by Jenna Kernan
“I have one here, too.” He placed his fingers on the back of his neck. He could not see the tattoo except in his mind. “My shaman said it would help me know which way to go.”
She leaned forward, her stomach pressing momentarily to his chest. It was hard not to capture her there, her skin felt so amazing against his.
“Hmm,” she said. “Did he pick the symbols for your friends, too?”
“Yes,” said Jack.
“It’s different than the others. Isn’t it? I mean they are all medicine shields and all have five feathers. But I saw Carter’s. It’s a bear track on a shield. And your friend Dylan also had a track. Seemed like a puma.”
“Bobcat,” he said, correcting her.
“And Ray’s is the head of a bald eagle, also on a shield.”
Sophia drew one finger down his back, counting to five. “You each have five feathers but there are only four of you.”
He wished for a moment that she was not an investigator.
“We got them after leaving the service. Kenshaw helped us pick the symbols and placement. We picked the feathers. One for each of us and the fifth feather is for Yeager Hatch. He was the friend who didn’t come back.”
“Bear is your family’s symbol. Shouldn’t you have a bear paw like your brother?”
Jack nodded. He had always thought so.
She laced her fingers behind his neck and leaned back to look at him.
“Why didn’t you put it on your right arm, like the others?”
He lowered his head. He had done as his shaman had suggested, but he had wanted the tattoo on his arm.
One more way he was different. He didn’t know the reason his shaman had chosen to place the medicine wheel on his back and had never found the courage to ask him.
“It doesn’t show under my uniform or a short-sleeved shirt,” said Jack. It wasn’t the reason. He was sure there was more.
“I suppose.” Sophia seemed to be humoring him. “Carter has scars all over that arm and one right through that tattoo.”
“Bullet wound. He got it saving Amber,” said Jack. “The other scars are older. Burns from the war.”
She nodded, absorbing that admission. “Why is Dylan a bobcat?”
“Bobcats have stealth. Dylan needs that quality, needs to see what is hidden.”
“Then the eagle is to give Ray perspective?” she asked.
“Yes, and to remind him that he is holy, like all things. Ray was very hard on himself about Hatch. He’s better since Meadow joined him.”
“What did Kenshaw say about this?” she asked, her finger circling his tattoo.
He didn’t want to tell her.
“I’ll show you mine,” she offered as compensation.
He let his gaze rake down her perfect skin. Sophia stood before him. She reached across her body with one hand and lowered the strap of her bra, revealing her right breast beneath the white lace cup. There was a dream catcher the size of a silver dollar. Inside the web was a tiny black spider.
Jack moved to sit at the edge of the bed, so he could get a closer look.
“Spider born of butterfly,” he said. He touched the mark on her perfect skin. Her nipple hardened instantly, though he had not touched it.
His body went hot and pulsed to readiness.
“Exactly. She’s a hunter, like me—catching bad guys is what I do. Seemed appropriate.”
“In our legends, the four spiders wove the cords that hold up the world,” he said.
She turned to him. “Same with us.”
They were both Apache. But the differences extended beyond their languages.
“I also have a butterfly. Want to see?” Her thumb hooked the waistband of her panties.
He did, but if it was where he thought it might be, showing him would drive him into the most obvious of actions. He wanted his brain working for a few more minutes, but not as much as he wanted to be inside her again.
He met her gaze. Her lips curled in a smile of anticipation and her attention dropped to the sheets and blankets now doing little to conceal that he was beyond ready for her.
“Well?” she asked as their gazes locked.
He nodded, hungry for her now.
She presented her back, peering over her shoulder at him. Then she lowered the lace panties to reveal a perfect monarch butterfly on the curve of her buttock.
“Butterfly born of spider,” he whispered.
He reached for her and she stepped away, waving a finger at him.
“I’d love to, Jack. I mean it. But they’re likely on their way. I don’t want them to find me like this.” She waved at her matching bra and panties.
He thought she never looked more appealing. Then his mind flashed images of their night together. He’d seen her look more appealing because last night her eyes had flared with desire for him.
“No, I understand. But maybe you’d be safer here.”
“This is where they shot at me, Jack.”
“I meant here at the compound.” He meant here in his arms, he realized.
She made a face. Was it too much like her childhood, the rugged little cabin with no air conditioning or electricity? He liked hearing the birds and the wind, but she was a city girl now.
“You don’t have enough men to guard me 24/7. The Bureau has resources.”
“I’d guard you 24/7,” he said.
She cast him an indulgent smile, perhaps assuming a double entendre that he had not intended.
“Would you like coffee? I’m heading to the lodge to make some.”
“Yeah. Sounds good. Wait for me.”
“I think I can make it.” She slipped into her blouse and then shrugged into her shoulder holster, and picked up her pistol.
Jack got up and into his jeans. He’d use the lodge bathroom, he decided, because she was not walking around unescorted. He trusted Jake Redhorse, the tribal officer who covered the road overnight, but the river was still a highway and anyone with a small craft could reach them via the Hakathi River. Which reminded him, he needed to be sure they relieved Jake, who had volunteered to cover the road. The young officer was rapidly becoming Jack’s go-to man for important assignments.
