“Good plan.” Blue Wolf turned and quickly walked down the hall.
As Rogan turned the other way, another bolt of lightning slammed into the ground, shaking the building, though it was sturdy as a Quonset hut. Frightened by the nearness of the strike, Rogan paused. A pissed-off thunder being could hurl a bolt and easily kill a person. What was going on with this storm? This had not happened before when they used the Storm Pipe. What was different this time?
Angry and anxious, Rogan stalked down the hall, determined to try and get into Ballard’s mind. One way or another, he had to learn what the FBI had planned. As he walked, he felt a sizzle of warning, of danger, shoot up his spinal column. Halting, he jerked his head up and looked around.
Rogan knew that signal. Danger! Danger was near. Was it the FBI coming for them with specially trained SWAT teams? Rubbing his neck, he picked up the radio from his belt and depressed the switch. “Bright Sun?”
“I’m here. What do you want, Rogan?”
“You’ve got four women on guard duty tonight around the compound?”
“Of course, just like you asked. It’s quiet. It’s starting to rain, the wind is awful and lightning is everywhere. I’ve never seen a storm like this before.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open, in case we’re being stalked by the FBI. They could be out there. We hope to have more information from our prisoners in a little while. In the meantime, stay alert.”
“This night is hellish, Rogan, but we’re like wolves with our ears up. Don’t worry, we’re making sure no one can get near the compound without us knowing it.”
“You got your night-vision goggles on?”
“Of course. But the damn lightning destroys our sight for minutes at a time. There’s nothing we can do about that.”
“I understand,” Rogan said, frustration in his tone. “Okay, keep checking in with me every fifteen minutes, like before. Out.”
As he jammed the radio back into his belt, Rogan couldn’t shake the feeling of being stalked. Certain that it was the FBI, he jerked open the door to the office. One way or another, he was going to get information out of this bitch of a white woman.
THE WIND WAS VIOLENT, shaking and pummeling Dana as she clung stubbornly to the slippery, wet basalt. The storms had begun in earnest near midnight. She and Chase were halfway up the cliff. Above her, she heard his labored breathing as he worked to set the pitons, one after another, into place. The sounds of the hammer were further muffled by using a rubber mallet. They didn’t talk much. Chase was afraid that Rogan might have radio equipment that could pick up their conversations. If Dana needed anything, she was to jerk twice on the rope strung between them.
Another bolt of lightning flashed above them. Closing her eyes, she heard Chase grunt. Had he reached the second shelf, jutting out of the side of the cliff? Dana hoped so. The nylon rope tightened. Yes, he had. The silent signal meant “climb” and that’s what she did. Her vision was still foggy, but she brushed the basalt with her fingers until she found solid handholds. Shifting her right foot upward, Dana found purchase. Her rope tightened more. It was good to know that Chase was at the other end. He wouldn’t let her fall. That gave Dana confidence in the midst of the violent storm.
As she finally lunged onto the flat rock shelf next to Chase, the rain began again. Only this time, hail pummeled them, as well. This shelf was much smaller than the first one they’d discovered on their climb. Shivering, Dana pushed the night goggles up on her head and scooted into Chase’s extended arms. The ledge was less than four feet wide and three feet deep. There was barely room for one person, much less two. As the lightning flashed, she saw his grim features, his mouth a slash, his own night goggles pushed up on his head. It was hard to tell whether his face was gleaming from the sweat of exertion or from the deluge.
Feeling suddenly safe in a chaotic, unsafe situation, Dana huddled against his hard, warm body. She slipped her right arm around his torso and absorbed the heat he emitted like a furnace. His arm closed comfortingly around her shoulders, drawing her near. Dana moaned with relief. She felt his lips, his hot breath, against her ear.
“Okay? Turn off your radio. We can whisper back and forth and no one will hear us.”
Nodding, Dana did as he instructed. Lightning zigzagged across the heavens and for a second she saw the turbulent, churning clouds. There was no question that the thunder beings were upset. Dana prayed that the spirits were aligned with them on their mission. Otherwise, they could hurl a bolt and kill them in an instant. So far, Chase and Dana had been left alone.
