by Jenna Kernan
“Back to Turquoise Canyon,” he said.
She rounded on him, fists tight at her side. “That’s never going to happen, Carter! Not for me. You can go back there and you should. But I can’t.”
Was she trying to protect him?
He slapped himself in the forehead as he remembered what Jack had told him and given him.
She gave him an odd look.
“You don’t want me to lose the tribe, my brothers, Tribal Thunder.”
“Who?”
“That’s our name. Me, Ray, Dylan and Jack. Kenshaw calls us Tribal Thunder.”
“Carter, what are you talking about?”
“You, protecting me. Keeping me with the tribe.”
“Well, of course. You love Turquoise Canyon. It’s your home. I don’t want you to lose it because of me.”
He explained that because she had been a minor at the time she was withdrawn from the enrollment by her parent, as an adult, she could now reapply.
Her eyes widened. “Is that possible?”
“Yes.” Carter dipped to a knee and retrieved the correct papers from his duffel. Then he stood and offered them to her. “Application to reinstate.”
Her face lit up, and her smile dazzled. “I could. Are you sure?”
He nodded. Instead of taking the papers, Amber threw herself into his arms, and her words were muffled against his shoulder, but he understood her.
“I could come home.”
But not if the US Marshals had anything to say about it.
Chapter Eighteen
The sun’s low angle painted the landscape pink as they walked wearily along.
Carter’s words buzzed in her mind as they trod south. She could rejoin the tribe. She could right the wrong her father had done her. She had already filled out the application that Carter again carried in his bag. She would give it to the tribe as soon as they reached home.
If they reached home.
Their destination, the Saguaro Flats tribe, was an even smaller Native American community than Turquoise Canyon, also of the Tonto band, who lived in a reservation on the outskirts of Phoenix since winning a lawsuit against the US government in the 1970s.
Carter paused. “Listen.”
Car doors slammed, and voices murmured. They crept to the edge of the wash. She peered over the lip of the bank but could see nothing past the vegetation.
Together they crawled up to ground level and peeked through the juniper brush at an isolated gas station.
“What should we do?” she asked.
There was a battered blue pickup truck at the pumps but no driver. A few minutes later two men emerged from the convenience store and strode toward the truck. One tapped a pack of cigarettes as he climbed behind the wheel and set them in motion.
“We need a ride,” she said. “They left it open with the keys inside.”
“You want to steal a vehicle?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Carter scouted the area. “Good cover on the west side by the dumpster. You wait here.”
“The hell I will.”
He scowled at her but didn’t ask her to remain behind again. Instead he took both guns from the duffel.
“You know how to shoot one of these?” he asked.
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
He blew away a breath and shoved one gun in his front pocket and the second in the waistband of his jeans.
“Tuck in your braid,” Amber said.
“What?”
“They’re searching for us. Two Apache Indians.”
He gave her a look as if to say this was not going to substantially change his appearance, but his braid did get tucked under the collar of his dirty oxford shirt.
They had to cross the highway to reach cover. The gas station was painted in earth tones like the red rock hills beyond. The green dumpster lay far to the left past the large red, white and blue sun shield above the four pumps. To the right lay a three-car garage with all bays shut. Two cars were parked between the dumpster and the side of the squatty building.
The entire journey was only a quarter mile but took them almost an hour because of the need to move without notice. And another twenty minutes because of one failed attempt to find a driver who left his vehicle unlocked with the keys in the ignition.
It was dusk when a spotless gray compact pulled in.
“See the white sticker with the bar code on the windshield?” he asked. “That means that is a rental.”
She glanced at the decal as the driver stepped out from behind the wheel and stretched. He fumbled around in the compartment opening the trunk lock before releasing the latch to the gas tank, then filled up. When he left the car for the convenience store, Amber followed as far as the front window. There she scouted the driver.
“Buying beer,” she said.
Carter walked past the pumps, glanced inside and spotted the keys. He nodded at Amber who walked quickly to the passenger side of the car. Carter closed the trunk and slipped into the driver’s seat. They were away a moment later.
“He’ll call the cops and they’ll notify the Feds. We might have a ten minute head start,” said Carter.
“Saguaro Flats Indian Reservation is fifteen miles away.”
He gripped the wheel as his foot pressed the gas. “I know.”
“Are we going to stop at Saguaro?” she asked.
“I’d feel better in Turquoise Canyon.”
“Long way to go in a stolen car,” she said.
He nodded his agreement and gripped the wheel. “Let’s get on Indian Land.”
Amber glanced at the digital clock on the dash and wondered if the driver had noticed the theft yet. She looked behind them for headlights.
Carter’s gaze flicked to the rearview. “See anything?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
But they were coming. The bad guys and the good guys. And she knew that they would not be able to tell the difference.
