“Maybe I should get a dog. With big teeth.”
“Dogs love me.”
He slid his hand behind my head and kissed me hard. A tingle shot up my body, starting at my feet and ending at the top of my head, leaving goose bumps all over my skin.
We settled into the couch and I let him take the stress of the day from me. I wanted him, to be with him, but my mind was my best friend and worst enemy. Tonight I wondered which role it would take on.
MY CHEST WAS TIGHT. Each breath was work, and it hurt all the way through into my spine. I was stressed, and the pressure made me want to run. To run away and never look back.
Mom was in the kitchen cooking dinner. She saw me sitting at the table and gave me the look that said so much more than words ever could.
Do it. Do it or you’ll be next. If I do, it’s all on you.
I knew it was a dream—or was it a memory? It was hard to tell. I was a little kid—I can’t remember how old. Five or seven?
Mom sliced celery so fast that I lost myself watching her hands move with precision. She turned and glanced at me again with the same look. Her eyes were hard, but deep down they were sad. A dark purple bruise surrounded her left eye and a new one was beginning to show on her cheek. I jumped when a rough voice came from the living room.
“Sarah, what’s taking you so long? It’s just Scotch. Pour it in a glass, one ice cube. You know how I want it. Now quit dawdling and hurry up. Sarah Ann!” His voice was harsh and grew more insistent. “Sarah, answer me.”
“Coming, Dad.”
He muttered something, but all I could make out was “Lazy kid … stupid …”
I stared at the glass sitting in front of me on the table. It was half full, one cube of ice. Next to it was a small glass bottle with a dropper. I knew what it was, knew what Mom wanted.
Tears ran down my cheeks and I couldn’t breathe. I knew I had to move, to pick up the glass and bring it into the living room where my dad sat in his old recliner. The TV would be on, and he would have an old tobacco pipe in his hand and bruises on his knuckles.
Dad hollered, and I heard the recliner pop as he released the footrest.
I moved. Grabbing the glass, I ran into the dark, smoke-filled living room. His face was red. He snatched the glass from my hand and tossed back the drink. His dark hair was matted and he glared at me. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and his face softened. “Come here, Bits. Give me a hug.”
I burst into tears.
A rush of emotion snapped me awake and I realized I was crying. Solomon was stroking my hair, holding me and gently whispering, “It’s okay. It was a bad dream. I’m here. It’s okay…”
My body shook uncontrollably, and sweat soaked through my T-shirt and panties. It was dark in my room and so I let the tears rage. I wanted to lock that part of my heart away forever and hide from everything and everyone.
Slowly I got control back and remembered that I’d fallen asleep in Solomon’s arms. He had never stayed over before and I really wanted to want him too, but something stopped me—my dang overthinking mind stopped me. I must have been a lot more tired than I thought because the last thing I remembered was him holding me and telling me about his trip home. I felt so safe in his arms, as if nothing else mattered. Then I woke in my nightmare, the one I would never be able to escape.
HOTAH WATCHED THE WHORE get dressed and played with the scar above his right eyebrow. It was a mark, one he would never let himself forget. It was his first attempt to kill himself during the worst winter of his life. Even the light had seemed dark then, and he’d lost his way. After he’d returned from a hunt empty handed, he’d shot one arrow straight up into the air and waited for it to drive itself home. It hit him, but it didn’t fracture his skull. Turned out he was only good at killing other people.
She dressed as if she had somewhere to be. Hotah imagined that he was good with the ladies, and he was often confused as to why some resisted him like this.
“You like how I make you feel, baby?”
The tiny blonde turned, pulled up her mini skirt, and half smiled, flipping her hair. “Yeah, you were the best I’ve ever had.” She picked up her high heels and gave a small giggle. At first, Hotah thought she was serious and her giggle was due to his charm, but then it dawned on him that she could be mocking him.
Maybe she needed to be taught some respect. “Watch it, slut. I’m an important man around here—you know who I am?” Hotah slid his hand under the covers, reaching for his knife.
