She was halfway up the slope and winding through the trees when Dana saw Chase running toward her. His face was set. Hard. She gasped and waved her hand. Heart pounding, she stumbled over to him.
“Rogan’s here!”
Chase gripped her by the shoulders and turned her so that his back was shielding her from below. “Are you all right?” Her eyes were dark with fear and shock.
“Y-yes, I’m okay. Chase, I lied and told Rogan the pipe was in the van. I—I think he’s still there looking for it.”
“Good,” Chase exclaimed. “You make your way down to Grandmother’s hogan the back way, through the trees. Get her and the pipe out of there in case something goes wrong.”
“What?” Dana gasped, her knees shaking.
“I’m going after Fast Horse.”
It was then that Dana saw Chase had out his Bowie knife. “He’s got a gun.”
“I heard him firing it. He followed our energy trail.”
Dana threw her arms around Chase, her head resting momentarily against his massive chest. “We screwed up, Chase. We got too confident and thought the FBI would find Fast Horse.”
Chase caressed her shoulders in an effort to steady her. Dana was shaking like a flower in a thunderstorm. “We overrated them,” he agreed grimly. “Listen, go get Grandmother. Put her and the pipe in her pickup, and drive as fast as you can to the trading post. When you get there, call the Navajo police on the phone outside. Get them out here, pronto.” Holding her away from him, Chase drilled her with a steely look. “Can you do that for me? For us, Dana? There’s not much time. Once Rogan figures out the pipe isn’t in the van, he’ll probably move into the winter hogan, thinking it’s there.”
Managing to straighten her spine, Dana whispered, “Y-yes. I’ll do that right now.” Gripping his arms, she begged, “Chase, be careful! He’s a killer….” A sob tore from her.
Noting the abject terror in her eyes, Chase caressed her cheek. “Be brave, my woman. I’ll finish this once and for all. Now, go on. Only one man is going to be alive when the Navajo police get here. I’ll come and find you when it’s all over.”
Dana swallowed a cry of fear. Chase spun away from her and quickly disappeared down the slope among the cedar and piñons. She didn’t have time to deal with her fear and grief. Every second counted. Turning, stumbling, she took off through the trees that would lead her directly down to Grandma Agnes’s hogan. Time. They didn’t have any.
ROGAN WAS FURIOUSLY tearing through the van in search of the Storm Pipe. Angry that he’d let Dana Thunder Eagle escape, he ripped through several stacks of clothing in a plastic green bag. They smelled. Obviously, their dirty clothes. “Shit!” he muttered, throwing them out the car door. And then he felt a warning….
Quickly exiting the vehicle, Rogan whirled around. Chase Iron Hand was standing twenty feet away. The warrior’s face was hard and without mercy; his cougar-colored eyes were narrowed—on him.
Rogan dusted off his hands and said in a condescending voice, “Well, well, the prodigal son finally shows up. I hear they booted your ass out of Delta Force, Iron Hand.” His pistol was on the front seat of the car. Was it in his adversary’s line of sight? Because the door was wide open.
Nostrils flared with hatred, Chase hissed, “You slimy son of a bitch. I let you get away once when we had a fight and that competition. Now this is it, Fast Horse.” Chase jabbed his index finger toward Rogan. “You murdered two people to steal the Storm Pipe. You set things in motion no one in their right mind would have done. You’ve abused the privilege of a ceremonial pipe, murdered for it, and misused it for your own insane plans.”
Hearing the lethal note in Iron Hand’s snarl, Rogan backed up to the front door, his hands raised in apparent surrender. He wasn’t sure whether the ex-Delta Force officer had seen the pistol lying on the seat. Perhaps, from where he stood, the car door was slanted just enough to block his view. Rogan decided to play along and buy the time he needed to get to that gun. “That pipe is mine!”
“Like hell it is! It’s a woman’s ceremonial pipe, you dumb bastard.”
Chest heaving, Rogan clasped his hands behind him and lifted his chin imperiously. And yet fear wove through him as Iron Hand advanced, an ugly, long Bowie knife in his right fist, close to his side, ready to use. “I remember our last knife fight,” Rogan said in a conversational tone, smirking. “I cut you good. Twice.”
“Yeah,” Chase said in a guttural voice, watching Rogan back up to the passenger side of the car, “you did. But I cut you across the forehead. Look at your forehead, because the scar is still there to remind you of being a cheater, Fast Horse. Memories of me you can’t erase.” He grinned lethally at the medicine man.
Chase could feel Fast Horse was up to something. What? Dana said he had a pistol, but Chase didn’t see it on him. Or was it in the car?
