by Jenna Kernan
“That could be weeks,” said Dylan, sick at the possibility that the fire started by a group that purported to protect the environment would burn thousands of acres.
Dylan turned to the next possible reason for his early visit.
“Carter?”
Jack’s mouth turned down. “No word.”
“Will you come in? I’ll make coffee.” Dylan hoped he would go away so he could return to his bed and the woman waiting in it.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I need you to come with me.”
Dylan’s heart cried out as his body braced for some new threat.
“What time is it?”
“Five thirty. Morning paper just arrived. Kenshaw called me. He needs you and the Anglo.”
“Her name is Meadow.”
“Yes, I know.” Jack lifted a folded newspaper and let it drop open so Dylan could read the two-inch-high headline:
Heiress Meadow Wrangler Missing
Casualty or Cause of Fire?
Dylan snatched the paper. The article reported that Meadow had been filming for one of her father’s projects when she was caught in the wildfire. Her car had been recovered but no remains. Dylan scanned the article further, seeing that a search was hampered by the active wildfire and road closures. Her father had posted a reward for information.
“They don’t know she was in custody?”
“Apparently not,” said Jack.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars?” asked Dylan.
“Yup.”
“He’s after her,” said Dylan. “Who saw us come in?”
“Enough people to cause me concern. She can’t stay here.”
Dylan gripped the door to help him regain control, because his instinct was to fight Jack or anyone else who tried to take Meadow from him.
“Where is Kenshaw?” asked Dylan. Now he needed Tribal Thunder to agree to protect Meadow, an outsider, from her father. That meant convincing their shaman not to let her off the reservation.
“I’ll take you to him,” said Jack. “He said to hurry. He doesn’t have much time.”
“He doesn’t?” What did that even mean? “Jack, you need to fill me in.”
“Can’t. Not my place. Get what you need. Pack for traveling.”
“What kind of traveling?”
“Unknown. But travel light.”
Dylan had the unpleasant task of shaking Meadow out of bed. He paused in the door to his bedroom to try to memorize what she looked like sprawled on his mattress, the covers tangled in her tanned legs and her cobalt-colored hair cascading over his white linen pillowcase. She had one hand raised with curled fingers pressed to her forehead and her mouth was parted as she breathed with slow, even breaths. Her cheeks glowed pink in the rising light and he wondered if that was from the scratch of the stubble on his chin and cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed beside her and love her again.
Instead, he touched her bare shoulder. Her eyes opened and she turned an unfocused gaze on him, casting a sleepy smile.
“Good morning,” she said, and then stretched. She sat up and the coverlet dropped away.
His body reacted to the sight of her, naked to the waist. He sucked in a breath as the fire raced through him.
“Come back to bed,” she whispered, looping a finger in his boxers and tugging.
He resisted and she frowned.
“Jack’s here.”
Her finger slipped away and her brow knit. “Here? Why?”
“My shaman has asked to see us right away.”
“What’s happening?”
Dylan didn’t know what was happening or why his shaman needed to see them both right now. He didn’t know if he could convince the others of Tribal Thunder to protect Meadow. All he did know was that he would protect her. Because over the miles and the minutes, Meadow had risen from responsibility to necessity and Dylan could no longer imagine letting her go.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack Bear Den drove them from Koun’nde. The sun broke over the ridge of pine as they passed the upper ruins. His friend Jack was not good at small talk and Meadow was too worried to be polite so Jack switched to Tonto Apache and spoke to Dylan.
“Is she all right?” asked Jack.
“Afraid of what will happen next. She’s been through a lot.”
“You both have.”
“You really don’t know what Kenshaw wants?” asked Dylan.
“I know he sounded out of breath and asked me to meet him in an unusual place. I sent my men first to be sure it was safe for you and the woman.”
“Meadow,” said Dylan.
She looked at him from the backseat and he smiled, reading concern clearly across her pretty face.
“Yes. Her father is searching for her. You can’t keep her a secret for long.”
That was true. Most secrets were hard to keep. Jack had secrets, ones he wanted revealed.
“Ray won’t be there. Carter, either.”
“No. Just you, me and my brother Kurt.”
“Have you heard anything from Carter?”
Jack shook his head. “Field Agent Forrest says he’s well and they are awaiting the trial to testify.”
“Then what?”
“He isn’t sure. BEAR is still a credible threat. Carter’s wife is the only one who can link Wrangler to the Lilac mine.” Jack glanced in the rearview at the woman whose father was the most likely head of BEAR. That made her a threat, too.
“She’s not involved.”
Jack turned to Dylan. “Oh, no. That’s not true. She may be just a pawn or something more. But she is definitely implicated, because someone wanted her killed.” They slipped into silence as they reached the Hakathi River and turned toward Piñon Forks.
Jack broke the oppressive stillness first. “I got back the test results on the sibling DNA.”
Dylan glanced from the road to Jack. Ray had told him that Carter had complied with Jack’s request to take the test. Jack had a theory to explain the fact that he did not resemble his brothers. He thought he had a different father. The simplest way to prove this was to take a sibling DNA test. As Dylan understood it, that was only a swab of the cheek. It would show if you and your sibling shared two parents or only one.
