Set the Dark on Fire

by Jill Sorenson

  She hadn’t even known her mother was pregnant.

  Angel remembered running down Calle Remolino in her best dress, tears streaming down her face, breath puffing out in the cold night air. When Chad pulled up in his Chevy Nova, she’d jumped at the chance to go somewhere else. Do something else. Feel something else.

  At the Graveyard, he didn’t even have to make the first move. She was the one who had slid her hand along the nape of his neck and brought his lips to hers. And although she hadn’t liked the way he’d kissed her, shoving his tongue too far into her mouth, or the way he’d touched her, with rough, fumbling hands, she’d encouraged him. Desperate for it to be over, she’d torn at his clothes. When he moved away from her to put on a condom, she’d almost lost her nerve. Then he was stretching out on top of her again, pushing into her, hurting her.

  She’d cried out and shoved at his shoulders, changing her mind in an instant, but he’d merely held her arms over her head and continued. Tears had rolled down her cheeks, and she’d prayed for him to finish quickly, but she’d ceased struggling and she hadn’t said no.

  She never told him no.

  “He didn’t force me,” she said, blinking up at Dylan. To her embarrassment, her face was wet again. Using jerky motions, she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  He must have believed her, because he let her go. “He’s a clod,” he said in a low voice. “He’s proud of it. He always brags about how fast he is. Like it’s a race. And he never treats the girl with respect afterward.”

  Angel crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the ground. If she’d known that, would she have climbed in his car that day? Probably.

  Chad had seemed surprised when he noticed the blood. He must not have realized she was a virgin, not even by the way she’d reacted. He’d looked somewhat chagrined, but he hadn’t apologized, and he hadn’t asked her any questions. Perhaps he was worried she would tell her father how he’d treated her, because he offered to call her. Instead of her phone number, she’d given him a look of pure disgust.

  The next time she saw him, at the Graveyard on Friday night, she’d wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. Instead, she was put in the awful position of having to accept another ride in his car. Drunk and belligerent, he came on to her, expecting more of what he’d already had. She told him it would happen again over her dead body.

  Maybe that was why he’d goaded Travis into making a play for her. If Dylan hadn’t been there, she might have had to fight them both off.

  “How could you—” He broke off, shoving a hand through his short hair. “He’s such an asshole!”

  She stared at him stonily. “And you’ve been friends with him for years.”

  “Not anymore,” he protested, putting space between them. As if he thought her dirty. “Unlike you, I have some standards.”

  Indignation burned through her. “Sure you do. You hang out with Chad, not because you think it will get you girls, but because he has so many great qualities. Right? And you invited me into your room Friday night to listen to music, not because you wanted to find out if I was like my mother.”

  A flush crept up his neck. “I never wanted to find out …” He paused, for that statement would have been blatantly untrue. “I never thought you were like—” He stopped and swore, having backed himself into a corner there, too.

  “Let me save you the trouble,” she said, advancing on him, shoving at his chest. “I’m a slut, just like Chad said. Just like my mother. If you hadn’t interfered, I’d have shown Travis a real good time. Hell, I’d have serviced all three of you. At the same time! Now, aren’t you sorry you missed out on that action?”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, or how to react. He just stood there, a pained, bewildered expression on his face.

  Angel didn’t need his jealousy, his judgment, or his confusion. She didn’t even want his friendship. Not anymore. “Go home, Dylan,” she said with a sigh, her anger leaving as quickly as it came. “Go home and grow up.”

  His eyes darkened at her words, but he made no reply. Showing an impressive amount of control for a boy his age, he only gave a curt nod and walked away.

  Dylan returned home in a foul mood, turned the stereo on full blast, and dumped the contents of his backpack out on the middle of the bed. Ears ringing soothingly, mind numbing from heavy metal anesthesia, he reached into the corner of his closet and brought out his stuff.

  Shay would freak out if she knew what he kept in here. But she didn’t know. If there was anything good about his sister, it was that she didn’t snoop. She didn’t come into his room, or rifle through his personal belongings, or interrogate him about where he’d been.

