“The dead agent,” she interjected briskly.
He nodded, continuing, “Seems he was doing some rogue investigating into a cold case—” he met her gaze squarely “—specifically, into Waylon’s case.”
She inhaled sharply even as she stared. Waylon? “Why would a stranger care about the tribe’s personal tragedy?” Some of her hostility lessened as she considered how this newfound information must’ve kicked Angelo in a raw spot. She didn’t want to but she couldn’t help but feel something for Angelo for the situation he was in. “I don’t understand. Waylon’s case wasn’t within FBI jurisdiction.”
“Seems he thought if he managed to crack the case he might get some kudos from the higher-ups who kept passing him over for promotion,” he answered with a bitter twist of his mouth. Angelo clearly hated that Hicks had been trying to use his brother’s case for his own gain.
“How awful,” she said, a low throbbing pain beginning to pulse in her forehead as she remembered Waylon. She could still see his handsome face, hear his mischievous laugh whenever he pulled a prank or told a joke, and feel the pride he wore for his tribe. “Oh, damn.” She wanted to remain apart from any pain Angelo might be feeling, but she couldn’t help wanting to reach out to him for what he must be suffering. She leaned forward to rest her forearms on her knees. “So I imagine you’ll be removed from the case?”
“Technically, I should be, but my director is giving me some latitude.”
“That’s kind. I didn’t realize the FBI had a soft side.”
“They don’t. If word gets out that I’m heading this case, I’ll get pulled, but for the time being, while it remains low-profile, I’ll do what I can. That’s why I need your help.”
She stared. “What?”
“You and I both know that I’m persona non grata around the reservation. You, on the other hand, are the tribe’s most trusted member. If I start asking questions, doors will slam in my face. If you’re with me, maybe they’ll listen and help.”
She stiffened as his request sank in. And just as quickly as she understood, her refusal followed. “I’m not a lucky rabbit’s foot. You can’t just drag me around in the hopes of easing the tribe’s opinion of you. You made your bed long ago, Angelo. Besides, you overestimate my ability to sway people in your direction. There’s not much I can do for you.”
“Mya, I would never ask for myself. I’m asking for Waylon.”
Damn sneaky bastard. How could he so easily play that card? Had he no shame? He knew she couldn’t refuse when he put it like that. She’d loved Waylon as deeply as she loved her own brother. She’d taken it for granted that someday she and Angelo would marry and then Waylon would become her brother anyway. When he’d died, she’d felt the blow to her heart, too. Tears glittered in her eyes but she narrowed her gaze at Angelo, communicating what she thought of his tactics. “That was uncalled for. I would ask that you not stoop to such emotional manipulation again when asking for a favor. I don’t respond well to such maneuvers.”
He didn’t even have the grace to flush. Instead he boldly held her gaze as if her cold reply hadn’t touched him at all. And, in fact, it hadn’t. “Mya, let’s cut the crap. You don’t like me, I hear you loud and clear on that score, but I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers. If you want me out of here, help me find what I need, and I’ll be gone.” Then he added with a dark mumble, “It’s not like this place is brimming with great memories for me.”
She blinked back sudden tears. Wasn’t she part of those memories? They’d been dating nearly their entire childhood up until the point when he’d split, leaving her and everyone else behind like a bad habit. Mya willed the tears away—she damn well wasn’t going to allow him to see her cry—and rose stiffly, her very frame vibrating with pent-up anger, grief and maybe remorse. “Angelo…did you ever take the time to consider that maybe if you hadn’t abandoned everyone, you might have those very doors you want to access open to you just as they are to me? The tribe’s cold shoulder is a consequence of your actions. I cannot help you with that. You’re on your own. Now, if you please, I want you to leave.”
Angelo’s face darkened, betraying the rise in his blood pressure, but he offered a curt nod to her request. She almost wished he’d rail at her, demand that she help him, something other than the icy contained composure. Perhaps if she caught a glimpse of something that pulsed with life—pain, guilt, agony—she’d rest knowing that he wasn’t as stoic as he seemed, that she wasn’t the only one suspended in limbo, unable to move forward.