“What did it say?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it. I carry it around in my wallet. Every day I hold it in my hands and then I put it back.”
“But I thought you needed to know.”
“I do. But maybe I need not to know more.”
Dylan shook his head, not understanding.
“As long as that envelope stays closed, I can pretend...”
As long as the envelope remained closed, then Jack was still Bear Den, still Roadrunner born of Snake, still Tonto Apache. Yes, Dylan understood.
“No hurry, Jack.”
Jack met his gaze and smiled.
“I’m with you no matter what you decide.” He switched to English. “Hey, have you considered my idea to bring a relay team up to the Brule Sioux Rez? With you as catcher and me as rider, I think we can win.” The Indian Relay Races were gaining popularity and he did not want the Sioux to have all the glory.
“The other two?” asked Jack.
“Ray has agreed. I wanted Carter, but if he will not be back by September, maybe Kurt or Tommy,” Dylan said, referring to Jack’s younger brothers.
“What about Danny?” asked Jack.
“I’ll ask Danny. But he won’t come home from the rodeo circuit.”
“Maybe meet us there?”
“I can ask if you ask Tommy.”
“Deal. You really think we can win?”
“Of course.”
Jack was smiling again. But
he lost his good humor as they pulled into a cutoff leading to a portion of the reservation off-limits to outsiders. This road led to the Turquoise River, one of the few rivers in Arizona that ran year-round, though not as it used to before the series of dams were added in the forties. They were met by a roadblock made of two orange traffic cones and a branch. One of his fellow officers left his unit to greet them.
“They’re waiting,” said Officer Wetselline. “Chief Tinnin, too.”
Jack cursed. If he had hoped to keep something from his boss, Wallace Tinnin, he had failed. None of his force of nine officers moved without him knowing.
Wetselline removed the branch and they rolled past.
Dylan did not know what to expect, but he had packed light, as Jack had requested. He splayed his hand over his duffel and glanced back at Meadow.
“Almost there.”
She gave a quick little nod, her brow knitting.
“It will be all right,” he said.
Her reply was a wide-eyed expression and clenching jaw that silently relayed she believed it would be anything but.
He turned to Jack. “If we need to make a run for it, will you help us?”
Jack lifted a thick brow. “You’d run, for her?”
Dylan nodded and Jack’s expression turned blacker still.
“Yes.”
“Mexico?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought it through. Will you?”
Jack nodded. “Hope it doesn’t come to that. But yes, I got your back. Always.”
They drew up to the lodge and pavilion utilized by the tribe for celebrations and ceremonies. Beyond, a string of cabins sat along the river. Past that, in the trees, was the sweat lodge used by their medicine society, the Turquoise Guardians, and the smaller, elite warrior sect of Tribal Thunder.
Dylan thought he could benefit from a good sweat to remove the poisons of the fire from his body with the ritual cleansing of the sacred sage and cedar smoke. But there was no time. There, in the road beside the pavilion, stood his shaman, the chief of tribal police, Wallace Tinnin, and, beside them, an outsider, FBI field agent Luke Forrest of the Black Mountain Apache Tribe.
“What’s he doing here?” asked Dylan.
“Don’t know,” said Jack. “Nothing good.”
“He can’t arrest us here. Not on our land.”
Jack nodded the truth of that. “But he can arrest her,” he said, his chin indicating the passenger in the backseat.
“Jack, you can’t let that happen.”
His friend lowered his chin, but whether in reply or in preparation for a fight, Dylan did not know. Dylan was always the peacemaker in the group. He’d pulled Ray Strong’s fanny from the fire more times than he could count and Jack’s, too, on occasion. Now he was the one who was preparing to do something stupid, and he pitied anyone who got between him and Meadow.
“Let’s see how this plays out,” said Jack, and exited the vehicle.
Dylan glanced to Meadow. “I don’t know if you should stay here or...”
Meadow shook her head. “I’m staying with you for as long as I can.”
Dylan helped her out and brought her into the gathering of serious men, all Apache and all dour as mourners at a funeral. He made introductions.
“Meadow Wrangler, this is my shaman, Kenshaw Little Falcon.”
His shaman did not offer his hand. That was an Anglo custom and Kenshaw did not believe in such greetings. He said an open hand was not assurance that a man did not have a weapon. Kenshaw was the only one in the bunch without a blazer or sport coat and looked the least official. His white cotton shirt covered him from the sun, and the turquoise beads he always wore fell in heavy cords about his neck. He looked the elder he was fast becoming because of his sour expression and the threads of white hairs that mingled with the black in two straight braids adorned with nothing more than hair ties. Jeans and boots completed his outfit.
“I know your father,” said Kenshaw to Meadow. “He is a powerful speaker.”
Meadow held her smile as she met Wallace Tinnin, who did shake her extended hand and lifted his drooping features for a moment into a kindly smile before his face fell back to the perpetual look of a man on the hunt. He and Luke Forrest both wore their hair very short and dressed like the Anglos Kenshaw said they were becoming.
