by Vonna Harper
“I don’t expect you to understand,” he said, his words slicing into her thoughts. “This isn’t your home; the land isn’t precious to you.”
“No, it isn’t,” she admitted. “But I understand that even without Hawk Spirit, you’d love it. That said, what he made you do…Kidnapping me is a crime. You broke the law because he ordered you to, and as a result you could spend much of your life in prison.”
If her words made any impact, he gave no indication. Trying to get through to him had exhausted her so she simply waited for him to make the next move. After a moment, he started walking again.
His phone was ringing when Mato stepped inside his home. His initial impulse was to ignore it while he went in search of something to wear, but no one called him unless it was important. Then he took note of the slight body so close to his and debated closing her inside the bedroom first, but she was no longer his prisoner, his captive. Unsure what she was to him now, he picked up the receiver.
“Where have you been?” his uncle Tal asked before he’d finished saying hello. “Where is she?”
“With me. What do you want?”
“You haven’t heard, have you?”
“Heard what?”
“The news. Senator Gradbery held a conference this morning. He’s calling for a renewed investigation into Castetter’s disappearance, saying that as a result of what he learned about the objections to NewDirections expressed during the hearing, he’s concerned someone here hated him enough to want him dead.”
“Did he name names?”
“He didn’t have to, Mato. You’re—”
“At the top of the list. Did he reveal what the investigation’s going to entail?”
“Not really, but he’s demanding what he calls a ‘professional’ search of the area.”
“Who’s going to conduct it?”
“State police. Apparently they’re already calling in their search-and-rescue people.”
“In other words, he doesn’t believe the locals really looked for Castetter.”
“He didn’t say the words, but it was there.”
Smokey was listening intently, her deceptively strong body on the alert and looking ridiculous in the oversize shirt and slippers. Shutting down the impulse to strip her and carry her into the shower, he concentrated on learning as much as he could. According to his uncle, there was no public time frame for the state people to arrive, but Sandra had already received several calls about whether she had vacancies, and RV sites in the local campground were being reserved.
“They’re pulling out all the stops,” he said.
“What did you expect? A top state politician has spoken.”
“This is about more than working toward a body recovery,” he said, his gaze on Smokey. “There are going to be detectives, investigators.”
“Yeah.”
Are you afraid? he wanted to ask the man he considered his second father, but Tal wouldn’t reveal his feelings any more than he would. This thing he and Uncle Tal and their relatives and ancestors had been part of as long as anyone knew demanded certain standards, courage, and commitment.
“Mato?” Uncle Tal said. “We’ve already talked about this, but I’m going to do it again. You were the most outspoken last night; you know what that means.”
“I did before I opened my mouth.”
“They’re going to come after you.”
“I’ll be ready for them.”
Hanging up, Mato scanned the room before locking on Smokey again. He’d fallen in love with this place even before he’d gotten the roof up. The wood and leather furnishings spoke to the man in him, while the photography reached him on an even deeper level. He’d never admit to having a poet’s soul, but something came out in him when he studied what his camera and instincts had captured. The pictures of elk, coyotes, deer, and cougars reminded him that he was part of something far greater than himself, while the hawk carving from his father had forged a link between the generations. More than that, the carving stood as testament to his role in this universe.
Was Smokey Powers capable of understanding that?
And even if she was, did he dare trust her with the truth?
Studying him as intently as he was studying her, she kicked off his slippers, walked over to the couch, and curled up in it, lightly massaging her feet. Her makeup was gone, her hair limp, and his old gray sweatshirt hid her curves, but it didn’t matter, because his body remembered those things.
“You’re in danger,” she said.
“I need to be cautious.”
“That’s not what I said. You’re in danger, aren’t you?”
Wondering how deeply her reporter’s directness was engrained, he sat next to her. Much as he wanted to take over her task, he didn’t trust himself to touch her toes, let alone the rest of her body. The forest had always been a living, breathing creature to him, more alive than any of the women he’d known, but this stranger to his world had become a part of his world—and that might represent the greatest threat to his freedom and future.
“The state police are going to try to learn what happened to Flann Castetter. I have no doubt they’ll want to talk to me.”
“Because you oppose everything he and NewDirections stood for.”
“Yes.”
Some unfathomable emotion passed over her, and as it did, he lost touch with the inner calm that had embraced him once they’d finished having sex. Already his cock was stirring back to life.
“Did you kill him?”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
18
Rolling her knuckles over an instep, Smokey wearily shook her head. “Because you’re afraid I’ll turn you in?”
“Because it’ll only lead to other questions I can’t answer.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Maybe both.”
“All right,” she muttered. “All right. Only, you know why I said that, don’t you? Because I have no choice but to accept your boundaries. One thing I want you to think about: how would you feel if you wondered if the person you’d been having sex with might be a killer? Wouldn’t you need the truth?” Releasing her feet, she rubbed the back of her neck. “To hell with the truth—I need a shower. And food.”