“Step away from the vehicle,” Chase snarled. “Now.” He raised the knife in a threatening gesture. There was six feet between him and Rogan now. Chase wanted to murder the bastard, not take him alive. But he knew Dana would call the Navajo police, and he had to do the right thing. Besides, he wasn’t about to get strung up on murder charges over this worthless piece of garbage.
Rogan hesitated as he saw the fury darkening Iron Hand’s eyes. The man’s desire to kill was palpable. “You know, getting to use that pipe to kill the vice president gave me great pleasure. You should have been happy I made a strike against the white man, Iron Hand, for all Indians.”
Spitting to the left, Chase tensed. “I don’t share your hatred of whites, Fast Horse. And I sure as hell don’t want to kill them now for what their forebears did to us over a hundred years ago. You’re sick. You’re stupid. And you’re going to come away from that van and lie on the ground. I’ve got the Navajo police coming for your sorry ass. Move away from the car. Now!”
Cursing, Rogan took a risk. He turned and snatched the pistol off the passenger seat. As he whirled back around, he fumbled with the weapon. Rogan vaguely heard his enemy curse and then move like lightning toward him. Giving a startled cry, Rogan realized he wouldn’t have time to grab the pistol correctly, aim and shoot the bastard.
With the kickboxing skills he’d learned in Delta Force, Chase lashed out with his foot, aiming at Rogan’s hands. The instant his boot slammed into them, the medicine man was thrown into the side of the van. The pistol went flying over the hood and landed in the dirt with a puff of dust.
Rogan bounced off the paneling, but quickly recovered. He delivered a side kick, which struck the Bowie knife squarely. The tip barely scored the side of Fast Horse’s Apache boot. But it was enough! With satisfaction, Rogan saw the pain transfer to Chase’s face as the knife was knocked out of his hand.
Rogan grinned savagely and leaped away from the car. The knife landed a good ten feet behind Iron Hand. “Now we’re even,” he snarled. “And I’m going to take you apart, piece by piece, like I should have a long time ago.” He held up his hands and took a stance that signaled he was prepared to do battle.
Snorting, Chase didn’t even wait for the smirk on Rogan’s face to get settled into place. He wasn’t about to tell the overconfident medicine man he’d been kickboxing champion in intermilitary competition. Taking a quick hop, he shifted all his weight to his left leg, picked up and jerked his right knee back, then snapped his foot forward, aiming at Rogan’s chest.
Unprepared for the assault, Rogan went wide-eyed with surprise when Chase’s boot slammed hard into his sternum. With an oomph, he found himself sailing backward through the air, arms flailing like windmill paddles to keep from falling.
Chase didn’t wait for Rogan to get his wits about him. As his enemy hit the dirt, he made a grab for his long, unbound hair. In that split second, Rogan rolled to his knees, gripped a dead juniper and swung.
The side of Chase’s head exploded with light and pain. Grunting, he was thrown back, knocked semiconscious for a moment. He had to keep moving, so he twisted onto his belly. Through th
e dirt and dust rising around him, Chase saw the Bowie knife nearby. He breathed hard and ignored the pain to his hand. Fingers outstretched, he wrapped them around the leather handle of the nine-inch-long blade.
“No!” Rogan shrieked, leaping toward him, arms extended. He intended to knock Chase away from the knife. Instead, everything slowed down for the medicine man. The murderous look in Chase’s gold eyes made him scream with terror. The Bowie in his grip, Iron Hand thrust it upward just as Rogan was coming down upon him.
The blade ripped through the sorcerer as he fell.
The pain in Chase’s right hand forced him to release the blade; he couldn’t take Rogan’s full weight. He rolled to his side, dirt flying in the air. The medicine man gurgled as blood spewed out of him in geysers. Rogan’s eyes went wide with surprise, and then horror. Blood stained his shirt as he frantically tried to pull out the blade.
Chase knew his opponent would die. No one sustained a wound like that and survived. A sense of finality flowed through him as he knelt there, panting. He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his arm.
“You deserve this kind of painful death, Fast Horse,” he snarled, leaning toward him. “As you lie here bleeding out, think about how you murdered Dana’s mother and her husband. Think about how you made Dana’s life hell on earth. You took the two people she loved most in this world away from her.” Chase grinned with a hatred he could taste. “With every breath you take, you will pay one day for each of those fine people you murdered. I’m glad you’re going to die, Fast Horse. And I’m going to stand here and watch it happen.”
DANA SAT WITH Grandma Agnes on a wooden bench outside the Harley Trading Post. The elder had the pipe bag in her arms. Looking at her watch for the fiftieth time, Dana could barely sit still. An hour had passed. Was Chase dead or alive? Had Rogan killed the man she’d come to love? The man she’d never told of her love. Tears swam in Dana’s eyes and she fought them back. Hanging her head, she whispered, “Oh, I wish we’d known this was going to happen, Grandma.”
