by CJ Lyons
“There’s no need to make a fuss—”
“Nonsense. You’re family. And I haven’t seen you since you graduated college. Can’t wait to see what a real-life hotshot FBI agent looks like in person.” He hung up before she could protest.
She pulled onto the highway, mountains north, south, and west of her, their shadows darkening the road. No turning back now.
* * *
Lena huddled in the far corner of her prison. For the first time since they’d taken her, she allowed herself to break down. Not just cry. Hit bottom. Hard. She sobbed and screamed and begged for mercy, hugging her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth so hard her head banged against the wall.
How had her father withstood twenty-five years of being locked away?
She was still angry at him—and furious at herself for believing in him. After all, he’d never lied about what he’d done. It was her blind faith, passed on by her mother and Vonnie, that had led her to believe in his innocence.
He’d been so angry with her when she’d visited him a few weeks ago, wanting to take his case to the Innocence Project. She’d never seen him like that, not in her entire life. He’d stood up from the table, drawing the attention of everyone in the visitation room, and yelled at her. “Once and for all, just leave it be,” he’d said, his face flushing to the point where she worried he might have a stroke. “I killed the man, Lena. I’m right where I should be. I’m guilty, goddamn it!”
He’d stalked away, leaving her speechless and alone.
Alone. She’d spent most of her life feeling that way—never fitting into her mom or sister’s well-rehearsed dance. Vonnie and her mom always returning from a visit to Dad, talking about their last visit, planning their next. Like he was somehow still a part of their family.
For years Lena had played along. After all, he was the only dad she knew, and having him in her life was a lot more than many of the kids she grew up with in the Hayti district of Durham. Most of her schoolmates never saw their fathers or even knew who they were. At least Eli tried to play the role, always interested in her life, giving her advice, asking for details, staying involved.
Until Mom and Vonnie were killed. While going to see him. Leaving Lena alone. Truly alone. And she finally realized what a farce they’d been caught up in. Yet she’d clung to the misguided belief that she would be the one to save him, to bring him justice.
Stupid. Justice had nothing to do with it. After losing her mother and sister, she just wanted to be part of a family again. But that wasn’t going to happen. Life was life in the federal system. Her dad would never be anything other than who he was: a killer, available only when he earned enough points to allow visitation.
She’d thought she’d toughened herself. That she could face life alone. Become the family hero. If she couldn’t clear her father’s name, at least she could help to restore the family legacy.
The idea came to her while researching the freedmen case that went before the Cherokee Supreme Court and through the federal district courts. At first it’d been a simple article for the law review, dissecting the historical foundation and current implications of the courts’ decisions.
But when she’d discovered the Hale name included on the roster of Eastern Band freedmen families, it became more. A way to find family she’d never known she had. She needed that sense of connection, of legacy. Something she could pass on to her own children one day. Something to prove she wasn’t really alone.
Her rocking slowed. So did her tears. As she quieted, she realized the thrumming noise pounding through her head wasn’t her pulse, but rather the sound of fists banging against the outer wall. Frenetic at first, but now slower, softer. As if the chimps on the other side wanted to soothe her fears.
Maybe they’d also been drugged and stolen away. She wished she knew how long she’d been here—anything to orient herself. If the drugs had kept her unconscious longer than a few hours, she could be anywhere in the world.
She scooted back to the hole in the wall, trying to be quiet so she didn’t create another frenzy among the chimps. Were they imprisoned together in a zoo? Held captive by some kind of deranged collector-slash-serial-killer?
Or had she been taken somewhere where chimps ran free?
Peering through the hole, she received few answers. It was now dark outside, but there was enough moonlight that she could see movement as two—three—no, four chimps crossed the space in front of her peephole.
At least she knew it was night. She could start to keep track of the days.
The air was cold, smelled of Christmas trees, wood fires, and snow—just like in Evergreen where she’d been taken from that dive biker bar. Never should have gone there, but the man she was looking for worked there and she’d been anxious for answers. She shivered and hugged herself again, this time for warmth. At least she wasn’t in some remote African warlord’s compound.