But how selfish was she for refusing to help for purely personal reasons? Great Spirit, help me. Could she stand to work with Angelo in the short term in the hopes of finally finding Waylon’s killer?
She caught her bottom lip in her teeth, indecision grabbing her as he walked to the door. He’d get nowhere with the tribe. He’d leave with nothing. They’d clam up as surely as they would with a stranger, no matter that it was the hereditary chief asking the questions.
It seemed the choice was simple.
“Wait,” she said, gritting her teeth against the urge to spit the words at him. He turned, faint surprise marring his handsome face. “I’ll help. Waylon deserves justice. I’m doing it for him. Not you.”
Angelo regarded her for a long moment and then nodded. A sardonic grin graced his sensual mouth. “I wouldn’t dare dream otherwise.” He walked out the door toward his vehicle, saying over his shoulder, as if throwing her a bone when, in fact, he ought to be thanking her for her kindness. “I’ll be in touch.” And then he was gone.
Mya glowered at the retreating vehicle for longer than necessary, and then, when she couldn’t see the car any longer, she slammed the front door.
You’re doing this for Waylon, she reminded herself darkly.
Angelo could go to hell.
Chapter 11
Words he should’ve offered a long time ago—explanation, apology, all of those things—died behind his teeth, unsaid.
Angelo drove away from Mya’s little house, mired in feelings he routinely pushed away, and tried to regain focus. She said she’d help. That was something. He wasn’t naive and he’d spoken the truth. Memories were long around here and doors would not open for him. No matter his cause.
A memory sprang to life of him ridiculing the old ways, embarrassing Papa with his open disdain for a heritage he felt no kinship with and causing a painful rift between himself and Waylon.
He’d often wondered how he and his brother could share DNA when they were so different.
“White Arrow, you are the next chief. This is a great honor that you bear for your tribe,” Papa had said to him the night he’d deliberately ignored Papa’s request to join him at Council—again. “We are a dying tribe. It is our responsibility to remember the old ways, to breathe life into the bones of our ancestors through the stories we tell our children. You are strong and smart. This is your duty, boy,” Papa had said ardently, his eyes sad but frustrated as well.
“No one asked me if I wanted this honor,” Angelo had sneered, hating that everyone assumed he’d take on the role—which had no real meaning anyway aside from the ceremonial—when he had his own dreams and aspirations that didn’t start and stop on tribal land. “Pick someone else. I’m not interested. It’s not my deal. Give it to Waylon. He cares about that stupid legend shit anyway. I don’t.”
And then he’d stormed from the house, intent on living his life his own way without anyone pressuring him to do anything more than what he wanted.
Of course, he’d been full of teenage bluster and angst. And his mouth had spewed words honed to a fine edge.
A sigh escaped from deep within his chest. He wished he hadn’t been so harsh with Papa. His grandfather had been a good man. It wasn’t his fault he’d been saddled with two grandkids to raise because his own son had turned out to be a worthless drunk.
And then Waylon—his one chance at putting things right—had died, and Angelo had been a poor consolation.
At least that’s how it felt, even after all these years.
Mya had been better off without him. Of that, at least, he was confident.
He’d find justice for Waylon and Hicks and then he’d finally walk away from the tribe for good.
It was best for everyone.
Mya strode purposefully to her office, her mind jumping from one scenario to another with dizzying speed as she considered all the different possibilities, including working with Angelo in the short term as well as the logistics of calling in her replacement for a few days. She had plenty of personal time, a sad consequence of not having a life, and helping the FBI shouldn’t interfere with work at all.
However, rearranging her feelings during that short time period was a much more daunting aspect.
“Talk to me,” Iris demanded as she entered Mya’s office while she was finishing her leave paperwork. Iris plopped into the chair by the desk and pinned Mya with a steady and mildly unnerving gaze. “Out with it. What the hell is going on?”
There was no reason to lie. Mya had nothing to hide. “I’m helping Angelo with his case.” She made short work of explaining the circumstances, continuing as she slipped the paperwork in the fax and hit Send. “Seems the agent who was killed was investigating Waylon’s case. You and I both know that without my help Angelo wouldn’t get very far with the tribe, so, in the interest of expediency, I’m going to help out.”