“How long?” she asked.
“If they are near where we started, they’ll be on us anytime.”
“Do you think we should leave this car and get another?”
“Where?”
She shook her head, bewildered. There was nothing out here but the desert and the sky and the hum of the tires.
“Headlights,” he said.
“What if it’s the police? We can’t start shooting. They might be the real police,” she said.
“Closing,” he said, his gaze flashing from the rearview mirror and then back to her.
They were still off the Saguaro Flats Indian Reservation property.
The lights in the grille of the car behind them flashed blue and red.
“Unmarked car,” she said, glancing back. “State police?”
He pursed his lips. “Don’t know.”
“You stopping?”
“If I do, I might have to shoot someone.”
“You can’t outrun them.”
“Honest cop won’t shoot at us or try to run us off the road. Let’s see what he does.”
The answer came a moment later when the car rammed them from behind. The jolt engaged her safety belt, the nylon gripping her shoulder as they careened into the opposite side of the two-lane highway.
“We won’t make it,” she said.
The pursuing vehicle drew beside them and bumped Amber’s door. She turned toward the new threat and got a very good look at the driver. She gave a little shout and lifted a finger to point at him. His eyes widened and the driver tugged the wheel, separating their vehicles.
“How many?” Carter asked.
“One.”
“You recognize him?” Carter asked.
/> “Yes. The...the guy. The fake FBI guy.”
“What guy?”
“Driving the Subaru. The one with the busted nose. Leopold.”
Carter set his jaw. “Hold on.”
Carter turned the wheel, and this time he hit the other car. The impact jarred her, and the sound of squealing metal filled the air. The two vehicles raced parallel for a moment and then drifted toward the shoulder. Carter kept turning the wheel, forcing the unmarked vehicle over. When the car’s wheels left the pavement, the other vehicle jolted, swerved and they flew on.
Amber released a held breath a moment before their back windshield shattered.
“Get down,” Carter said, hunching as he drove.
Amber ducked, but there was no second shot.
“This is so bad,” she said.
They drove in silence, the warm dry wind swirling through the gap in the rear window.
“Do you see him?” she asked.
“No.” Carter kept both hands on the wheel, but hunched now as if someone had hit him in the stomach.
“Was that a shotgun?” she asked, checking the damaged window, surveying the fist-sized hole and the rear seat glittering with cubes of glass.
“Pistol. Lucky shot.”
Amber blinked at the hole, wondering where the bullet went. She had her answer a moment later when she looked at Carter and saw a dark stain welling on the white fabric at the top of his right shoulder.
“You’re bleeding!”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah? That’s it, just yeah?” Her voice held a frightening note of panic. What would she do if he was seriously injured? How would she get them to safety?
“How bad?” she asked.
“Don’t know. Burns like a mother...” His words trailed off.
She unfastened her belt and reached, then hesitated. There was a hole in the top of his shirt. She placed her right and left index finger in the gap and tugged, rending the fabric.
He sucked in a breath between his teeth, the sound a hiss.
She could see his skin now, orange in the dashboard light. The rounded muscle of his shoulder was marred by a black groove from which blood welled at an alarming rate and ran down his skin in crimson rivers.
“Aw!” Carter cried. “Right though the medicine shield.”
The bullet had grazed the skin at his shoulder, cutting a channel through the top of his bear track tattoo.
“What’s in that bag? Do you have a shirt or something?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She scrambled to get something to stop the bleeding and came up with a soft cotton T-shirt which she folded into a pad and pressed to his shoulder. He dipped away from her touch and winced.
“Damn, that hurts.”
“Seems like it grazed the skin.” She continued to press down. Before them a green-and-white sign announced the Saguaro Flats Indian Reservation.
“We’re on reservation land.”
“Is he back there?”
“Not yet.”
He pulled into the visitor’s center, closed now and without anyone in the parking lot. Carter drove behind the square building that was little more than a trailer on blocks.
Here he turned off both headlights and motor.
They had a clear view of the road. It was not more than a minute later the unmarked car flew past them, with its one functioning headlight.
“We have to lose this car.”
Amber insisted that they dress his wound before moving. He held the sodden T-shirt as she tore up a second one. She wrapped it around his chest and shoulder, trying not to react to the nearness of him and failing as usual.
“What?” he asked.
“I just can’t seem to touch you without...”
He lifted his brow and grinned.
“You just got shot,” she said, her voice disapproving.
“But I’m not dead.” He laughed and kissed her hard.
For just a moment she forgot where she was and why this was such a bad idea. His tongue grazed hers, and she opened for him. He deepened the kiss, his mouth slanting across hers, their tongues lapping and sliding against one another. She lifted her hand to hold him and touched the bandage. Amber pulled back.
