Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Chief Whitedeer leaned forward, surprising Alyssa. Since the beginning of the meeting, he hadn’t said a word; he’d sat quietly in his chair, listening and observing with his wise eyes. “Ms. Morgan, a task force is a wonderful idea.”

  She blinked. “A task force?” Alyssa resisted the urge to fan her burning cheeks. That’s not what she’d meant at all. How could she steer the investigation toward an SQ squad solution if she were dealing with a task force?

  “Yes,” Chief Whitedeer said. “You will work with members of the community to come up with a compromise. A solution we can all agree on.”

  “I’m not sure there’s enough time for a full-fledged task force. We need to curb the rise in crime before it gets completely out of control.”

  Grand Councillor Laroche shook his head. “While we don’t want to waste months and months discussing the issue, we’re also not going to rush and do this half-assed. Again.”

  “Who will lead the task force?” Councillor Redleafe asked.

  Oh God. Crime wasn’t the only thing out of control on this reserve. This whole freaking meeting was spiraling into the unknown. There was only one thing she could do. Without giving herself time to reconsider, Alyssa took a deep breath and blurted out, “I will.”

  “A white woman?” Delorimier asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

  The insult sent Alyssa’s blood pressure soaring. She wanted to give him the verbal lashing he deserved. But the only thing she’d get out of it would be a brief personal satisfaction. So she folded her hands in her lap and held her tongue while repeating Don’t screw this up! in her mind, over and over like a mantra.

  Everyone around the table laughed except Councillor Redleafe and Chief Whitedeer, who focused on each man one by one and frowned. “Ms. Morgan represents her people, like our clan mothers represent us.”

  Delorimier shrugged. “Sorry, Chief Whitedeer. But look at her. The SQ sent us a secretary. Why would we want someone like her leading a task force about policing on our lands?”

  She met Delorimier’s gaze and held it. “I’m a cop. Have been for six years. I might not know about life on a reserve, but I’ve seen first-hand the violence that comes from drugs and alcohol—the domestic abuse, rape, murder. You name it, I’ve seen it.”

  Chief Nichols frowned and pursed his lips. His demeanor exuded tension. Resentment, even. “A task force with her in charge is a waste of time. The SQ doesn’t care about our ideas. This whole thing is a farce.”

  “My home was broken into last night,” Chief Whitedeer said. A collective gasp arose from the group.

  “Who would dare steal from an elder?” Councillor Whitedeer asked. He glared at Nichols and Elliot. “Do you need more proof that things are out of control?”

  Alyssa grabbed the opportunity to push her point home. “The SQ recognizes that the current situation cannot go on. Appoint someone of your choice to the task force and I’ll be happy to work with him or her.” Liar. But what else could she do?

  Chief Whitedeer said, “I volunteer my grandson.”

  “Which one, Chief?” Councillor Whitedeer asked, amusement plain in his voice.

  Alyssa looked around the room as everyone laughed. “What’s so funny?”

  Grand Councillor Laroche grinned. “Chief Whitedeer’s family is like a microcosm of the entire reserve.”

  “So, why not put them all on the task force?” she asked.

  The corner of Chief Whitedeer’s mouth kicked up. “Because you’d never get anywhere. I was thinking of Rémi.” Instantly, the smile of the man at the SQ station entered her mind. Could it be him? The name fit.

  “No offense, Chief Whitedeer, but if you put Rémi on the task force, it will be three quarters white.” Chief Elliot glanced around the table. “Is that really what we want?”

  Rémi was half-white? That explained his beautiful green eyes. “Chief Whitedeer, why do you think Rémi is the best candidate?” Alyssa asked.

  “He worked with the Montréal Police for four years. Of everyone on the reserve, he has the most knowledge of what it takes to run a successful police department. He’s also one of our First Responders, so he knows pretty much everyone. And as a drug and alcohol counselor, he’s well aware of the issues the community is facing. He’s not a band-council supporter, and he’s not a hard-core traditionalist. Rémi is level-headed. He’ll consider all sides. The only thing he wants is a better, safer community.”