“Why such a violent storm?” Chase asked near her ear. He selfishly absorbed the feeling of Dana’s strong, graceful body pressed against his own. She was shivering, and that wasn’t a good sign. The temperature had dropped when the storm had broken. They were at an 8,500 elevation, and cool weather was the norm even in the summer months. Dana would have to concentrate later on her astral traveling, once they reached that fourth shelf about thirty feet below the cliff top.
“I don’t know, Chase. I’ve tried to talk to the thunder beings, begging them to leave, but they aren’t listening to me. It seems we have four or five storm cells around us, and they just keep circling.” The hail continued, slashing downward. Dana held up her hand to protect her eyes from the onslaught. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
With his face turned away from the raging wind, Chase whispered, “I think they’re pissed. But at us? With what we’re doing to get the Storm Pipe back? That doesn’t make sense. Were they ever like this when your mother worked with the pipe?”
Closing her eyes, Dana shook her head. “No. Oh, the thunder beings always showed up before Mom was going to use the pipe, but never like this. I don’t understand it, and they’re not talking to me.”
The hail stopped as suddenly as it had started. For a moment, the rumbling of thunder eased. Chase caressed Dana’s shoulder. She was soaked to the skin. “How are you doing? You’re shivering.”
“I’m cold, Chase. All our climbing, night and day, we did in good weather, not rain. I sure wish I had a fleece jacket to put on about now.” Dana gave a slight, strained laugh.
Chase kept rubbing his large hand up and down her arm to increase circulation, to warm her. “I know. Makes two of us. Damn, this weather is weird.” Chase glared up at the roiling heavens.
Dana felt like a sponge magically absorbing Chase’s warmth as he rubbed her arm. “Maybe something else is going on that we don’t know about. The thunder beings always mirror what we two-leggeds do. And it feels like they’re really upset. I don’t think at us, but maybe that Rogan is going to use the Storm Pipe very soon.”
“Could be,” Chase agreed. The rain began again, the wind pushing it horizontally. Turning, he tried to protect Dana from the pounding spray. He held her in his arms, hoping his body heat would warm her and his bulk shield her from the driving deluge.
Moaning softly, Dana took off her night goggles and held them as Chase pulled her into a tight embrace. Being able to nestle her head beneath his strong jaw, his body a wall protecting her from the worst of the rain, was wonderful. “Thank you. You’re the best fleece jacket a girl could have,” she whispered. When he laughed, Dana felt some of her stress and anxiety dissolve.
“Hell of a place to tell the woman I like that I care a lot for her. I have to get you up on the face of a cliff, on a tiny shelf, to let you know how I feel.”
His words warmed her even more than his body did. Chase’s courage fueled hers. Leaning upward, her mouth near his ear, she said, “I feel the same, Chase. Something happened when you kissed me last week. At first I was in shock, but later, your kiss somehow helped free me from the past. It let me know I had a present and a future for the first time since I lost Hal and my mother.” There, the truth was out. Dana held her breath after her confession. How would he react?
Closing his eyes, Chase hungrily absorbed her soft admission. “Listen, after this is all over, Dana, I want our relationship to change.
I don’t want to be your teacher or a hard-ass. I want to have the time, the right, to get to know you as the beautiful heart-centered woman you are.” Gulping as the rain sheeted down on them, Chase added, “More than anything, you’ve got to know you hold my heart in your hands, Dana.” It was as close as Chase could come to telling her he was falling helplessly in love with her. And he was sure the Native American expression would not be lost on her. She would understand exactly what he was saying to her.
The lightning flashed savagely above them, so close Chase swore he could smell the ozone released. Only this bolt struck inside the compound above them. Wincing, he felt the shuddering vibration not only through the air around them, but through the cliff, as well. That was close! What the hell was going on up there?
All Chase knew was that Dana was in his arms, as he’d dreamed of so many times, clinging to him. Closing his eyes and resting his jaw on her wet hair, he prayed to the Great Spirit that both of them would survive this hellish night. He wanted a life with Dana. He wanted the time to explore her, get to know her in so many sweet and wonderful ways. As the thunder shook the mountainside, Dana clung to him. He clung to her. The world was turning inside out around them. Chase had no explanation for all this commotion. He knew two things: first, that they had to find the Storm Pipe and steal it back. Secondly, that he loved Dana.
