Legacy of Evil

by Sharon Buchbinder

  The sputtering sounds of disbelief coming from Bronco stopped, and he pursed his lips, almost as if he was puckering up for a kiss. She stepped closer and poked him on his extremely hard, exceptionally muscular chest, just above a patch on his denim cut that read, “It Is What It Is.”

  “If you believe what this flash says, then hold your judgment in check. Just as few would ever believe in your ability as a remote viewer, the same is true for what I just told you. To the rest of the world, Lucius is a distant cousin come home from long travels. But to our family, and now to you, because you need to understand his gifts to do your job, he is truly a man from another time.”

  “If you weren’t Bert’s sister and if I didn’t work for the Anomaly Defense Division, I wouldn’t believe a word you said.” He shook his head. “Wow. Just wow. You’re right. Things and people aren’t always what they seem.”

  “One more thing—” For an instant, the present, here and now disappeared and an image flashed into her mind of the two of them in a darkened barn, her back against a wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. She blinked, stumbled backward, and took a deep shuddering breath. Nipples hard as erasers, her nether regions in a tizzy, she stared at the man in front of her in the here and now. Had he sent her that vision? Discerning not even a hint of a smirk, she gulped and continued in a raspy breath, “—they have a dog. I hope Gaucho and she get along.”

  He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Let’s go find out.”

  She grabbed his arm. “If that cat hurts Franny, you are going to be in a world of pain.”

  As the words left her mouth a shrieking beige and black sphere streaked toward them.

  Bronco burst out laughing, gasping, “What. The. Hell?”

  “That’s Franny. You didn’t know pugs could sound like banshees?”

  She glanced at the wide-eyed Gaucho who, for his part, appeared to be equally astonished at the noises coming out of the meteoric approach of the fur bowling ball. The cat stood its ground, not backing down, but not going after the dog, either. Franny skidded to a halt, stood on her hind legs and danced in front of the cat, her shrieks subsiding to yips. Gaucho plopped down at Bronco’s feet, occasionally glancing up at his partner, as if to say, “What is this thing?”

  “It’s a dog, Gaucho,” Bronco explained. “She’s just—different.”

  The pug dropped to her feet, rolled on her back, and offered her belly. With her ears flopped back on the ground, the dog resembled an overweight, grinning bat. To Emma’s astonishment, the bobcat flopped over onto his back next to Franny on the brick walkway at the foot of the steps and rubbed his angular head against the dog’s flat nosed one.

  Lucius’s voice boomed from the porch. “Well, I’ll be doggoned.”

  “Looks like Franny has a new friend.”

  “I see you do, too,” Lucius said and winked. “Bout time you got yourself a beau.”

  “Lucius!” Heat flooded her face and filled her chest where her heart jack hammered on her ribs. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s here on business.”

  “I bet he is.” Lucius rolled his eyes. “Monkey business.”

  Frowning and shaking her head, she tried to lower her heart rate, which was racing in annoyance at her persistent relative, not in response to the hot wild man on a bike. She lowered her voice, “Government business.”

  “Oh. In that case, let’s talk inside.” He waved them up the stairs, toward the door. “The guests are out fishing.”

  Emma held the door for the pug. Once in the foyer, Lucius embraced her in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground, her words of introduction muffled in his chest. “Lucius this is Bronco, Bronco this is Lucius.”

  Lucius extended his hand to Bronco. “Nice to meet you and your cat. What’s his name?”

  “Most times—” he grinned and shook hands—“he answers to Gaucho.” Rubbing her enormous belly, a smiling Tallulah made her way into the foyer. “He kicked me—again. I think we have a soccer player in the making.”

  Panting, the pug sat in front of Gaucho and tilted her head back and forth.

  Tallulah stared at the cat and extended her hand slowly. “Is he—”

  “This is Gaucho,” Bronco said. “He’s my partner and won’t hurt anyone—unless they’re coming after me.”

  “Duly noted.” Tallulah gasped, snatched up her husband’s hand and placed his palm on her abdomen. “Did you feel that?”

  “You mean the attempted jail break?” He grinned. “I sure did. He wants out.”

  “Only a few more weeks, or so the doctor says.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how much longer I can take the kicking, punching, and dancing baby visions. He’d better not try to overstay his check out time.”