“Of course, Hotah. Everyone knows who you are. Your face is on every sign from here to Boise,” she said from the bathroom, her tone still mocking as if she thought he was some dumb pre-pubescent boy.
“You’re the world-famous trick shooter in the Wild Wild West play at the Golden Nugget. No one’s better.”
He gripped the knife tighter. “It’s not a play, it’s a show, one of the best shows around—even better than Vegas! Everyone says that. And I’m the star, I’m famous, and you act like I’m just some John.”
She shuffled from the bathroom and scooped up her shirt, purse, and coat. “What do you want from me? I made you happy, you had a good time—what more do you want?”
Hotah threw the knife at her. She screamed, covering her mouth with both hands as she dropped her purse. The knife buried itself into the wall next to her head and plaster dusted her shoulder. She bent down and grabbed her purse, shaking like a scared rabbit.
“I meant to miss,” he reassured her, hoping she wouldn’t tell her handler. He liked the lineup of girls and didn’t want to jack up his personal play time.
She slammed the door, and Hotah cursed. Aw, who cared—no one would believe a second-rate whore. Who did she think she was? He was somebody, a star, a killer, and soon, a member of the council. She was just paid entertainment.
Getting dressed in a dirty T-shirt and jeans, he took the elevator to the Watering Hole. It was one of the casino bars, and his favorite. He drank for free, a perk of being a valuable member of the tribe.
“Jack and Coke, Buck.”
Buck was the shirtless bartender. It wasn’t his real name, but the customers liked it.
“You believe these girls?” Hotah motioned to three giggle-factory girls at the end of the bar. They were flirting with some soft city guy. “You’d think they’d know a good thing when it was right there in front of them. Guess they just want the dregs.”
Buck put a drink in front of him and grunted. “You working tonight?”
Hotah tossed back his drink and wiped his mouth. “Do I look like I’m working tonight? Do you see me wearing a feather in my hair? Do you see my bow and arrow?”
Buck held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Just askin’, brother.”
“I’m not your bro.” Hotah threw his glass at Buck and missed. It shattered against the wall. Buck wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and his whole upper body flexed.
A moment later, two big men in suits came up behind Hotah. He saw them coming in the big mirror behind the bar and he rubbed his scar, hoping they would lay a hand on him.
“Time to go, hotshot. Party’s over.” They grabbed him and pulled him from his barstool.
“Get off me. Do you know who I am? I’ll have your jobs … Come on, Buck.” He realized he could lose his favorite drinking spot if Buck had any lasting hard feelings. “Hey, I didn’t mean nothing.” He twisted, and the two men released his arms. He smoothed his T-shirt and looked each man up and down. He could take them. Maybe he should—teach them that it was never okay to cross a man like him.
“Wise choice.” He nodded at them. “Now go guard something.” He took a swing at the shorter of the two and connected, but the big man didn’t seem to care. He even winked one eye as if he was happy to get a fist to the face.
“That’s it? That’s your best punch?” He rubbed his jaw and looked to the other bouncer. They grinned, grabbed Hotah, and dragged him from the bar.
“Let me go,” Hotah scre
amed, and the packed bar watched him. It was the looks on their faces—they were all smirking, mocking.
“You have no idea who I am, what I can do. I killed a girl—shot her in the chest. You think you can just throw me out?”
“Easy, tiger.”
”Keep talking, twinkle toes.”
Hotah stumbled out into the parking lot and the two bouncers laughed. “Now sober up before your next show and consider this bar off limits from now on.”
Hotah spit and reached for his knife. But it was not in his hip holster like it was supposed to be—he must have left it upstairs. He stared at the bouncer he punched and made a mental note to come back later to kill him. No one made Hotah look like a fool, especially not a ten-dollar-an-hour bouncer.
BREAKFAST WAS JUST WHAT I needed to forget about my awful nightmare. Solomon and I met Mandy at Berryhill Bacon downtown. While waiting for Joshua, Mandy and I ordered, and Solomon got a black coffee to go.