  She didn’t care.

  Well, she cared about his grades, because they were his ticket out of this shithole town, and she cared about his game, for the same reason.

  Scowling, he shoved the contraband items into his backpack, knowing he couldn’t have another run-in with the law. He couldn’t wait to get out of Tenaja Falls, but if he didn’t do something to release the tension inside him, he was going to explode.

  He couldn’t believe Angel had slept with Chad.

  It wasn’t that he’d expected her to be innocent. She’d dated Tony Duran for years, and although Tony was quiet and religious and stuff, everyone assumed they’d done it. Angel’s age, and her experience, was actually part of her appeal. Dylan would have no idea how to handle a virgin. The idea of hurting a girl, especially that way, made him cringe.

  And he liked the way Angel had taken charge in his bedroom.

  The first time he kissed her, she’d laughed. That made him mad, so he gripped her upper arms and kissed her again, with more enthusiasm. She stopped laughing, but she also broke the contact, putting her hands on his chest and holding him at bay.

  “Like this,” she’d said, brushing her lips over his, very softly.

  It was nice, and although he’d wanted to crush his mouth over hers and French kiss like they did in movies, he forced himself to relax and let her call the shots. It was a good choice, because she moved her hand to the nape of his neck, threaded her fingers through his short hair, and kept kissing him.

  That had really turned him on. He went motionless, afraid he would do something wrong and she would stop. To his amazement, she continued, teasing him with small licks and—oh, God—little nibbles.

  Then a lightbulb had gone off inside his head. She was kissing him the way she wanted him to kiss her.

  Curbing his natural inclination to be overeager, he slid his arm around her waist and leaned forward, kissing her back, using a lighter touch.

  She made a low murmur of approval. He deepened the kiss, and she pressed closer, and … things got pretty heated after that.

  He stared at the surface of his bed, picturing them there together, torturing himself by wondering if she’d responded the same way with Chad. A series of disturbing sexual images flashed through his mind, and he couldn’t help but consider the logistics of a scenario in which Angel serviced all three of them.

  Stomach churning with nausea, he zipped up his backpack and strode out into the hall, grabbing his sister’s keys from the hook before he headed out the door.

  8

  Luke was having a hard time keeping his eyes off Shay Phillips.

  As he drove the now-familiar road toward Dark Canyon State Preserve, the object of his inconvenient desire sitting passenger beside him, he analyzed her appeal.

  He had to admit his initial impression of her hadn’t been completely accurate. She wasn’t just a party girl from the wrong side of the tracks or a kitty-loving bimbo with a biology degree. She was smart, dedicated, and responsible. Other than a night of mild debauchery for her birthday (and who could begrudge her that?) she seemed to have a quiet life. And she was doing an admirable job of raising her brother single-handedly.

  If she had a lot of boyfriends, so what? He knew plenty of guys who played the field and didn’t get slammed for it. She was yo
ung and beautiful and sexy as hell. He could understand why she wasn’t in any hurry to settle down.

  What he couldn’t figure out was why his gut clenched with longing every time he looked at her. Or why, for the life of him, he couldn’t stop looking. He was like a gawking schoolboy in her presence, and not only was it embarrassing, it was completely out of character for him. Slavering over a woman just because she was hot and available wasn’t his style. He’d had plenty of opportunities to indulge in casual encounters and no-strings sex in Las Vegas.

  Why did he want that now when he never had before?

  Okay, so she smelled good. Maybe pheromones were responsible for his uncontrollable physical reaction. And she looked good. He’d seen more beautiful women, but something about her made his senses go haywire.

  Being able to picture her in wet lingerie didn’t help.

  He cast a surreptitious glance her way, afraid she would guess what he was thinking. She was looking out the window, lost in her own world. A strand of blond hair blew across her face, lingering on her lips before she brushed it away.

