by Jenna Kernan
She stared at him in a look that made his stomach tug. Those big, beautiful eyes open and grateful to him. How he’d missed her. Nine years since she’d broken it off. Seven since he’d laid eyes on Amber, but his heart remembered. He knew because it banged against his rib cage. He was thirsty for her, as thirsty as the desert longing for the yearly floods. He forced his gaze back to the road. He couldn’t do this again. The longing receded, replaced by the betrayal. Why did she leave her people?
Why did she leave him?
They could have worked it out. He’d been so stupid, and she’d been so stubborn. Blown to hell like that Humvee back in the Sandbox. No way to put back the pieces.
He glanced at her. Was there?
He looked in the rearview, spotted the van and stiffened. Amber followed the direction of his gaze, turning to stare through the rear window as Carter uttered a curse.
“It’s them!” she cried.
Carter accelerated toward the highway. His truck was tough, eight cylinders, but the van was gaining on them. That didn’t make any sense.
Amber spun in the seat, kneeling to look out the back.
“He’s got that rifle out the window.”
Carter pressed her head down. Then he brushed her off the seat so that she sprawled into the wheel well.
“Hold on.” His truck might not be as fast as whatever engine they had in that van, but it had higher clearance and tires especially made for riding over rock and through soft sand. Carter braked and swerved from the highway into the shoulder and then veered off toward the cover of the trees that lined the San Pedro River. He braced as more bullets punctured a line of holes across his truck’s rear gate. The rooster tail of dust and sand obscured the view of the van and hopefully them as a target from the shooter.
He needed both hands on the wheel to hold his course as they bumped across uneven ground and plowed through cacti; as the tall dry grass lashed against his bumper, sounding like heavy rain. He kept going, making for the river that he knew was dry in certain stretches for much of the year. Amber sat on the floorboards with one hand thrown across the seat and one on the glove box as she braced herself for the jolting ride through the thick chaparral to the flat stretch of the thirsty San Pedro. He had to get her out of here.
“Are they following us?” she called to be heard against the thudding of brush against the fender.
“Can’t see,” he said and lowered his chin as bursts of another desperate flight flashed through his mind like a thunderstorm.
Chapter Four
Carter made it to Benson and found the hospital. Jack had called in some chips, and Carter found Kurt waiting beside the air ambulance to transport him, Amber and a cooler full of blood to Darabee.
“Lucky you, there was a wreck on Route 88, and Darabee needs blood.”
“Fatalities?”
“Not if we hurry. Hop in.”
Kurt began his check as Carter helped Amber up and onto the gurney where the single paramedic waited. Carter wouldn’t feel safe until the chopper was airborne. He hadn’t felt this afraid since Iraq. But this time it wasn’t his own survival he contemplated, but Amber’s.
She lay on the cot beside the paramedic who had already cleaned up the abrasions on her knees and palms. She was wrapped in a blanket and still shivering. Carter scowled and adjusted the headset that allowed him to fill Kurt in on the details.
When they touched down, both the sheriff and his twin brother, Tribal Detective Jack Bear Den, were waiting. Behind them stood a member of Carter’s tribal council, Wallace Tinnin, the chief of tribal police, and Jefferson Rowe, the police chief from Darabee. Rowe was an Anglo, with dark curly hair that was receding and was clipped short at the sides. The deep parallel lines that flanked his mouth and the broad hooked nose did not quite balance his eyes, that were too widely set. Carter glanced to the parking lot beside the landing pad. He’d never seen so many police cars all in one place. Though he imagined the Lilac Copper Mine looked much the same about now.
“We have a welcoming party.”
“Looks like a welcoming party from Grey Wolf,” said Carter, referring to General George Crook by the name his people used. Crook had defeated the Tonto Apache with the help of Apache scouts, who were from a different tribe, back in 1883.
The slowing rotor blades kept back the welcoming committee temporarily, but Carter knew they needed to get onto sovereign land if he was to protect Amber.
The sheriff approached first. His brother was at the man’s heels.
The sheriff shouted louder than necessary to be heard over the helicopter.
“Mr. Bear Den, I’m Sheriff Bill Taylor. I need you and Ms. Kitcheyan to come with us.”
“Why?”
“She is a person of interest in an open investigation in Lilac,” said the sheriff.
“Is she being charged with a crime?”
The sheriff shook his head, his hand going to his fleshy neck and then up to the bristle of hair that was all that remained after someone had taken clippers to his head.
“No. A witness.”
“She’s a member of our tribe and as such will be returning to Turquoise Canyon.”
It was a lie. She wasn’t a tribe member anymore and had no rights to protection from their people. But none of his tribe members corrected him. In fact, Jack had already opened the door to his tribal police unit and retrieved Amber, who was now flanked by tribal police officers and tribal officials.
Chief Rowe and his men watched as the sheriff took a step to move past Carter, but he shifted to intercept.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
“I was told Ms. Kitcheyan was in need of medical attention.”