Forrest was Dylan’s last introduction. The man was lean and compact with a power that came from his bearing as much as his body. Dylan had to resist dragging Meadow behind him when Luke took her hand in a brief greeting. Suddenly Dylan found himself facing off against religious, local and federal authorities all at once. It was a scenario he could not have imagined even three days ago. But so much had changed, and all since he’d met this woman.
“Shall we go into the lodge?” asked Tinnin.
Dylan glanced to Jack, who nodded and then led the way. Inside, they gathered in the office conference area that provided them a wide circular table inlaid with turquoise and set to reveal a spectacular view of the river and the high ridge of gray stone that rose on the opposite bank.
The men waited for Meadow to sit. Dylan flanked one side and Jack took the other. On the opposite side of the table sat Tinnin and Forrest. Little Falcon chose a place between the two parties.
“Why is the FBI here on our land?” asked Dylan.
Kenshaw gave a weary sigh. “Bobcat should be more observant and more patient.”
Dylan cautioned himself to patience and stealth. Now more than ever he needed to see what was hidden.
“I am here with my informant,” said Forrest.
Dylan looked at Meadow, who met his gaze and then cast him an expression of incredulity peppered with annoyance. Dylan looked from one man to the next. Tinnin could not be an informant, could he? He did not look to Jack, because Jack had no one on whom to inform. In fact, the only one who had access to that kind of information was Little Falcon. But he was their shaman, a religious man who sought to preserve their culture and heritage.
Dylan met Kenshaw’s gaze and saw the man’s mouth twitch. “Very good, Bobcat.”
“You’re working with the feds?” Dylan did not manage to keep the distain from his voice.
Once he had thought to join the agency. What had prevented him was the sure knowledge that he would run into conflicts with his people and the mission of the FBI. He wanted to serve his country but balked at being an agent and so had turned down the recruitment that had come after leaving the service and again after Carter Bear Den entered witness protection.
“I have a confession to make to you, Dylan,” said Kenshaw. “I did not send you to Cheney Williams for a fire-safety survey for that building site.”
Dylan absorbed this blow to his ego and then fielded the curious expression from Jack. Dylan had not told his friend of his intensions to leave the hotshots as crew chief and work in the private sector.
“I was going to tell you,” he said to Jack. “I passed the test. I’m accredited now. Ray knows. I just never found the right time.”
“Okay. Later,” said Jack, and turned to Kenshaw. “So why did you send him?”
“Cheney and I were old friends and activists. We worked on the water rights together in the eighties. He and I both joined PAN together.”
PAN, Protect All Nature, the environmental group headed by Meadow’s oldest brother, a seemingly innocent organization working to preserve wild places. And Cheney Williams had died on that ridge in the explosion that had started the fire that still raged. He had been Kenshaw’s friend and he’d worked with Meadow’s father on legal matters related to documentary financing and on filing the preliminary injunctions to prevent the building that broke the ridgeline. What else had he been involved in with her dad—the mass shooting in Lilac? Hiring the assassin to kill that shooter?
Cheney was de
ad. Had Wrangler killed him?
Bobcat waited.
“He and I both joined WOLF in the nineties. I’m still a member.” Kenshaw glanced to Forrest who held his expression impassive as he studied Meadow.
“You blew up that dealership in Sedona?” asked Jack.
“Yes.” Nothing in Kenshaw’s expression or posture held any hint of remorse. But a man had died in that fire. “WOLF targets attacks on groups that encroach on nature.”
“Like the first home to break the ridgeline,” said Dylan. “Cheney died up there. Was that an accident?”
“I don’t think so,” said Kenshaw. “I think someone knew he was informing. He was my contact in BEAR. They don’t know he was speaking to me.”
“How do you know that?” asked Tinnin.
Forrest took that one. “Because he’s still alive.”
Dylan wondered if he really knew anything about the man who led their warrior sect. Then a more disturbing notion rose to the surface. If Kenshaw worked with WOLF and he controlled Tribal Thunder, then they might have unknowingly done WOLF’s bidding.
“I never mixed the two, son.” Kenshaw sighed again. “We have to work on that poker face.”
Forrest picked up the telling. “Kenshaw has been helping us since Carter Bear Den and Amber Kitcheyan became witnesses.”
“Amber Bear Den,” corrected Jack. His brother had married Amber, with Kenshaw and Jack as his witnesses, to keep from being separated from Amber when she entered witness protection.
“Yes, right,” said Luke. “Kenshaw had foreknowledge of some attack in Lilac.” The copper mine was where Ovidio Sanchez had gunned down seven people and then hunted down and shot Amber’s boss, narrowly missing Amber.
“But I didn’t know what was happening. Only when, so I sent Carter to get my niece.”
“Your niece?” asked Luke.
Dylan realized that Field Agent Forrest did not know the family connection between the woman Carter rescued and married and their shaman.
“Amber Kitcheyan Bear Den is the child of my sister, Natalie,” said Kenshaw.