The Shaman

by The Shaman(Lit)

  Rusty stood up, frowning. "I think we should have a little talk with the shaman. Any idea who he is?"

  "His name is John Greywolf," Charlie said, feeling her past rush back to haunt her.

  Rusty nodded. "I’ll see if I can get an address from Chief Brown."

  Charlie studied the toe of her shoe. "We might as well interview as many of the neighbors as we can while we’re out here."

  Rusty nodded, pulled his cellphone from his jacket pocket and called Brown for directions to Greywolf’s home. Uneasiness assailed her. It was a small community. She’d left early the morning after, but that didn’t mean no one had seen her car parked in front of Greywolf’s house. She was a slightly relieved when Rusty didn’t make any comments suggesting Brown had mentioned it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a problem.

  For all she knew one of his local lady friends might have cruised by his place. It could be common knowledge that she’d spent the night at Greywolf’s.

  There was no sense in kicking herself over it now, however.

  They stopped at every house along the street facing the hill, then backtracked along the alley, then knocked on every door up and down the street where the girl had lived. They spoke to someone at ninety percent of the homes they canvassed, but the story was the same. They’d already spoken to Brown or one of his officers, and nobody had seen or heard anything.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was already dark when they pulled up in front of Greywolf’s house. The porch light was on. His truck was parked near the barn.

  Charlie had been hoping he wouldn’t be home. She’d hoped this confrontation might be put off indefinitely.

  Bracing herself, she got out of the car as Rusty started up the steps to the porch.

  The door was opened before she’d crossed the porch. Greywolf stood in the opening, his shirt unbuttoned to the waist. It was still partially tucked into the waistband of his jeans, but it looked like he’d been in the act of pulling it off.

  A wave of nausea washed over her as the thought slammed into her that they’d interrupted him in the middle of something she’d rather not know about.

  His gaze zeroed in on her instantly. It took an effort to look him squarely in the eyes without flinching—an effort she discovered was beyond her. His face was expressionless, but the glitter in his eyes told its own tale. She glanced at Rusty, the toes of her shoes, the room beyond Greywolf and finally, finding she just couldn’t help it, looked at Greywolf again, her gaze dawn to the sprinkling of dark hairs she could see just above his low riding jeans.

  A wave of heat washed over her as he hooked one thumb into his waistband. She glanced up at his face, saw that he was staring straight at her, and turned to focus her gaze on Stephens.

  "Good evening. I’m Special Agent Stephens and this is my associate, Agent Boyer. We’d like to speak to Mr. Greywolf."

  John’s gaze flickered to Stephens, summed him up. He leaned against the door jam. "I’m John Greywolf."

  She’d forgotten what his voice felt like as it slid over her. She swallowed convulsively against a throat that suddenly felt as dry as desert dust.

  Stephens frowned. "Is there a John Greywolf Senior?"

  Greywolf crossed his arms, a faintly contemptuous smile curling his lips. "Why don’t you tell me what this is about?"

  Stephens’ lips tightened. "We’re looking for the ... uh ... shaman?"

  "You found him," he said, making no pretense to address the answer to Stephens. Instead, he stared pointedly at Charlie.

  Obviously disconcerted, Stephens looked Greywolf over skeptically. "I wonder if we could come in and ask you a few questions?"

  Greywolf studied him a long moment and finally stepped back, turned and strode toward the worn easy chair that was obviously his favorite. Stephens crossed the threshold and looked the place over. Reluctantly, Charlie followed up the rear, afraid to look and afraid not to.

  More than half expecting to find a naked, or partially clothed female sprawled on the couch, she stopped only a little way inside the room, watching Stephens head for the couch and take a seat. Memories she’d have preferred not to think about at the moment, flooded through her as she stared at the couch and the rug beside it.

  Self-consciously, she glanced at Greywolf. His impassive mask had slipped a notch. She thought he might be remembering that time, as well—until she glanced away and something caught her eye on the balcony above them.

  It was the young woman, she thought, that she’d seen hanging on his earlier.

  Her gaze flew from the woman to Greywolf. The sick feeling that had assailed her before was as nothing compared to the avalanche of emotion that hit her like a ton of bricks. She thought for several unnerving moments that she was going to faint.

  Any hope she might have nursed that no one would notice her distress was immediately dashed. Greywolf reached her while she was still trying to decide whether to look for a place to fall or try to make it out the front door again. "Are you all right?"

  Almost as if time was moving in slow motion, she glanced down at the hand he’d wrapped around her upper arm, then up at his face, feeling strangely bewildered. Rusty thrust him aside, grabbed her around the waist and led her to the couch, pushing her down. "Charlie! Are you all right?"

  Charlie blinked at him, still more than a little dazed but feeling the numbness slowly ebbing. "Sure," she managed through stiff, awkward lips. "I’m fine. .. Really," she added when he looked at her doubtfully.

  "Maybe I should get you some water?" he said, straightening and glancing at Greywolf.

  "The kitchen’s through there," Greywolf responded, although he didn’t take his eyes off of Charlie.

