taking a chance with his family.

What if this Hollow thought their polyandrous lifestyle was detrimental?

Could they lose Chris?

Gene?

Elizabeth?

Fuck no.

That wasn’t happening on their watch.

Again, they had jurisdiction, and their wife would lose her ever-loving mind if the Native council interfered. While normally, Callen leaned toward protecting Native rights, in this case, he was all about stopping this senseless killing done by whoever was playing The Hollow.

Only, before he could say shit, the council made up their mind.

“We need to vote on this,” Abe said. “I don’t like the FBI, or their practices. I’m sorry, gentlemen, but your grandfather only has so much influence in our decisions. Since the Blackhawks have shunned their role as Shaman, we need to focus on what we think is right.”

Callen didn’t care if there was or wasn’t a Shaman here. The bottom line was that in the United States, you couldn’t randomly kill an innocent person.

Period.

They knew Timothy’s memory would dull over time when it came to protecting them, and they were fine with that. They could lead their own lives.

As for the reservation not having a Shaman, he didn’t care. The Blackhawks WERE the FBI. They bled red, white, and blue and carried gold shields, so a Shaman came last when it came to homicide.

Hell!

Let them put a want ad in the Utah Ledger and do interviews to find one. If Ethan wasn’t picking up the mantel on this one, it would fall to one of their sons.

And their kids were young.

The other man who was sitting opposite Abe spoke next.

“I agree,” Lance said. “We need to discuss this, and while we know your position, a vote will make this easier on all of us. We like to be progressive.”

Callen lifted a brow.

Progressive?

Like sacrificing someone to a Wendigo in this day and age? Was that their definition of progressive? If so, someone needed to get out a dictionary and read the definition.

This was bullshittery.

And chaos.

Tom clearly agreed with the two men, so he nodded.

“Can we have a few minutes,” he asked.

Here they went again.

Now, Callen recalled how goddamn stressful his job was when he was here.

Oh, and why he’d run so damn fast to get to DC and out of here.

As the two men stood, knowing this was going to either be problematic, or a nightmare. Nothing good ever came from ‘can we have a few minutes’ when it came to Natives.

Bet.

On.

It.

Ethan had to hope they could make this as easy as possible so as not to put them all in a tough position. Elizabeth was absolutely going to deal with this.

Period.

It would come down to her doing it nicely or busting balls nonstop as she handled it.

As they moved further away, Callen was keeping his fingers crossed. A runaway train called Elizabeth would make it tricky when YOU LIVED HERE.

“Our wife is going to be angsty,” Ethan warned, keeping his voice low. “She’s going to be horrified that people are okay with this happening. Who lets this bullshit go on?” he asked.

Oh, Callen knew.

Old.

Stubborn.

Superstitious.

Natives.

That was who. They liked change about as much as people liked a plague. Had Timothy been alive, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d put up a fight to keep The Hollow safe.

It was things like this that reminded him that he was grateful that nonsense stopped with their generation.

He hoped.

“If we have to argue this, she’s going to do it anyway.

You know how she is with jurisdiction. If it’s ours, she’s all over it like Native man on hot wife.

There will be no stopping her, and I can’t say I blame her in this case.

She’s going to think the people here lost their goddamn minds when they don’t want her digging into this. ”

Oh, for sure.

Because they clearly had.

Blackhawk would have laughed if he didn’t hear the stress in Callen’s voice.

Before he could say anything, Tom Redbear stood, getting their attention.

“You can come back, Gentlemen. We’re ready to vote. I will go first, and Abe next. Lance will have the final vote.”

Heading toward them, they stood there. Callen would be lying if he said he wasn’t tense.

Oh, he was.

This was tomfoolery, and what kind of person didn’t want them dealing with a killer who was picking people off yearly? In the back of his mind, he was worried about their family.

“I am saying absolutely not to the Secret Service,” Tom admitted.

“We can trust the Blackhawks. We cannot trust the government. I vote they must leave. As for the situation at the campground…I am fine with the FBI investigating—as LONG as we are kept in the loop and the remains are treated with respect. Those are our dead.”

Callen relaxed a little.

What was this?

Some sanity?

Thank God.

Tom continued.

“This is compromising for us. We welcome the traditions of our past, and The Hollow has been part of us for a very long time. I hope that you don’t find the person doing this, because I happen to believe it has benefited our lives—yours included. Look at your success.”

Callen and Ethan didn’t know what to say to that. It was weird that people were rooting for a killer, and not the people there to protect them.

Only, what was he to do?

As Tom sat, Abe was up next.

“No to both. I’m no fan of the government, and as far as I’m concerned, we are not to mess with things our ancestors put into play. The Hollow is sacred to older generations, and we will not anger it. Everything has its place here on the reservation.”

Ethan wanted to interject that this ‘Hollow’ was killing Natives once a year. That was a problem in the real world. It was Callen’s fingers around his wrist that stopped him.

Lance went next.

Truthfully, this could go either way. Oh, they’d dig into it, but behind the backs of angry Natives.

Lance and Wyler were not friends. That was a long family rivalry. While he was nice to them, Lance was nice to everyone—except their father.

No one could hold a grudge like a pissed off Native. Unfortunately for everyone else, that stubbornness was in their DNA.

“I vote no on the Secret Service request. They will have to move from our land. The president’s daughter will be safe here with her family. We will make sure she is protected as would be your son, Callen, if he were here.”

Yeah, no shock there.

Truthfully, them shitting all over Secret Service backup was no shock.

The shocking part was that there was someone killing people and they were fine with it.

Now, he had to hope this ‘Hollow’ wouldn’t take another life if they dug into this.

WHEN they dug into this.

Were they kidding?

“I will vote, yes, to the investigation into what happened. In today’s day and age, I have no problem with Elizabeth Blackhawk investigating.

While I am steeped in old traditions, Timothy loved her, and we loved Timothy.

He was our Shaman. She may investigate—as long as we are kept in the loop, and you get your father to sit down and have a conversation with me. ”

Well, holy shit.

That was unexpected.

And never happening.

Why?

They couldn’t even get Wyler to sit down and talk to them.

How the hell was that going to work when they forced him to sit down with Lance—his sworn enemy?

Talk about unlikely scenarios.

“The elders have spoken,” Tom said. “You take unto yourself the fallout. I remember once, many years ago, the Chief of Police tried to end this tradition for our tribe, and it angered The Hollow.”

Callen was curious.

That had to be way before him, since he had no idea that anything had gone down.

“What happened when there was pushback?” he asked.

Tom was to the point.

“A war was brought to him, and he was harassed, hunted, and eventually disappeared. No one ever heard from him again.”

Oh, fuckity.

That sounded ominous.

The last thing they wanted was their wife in danger. Then again, when wasn’t their wife in danger? That seemed to be the theme of her life.

“So, my only warning is to be careful,” Tom admitted. “Tread lightly, respect the old traditions. They can be your friend, or enemy.”

And that was now another problem for both men.

The last thing they wanted was to play a game with a Native, who was hiding among them.

Yeah, this was going to bite them in the ass.

Misery loved company.

While they were fighting for their lives, Wyler was going to have to take a walk down memory lane.

Whether he liked it.

Or.

Not.