“If I were a camera, that’s where I’d be.”
She pulled open the door. Clothes hung in neat rows, more jeans and casual shirts than dress clothes, but the three pairs of Dockers, dress shirts, and two blazers said Sky Gomez wasn’t afraid to get dressed up. On several of the hangers hung plastic covers, as if he used a dry cleaner regularly. Then her gaze hit a box tucked in back. It seemed unlikely that he would have hidden her camera there, but then again, who knew?
She found the light switch and got on her hands and knees to retrieve the box. Pulling it away from the wall, she removed its top. Her breath caught as her eyes lit on a metal object inside. Not her camera, a gun. An old gun, resting on some old photographs. Why the weapon surprised her, she didn’t know. Sky Gomez was the chief of police.
She started to close the lid when one of the photographs caught her attention. Reaching in, she pulled out the faded image of a family of three: mother, father, and young son. Sky? She studied the boy’s face. Yes, Sky. The boy still had a baby face. Probably no more than four, he clutched the hand of his mother. The father, whom Sky mostly favored, stood a foot apart. There seemed to be some meaning to the distance. Shala studied the father, who looked part Hispanic and part white. The mother must have been where Sky got his Native American heritage.
Reaching back into the box, she pulled out the next image. This one was of just Sky, older, maybe seven, posing beside a new bike. A Christmas tree stood behind him. Shala stared at the young boy’s eyes and saw happiness in his expression. He’d really liked that bike. She recalled that the year before her parents died, she’d gotten an Easy-Bake Oven. Somewhere at her house she had a picture much like this, a smiling girl thinking everything in the world was perfect because she’d gotten what she wanted for Christmas.
Her next foray found not a photograph, but a clipping from a newspaper. The image was of a firefighter, arms tight around a struggling child. The boy had dark straight hair and the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. Sky’s eyes. Shala read the article beneath the photo.
Desperate young boy attempts to save parents from fire. Paramedics had to restrain the ten-year-old to keep him from running into the flames. Unfortunately, the recovered bodies of both father and mother showed that the cause of death was not by fire but gunshots. Police suspect a murder-suicide.
Shala’s breath caught, and a knot crawled up her throat. She stared at the gun, then again at the image of Sky. How did a child get past something like that? He didn’t, she realized. To this day she remembered being pulled from the car, still remembered walking behind that curtain to see doctors and nurses trying to bring her parents back to life.
Dropping the photographs and newspaper article back into the box, she shut the lid and scooted as fast as her backside would go out of the closet. She stood up and hugged herself, wishing she hadn’t gone in there. Eager to leave Sky’s bedroom, eager to leave his house, super eager to shake the feeling that she’d done something really wrong, she forced herself into high gear. She shot down the hall, grabbed her bag from the sofa, and headed for the door. Her hand gripped the knob just as she heard the dogs’ insistent barking from outside.
Great. All she needed to do was get mauled or humped again. Then she heard the sound of a car engine. Light beams sliced though kitchen windows, and the engine cut off. Was Sky already back? Guilt flashed through her. Should she confess what she’d done? Apologize?
She hurried to the window to see if it was Sky’s truck. Nope. It wasn’t even a truck, but a dark sedan. A dark sedan just like the one she’d seen following her earlier. Okeydokey. Panic fluttered inside her.
A man got out of the car, reached back in, and pulled out something else. An article of clothing? A ski mask. He pulled it over his face. And since Shala felt certain Mayor Johnson would have mentioned a ski resort if one existed in Precious, and since the heat index of a hundred precluded any snow in the forecast, her flutters of panic changed from butterflies to bats.
The man started toward the porch. The dogs started some serious growling. Shala’s stomach stopped fluttering and all the wings seemed to bolt up her throat.
Sky pulled into the ER parking lot five minutes after the ambulance. Fear of losing Redfoot had been sitting shotgun as he drove the six miles to the hospital.
He’d stayed behind at the house to call Jose, then run by the lodge. When he found the lock on the door broken, he’d called Pete, one of the state troopers who assisted him, to come and park by the lodge to make sure whoever had shown up wasn’t coming back to finish the job.