  "I’m sure it’s just the heat," Charlie muttered, embarrassment edging out her shock. Two bare legs appeared beside Greywolf’s Jean clad legs and Charlie glanced up to discover the female had come downstairs and was studying her assessingly, one arm looped possessively through Greywolf’s.

  Charlie studied the body language for a moment, then glanced up at Greywolf. To her horror, his image blurred. She looked down at her hands, his feet, breathing slowly to regain her equilibrium.

  Rusty returned with a glass so full of water that it was sloshing over the sides. As grateful as Charlie was for the distraction, and his thoughtfulness in getting her the water, she wished he’d refrained from filling it so full. The water that dripped from the glass as she lifted it to take a sip dampened the entire front of her suit jacket.

  She set the glass aside, brushing at her jacket.

  "Have we come at a bad time, Mr. Greywolf?"

  Drawn by the comment, Charlie glanced at Rusty. He’d made the effort to sound polite and courteous, but he was smirking faintly as he divided a glance between Greywolf to the woman.

  Greywolf frowned. "She was just leaving."

  The woman gasped indignantly. "But ... I just got here!"

  Greywolf slid a glance over her and then began speaking rapidly to her in his own tongue.

  The woman gaped at him disbelievingly for a moment, then her face slowly contorted into a mask of rage. She spoke heatedly to him in the same language, then whirled and stalked out the front door, slamming it behind her.

  Charlie watched the woman’s departure almost with a sense of envy, wishing she could run out the door and all the way back to the city without stopping. "I wonder if I could use your bathroom?"

  Fortunately, Greywolf wasn’t suffering mental meltdown. He nodded, pointing toward the hallway. Charlie felt a fresh wave of faintness wash over her as she realized how closely she’d come to giving away her familiarity with his house.

  She was so relieved when she made into the bathroom without disgracing herself that it was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears. Turning the lavatory faucet on, she sat on the edge of the tub and put her face in her hands, breathing slowly and deeply, trying to empty her mind of thought.

  "That went well," she muttered under her breath and then had to clap a hand o
ver her mouth to contain the hysterical giggle that threatened. She’d made a complete fool out of herself. No way could she delude herself into the hope that Greywolf hadn’t realized exactly what was wrong with her. She wanted to sink into the floor.

  She wondered if it would’ve been any less of a shock if she hadn’t arrived at his door to find him with a woman.

  Fat chance of that happening!

  In the back of her mind, she knew she’d been more than half expecting it, which made her wonder how it could’ve effected her so badly.

  Her conclusion wasn’t a pleasant one. It had already been way too late for her when she’d given him the brush off.

  She would almost prefer to believe that he’d put some sort of spell on her than to accept that she’d fallen for him the moment she set eyes on him. How could something like that happen? It completely defied logic. It was more than that. It was insane. Lust was one thing. She could see where two people could fall instantly into lust. It was a simple matter of chemical and physical attraction. Greywolf had it in such abundance it was almost as if the man bathed in pheromones.

  But emotional devastation shouldn’t follow a bad case of lust. Possessiveness, maybe, jealousy almost certainly—but she hadn’t felt anything at all but a horrible sense of lost that could only be equated to death.

  Realizing that she couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever, she got up abruptly and began to splash cool water over her face. When she decided she was probably as calm as she was going to get, she dried her face, straightened her clothing and left the bathroom.

  Greywolf looked up as she returned to the great room, but she ignored him, returning to the seat she’d occupied before. Rusty glanced at her a little absently, his look questioning.

  She nodded slightly and then ignored both men, sipping her water and staring blankly at the carpet, allowing their voices to diminish into no more than an indistinguishable drone. When Rusty finally put his notebook away and rose, she rose. Greywolf and Rusty shook hands. She held out her own robotically, felt the warmth of his hand as it seemed to swallow hers, and then tugged her hand loose, shoving it into her pocket.

  Leading the way out, she crossed the porch, descended the steps and headed for the car while the two men were still talking.

  "If there’s any more I can do to help…."

  "You’ve been very helpful. If we have any more questions, we’ll contact you."

  "It’s possible people might feel more comfortable about answering your questions if I went with you."

  The suggestion brought Charlie up short, penetrating her shield as nothing else he’d said. She paused with her hand on the door, glancing at him sharply. He was staring straight at her, but he looked away once he’d caught her gaze.

  Rusty was frowning, apparently considering the offer—not seriously, Charlie was certain. Rusty didn’t like anyone sharing the limelight with him.

  "We’d appreciate that," Rusty said. "Maybe you could meet us for breakfast in the morning and we could work out a strategy?"

  Charlie climbed in the car and slammed the door, cutting off Greywolf’s reply.

  Chapter Twelve

  "You still look a little pale. You coming down with something?"

  Charlie forced a smile. "I’m fine. Actually, I think it must have been lunch coming back to haunt me. I feel OK now."

  "You did look a little green."

  Lovely! Could she possibly have looked any less attractive? Not that there was a chance in hell of competing with a woman like that anyway, always assuming she had any desire to—which she didn’t, but she was certain she’d never hated the pale freckles that had accompanied the blond hair she’d been born with quite as much as she did at that moment. The woman wasn’t just beautiful, she had a flawless olive complexion.

