“Jasmine, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to over-step—”
“I don’t need your sympathy, Storm,” she said, cutting off his apology. “Like you said, daylight’s burning. It’s time to move on.” Turning on her heel, she strode to the Jeep.
Reluctantly Storm followed, a burr of discomfort riding low in his chest. The more he was with Jasmine, the more he learned about her. Before, it was easy to discount her as just one of the Kincaids, the family who’d caused so much pain in his life. Now, his hatred was being replaced with a new and even more disturbing emotion.
Empathy.
Not only did he understand her, but he found himself caring for her, too.
Chapter Seven
Wind whistled through the open Jeep, blowing the long, dark strands of hair into Storm’s face. Dust boiled up from the tires, covering everything—including himself—with a fine layer of grit. The heavy scent of sage peppered the air as they passed over the rolling green hills of the Kincaid ranch. They’d left the main road a few miles back. Now they were traveling on a hard-packed dirt lane, which would lead them to the original casino/resort construction site.
The site where his brother’s remains had been found.
Despite the warm, sunlit day, Storm shivered as a cloud of darkness slowly enveloped him. He knew there was much more to this feeling of dread than having to face the spot where Raven had died. Straight ahead, abutting the Kincaid border, stood the mountains marking the Laughing Horse Reservation—the land that had been his home for the first thirteen years of his life.
Since arriving in Whitehorn, Storm had yet to find a reason, or the will, to visit the place of his birth.
“I doubt if anyone will be at the construction site. No one’s been working there since my cousin Lyle died,” Jasmine said, raising her voice above the wind, pulling Storm back to the present.
Startled, he glanced her way, thankful for the mirrored sun glasses that hid his eyes.
She continued, seemingly oblivious to the strong emotions churning inside him. “As far as I know, the plans for the casino and resort are on hold. At least until someone can decide what to do next.”
Giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts, Storm sipped the last bit of his drink. The dregs of lukewarm coffee tasted bitter. Forcing himself to swallow it down, he said, “I’ve heard a little about what’s happened here, but not the whole story. Do you mind my asking exactly what’s been going on at this construction site?”
“No, I don’t mind. But the truth is, I’m not really sure if I know the whole story.” Shaking her head, she said, “Now that Lyle’s dead, I doubt if anyone does. I guess it all started in May, when they broke ground on the resort. Everyone was so excited. There were such high hopes of the venture bringing prosperity to both the reservation and to Whitehorn.”
Storm bit the inside of his mouth, resisting the urge to contradict Jasmine’s rose-colored view of the real world. From his own experience, he’d found that Native Americans earned prosperity only after leaving the reservation and making their way in the white man’s world. For those who stayed on the reservation, prosperity remained an unattainable dream. Too many of his people still lived in poverty, losing all hope of bettering their situations. Even when an opportunity to improve their lives came along, somehow fate always found a way to keep it beyond their grasp.
“As you probably already know, that first site was on Kincaid land. Lyle was appointed by his grand father, my cousin Garrett, to oversee the family’s interest.” She paused, taking her eyes off the road long enough to send him a hesitant glance. “It wasn’t long after they broke ground that they discovered your brother’s remains.”
Storm schooled himself to show no reaction, unwilling to let her see the depth of his own pain.
Despite his efforts to remain aloof, concern flickered in her eyes. He hadn’t fooled her for a moment. Despite her uncertainty, Jasmine continued, “Instead of delaying the construction, they moved the site. All was going well until Peter Cook, one of the workers, was killed. One morning they found his body at the bottom of the construction pit. At first everyone thought it was an accident. But there were signs of a struggle, and it was decided that he’d been murdered. Apparently he’d been pushed to his death.” She stopped and shuddered, looking sickened by the horrible events she’d just relayed.
Storm remained silent, not sure how to respond to her obvious distress. Though he wanted to reach out and comfort her, he didn’t know if the overture would be welcome, or wise. He’d made that mistake earlier, when he’d tried to convince her that she needed Whitehorn’s approval.
