Authors: Renee Simons
They had barely been on speaking terms by then, but his pride in her accomplishment smiled undisguised from the photo. She regretted only that their father had been behind the camera and not standing beside them.
Emma broke into her thoughts.
"And your parents?"
"Both dead."
The woman pointed to a photo. "But this has to be your father. He and your brother look alike." Emma returned to the table. "No women up there
except
you."
"I'm the first."
"You follow a family tradition." She tilted her head to one side but her golden brown eyes bore into Zan. "Our family has a tradition, too.
Older than yours."
"And what's that?"
"A warrior
tradition, that
goes back hundreds of years, to before your ancestors landed on these shores. It is a tradition of honor and loyalty that somehow managed to survive despite everything that has happened to our people.
You need to know that so you'll believe me when I say my grandson would not have betrayed the country or killed your fiancé. Remember that while you do your work."
"If you explain why a man would fight for a country that nearly destroyed his people and turned them into immigrants in their own land."
"To defend that land.
To see pride reborn.
To live a warrior's life.
To restore honor."
Emma's speech touched Zan in a way she hadn't expected. "You speak eloquently on your grandson's behalf."
"His life is in your hands. I would call up every word I've ever learned if they would reach your heart."
Zan saw no reason to challenge Emma's loyalty and simply nodded.
"Are you still with the police?" Emma asked.
"Officially.
I'm on recuperative leave."
"Where did you get hurt?"
Zan added coffee to their cups. "You want to know everything, don't you?"
"I need to know about you so I know what to expect. Can you understand that?"
"Mike Eagle feels the same way. I understand it's because you both care so much about Stormwalker."
Emma gave her a long, probing look. After a moment she nodded and rose. On her way to the door she stopped to examine another photo. "Who is this?"
"That's my fiancé."
"All those curls and blue eyes cold as a winter sky."
She glanced at Zan.
"Handsome, but hard.
He looks how you'd expect a spy to look."
Zan let her leave without acknowledging the naive comment. Only in the comics did spies "look" like spies, but then, Emma
Redfeather
was a civilian. She couldn't be expected to understand.
She sipped at her coffee. Dar had been the FSA's top field officer. His exploits, at least those that could be discussed, had been legendary. It made no difference if what he sought was security information, contact with a foreign agent or a woman. Darwin O'Neill had been an efficient professional who always got what he went after.
The memory made her smile. The first time they met she'd come very close to thwarting him in one of his goals. Later, when they'd become lovers, they laughed about the encounter.
He'd come to the section because he wanted to learn his way around computers. When she'd insisted that he needed special permission, his demeanor had taken on a hard, almost menacing, edge. Eventually, he'd gotten limited clearance. Although he was denied access to the Agency's computer files, authorization came through for her to give him basic computer training.
During the days that followed she got to know him well and had been disarmed by his intelligence, sense of humor and gentleness. He never again showed her his predatory side and before long its existence faded from memory.
She grimaced. Without the force of his personality to muddy the waters, the old woman had homed in on a truth love had obscured. Denial would not make that truth any less true.
Chapter 4
She'd spent the night at her computer examining Dar's file and learning more about his activities for the Federal Security Agency than she'd ever known. By the time she'd locked away the diskettes, she was fairly certain that he'd been as calculating and cold-blooded as she'd accused Stormwalker of being. She would have to deal with that eventually. Eventually, but
not just yet.
Until she was sure she understood the implications of what she'd read, she would continue to believe in her memories of Dar and the love they'd shared.
Her hours at the computer had left her stiff and achy. She reached into the drawer beneath her bed for the workout clothes and jogging shoes that had gone unused for too long. Outside, an early morning breeze caressed her bare arms and thighs as she did her warm-up stretches and cooled her as she ran through the small village. On her third and last round trip along the dusty main street, Stormwalker emerged from the barn leading the black mare. He draped the reins over the corral railing and fell in beside Zan.
"Do you do this often?" he said.
She paused to catch her breath and shook her head.
"Just working out the kinks."
"Lady and I were about to do the same."
"She's beautiful."
"Do you ride?"
"A little, but I haven't for a long time." Not since Dar's death.
"How about riding with us sometime?" The question had been casual enough, but the vulnerability hovering in his eyes betrayed how much he'd risked just by asking.
What kind of stake did he have in her answer? She understood he would like to win her over to his cause, of course, but this was something else: something deeper, more elemental, that touched a surprisingly empathetic chord.
"That would be all right, I guess. Sometime."
Pleasure lit his face. "We'll make it soon."
"I'd better get going," she said. "I have some errands to take care of in town."