  Long submerged insecurities surfaced as her mind did a side by side comparison despite her efforts to squelch it.

  It wasn’t much of a contest. She knew she had a good figure—she worked on it constantly, dieted habitually—If one discounted the freckles, she thought her face fell a little over the line between plain and pretty.

  Greywolf’s latest conquest could’ve been a pin up, however.

  "You think it’s a good idea to bring him in?"

  Rusty shrugged. "If there’s any chance having him along will help the investigation, I’m willing to try. So far, we’ve got nothing. I’d like to have something when I have to call in our progress report.

  "If it doesn’t seem to make any difference, we’ll thank him for his time and dismiss him."

  She wasn’t going to make it, she realized, trying to fight a panic attack. One more episode like the debacle tonight and even Rusty, who was completely convinced she was his for the plucking, was bound to notice. The whole town was going to be talking about it if she couldn’t remain within his vicinity without falling to pieces.

  She should excuse herself and head back to the city. She was going to be useless in the case.

  Given time and distance, she knew she’d be all right. She was twenty five, way too old to be suffering from school girl crush, but then she hadn’t met her waterloo before—had made it all the way through high school and college without loosing a moment’s sleep over a single male. She supposed everybody eventually went through that first case of ‘kill me and put me out of my misery’. It was just her bad luck that it had to be the one man west of the Mississippi that every female, single or attached, wanted for their own wigwam.

  "He seemed particularly interested in you," Rusty said abruptly. "Did you meet him when you were here before?"

  Charlie made a point of staring out of the window. "He was probably just worried I’d puke on his carpet," she muttered, trying to infuse some humor into her voice.

  She heard a rustle of clothing as Rusty shifted in his seat and realized he was looking at her speculatively. "He barely took his eyes off you from the moment he opened the door—I had to ask him half the questions twice just to get his attention. Now that you mention it, though, he looked almost as sick as you did for a little bit there."

  "Maybe he had lunch the same place I did?"

  Rusty chuckled. "If that’s the case, I think we need to find us a different restaurant while we’re here."

  * * * *

  Charlie didn’t sleep particularly well that night, but by morning she’d managed to rediscover her backbone. She arrived at the restaurant on Greywolf’s heels. He’d only just sprawled in the seat across from Rusty when he looked up and their gazes locked. He got up, gestured toward his seat. Ignoring him, she slipped onto the bench beside Rusty.

  He settled once more, anger flashing briefly in his eyes before he turned his attention to the cup of coffee steaming in a mug in front of him.

  Charlie risked a glance at him when she noticed his attention was focused on his coffee. He didn’t look like he’d gotten much more sleep than she had, if as much. She refused to speculate on why he looked as if he’d been up half the night. She was fairly certain she could live with not knowing a hell of a lot better than she could handle knowing.

  To her annoyance, she discovered Rusty was a morning person. Never having had the good fortune to work quite this closely with him before, she’d been previously spared that knowledge. Resisting the urge to plug her fingers in her ears, she focused on her coffee while he ordered a man-sized breakfast. Either Greywolf wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, or, like her, he couldn’t handle solids so early in the morning. Like her, he contented himself with coffee.

  By the time Rusty finished his meal, she’d had enough coffee to kick her brain into gear. As they left the restaurant, she suggested that, instead of accompanying him and Greywolf, she could stop by the police station and see if they’d gotten the files on the other two victims yet.

  Rusty vetoed the idea, deciding to walk over to collect the files himself before they left.

  Irritated, Charlie stalked over to the car and got in. Before she could close the door, Greywolf caught it. Push
ing it open, he squatted beside her, leaning back against the open car door.

  She gave him a wary glance, saw that he was looking particularly displeased, and focused her gaze on the wind shield, urging Rusty to get his ass in high gear before she found herself in another uncomfortable situation.

  "Yosemite Sam over there seems to have a lot of trouble keeping his hands to himself. Something going on between you two?"

  The idea revolted her more than the surprisingly astute characterization amused her. "No!" she said sharply. "Not that it’s any of your business either way."

  His lips tightened. "You were pretty clear on that the last time I saw you."

  Charlie felt a headache coming on. "Then why are we having this conversation?"

  He was silent for several moments. "Nothing happened, Charlie."

  She glanced at him, but she didn’t even try to pretend she had no idea what he was talking about. "Right," she said dryly. "I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she was in your bedroom and you arrived at the front door half dressed."

  "Not that you care, either way."

  She blushed, irritated to realize how easily he’d baited her into admitting she was suffering from an unhealthy dose of jealousy. She sent him a reproachful glance.

  He sighed impatiently. "You’re enough to drive a man crazy, Charlie. Does it matter to you, or not?"

  She’d die before she would admit it did.

  He caught her jaw, forcing her to look at him, studying her for several moments.

  "We dated a couple of times. I hadn’t seen her in over a year. She’s been living back East. We just ran into each other—that’s all there was to it."

  She glared at him. "You’re a piss poor liar, Greywolf. All? She was in your damned bed! What did she do, trip up the stairs?"

  He ground his teeth. "You’re no so hot at it yourself. You gave me the brush, remember? That means I don’t owe you an explanation. I can damn well fuck whoever I please."