by Sharon Sala
Flynn suddenly pointed.
“I see lights in the distance.”
Rutherford smiled grimly. “That must be Mannford. We’re gaining on them. That’s less than thirty minutes behind now. What’s the next landmark?”
“The sign to Brush Creek landing, and it will be before we drive into Mannford.”
“Keep an eye out, you guys. I’m driving too dang fast on these icy roads here, and I don’t have time to sightsee.”
Flynn leaned forward from the back seat, and as he did, caught a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror and nearly didn’t recognize himself. He looked older—and dangerous. The glint in his eye and the set of his jaw could be read as “no mercy.”
Tara?
He waited, but when she didn’t answer, his anxiety increased. What was happening? Why wasn’t she answering? Was it already too late?
TARA WAS GOING through cabinets looking for a glass when she heard footsteps. She turned, then dropped the aspirins and faced what she feared was her fate. Marsh and Vince were coming toward her with angry intent.
“What?” she asked.
They stopped a few feet away, but obviously had their fill of the situation and of her. Millicent and Henry had scared them, but not enough to go home without the money.
Marsh pointed at her, shouting in no uncertain terms. “Tune yourself into O’ Mara now or whatever the hell it is you do. Tell him if he doesn’t tell you where he hid the money, we’re getting rid of you and killing his kid just because we can.”
Tara’s legs went weak so fast she had to grab onto the counter behind her to keep from falling. “No, please! I told you before that I don’t have the power to summon spirits. I see them if they are around, and if they’re willing, I can talk to them, but there is no threat from this world that will make a spirit do anything.”
“You either try, or we’ve wasted our time here,” Marsh said, and started toward her again.
“Stop!” Tara screamed, and backed out from around the kitchen island toward the far end of the room—anything to keep distance between them. “Back off! If I’m going to try this, I need to focus, and threatening me is just negative energy squared! Give me some space.”
Marsh wasn’t taking any more orders and moved toward her. When he did, it felt as if all the air in the room suddenly shifted, like someone had opened the front door, but when he looked, it was shut.
The hair rose on the back of Tara’s arms. She knew what it meant. Spirits were in the house, but she’d never felt it this strongly. When she began to hear Native American drums, she thought she was losing her mind, and over the drum beats she could hear chanting in a language she didn’t understand.
Marsh could tell something was happening from the look on her face. “What is it? Do you see O’Mara? Is he telling you where he hid the money?”
She held up her hand for silence, focusing on the voices in her ear. They were chanting louder now, drumming harder and faster until the drum beat matched the heartbeat in her chest.
The air shifted again, and between one breath and the next spirits began to appear, some wearing buckskin and war bonnets trailing down to the floor, others wearing war paint and armed with weapons from long ago. They moved into the space around her, surrounding her until there were so many she couldn’t see the faces—only the essence of their beings. Her voice was shaking, her whole body trembling from the impact of the energy around her.
“What’s happening?” she whispered. “Who are you?”
We, who have long since passed from the Choctaw Nation, have been summoned to Mynkushi.
Tara was stunned. It sounded like they were saying Minkooshe. Who was that? The Choctaw nation? OMG. Was Nate responsible for this?
“It’s cold! Why is it getting so cold in here?” Vince cried.
“Is it O’Mara? Is he here?” Marsh yelled.
Tara blinked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not O’Mara. Other spirits. Thousands . . . OMG, thousands—”
Marsh was in a panic. He heard her voice shaking, and she was swaying on her feet like she was going to pass out. If she was in a panic, it might be time for him to panic, too. He’d already had one too many run-ins with just her two ghosts, and now she was saying thousands were here. What had they unleashed by wanting her to summon some dead guy up from the grave?
Suddenly, all the glass in the windows exploded outward. The doors flew open and then off their hinges, and the floor on which they were standing began to shake. Everything inside the cabin began to rattle; light fixtures came down from the ceiling, and pictures began falling off the walls.
Marsh dropped to his hands and knees, shouting. “Is it an earthquake?”
Vince was holding on to the end of a kitchen counter, and Dig was on his knees and crawling toward the nearest open door. When they began to hear the drumbeats, Dig bolted to his feet and flew out of the cabin, screaming as he ran toward the pickup.
Tara could see what was happening, but it was as if she were watching a movie, sheltered within the energy around her as surely as if she’d been cradled in her Uncle Pat’s arms. The drumbeat was her heartbeat, and her heartbeat was the drumbeat, and she already knew that when the drum stopped, then so would her heart.
Vince had the truck keys in his hand and shouted at Marsh as he bolted for the door. “Run, damn it, run, or I’ll leave you behind.”
Marsh bolted toward the door, and at the threshold glanced over his shoulder to make sure nothing was following. That was when he saw the girl.
Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t moving. Her long dark hair was being blown away from her face, like she was standing in front of a fan, but the air inside the cabin was still. When he realized she was floating a good six inches off the floor, he cleared the porch in two steps, screaming as he ran, “Wait for me! Wait for me!”
Vince was already moving when Marsh caught up and jumped in the pickup. The moment he was in, Vince gunned the engine, spinning snow and mud all over the yard as they headed for the road. They didn’t look back.