“I don’t like it,” Iris said flatly, leaving no mystery as to where her feelings landed on that score. “You need to avoid him all together and let him figure things out on his own. This is a bad idea.”
“I’m a grown woman, Iris,” Mya chided her friend lightly, amused—to a point—that Iris was so protective. “He’s not the big bad wolf. He’s just a man and this is more about Waylon than it is Angelo. I loved the boy, too.”
The reminder softened the rigid set of Iris’s shoulders. Everyone had liked Waylon. “I know you loved Waylon—we all loved Waylon. He was a great kid and if he’d been able to grow up, he would’ve been one hell of an adult, but just because we all had a soft spot for Waylon doesn’t mean that Angelo can use those feelings to get what he needs for his job.”
“It’s not like that,” Mya said, frowning. “Bottom line, a man died and his death is directly related to Waylon’s unsolved case. Which means that a killer is on the loose on the reservation. Perhaps with my help, Angelo can catch this person and finally put Waylon to rest. I’m willing to do that for a boy I loved dearly.”
Iris’s mouth twitched darkly. “Which boy? Angelo or Waylon?”
Mya glowered. “Waylon.”
“Are you sure? Because this seems like something a woman might do if she were, oh, still totally hung up on a guy. In fact, I might’ve seen this plot in a movie once,” she quipped with a snort. “Come on, Mya. This smacks of a bad idea. Even you’ve got to admit that if this were anyone else and the shoe were on the other foot, you’d say the same thing. I mean, you’re the logical one, for crying out loud.”
“He needs my help,” Mya maintained stubbornly, but Iris’s stab at logic did make a lot of sense. Well, it was too late to back out now. The paperwork had been submitted and she never did anything that made her appear wishy-washy. So, better or worse, she was going to see this through to the end and stick to her agreement to help. “Besides, what do you think is going to happen in the space of a few days? He’s going to fall to his knees, profess his undying love for me and that declaration is going to cause me to forget the last fifteen years? Well, let me ease your fears, however irrational. I’m not interested in Angelo Tucker. I am interested in finding who is the snake amongst us before he kills someone else. I promise that is my only motivation.”
“I’d feel a whole lot more secure in your promise if you were happily married with kids.” Mya stiffened involuntarily and Iris reacted with swift apology. “That was insensitive of me. I’m so sorry. Forget that part. What I mean to say is—”
Mya reached out and covered Iris’s hand with her own, smiling briefly. “I know what you were trying to say. Let it be. It’s fine. Stop worrying. I need you focused so you can help my replacement for a few days. You’re my right hand around here.”
“Who are you requesting?” Iris asked, resigned to Mya’s decision and moving on to details pertinent to the moment. “Please not Dr. Billingham,” she said with distaste. “He has sweaty palms and I can only sanitize my hands so many times in one hour before people start to ask if I’m OCD.”
Mya cracked a grin. “Lucky you, he wasn’t available. Looks like Dr. Solvang is going to step in. You like him, right?”
“He’ll do. For a few days,” Iris grumbled with bad humor, adding with a narrowed gaze. “Please try to remember that Angelo broke your heart and never looked back. Forget about what happened with the tribe. What he did to you is what matters. Nothing he could say or do will change that. Okay?”
Mya nodded, a lump rising in her throat. “That’s not something I could ever forget,” she promised quietly.
She’d suffered more than a broken heart—it’d felt as if her soul had cracked in two.
And that was pretty damn hard to get over.
Angelo waited in his car, off the road at the put-in spot for kayakers and other river recreationers who enjoyed the scenic ride of the spring runoff on the Hoh River. She’d suggested meeting at the rinky-dink diner—a greasy spoon of the lowest order guaranteed to upset your gut on a good day—but he’d wanted a little privacy for their first meeting. He wasn’t sure of her attitude and wanted to test things out first. It was best to come at an unknown with some kind of advantage, and he didn’t relish an audience just in case things went sour.