  Luke forced his gaze back to the road. As lovely as the sight of her near-naked form had been at the pond yesterday, it was her armpit, of all things, that had driven him over the edge. He’d been doing a passable job of controlling himself. The ice cold water had helped. But when she’d rubbed that herbal stuff under her arm, he’d been struck by the ridiculous urge to lick her there like a snow cone, and his entire body had gone rigid.

  It was crazy! He’d never ogled a woman’s armpit before, let alone fantasized about making out with it. After thirty years in Vegas, he should have been anesthetized to sex, but one day with Shay Phillips had him panting like a teenager.

  This morning he’d been no more successful at curbing his wayward thoughts. Watching a woman shave her legs was kind of a turn-on, he supposed, when the woman had legs like hers. Pale and silky-looking, miles long, a symphony of skin. He’d seen one soapy rivulet run down the inside of her thigh and wanted to follow its path with his tongue. From there, his mind had taken the natural progression, and he’d been down on his knees before her, mentally, when her little brother walked in.

  He’d had to start a conversation about basketball to give himself time to recover.

  Of course, she’d known exactly what she was doing. A woman didn’t frolic about half-naked or caress her slippery-smooth, soap-slick legs in front of a man unless she wanted to work him up into a lather.

  The last thing he needed was to get involved with someone like her right now. She wasn’t his type. She wasn’t even his age.

  Besides, he’d come here to lay low, not to get laid.

  Tenaja Falls was supposed to be a kind of sabbatical for him, an opportunity to pick up the pieces of his career and reshape his outlook on life. Things had gone south in Vegas, personally and professionally. The casino kingpins he’d been investigating had won the battle. They’d almost taken him out for good.

  A near-death experience tended to change a man, encourage him to reevaluate his priorities and consider what had almost slipped from his grasp.

  Instead of discovering what was most important to him, Luke had come up empty-handed. He loved his family, but they all had their own lives, peripheral to his. His stepsister, Lauren, had a child of her own and another on the way. His intense focus on work had left him with few friends outside of law enforcement, and even fewer relationships with women.

  He wasn’t sure what he was searching for, but he didn’t think he’d find it in a struggling town, a temporary job, or a meaningless fling.

  “So where should we set this trap?” he asked, trying to refocus. They were on their way to preserve headquarters to pick up supplies. She’d run the plan by Mike Shepherd, her boss, with one caveat: no lethal force. Today, they’d take tranquilizer guns instead of rifles. If the mission was successful, Mike would send air support, and Shay would run tests on the sedated animal at HQ herself.

  “The best place might be near the tenajas on Los Coyotes.”

  “Tenajas?” he said, glancing at her.

  “You don’t know what it means?”

  “Should I?”

  “It’s an Indian word.”

  He felt his lips curve into a humorless smile. “And we Indians all speak the same language, right?”

  “I know you don’t,” she insisted, frowning at his sarcasm. “But you said you’re Luiseño. The people of Los Coyotes are Cahuilla. Both are descendants of Shoshoni, and the languages have a Uto-Aztecan base. Lots of the words are similar.”

  He arched a brow at her and she blushed. Was she embarrassed about being educated? “Well, I’ve never heard it,” he admitted. “What does it mean?”

  “Tenajas are seasonal pools. Natural rock basins that fill with water after a period of rain. They usually form along streambeds that are dry in summer.”

  Hadn’t Garrett said something about seasonal pools? “Are they protected?”

  “They’re supposed to be, because so many animals use them as a water supply, but state and federal laws vary. The Cahuilla have been better about preserving the habitat than most Californians, until recently.”

  “What happened?”

  “The casino craze.” She cast him an uncertain look. “Not that I have anything against gambling. Or self-reliance. But with new roads, land development, increased traffic …” She sighed. “The impact on local wildlife will be significant.”

  “You would prefer the people languish in poverty?”