Tara closed her eyes. She could feel them leaving; going back into the void between their dimension and hers—then a voice in her ear.
Mynkushi! It is done!
The drums stopped. The spirits were gone, taking all the energy with them.
Tara dropped lifelessly to the floor.
THE NEW SUN was finally up and shining straight into Vince’s eyes as he drove. He hadn’t stopped screaming inside his head, making promises to God that he would change his ways and never do a bad thing again as long as he lived.
Dig was curled up in the back seat with his arms over his head, so scared he could no longer talk, while Marsh couldn’t stop.
“She was floating, I tell you! Freaking floating off the floor like some spook in a horror movie! What if they follow us? Oh God, oh God, you didn’t see her. I swear she was possessed!”
“Don’t cry on my shoulder! You’re the one who thought this would be a good idea!” Vince screamed.
“Well, you’re the one who agreed to come,” Marsh yelled back, and then grabbed at the dash to keep from going through the windshield as Vince suddenly slammed on the brakes.
“What’s the matter with you?” Marsh shouted, then saw two Creek County Sheriff cars coming straight at them with lights flashing.
Vince slammed the truck in park and killed the engine.
“What are you doing?” Marsh screamed.
“I’m done! We’re done! You just haven’t faced it yet.”
Vince jumped out of the truck with his hands up as the first car came to a sliding stop, sending a spray of snow into the air. The officers came out with their guns drawn, shouting.
“Get down on your knees! Get down on your knees, and put your hands behind your back!”
“Damn it,” Marsh muttered. He got out and dropped.
“Hands behind your back! Do it now!”
The second cop car ejected two more officers who promptly dragged Dig out of the
back seat and cuffed him along with his partners, then sat them in the snow at the side of the road. When the deputies realized the girl wasn’t with them, they turned to the trio sitting in the snow.
“Where’s the girl? Where is Tara Luna?”
RUTHERFORD WAS less than a quarter of a mile behind the last Creek County cop car when they made the turn at the Brush Creek sign and began closing the gap.
“We’re almost there,” Rutherford said. “Is she talking to you, kid? Can you hear anything?”
Flynn was sick to his stomach. “No. I can’t hear anything.”
“Talk louder. She’s got to be okay,” Rutherford said.
Allen was tight-lipped and silent as they sped past the first section line, then the second, and then the third. Up ahead, they could see the patrol cars take a sudden left at two pines, and Flynn took a deep breath.
Where are you, Tara? We’re almost there.
He got nothing.
They took the turn onto the private road and kept moving until they came over a small hill and realized both cop cars were stopped, and all three men had been captured and were sitting in the snow in handcuffs.
“Hot damn, they’ve got them!” Allen said.
Rutherford pulled over and slammed the car into park.
“Where’s Tara?” Flynn asked. “I don’t see Tara.”
Rutherford jumped out. “Where’s the girl?” he yelled.
One of the deputies turned around, saw Rutherford coming toward them flashing his badge and then pointed at the men. “She’s not here. They keep babbling about ghosts and being haunted and a girl floating off the floor.”
Rutherford stomped through the snow to where the perps were sitting.
“Which one of you is Marshall Story?”
Vince and Dig looked at Marsh.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Rutherford said. “Where’s the girl?”
Marsh was shaking. “In the house. In the house. Stuff started breaking and blowing up. We ran.”
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Rutherford said, and made a run back to the car.
“What’s happening?” Flynn asked, as Rutherford jerked the car in gear.
“Something happened inside the cabin. They left her behind.”
The words took the breath from Flynn’s body. He couldn’t voice what he was thinking for fear it would give power to a truth he couldn’t face.
“Can you get around the cars?” Allen asked.
“Just watch me,” Rutherford said, and put the SUV in four-wheel drive and headed for the bar ditch. Clearing the parked vehicles in record time, they sped forward, following the narrow road to its end.
As she’d predicted, they saw the old barn first, and seconds later, the A-frame log cabin. They could see the crazy tracks the men left in the snow when they made their getaway. The ruts were over a foot deep where they’d dug out.
Suddenly Flynn was pointing and yelling. “The front door is open! Stop! Stop! Let me out!”
“Hang on, kid,” Rutherford said, as he hit the brakes, but Flynn was already out and running toward the cabin before he killed the engine.
Rutherford’s hands were shaking. “Oh man, I’ve never dreaded going inside a crime scene this bad in my life.”
Allen wouldn’t comment as they ran inside.
Flynn saw her within seconds of entering. She was lying on her side, her arms extended in front of her like she’d been begging for help. There was duct tape wrapped around both wrists and both ankles, although she was no longer bound. He could see dried blood on her clothes and bruises on her face as he dropped to his knees.
“Tara! Tara! Baby, can you hear me?”
He put two fingers on the pulse point at her neck and then rocked back on his heels in shock. There was none.
“Noooo!” he screamed, rolled her over on her back, checked to see if her airway was blocked, then tilted her chin and began performing CPR.
Rutherford dropped down beside her and began doing chest compressions between the exchanges of breath.
Uncertain of the exact address in this rural location, Allen phoned the sheriff to dispatch an ambulance, only to find there was one already on the way.