Theirs was a temporary relationship of convenience, he reminded himself. As soon as his brother’s murder was solved, he’d be on the first flight back to New Mexico. No matter how tempting it might be, for his own sake, as well as hers, it would be best to not become too involved in Jasmine’s life.
After a moment she said, “Gretchen Neal—she’s the detective handling the case—”
“I’ve met Ms. Neal,” he said, his voice sharper than he’d intended. His dealings with the detective and her FBI partner David Hannon, Jasmine’s own cousin, had been frustrating, to say the least. The two had seemed more intent on solving the murder of the white man, Peter Cook, than on finding the truth behind his brother’s death.
Not that he should have been surprised. It had been Storm’s experience that the concerns of a white man always took priority over those of an Indian’s.
Jasmine’s gaze lingered on his face, as though she had read his thoughts. Finally she said, “Then you know that Gretchen discovered evidence linking Lyle to Peter Cook’s murder.” Storm nodded.
Reluctantly she turned her gaze back to the road. “That’s why we think Lyle tried to kill her. To silence her. Thankfully, David was able to stop him before he succeeded.”
Storm mulled this over, then asked, “Does anyone know why Lyle murdered Peter Cook?”
“Not that I’ve heard. His grandfather and his parents were stunned by Lyle’s actions. They haven’t a clue what could have triggered such bizarre behavior.”
He studied her face, seeing the telltale doubts in her expression. “How about you? Do you have any idea why Lyle might have done something like this?”
She hesitated a moment before answering. Grimacing, she said, “Lyle was a distant cousin of mine. He lived in Elk Springs most of his life, so we really didn’t see much of each other. But what I did know of him, I didn’t like. He was mean-spirited and spoiled, always looking for the easy way to make fast money.” The sound of her resigned sigh carried on the wind. “If I had to guess, I’d say that greed motivated him.”
“Greed?” Storm frowned. “I don’t understand. I thought Garrett Kincaid owned the land the resort’s being built on.”
“He does,” Jasmine said. “That’s what makes it all the more confusing. Lyle tried to buy the land from Garrett a few weeks ago. But Garrett refused to sell it, he wanted the land to go to Gabriel Reilly Baxter, his youngest grandson. Now no one can figure out what Lyle hoped to gain by killing Peter Cook. But I’d bet my favorite saucepan there was something he was hiding, something that would have made him a rich man. The problem is, now that both Lyle and Peter Cook are dead, no one ever will know the truth.”
History did have a way of repeating itself, Storm mused with an unexpected tinge of bitterness. In his heart he believed that Jasmine’s uncle, Jeremiah Kincaid, was responsible for his brother’s death. But both Jeremiah and Raven were now dead. The truth behind what had really happened thirty years ago on the night Raven died may be buried along with them. This trip to uncover the past may just be a waste of their time.
Jasmine shifted gears, slowing the Jeep.
Up ahead was the abandoned construction site. Dust devils danced across the barren landscape. Sunlight shimmered off the surface that had been stripped of its topsoil. Heavy machinery stood in silent testimony to the tragedy that had taken place on this site. Like a dark pla
gue, desolation and despair hovered in the air.
It was the first time Storm had visited the site where his brother had supposedly died. A fist of dread gripped his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. He took a shallow breath, struggling to calm his nerves.
By passing the newer construction pit, Jasmine slowly steered the Jeep toward the original site. There in the distance Storm saw the yellow crime scene tape rippling in the wind, marking the spot where Raven’s remains had been found. His pulse quickened. He steeled himself against the ribbon of pain that flowed through him.
Before he was ready to face the past, Jasmine coasted the Jeep to a stop.
A stifling blanket of dust caught up with them, rolling over them like a thick, dark cloud. Grit coated his skin, clung to his face, his lashes. His eyes burned in irritation—or with emotion, he wasn’t sure which.
Jasmine switched off the engine, but remained in her seat. She turned to look at him, waiting for him to take the first step.