  Alyssa tried to gauge everyone’s reaction. Several of the councillors nodded, clearly agreeing with Chief Whitedeer’s statements.

  “We need someone from either the Defenders or the Guardians to balance Ms. Morgan’s opinions,” Chief Elliot said.

  “What about Tommy?” Chief Nichols said.

  After the Defenders had regrouped, Tommy Skye had become the de facto leader. And while the group believed themselves the defenders of the community, they also tried to uphold the Iroquois laws and values in an honorable way. Alyssa agreed with Nichols. If she had to work with someone from the Defenders or the Guardians, Tommy would be her choice.

  “The band-council supporters also need to be represented,” Delorimier insisted.

  Jesus. This meeting was starting to remind her of those endless debates in Parliament that never went anywhere. At least in Parliament, they had air-conditioning. Alyssa searched the faces of the committee members. Other than the fact that everyone seemed on edge, she was the only one visibly affected by the oppressive heat. Giving up the fight, she grabbed her notepad and furiously fanned her face. She had to wrap this up. “Why not appoint a member from each group to the task force?”

  Grand Councillor Laroche said, “Here’s my motion: Ms. Morgan and Rémi will lead the task force. They will report their findings to Tommy and Councillor Redleafe, who will also have voting rights. In addition, the Guardians will need to be consulted.”

  Alyssa agreed with everything except the part about consulting the Guardians. While Chaz Whitedeer, the leader of the Guardians, represented a growing portion of the population, he’d be hard to work with. To him, as with most extremists, compromise was a four-letter word.

  “I second the motion,” Chief Whitedeer said.

  “Great. Let’s vote.”

  After a quick show of hands, the decision was made—Rémi Whitedeer would be working with her on the task force. Everyone rose and Rémi’s grandfather came over to shake her hand. She gave him one of her new business cards. “Sergeant Morgan,” he said, reading it. “I ask that you let me inform my grandsons of the committee’s decision before you speak with either of them about the task force.”

  “Of course, Chief. Please have Rémi call me at the number on my card. I’d like to set up our first meeting as soon as possible.”

  The idea of the task force didn’t thrill her, but if it helped her convince the committee that her SQ native squad was the ideal solution, she’d cope. Councillor Redleafe would be no problem. She understood that the tribe benefited from working with the Canadian government. Tommy and Chaz would be much more difficult. Rémi had worked with the Montréal Police but left. Why? His reasons might work in her favor, or not. He was a wildcard, but hopefully, she could turn him into an ally. Something she needed. Desperately.

  As she made her way to the restrooms at the end of the hall, she tugged on her blouse, which stuck to her moist skin. She couldn’t wait to get in her car and crank up the A/C. But before heading back to the station and the inevitable confrontation with her boss, she needed to take a breather. To think. What the heck was she going to tell Gauthier? Landry had made it sound like the deal had already been negotiated, that the tribe was fully onboard with the SQ’s plan, when clearly it wasn’t. Or had she somehow screwed things up? Crap. First week at her new post and she was already in the doghouse.

  “What’s the big deal, anyways? The white man’s law has no power over us.”

  Rémi sat on the edge of the desk in his small office at the community center and fixed Corey with a stare. “That
’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard. You were arrested, kid. Screw up again and they’ll throw you in jail. A white man’s jail. Do you know what happens to pretty Indian boys like you there?” Rémi smirked as Corey squirmed in his seat. “Yeah, I thought that might get your attention. Now tell me why you did it.”

  “Ellie and I, we wanted to party but I didn’t have any cash. So….” He trailed off.

  “So you decided to use the silent feet and nimble fingers of our ancestors and steal some, eh?”

  “Yeah, something like that.” Corey ducked his head.

  Could he have—? Rémi drummed his fingers on the desk top. “Some kids broke into my grandfather’s house last night.”

  The kid’s head jerked up. “Wasn’t me. Only an idiot would disrespect an elder that way.”

  “At least something’s gotten through that thick skull of yours.”

  “I’d never hurt anyone.”

  “Even yourself?”

  Corey rolled his eyes. “Another lecture?”

