Sacred Burial Grounds (An FBI Romance Thriller (book 2)) (12 page)

“Well, Elizabeth, what do you think of this old man’s home?” he asked, testing the woman to see her answer. He wanted to assure that she was the woman needed for his grandson’s life. If she didn’t see past the simple interior, she wouldn’t be the one for him, and he would tell her as much.
Carefully, he tracked her with his wise, old eyes until she stood in front of his headdress. Beauty went so far, but a woman of substance went the distance, and he was curious about this woman.

Blackhawk was on edge
. He’d seen other women fail this part of the test. When his brother brought a girlfriend home once, she didn’t pass it. All she saw was the house and not the substance.

Elizabeth
examined the room, much like she had when her husband first brought her to his home. She took in all the surroundings and smiled. “I find it completely and totally distracting,” she laughed. “I want to explore it, and touch everything like a little kid. I believe growing up here must have been an adventure.” Then she looked over at her husband. “You were a very lucky kid, Ethan. I’m very jealous!”

Timothy Blackhawk grinned at the woman. Yeah, his grandson found the woman he was meant to
be with for the rest of his life. She was bright, protective, sunny and loving. Now he knew that he could stop worrying about this grandson. The dream made complete sense now. The raven was being guarded by his mate and love. Elizabeth Blackhawk would take care of his boy.

“Granddad, I find that I want to run my hands over all the pretty rocks, and feel all the feathers on
your warbonnet. May I?” she asked, waiting for his permission.

“By all means, what catches your eye first, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth reached out and touched the feathered headdress. “I’ve always been very fond of color, Granddad, but this is absolutely gorgeous. Is it part of your tribal regalia?”

Timothy Blackhawk was impressed that she used the correct terminology. “I
t is, Elizabeth. It took me many years to earn those feathers as a boy. Your husband has a few eagle feathers of his own.”

Elizabeth looked over at her husband, and she was surprised. Then she tried to picture it and felt very warm.

“I grew up here, so of course I do,” he said, laughing as he knew what she was thinking.

“Granddad, I
think I’m in love with your home. The color, the pretty stones and the history behind it all is very alluring. You are definitely a free spirit.”

Timothy laughed and poured three mugs of tea. “No one has called me that for many years, Elizabeth. I believe it takes another free spirit to recognize one of their own.”

“Ah well, then maybe it’s about time you were reminded. Maybe you can convince Ethan that being a free spirit is a good thing. He believes I’m more reckless than anything.”

Timothy Blackhawk handed the woman a cup of tea and kissed her on the forehead. The energy around her was good and pure, and he knew now that his grandson
didn’t choose just an outsider. This woman would fit into the family perfectly. Possibly bring his grandson home to them all. The dreams had all been right; she was very sturdy, tough, and would save his boy.

Ethan Blackhawk just watched his wife in awe. Now he realized if she could charm his grandfather, there was probably nothing she couldn’t do. He was hopelessly in love with her, and
he couldn’t help but daydream about her being pregnant. She was having his child and then something in him tightened in both awe and fear. There was awe that they may have created life, and fear he’d be just like his father and abandon them both. The look on his face must have said it all, and his grandfather changed the subject and quickly.

“What do you know about the bones, my boy?” he asked his grandson, as he sat on the couch, patting it for Elizabeth to join him. He genuinely liked the woman, and now he wanted to see what kind of agent she
was also. Ever since the Pine Ridge shootout, the trust in the FBI had always been a tumultuous one. There was no lost love between the Native American people and the federal government. From the start of the United States, the Native American people had been treated poorly and discriminated against. Placed on reservations, forced to live in abject poverty, and struggling just to survive. It was why they had their own police force and laws, trying to live separate from the world around them. They didn’t trust the outsiders.

Ethan Blackhawk sat across from his grandfather, and
he watched the old man with sad eyes. Somewhere, deep down, inside of him, there was regret that he blocked the man from his life for so many years. Effectively, what he did was abandon the man that raised him. Yeah, he checked up on his well-being and made sure he was taken care of financially, but he took all the emotional bonds and threw them away. That was a mistake on his behalf, and now he saw it. Just watching his grandfather and wife interact gave him a sense of peace. Maybe he could have a little of his past and present mix together, and it wouldn’t be disastrous. It was time he started to trust his wife to not exploit his heart. It only just occurred to him that he’d been holding back some of his life, worried she would eventually hurt him.

“They’re human,
Granddad,” he answered, sipping the tea in his mug.

“Then we have a killer on the reservation?”

Elizabeth answered, “You may, or may not. The land is strategically located. It isn’t that far from the edge of the reservation. There’s a possibility that the person entered the campgrounds by the river bed, and they made the hike into the reservation.”

The old man pondered what she was saying. “So an outsider could be guilty? Someone could
have come into the reservation and done this on purpose?”

“Honestly
Granddad, unless we can talk to the tribe, and get them to answer our questions it’s not going to be an easy assignment. Already we’re watched with suspicion. Elizabeth is going to be road-blocked because she’s a complete outsider, and I walked away from the tribe, so I’m public enemy number one. We may be able to use Callen’s deputies to do a great deal of the canvassing, but still they’re going to have contact with us at some point.”

“What would you have me do, my boy?”

“Can you ask them to cooperate?” inquired Blackhawk, hopefully. He wasn’t quite sure that his grandfather had that kind of power, but he was head of the Indian council and eldest member of the tribe. Maybe, that would mean something. Anything at this point would be helpful.

“My boy, you know that I can ask, but they will want you to come back to your roots.”

“Not happening,” he said, putting down his tea mug almost in protest.