  Emma’s stomach growled, and they all turned toward her, including the animals.

  Shrugging, she jerked her thumb at Bronco. “Had to calm down a dozen neighbors who saw him ride onto the rez.”

  Bronco frowned. “Neighborhood watch?”

  “Something much more powerful: Indian telegraph.” At the puzzled expression on his face, she said, “The kids playing ball in the street you passed? They told the adults talking on the sidewalk you looked like a bad man. The adults watched you pull onto my street and the grandmothers saw you, too. See something, say something, is a way of life with my people. We watch out for each other. All eyes were on you, my scary looking friend.”

  “Welcome to our world, Bronco.” Tallulah smiled. “Bison burgers okay?”

  As they headed to the kitchen, Emma pointed out the long, smooth registration desk made of highly polished mahogany, and the intricately carved walls and ceiling of the same wood to Bronco. “Ask Lucius to tell you about the artist he hired to create the carvings of the deer, fish, and waterways—he wanted to be another Frederic Remington. Anyway, the elevator was one of the first in Montana,” she said, feeling like a tour guide. She loved the gleaming wooden stairs and the metal lattice work surrounding the wooden box that comprised the elaborate cage elevator. “I personally polished all that blackened brass and made it shine again.”

  Turning in a slow circle, Bronco let out a long low whistle. “This place is amazing. It’s like I stepped back in time.”

  “It took a lot of elbow grease, hard work, and love to bring the place back to her original glory.” Hard to believe only a year had passed since Tallulah and Lucius had become wife and husband. Even harder to believe how their love had transformed the two-story building from a half-assed restoration from the previous profligate owner, Will Wellington. The historic Hotel LaBelle had experienced a complete rebirth to her original glory and grandeur, albeit updated and modernized in tastefully understated ways.

  Emma noticed a new display of intricate beadwork, along with the hefty price tags next to them, courtesy of a Crow interior decorator, a laughing cousin named Stephanie. A sign noted the names of the Crow artists who had created them, along with a suggestion to take home a lovely memento of a wonderful vacation in Big Sky Country. Leave it to Steph to come up with a great marketing strategy to benefit the tribe. Emma would have to tease her and ask if they were made in China.

  “You haven’t even seen my saloon yet,” Lucius called over his shoulder. “Now, that’s a beauty.”

  Emma snorted at Bronco’s slack-jawed expression at the sight of the bar. “You want to move in?’

  “Yes! With the player piano in the corner, the brass rail and the animal trophies on the wall, it feels like we’re in another century.” He pointed at the stuffed jackalope, a mythical creature created topping the taxidermied body of a jackrabbit with antelope antlers. “Even I know that thing isn’t real.”

  Lucius guffawed. “We keep it here for fun, alongside the deer, bear, and bison.”

  “Let’s eat in the kitchen,” Tallulah broke in. “It’s easier for me to talk and cook.”

  “Shouldn’t you be letting Lucius wait on you hand and foot?” Emma teased.

  “Nah. If I sit too long, the baby gets restless.
He dances and uses my belly as a drum.” The blonde pointed to a large wooden table in the kitchen. “Emma, could you set the table, please? Lucius, would you get the water?”

  “What would you like me to do?” Bronco stood in the doorway glancing around the large sunny space. “Other than read your sticky notes that appear to be on every surface of this beautiful kitchen.”

  Lucius smothered a laugh and hid his face behind a cabinet door with a yellow sticky note that read “Water glasses.”

  Tallulah flushed. “I’ve always had a thing for sticky notes, but with the baby, well, I’ve been forgetting a lot. Like I open the refrigerator door and wonder what I was getting out. Wait. What was your question?”

  “What would you like me to do?” Bronco repeated with a smile.

  “Well, for one thing, you can have a seat and for another, you can keep that big cat off the table. Princess Franny would be miffed if a visiting pet was able to get closer to the food than she could.”

  The pug in question settled the matter by coming to Bronco’s feet and dancing on her hind legs. Gaucho touched noses with the bug-eyed creature. Franny’s curlicue tail wagged faster, until her whole body shook, and she licked the cat’s face.

