by Lois Greiman
She nodded. “You going to finish making that coffee or what?”
He shook his head. “Twenty-four years old and can’t even make a decent cup of java.” He turned back to the sink. “How’s Lily taking it?”
“I’m not sure she noticed.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her.
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s my fault.”
“That your husband’s an … asterisk?”
She chuckled, but guilt had made an appearance. “Maybe I didn’t give him a chance.”
“And maybe you gave him a hundred chances and he mucked up every one of them.”
“Well, I know he didn’t have much of a chance with Lily. Not when Tonk has those horses.”
“Tonk.” His tone was a little shy, a little hopeful, a little adoring.
“What about him?”
“He just …” He wobbled his head a little. “He seems like an okay guy.”
“You have a crush on him or something?”
“Don’t you?” he asked, and gave her a sly glance over his left shoulder.
The blush started at the roots of her hair. She ignored it as best she could. “I’m a married woman.”
“And Dane’s a married man. Didn’t slow the dumb bast—” He stopped himself again, seemed to find his balance. “So Tonk and Lil have been spending time together?”
“He loves teaching her stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Everything. About horses, art, old languages, cumulus clouds, bison, poetry, cooking—”
“Cooking?”
“Don’t look so hopeful. So far all their meals have been over a campfire.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s the weirdest thing. He wears her out.”
“I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“Right?”
“Is that why she’s still sleeping?”
“It’s like she’s been running marathons.”
He pushed the button on the coffeemaker. “Do you mind if I wake her up?”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Both the chicken’s wings were on the eight. “Oh man …” She set her mug aside. “It’s later than I thought.”
“I’ll say. You planning to tear down this wallpaper, or are you just gonna get a couple dozen cats and lean in to the crazy?”
“I’m considering the cats,” she said.
He grinned and turned for the stairs, but he was back in a minute. “I guess she’s not as tired as we thought. Looks like she snuck out again.”
“What? That little stinker. She must be with the horses.”
They hurried out together. Inside the tilting barn, Tonk turned toward her. His eyes sparked. Her cheeks warmed. Feeling her father’s interest flare like a Roman candle, she struggled for something to do with her hands.
“Good morning, Bravura,” Tonk said, and turned toward Quinton with old world deference. “Mr. Murrell.”
She cleared her throat. It was impossible to say why she felt like a gawky tweenager. “Hey.”
Her father looked on, silver brows yanked toward his hairline.
She gave him a scowl.
“Well … I guess I’ll go … check on the birds,” he said, and hurried out.
The barn went silent.
Inside Arrow’s stall, something clattered.
Vura rolled her eyes. If Lily could bed down with the big gelding, she surely would. “I’m sorry.”
“Far too often,” Tonk agreed.
She laughed, awkward as a pig on stilts, and hurried toward the pinto’s stall. “You were probably hoping for some time alone with your horses.
“Lily, you know you’re not supposed to leave the house without telling …” Opening Arrow’s stall, she gazed around the interior, but no caramel-headed imp popped up beside the gelding.
“Did you lose her again?” Tonk asked.
Vura turned, exasperated. “Where is she?”
He frowned. “I have not seen her this morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“It is difficult to miss a tornado.”
A trickle of fear edged along her spine, but she fought it back. “Dad’s probably right. She must be with the birds. If it wasn’t for the horses, the goslings would be all-consuming.”
“She likes to read to them.”
“My daughter,” Vura said and, shaking her head, headed outside, but her phone rang before she’d taken five steps. Pulling it from her pocket, she scowled at the unknown number and answered distractedly. “Hello?”
“Vura …”
She stiffened at the cheery sound of Dane’s voice. “This isn’t a good time,” she said, and continued toward the coop.
“Don’t tell me. Lily’s missing.”
Her steps slowed. “How did you know that?”
“Oh …” He laughed. The sound was chilling, high-pitched and frightening. “Maybe I’m smarter than you give me credit for, Vey.”
Chapter 35
Tonk watched her from a few feet away. He could hear the conversation clearly. Too clearly. His hands felt cold, his knees week.
“Dane?”
“Yeah, baby?”
She shifted her wild-eyed gaze to Tonk’s. The fear reflected there sliced his heart like an arrow. “You haven’t … you don’t know where Lily is, do you?”
He laughed, paused. A slurping sound echoed through the phone. “Now, how would I know that, Vey? You kicked me out, remember?”
Her face was pale beneath the random spray of freckles. “What’s going on?”
“That’s up to you, baby.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “I don’t have time for this,” she said. “You’ll have to call back later.”
“Later might be too late.” His voice had changed. The jocularity was gone, replaced by hard-edged cruelty.
“What are you saying?” Her knuckles were bone-white as she gripped the phone.
“I think she has my ears.”
“Dane …” She whispered his name. “What have you done?”
“Don’t use that tone on me, Vey.” There was a whine to his voice now, a scratchy snivel beneath the raspy drunkenness. “I didn’t have a choice.”
She stumbled a little, caught herself on the stall behind her. “Where’s Lily?”
Quinton hurried back into the barn, caught Vura’s frantic expression. “What’s going on?”
