by Jenna Kernan
“All right.”
He let her ease past him and watched as she disappeared into the bathroom.
Despite his denial, he recognized what this was. Nine years had taught him that he wasn’t going to ever get over her. Amber was too smart, too beautiful and too brave for him to chalk her up as something ordinary. She was exceptional in every way. She had fortitude and kept her wits under fire. She’d been strong enough to survive two dysfunctional parents and protect her sisters from their immorality. And he knew that she still had feelings for him even before last night. But he also knew she was holding back, and it scared him to death that she might be preparing to leave him again. She had tried to explain that she had left to protect him from making a mistake, taking on her father’s debt and so becoming a partner in the crime of hurting her sisters. She had left them all out of love. The trouble she faced now was far worse. But if she still loved him, would that make her stay or go?
Carter pressed both hands to the kitchen counter and groaned. His head sank as he accepted the truth. He still loved Amber Kitcheyan.
She was the one for him. Now he had to figure out a way to keep her alive long enough to convince her to stay.
Carter headed into his brother’s room. What would Amber wear? Some searching turned up a T-shirt from high school that must have been kept for nostalgic reasons. Carter packed his bag with food and water, then put both pistols in the bag.
The shower had stopped, so he knocked. “I set out some things on Kurt’s bed.”
She called her thanks, and he retreated to the kitchen to make breakfast. The first omelet burned a little, so he ate that one and then made another.
She emerged shortly afterward with her hair in two neat braids, flushed cheeks and smelling like his brother’s deodorant. Unfortunately, that didn’t dampen his reaction to the sight of her, clean and her skin pink and dewy.
She held out her arms, showing rolled cuffs at wrist and ankle, her scuffed high boots now under the denim cuffs. The jeans needed cinching at the middle but stretched across her backside in a way that made his eyebrows lift and his throat go dry.
“That will do,” he said.
“Hungry?” he asked. At her nod he used the spatula to give her the second cheese omelet with more coffee. Then he hit the shower, which he found as challenging as getting dressed, thanks to his injury.
When he returned to her she gave him an odd look.
“You okay?” she asked. “You look a little green.”
“I’m fine.”
“They should be here soon,” she said. “You don’t have a fever, do you?” She carried her plate to the sink and then used the back of her hand to feel his forehead. “You’ll probably need a tetanus shot or something.”
“Kurt mentioned that.”
Her cool hand brushed his forehead, and she frowned. Then she lifted up on tiptoes, grabbed him behind the neck and tugged. He folded obediently at the waist, and she pressed her lips to his forehead, then dropped back to her heels.
“You feel a little hot,” she said.
“Every time I get close to you,” he muttered.
Her gaze flashed to his, and perhaps she could see that he was not flirting because she only stared up at him with wide almond-shaped eyes.
“Me, too” she whispered.
Bad time to take her back to bed and a really, really bad time to share his feelings for her. But what if he didn’t have another chance? They might not be alone again for who knows how long.
“Amber,” he said, trying not to think too hard. He was better on the fly. “About last night.”
She continued to stare, her dark eyes unreadable, but the tension in her mouth was not encouraging.
“Yes?”
“Well, I’m not leaving you, and I won’t let them take you from me.”
“They will take me, and if there is witness protection, then they’ll separate us. They told me that.”
“Not if you marry me.”
She gaped. It took her a full half minute to close her mouth. Was it really that preposterous?
“No,” she said at last.
“Why, no?”
“Because you’re not leaving the reservation.”
“I am if you are.”
She turned away and then rounded on him. “Carter, every time you get near me, someone tries to kill us.”
“And you think that’s my fault?”
“Of course not. But you took a bullet yesterday. I can’t live with that.”
“You know what I can’t live with?”
She waited, saying nothing.
“Losing you again. I am not losing someone else I love, and I am not leaving you behind like Hatch. That is not going to happen. Like it or not, you are stuck with me.”
From beneath the table Justice growled and rose to his feet. Amber stiffened as the dog began to bark. Someone was here.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Carter reached behind his back, drawing out the pistol. He lifted his index finger to his lips and motioned Amber to move out of the kitchen, which she did as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her.
The breakfast that had tasted so good had started roiling in her stomach like a tumbleweed in high winds.
She hunched behind the wall, peeking back at Carter as he crept over to the door, and in a fast motion he glanced out before ducking behind the frame. Justice’s growl grew louder, but Carter shushed him and Justice ceased his noise.
“Tribal PD,” he said to her in a strained whisper.
His brother, probably. Or someone in another stolen car? she wondered, crouching lower behind the wall and knowing from the nightly news that Sheetrock made a terrible barrier against bullets.
Amber waited as the sound of doors shutting reached her. Then the murmur of voices.
A male voice called a greeting in Tonto Apache from outside. Amber knew that deep voice. It was Detective Jack Bear Den. She watched Carter’s face for confirmation.
