Page 31 of Close By (Kari Blackhorse #1)

Two days after Redford’s arrest, the tribal police station had finally returned to something resembling normal operations.

The incident boards were cleared, the extra personnel reassigned, the press conferences concluded.

Only the paperwork remained—the endless documentation that transformed chaos and violence into the ordered language of case files and court proceedings.

Kari sat at her desk, finalizing her report on the Redford case.

Outside, rain fell in gentle sheets, unusual for the season but welcome after weeks of drought.

The sound created a soothing backdrop to the routine activity of the station—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the occasional burst of conversation.

Daniels appeared in her doorway, knocking lightly on the frame. He’d abandoned his formal FBI attire for a more casual look—jeans, buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled to expose forearms marked with fresh bandages from Redford’s attack.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

Kari gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Finishing the paperwork. But I could use a break.”

Daniels settled into the chair with a wince that suggested he was feeling the aftermath of their confrontation with Redford more acutely than he wanted to admit. “Just got word from the federal prosecutor. Redford’s attorney has already indicated they’ll pursue an insanity defense.”

“Not surprising,” Kari said, leaning back in her chair. “Her psychiatric evaluations will support it. She genuinely believes she was transforming into a Skinwalker.”

“And the murders were attempts to cure herself.” Daniels shook his head. “It’s almost elegant in its twisted logic. Each killing at a sacred site, each victim someone who had violated traditional boundaries in some way.”

“Harrington photographing sacred formations, Delgado investigating mining encroachments, Mitchell conducting unauthorized excavations,” Kari said. “And Jared Wilson would have been next—a vandal planning to desecrate sacred sites with graffiti.”

“A pattern we missed,” Daniels admitted, the acknowledgment clearly difficult for him. “Or I missed, focusing too much on established profiles.”

“Careful, Paul. That sounded dangerously close to an apology.”

Daniels grunted. “Yeah, well, enjoy it while you can.” He stretched, yawning. “I’m heading back to Quantico tomorrow. The Bureau is reassessing our approach to cases involving indigenous cultural elements. Your insights have been… illuminating.”

Kari recognized the professional respect being offered. “The tribal police appreciate the Bureau’s cooperation,” she replied formally.

A smile flickered across Daniels’s face. “Your father would be proud, you know. Of how you handled this case.”

The mention of her father caught Kari off guard. “Have you spoken with him?”

“He called me yesterday,” Daniels said. “Wanted to know how you were doing. Said you weren’t returning his calls.”

Kari sighed. “It’s complicated.”

Yesterday, her father had texted to say that the offer to have dinner—the two of them and Linda—was still on the table.

She’d replied by saying that she needed a little more time and space after the chaos of the investigation.

After so recently losing her mother, the idea of spending time with the woman her father had chosen to replace Anna felt… disrespectful.

“Family usually is.” Daniels stood, clearly sensing her reluctance to discuss the matter further. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve found where you belong, Kari. You see things others miss. Things I missed.”

Kari nodded her acknowledgment, knowing they had reached a new understanding that transcended their personal history.

After he left, Kari returned to her report, adding final notes on the investigation’s conclusion.

The Livingston angle had proven interesting, though ultimately unrelated to the murders.

Arizona State Police had executed a search warrant on his storage unit and home, discovering not only the missing ceremonial items Redford hadn’t taken—the bowls, the feather fans, the baskets—but dozens of other artifacts stolen from the museum as well.

Livingston had broken down during questioning, admitting to a gambling problem that had left him deeply in debt.

He’d been selling artifacts on the black market to collectors who didn’t ask questions about provenance.

When he discovered some items missing during inventory, he saw an opportunity to take additional pieces and blame their disappearance on the initial theft.

It was a separate case that would wind its way through a different court system, but Kari took satisfaction in knowing her original suspicions about Livingston hadn’t been entirely misplaced.

Sometimes a detective’s instincts pointed in the right direction, even if they led to an unexpected destination.

Captain Yazzie passed her open door, pausing to look in. “Finishing up?”

“Just about,” Kari said. “Everything will be ready for the prosecutors by end of day.”

“Good work, Detective.” Yazzie hesitated, then added, “The Tribal Council asked me to convey their appreciation. This could have been much worse for community relations if handled differently.”

Kari understood what remained unsaid. If they had pursued Daniels’s original profile, focusing suspicion on traditional Navajo practitioners, there would have been substantial, perhaps permanent damage to the trust between community and law enforcement.

“Just doing my job,” she said.

“Doing it well,” Yazzie corrected. “There’ll be other cases that require your particular… perspective.”