Unable to move, he sat frozen in his seat, staring straight ahead.
“Storm?” she asked, her voice tentative, gentle. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to be here—”
“Yes, I do,” Storm said, suddenly finding his voice. “This is where my brother’s body lay for thirty years. I owe it to Raven to see where he died.”
Taking a deep breath of courage, Storm stepped out of the Jeep. His feet felt leaden as he moved slowly toward the area cordoned off by the yellow tape. Behind him he heard the scrape of a boot against the hard-packed dusty ground. Prickles of awareness feathered his skin, telling him that Jasmine was close.
Encouraged by her presence, he forced himself to continue. He ducked beneath the crime scene tape, holding it up for Jasmine to pass under. Her black T-shirt was covered with a thin layer of dust. Her short hair was mussed by the wind, and by restless fingers plowing through it. Deep lines of tension etched her face. She looked almost as nervous as he felt.
But still she found the strength to give him a smile and an encouraging nod.
The shallow pit of an abandoned foundation lay in the center of the circle of tape. Scrape marks from a hand shovel identified the exact location where his brother’s remains had been excavated. Removing his sun glasses, Storm tucked them into the breast pocket of his shirt and carefully made his way to the spot.
Jasmine stood close at his side as he lowered himself on bent knee. Holding his hand inches above the ground, he let it hover for a moment. Saying a silent prayer for the spirits to guide him in his quest to allow his brother’s soul to finally find rest, he closed his eyes and lowered his hand to the ground, raking his fingers through the powdery dust.
And felt nothing but a vast emptiness in his heart.
Storm’s brows knitted into a frown. His eyes shot open. He scooped up a handful of dirt, letting it sift slowly through his long fingers. Then, shaking the dust from his hand, he looked up, meeting Jasmine’s confused gaze.
“My brother’s remains may have been here, but his soul never was. He died else where.”
“We need to tell the police,” Jasmine insisted, quickening her step to catch up with Storm’s long-legged stride to the Jeep, unable to shake the feeling that he was running away.
His strong jaw set in a resolute line, he remained stubbornly silent, refusing to answer.
Frustrated at being ignored, she grabbed his arm.
He stopped, wheeling around to face her. His eyes were dark, his glare for bidding. Beneath her fingers she felt a slight tremor in the powerful, sinewy muscles of his forearm, as though he were struggling for control.
A twinge of unwanted fear riffled through her. She tightened her grip, determined to not back down, or to let him see the effect he had on her. “We should let Gretchen Neal know that Raven was killed elsewhere. It could send the investigation into a more positive direction.”
Silently, deliberately, Storm looked down at her hand. Then he raised his eyes to her face. She shivered as he held her in his gaze for a long, discomfiting moment. Finally he said, “We can’t do that. We can’t go to the police.”
“Why not?”
“Because, Jasmine, no matter how good a detective she might be, Ms. Neal won’t be willing to change the course of her investigation simply because of a ‘feeling.’ Especially if she knew that feeling came from someone like me, an Indian.”
Disappointment and anger billowed up inside Jasmine at the unjustness of his statement. With an irritated breath, she released him, dropping her hand to her side. In his own way Storm was just as narrow-minded as the rest of the people of Whitehorn. She opened her mouth, ready to argue that his heritage should not stand in the way of Gretchen listening to him.
But something stopped her.
Reason returned.
She, of all people, should understand the prejudices of others. She’d grown up with her mother, Celeste, a woman who’d done nothing to hide her beliefs in the spiritual here after. Over the years Jasmine had endured the ridicule of a town that thought of her mother as an oddity. But it had not been easy. Unfortunately she understood Storm’s hesitancy in revealing his “feelings” to a complete stranger.
With a resigned sigh, the last of her anger dissolved. “All right, we can’t talk to the police…yet. So what should we do next?”
