Cleo sat in the backseat with Wind Dancer who for the first time sat relaxed as if he found the ride more interesting than terrifying. “Oh, Jacque,” she mused.
Had it really only been a few days since they’d met? Their first meeting had been a turbulent combination of accusations and revelations. He discovered her watching him when he adjusted the mirror. “Don’t ‘oh, Jacque’ me, Cleo. I’d have you stay with me but my place is barely big enough for me.”
“Sweet,” she sighed.
Wind Dancer joined in the conversation. “I will protect her. I am the only one who is a match for Neosho. Besides, if he is getting sick, then I will have an advantage over him.”
“Cleo?” Jacque glanced up at the mirror again to see her reaction. “I mean, I can take you to another hotel if you want. Too many ways in and out of there, though. Too many people.”
“I want to go home, Jacque.” Cleo laid her head against the seat and closed her eyes. “Joseph can stay. I can make a pallet on the couch for you, too, if you’re still concerned. Plenty of room.” The weariness hung heavy in her voice as darkness closed in around them.
“What about the skinwalker? He going to be a problem for you, Joseph?”
For the first time, he appeared to take interest in the conversation. “He was my friend.”
Cleo took his hand. “Yes, but he is not the same person. He may no longer consider you or even recognize you as a friend. I don’t know how much my father taught you about these creatures, but they are very dangerous. They can change from animal to human. They want a soul to feed on, and nothing will get in their way until they are destroyed. Why did you bring him to life? I guess a better question is, what did you do to make it happen?”
Jacque whipped into the parking area for Cleo’s building then switched off the engine. Turning around in his seat, he addressed the two. “I wondered about that myself.”
“Your father told me some of the history and practices of the Navajo. We talked much about the afterlife of many cultures, not just Native Americans. What I know, what I said, belongs to me and no one else. It was not his time to leave. I helped him stay to take revenge if I could. I would not want those words to fall into the wrong hands.”
Jacque chuckled and waved a hand in the air. “I can see it now—new TV drama called Night of the Skinwalker.”
“Do not make light of this, Jacque. You are in danger because he is a mirror image of you. If he takes your body, I might have to kill you.” Wind Dancer’s voice held no emotion.
This news sobered the detective. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be fine. You two are real downers. You know that?”
“Downers?” Wind Dancer shifted his gaze to his feet on the floor then to Jacque who couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Is this another word meaning something different in this time?”
“Yes.” Cleo laughed as she patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Jacque is trying to make us be careful. I’ll explain later.” She continued with the detective. “You coming in or heading home? The offer is still open. Having two men stay at my apartment will most certainly destroy my good girl reputation. I’m pretty pumped about that.”
Jacque opened the car door, shaking his head. “I’m beat. Let’s get an early start tomorrow. I’ll give you a call in the morning if I know anything. But if you need help, hit number one on your phone. I programmed it in earlier. Then two for 911. Got it?”
They both answered, “Got it,” although he doubted either one of them would have time to make a call if trouble came knocking.
“I’m going in to check things out, give the desk attendant some instructions, and take a final walk through to make sure the building is locked up tight.”
Although early evening, it felt much later. The day had consisted of a lot of interviews, fact checking, and the whole FBI-Pentagon thing sucked the stamina right out of a rational person. He could only imagine what his two friends felt. Even the Pawnee who was strong as an ox and possessed some kind of freaky ability to leap-tall-buildings-at-a-single-bound mentality appeared wilted; a good thing since the Pawnee planned to be the pretty doctor’s protector for another evening.
Obviously, something brewed between those two, but, so far, it seemed innocent enough. Wind Dancer admitted he’d not “mated” with Cleo the night they spent together and he’d heeded Jacque’s warning. But he’d noticed how the Pawnee watched her throughout the day, focused on the way she moved, invading her personal space to inhale her fragrance, letting his eyes caress every inch of her as if imagining something more.
After checking Cleo’s condo for any safety issues, he asked the Pawnee to follow him to the elevator. “Buddy, do you remember what we talked about the other night concerning Cleo?”
“Yes. No touching.” He glanced over his shoulder as he shifted his weight to one hip. “I think—”
“No thinking, Joseph,” he interrupted. “Women here don’t like for men to force themselves on them.”
“What do they want?” He continued to look like he might break into laughter.
“Romance.”
“Like in my time.”
“I guess some things don’t change, huh?”
Wind Dancer nodded. “Some things don’t change. But what is romance here?”
“Geez, Joseph.” The elevator doors opened. “I’m not sure Cleo is into you. She finds you interesting. You know her father. You saved her life. She’s got this unrealistic idea of who you are. Give it some time.” He stopped the elevator doors from closing. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s not only about sex.”
Wind Dancer gave the detective a gentle shove into the elevator. “You are making more jokes.” He laughed at Jacque when he tried to warn him again as the doors closed.
He stared at the elevator doors then down the hall to Cleopatra’s place. The joking mood faded as his hand came to rest upon his chest. Even here, he could inhale her scent, the faint smell of sweet grass and rain, and felt the flutter of her heartbeat. He heard her twist on the magical thing called a shower. Imagining her standing beneath the spray forced him to admit to himself he had no intention of heeding Jacque’s words. She reminded him of glowing embers that could quickly burst into a fire with the right kind of attention.