  Rémi sighed. Somehow, he had to get through to this kid. Before it was too late. “Listen, I know you don’t want to be in the treatment program. I know you’re being forced to come here. But you’re almost an adult now. You need to get clean and stay clean, or your next home’s going to be prison—or the cemetery.”

  “No, man. It’s not gonna be like that.”

  “Sure it is. If you keep drinking and doing drugs. You have no idea how many kids like you come in here thinking they’re so cool, that they can handle anything. Those are the kids I lose. The kids who make it are the ones who admit they have a problem. The ones who want to get clean and have a life. The ones who make the decision for themselves. I can’t do it for you, Corey.”

  “Why do you even care?”

  Rémi bowed his head and crossed his arms. He hated talking about his past. But if it helped Corey…. “My mother was a heroin addict.” He hesitated, then met Corey’s surprised gaze. “She loved me, but she loved the drugs more. She OD’d when I was seven… and in some ways it was a blessing. Grandfather took me in and brought me here. But I went through a rough time when I was a teenager and got into some trouble with drugs.”

  Yeah, that was information he usually kept to himself. He cleared his throat and swallowed. Dredging up those memories always left a bitter taste in his mouth. “But Grandfather was there for me. He showed me that I didn’t need the drugs. That there were other ways to get rid of the pain. I was heading down the same path my mother had followed, the same path you’re on now. But someone cared enough about me to make me care about myself.”

  Corey slouched lower in the chair and poked at a hole in his T-shirt. The silence dragged on. Rémi was about to call it quits when Corey finally spoke. “My dad used to drink a twelve pack, and that was just before lunch. As soon as we woke up, we’d sneak out of the house, because if he spotted us, we’d get smacked. It wasn’t so bad for us kids because we could go to school or to a friend’s house.”

  Even though Corey’s family problems were well known to everyone in their small community, Rémi wanted Corey to keep talking. He forced his voice to sound only mildly curious. “But your mother didn’t have the same luck, did she?”

  “No. She was stuck at home with the bastard. Every day she had a new bruise, sometimes a broken bone or two. He’d say she’d fallen or walked into a wall. Of course, we didn’t believe him.”

  Rémi’s heart thudded like a locomotive. After three months of twice weekly sessions, they were on the verge of a breakthrough. Corey was finally talking about the source of his addictions. “That must have been difficult for all of you.”

  “Me and my brothers wanted to kill him so bad.”

  Rémi understood that. Even though most days his mother had been too stoned to remember his name, he had wanted to kill anyone who hurt her. “What happened to change things?”

  Corey’s face hardened and his eyes flashed. “One day when we were coming home from school, we heard screaming. It scared us because usually my mother didn’t scream. She didn’t want the neighbors to hear and make things worse. We all started running. When we got inside the house, my mother was backed into a corner of the kitchen and my father stood over her with a knife. He kept yelling, ‘I’m gonna kill you, bitch!’” As he spoke, Corey’s fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. “Mark jumped on his back, hitting him in the head, the face, anywhere he could reach. Steven grabbed onto his legs, trying to trip him.”

  “What did you do, Corey?”

  “I ran outside and stopped a car that was passing in the street.” He sat up straighter and excitement tinged his voice. “Chaz and his friends raced into the house with me. Chaz tried to reason with my father, to talk him down, but it didn’t work. He kept lunging at Chaz with the knife, trying to stab him. Mark grabbed a blade from the block on the counter and gave it to Chaz. You should’ve seen them go at it. It was like something out of a movie.”

  “But it was real.”

  “Yeah.” His jaw tightened. “When Chaz stabbed my dad in the chest, we were all whooping and hollering. We’d saved my mom; we’d won.” He wiped his cheeks with a rough swipe of his fingers. “But then she crawled through the blood and pulled his head onto her lap. She stroked his hair and cried like her heart was breaking.”

  “That must have confused you.”

  “She kept saying ‘he wasn’t always like this.’ But that was all I ever knew of him.” He raised his chin. “I was glad to be rid of him.”

  “How’s your mom doing now?”