Vura cut her eyes to his. “It’s Dane.”
“What?” Quinton asked, but she didn’t answer, could barely hold the phone. He took it from her, pressed it to his ear.
“Dane,” he growled.
“Quinton!” They could hear him clearly, loud and oddly boisterous again. “So you’ve got time to talk to me now?”
“Lily’s gone.”
“No,” he said, and chuckled. “She’s not.”
Quinton tightened his fist on the phone. “What have you done?”
“You forced my hand, Quinny.”
“If you hurt her …” The words were growled. “If you do anything stupid—”
“Stupid? That’s what you think, isn’t it? You think I’m stupid. Not good enough for them. Never good enough for your little—”
“Where is he?” Tonk mouthed the words.
“Dane …” Quinton’s voice was steady now, low and even and carefully controlled. “Where are you?”
“What? Now you want to hang out? Want to be buds?” He laughed again. “Funny. That’s funny …” His voice drifted off.
“Dane!” Quinton’s voice was sharp. “Just tell me where she is. That’s all I want.”
“Thinks she’ll get rid of me now.” He breathed a chuckle. “Keep the money to herself.”
“What money?”
There was no response.
“Dane!”
“Well, that’s not gonna happen, Quinny. Cuz I’m way ahead of you. You think I didn’t know the old man was going to bite it? You and your butch daughter were the only ones who were that stupid. Thou
ght he was Superman or something. Immortal. The crotchety old bastard. Treated me like I was some kind of disease. Some kind of insect not good enough to—”
“Tell me what you’ve done.”
He paused. “Nothing that can’t be undone. Not yet anyway. But …” Liquid courage glugged noisily. “That won’t last forever.”
“If you hurt her …” His voice quivered. “I’ll tear your heart from your chest. I’ll make you wish—”
“You wanna keep sputtering threats, or you wanna cut to the chase, old man?”
“Just tell me what you want.”
“A half a mil.”
Vura’s knees buckled. Tonk wrapped an arm around her, pulled her up against his side.
“What?” Her father’s voice was barely a breath of surprise.
“Do you need me to speak more clearly, Quinton? I said I want five hundred thousand dollars.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“You think I don’t know what your dear old dad was worth?”
“How would you when I don’t?”
“He was richer than God.”
“Dane, listen, he didn’t have that kind of money. And even if he did, I wouldn’t have access to—”
“Let me speak to him,” Tonk said.
There was a moment’s hesitation before Quinton handed over the phone.
“Mr. Lambert …” Tonk kept himself very still, extremely controlled. Anger had rarely been his friend. “This is Tonkiaishawien Redhawk.”
“Tonka Toy!” Lambert laughed again. The sound was disjointed, disturbingly familiar in its inebriated weightlessness. Tonk had laughed just like that a hundred times in the past. “I should have known you’d be there. Sniffin’ around. Always sniffin’ around. But she’s still my wife. Just like the kid’s still mine. Till I decide different.”
“You outsmarted us all,” Tonk admitted.
Vura put a hand to her throat. It was as pale as milky quartz, entirely drained of color.
“That’s right. And it’s time to pay the piper.”
A tear slipped in silent agony down Bravura’s cheek.
“They’ll pay,” Tonk said. “But it might take some time to get that much money together.”
“Then they’re going to wish they’d moved faster, cuz, listen, I like kids as much as the next guy but …” He chuckled. “Well, not as much as you. Geez, I’d think you’d have something better to do than to play cookout with a five-year-old all day.”
So he had seen them. Had been watching them.
“Didn’t realize I was keeping such a close eye on you, did you?”
“I did not.”
“That’s cuz you’re a patsy … and a pansy.” He snorted at his own cleverness. “No offense intended.”
“None taken.”
“Me, I like my girls a little older. Past puberty anyhow,” he said, and laughed. There was the sound of a match swiping against a striking surface, a puff of breath.
Tonk tightened his grip on the phone, felt his hand shake, but kept his voice steady. “We’ll get the money together.”
“Listen, I’m not a bad guy. I don’t care where the cash comes from.”
“That’s good of you. Where do we deliver the money?”
“Now we’re talking,” Lambert said, and paused to exhale. Tonk imagined him blowing smoke toward the ceiling. But what ceiling? Where? “And listen, if you get the cops involved, I’m gonna be pissed.”
“No cops,” he agreed.
Vura whimpered.
“No cops,” Tonk said again, “but that’s a lot of cash.”
“Enough. Enough to pay off those loans and have a little pin money left over.”
Tonk’s stomach twisted. “That inside straight can be murder,” he said, guessing wildly. Casinos, the Dakotas’ own little version of hell.
“Gambling?” Vura’s voice was almost inaudible. “He took my baby to pay off his poker debt?”
There was a momentary hesitation, then a snort. “Flush,” Lambert said. “The bastard had a flush.”
Retribution quivered in Tonk’s fingertips, but he forced himself to relax, to breathe. “Gotta do something to fill the nights in Williston, I suppose.”
“Fracking camps … it’s like legalized slavery.”
“I heard it’s bad up there,” Tonk said, and let his mind spin in a hundred wild directions.
“You got no idea.”