His shoulders sagged, and he lowered his weapon. He met her gaze and nodded, his mouth quirking upward.
From outside came more voices. Someone else spoke. They asked permission to enter. They told them to step away from the door. Carter issued a formal invitation to enter as he moved to the hall beside her, offering a hand as she rose to stand with him.
A moment later four men entered with weapons drawn but lowered. First came Jack Bear Den, filling the frame with his massive shoulders. He was followed by Ray Strong and Dylan Tehauno. Tribal Thunder had arrived. Finally Kurt Bear Den appeared at the rear and a surprise guest, Field Agent Luke Forrest.
Carter gave Jack a look.
“He’s okay,” said Jack, but Carter seemed unconvinced.
Jack holstered his pistol and came forward, resting a hand on Carter’s injured shoulder. “You all right?”
“Yeah. What’s going on?”
“We’re bringing you to our station for now.” Jack glanced at Amber and then returned his attention to Carter. “Kurt told me about the unmarked car, and he said that you’ve been shot.”
Carter tugged at the collar of his shirt to show the bandage.
“He also said that Ms. Kitcheyan saw the man who shot you.”
“I did.”
“That makes you a VIP witness, Ms. Kitcheyan,” said Luke Forrest. “You’ve seen the copper mine shooter, his driver and now a third man. You are sure he wasn’t one of the other two?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. He might be the same man who drove the van in Lilac, and he was definitely the man driving the Subaru that took us from the tribal police station.”
“The one with the busted nose?” asked Forrest.
Amber nodded. “No cap. No blond hair.”
“We’ll nee
d your help for a new set of composite drawings. I have a call in to send one of our artists.”
“You two ready?” asked Dylan.
Carter hoisted his bag and followed them out.
At the station, Kurt changed Carter’s soggy dressing and checked the twelve stitches in his throbbing shoulder.
They were both questioned separately again. Each had some time with a technician trained to use the software program to create computer-based facial composites of both the copper mine shooter and his driver and the man who shot at them last night.
Jack had been with the FBI and Amber, but he returned to Carter with some news.
“Amber’s composite of the shooter looks a lot like the man Kurt described seeing in the battered police unit, right down to the busted nose.”
“Same guy?”
“Yeah. They think so. We’re searching for the cruiser.”
Carter mentioned the truck he had stolen again and Jack assured him it was on its way back to its owner with appologies and thanks.
“I’m taking lunch orders,” said Jack. “What do you want?”
It was past three and closer to dinner than lunch.
“Jack, how long am I going to be sitting in this office?”
“We’re making arrangements, Carter. But we want to be careful.”
Carter raked his hands through his hair, ignoring the complaint from his healing shoulder.
“Maybe I am going crazy. But I think I’m...”
“Don’t say it,” said Jack, hand raised to stop him. “She’s a witness.”
“We’re both witnesses.”
“Do you get what’s happening? They’re not going to put you two up in some ski chalet in Vail. You two are leaving this Rez, and I might not even be able to find you.”
Carter’s hands dropped to his sides. “What are you talking about?”
“Protection. The kind that you don’t get to opt out of.”
“But we’ll be together.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “They’ll separate you two for sure.”
Carter sat back, his worst fears confirmed. “I can’t let them take her again.”
“Again? She left on her own the last time.”
“It’s complicated.”
Jack sat back. “Yeah.”
Carter thumped back in his seat. “I gotta think.”
“I’m getting you a burger and fries. You want anything else?”
Besides Amber? “No.”
Kurt delivered the meal and sat with Carter as he ate.
“Sorry about breaking into your place,” said Carter to Kurt.
“I’m glad you did. Glad, you know, that you’re all right.”
His brother had been through a long night of worry. Carter felt badly about that, too.
“I couldn’t think of a way to let you know.”
“I understand. You did the right thing. Scared me, though.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Kurt didn’t reply. Instead he pressed his lips tight and nodded, his eyes glassy. He breathed in and out and then nodded a few times, gathering himself.
“Amber gave me the papers to apply for reinstatement in the tribe.”
Carter perked up. “That’s good.”
“Yeah,” he said.
Just then the door flew open, and Dylan stood in the gap.
“They got him,” he said. “The copper mine killer is in police custody.”
* * *
THEY CAUGHT THE Lilac Mine Killer, as the press had dubbed him. Amber heard that he was on his way to the larger jail in Darabee. She and Carter would be making an ID there just as soon as they could arrange a lineup and safe transport.
The responsibility of that weighed on her. She knew the killer’s face. She was very good with faces, though the names sometimes escaped her. And this face, the one gripping that huge rifle and looking right at her, was one she knew she would never forget.
Carter’s brother returned with four officers. “You two ready?”