Jack ducked into his shirt and clipped his holster and his radio to his belt. Then he tucked the envelope back in his wallet and put them in his front pocket.
“You want to talk about that?” she asked, glancing in the direction of his wallet.
“Over coffee maybe.”
She followed him out and across the wide open stretch between the row of cabins and the lodge. The scent of ash from last night’s fire reached him and made him smile.
“You have a wonderful voice,” she said.
“You could hear me over the others?” he asked.
“Of course. You don’t sound anything like them. Your voice is much deeper.”
His proud smile vanished as she pointed out just one more way he was different.
He let the conversation die as he held open the door for her. What was the use? He needed her to help the tribe. That was why she was here and that was what he should be focused on.
Chapter Twelve
Sophia headed straight for the large drip coffeemaker, filling the reserve with water and then measuring out the coffee into the filter. Then she flicked the switch and stood back to watch.
“Can’t seem to get moving without a cup,” she said.
Jack excused himself to wash up. When he returned, she was sitting at the counter sipping her coffee. Beside her was an empty stool and a full steaming mug.
He sat and they drank coffee side by side as they watched the river roll beyond the picture window. The familiarity struck him, and the longing. He swallowed it back with the next gulp.
“You got me dead curious about that letter. Looks like lab results. You okay, Jack?” Her dark eyes regarded him and he saw the investigator again.
“Not sick, if that’s what you mean. But you are right. It’s a DNA test. Carter and I sent in a sw
ab from each of our cheeks.”
She didn’t ask why but cut straight to the point. “You want to know if you’ve got different parents.”
“Parent. My mom. I think, suspect...”
“I see. Easier to sneak around behind her back than come out and ask her?”
He cradled his mug, rolling the base in a circle.
“I asked. She said she’s never been with anyone but my dad.”
Sophia’s look told him that she didn’t believe this, either.
Jack muttered a curse.
“Why haven’t you opened it?”
He couldn’t explain it. He just hadn’t yet.
“Maybe I’m drumming up the courage.”
She snorted at this. “You don’t lack courage, Jack.”
He didn’t argue.
Sophia released her mug and spun the stool that turned in complete circles.
“But if you don’t open it, you don’t have to face what’s inside. Me? I’d need to know.”
He reached for the envelope and extracted it from his wallet. He held it between a thumb and index finger for a moment. Then he placed it on the counter and pushed it toward her.
She looked from the folded offering and then back to him, brows lifted in a silent question. He nodded.
“Okay.” She straightened the envelope and ironed it once with the side of her hand. Then she unceremoniously tore open the side. Sophia upended the contents and the pages dropped out into her open hand. She spread out the pages and studied them for just a moment. Then she glanced at him, a frown on her face. It was all he could do not to snatch the letter and shove it back in the envelope. But like Pandora’s box, the damage was done and at least one person knew his secret.
“What does it say?” he asked, displeased at the squeak in his voice.
“Your mother told a half truth.”
“A lie.”
“Misrepresentation,” she amended.
Jack pressed his hands on the counter. “Sophia. You’re killing me.”
“Well, it says that siblings with common parents share all the same DNA, basically scrambled.”
“Are you going to tell me what the results say, or not?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m doing. If you have a different parent, say your father, then you’d share half the DNA as your brothers.”
“Sophia, just give me the results.” He extended his hand.
She drew the pages away, holding them to her chest and meeting his impatient stare with one of worry.
“Okay, fine. See?” She pointed to a table and read the first column. “Parent-child, full siblings have fifty percent shared DNA. Half siblings, your suspicion, share twenty-five. That’s the same with aunts, uncles and the grandparent-grandchild relationship. First cousins share only twelve-point-five percent. Half cousins even less.”
He stared at the ceiling. Then he let his head drop. Finally he met her gaze.
“What does all that mean?”
“Carter is not your brother.”
Jack felt a pain in his heart as the information sliced into him like a jagged shard of glass.
*
SOPHIA KNEW THAT LOOK. It was the look of a man whose world was coming apart. The fabric that glued him to this place and to his family had been shredded by this information.
“Give it to me. I’ll put it back.” He groped for the pages, his hands trembling now. Sweat beaded on his brow.
She pressed a hand over his. “No, Jack. Just listen.”
“I can’t. I don’t want...” He was tugging at the pages now. She lifted her hand and he made a terrible job of folding the sheets. Then he tore the envelope trying to cram the pages back inside it.
Finally he sat still, gripping the tattered envelope in two hands as if the information inside could be crushed by the pressing of his thumb and fingers.
“I knew it,” he whispered. “Always.”
You only had to have eyes to see he wasn’t a Bear Den, she thought.
“Jack, your mother isn’t your biological mother.”