It felt great not to wear formal business wear like I had to at the office. Since the men at ITP weren’t wearing suits, I wasn’t going to dress up, furthering my outsider look. Instead, I opted for tailored black pants, comfortable flats, and a simple blouse. Usually I wore heels so I could be taller—it lent to more people taking me seriously. But this time, I was confident I could get what I wanted without them.
What I wanted was Solomon’s advice on the case, but he had to jet off to his FBI job and I was starving. I gave the short version on the car ride over and asked him who the FBI contact was at the rez. This would all be figured out soon.
Solomon sent a few texts and found out who was assigned to the tribe. It was someone named Watters. My heart sank. No wonder the FBI had no clue what was going on—they had an agent who was in the family.
“There has to be another agent, right?” I asked. “How could one man be assigned to the whole town?”
“Well…” Solomon shrugged. “Money is always tight. And if they have one agent who’s handling things, why send another?”
“Yeah, handling things.” I gritted my teeth.
Our food came in record time, and Mandy began her divide-and-destroy method of eating. “Geez, this is amazing. Have you have you tried this sage-and-honey bacon? It’s like a party in my mouth.” Her cheeks pooched out as she chomped away, and I tried to look as disgusted as I felt.
“You’re eating like it’s the end of the world. Try chewing first.” I handed her a napkin. “And you’ve got some syrup on your chin.”
“I am chewing,” Mandy said with her mouth full. She had her hair up in a messy bun today with a drumstick rammed through it like a spear. Honest to God, a drumstick. She must have taken it from Rick’s drum set.
Taking a sip of my coconut latte, I opened the file Joshua had brought. He was up at the counter ordering his food, and even though he was late, he acted all hurt because we didn’t wait to order. The file had some background information on the dead girl, Lina Sever. Age 21. I was surprised at how emotional I was over this. She was so young—too young. Joshua was good at his job. He had copies of her driver’s license, public record, history of residence, and a list of next of kin. I slid the file to Mandy, and she pawed though it with her sticky fingers.
“You can keep that copy,” I said, a little annoyed. “So you know how we’ve talked about doing our own thing?”
Mandy nodded. “Yeah—like Nancy Drew, but cooler. Joshua told me all about your mess of a case. Way to start us off right, Sarah.”
“Yeah, well, try not to let it bother you too much. This is how it goes. If it was easy, anyone could do it. I talked to Joshua, and I think that between the three of us, we can cover all the bases. Maybe pick up one more person for grunt work down the line—”
She put the file down and gaped at me. “Whoa, hold up. You mean you’re quitting your job? I thought this was extra—you know, a spare time kind of thing?”
Though I didn’t know why, I was suddenly embarrassed about my job situation. “More or less.”
But Mandy saw right through me. “Sarah, what happened?”
I glanced at Solomon, who was standing over by the window reading something on his phone. “I’ve been asked to resign. My history is too dirty for their clean halls.”
“What?” Mandy screeched, then looked around and lowered her voice. “That douche bag fired you?”
At the memory of Dan’s face, I was suddenly glad I didn’t have to go clock in that day. “He still wants to work with me, of course. He’s footing this bill. But he wants to keep me on at a distance. You know how he is when it comes to bad press. I thought we could take the opportunity and run with it.”
Mandy’s eyes sharpened and she leaned back in her chair.
I continued. “We’ll see where it goes.” I finished the last of my latte and ordered another. “You never know—might be the start of something fun.”
Mandy gave me the “I see through all your B.S.” look and sighed. “So what are we gonna call this agency or whatever? We need a rockin’ name, like the Three Avengers or the ND Crime Fighting Crew.”
Solomon walked over, bent down, and kissed me. “I gotta go. Let me know later what your evening looks like.” He nodded to Mandy, and she smiled like an idiot.
When he was gone, she blinked at me and sipped her orange juice. “What a hunk.”
I made a face and laughed. “Yes, he is. And as for your other thing … Uh, no. We’re not a girl band, and if we want to get high-level cases, we have to come across as professionals.”