“There’s nothing more we can accomplish here,” he said as he glanced around the construction site. His impatient gaze glided over the dusty barren ground, the abandoned machinery and the gaping pit. He shook his head, his frustration obvious. “I just keep wondering if there’s a connection between finding Raven’s remains and Lyle’s unexplained behavior. If only we could talk to someone who knew Lyle best. Someone who might be able to help us understand what he had on his mind before he started his rampage.”
Jasmine frowned, considering the problem. “Lyle was closest to his mother. Even if she would talk to us, which I doubt, she’s already gone back to Elk Springs.”
“What about Lyle’s grandfather?”
“Garrett?” She shrugged, considering the possibility. “He did spend a lot of time with Lyle those last few weeks.”
“Do you think he would talk to us?”
“He’s always seemed like a fair and honest man to me. But there’s only one way to find out for sure. Why don’t we pay him a visit?”
Storm nodded. “Let’s go.”
Her step lighter, more purposeful, Jasmine headed for the Jeep, chattering as she did so. “Garrett’s been living at the main house since he moved to Whitehorn. Right now we’re at the opposite end of the Kincaid ranch. I know of a shortcut, though. It’ll be quicker if we go through the reservation to get back onto the main road.”
Storm’s step faltered.
Jasmine skidded on the sandy soil, forcing herself to stop. She looked at him, unable to hide her concern. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong,” he said, his tone curt. Once again a stony mask of indifference slipped into place, hiding the flicker of emotion. “It’s just this site… It’s giving me the creeps. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
Jasmine nodded and continued walking, but she didn’t believe Storm’s explanation for a second. She’d seen the look in his eyes. His sudden wariness had nothing to do with the construction site. He hadn’t acted skittish until she’d mentioned the reservation.
Unbidden, she felt a surge of sympathy for him. Storm seemed so lost, reminding her of a drifting soul. Though he’d reached out to Summer, the only other time he’d mentioned his family was in regard to Raven’s death. She had no idea if he still had any other ties to Laughing Horse.
If his reaction to going back to the reservation was any indication, she doubted it.
Pushing aside the troubling thought, she climbed into the Jeep and waited for Storm to join her. Once he was settled, she revved the engine to life. Making a quick U-turn, she headed down the gravel road that would take them to the reservation.
The road
soon narrowed, rising and falling as they skirted the foot hills of the Crazy Mountains. With the aid of the four-wheel drive, Jasmine maneuvered the Jeep through the rugged terrain with ease, seeming to enjoy the bumpy ride.
Storm glanced at her, his brow raised in question as she plowed through a shallow creek bed and sent a spray of water shooting up into the air around them. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
She grinned. “You’re not worried, are you?”
“Worried? Of course not. We’re only miles from nowhere. No living soul in sight. It’s just the spot I’d pick to have a flat tire, or a break down.”
“So much for your confidence in my driving abilities,” she said, raising her nose in indignation. But he caught the twinkle in her eye and the slight curve of a smile on her lips.
Her light hearted mood worked to ease some of the tension from his muscles. The truth was, Storm had never intended to return to Laughing Horse. Now that he was on reservation land, he tried to ignore the growing sense of dread.
“I’ll have you know I’ve spent many a summer exploring these mountains,” she said, interrupting his pensive thoughts. “I know these peaks like the back of my hand. Besides, we’re not that far from civilization.”
As though to prove her point, the ground slowly leveled out. The road, while still rugged, straightened, with tall, fragrant stands of pine trees flanking both sides. While he knew the effort was futile, he sat back and tried to not let disturbing memories interfere with his enjoyment of the breath taking scenery.
He glanced at Jasmine. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Not at all. Ask away,” she said, keeping her tone light, though he heard the catch of uncertainty in her voice.
Earlier he’d warned himself to keep a safe distance from her. Now he was breaking his own silent vow to not become personally involved. But he felt the need to find something—anything—to keep his mind off of his own past.
“Back at the construction site, when I told you that Raven died else where, you accepted my feeling without question. I just wondered why.”
Storming Whitehorn Page 9