He looked at her, his eyes red-rimmed. His shoulders rounded. He looked completely defeated. She felt a righteous indignation on his behalf.
“What?” His head was cocked to the side like a dog trying to understand speech and failing badly.
“They should have told you, Jack.”
“So what does that mean? I’m adopted?”
“I’m not sure. But your test says that you and Carter are first cousins, so you share two common grandparents.”
“Two?” He shook his head, still lost. His broad hand now rhythmically rubbed his forehead.
“If I had to guess, I’d say Annetta’s parents are your grandparents. It could be your father, Delane, of course. But I don’t think so. You both resemble Annetta more strongly around the eyes.”
“What are you talking about?”
He’d been vested in the secret that his mother had cheated on his dad for so long. But now she was switching his secret and his mind just couldn’t grasp it.
“In other words, you are the child of Annetta’s brother or sister.”
“She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters.”
Now Sophia angled her head, lifting her brows at the same time to give him a look that said I don’t think so.
He shook his head in denial.
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“What are you saying, that my mother left me with my aunt and disappeared? And not one member of my tribe happened to mention it to me? That’s not possible.”
“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
He blasted out a breath from his nose. “You’re quoting the writing of Arthur Conan Doyle now?”
“It’s what happened. I don’t know why she kept it from you, why everyone here kept it from you. But in a way you are lucky.”
He wouldn’t look at her now. “How do you figure?”
“You have a family that loves you and something else. You have possibilities. Who and why? I’d give anything not to know who my parents are and where I come from.”
She slipped from the stool and took the envelope from him, folded it and attempted to return it to his front pocket. He turned to face her, extending his leg so she could push the report away. Then he captured her around the waist and pulled her into the vee of his legs. She rested her hands on his chest and smiled at him.
“You are who you make yourself, not who you were born. Don’t spend too much time back there in the past, Jack. It’s not healthy.”
“It doesn’t matter to you?”
“Your roots? Nope. Not at all. Who I am is not where I come from or how I look. To know me you have to look much deeper than all that.”
He kissed her then, his mouth hungry as his tongue slid into hers. He tasted of coffee mingled with desire. Sophia laced her fingers around his neck and leaned in.
“You two still at it?” said a male voice from the doorway.
Sophia stiffened and drew back. Jack kept the pressure on her lower back, allowing her to retreat only so far.
She turned to see Ray Strong stride into the room. His face seemed freshly scrubbed and his short hair was wet. He wore jeans, moccasins and a tight T-shirt...and a cocky smile.
“I thought you’d be worn out by now,” said Ray.
Jack winced at the comment. Clearly they’d been overheard last night.
Sophia’s eyes widened and she broke away from him like a bucking bronc out of the shoot. Her face went pink and her mouth dropped open.
Jack cast Ray a glare that should have dropped him in his tracks. Instead Ray held that stupid grin that had gotten him into more jams than Jack could count. Well, this time his antics had dragged in both Jack and Sophia.
“Shut up, Ray,” Jack said.
Ray scratched his chest and yawned. “When you said you’d convince her to help us, well... I misunderstood. Good for you two. Morgan says you’re perfe
ct for each other.”
Sophia hurried past Ray to the door.
“Sophia, wait,” said Jack.
She didn’t, of course.
Jack glanced back to Ray. “What is wrong with you?”
“I was congratulating you.” Ray seemed oblivious to the damage he had caused.
Jack grabbed him by the T-shirt and yanked him forward. Ray lifted both hands in instant surrender.
“You made it seem that I used sex to make her help us.”
“Didn’t you?” asked Ray.
Now he really was going to hit him. What did Ray think Jack was, Mata Hari?
He drew back his fist.
The door crashed open. “Hey!”
Jack looked up toward the female voice. Morgan stood in the doorway and her glare was aimed at him. Jack pushed Ray away, sending Ray staggering back several steps.
“What did you do?” asked his new wife.
“Nothing. I was congratulating them.”
Morgan made a sound of frustration in her throat and stared at the ceiling. Then she met Jack’s gaze.
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
Not as sorry as he was. He had to make Sophia understand that last night was not about getting her onboard. He cleared the door and scanned the yard. She hadn’t gone far, just to the end of the porch. She stood facing the river, arms clamped across her chest.
He had covered half the distance when his radio sounded.
It was Cecil Goseyum, one of their tribal council members. Not only did Cecil do some of the best leatherwork in the tribe, but he also volunteered with the fire department. On the weekends and evenings, when Olivia was off, they covered the incoming calls to the station.
“Jack, you there?”
He lifted the radio. “Yes, Cecil. What’s up?”
“I just called Wallace. He said to call you, too. I got the Phoenix news on here. There’s been an explosion in the city.”
Jack stopped walking.
“What kind of explosion?”
Sophia turned, her arms dropping to her sides.
“High-pressure pipelines. It’s bad, Jack.”
Sophia’s steps were brisk. “I have to go.”
He clasped her arm as she walked by him, halting her so they stood facing in opposite directions, staring at each other.