“I’ll be here,” Kari said, surprised to realize how much she meant it.

Three weeks ago, she’d viewed her return to the reservation as temporary—a reluctant obligation to care for her grandmother while processing her mother’s death.

Ruth had made it clear, however, that she didn’t need looking after.

And besides that, Kari was beginning to see the res differently.

As a place where her divided heritage wasn’t a weakness but a strength.

After Yazzie left, Kari finished her report and sent it to the department server. She was gathering her things to leave when Tsosie appeared in her doorway, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” he said, offering her one. “You’ve been at that report all day.”

“Thanks.” She accepted the coffee gratefully, the gesture another sign of their evolving relationship.

When she’d first arrived, Tsosie had viewed her with thinly veiled skepticism—the half-Navajo detective returning from the big city, bringing her outsider methods and perspectives. Now, he seemed to view her differently.

To value her.

“Redford’s initial psychiatric evaluation came in,” he said, taking the seat Daniels had vacated. “Diagnosis suggests psychotic disorder with delusional features, exacerbated by stress and personal loss.”

“The divorce,” Kari said with a nod. “She mentioned it during our interview.”

“Classic trigger point,” Tsosie agreed. “But there’s something that still bothers me.”

“The strength,” Kari said, knowing exactly what he meant. “The physical capabilities she displayed during the attacks.”

Tsosie nodded. “The psychiatrists are attributing it to hysterical strength—adrenaline overriding normal physical limitations during psychotic episodes. It’s a documented phenomenon.”

“But you’re not convinced.”

“Are you?” He met her gaze directly.

Kari thought about the medicine pouch, still in her jacket pocket. How it had affected Redford when nothing else could. How Ruth had insisted she carry it. How her mother’s message— You have everything you need —had proven unexpectedly literal.

“I think some realities exist beyond our usual frameworks,” she said carefully. “Beyond what can be explained in reports or diagnoses.”

Tsosie regarded her with new respect. “That’s not what you would have said three weeks ago.”

“No,” Kari admitted. “It’s not.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, filled with unspoken understanding. Finally, Tsosie cleared his throat. “I was wrong, you know.”

“About?”

“About you coming back. When you first transferred, I thought you were just doing your obligation to family. That you’d leave as soon as you could.” He looked down at his coffee. “I didn’t think you could bridge both worlds.”

The admission surprised her. “What changed your mind?”

“Watching you work this case. You didn’t choose between worlds—you used both.

Your police training and your cultural understanding.

Your father’s methodology and your mother’s intuition.

” He looked up, his expression open in a way she hadn’t seen before.

“It’s what this department needs. What the community needs. ”

Kari felt something shift between them—the last barriers of distrust falling away, replaced by the beginnings of genuine partnership. Perhaps even friendship.

“High praise coming from you,” she said, keeping her tone light despite the emotion she felt.

Tsosie shrugged, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t let it go to your head. We’ve still got that drug smuggling case to crack. And three unsolved burglaries from last month.”

“One thing at a time,” Kari said, returning his smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And she meant it. The realization settled over her with quiet certainty.

Her mother’s house no longer felt temporary.

The reservation no longer felt like a step backward in her career.

She had found her place—not in Phoenix with its urban anonymity, not in her father’s world of federal procedures and profiles, but here, where her divided heritage made her uniquely qualified to bridge worlds that desperately needed connection.

Later, driving home through the gentle rain, Kari pulled over at a scenic overlook and gazed out at the landscape she had once been so eager to escape.

Mesas and canyons stretched to the horizon, their ancient contours softened by mist. The medicine pouch sat on the passenger seat beside her, a tangible reminder of her mother’s and grandmother’s wisdom, and of the mysteries that remained.

Like what had really happened to her mother. Why Anna had been researching the same old stories Redford had fixated on. Why she had gone to Canyon de Chelly the night she died.

But those were questions for another day.

For now, Kari simply sat in the gathering dusk, listening to the rain on the roof of her Jeep, feeling the weight of her badge against her hip, knowing that she had finally found the place where both halves of herself could coexist. Where she could be Detective Blackhorse and Asdz?′?′ K’os simultaneously.

Where she belonged.

As she pulled back onto the road, heading toward the small house that was now truly becoming her home, Kari felt an unexpected sense of peace. There would be other cases, other mysteries, other boundaries to navigate.

But for now, the rain fell, washing the desert clean, preparing it for whatever would come next. And Kari Blackhorse, detective and daughter of two worlds, drove toward home, ready to face it.