Amber stood stiffly, feeling awkward in the body armor they had insisted she wear. The twinge of both her shoulder and hip ached from yesterday’s collision. They told her that the bruised muscles had tightened up. They complained with each stride but loosened by slow degrees until she was seated again, in the back of a tribal police cruiser.
“They got him?” asked Carter.
“Seems so,” Jack said.
“Will I be behind glass when I see him?” asked Amber.
“Yes,” said Detective Bear Den. “They have a one-way mirror in their station. Buckle up, Ms. Kitcheyan.”
Amber repressed a groan as she twisted to retrieve the shoulder restraint and clip it into place.
The drive to Darabee, some thirty minutes east, was uneventful. She tried and failed to spot the place where Carter had left the marker and had almost given up when she saw the yellow police tape fluttering from orange traffic cones by the side of the road. She said a prayer for the two US marshals killed while trying to protect them.
When they reached the station, it was twilight, but there was a great deal of light coming from the parking area beside the station. She couldn’t make out what it was at first, but then she recognized the news vans with raised satellite antennae. It was clear from the bright floodlights and the press waiting with cameras poised that someone had leaked the arrest information to the news.
“Oh, great,” said Jack.
“Sit tight,” said Dylan, from the front passenger seat. “They have a back entrance. Darabee police are waiting to escort us in.”
He passed a blanket back to each of them. They were the kind of fleece blankets you wrap around yourself at a football game, but they were blue and said FBI on them.
“These go over your heads. We don’t want any photos of either of you.”
She looked at Carter for rescue, and he said nothing as he unfolded the blanket. It was in that instant that Amber realized that her life would never go back to normal. Not ever.
* * *
AMBER MANAGED TO make it inside without tripping. Two athletic lawmen had held her by each arm, and she thought that her feet had barely touched the ground between the car and the neighboring police station in Darabee. She had been aware of the bright lights of the television cameras as she was rushed inside the station.
Once inside she was escorted to an interview room. There she clutched an unwanted foam cup of strong coffee as she waited to be called to identify their suspect. Both she and Carter would be called separately to make the identification from a lineup. They were told to take their time and be certain of their choice. The longer she sat here, the more nervous she became.
There would be only one opportunity to get it right. Carter would go first.
When they came for him, she stood, realizing that she would be left alone in this tiny interrogation room in his absence, and felt a rising sense of panic.
Carter gave her a warm, reassuring smile. “Be right back.”
She fidgeted in the small room, drumming her fingers on the surface of the table that was bolted to the floor. She kept her eyes pinned on the door. Amber knew she should wait, but she found herself opening the door. Posted outside was a uniformed police officer, his matching blue shirt and slacks separated by a utility belt fixed with various tools of the trade. He looked surprised at her emergence. Beyond him she saw a man with a purple bruise on his face duck out of sight. Her mind flashed to an image of Carter kicking their captor in the face with his boot and their captor slapping a hand over his left eye. She lifted a finger to ask who that was.
“Ma’am?” he said. “I have to ask you to wait inside.”
Could that have been the one that identified himself as Agent Muir? She knew it unlikely that
the FBI impersonator was hanging out in the Darabee police station, but still, he was about the right height...and that shiner.
She turned her attention to the officer guarding the door and was about to tell him what she saw when there was a sharp report from a pistol.
The officer pushed her across the threshold as she heard the sound of more shots fired in close succession. One, two. Amber’s flesh went cold. The officer’s eyes rounded, and he drew his gun, gripping it with both hands. Then he hesitated.
“Stay there.” He shut the door in her face. She heard a click and watched him run down the hall and out of sight.
Amber tried the door and found it locked.
She was trapped.
* * *
CARTER WAS IN the squad room. It was his understanding that the other men who would join the lineup were ready, and he was waiting only for the suspect to arrive. He was chatting with his brother when the shots sounded. His very first thought was of Amber.
Where was she?
Both he and Jack stood and Jack drew his weapon before they charged out into the hall. Carter found a scene of chaos before him. Officers shouted and tussled. He saw raised arms and the barrel of a gun pointed at the ceiling. Another shot discharged from the weapon. A young officer rushed past him. The same one that he had seen guarding Amber.
Jack looked at him, and Carter cursed. Jack went toward the shots, and Carter headed in the opposite direction at a run.
Carter reached the interrogation room to find no guard posted. Amber pounded on the locked door and shouted to let her out. He tried the knob, releasing the button that locked the door. Amber spilled out and into his arms.
“What’s happening?” she cried.
“Don’t know.” He wrapped an arm about her and hurried her farther into the station, heading for the small kitchenette they had passed on arrival.
She clung to him as they ran through the open door which he closed behind them. The windowless staff room contained a microwave, sink, refrigerator and three small circular tables with plastic chairs. The walls were decorated with safety awareness posters. Amber didn’t step away from him but continued to grip the fabric of his shirt in her fists.
“Get behind me,” he ordered.
