by Beverly Bird
“Do you see it?” she asked. Her voice was oddly strangled. His furious intent was touching something inside her, eliciting a violent panic that was beginning to make her shake.
He didn’t answer, just tossed the mattress aside, as well, yanking at the frame where it sat braced on the cinder blocks. Everything fell to the floor with a clatter and a thump that jarred the trailer.
There were no bullet holes in the wall behind it, none in the flooring. “You’re sure you were facing this way?”
“There was blood on the blanket,” she protested.
He swore again.
“What?” she demanded. “You’re scaring me.”
“It’s in him. He took it.”
“Took it? Who?”
“That was no possum, Cat Eyes. It was our wolfman. Ten-to-one you walked in on him and he changed.”
“Changed?” She croaked the word, then shook her head. “No.”
“You think a rabid possum wandered in while someone else was leaving you the doll?” he demanded.
“I...” She trailed off. The explanation did reach—a lot—but there was no other that made sense. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—start believing in witches, Navajo or otherwise.
Except...the way it had run. “Oh, God,” she breathed. Her head spun, struggling away from what she was not willing to accept. “When the wolfman scare started getting bad, the people all said they saw dogs and wolves running as fast as cars. This was a possum,” she said.
“A wolfman can change into whatever he wants to change into, whatever the situation demands,” Jericho said grimly. He looked around the trailer again. “This is an inconvenient place for a wolf or a dog.”
Catherine dragged a chair over from where the table had once been. She sat down hard.
“First Lisa, then Louie. And you saved Louie,” Jericho went on, almost to himself. He bent and scooped the doll up again from where he had dropped it on the floor. He turned it over in his hands. Its head lolled.
“So this is what he’s going to do to you next. If you get in his way again, he’ll break your neck.”
Catherine looked at him dully. “No.”
He didn’t seem to hear her. “No more, Cat Eyes. You’ve treated your last Tah honeesgai patient.”
Catherine paled. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”
Something in her tone brought his eyes back to her. “Don’t do what?”
“Don’t give me...orders...and...ultimatums.”
Jericho studied her sudden pallor, then he looked to her hands where they were clenched and trembling. His face hardened dangerously. “I’m trying to protect your hide.”
“You’re way off base,” she blurted. “It’s not what he’s going to do to me, it’s what should already have happened, and it’s not your wolfman.”
He waited for her to go on. She couldn’t. She realized, horrified, that she had said too much already. She turned away from him to hide the confusion and panic in her face.
He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, spinning her around to face him again. He was as angry as she had ever seen him. His black eyes blazed. His jaw worked. She struggled against him, suddenly frightened of him.
He wouldn’t let her go. “What is it with you?” he snarled.
Her pulse went crazy. She went very still, because to fight him brought pain where he gripped her. “What do you mean?”
“You make love to me with all your soul, with everything inside you. So why won’t you talk to me?”
There was a low, groaning sound from the door. They both jerked and looked that way. Ellen stood staring back at them, her hands braced on either side of the doorframe, her eyes wide and aghast. She made another strangled sound and turned and fled.
Catherine felt the strength leave her legs. “Well, if she’s responsible, now you’ve done it.” But she knew it wasn’t Ellen. She had been grasping at straws, and Jericho was not going to be sidetracked anyway.
“Answer me,” he said angrily. “How can you give so much, yet so little?”
“You haven’t exactly offered a wealth of information about yourself,” she retorted. She wanted to get as mad as he was. She needed her temper now...but the look on his face was only tearing her heart out.
“It didn’t matter to you last night,” he said tightly.
“No,” she raged. “And apparently my past didn’t bother you much then, either.”
“What are you saying?” His voice was deadly calm. Her heart thundered. She pushed her chin up.
“Maybe it was just sex. You don’t need a lot of talk for that.”
“Damn you.” He crushed the doll in his hand. She was startled to realize that he still held it. He hurled it at the sink and it plopped wetly into the water again.
“I don’t need this,” he muttered. He headed for the door, slamming it hard as he left.
The trailer vibrated. Catherine felt as if her life were draining slowly, helplessly out of her. She wondered if there were any more numbing words in the English language than those.
* * *
It was early afternoon when she stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the hook on the back of the door. She had spent the morning trying to put her trailer to rights again, and if she was exhausted before, she was practically dead now. The shower hadn’t helped.
Then she heard a bang from the other room and her heart skipped. Jericho. He had come back.
She found the energy to fling the door open, but it was only Shadow working to get the table to stand upright again. When Shadow heard Catherine, she looked up and the table toppled over once more.
Shadow shrugged. “It wasn’t much good in the first place, I guess.”
“I used cinder blocks to put the bed back up,” Catherine managed. “There’s more where they came from. I just haven’t had a chance to go outside yet to get them.”
Shadow nodded and looked at her more closely. “How are you?”
Catherine gave a high-pitched laugh. “All things considered?”
“That bad?”
Her laughter died as abruptly as it had claimed her. “Yes.”