  “No.” She threaded her fingers though her ponytail, a contemplative expression on her pretty face. Before leaving her house, she’d changed into a brown tank top and tan pants. The sedate colors didn’t suit her, but a full night’s rest did, because she looked even better than she had yesterday. And so achingly young, with her fresh-scrubbed skin, unpainted lips, and freckled cheeks, that he felt like a lecher for wanting her. “There is no easy solution.”

  “So where are these tenajas? Five miles uphill?”

  “Not quite that far,” she said with a laugh, dropping a glance at his thighs. “Why? Are you sore?”

  Experiencing an ache that had nothing to do with hiking, he grunted a noncommittal response. “I’ll have to talk with tribal police before we head out.”

  “That goes without saying,” she murmured, looking out the window. “You can’t set foot on Los Coyotes without their permission.”

  They made a brief stop at Dark Canyon, loading up the tranquilizer guns, camouflage mesh, drinking water, and energy bars. To her pack, Shay added something that looked like a bullhorn. It made a sound like a dying deer, she explained. Like the blood lure they’d used before, the horn was sure to attract carnivores, even those from miles away.

  As he drove along the dirt road toward the reservation, Luke began to sweat. It was only midmorning, getting hotter by the minute, and he wasn’t looking forward to the remainder of the day. This job as interim sheriff wasn’t much better than paid leave. It was supposed to be a cakewalk, not a lion hunt.

  To top it off, he didn’t expect a warm reception at Los Coyotes. The Cahuilla and Luiseño may have had a common heritage, and a similar language, but like many neighboring tribes, they also had a history of strife. It wasn’t easy to ingratiate yourself with men whose grandfathers had warred with your grandfathers.

  And reservation politics had never been his forte.

  The guard at the gated entrance waved them on, and as Luke made his way down the gravel road that served as Los Coyotes’ main drag, he was struck by a wave of nostalgia. So much about it was familiar, but it didn’t feel like home. He’d been born on a reservation just like this, and sent back to visit every summer until he turned eighteen.

  That place had never felt like home, either.

  The houses here were modest, adobe-style, one-story, tile-roofed. Some had busted windows, covered with tar paper. Others had piles of rubble on the lawn. Chunks of concrete, broken-down appliances, and twisted lengths of re
bar waited to be hauled away.

  Like in Tenaja Falls, and Pala, his hometown, children and dogs roamed free.

  There were signs of hardship, of disorganization and disillusionment, but there were also hints of prosperity. New trucks sat alongside rusted jalopies. On Sunday, men were working on household projects, evidence that they were not only gainfully employed, but spending part of their paychecks to better their living conditions. The casino wasn’t even open for business yet, and people were already benefiting.

  Not all of the townsmen were involved in industrious pursuits, of course. It was shy of noon, early for drinking, but if Los Coyotes was anything like Pala, more than a couple of cold ones had already been cracked.

  Refusing to let himself drift into the past, Luke swallowed back the taste of bitterness as he pulled into the parking lot of a small stucco building that passed for the tribal police station. As soon as the truck rolled to a stop, Shay made a little sound of feminine surprise and jumped out, right into another man’s arms.

  He was about Jesse’s age, ten years younger than Luke, and although he had sun-streaked brown hair and blue eyes, the darkness of his skin and the tribal police uniform he was wearing gave away his heritage.

  “You get prettier every year,” the guy said when he released her.

  Shay laughed at the compliment, touching his arm. “Luke, this is Clay Trujillo,” she said, introducing them. “Clay, this is Sheriff Meza.”

  Luke shook the other man’s hand with reluctance, stifling the urge to tighten his grip and turn the introduction into a pissing contest. He hadn’t felt this defensive since he was eighteen, but he hadn’t been on a reservation since then, either.

  He was proud of his culture, but not his past. As a kid who wasn’t Indian enough for the streets of Pala or white enough for the Vegas suburbs, he’d engaged in more than his share of brawls. Too often, he’d felt as though he had to prove himself with his fists, to show his Native American blood by spilling it.

  It had taken him a long time to learn how to walk away from a fight.