As she turned to go, she heard the horse gallop off in the opposite direction. Something had just changed between them and she didn't know how she felt about that.
At just past noon she pulled into the parking lot of the Sheriff's Department headquarters and parked in the area designated for visitors. She'd stopped by Kenny's office to return his file, but when she got to the court house, he was out. Instead of leaving the folder in its sealed manila envelope with a security guard, she decided not to take chances with the sensitive material. She returned it to her knapsack and left knowing she still was not ready to return to her work. Maybe
Katti
was available for lunch.
She looked around at the facility. Topped by radio towers and a satellite dish, headquarters occupied a block of its own. A model of pre-fab banality in beige vinyl siding, it stood bracketed between parking lots that contained more beige in the form of pickups and Jeeps bearing departmental logos. Inside, the monochromatic scene repeated itself with bland precision. She shook her head. No matter what their jurisdiction, most police stations suffered from the same lack of personality.
She and
Katti
approached the front desk at the same time. The younger woman gave her a tentative smile. "Good afternoon, Zan."
"Hi,
Katti
.
Do you have plans for lunch?"
"Just a brown bag and I can leave it in the fridge for tomorrow." Her smile broadened and fed Zan's own.
"Any suggestions for where to eat?"
"Have you been to Maggie's yet?"
Katti
asked.
"No."
"Then you've missed out on the best burger and fries in the jurisdiction."
They found a table near the center of Maggie's Eatery and sipped coffee while they waited for lunch. Zan glanced around the small restaurant. The worn wooden booths and chairs shone with fresh polish. Blue and white checkered table cloths mirrored the café curtains hung from thick brass rods at the front window.
"What brings you into town," the younger woman asked.
"Just some errands."
"I noticed you're parked behind the newspaper building. So I guess you've met Mike Eagle."
"Yes."
"What about Michael Stormwalker? You'd know if you had, of course. He's quite a hunk."
"I have, but how do you know him?" Zan didn't add that
Katti
seemed too young to be so aware of a man at least fifteen years her senior.
Katti
shrugged. "Oh, everyone knows him.
Or
knows about him.
He's
sort of an . . . icon around here.
Has been as long as I can remember."
"Even after what's happened?"
Zan fought to keep the note of skepticism from her voice. "Your people are very forgiving, aren't they?"
Katti's
smile fled. "Not everyone who's been in prison is a bad person. Sometimes they just make mistakes."
Zan could have kicked herself for her tactlessness. "I'm sorry,
Katti
. I forgot about your sister."
Katti
nodded. "It's easier to remember when you're watching someone you care about struggle to make a new life for themselves. Folks make allowances for someone famous like Michael Stormwalker. My sister's just an ordinary person and when people feel the way you do, that just makes rebuilding her life more difficult."
The waitress set down their platters and topped off their coffee cups. A hum of conversation blended with the sounds of food preparation and the rattle of an old fashioned cash register near the door. As the level of sound rose, Zan turned to watch a man in uniform make his way between the tables, greeting and being greeted by diners. She recognized the deputy who'd pulled her over.
"That's Billy Winter heading over here,"
Katti
said. "There's no way to avoid his company. I hope you don't mind."
"Well, Officer McLaren.
Didn't realize you knew our
Katti
."
The deputy slid into a chair. "Mind if I join you ladies?" The waitress came over and Billy looked up at her with a smile. "My usual, Sherri, if you please."
"Did it ever occur to you that we might have wanted some privacy?"
Billy looked at
Katti
and nodded with exaggerated understanding. "Girl
talk
, huh?"
"Oh, give us a break,
puh
-lease."
"It's all right,
Katti
," Zan said. She, too, found Billy's condescending tone annoying, but his connection to Kenny intrigued her. "We have room for one more."
"So how's your vacation going, McLaren?"
"Fine, thanks."
"Do much sightseeing?"
"Some."
"
Gonna
go to the powwow this weekend?"
"You really should attend and see our people at their best,"
Katti
said. "The dancing, the color and the fun are as much a part of us as anything you may have seen so far."
"Yeah," Billy said. "You
gotta
watch the rodeo and shop at the craft booths. There'll be plenty of the jewelry and pottery you eastern folks seem to love so much."
Lord, Zan thought, this guy needs an attitude adjustment.
"Billy, don't be such a jerk,"
Katti
said. "Easterners aren't the only folks who like native jewelry and pottery. And that's not the only reason people come. They want to see the culture, too."
"What the hell's
eatin
' you,
Katti
? I can't seem to say anything that pleases you."
"Maybe if you weren't so damned patronizing. . . ."
The waitress brought Billy's lunch. He glanced at
Katti
. "What can I do to get back in your good graces?"