“So what’s going on around here? Ellen’s over in the clinic acting strangely, Jericho barged in on me this morning yelling like a maniac and you’re taking a shower in the middle of the day instead of working—not that you don’t deserve a day off. It’s like someone put a hex on this place and everyone’s gone crazy.”
“It’s not your wolfman,” Catherine snapped, frustrated.
“I didn’t necessarily say it was.”
Catherine went still as she rummaged through a suitcase for clothes—the one thing Shadow hadn’t been able to produce was a dresser. She looked back at her and realized that the woman had absolutely no idea what was going on. Apparently, no one had told her about the owl or the effigy doll.
Catherine filled her in shortly as she dressed. Sooner or later, she reasoned, Shadow would find out anyway. Her response was predictable. The color drained from her face.
“The possum ran? Full of lead?”
“I’d put my money on it being rabid.” Catherine sighed. “In fact, I’m going to call the health department and report it.”
“I don’t think it’ll do much good.”
“Maybe not, since I don’t have the body.” She pulled her boots on, then she frowned. God help her, but she was beginning to suspect everybody.
“How’d you manage to get in here?” she asked, keeping her voice idle.
Shadow didn’t take offense. She sat on the floor and crossed her arms on her knees. “Your door was unlocked. Do you mind? There’s just sort of a come-on-in attitude around these parts, and Jericho said you needed help cleaning up here. I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”
Catherine shook her head. “I don’t care.” She hesitated. She didn’t want to ask, and couldn’t stop herself. “What was he yelling about?”
“My brother?” Shadow’s eyes narrowed in a look much like his. “He wanted
to know what I knew about you.”
Catherine sat on the bed and covered her face with her hands. “What did you tell him?” she asked, her voice muffled.
“There’s not much I could tell him.”
“Your friend with the health service isn’t Ed Bunn?” That was the man she’d been forced to confide in. She splayed her fingers to look at Shadow, waiting for her answer.
Shadow shook her head. “No. Jack Keller.”
Jack—whoever he was—had apparently told Shadow that she was Lanie McDaniel, then. Her secret was still safe in that corner, if no other.
“Does he hold a grudge?” she asked finally.
“Who? Jack?”
“No, Jericho.”
“Depends. Did you hurt him or someone under his wing?”
“Him, I guess.” God, what she wouldn’t give to have those words back. It was her temper, her wretched temper...and it was so much more, so much she couldn’t control.
“Then he’ll probably hold a grudge a couple days short of forever.”
In the next moment, Catherine was crying. She was appalled at herself, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. The tears welled up so fast, so hot, that they spilled over before she could blink. Then she was sobbing, burying her face in her hands again.
She never cried. It was just that she was so tired, and so much had happened to her. She was wrung out, emotionally and physically.
And she knew that wasn’t it at all. So did Shadow.
The woman stood and went into the bathroom, coming back with a wad of toilet paper. She nudged her shoulder. “Here. Blow. You know, nobody tells me anything.”
Catherine took the toilet paper and managed a watery smile. “Thanks.” She appreciated Shadow’s no-nonsense attitude more than anything else.
“Well, this explains Ellen’s funk.” Shadow dropped down on the bed beside her.
“Ellen’s in love with him,” she muttered, blowing her nose.
“So are you.”
Catherine stiffened to argue the point, but finally she only let her breath out on a shaky sigh. “I don’t know yet. I’ve been wrong before.”
“So has he. That’s why he’s so touchy.”
Catherine’s eyes cleared sharply. “Tell me.”
Shadow hesitated, then she shook her head. “I can’t.” She stood and started pacing. “It’s not the Navajo way, Lanie. You’ve got to understand that we make it a habit not to speak for anybody else. We don’t presume to know how anybody feels or why—even if it’s kin. For instance, if you asked Eddie Begay how his mother’s feeling, when you know she’s got a cold, he’ll just tell you that she’s home today. He’d expect that if you wanted to know badly enough you’d go find her and ask her.”
“I see.”
“I could tell you why I think Jericho’s angry, and I’d probably be right. But I could be wrong, and that wouldn’t be fair to him.”
“So if I want to know, I should ask him myself.” Catherine sighed.
“Well, in this case you can’t because I can’t tell you where he is. I don’t know where he’s gone.”
Catherine flinched, wondering herself. But she felt marginally better than she had all morning. “So does this same respect apply to visitors living among you?” she asked.
Shadow nodded.
“If someone came here asking about me, nobody would tell them anything?”
“Well, they’d probably just say you work at the clinic. Why? Who’s going to ask?”
Catherine got to her feet, as well. Her heart felt wretched again. God, she was tired of this, of the subterfuge and the worrying and the lies.
“As for your first question, I can’t tell you. It’s not a matter of trust,” she added quickly, “especially in light of what you’ve just told me. It’s just...I’m not sure yet that it wouldn’t put you in danger. You’re better off not knowing. Jericho too, though he won’t believe it.”
“Have you told him that?”
“No, but he hasn’t actually given me a chance.” She remembered where the conversation had gone the night before, when they’d broached the subject, and she felt a flush creep up her neck.