Despite himself, the change to the mundane made him smile. She must not have expected that, because she gave him a puzzled expression. “You find something amusing about my need to be clean?”
“No.” His hands aching to touch her, he stood and angled his body away from hers. “I was just thinking that you’re issuing orders.”
“Not really. I just don’t feel like a prisoner anymore.”
With that, she stood. Even looking at her over his shoulders, he was keenly aware of the difference in their heights and how little of her there was to fill his sweatshirt. One step, one move, and he’d have it off her.
And maybe she’d feel like his captive again.
Keeping his tone measured, he told her where to find extra towels. He wished he had some of the expensive, flower-smelling shampoo women seemed to be drawn to and that her clothes were in his dresser instead of crammed into the suitcase he’d taken along with her. But he was still trying to get used to the change in their relationship, and he was looking for answers to how he would handle it.
She’d started toward the bathroom when a thought all but froze his throat. “The last time, did I use protection?”
“You don’t remember?”
So much of what had happened once he’d overtaken her on the way out to the highway was a blur, including why he’d been out there naked. He held memories of Hawk Spirit’s demands that he kill her and his refusal, her quivering body, and the scent of sex in the air. “No, I don’t.”
“For the record, you didn’t.”
Staring at what he could see of her belly, he imagined the life he’d helped create taking hold in there. She’d said she wanted sons, and though his desire for one had always been tempered by the roles and burdens tha
t boy would someday have to shoulder, he longed to hold his child. “I’m sorry,” he finally remembered to say.
“I don’t know if I am.”
For a bachelor, Mato’s kitchen was well stocked. Dressed in a green blouse and brown slacks but still barefoot, Smokey pulled together an easy meal of turkey sandwiches and a fruit salad while he showered and dressed. As she worked, she kept her mind off the bedroom in which she’d both been imprisoned and fucked by Mato. She just wished she was as good at harnessing her memories of his unabashedly naked form and her fears for him.
It made no sense, she tried to reason. The damn man had kidnapped her and turned her life on end. His having to pay for his misdeeds should be at the top of her list, and if he’d killed Castetter—
Was Mato capable of murder?
Maybe not the human Mato, but she was starting to comprehend that he existed as Hawk Spirit’s physical form in many respects, subject to his spirit’s will and commands.
What kind of legal defense could an attorney make out of that?
“My grandmother did things to a roasted turkey that should be a crime,” she said as they were eating at the kitchen table with the sun streaming in. All she had to do was keep the conversation casual, two relaxed and comfortable-with-each-other lovers shooting the breeze. “I held out for the dark meat because it was so juicy. Even now I can barely stomach sliced white meat; it isn’t the real thing.”
Mato stopped with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “My grandmother’s specialty was venison. She’d smoke it and—”
“What?” she asked when he sat up and cocked his head. “You heard something?”
He seemed unwilling to respond, so she concentrated. “My cell phone. That’s the sound it makes when I have a message. Where did you put it?”
“In your suitcase.”
Although she’d spotted her belongings in the living room, she was reluctant to go for them. The whole time she was walking, she half expected Mato to stop her. Opening the battered suitcase that had logged as many air miles as she had, she dug around until she found her cell. It was in need of charging.
“Put it on speaker.”
Of course Mato had followed her, she reasoned, despite the way her heart quickened. She should be thinking about his order, not his closeness, but that was easier said than done. Instead of immediately obeying, she walked back into the kitchen and lingered over several bites of salad. Doing so calmed her a bit and, hopefully, sent Mato the message that she wasn’t about to bow to his wishes.
There were three messages, all from her editor. The first, sent early this morning, was straightforward: had it been worth her time to attend the meeting, and were reports of a heavy rain last night accurate? He’d left the second one early this morning and the third not long before she and Mato had returned to his place: “Where the hell are you? This is not funny, Smokey. And it isn’t like you not to stay in touch. I called the managing editor of the Statesman Journal, who gave me the cell number of the reporter they’d sent to the meeting. According to that reporter, all hell broke loose last night, with you in the middle of it. And now the search for Castetter has become top priority. I’m giving you exactly thirty minutes from now to call me back. If you don’t, I’m calling whatever passes for police in that burg.”
Closing the cell phone, she studied Mato. And despite her illogical urge to apologize for this new complication in his life, she simply waited for his response.
“It’s been a half hour,” he said.
“My editor is a punctual man. He expects the same of others, especially those he’s worried about. Tell me something: do you have any influence with the police department? If you tell them to ignore a request to look for me, will they do it?”
“No.”
“In other words—”
“In other words, unless you stop your editor, there’s going to be a search, starting with contacting me.”
Although she was still hungry, she didn’t trust her stomach to handle any more food. “Because people saw us talking last night.”
“Yeah.”