Which left her still alone, still without any hope of rescue—no one would be looking for her—and still without any answers to the biggest question of all: Why had they taken her?
One last sob escaped her, this one born of terror that hollowed out her insides, leaving her collapsed on the floor. She stifled it with her hand, not because she was afraid of her captors hearing it, but rather because she knew if she heard it echoing through her tiny prison, she’d never find the strength to get back up again.
Please, God. She didn’t dare to speak the words aloud for fear of what she’d do if He didn’t answer. But she couldn’t stop herself from thinking them. Prayer and faith had been constant companions all her life. They’d gotten her through Vonnie’s and her mother’s deaths, helped her through every bad thing she’d ever faced—even the anger she felt toward her father for abandoning them, wasting his life rotting in jail. For killing a man in cold blood.
Please, God. Help me. The words sounded pathetic and small inside her head, too weak to ever reach Him.
But then a miracle happened. As she lay on the floor, facing up to Heaven, tears salty on her face, a small leathery hand reached through the wall and patted her cheek. Softly, gently, like she was a baby.
Lena sucked in her breath and froze. Suddenly she wasn’t scared—despite the fact that here was a wild animal, carrying who knew what kind of diseases from who knew where, strong enough to rip through the hole in the wall it’d taken her hours to create, or to maul her, tear her arm off.
But the chimp didn’t rip or tear anything. Instead it caressed, comforted. From beyond the wall it made a crooning noise, like a mother makes when singing her child to sleep.
God had answered her prayers. Again. Lena slowly raised her own hand to pat the chimp’s. Then she carefully slid up to a sitting position. The hole in the wall was too small for her to see the chimp while the chimp had its arm inside. Why not ask the chimp for help in making it larger?
She held the chimp’s hand as if they were shaking on a deal, stroked its fur with her other hand so it would know she meant it no harm, and guided it back through the wall to the outer layer of siding.
“If you guys can tear this off, I’ll take care of the plaster,” she said, molding the chimp’s fingers around the outside edge of the hole and mimicking a ripping motion. “Then we can both deal with the wire.” She hoped that once she enlarged the hole, she’d be able to find where the wire was fastened and tear it out. Maybe even figure out a way to use it as a weapon?
The chimp reached for her arm again. She redirected it to the wood siding. “If you want to help, this is the best way. Then we can figure out where we are and get out of here.” It occurred to her that the chimps must have also been stolen. Who would keep chimps in the middle of the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina? “We can help each other.”
The chimp—she decided to call it Smokey—made a cheerful noise and began pounding on the siding with wild abandon.
“No, no, this way,” Lena said as she pushed her arm as far as it would reach through the hole and shoved against the cor
ner of the siding. The wood was old and brittle enough that she was able to break off another chunk, earning her a splinter impaled in her palm.
Before she could pull her hand back inside, Smokey grabbed it. Held it gently. Lena tensed, hoping the chimp wouldn’t mistake the blood for dinner. But the chimp made a soft keening noise as if she felt Lena’s pain.
Lena slid her hand back inside. Smokey’s fingers followed, curling around the edge of the piece of siding Lena had just splintered. Then the chimp tugged, the rest of the piece breaking away. She pressed her face against the larger hole, but seemed frustrated that she still couldn’t get to Lena.
Lena removed the splinter and sucked the blood clean from her palm. “Do it again, girl,” she urged the chimp. “Go on, pull another one.”
Smokey made a whining noise, wrinkling her snout against the wire that separated them. But her fingers were curled around the edge of the next piece of siding.
“Just give it a yank. You can do it,” Lena coached.
More out of frustration than following Lena’s direction, the chimp snapped the piece of siding free. Good enough. At least Lena knew it was possible—as soon as she broke through the plaster and wire from the inside. And now that the chimp had enlarged the hole, there was no turning back. As soon as daylight came, her captors would see it.
