Renee Simons Special Edition (56 page)

She wore no makeup, and didn't appear to need any. The sun had left her skin with a gentle tan; her cheeks glowed with good health. She'd tied her hair back from her face with a brightly colored scarf, exposing her graceful neck. Her hands looked strong and capable on the wheel, her arms just muscular enough to evoke an image of power without detracting from her femininity.

She raised a hand to her cheek. "Is my face dirty?"

The gesture allowed him to see long, slender fingers tapering to oval nails unadorned by polish. Womanly without frills, he thought.

He shook his head. "No. I was just thinking you handle this car very capably."

"I've been driving it for a long time."

"Belonged to Dar, didn't it?"

She nodded. "He left no survivors, legal ones, that is. The personnel people gave me the option of keeping it or selling it. I kept it as a reminder of him. Not that I needed one."

"I certainly can't fault his taste . . . in cars or women."

"Well, there certainly were enough of them."

"Cars?"

"Women," she said without rancor.

"I meant you specifically." He smiled as a blush betrayed her embarrassment. "The others all predated you and would've fallen short, I'm sure."

Her hands clutched the wheel as she looked over at him and then back at the road. "How would you know that?"

"The office grapevine. While I was training at the Agency, your relationship was a hot topic. And the grapevine seemed convinced that you'd settled him down and transformed him into a one-woman man."

"At least I was there for him for a little while."

"You're still there for him . . . making sure justice is done. I could've used that kind of loyalty." He glanced at the scenery, remembering his failed marriage, then shrugged off the pain. 

"What happened between you and your wife?"

That she understood his reference surprised him. Maybe he could bring himself to talk about Sherelle. "The court martial happened. She couldn't hack the embarrassment and the public condemnation so she left."

"That must have been tough to handle."

"Apparently. Being married to an up-and-coming officer carried a lot of prestige with it, so she never minded being a Marine wife. But when the unkcé hit the fan, she felt as though fingers pointed at her, too. Fact is, the media attention hurt everyone on the rez. Whatever was said or written about me reflected on the rest of the tribe. In some ways it was worse for them than for me. At least I knew I was innocent."

"I was thinking about you not her. Just when you needed her support, she cut out. Why aren't you more bitter?"

"I was, for a long time, but I don't think about her much anymore."

A small sign with an arrow pointing left came into view. Zan looked at her side view mirror, then made the turn. "Seems like you had a right to expect she'd stand by you."

"Yeah, well, it's one thing to be pilloried by an unfeeling system that demands loyalty without returning the favor. It's another to be deserted by someone who's supposed to love and care about you." He groaned inwardly. "Does that sound like self-pity?"

"Not coming from you. Besides, your feelings are your feelings, and no one has the right to belittle them." She gave him a teasing smile that warmed him in a way he hadn't felt in too long. "Not even a big strong Marine like you."

He found it easy to talk to this woman. Despite their differences, she had the ability to appreciate how he felt, one of the many qualities his ex-wife had lacked. He grinned. And she had a better sense of humor.

The car bumped along the pitted road that bisected the reservation. Looking for Thunder Butte, he watched table-top formations rise above the prairie. Far in the distance he spotted the faint shape of the place where the Great Spirit had defined his future, promising he would walk at the head of his people and lead them into the next century.

In preparing him for the vision quest, his Grandfather had cautioned that to run from a prophecy could bring disaster. But Stormwalker didn't believe in divine intervention, either to punish or to bless. He'd chosen a life beyond the reservation and right or wrong, would continue to make his own choices. Any disasters that resulted would be of his making. Another curve obscured the landmark. He would have to go up there again. Soon.

Zan parked in front of Stormwalker's house and turned to him. "You've lost your father, your marriage, your career and reputation. This situation has cost you just about everything."

"That's why it's important for you to get at the truth."

"No matter what it is?"

Like two long-time friends, they'd trusted each other today. Considering how far apart they'd been only days ago, the conversation had amounted to a huge gamble for both of them but he was pretty certain the results had been worth the risk. "No matter."

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" Zan asked.

"Same words, different attitude."

He uncoiled and levered himself up and out of the car, returning the smile that had brightened the darkest places in his heart. "I do believe we just turned a corner." With a two-fingered salute, he turned and went into the house.

Chapter 5

Zan woke early after a restless night and went to the computer with a muffin in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. She picked up where she'd left off, examining the remainder of Dar's file. After several minutes, her phone rang. Without taking her eyes from the screen, she reached over and picked up the receiver.

"McLaren here," she said.

"Why aren't you at the festivities?" Mac asked.

"I'll get over there eventually."

"I know you're busy with your other work, but I'd like your presence to be the first priority. Your expertise may be helpful should a crisis arise. And we've reason to believe one will."

This was the first time they'd talked since he'd asked for her help. Although his lapse into pseudo-code annoyed her, she kept her tone light. "Is this on your time or mine?"

"If you remember," he said with dry emphasis, "there was more than one element in this assignment. So I don't care if you're on the clock or off, as long as you're available when needed. Is that understood?"

Sheesh, she thought. Big brother's funny bone has been dislocated. "Understood," she echoed docilely and raised her hand in a silent salute.

"Call me if you run into any problems and remember Dad's old saying, 'forewarned is forearmed'."