The future held too many questions, and the past called his name louder in a land he didn’t belong. Those who dwelled in this land of strange machines and powerful enemies could endanger his people with their knowledge on how to cross into his world.
The white man had never been a friend to the people of the Great Plains. They could easily destroy his way of life as well as his people once and for all. The men of his time had tried to destroy them many times with little success. But, like the wind and rain that swept across the plains, the white man’s government continued to erode relationships between the tribes and their way of life. He could see where it would end.
Taking a woman like Cleopatra, against her will, to a place and time that could offer her nothing but hardship and disaster, sounded impossible. If he made her his wife, she could die in childbirth, of starvation, or disease in his world. He would sacrifice sharing his life with her if he could have but one night of her surrender.
He moved toward the condo with the stealth of a wolf. “I am sorry, Jacque,” he whispered as his hand wrapped around the lever, opening a door to yet another life.
Chapter 18
Cleo took longer than her normal routine in the shower. She needed to think—about Neosho infecting hundreds of people, her father and his new life on the other side, the skinwalker, and, of course, Wind Dancer who she called Joseph. The hot water continued to pound her skin even after the creamy soap swirled down the drain and the shampoo squeezed through her fingers for a final rinse. She braced her hands against the tile to keep the heat hitting tight muscles along her shoulders.
How much time before the first infected person showed up at the hospital? Doctors sworn to secrecy by both hospital and federal officials waited for an
avalanche of patients with flu-like symptoms. Children posed the highest risk of fatalities then the elderly who thought their vaccinations from the middle of the twentieth century could still protect them. With their already-compromised immune systems, the disease would seek them out like attracting magnets. The dominoes would begin to fall with everyone coming into contact with them: family, health care professionals, grocery stores, and other services.
Then there remained the fact her father remained alive and well in a parallel universe, with a new family. How could he abandon her so thoughtlessly without giving her some hint of what he planned to do four years earlier? He’d left her to grieve alone. She’d even held a memorial for him after a year of no evidence to explain his disappearance. Did she mean nothing to him? Or was it all a mistake he couldn’t undo?
Part of her wanted to be angry at the time wasted in distress all those years, wondering if he’d died or suffered. The other part experienced great relief and optimism their paths would intersect again, someday, when she could wrap her arms around him and tell him how much she’d missed him.
The skinwalker scenario left her more concerned. Her father had told her stories about skinwalkers her whole life. She attributed most of it to Navajo bogeyman folktales told to scare the dickens out of young children. Now she knew, after seeing one herself, they were manifestations of real evil spirits moving among the living. At some point, it would have to be destroyed if her father’s stories held an ounce of truth. She feared for her new friend Jacque Marquette. If the skinwalker managed to take over his body, what kind of danger would she and Wind Dancer be in? If they destroyed the skinwalker, could Jacque survive the transition back to human?
Stepping out of the shower, Cleo reached for a towel to wrap around her body and hair. Steam covered the mirror as she toweled off then slipped on a white terrycloth robe. She could hear the shower in the other bathroom running and enjoyed the thought of Wind Dancer figuring out the process. Then her thoughts slipped into a more carnal frame of mind.
This attraction for the Pawnee needed to be redirected. Too many things could go wrong with a man like Wind Dancer. Living in another time and place, where women held social status based on how many babies they could produce or how fast they could scrape a buffalo hide, didn’t exactly appeal to her. Though she understood Native Americans loved their mates and even honored them, goals and values for women differed vastly from the twenty-first century.
His sideways glances at her during the day, the way he touched her leg with his knee, and the moments he invaded her personal space indicated his attraction to her continued to grow. His smile created creases at the corners of his eyes as they narrowed. Even the faded scars on the side of his neck and jawline brought a desire to touch his face and lips. She hadn’t meant to encourage him, but she hadn’t dissuaded him either. Seeing him in person drove home how lonely she’d been for intimacy.
After taking over an hour and a half to freshen up, Cleo decided she better think about dinner. She ate most meals at the hospital, so she didn’t stock much in the way of the basic food groups. Maybe she could slip downstairs to the adjoining deli. As long as she loaded his plate with meat, maybe Wind Dancer would be impressed. She remembered some condensed vegetable soup in the cabinet and maybe a bag of snack carrots for a side dish. Did she still have some butter-pecan ice cream in the freezer? She thought about the sensory overload when Wind Dancer spooned it into his mouth. Maybe ice cream would be a fun experiment.
With a last glance in the mirror at her faded jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, she fluffed her straight hair and decided to apply some pink lip gloss. She’d always understood her appearance bordered on earthy rather than beautiful, wholesome instead of memorable, but the way Wind Dancer eyed her almost convinced her otherwise. She’d even caught Jacque taking sideways glances when she’d passed a plate-glass window earlier in the day.