Mato didn’t look trapped so much as resigned. “I have to call him and ease his mind.”
“What are you going to say?”
Not what I should. “That I’m all right.”
His look of resignation lifted to be exchanged with puzzlement. She could almost hear him ask if she truly believed she was all right; she was glad he didn’t ask, because she wasn’t sure how she’d answer. Half expecting him to take away the phone, she punched numbers.
“It’s me,” she said as soon as James, her editor, picked up. Because her phone was still on speaker, her voice fairly echoed.
“Smokey, thank god! Where the hell have you been?”
James had been more than pissed—he’d been scared. “Busy,” she said. Then, her mind spinning, she apologized for worrying him.
“Busy doing what?”
Could Mato guess what she was about to say? His expression was one of caution, distrust, and yet hope.
“Earning my salary.”
“Don’t play games, Smoke. Give it to me straight.”
Straight? If only it were that easy. “I can’t give you all the details because I’m still working on them, but…” Swallowing, she continued. “Unless I’ve lost the instincts that led to my career, I’m on the biggest story of my life.” Bigger than anyone outside Storm Bay will ever understand. “Not what I thought I’d be writing, but I don’t care.”
Fighting the impact of Mato’s intensity, she waited for James to calm down. “Of course I’m serious,” she said. “I might joke about some things, but never this.”
“So you say, but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. What story? Let’s get specific. Is it about Castetter?”
Determined to concentrate, she closed her eyes. Just the same, Mato’s image stayed with her just as her skin remembered his touch. “You know why I came here—the strange deaths I uncovered and wanted to try to build on.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, what could have turned out to be a wild goose chase has landed me in the middle of a gold mine of information.” Knowing James would push for specifics, she hurried on. “One thing I didn’t count on was that my being here has the other reporters trying to find out what I’m up to. I’m having to sneak around while trying to find people who’ll tell me the truth and not then run out and blab to the competition.”
“What’s this information you’re digging up? Are you saying there’s more—”
“I’m not saying more than I already have until I get it pulled together,” she said, praying James wouldn’t push.
“That’s telling me damn nothing, and you know it. What about what’s-his-name, the guy who threatened violence at the meeting?”
I’ve been fucking him when I’m not wearing his ropes. “What about him?”
“Damn, you know what I’m asking. Are you hiding from him?”
It’s too late for that. “I can handle it,” she said because she couldn’t bring herself to lie any more than she already had.
“I hope to hell you can. I don’t like this, and because I don’t, I’m insisting you call me morning and night for as long as you’re there. I trust you to do your job, but you’re the only one there I trust. How long do you think whatever it is is going to take?”
The answer to that wasn’t up to her, prompting her to admit she didn’t know. Studying Mato, she agreed to the twice-daily contacts and then hung up before her editor could ask more questions. Tension seeped out of her, replaced with a growing awareness of whom she shared this room with. This man had become nothing less than the center of her universe. “I’ve bought some time,” she said. “How much, I don’t know.”
“He isn’t a patient man.”
“No, he isn’t. Mato, what’s going to happen?” She fell silent.
The longer the silence hovered between them, the less certain she became that she wanted an answer. She didn’t want
to believe he’d lie to her, but, then, did he dare tell her the truth? And maybe Hawk Spirit was keeping Mato’s ultimate role from him. If Mato had to wait for Hawk Spirit’s orders, would he tell her what they were? Was it possible he’d defy or try to defy those orders?
“Tell me what you know, damn it!” she blurted. “You were commanded to grab me and, what, turn me into something mindless? But if I turned out to have a will, or if you got too close to me…Is he here, listening to us?” Even as she shook her head at what she’d just said, she couldn’t help looking around for the small bird she took as the embodiment of Hawk Spirit.
“He isn’t.”
“Are you sure? Do you always know—”
“My spirit is patient. He will wait for me.”
To do what? she came within a breath of asking. Instead, abandoning her meal, she again walked out of the kitchen. At first she was aware of little except the distance between her and Mato, but bit by bit the room calmed her. If she lived here she might make a few minor changes, such as placing some plants near the windows and using a few light-colored throws to ease the impact of the solid leather furniture, but other than that, she’d leave things as Mato had designed.
The windows.
Not trying to stop herself, she headed toward the large one to the right of the front door. She could see the porch and below that the gravel driveway, even the beginning of the road. What equipment had he used to carve out the road, and had he done all the work himself, or had his friends and relatives lent a hand? The notion of something akin to an old-fashioned barn raising lit a small fire in her heart, not just because she loved the idea of people with a common task and goal, but because the image reinforced what she now believed about this close-knit community.
Outsiders might laugh at the backwoods residents, but that was because they missed the essential element—unity. Enough unity that the residents would protect and defend each other, even the killer or killers among them.
There wasn’t enough fresh air in the room, damn it! She needed to breathe, to stop thinking!