Flynn went through the motions of CPR just like they’d been taught in physical ed class, concentrating on the act rather than the victim. Yet every time he paused for Rutherford’s chest compressions, he would catch a glimpse of the long dark lashes motionless against her skin, the bruise on her cheek, the swollen lip where they’d struck her, and fight the urge to panic.
What felt like an eternity later, Tara gasped, then choked and coughed. He rocked back on his heels.
“Thank you, God.”
“She’s coming around. Way to go, girl, way to go,” Rutherford said, as he felt for a pulse. “We got a pulse! I think we’re in luck, kid. I think you just saved her life.”
Tears were rolling down Flynn’s cheeks, but he didn’t know it and wouldn’t have cared. He was on his knees beside her, watching the color coming back to her face and those long dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks.
We’re here, baby, we’re here. Open your eyes.
Flynn.
He cupped her cheek.
I’m here.
“I hear a siren,” Allen said, and headed for the door.
Like Flynn, Rutherford was waiting for her to open her eyes.
Then she did—and the moment she saw Flynn she reached toward him, clutching his hand with a death grip. She looked from Flynn to Rutherford, blinking back a sudden rush of tears.
“You found me.”
“Are you in pain?” Rutherford asked.
“My head,” she said, touching the dark bruise above her brows, then the top of her head.
Rutherford patted her knee. “An ambulance is on the way. Hang in there a couple more minutes.”
“Uncle Pat?”
“Oh, right! Hey, Allen. Call Carmichael now, will you? He needs some good news.”
“Let me talk,” she begged, and tried to sit up.
“Don’t move,” Allen said, as he made the call. It rang a couple of times before Pat answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Pat, it’s Detective Allen. I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you.”
Tara was too shaky to hold the phone so Allen put it on speaker.
“Uncle Pat, they found me. I’m okay.”
They all heard the choked sob and then the elation in Pat’s voice. “Oh, honey! Thank the Lord. Did they hurt you?”
“I might have a concussion.”
“Did they call an ambulance? Are you coming here?”
“Yes, an ambulance is coming.”
“Hey, Pat, this is Detective Rutherford. We have you on speaker phone. I’ll ask them to transport her to Stillwater, okay?”
“Thank you. Thank all of you for saving my girl.”
“It’s the kid you have to thank. He can explain when he gets home, but you’ll have to hang in there with me on the transport until I can talk to the EMTs. We’ll let you know where she winds up.”
“Thank you. Tara, honey, I love you, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“I love you, too.”
The moment Pat disconnected, he quickly made a call to Nate Pierce.
“Hello?” Nate said.
Pat could hear drums in the background. The Choctaw had done what Nate said they would do.
“You can tell your people to stop praying. They found her. Other than a concussion, we think she’s okay.”
The wave of relief that washed through Nate left him weak. “This is good,” he said softly.
“And thank you and your people for caring,” Pat said.
“I will tell them. Thank you for the call.”
Nate dropped the phone in his pocket and went to tell the others. It was going to be a good day.
WHEN THE CALL to Uncle Pat ended, Tara started to get up, but Flynn wouldn’t let her.
“Five minutes ago you weren’t breathing.
Be still.”
“I wasn’t dead. They just took me with them.”
He frowned. “They? And what do you mean, you weren’t dead? You didn’t have a pulse.”
“I mean, I knew I was coming back.”
Rutherford got up. “I can’t hear this and deal with the world as I know it. I’m going outside to watch for the ambulance.”
Allen looked at her in awe and then followed his partner outside.
Flynn’s fingers were shaking as he smoothed the hair away from her face. “Did those men—”
“No!” she said abruptly. “They didn’t even try. I have Millicent and Henry to thank for giving them plenty else to deal with.”
“What happened here?” Flynn said. “The windows . . . all the doors off their hinges . . . what happened here that scared those creeps into running? Was it Millicent and Henry?”
“No. I haven’t heard or seen them since we got here. OMG. Flynn, you should have seen the others.”
“What others?”
“Choctaw spirits. There were hundreds, maybe thousands. They were old, Flynn . . . so old. They said they’d been summoned to protect Mynkushi.”
“Who is Mynkushi?”
“It’s what they called me, but I don’t know what it means. I felt them coming before I heard the drums, then they surrounded me with their energy. Their power was . . . OMG . . . I can’t even describe it, but it blew out the windows and doors. They saved me from those men, but you and your crazy-mad skills saved my life.”
“Just returning a favor,” Flynn said softly and cupped the side of her face.
“Ambulance is here!” Rutherford yelled.
Moments later the cabin was crawling with law enforcement and rescue. Deputies escorted a crime scene team in to gather evidence behind the EMTs who came in for Tara. It didn’t take long for them to start an IV, slap an oxygen mask over her mouth, and strap her on a gurney. When they began rolling her out to the waiting ambulance, Flynn ran along beside it.
“Can I go with her?”
“Against the rules, sorry,” the EMT said.
“Do you consider her condition critical?” Rutherford asked.
The EMT shook his head. “Her vitals are good, but they’ll be checking for a concussion.”