“If you just listen once, Ethan, maybe you could take the easier path instead of being so damn stubborn.”

“That’s funny to hear you say, Granddad. I do believe I get my stubbornness from you. It’s a Blackhawk trait.”

Elizabeth sat silently, watching both men have their discussion. It was easy to see where her husband got his wicked stubborn streak, and she smiled behind her tea mug. She agreed it was definitely an inherited trait.
Both men had the same look on their faces.

“If you came back to the tribe, and
you had the ceremony then you and your wife wouldn’t get as much pushback. You know this to be true.”

“No,” he answered again.
Blackhawk wasn’t making his wife parade herself in front of the tribe like some show dog to get acceptance. She was his wife and not something to gawk at openly.

Elizabeth had to ask, “What does he have to do
?” Ethan gave her the look, and she tried to reassure him. “I have to ask, Ethan. I’m sorry, but you know I side with you over everything, but in this case one of us has to keep in mind, we’re the FBI first and here for a purpose.”

Blackhawk was tense that she was even considering it.

Timothy Blackhawk patted her knee. “A wise person hears all then decides,” he said to her, having hope she would have an open mind and help his grandson see. Elizabeth Blackhawk didn’t seem to have an aversion to being married to a Native American man, and this gave him hope that she’d help him reconnect with his roots. If there were going to be great-grandchildren, he wanted them to be part of his culture.

“I’m willing to listen,
Granddad, but I’m not willing to stomp on my husband’s feelings and beliefs. If it’s that big of an aversion to him than I’m sorry, but it has to be no.”

Blackhawk felt the tension ease a bit.

“Very well, Elizabeth. A wise wife always stands with her warrior before battle,” Timothy stated and continued, “in our culture much is celebrated around our communal gatherings. If Ethan would claim you in front of our people and have a simple ceremony, the tribe will see it as coming home and bringing his chosen partner. Then it looks like he went out searching for a wife with the intent to return and not him shunning his heritage.”

Elizabeth didn’t have a clue what kind of ceremony he meant
.

“A wedding, Lyzee,” answered her husband, clarifying
it for her. “He wants us to have a wedding ceremony here on the reservation.”

It didn’t bother, or upset her at all. She’d marry him all over again, on a reservation, on a plane, on a train, in the rain
… “I think we should ponder it and if it becomes important then we do it. Until then we don’t worry.” Elizabeth got up from the couch and crossed to her husband, sitting in his lap. She kissed him on his cheek, offering him reassurance that she indeed stood with him no matter what would happen.

Timothy Blackhawk understood and appreciated that the woman wasn’t going to allow his grandson to hurt. A lesser woman would try to impress him and fit in, she didn’t care; she was going
to protect the man she married and that impressed him. It was why both ravens were walking side by side through the river of blood in his vision.

She took his hand in hers, twisting the ring on his finger. It was her father’s wedding
band and now her husband’s ring, and it offered him peace with just the contact.

He had to change the subject, get the FBI part of him back in control. “The bones were laid out in a medicine wheel.”

Elizabeth pulled out her phone and pulled up the picture, handing it to Timothy Blackhawk.

“Yes, it certainly is a medicine wheel. None like I’ve ever seen before. I did once mak
e one made out of animal bones in tribute to their spirits. It was used to thank them for the energies they gave to the human world, but never have I ever seen human bones used. Not in our shaman practices.”

“It makes me think the perpetrator is Native Indian,” said Blackhawk.

Timothy shrugged not happy to hear that at all. He wanted to believe that his people wouldn’t play these games, and insult the spirits with using bones of children. The person was messing with things that were dangerous. 

“Granddad has been the tribal shaman for as long as I could remember, Elizabeth.” He was giving her the warning
that the discussion was heading down the weird path. She had been prepped in the car and here it came. 

“Do you believe in the spirit world, Elizabeth?” he asked, watching the woman’s face for any emotion or any judgment from her. “Do you believe that there is more out there than just what we can see here?”

“Do I believe that there’s one?” she asked and then answered. “Yes, and I believe that there’s much more out there that we can’t explain.”

“The
shaman has a few roles in the tribe. One is to be the go-between to the spirit world and the other to act as the healer to his or their people.”

“Do you think that the person who made this medicine wheel is a practicing shaman?” she asked him
. Communing with the spirit world didn’t bother her in the least. Who was she to condemn what she didn’t know or understand?

Timothy looked at the picture again. “It feels like he
is trying to offer up a sacrifice or something to the Great Spirit. There must be something he wants or needs badly. The concept to used human bones is extreme. I imagine he wants something monumental.”

“I happen to agree there, and
it’s creepy to use the bones of fetuses.”

Blackhawk ran his hand up and down her arm, reassuringly. “Who in the tribe,
Granddad, practices Shamanism? Who would be your replacement?”

He looked surprised at the question. Obviously his grandson thought it was one
of their own perpetrating this and another shaman no less.

“We have to start looking for anyone that thi
nks they are shaman. Right now, it’s the only thing we have to go on. First, we’ll look in the tribe, and as we get more information we will expand the investigation outside if need be.”

“I’ll have the names for you
. I must confer with the council first and discuss this.”

Blackhawk understood the anger he read on his grandfather’s face. One of their own may have betrayed them, committ
ing horrible atrocities and brought outsiders to the reservation. “Granddad, this is now FBI domain. Don’t be tossing out any Native American justice. Being the judge, jury and then executioner isn’t going to fly here now. Callen brought us in and we can’t let the tribe kill them first and sort out the details after the fact. It doesn’t work like that now.”