  “Okaaaaay.” Tallulah, blue eyes wide, glanced between the animals and Bronco. “We know Emma’s a horse and dog whisperer. Are you a cat whisperer?”

  Bronco laughed and rubbed Gaucho’s back. “Not all cats. Just this one. He’s pretty special.”

  “I want to see him use the toilet,” Emma threw over her shoulder as she filled water glasses. “And flush it.”

  “Please,” Bronco said covering the cat’s tufted ears. “You’re embarrassing him. He likes his privacy in the bathroom.”

  A short time later, over mouthfuls of bison burger dripping with caramelized onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and pickles, Bronco relayed the tale of the biker bar and the orphaned kitten, probably the runt of the litter, because of Gaucho’s relatively small size for a male at twenty pounds. The cat and he had bonded, and over time, he realized he could send images to the cat and Gaucho, in return could do the same with him.

  “He’s like a feline remote viewer,” Bronco said.

  “Good thing the CIA didn’t know about animals having that ability.” Emma shuddered, thinking about her bond with horses and dogs. “God only knows what kind of experiments they might have cooked up.”

  In the seventies, the CIA had a program to see if certain paranormal methods would have intelligence applications. One of these activities was remote viewing. Researchers would ask someone to envision a place or object that a sender would be looking at. In other experiments, they would put a photograph into an envelope and ask the person to describe the picture. The program continued for about twenty years. A large evaluation study of the program found the results were positive. However, while the statistics were good, the intelligence wasn’t detailed enough for practical uses in the field. They discontinued the program, but Bert Blackfeather, Director of the Anomaly Defense Division of Homeland Security’s Science and Technology Directorate found a way to bring these talented people into his domain to fight terrorism.

  Tallulah sighed, “I know. Not much oversight nor interest in animal welfare in those days.” She dropped a piece of meat on the floor, and the pug vacuumed it up.

  Emma rubbed Franny’s head with her free hand. “You ready for a little brother or sister?” Franny chuffed and snorted. “Think of all the dropped food you can get from a baby. You’ll be in hog heaven.”

  “Don’t encourage her. She’s five pounds overweight now,” Tallulah said and sighed again. “Pugs live to eat. What about Gaucho? Will he eat bison?”

  Bronco nodded. “He will. But he only eats what I give him—or what he catches outside.”

  Tallulah slid her plate across the table. “Please. I can’t eat large portions anymore.”

  Lucius patted her belly. “You’ve got no room, darlin’, what with L.J. taking up space.”

  “L.J.? You have a name?” Emma asked around a mouthful of meat. “So you do know the sex!”

  “Ha! Not really.” Lucius chuckled. “I need a name to call the little one. Can’t just keep sayin’ ‘the baby this’ or ‘the baby that.’ L.J. is for Lucius Junior.” He smirked and rolled his eyes. “After all, we can’t call him ‘Love ’Em and ‘Leave ’Em,’ it wouldn’t be right.”

  Tallulah jabbed his arm, and he winced in mock pain.

  Pushing his plate aside, Bronco wiped his mouth with a napkin and tapped the table with his index fingertip. “I hate to have to talk business, but the boss sent me here on an assignment. He’ll have my hide if we don’t get started.”

  Lucius stretched and said, “We’re all ears.”

  “Emma’s on my team as a ‘consultant’ since she doesn’t officially work for Homeland. However, you two”—he pointed at the couple—“work for Bert and have an idea of what to do.”

  “I’m in the room, sitting right next to you,” Emma objected. “I was the one who nearly got killed, so despite my dear brother’s discounting me, I’m invested in finding out who did this and why—even more than you are, Mr. Biker Man.”

  “Point taken.” He patted her hand, and she snatched it away.

  “How dare you patronize me!” A rush of anger made the scar on her chest throb. What made her think he might be different from the rest of the testosterone drenched jerks she had to deal with all her life? It was the military all over again. Well, she paid her dues, served her hitch, and now she was in charge. She didn’t have to take his crap. “I can kick your ass and mop up the floor with you.”

  Bronco threw his hands up. “Hold on. I wasn’t trying to downplay your role. If you’ll let me continue—”

  “Whoa, Nelly!” Lucius chortled. “What’s all the ruckus? Do I need to get you two a pair of boxing gloves so you can duke it out?”