Only one chance to get this right. Lena guzzled down an Ensure both for strength and to use the bottle as a tool, and went to work, hope fueling her efforts like a shot of adrenaline.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Caitlyn followed Route 19 through Evergreen to where the town’s boundary met the southeastern border of the Indian reservation. It wasn’t hard to find the VistaView Casino just across the town limits, on the reservation side of the border—in fact, it would have been difficult to miss given the sheer wattage of light surrounding the high-rise resort like a halo.
Bypassing the valet parking with its row of Town Cars and BMWs waiting, she pulled into a spot in the underground garage. Down here the Subaru looked more at home, parked between an F-250 with a sagging bumper and a Jeep Cherokee. Vehicles designed for the whip-snake curves of the lonely mountain roads.
As she carried Eli’s papers back to the trunk to stow them, an armored truck pulled into the loading dock at the rear of the casino. Two casino guards emerged from the VistaView rolling handcarts loaded down with bags of coins. The guard from the armored car company stood by, more concerned about checking his watch than anything. Figures. Who’d want to steal a couple hundred pounds of quarters?
She grabbed her go-bag and crossed to the elevator bank leading up to the casino. As soon as the elevator doors whispered shut, the air felt different. It tickled her nostrils, made her want to breathe deep, leaving her feeling a little giddy.
The elevator took her up two flights to the lobby level. Inside the resort the excited feeling intensified and she felt suddenly energized. The air left a faint metallic residue on the back of her tongue, tasted of ozone.
Extra oxygen pumped into the ventilation, she realized. Giving the casino players a jolt so they’d stay longer at the gaming tables and slots.
The elevators opened onto a large hall filled with rows of slot machines. The lighting was brighter near the elevators and dimmer at the far end so she could only focus on the twirling neon banners above the slots along with the players hunched over them. There was less noise than she expected, a thick burgundy carpet muffling much of it, allowing her to hear two jackpot bells coming from somewhere inside the labyrinth.
The cynic in her wondered if they had some way of timing the slot wins to coincide with guests arriving from the elevator. She’d never been inside a casino before, so she took her time to observe the players as she traversed the maze.
They were older than she’d imagined. Retiree age. Many were Native American—ironic since the casino was meant to supply them with revenue, not take it away again. Caitlyn could see none of the glamor Hollywood portrayed casinos with; these people were frowning, cranking slot handles, and jabbing buttons as if their lives depended on it.
Threading her way past the machines, she made it to the registration desk. Away from the distraction of the slots, she finally had time to take in the decor. It had a kitschy, 1980s feel to it, which made sense since the casino was built in 1990, the year after she and her mom had left Evergreen. Light ropes formed the illusion of chandeliers overhead. Mirrors reflected the light without amplifying it. Red-and-gold velvet wallpaper in the same shades as the carpet completed the decor.
She’d always imagined that the VistaView would showcase more of its Native American heritage, but instead it felt the opposite: all chrome and glass, no wood. Instead of local handicrafts, the glass display cases were filled with high-end designer clothing designed to entice shoppers to the stores in the atrium behind the lobby.
Vegas transplanted to the mountains of North Carolina. She could imagine Uncle Jimmy pitching the project. Why should Nevada have all the money and glamour?
“Can I help you, miss?” the registration clerk asked.
“Yes. There should be a reservation for me. Caitlyn Tierney.”
The clerk, a twenty-something Cherokee wearing a black skirt and blazer with a crisp white blouse featuring the VistaView monogram on her collar, bent down to her computer. Caitlyn leaned against the desk, watching a man check in a few stations down. He was tall, muscled yet lean, wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, black leather jacket, and sunglasses. Some kind of movie star? With his long, blond hair and scraggly beard, he reminded her of Viggo Mortensen. Especially the way he looked up at her over the rims of his glasses, making eye contact with an alpha-male confidence that was designed to make her want to look away in self-preservation. Like he was too dangerous to look at safely, especially this up close and personal.