Would the Great Spirit allow them to celebrate their love for one another? Would they be discovered and killed? Chase was uncertain. As the rain ran down his hair and face, he wanted more than anything else the chance to love Dana. And there was no guarantee he’d ever get it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
DAVID COLBY WANTED to scream. He had no control over the horrific events that were rapidly unfolding. Rogan Fast Horse had dragged Annie Ballard into the main lodge, where David was cuffed to one of the huge lodgepole pines. The woman, Blue Wolf, smiled as Rogan hauled the badly beaten psychic in and hurled her to her knees in front of the agent.
“Now,” Rogan snarled, holding the gun to Ballard’s skull, “you either tell me why you’re really here or I blow her head off. I’m giving you to the count of three. One…two…”
Colby croaked. His gaze was riveted on Annie’s swollen face and blackened eyes. “Don’t hurt her, for God’s sake! We came here because of her dream!”
“Liar,” Rogan snarled, his finger squeezing the trigger.
With that one movement, Colby’s world upended. His shriek of helplessness coincided with the gun going off. In shock, he watched Annie’s lifeless body drop in front of him, blood and brain matter splattering everywhere. Breathing chaotically, he cried, “You didn’t have to do that. Annie’s innocent. She had a dream. Just a damn dream, you son of a bitch!”
Blue Wolf rushed him, drawing back her fist, encased in brass knuckles. He was in such deep shock over Annie’s murder, that he didn’t brace for what was coming. Seconds later, his head exploded with pain.
Simultaneously, a bolt of lightning struck just outside the lodge, illuminating the room with ten million watts of light. His vision graying, Colby fell to the side, his arms taking all his weight because he was cuffed around the pole. The last thing he felt was the lodge shaking with thunder.
Wincing, Rogan held up his hand against his eyes as another bolt of lightning struck. Blue Wolf cried out and sank to her knees. The lodge trembled violently. Breathing hard, blinded by the light, Rogan stumbled, tripping over Ballard’s lifeless body. The revolver flew out of his hand as he braced himself for the fall, hitting the cedar floor with a thud and rolling to absorb the blow. Long moments later, Rogan got to his hands and knees. Rain was coming down in a deluge the likes of which he’d never seen. The cedar shakes were banging as if a million hammers were pounding it.
Cursing, Rogan struggled to his feet, dazed. What the hell had just happened? His gaze cut to Blue Wolf, who looked stunned and frightened.
“What’s going on?” he screamed above the unending noise. Moving swiftly, he recovered his pistol and thrust it into the holster at his side. He barely gave Ballard a glance, instead training his gaze on his partner. “Dammit, Blue Wolf, snap out of it! What the hell is happening? Why are the thunder beings hurling bolts at us?”
The wind rose, shrieking like a banshee. The cedar lodge quaked and rocked. The rain pounded down from the heavens.
Blue Wolf scrambled to her feet, terror sizzling through her. “Rogan, you shouldn’t have killed her. I thought you were just threatening her, dammit.” Jabbing her finger toward one of the large, square windows, the medicine woman screamed, “They’re pissed off at you, Rogan! The thunder beings don’t like what you just did! Now we’re really gonna pay for your stupid move!” She scurried to the door and yanked it open.
“Hey!” Rogan yelled. “Stop! Where are you going?”
Jerking around, she shouted, “As far away from you as I can get! I’m telling the women to go to the dorms, and we’re waiting this out. You stay the hell away from us until this weather blows over.”
“Go to hell!” Rogan shouted back, shaking his fist at her. How he wanted to pull his pistol out and shoot her in the head. But he couldn’t do that. He needed Blue Wolf to work with the Storm Pipe tomorrow.
He watched the woman run out the door, leaving him alone. Breathing harshly, his chest rising and falling, Rogan looked around. He was frightened that a bolt of lightning might rip into the lodge and snuff out his life. How the hell could he know the thunder beings would be pissed off at him for shooting Ballard in the head? She was only a white woman! Didn’t the sky spirits know that? Wiping his mouth with his trembling hand, he felt perspiration dotting his brow. His hand was bloodied with bits of Ballard’s brains. He decided to go wash up. This storm would blow over soon.