In her line of work, she didn’t meet many nice men who weren’t covered in tattoos or suffering from a gunshot wound. Then there was her profession. Apparently, her being a doctor intimidated the male ego. So she pretended to be a rock, weathering the storm of isolation and service, to attend to the sick and injured. Relationships never worked out for her anyway. Something always seemed to be missing.
Taking a deep breath, Cleo swung open the door to a darkened room lit only by candlelight. Lights from other buildings added a kind of ambience to the dappled light. The cold May wind off Lake Michigan poured through the open window at the far end of the room. The fireplace flickered, dispelling the cool of nightfall. Soon, the warmth would bathe the room in a kind of coziness needed in such a windy city.
“I grew worried about you. You must show me how to contact Jacque on your talking machine in case I need his help.” Wind Dancer emerged from the kitchen, wearing his jeans and a white undershirt. His feet remained bare and his long black hair appeared a little damp.
Cleo envisioned him in a commercial for the military as he rescued puppies from a flooded town to damsels in distress. She tore her eyes away from him as he approached, wiping his hands on one of the antique embroidery towels she kept only for show. “Where did you find all of these candles?”
“I found them in your closet, in a box. I searched for matches like the ones your father brought to my side. You have many of these in this container.”
“It’s called a drawer.”
“Yes. A drawer. I thought you would like this since you had so many candles.”
“Thank you, Joseph. I do. Very much.”
“I am hungry so I tried to find food. There isn’t much.”
“Sorry. I’ll go downstairs to get us some sandwiches. I won’t be long.” When she picked up her purse off the counter and moved toward the door, he moved in front of her.
“No. I promised Jacque I would protect you. Neosho can smell you and I think even the skinwalker, since he has touched you, can as well. You will be easy to find.”
Cleo noticed he had blocked the door with a small chest of drawers that had belonged to her mother. The door lock still needed some repair, but the furniture blockade should be enough. Earlier in the day the homeowners’ association had notified her repairs to the sliding glass doors had been completed, but even those now had her couch as a line of defense.
“Let me see if there is something I can fix for us to eat. I’m warning you, I don’t cook much because I don’t have a lot of time.” She sidestepped him, the warmth of his body radiating against her. “It’s easier to eat meals at the hospital.”
Wind Dancer followed her into the kitchen and rested against the counter. “Your father says the men today help with the cooking and other chores women do. Is this because they have forgotten how to hunt and fish?”
A chuckle escaped her mouth. “Something like that. We have stores where everything is provided for us as long as we have the money to pay for it.”
“These men work hard to pay others for things they could grow or hunt themselves?”
Cleo arranged some cheese and crackers on two small plates with the carrots. “Sounds pretty silly, hearing you say it. My father used to take me to the upper peninsula of Michigan for summer vacations. I never tired of how wonderful it felt to live outdoors, catch our fish for dinner, and cook over an open fire. When we went out west and camped on the reservation, I loved sleeping outdoors and staring at the stars at night. Everything smelled so good and clean.”
She brought the plates to the counter and moved out two stools for them. After retrieving two bottles of cold water from the refrigerator, Cleo sat down.
He took several bites before speaking. “This is good. What crunches?”
“Crackers. The white stuff is pepper cheese.”
“A little hot to my tongue.”
Cleo wanted to say something clever and sexy, but she jammed the last of her cheese and crackers into her mouth and stared out into the living room fire instead.
After moving their plates to the dishwasher, she surprised Win
d Dancer with a bowl of ice cream. “Try this. It will take the hot out of your tongue.” She handed him a spoon and then demonstrated how to eat the sweet delight by digging into his bowl and shoveling it into her mouth. “Hmm,” she moaned. “Try it. It’s called ice cream.”
He nodded like a little boy and scooped up a big bite then imitated her. Watching him for the first time savor the treat made her laugh. His eyes widened as he gobbled three more bites. “This is better than pizza,” he proclaimed, licking the last bite off the spoon. “I like the food in this time.”
“If you’re not careful, you’ll get a belly bulge like a lot of folks around here. This food is pretty fattening.” She removed the bowl and spoons to the sink.
“I am not fat.” He patted his stomach, drawing Cleo’s eyes to the muscles beneath the stretched T-shirt.
“No. You. Are. Not,” she mumbled through clenched teeth as he cocked his head, brow furrowed. She pivoted on her heels and escaped into the living room. “The smells of vanilla and jasmine are getting a little thick in here.” She waved her hand in front of her nose as she surveyed the candlelit room.
“I will put them out.” Before she could stop him, Wind Dancer blew out the candles, leaving only the firelight to illuminate the space. “What is the man doing across the way?” He pointed at the apartment building on the other side of the green space.
“He is dancing,” she said, joining him. “He must have music on.”
“You can turn music on? I don’t understand. This is how we dance.” He used his foot to shove the ottoman to the side of the room then chanted and danced in a circle.
Cleo had seen these steps many times at powwows, cultural celebrations at the museum, movies, and celebrations of Native Americans throughout the country. But seeing someone from the past dance without inhibition touched her so deeply she began to imitate the steps. He stopped, straightened to his full height, and smiled.
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