Scorched Earth

SCORCHED EARTH A DALTON SAVAGE MYSTERY BOOK 2 L.T. RYAN WITH BIBA PEARCE Copyright © 2023 by L.T. Ryan, Biba Pearce, Brian Christopher Shea, & Liquid Mind Media. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. For information contact: [email protected] http://LTRyan.com https://www.facebook.com/groups/1727449564174357 CONTENTS The Dalton Savage Series Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Also by L.T. Ryan About the Author The Dalton Savage Series Savage Grounds Scorched Earth Cold Sky Join the L.T. Ryan reader family & receive a free copy of the Rachel Hatch story, Fractured. Click the link below to get started: https://ltryan.com/rachel-hatch-newsletter-signup-1 ONE Eddie Youngblood had a bad feeling. Something about the message didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was too abrupt, too succinct. Not her usual style. But he’d come, anyway. He had to. It was her. Eyes the color of pine needles after the rain, dewy skin, and a smile that warmed him like the sun on a summer’s day. How could he not come? Still, every sense was tingling. His friend Tomahawk had taught him well. A tracker and member of the tribal police, Tomahawk had taught him how to be silent. How to listen and be aware of his surroundings. To trust his instincts, now telling him to get the hell out of there. But what if she was in trouble? What if she needed him? Her words this morning had been confusing. “There’s something I need to tell you, but now’s not the time. Let’s talk tomorrow. Meet me at the usual place?” And he’d agreed. Her eyes had glistened as she’d spoken, and she’d turned her head away, as if what she had to tell him was somehow overwhelming, or too much for her to bear. He’d reached for her hand, but she’d run off, with only a tearful backward glance to sustain him until tomorrow. And then this message. “Can you meet tonight? Same place. 6:30 pm.” Why had she changed her mind and brought their meeting forward? What did she want to tell him that couldn’t wait? His heart hammered as he waited in the shadow of the massive excavator. Its dirty yellow claw dangled above him, silent and menacing in the hazy half-light of dusk. The construction site was deserted. The workers had finished their shift for the day and were already in their barracks, or out on the town. The ground beneath him was dusty from the dry weather, coating his boots with a fine red powder. Soon the leaves would turn, painting the landscape in bronze, gold, and copper. Fall was his favorite time of year. There was a sliver of a moon rising, but it didn’t offer much in the way of light. The excavator was one of many machines, all lined up ready for the next day’s work. The construction site was vast, a huge stretch of land running from the foothills of the mountains to the Southern Ute Reservation, where he lived. Billy Nighthawk, the ex-chief of police on the reservation, had told him this was sacred land that used to belong to the Ute. Before Billy had died, he’d tried to lobby the government to return it to the Ute people, but his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Instead, the land had been sold to a developer from Denver, and the sacred ground would soon house a shopping center and accommodation for the expanding population of Hawk’s Landing. Right now, however, it simply looked like an excavation site. The ground was pockmarked with gaping holes and punctured with metal pylons. Ropes crisscrossed the site, demarcating the planning areas. In some places, the holes had been filled with concrete and smoothed over. A band aid on a scar that would never heal. He’d written about it in The Drum, the tribal newspaper that he worked for. Eddie loved writing, much to his grandparents’ bewilderment. They were old-school. His grandfather had worked in a hardware store his whole life, while his grandmother taught the local preschool kids how to read and write. She was smart, but not worldly. When he’d been orphaned, they’d taken him in and raised him as their own. Despite his difficult start in life, he’d had a loving home and a good education. It was here, in one of these cordoned-off areas, that he was supposed to meet her. The foundation had been laid and was hardening, although it still felt wet when he put his foot on it. That much cement took a long time to dry. A rustling sound behind the machines made him swing around, but there was nobody there. He called her name, his voice measured, not too loud, but not so soft she wouldn’t hear him. Yet he got no reply. Then he saw it. A dim glimmer of light on the other side of the concrete rectangle. It wasn’t moving, just flickering in one spot like a hovering firefly. It must have been her. Eddie took off, rounding the concrete slab, his breath shallow with anticipation. He waved, but the motion was swallowed up by the encroaching darkness. The fluttering light didn’t waver. He rounded the