He hung up, leaving her staring at the receiver. To her dismay, he'd just warned her to carry her off-duty firearm.

*****

Inside the reservation gate and more than two miles from the newspaper building, a campground had been set up filled with tipis, stripe-roofed tents and temporary booths of all sizes and shapes. Just beyond lay a parking area choked with so many vehicles that she parked at the outer edge, far from where the powwow itself took place.

Above her, the sun rode high in the sky, like a great, brassy disk. A hot, dry light rained down on the scorched prairie. She closed her eyes and felt herself relax as she soaked in the heat. This climate suited her better than the humid summers in
Virginia
and
New York
. Even her injury hurt less out here. She wondered how the winters would be.

Reluctantly, she heeded Mac's warning, unlocked the glove compartment and removed her revolver. Once, it had represented safety and a necessary tool of her trade. Now, the silver blue object felt heavy and cold, reminding her how quickly such a weapon had ended one life and changed another. With a shudder, she chambered a cartridge, then dropped the revolver into her shoulder bag. She swung her legs outside and crossed the parking area.

She made her way down the rows of vehicles and drifted through the crowd. How would she locate Stormwalker, if he was here among the thousands of people? As if to emphasize the difficulty, groups of young men chanted and drummed out steady, measured rhythms that intensified the general cacophony of sound. The scene shimmered and vibrated with color wherever dancers practiced in their feathers and beads.

Crowds of appreciative buyers or curious onlookers made their way from one stall to another admiring the creations. Hordes of children converted mere chaos into total anarchy as they darted between the booths and chased each other around adults who turned their pathways into an obstacle course.

After a fruitless search of the crowd, she decided to have Mike paged over the P.A. system. Perhaps he could lead her to Stormwalker. About to enter the office, she saw Katti approach. Something obviously disturbed the young woman.

"I saw Stormwalker with Billy Winter and two of his friends, and from the way they acted, I think there's gonna be trouble," she said.

"Which way were they headed?"

"Toward the parking area," Katti replied.

"Let's find the reservation police and get them on it."

"They're handling a multi-vehicle accident on one of the service roads."

"All of them?"

"There's only two guys. The rez can't support any more."

"Then I'll have to handle this."

"I'm going with you."

"I appreciate your wanting to help, but as a civilian you can't do anything."

"If Billy sees me, maybe he'll back off."

"Maybe. Stay here anyway."

Zan made her way through the streams of people and between rows of parked vehicles. The wind blew in from the prairie and dried the perspiration that ran down her cheek and between her breasts. She strained to hear something that would tell her the men were out here. Finally, she heard what she hoped she wouldn't: a dull thud, followed by a grunt of pain; the two repeated in rhythmic counterpoint to each other with a regularity that sent a chill through her.

She cleared a new row and leaned into the aisle. To her right she could see that two men held a third pinned against the back of a van, while another pummeled him about the face and midsection.

Without giving herself time to think she palmed the .38 and moved down the line until she was directly behind the group. "Gentlemen."

At her quietly commanding tone, the men holding Stormwalker turned. Billy Winter stopped in mid blow and faced her. All bore enough bruises to prove Stormwalker had put up a fight before they subdued him.

"Stand away from that man, please."

"You're out of your jurisdiction, Officer McLaren."

"Maybe so, but I can still report this."

Winter made no response but his gaze traveled from the weapon at Zan's side to somewhere over her left shoulder. His eyes held a strange expression combining anger and embarrassment.

"Why are you doing this, Billy?" Katti had followed Zan and now moved to stand beside her.

"He was told to stay away from these proceedings. He needed a lesson in obeying orders, is all."

"It wasn't your place to administer it," Zan said.

"Please stop," Katti whispered from behind her. "You're better than this."

After a long pause, he held up two hands in a placating gesture, then turned to his friends. "Let him go."

They moved away from Stormwalker, who slid to the ground. Zan looked down at his limp body, then back at Winter. "Where's your vehicle?"

He jerked his head to the right, where she saw a tan Jeep with official plates.

"Suppose you and your friends mount up and move out of here. If you cause this man any more grief, I'll see that you're busted and thrown into your own jail."

"I don't believe you have the clout to do that," he said, "but we'll call it quits. For now."

When the men had sped off, she turned to the young woman. "Thanks for your help. I'll take it from here."

"Are you sure you can manage?" Katti asked. "He's pretty big."

"My car's close by. We'll do okay."

Katti nodded and left. Zan knelt beside the injured man. "Geez, Stormwalker," she crooned softly. She tried, and failed, to ignore an unwelcome stirring. "You look like hell."

His face and knuckles were battered and covered with blood and his denim shirt hung in tatters. She lifted one eyelid to check his reflexes. Iron fingers gripped her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face.

"What are you doing?" he asked hoarsely through swollen lips. "I'm not dead yet."

Relieved that he was conscious and coherent enough to be annoyed, she sighed. "You look like a train ran over you."

"I feel like it, Red."

"Don't call me that. I hate it." She slipped an arm around his shoulders. "Think you can sit up?"

He nodded and together they got him upright and braced against the door of the van. He glared at her through the slits that were his eyes. "Will you quit looking at me like that!"

She took a handkerchief from her back pocket and dabbed at the blood staining the corner of his mouth and one eye. "Like what?" she murmured.