As Sky made his way to the hospital entrance, he thought about Jose. He didn’t judge his foster brother’s need to leave Precious. Small-town life wasn’t for everyone. And that was without even factoring in the reservation. As one of the elders’ sons, Jose was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps. Only problem was, Jose wanted an entirely different path. An architect, he wanted the glitz and glamour of the big city.
In the last two years, Sky’s foster brother had come home twice, both short visits. But at least he’d come back. In addition, he’d sent plane tickets to Redfoot to visit him on three different occasions. Redfoot had packed a bag and gone to New York to visit his son, but Sky saw the hurt in the old man’s eyes every time Jose’s name came up. Redfoot wanted his son home. Of course, Redfoot wanted a lot of things for other people’s lives. As much as Sky loved his foster father, he knew the old man’s expectations were often too much.
Walking into the hospital, Sky spotted Maria sitting in the corner looking extra worried. She shot up and across the room, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pillowed her head on his chest. The woman was a hugger, something Sky had to continually work at accepting.
“How is he?” Sky feared the tight embrace meant bad news.
Maria pulled back. “The doctors haven’t announced anything yet. The paramedics said he has a concussion. He came to on the way here. I thought they were going to have to strap him down when he realized he was in an ambulance.” Her brown eyes welled up with tears. “I tried to go back with him in the ER, but they wouldn’t let me. I’m scared. I love that old man so much.”
Sky pulled her in for another hug. Not for him, but for her, though he’d be damned if he didn’t find some comfort in it. He closed his eyes and let himself hope that everything was going to be okay. Then he stared at the door toward the back, wanting to storm through it but knowing he’d only be in the way. “We have to believe he’s going to be fine.”
He released Maria, but she held on for a second longer. Like him, Maria had known hard times. Unlike him, the experience had made her needy.
“Did you call Jose?” she asked.
He nodded.
“And?”
“He’s booking a flight. Supposed to call and let me know when he has a time. Someone may have to pick him up at the airport tomorrow.”
“Can’t he just rent a car?” Maria asked.
Sky saw the emotion in her eyes. “He didn’t mention renting a car, but don’t worry, I’ll pick him up.” He moved Maria back to her chair.
Of all the flaws of his foster brother, this one stuck in Sky’s craw. Maria had been in love with the boy a week after she arrived to live under Redfoot’s roof. Jose, nineteen to Maria’s sixteen, hadn’t given Maria the time of day. He’d gone off to the university the next year, coming back on summers and holidays. While Maria remained crazy about him, he’d treated her like a sister, though Maria never missed the opportunity to point out that they weren’t blood related. Jose remained aloof, parading his college girlfriends home to meet the family, almost as if to discourage her. When Sky asked Jose about it, his foster brother got his nose all bent out of shape, protesting a little too much, in Sky’s opinion. And then the summer before Jose moved to New York, Sky noticed looks passing between Maria and Jose. He had no proof, but he’d wager that the baby Maria lost had belonged to Jose.
His foster brother didn’t know how damn lucky he was that New York w
asn’t a few hours away. There had been a night or two Sky might just have driven to Jose’s uppity high-rise apartment and beaten the holy shit out of him. Not just for Maria, but for Redfoot. Sky figured that if he suspected the truth about Maria’s child, so did the old man. The only thing that kept Sky from removing a couple of the boy’s lower body parts was that he didn’t think Maria had ever told Jose about the baby. She had avoided ever seeing Jose on his visits back to Precious.
“Sky?”
Sky turned to see Ms. Gibson, a nurse and a friend of his secretary, walking out of the back. “How is he?” he and Maria asked at the same time.
“Doctor just got to him. But he keeps fading in and out of consciousness.”
“Oh, Dios.”
Maria reached out and clutched Sky’s arm. Sky didn’t blame her. He didn’t care for the nurse’s tone, either.
CHAPTER NINE
Air caught in Shala’s throat. She hated jumping to conclusions, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of one damn good reason anyone would be wearing a ski mask when just a few hours ago you could smoke a roast on the pavement. Okay, she could think of one reason, but she didn’t like it one iota! The reason being, the man didn’t want anyone to recognize him because he was about to do something bad. Something illegal.