  “She’s a mess.” His expression darkened. “I don’t get her. She’s free now. Why isn’t she happy about that? And why does she hate Chaz so much? The man’s a fucking hero. My dad would have killed her that day. We’d probably all be dead if Chaz hadn’t saved us.”

  “What makes you think she hates him?”

  “She’s always telling us he’s nothing but trouble. She’s even telling people my dad wouldn’t be dead if we still had the tribal cops.”

  “You know, Corey, there’s some truth to what your mom says. Chaz is trouble. That group of his—”

  “The Guardians.”

  Uh-oh. He sensed a little too much hero-worship in the kid’s tone. “I saw you talking to Chaz and his pals the other day. I hear what they’re saying to the community. And a lot of it makes sense. But I also hear what they aren’t saying. It takes a lot of money to fund a militia, and you’ve got to wonder where the money’s coming from. Until we know for sure that it’s legal, you need to stay away from them.”

  “How can you talk about him like that? He’s your cousin, man.”

  Rémi rubbed his neck and tried to stretch out the kinks. “Believe me, kid. I know.” And between himself, Chaz, and Tommy, it made for some pretty rowdy family get-togethers. “Okay, I think that’s enough for today. I promised Gauthier we’d step up your treatment until your court date, so we’ll be meeting every day, same time.”

  Corey’s eyebrows shot up. “Every day? The guys are going to think I’ve gone soft with all this counseling BS.”

  With a smirk, Rémi said, “Better soft than dead.”

  Something made a scraping sound in the hall. They both turned to the door, but no one was there. “Hello?” Rémi called.

  Someone coughed, and then his doorway filled with the fine form of the civilian SQ woman he’d met last week. She was slim, tall, and very white. Her skirt and sleeveless blouse showed off her toned muscles and the sweet curve of her breasts. He couldn’t see them, but he could absolutely imagine her perfect pink nipples as they pressed against the dampened material of her blouse. Would they taste like bubble gum? God, he’d love finding out. She pressed a hand to her chest, blocking his view. “Hello, guys? I’m right here.”

  Rémi raised his gaze to her face and stalled on her lips. Oh man. Shiny lip gloss highlighted their rosebud shape. Beside him, he heard laughter and scowled at Corey. “Weren’t you leaving?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I�
�m outta here.” Rémi scowled even more when the kid practically rubbed himself against the woman as he eased past her through the doorway.

  “Cute kid.”

  Rémi didn’t want to talk about Corey. He wanted to talk about her. “Morgan, isn’t it? Did you need something? I’m sure I can help you with whatever you want.”

  She grinned. “Alyssa, actually. Morgan’s my last name.”

  Rémi stood up to take her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Alyssa Actually. I’m Rémi Whitedeer.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Rémi.”

  “What brings you to Blackriver?” Had she come to see him? To follow up on Corey’s release agreement?

  “I had a meeting.” She glanced at her watch and frowned. “But I have to get back to the station.”

  “Would you mind if I called you some time?”

  A smile flitted across her delicious lips. “Not at all.”

  No way was she leaving without him getting her cell number. Rémi grabbed a pad and pencil from his desk and got her to jot it down. He ripped the top sheet off and stuck it in his pocket.

  Alyssa wiped the sheen of perspiration on her forehead and tugged on her blouse. “Is the air conditioning broken or something? It’s really hot in here.”

  Rémi grinned. Strands of hair as golden as summer squash clung to the moist skin of her neck. And with her cheeks pinkened by the heat, she looked like a porcelain doll. Sexy as hell. All peaches and cream. “Welcome to life on the rez, sweetheart.” He took her elbow and ushered her through the door. “I’ll walk you to your car.” Anything to stay with her a little while longer.

  They exited the community center, and Alyssa pointed out her car, an older model Toyota. As they neared it, his cousin Chaz stepped out to block their way. He leaned on the trunk and rested a foot on the car’s bumper. “Found yourself a snow queen, cuz?”

  Alyssa bristled and stepped forward. Rémi stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Beat it, Chaz. This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Where’s the love, man? Everything about you and Blackriver concerns me.”