He smiled at her, his face now blue under the starlight.
Carter twisted the key, and the engine hummed. He left the lights off as he drove, stopping at a house that had a barn beside it and several trucks in various states of repair. Carter pulled into the grouping of vehicles and left her to investigate. All the trucks had the keys dangling from their ignitions. He took the first one that turned over, leaving the rental with the rest promising himself to get the truck back to the owner when possible. It was safer that whoever lived in that house knew nothing about them. Less than an hour later they were on the road leading to Kurt’s home. Carter pulled over well before the drive because he wanted to scout the place first to be certain they were alone and he didn’t want the stolen truck at Kurt’s place.
“More walking,” he said and reached for the door.
She followed him out, insisting on carrying his bag.
“How far to your brother’s place?” she asked.
“A mile or two.”
“Why Kurt’s place?” she asked.
“Kurt lives at the fire station as much as home, and he lives alone. Plus, he can get a message to Jack.”
“They might be watching there, too.”
“I’ll make sure we’re alone.”
She felt her insides heat at that thought and admonished herself. The man had a bullet wound. But still images of Carter running shirtless down the arroyo filled her mind and her fantasies.
They opted to walk well off the shoulder of the road and the reach of the headlights of passing cars. The road was sparsely populated with residences, including the concrete block ranch belonging to his youngest brother. The empty carport and dark windows told them Kurt was out.
“Looking for us again, I’ll bet,” he said.
They watched the house for some time, and Carter scouted the perimeter. She watched him, a moving shadow creeping past the basketball hoop rising from a flat concrete slab beside a small shed. He moved silently under the carport, past the barbecue grill and then disappeared.
She held her breath, released it and then held it again. On the third breath he reappeared and waved her over. She joined him in the driveway at the side entrance.
She smiled. Her feet ached and her body ached, and she had never been more thirsty in her life.
He put a hand on the knob.
“It’s not locked?” she asked.
Carter glanced back over his shoulder. “Kurt has an alarm system.”
That surprised her. No one she knew had an alarm system.
“Wait here a minute.”
Amber held her breath. Had the men who were after them anticipated Carter’s move?
She wanted to call him back, suddenly afraid they were waiting for him in there.
Then she saw something inside move past the window.
“Carter wait,” she whispered.
But he was already turning the knob and stepping into the house.
Chapter Nineteen
Carter’s entrance set off a wild barking from Kurt’s large dog. He had been to the house when Kurt was not here, and he knew that his dog, Justice, did not like visitors when his master was away. Carter had fed him when Kurt was away at school, but he had never brought another person into the house. If he had to, he’d chain the dog outside.
He paused in the kitchen as the dog continued his frantic barking. The room was illuminated by the small hood lamp over the stove. But the living room beyond was dark.
“Justice!” he said in his s
ternest voice. “Quiet.”
The dog went silent and approached from the darkness.
Carter knew the dog could see much better than he could in the low light. All he could make out was a moving shadow and the bulk of the huge head of the pit bull.
The dog was halfway across the kitchen before Carter saw the tail wagging. He relaxed his shoulders. The dog paused and sniffed. Carter didn’t know if he picked up the scent of blood or of the other human, but his hackles lifted, and he began to growl.
Carter took a chance and flicked on the light. Then he lowered himself to one knee and held out his hand.
“Damn it, Justice. You know me.”
Justice pinned his beady eyes on Carter and finally the tail twitched.
“Carter?” came the whisper from behind him. “Someone is coming. A car.”
He flipped off the light and drew her inside. Justice growled again.
“Quiet,” he said. The dog weighed at least seventy pounds and had all his working parts.
Carter kept Amber behind him as he pulled her through the kitchen to the window over the sink. Together they watched the car roll slowly past and out of sight.
“Do you think it was him?”
“Not the same car,” he answered. But he knew there was more than one man after them. He turned to find Justice halfway across the kitchen, sniffing. “Justice, I swear I will shoot you.”
“He’s big,” she said.
“You like dogs?”
“I like cats.”
Carter spoke to the dog in Apache. He told Justice that Amber was a friend and a beautiful woman and that she was welcome in his brother’s house.
“That dog speaks Tonto Apache?” she asked.
“I hope so.”
Finally the tail began to move, and Carter put out his hand again. Amber slowly offered hers, and Justice poked her with his wet black nose. Then he sniffed her leg and finally stuck his nose in her crotch.
Carter pulled him off. “Enough of that.”
Justice sat, and Carter fed him a bowl full of chow with water. While the dog inhaled his food, Carter went to the refrigerator and retrieved two bottles of cold water. They drank them dry and then had two more.