The dogs’ growls grew louder. She could hear footsteps moving up the walkway and slapped a hand over her mouth to stop a scream from spilling out. Her gaze cut to the door, which was unlocked. Dropping on her hands and knees, she crawled forward and turned the latch. The sound seemed to clatter through the silence, and she prayed the stranger hadn’t heard.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered under her breath. Breathing wasn’t coming easy. “Think,” she added. She remembered her cell was in her bag. Her bag was on the chair in the living room. But if she ran now, he might see her through the window. For some reason, staying hidden felt safer. Of course, if he decided to break a window or kick the door down, her little hiding place wouldn’t be so safe.
The dogs’ growls intensified. Shala’s gaze shot to the purse in the living room, which held her phone and her Mace. She remembered Sky’s phone on the counter beside the pantry. That was closer. Every instinct in her five-foot-three frame screamed for her to run to Sky’s phone and call 911, to insist once again that this was a Precious emergency.
Footsteps thudded onto the porch.
Along with a couple other people, Sky and Maria sat in the ER lobby and stared at the TV. It had only been ten minutes, but it seemed longer. Sky studied the door leading into the back and fought the urge to storm back there. He could tell Maria felt the same way.
“If they’re going to put a TV in a waiting room, why don’t they give us a remote control to change the channels?” his foster sister fumed.
Sky eyed the screen—the Tonight Show played—then Maria’s worried face. “Isn’t that the senator who they say is going to announce his candidacy for the next presidency?” he asked, hoping conversation would help ease the wait.
“Yeah, I think so,” Maria replied. “But I don’t like the looks of him.”
Sky glanced back at the screen. “I’ve read some good things,” he offered, not caring particularly but glad for the distraction. When he wasn’t thinking about Redfoot, he was thinking about the woman he’d left at his place.
“I’ve heard ‘good things’ about Hitler, too,” Maria said. “He’s got one of those faces. Reminds me of the guys my mom used to date. All talk, no substance.” Maria glanced back at the ER door. Sky reached over and squeezed her hand.
“I agree,” offered the woman sitting across room. “He has one of those faces. I could swear I saw that same weaselly face on a man pumping gas today.”
Maria offered the woman a smile, and then said to Sky, “What’s taking them so long? Maybe we should go check.”
Right then, the door into the back swung open and Dr. Henry Michaels walked through. Sky and Jose had gone to high school with him, and Sky liked knowing Henry was looking after Redfoot.
Both he and Maria jumped up, and Maria clutched Sky’s arm.
“Relax.” The doctor seemed to read their faces. “He’s fine for now.”
Maria let go of Sky’s arm, and Sky had to remind himself to breathe. They sat.
“I’m not going to lie to you. It could still be serious,” Henry amended. “His blood pressure’s low. We know he has a concussion. I’m going to get some CT scans to make sure there’s no bleeding in his brain. Whoever hit him wasn’t playing around. It could have killed him.”
Sky felt his own blood pressure rise.
“Redfoot’s no spring chicken.” Henry hesitated, then offered them a smile. “Then again, I thought he was going to kick my ass when I told him that.”
“Stubborn ol’ coot,” Maria snapped.
Sky grinned. “I think he did that once, didn’t he?”
Henry laughed. “You mean the time he caught Jose and me getting into his whiskey? He didn’t lay a hand on me, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.” The doctor paused. “Anyway, once we have the results from the scan, I’ll know more.” He stood. “Oh, he’s asking for you, Sky. He won’t let the nurse undress him, and he says he’s not getting the test done until he sees you.”
“What about me?” Maria asked.
Henry offered her a sympathetic gaze. “He said just Sky.”
The sound of the dogs’ snarling seeped through the door.
“Motherfucker!” a deep voice rumbled. “You bite my ass, I’ll kill you, too!”
Too?