“You deserve a little room service after that.”
“Soon as I ditch the kid and get to civilization.” The words were slurred. “Get out of this …” His voice dwindled.
“Dane!” Tonk snapped and closed his eyes, fighting for control. “I need to know where to deliver the money.”
He chuckled. “I’m not stupid, Tonka. Not going to tell you where till you got the cash in hand. No time to decide you’re clever and set up a trap that way.”
“You’re calling the shots.”
A chuckle drifted over the phone. More smoke was blown. “You said it.”
“Get her on the phone,” Vura begged and curled her fingers, tight as talons, into Tonk’s sleeve. “Please. Just for a second.”
“We need to talk to her,” Tonk said.
“You need to do what I tell you to do!” The words were roared.
“Ai. You’re in charge,” Tonk soothed. “But a couple seconds of conversation isn’t too much to ask, is it? To get the sharks off your back?”
Lambert chuckled, companionable as a puppy, unpredictable as an eel. “You got a point there, buddy. Hang on, I’ll see if she’s conscious.”
“What does that mean?” Vura’s voice was no more than a tortured croak. “What does he mean?”
Tonk could only shake his head. Terror, cold as icicles, sliced his heart.
“Lily … your boyfriend wants to talk to you.” Dane’s voice was slurred and distant, but in a moment she was on the phone, voice little more than a whisper.
“Tonka?”
Tonk squeezed his eyes shut, tightened his fingers on the phone and remembered to breathe. “Chitto Sihu.”
“Tonka.” Her voice was stronger now. “I wanna come home. I wanna come home. I wanna—”
He opened his eyes with a snap. “You are the brave one.” A dozen reassurances roared through his mind. Something … anything … to comfort, to console. But there was no time.
She paused, sucked in her breath.
“Nothing bests Chitto Sihu,” he whispered.
“But—”
“Run.” He said the word in Old Cahdoan. “We will come for you.”
“I’m—”
“Time’s up!” Lambert snapped. “Don’t mess this up, Tonka Toy.”
“We will do as you ask. Just don’t—” he began but the phone went dead.
“What did you say to her?” Vura’s fingers tightened again, frantic against his wrist. “What did you tell her?”
Her eyes scoured his. Terror made it all but impossible to meet her gaze. What if he was wrong? Again. What if he caused another catastrophe? “To run.”
“Run?” She shook her head. “Where?”
“How’ll she get away?” Quinton asked.
“He’s drinking. Tired. He’ll pass out soon,” he said, and prayed he was right.
“You think she can get away? Without him knowing? Without him hurting—”
“How many times did she leave the house without you knowing? How many times did we find her with Courage even though we tried to lock her out?”
“But even if she escaped, how’ll we find her?”
“And what if she can’t? We don’t have that kind of money.” She lifted her broken-doll gaze to her father. “Do we?”
“I haven’t even seen the will, but maybe if we sold his land. My company …” He shook his head.
Tonk pulled his phone from his pocket, pushed a button, and prayed harder.
“Tonkiaishawien,” Hunter rumbled. “I was just about to—”
“Lily’s been
taken.”
“What?” Hunter’s voice, already a growl, had sunk to the depths of hell. “Taken where? By who?”
“Dane Lambert.”
“Her father?”
Vura moaned.
Tonk lowered the phone, captured her gaze. “You need to be strong, Bravura. You need to be. For Lily.”
She straightened a little, nodded, but her face was still deathly pale. Fresh anger ripped through him, threatening to shred his control. She was a fighter, a doer, a woman who tried, who achieved, who accomplished, despite the obstacles. Sitting and waiting would destroy her.
“Gather food. Bottled water.”
“Water? What …”
“They’re somewhere in the Hills. Not in civilization,” he said. “We will find them, but we may need supplies.”
She drew her hand from his sleeve. The first spark of defiance fired in her eyes, displacing a sliver of fear.
“Bring her clothes. Something’s she’s worn recently.”
“To track her?” Quinton asked. “Do you have a hound?”
“Perhaps,” he said, and knew Mutt was just that. No more likely to sniff out a trail than he was. But action was essential, hope as necessary as air. And he needed time, to be alone, to think, to lean on someone stronger. “Go now,” he said. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
They hurried away, supporting each other.
He lifted the phone back to his ear. “Hunt,” he said, letting the broken child in him speak.
“We’ll find her, Tonk. We will.”
“The bastard took her. He took her.” His voice quavered. “Just like Ruby. Just like—”
“No. Not like Ruby. Tonk! It’s entirely different. You know that. That wasn’t your fault. Neither is this.” His voice rumbled in the phone. “And we will get her back.”
Tonk nodded, tried to believe.
“What does he want?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“Where do I deliver it?”
Tonk drew a deep breath. Doubts plagued him like locusts, but he swiped them aside, gathering strength from the brother who stood beside him when he couldn’t stand alone. “He would not say.”
“I’ll have it ready.”
“There is no guarantee he’ll return her even if he gets the cash.”
“What are the choices, brother?” Hunt rumbled.
“We could kill him.”
“Tonk …”
“He took her.” His voice broke. He glanced toward the house from which the child of his heart had been abducted.