His pulse jumped when her car rolled up next to his. He exited his vehicle as she did the same. They were both wrapped in warm clothing to combat the misty cold, but the brisk air immediately put roses in her cheeks and plumed in a frosty curl as she offered a curt greeting. She shoved gloved hands into her thick wool coat, shaking her head at his choice. “A diner would’ve been warmer,” she said. “We might catch our death out here.”
He didn’t want to notice how her full hips tapered to slim legs clad in dark-blue denim, or how those same jeans clung to the delectable roundness of her rear. The cold air didn’t seem to cool his blood enough to stop the thoughts from traveling to unwelcome places. They’d lost their virginity together. What an embarrassing, fumbling idiot he’d been that first time. He’d been amazed—and grateful—that she’d been willing to try it a second time. And a third. Eventually, they’d found their rhythm and things had improved. He smothered the smile that threatened, knowing with certainty that she wouldn’t appreciate the topic of his amusement. It’s not like he could admit that he still harbored those kinds of thoughts about her. Hell, he could hardly admit it to himself. It must be the place. Nostalgia was probably only natural.
“Angelo? Did you hear me?” she asked, bringing him back to the present to find her peering at him with a frown. “Are you feeling all right? You look flushed.”
“I’m not one of your patients. No need to fuss over me, Doctor,” he said with a dismissive shake of his head. He was more annoyed at himself for drifting. “I know it’s cold and you’re right, the diner or someplace indoors probably would’ve been best, but I didn’t want an audience.”
“An audience for what?” she asked, crossing her arms and staring him down.
He gestured. “This. You’re still a little touchy about the past and I didn’t know how well this meeting was going to go.”
She huffed a breath of pure annoyance. “Get over yourself, Angelo. Let’s get on with it so we don’t freeze. I have no interest in being a patient in my own clinic because I’ve suffered hypothermia.”
“It’s not that cold,” he groused, even as he burrowed deeper into his coat. He leaned against the grill of his car, briefly taken in by the lush beauty of his homeland. He’d never cared before, never noticed, but there was a savage splendor to
the Olympic National Forest that was simply unlike any other place. Waylon would’ve said it was because they had roots that went down deep into the soil, but Angelo wasn’t willing to go that far. He just finally appreciated the natural beauty. He glanced Mya’s way, noting how she kept to her car instead of joining him at his. He pushed at the pang of sadness that followed. Damn. Forget the beauty, this place was like a poison, leaking into his bloodstream. Why else would he be plagued by this constant feeling that he’d lost out on something truly amazing when he’d walked away?
“You never married. Makes me wonder why,” he said, looking away, hating that he’d even said the words, but they’d fell from his lips as if springing to be free. As selfish as it was, a small part of him had the audacity to hope that he was the reason she hadn’t taken that step yet. Of course, he wasn’t brave enough to admit that so he simply offered her a mocking shrug. “I mean, it’s none of my business. I was just curious.”
Her silence tugged at him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Are we here to talk about Waylon or why you ran away from everyone you’d ever cared about?” Her stare was sharp enough to pierce skin and he felt schooled. “We can have either conversation but I came to talk about Waylon.”
He angled toward her, calling her bluff, though he wasn’t sure why. It was pure lunacy and an exercise in pain for the two of them, but he couldn’t back down from that steady stare. “And what if I wanted to talk about us? Would you be willing to talk about that?”
Her mouth firmed and he was almost sure she was going to tell him to go to hell, but she didn’t. “Angelo, let’s just stick to Waylon. It’s safer.”
“You always were about being safe,” he murmured, earning a swift and caustic reply in return.
“And you were always about yourself. Seems not much has changed.”
Ah, damn. She wasn’t pulling any punches. Not that he expected her to. Mya wore professional civility well but underneath that lab coat a warrior spirit lurked. He’d do well to remember that before he ended up on the wrong end of her weapon of choice. “Seems I was wise in not going somewhere public for this meeting.” He shrugged off the guilt that was skewering him along with her gaze and said, “All right, enough. We both have regrets. We’ll leave it at that. Are you ready to do this?”
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