Joshua sat down. “We are professionals, but what are we offering? I don’t even have a clear idea of what we are doing, so how can we sell it to the public?”
“We offer awesomeness,” Mandy exclaimed.
I ignored her. “We can’t offer legal counsel in other states and I don’t want to be just another law firm. We’re the people who get things done behind the scenes, the fixers. You have a problem, who you gonna call…?”
We all three looked at each other, and it was Joshua who broke down first. “Ghostbusters,” he whispered.
I’D MEMORIZED EVERYTHING IN Lina’s file, but I went over it one more time in case I missed something. The picture on her driver’s license showed a smiling, fresh-faced girl. Joshua sat in the passenger seat of my car and kept looking over at me like I was a pot ready to boil.
“No, Josh, I’m not going to talk about it.” I knew that in some ways, my job gave me my identity, and with it slipping through my fingers, I didn’t know how I felt about myself.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Your silent asking is just as annoying. I’ll be fine.” I bit my fingernail absentmindedly.
“Your last two weeks have been crazy, enough to make anyone have to see psychologists for the rest of their life.”
“I’m fine. And I’ve had psychologists in my face my whole life. I’ve memorized exactly what they’d say in this situation.” I snapped the file shut. “I’m fine.”
“You are far from fine, but if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine too.” He shook his head, and his big cheeks jiggled like Jell-O.
“Fine.”
We were twenty minutes out from the reservation, and I had Mandy doing research from her place. I didn’t want her in the line of fire in case things went south.
“So we’re really doing this consulting gig?” Joshua asked.
“Ready or not, here we come.”
Joshua said nothing. After a minute of silence, he nodded. “Okay,”
“Okay.”
I smiled and looked out the window. Sometimes life seemed nothing more than a shower of unfortunate events, but with Joshua, Mandy, and Solomon, I felt like I’d be okay.
TAHATAN CHEWED ON A toothpick and had his feet up on his cluttered desk. I’d gone straight to see him when we got to the reservation. Country music was playing on the radio, and a basketball game was on the big screen TV mounted on the wall.
“You can’t just hold Timothy. You’ve got to charge h
im with something,” I said, restraining my voice.
He smiled and went back to reading the newspaper. “Those aren’t the rules here, Miss Steele,” he said offhandedly.
“According to your own laws—I looked it up—in the case of a murder, rape, or abuse of a minor, you have to inform the FBI.”
Tahatan didn’t even act surprised. He kept on reading. Why was he suddenly so aloof? “The FBI has been informed, and Special Agent Watters is looking into the situation.” His voice was flat, unimpressed.
“I would like to talk to him.”
“No.”
“I need to see Timothy James.”
“No.”
“You can’t deny me access to my client. He hired me to act on his behalf.”
Tahatan lowered his paper and looked at Joshua and me. He seemed to consider what I was saying and then shook his head. “No.”
I shifted my weight, about to lose my temper, when someone spoke from the doorway. “Now, now, let’s not get into a fighting match again.” Chaska stood behind us, holding his cowboy hat and chewing on something. “I don’t see the harm in letting her talk to her… What is he, your client? Or are you two a thing?” He grinned, showing stained teeth and flecks of chew ground in between.
He was poking at me, trying to push my buttons. Well, he’d have to do a lot more than that. “I would like to talk to him. And if we’re going to find out what really happened to Lina Sever I need to be free to investigate.”
Tahatan stood up. “Not going to happen. We have it under control.”
Chaska held up a hand, and Tahatan clamped his mouth shut. “The FBI is in charge here. If he’s good with Miss Steele helping out, who are we to get in the way of justice? Besides, he is guilty. Mr. James was seen snooping around, bothering our people, and even made a few threats. He had her body in the back of his SUV, and he was the last one to talk to her. Maybe they fought, things got out of hand—who knows—but this is a simple case, so there’s no need to make it more complicated than it has to be.”
The Steele Collection Books 1-3: Sarah Steele Legal Thrillers Page 31