  Chapter Four

  “No!” Bronco and Emma shouted in unison.

  Lucius sipped his coffee. “If you’re gonna work together, you can’t be picking fights like a couple of trigger happy gun slingers.”

  Emma glared at her relative, and Tallulah poked his arm. “You’re not one to give advice.”

  The kitchen became so quiet, Bronco swore the others could hear his heart thrumming in his chest—in time with Gaucho’s paw slapping at his thigh. He took deep cleansing breaths and sent the cat a message. “I’m okay, buddy, everything’s fine.”

  Instead of responding with their all clear sign—an image of a curled up and sleeping Gaucho—the cat shot him a smoking hot mental image of Emma and Bronco locked in a passionate embrace. Where the hell did Gaucho get that from? In all the years they’d been partners, the feline had not once intruded into his love life. Why now?

  “You’re not helping.” He shot back his thought at the cat.

  The bobcat gave a short snort and a bark. The four-legged pain in the butt was laughing at him, as if to say, What flew up your nose?

  He needed a human partner, not a lover. This was not the time for a romantic entanglement. It was one thing to take a risk with his life, another to take a risk with hers, the boss’s sister. Bert would kill him if anything happened to Emma.

  “So,” he breathed and steepled his fingers to keep them away from Emma’s slapping hands. Lesson learned. “We have a situation that needs to be addressed ASAP. I’ll let Emma tell you about it, then fill in my role.”

  She gave him a short nod and described the drone attack and horse killings. As she spoke, Tallulah covered her mouth and gave a muffled sob.

  “We need to find out who is doing this and why. There’s no evidence of external terrorist involvement which really leaves only two choices. A foreign operative embedded in U.S. territory orchestrating the attacks or—”

  “Home grown domestic terrorists,” Bronco finished. “Hate groups are spiraling out of control, and armed militia claiming sovereign rights have expanded their base over the last five years. A watchdog group estimates t
here are over eight-hundred active hate groups in the U.S., one of which is right in our back yard, the Neo-Nazi American Schutzstaffel.”

  “Honey, I can tell you all about those sons of bitches.”

  A woman stepped into the kitchen, and the room erupted into a chorus of greetings, hugs, and air kisses. Sweeping Emma onto her feet, the six foot tall, dressed-to-the-nines in the middle of the day female, showered her with kisses.

  “Bronco,” Emma gasped between smooches, “this is one of my cousins, Stephanie.”

  “You can call me Steph,” she said and gave Bronco’s hand an iron fisted shake, along with a lingering once over. “Emma, you sure got a cute one.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Emma ground out between clenched teeth. “We’re working together.”

  “Mmmm, m-mm, mmm. Sure you are, darlin’.” Steph shook her head.

  As Steph spoke Bronco realized the tall woman before him was—or had been—a man. Steph’s Adam’s apple plus the bone crushing grip pretty much sealed it for him. “Do you have a last name, Steph?”

  “No, darlin’.” She waved a hand in the air. “I’m like a movie star, ya know, one name is more than enough for me.”

  “So what can you tell us about the American S.S.?”

  Steph grimaced, slid into a chair, and waved her hand at Lucius, “Honey, can you get me a double espresso, please?”

  To Bronco’s surprise, Lucius jumped up and fussed with the gleaming Italian machine parked on the kitchen counter. Knobs turned, water hissed, and the aroma of the freshly ground beans filled the air.

  Twirling her long black hair, Steph sighed. “They are the worst. They have a major hate on for LGBT folk and go out of their way to harass us at every turn.”

  Lucius handed Steph the demitasse cup, and she sipped before breathing out, “Delish.”

  “What did they do to you?”

  “Not to me, specifically, but to our LGBT community. Those Neo-Nazi’s hate Two-Spirit people like me and the fact that we’ve been accepted in Crow society for-evah. Did you know that, back in the day, we were very much in demand as wives because we could work as hard as a man and be nurturing. We also served in sacred roles in our society, because we were considered to be prophets. We were consulted before major decisions for the tribe.” Steph sipped her espresso and sighed again. “Last year, one of those vile brown shirts lured a friend of mine away from a gay bar, promised her a night of wild sex. Put her in the hospital. She still has to walk with a cane.”