“Delivered en route,” said Carter.
Amber was now in the backseat of Jack’s police car. Possession was now theirs. Carter placed two fingers above his brow and gave the sheriff a mock salute.
Then he trotted to his brother’s unmarked car and slipped into the passenger seat, dragging the door shut with a satisfying snap.
“I hope Kurt isn’t fired over this,” said Jack.
“Me, too.”
Police Chief Rowe stood beside Sheriff Taylor, who watched them with hands on hips as their chief of police, Wallace Tinnin, and tribal council member, Zach Gill, ran interference.
“They get the two in the van?” asked Carter, hoping like hell they caught the man responsible.
“Disappeared,” said Jack Bear Den to Carter as he pulled out. “Arizona State Police and local law enforcement are still searching.”
Carter glanced back at Amber, whose color had improved, but her blank expression and vacant stare worried him.
“She’s going to have to talk to them,” said Jack.
“They had video surveillance all over that building. They don’t need her.”
“Only witness, they said.”
“I saw him, too,” said Carter.
Jack lifted his brows. “But you I can protect.”
“You can protect us both.”
He gave a slow apologetic shake of his head. “It’s just a matter of time, you know. They’ll figure out that she’s not one of us, and when they do, I can’t stop them from taking her.”
Carter’s gut churned like a washing machine on agitate. Why had she done that—abandon her people and her poor parents? It was so stupid, pointless. He didn’t understand, didn’t think he could ever understand her actions. She had thrown them all away like a spoiled child.
“FBI is en route with requests to interview Amber.” Jack glanced back at his passenger.
“No,” said Carter.
“Carter, they’re the Feds. I might be able to hold them off for twenty-four hours, but eventually they’re coming to speak with her.” Jack had correctly guessed that his brother did not wan
t to speak to the FBI.
Carter glanced in the rearview at Amber. “You okay back there?”
She nodded, her eyes still unfocused. The one-thousand-yard stare, the marines called it. Shell shock, PTSD and usually a domain reserved to soldiers. She hadn’t signed up for this.
“I’m taking you to the station. I can arrange to have one of my guys there when the FBI interviews you.”
“Just get us home.”
He drove them to the station and into the squad room where all nine of the officers from their tribe had desks. The chief’s office was in the corner with windows looking out at the room. Jack’s desk sat by the window with a view of the parking area and the road beyond.
Jack motioned to the chair beside his desk, the one reserved for witnesses and suspects. Which was Amber? Carter wondered.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she said.
Jack gave her directions, and the brothers watched her exit to the hallway. Carter’s brother gave him a once-over.
“You all right?” asked Jack.
Carter shook his head. “I used to think so.”
His brother had served with him in Iraq. But after one tour, Jack had left the service. Now a detective, Jack was also a member of the Turquoise Guardians medicine society. Recently, Jack and Carter had also been inducted into Tribal Thunder. Their elite warrior band defending their people and their sacred land. Today Carter glimpsed the seriousness of their duty. How had Little Falcon known?
“Did you deliver the message?” asked Jack.
Carter patted his pocket. “Not yet.”
“What do you think it is?” asked Jack.
“A warning, maybe.” Carter met his brother’s troubled gaze with one of his own. They didn’t have to speak. Carter knew what Jack was thinking. He was also wondering if Kenshaw Little Falcon had prior knowledge of the mass shooting. The implications were staggering.
Jack pressed his mouth tight, clearly disagreeing. They were twins but did not resemble each other. Carter had features he thought were classic for the Tonto Apache people while Jack was built like a brick house. Carter wore his hair long and loose, but Jack clipped his dark brown hair short to avoid others seeing the natural curl, and had eyes that were closer to gray than brown. The differences didn’t end there; he was three inches taller and had thick eyebrows that peaked in a way that made Jack look dangerous even when he was just hanging out. There had been questions when they were growing up. They didn’t look like twins. They didn’t even look like brothers, and Jack didn’t look full-blood Apache. His skin was too light and his features too Anglo.
“The FBI has agents en route,” said Jack.
“Don’t let them take her, Jack,” said Carter. If she left their land, Carter couldn’t protect her. He knew it and Jack knew it.
Jack’s scowl made him look even more intimidating than usual.
“Anything on Ibsen?” asked Carter.
“Head shot. Dead. My buddy on highway patrol says it looks like the same shooter as at the mine. Can’t believe they missed the shooter twice. They’ve got helicopters, dogs, state and local cops, all searching and border patrol stopping everything heading south.”
“Think they made it before the roadblocks?” asked Carter.
“Impossible.”
“How do you think they got away?”
“Changed vehicles, split up. Likely they are within ten miles of where you saw them. They’re doing a house-to-house in Ibsen’s neighborhood.”
“That will take some time,” said Carter.
“I’m going to stick with Amber for a while,” he said, and Jack’s eyes narrowed, clearly not liking that plan.
“We should turn her over to the Feds.”
Now Carter was scowling because that was not going to happen.