Turning jerkily, Rogan stalked across the lodge to the bathroom at the other end. By the time he washed up, the FBI agent would have regained consciousness. And Rogan would interrogate him personally. If the bastard wouldn’t talk, he was going to meet the same fate Ballard had. Then Rogan would have his women go dig two graves high up in the Sierras, a long way from Eagle’s Nest, and bury them. Where no one would ever find them.
THE STORMS NEVER STOPPED. Dana continued to climb in the blinding rain, the night-vision goggles protecting her eyes. Despite the cold, whipping wind, the nonstop deluge, she felt warmer. Hope spiraled giddily in her heart. Chase’s words had warmed her spirit and energized her physical body. She was no longer shivering. Whatever magic had occurred on that ledge was like a healing balm to her wounded soul and heart. Chase wanted a relationship with her.
With each step upward through the flashing lightning and rumbling thunder, Dana felt safe and hopeful. Hope was a protection all on its own. So many good things had happened despite the fury of the thunder beings.
Dana had never seen such a storm, but she knew they were wanting her to steal the Storm Pipe back. Return it to the Blue Heron Society, where it rightfully belonged. She felt this was the spirits’ way of protecting them. In such a storm there would surely be no sentries out on guard duty, Dana thought optimistically.
Water ran in rivulets down her face. Her thin leather gloves were soaked and her fingers began to go numb. That wasn’t good, because she couldn’t feel the handholds on the sharp basalt. Dana was afraid of falling. Oh, it was true her nylon harness and rope were hitched to Chase, but if she fell it was doubtful he could hold both of them on the side of this cliff.
When would it end? They were headed for the last ledge, about thirty feet below Rogan’s compound. Dana felt fairly confident no one would be out in weather like this.
Once Chase reached the last stone shelf, which jutted out in a point, almost like an arrowhead, he hauled Dana up and into his arms. He heard her soft laugh of relief as he held her.
Chase gave her a swift hug and reluctantly released her, so she could sit beside him. It was 4:00 a.m. With the angry thunderheads rumbling around them, dawn would come late, and Chase was glad. They needed the cover of darkness. After
taking up the ropes, keeping them neatly coiled, he pushed the goggles off his face. He wiped his eyes and turned toward Dana, who was doing the same.
“Catch your breath, woman of mine. You’re going to have to get quiet, go inward and travel astrally now.” Fumbling, he found her hand and squeezed it gently. When Dana returned the squeeze, Chase’s heart opened with such joy that all the pain from the brutal, demanding climb momentarily left his limbs.
He hadn’t meant to say “woman of mine.” The words had slipped out before he realized it. But if Dana minded the endearment, she didn’t say so. Instead, Chase saw the white flash of her teeth in the darkness. Her smile was an unexpected gift to Chase as he sat on the cold, slippery ledge, huddled next to her.
“Okay, Chase, let me get centered.” Dana handed him the rest of her nylon rope. Water was running down the cliff face in small cataracts. The rain had slackened, thank goodness, and suddenly even the winds hushed.
As she closed her eyes, her heart pounding and her body trembling from exertion, she felt Chase’s hand again wrap around hers. The connection made Dana feel loved in a night fraught with danger. Chase knew enough not to speak. To try and astral travel with thunder and lightning dancing around them was worrisome enough. Another human voice, a jarring touch or an unexpected sound could snap her out of her focused state. If that happened, her astral body would come slamming back into her physical form, shocking and stunning her for an hour or more. It could leave her partially paralyzed, feeling nauseated or dizzy. No, it wasn’t a pleasant experience to have one’s astral form snap like a rubber band back into one’s body.
Inhaling through her nose, Dana took the first of three breaths, drawing air deep into her abdomen. As she slowly released the inhalation, her breath became her focus. She performed the breathing technique and simultaneously visualized silver tree roots gently twining around her ankles, the tips of each going down through her feet and then diving deeply into the soil of Mother Earth. This was to keep her grounded, a necessary precaution to anyone attempting astral travel. Whatever Dana viewed with her astral eyes had to be sent back to her physical body and brain, to be noted and remembered. She’d spent ten years practicing this technique, with her mother’s instruction and support. Now it was all going to pay off, Dana hoped.
Heart of the Storm Page 18