She kept staring. He gave her a small nod and a smile that began at the left-hand corner of his mouth before making it all the way across, revealing his teeth. As if he appreciated her daring to face the big bad wolf head-on.
Asshole, she thought, arching an eyebrow and purposely turning her back on him. Not that she still couldn’t see him in the mirror behind the desk.
“Oh, Miss Tierney,” the clerk said with sudden respect. “Your uncle said to call him as soon as you arrive. He’s in with the security chief.”
“Don’t disturb him,” Caitlyn said. All she wanted was a place to throw her stuff while she began to retrace Lena’s footsteps. Then later, maybe a hot shower before she went through Eli’s papers.
“He left orders.” The clerk made it sound like she’d rather disobey a federal agent than Jimmy. Two bellhops appeared from nowhere, one reaching for her bag, the other standing guard.
“No. Thanks. I’m fine,” she said. No way she was going to let any stranger carry her bag. It had her laptop and backup piece in it. “I can take that.” She grabbed the small duffel and swung it over her shoulder. The bellhops stepped back, looked to the clerk for orders.
“But your uncle,” the clerk protested. “Mr. McSwain said—”
“Just tell me where my room is. I’ll deal with my uncle.” Caitlyn held the bag to her chest when one of the bellhops edged closer. She stared him down and he backed off again. The Hollywood-wannabe watched the whole thing; his smug smirk made her itch to show him her badge and Glock.
“There’s my favorite Ginger, always causing trouble,” a man’s voice said from behind her.
She’d hoped he’d forgotten the nickname she hated, but that didn’t stop her from turning around with a smile. “Uncle Jimmy.”
It’d been almost fifteen years since she’d seen him last, but he looked exactly the way she remembered him. Just tall enough for a good bear hug, slight paunch struggling to escape from his belt, blond hair neatly trimmed. He, like her mom, dressed as if every day was Sunday, only now his suit hung perfectly from his knobby shoulders. Tailored.
He embraced her in a hug that lifted her off her feet for a moment. “How are ya, Ging?
Still shooting first and asking questions later?”
He meant it as a joke, Uncle Jimmy meant everything as a joke, but after what happened last summer, it hit a little too close to heart. She released him and stepped back, holding her bag across her chest, a small barrier.
“You look great, Jimmy. The casino business must agree with you.” When she was a kid her dad always looked upon Jimmy with a touch of scorn as Jimmy turned his attention to everything from day trading to patent applications to land development. Sean Tierney often scoffed—out of his wife’s hearing, of course—about Jimmy’s ability to make money at anything as long as it didn’t involve a day’s hard work.
Jimmy chuckled, his gaze moving across the lobby assessing the take from the gamblers in sight. “It’s going to kill me in the end, Ging. Always something new to worry about, from cheaters to corporate theft to the gaming board. But, that’s life.” He waved away his concerns and planted both his palms on her shoulders. “C’mon, let me show you around.”
“I’d love to, but I really need—” Before she knew what was happening, Jimmy had slid her bag from her shoulder, handed it off to a bellhop, retrieved a keycard for her from the desk clerk, and was escorting her behind the desk through a door marked PRIVATE.
She looked back, ready to retrieve her bag, but the bellhop was already traversing the path through the slots to the elevators. At least the Glock 27 wasn’t loaded—it used the same ammo as her service weapon and she had two clips stashed in her coat pocket, more secured in her vehicle.
Besides, if you couldn’t trust family, who could you trust? It was clear the employees held Jimmy in high esteem; they’d never risk his wrath.
As she turned to follow Jimmy, she caught the eye of the hunk in black. Mr. Hollywood was retrieving not one but three separate keycards. When he caught her staring at him, he fanned them like a royal flush and winked at her.
Rolling her eyes, she let the door close behind her and hoped her room wasn’t anywhere near his.