“It’s my duty to protect her,” said Carter.
He referred to his duty as a Turquoise Guardian, to protect their people and their sacred land.
“Guardians protect the people. She’s no longer one of us.”
Carter glared at his brother. “She’s Apache. That’s enough.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Jack grimaced but said no more. He’d been there to pick up the pieces after Amber had left. Carter wasn’t surprised that Jack was less than thrilled to have Amber back.
“Not again,” said Jack.
Carter met his brother’s warning with a glare of his own.
“She left. She didn’t write. She didn’t visit, not even after you were injured.”
“I saw her after I came home from the hospital.”
He hadn’t told Jack. A rare omission that clearly surprised his twin.
“But she left again.”
He couldn’t deny that. But he knew he’d shown her the door. He’d been so hurt and angry. Yeager had still been MIA, and his days were filled with horror and hope. She’d asked about Hatch Yeager.
What do you care, Amber? Really. You disappear for two years, and then you think I owe you answers. I don’t owe you a thing.
Carter met the disapproval in Jack’s words with a steady stare. “Yeah, she left again after I threw her out.”
Jack made a face. Carter couldn’t tell what his brother thought about that.
“Maybe she’s ready to come home,” said Carter.
And maybe he was ready to let her. After today that was at least a possibility.
Jack shook his head. “Maybe she had no other choice.”
Carter returned his attention to his brother, who raked a hand through his short brown hair. “What does that mean exactly?”
“She is a witness. They want her in federal custody.”
“We both saw him. He was at her boss’s house.”
“And her boss is dead, too. Everyone is dead but Amber.”
Carter didn’t like the way Jack said that, as if this were all somehow her fault.
“Can’t you just give her the message and forget about her?” Jack asked.
He’d never been able to forget about her. And oh, how he had tried. But even after all this time he wondered about what she was doing, thinking and if she missed him at all.
Could he?
He’d stayed away from her, but this was different. Because whether she would admit it or not, she needed him. He hated how much he needed that excuse to keep her close. He slipped both hands into his pockets, wishing he could give his brother the answer he wanted to hear and knowing he could not.
“I can’t,” said Carter.
Jack’s mouth went tight.
“Carter, I’m telling you this as my brother. Let her go.”
“Why?”
“Because Amber Kitcheyan isn’t just a witness. She’s also a suspect.”
“How do you know that?”
“They told my boss. She should never have left the office with those papers. Makes her look guilty as hell.”
“If she’d stayed, she’d be dead.”
Jack glanced toward the window and swore.
Carter followed the direction of his brother’s fixed attention. Amber was standing in the parking lot before the station alone.
Jack quirked a brow. “Still think she’s innocent?”
Chapter Five
Amber stepped from the concrete building that included tribal headquarters and the tribal police station and breathed deep.
The air smelled so different here. She’d almost forgotten the crisp clean taste and the moisture. There was water here. Back in Lilac the earth was scorched and parched and thirsty. The dust was everywhere on everything and everyone. She didn’t think she’d ever be clean again. Now she was. Standing here where she belonged.
Or had belonged.
Re
linquished, they called it. Carter said it was irrevocable. She’d checked, of course, called the tribal council offices and asked if a tribe member who had relinquished their membership could reapply. The woman on the phone had been blunt. No, she had said. The decision is not like a reversible blanket. Relinquishment is permanent and irrevocable.
Amber added one more item to the list of things her father had stolen from her. And still he was her father and, as such, deserved to be honored. But not loved. He’d lost that along the way.
She thought of Carter, there when she needed him most, and found herself shaking her head in astonishment. He had a message from her uncle, his shaman. She wondered if the message he carried was from her mother or her father.
She set her jaw and breathed, the cool air calming her. What would she do now? She could not go home to her family or stay here on tribal land. She could not bear to go back to Lilac, knowing what had happened. She shivered, afraid of the ghosts of all the ones she knew, torn from this world in such a brutal and cruel way.
Carter would know what to do. He was always so sure of himself. So sure he did not need to ask her what was true, he just moved forward. Omnipotent. But that wasn’t love. It was some kind of possession. He had been too much like her father, and she would not have one more man controlling her. So she’d ended it. The decision had been hard but right. So why did it still hurt so much?
But oh, he was more handsome now than ever.
He had grown out his hair since his military service, and now he wore it loose and long, so it reached midway down his biceps, the strands shining blueblack in the sunlight as they’d flown in the chopper from Lilac. From her place lying on the gurney she could see him sitting beside his brother Kurt. Carter was a Hot Shot now, according to her sister Kay who sent her letters of the happenings on the Rez. Carter no longer wore his uniform, as he had the last time she had seen him. After three tours in the Middle East, he had been honorably discharged and relinquished the US Marine’s uniform for a pair of snug jeans. He wore them cinched about his trim hips with an ornate red coral and turquoise buckle and a soft chambray shirt that showed his muscular form. She wondered if Carter had made the ornament himself because he was a talented silversmith.