“Anyway, as for your second question...” She paused and blew out her breath. “I don’t know that yet either, but I’m going to find out. Can you give me a ride into Shiprock?”
“Sure. I’d say it’s probably best all the way around if you kept out of Ellen’s way today. You know, as beautiful as she is, she has wretched luck with men. Jericho’s clan so nothing could ever come of a relationship between them, but she’s still got to be hurting. And when she hurts or gets upset, her tongue gets... sharp.”
“I’ve noticed,” Catherine said dryly.
She gathered up some change that had been lying on the kitchen counter. Going all the way into town to call Schilling was probably a waste of time, but she had to talk to him, had to find out if Victor did have a man out here watching her.
The time had come to tell Jericho, she thought, feeling something tremble inside her. How much she could tell him remained to be seen, but she knew that if she kept hiding this secret from him she would lose him, whether she had actually lied to him or not.
If it wasn’t too late. Suddenly she felt like crying again.
* * *
She asked Shadow to drop her off at the motor inn. Her friend raised a brow but asked no questions.
“I have to run over to the feed store and pick up some grain. It should take me about half an hour. Will that give you enough time?”
“More than enough,” Catherine answered. “I only need about five minutes.”
“Well, that rules out an illicit lover’s tryst.”
Catherine laughed for the first time all day, but it was a shaky sound. She figured she already had more than she could handle of that sort of thing.
She watched as Shadow’s truck darted off down the street. When it turned a corner, she went inside the coffee shop again.
“Horace Schilling,” she said into the phone, then, when he picked up, “It’s Catherine Landano. Well?”
Significantly, she thought, he didn’t ask where she was this time or beat around the bush to allow time for a trace.
“Victor’s here. In Boston.”
“You’ve actually seen him?”
“Better than that. We’ve also got his voice on tape. He’s had several meetings that we managed to gain some foreknowledge of, and we were therefore able to wire his discussions. None of them pertained directly to you.”
“Directly? What does that mean?”
“It means that he met with his lawyers and some associates to discuss his possible defense, should you repeat what you overheard.”
“I already have.”
“He doesn’t know that. He hasn’t been charged yet with anything other than shooting you, and that’s a fall he’s willing to accept. He and his pals all go into this business with the understanding that they’re liable to go away for a few years at a time. It’s the big chunks of their lives they kill to avoid. Charges like racketeering, money laundering, anything that would threaten the whole organization. Attempted murder and assault with a deadly weapon will only get him five-to-ten. He’ll probably be out in two with good behavior.”
Catherine took a shaky breath. A million implications were flying around in her brain, and some of them were making her feel cold inside. “So he hasn’t spoken to anyone he might have on my tail?”
“No.”
She felt colder. “No one? He’s not after me now?”
“No.”
“Someone is,” she breathed.
“It’s probably your imagination.”
“No.” No, it definitely wasn’t.
“Well, it’s not Victor Landano. He’s not planning on making his position worse unless the situation becomes critical. Meaning that as it stands right now, he’s looking at two years, not even maximum security. If he puts someone on you and the authorities find out, he’s looking at
five. If he kills you in cold blood after the first attempt, he’s looking at a minimum of twenty, and I’m talking parole. Life or gas are more likely. And you’re gone. You’ve tucked your tail and run. What are the odds that you’re going to come back and squeal? Why kill you until you try?”
“So I’m safe until he’s charged with...with the other.”
“That’s his plan.”
“You’ve got that on tape?”
“Yes. At the very least, if you go down, you know he’s going to hang.”
Somehow it wasn’t comforting. “You’ve confirmed his associations then.”
“To my satisfaction. We’re still busy. The DA will want more for the grand jury, but it’s a simple matter of putting the pieces together now.”
Her blood drained. “So he will be charged with the business about the senator?”
Schilling finally hesitated. “Yes.”
“When?”
“Probably within the next couple of weeks.”
“Oh, dear God. Then they’ll come after me.”
“Catherine, not even his father is exceptionally pleased with the fact that Victor allowed you this knowledge. The family’s doing some active damage control. If Victor goes up for the murder of the senator, Daddy will tell him goodbye. From all indications, he acted on his own on this, without the family’s approval or cooperation, except for the flunkies he used. They’re not going to make matters worse by gunning you down after the fact, when the damage is already done. You didn’t screw up. Victor did when he allowed you to learn what he’d done. Victor’s the one who’ll be punished. I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“You said that before,” she answered, strangled.
“But now we’re in a much better position to protect you if we have to.”
Catherine thought about that a moment, then she understood. “You do know where I am.”
“We know you’re in New Mexico and that he’s not.”
She closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
“You’ll be all right.”
“I’m not going to testify.”
“On which?”
“On either. It’s not worth risking my life to come back there to testify on the attempted murder charge if he’s only going to do two years for shooting me.” It made her angry—the cops had certainly never bothered to tell her that. But in the end, she had far more serious concerns and it was too much of an effort to hold on to her temper.