A large popping noise sounded. Shala jumped. Oh, God, had the man shot one of Sky’s dogs? It could have been a car backfiring, she told herself. She forced herself to shift ever so slightly, to look out the window. The man, dressed all in black with his matching ski mask, stood staring at Sky’s two dogs, and in his hand was a…Well, it sure as hell wasn’t a backfiring car. But both dogs were still snarling.
The larger beast glanced in the window at her. Shala slammed back against the wall and heard her heart thump in her ears. In all her twenty-eight years, she’d never danced once with the grim reaper. To whom, she wondered, did she owe the pleasure of this dance? The mayor’s warning rang in her ears: Some people in town, especially the Natives, don’t want us turning to tourism. So don’t be surprised if you run into some…unfriendly folks. Did trying to kill you fall under the “unfriendly” umbrella? Her knees gave way and she slid down the wall like a scoop of flung ice cream.
The growls grew closer as the dogs got between the door and the man. Was this really happening because she was trying to bring a little tourist economy to Precious? Was that really worth killing someone over? Was it worth dying over? No! It didn’t matter that she needed the money. She’d eat beans and rice for the next six months if she lived through this. She would renege on her contract. She’d send it and the fat little check back to the mayor wrapped up pretty in a pink bow. If she lived through this.
If!
Redfoot lifted his head off the narrow hospital bed as Sky walked into the room.
“Let’s get your clothes changed,” Sky said. “Then you’re going to let the doctors do their tests. You got that?”
Redfoot leaned on one elbow. “Come closer.” The old man dropped something in Sky’s hands. “Take this stuff home.”
Sky stared at the bottle of pills. “What’s this?”
“Medicine I had on me. Just put it away,” Redfoot insisted. “Take it to my place. Don’t want it mixed up with what they give me here.”
“They may want a list of medications.” Sky turned the bottle over in his hands.
“Put that damn medicine away and help me change my clothes! The nurses keep coming for me.”
Sky saw the seriousness in the old man’s eyes, so he stuffed the pills in his jeans pockets and then helped Redfoot sit up and remove his shirt. A few minutes later, Sky was tying the back of Redfoot’s gown. His foster father reached over and squeezed Sky’s arm. “No
w, go find Blue Eyes. I saw her again when they were bringing me here. She’s in trouble. Your woman needs you.”
Shala refused to die.
She needed a weapon. She thought of the gun she’d seen in Sky’s closet, but was it loaded? Remembering the knife Sky had left in the sink, she crawled to the kitchen counter. Behind her, she heard someone trying to open the door.
She rose to her knees and reached into the sink. Something heavy hit the front door, like a big shoulder or foot. Panicking, she felt her hand close around what felt like a knife, and the blade sliced into her palm. Well, it passed the slice-through-human-skin test. Ignoring the pain, she pulled it toward her.
“God damn!”
Screams came from the porch, along with a loud thud like something heavy falling. Something heavy, as in a big man wearing a ski mask. Feeling brave—or maybe just stupid—Shala stood and ran to the window. The intruder lay on his back, kicking violently at Sky’s dogs. Finally, he rolled. The dogs moved after him, growling, their lips curled and their teeth bared. Shala saw what looked like the gun lying behind them. The man rolled off the porch. One of the dogs followed. The man scrambled to his feet and took off back to his car. Shala stood frozen, holding her breath, the knife still gripped in her hand. The car fishtailed off the curb and sped away down the dirt road.
Collapsing against the wall, Shala kept her eyes on the porch, where the second dog joined the first. Both beasts turned around. Two pairs of eyes met hers, two pairs of bright gold eyes. Shala had never come face-to-face with a wolf, but she’d seen enough pictures to recognize one. These animals on Sky Gomez’s front porch were more wolf than dog. They’d saved her life, but she wasn’t eager to confront them. Not after seeing them in action.
A question derailed those thoughts: how had this hardened criminal learned where she was? He hadn’t followed her here tonight; she’d been looking out for him. She remembered Sky Gomez’s sudden supposed emergency that had left her here alone. Sure, he’d said he was on the pro-Winters side, but hadn’t Mayor Johnson claimed most of the Natives were against her? If he was on her side, why was he taking her camera?
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