“Child, the Great Spirit never reveals our personal path to us. Many things are hidden.” Agnes patted Dana’s clenched hand. “Faith. We must have faith now.”
Wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist, Dana said tremulously, “Grandma, I’ve already lost my mother and husband to Rogan. I—I don’t know that I could lose Chase to him, too. It’s just too much. I ache inside. My heart hurts. I’m so scared.”
“I know you are, child. Just keep taking slow, deep breaths. Pray to the Great Spirit that Chase is not in harm’s way.”
Although Dana knew that the elder meant to soothe her, nothing could at this point. Her insides felt like Jell-O. The mere thought of losing Chase to that murderous Rogan Fast Horse caused a spasm of pain so sharp it left her breathless.
She’d just found Chase, just realized how much she loved him. And now he could be violently taken away from her. What kind of life did she have? Violence was repugnant to Dana, and yet it seemed to stalk her. She felt herself emotionally disintegrate beneath the weight of that realization. Would the Great Spirit never allow her to love again? To feel safe again? To have a life? A home? Oh, it was too much to think about.
Dana rubbed her face and tried to stop her tears. She didn’t have Grandma Agnes’s faith.
“Look…”
Dana’s head snapped up when she heard the elder’s voice. A white Navajo police cruiser was coming up the dirt road toward the trading post. Gulping back her tears, Dana stood. What had happened? It was impossible to see who was in the cruiser because it was a good mile away.
As the car pulled up and halted, Dana gasped. Her hand flew to her lips as she stood uncertainly on the wooden porch of the old trading post. There, in the front seat next to the deputy, was Chase. Relief was written across his bloody, bruised face.
“Chase!” Dana flew off the porch.
He exited the cruiser, his arms wide. “Dana!”
She leaped into his embrace, and instantly felt his strong arms wrap around her. “Oh, Chase! Chase! You’re alive! I love you! I love you so much!” Dana buried her face against his neck and clung to him.
Groaning, Chase spun her around. Her body felt so warm, strong and supple against his. Whispering her name, he rasped, “I’m okay. Rogan’s dead. It’s over, woman of mine, it’s finally over.”
Tears flowed from her eyes as she clung to him. Finally, he set her down, so she could plant her feet on the red earth of the reservation. After pressing kisses against the thick column of his neck, his unshaved cheek, she framed his face with her hands and gazed up at him. Through her tears, she saw his eyes smoldering with feelings.
“I love you, Dana. And I always will.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I NEED YOU, Chase.” Dana spoke the words in a hushed tone as he reentered the winter hogan. Two hours had passed since Rogan’s body had been removed by the medical examiner. Navajo law enforcement had come and gone. The FBI had been notified and they would be interviewed once they arrived, which would take hours. Grandma Agnes had been spared the gory details, and was safe in her hogan down below the canyon, the Storm Pipe in her possession.
Dana had remained with her grandmother to buffer her from the shock of Rogan showing up again unexpectedly. The sweat they’d planned for today would wait. Once assured that she was fine, Dana had trudged back up to the winter hogan, and was sitting at the table, her hand wrapped around her coffee mug.
Chase left the door open as he came in. The day was hot, the sun strong. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and searched Dana’s face.
“I need you, too, woman of mine.” He managed a tight smile, then poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down opposite her. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“Not well. Shaky. The past coming back to haunt me.” Dana bit her lower lip. “I’m in shock, Chase. The last thing I expected was for Rogan to show up here. I—I was so scared. I thought I’d end up like my mother, like Hal.” She closed her eyes and gripped the mug tightly.
Lifting his hand, Chase touched her arm, then began to stroke it. “Shh, it’s okay, Dana. Everything’s going to be okay now. I talked to the chief of police. He said that the FBI caught everyone in the compound except for Rogan.” Chase continued to soothe her and saw her mouth slowly relax. “Blue Wolf is dead. She chose to fight the FBI when the SWAT team entered the compound. The other women gave up and turned over their weapons. I guess Rogan left them earlier and headed up the mountain to hide. He stole a car and followed us.” Chase grimaced. “We were in flight mode and forgot to cover our energy trail. And he was a good enough sorcerer to pick up on that.”
Nodding, Dana relished the feel of Chase’s rough fingers caressing her skin. With every gentle caress, a little more of her fear and shock dissolved. Did he know the powerful effect he had on her? So much was going on that Dana couldn’t sort it all out. “We did do a stupid thing. We were sure the FBI would catch him. We shouldn’t have assumed.”
Chase agreed. He gently pried her hand off the mug. Sliding his fingers between hers, he asked, “What’s going on inside your head?”
“I still feel so afraid. I know it’s stupid, because you killed Rogan and he’s finally gone. Knowing Blue Wolf is dead doesn’t make me feel sad, but relieved. And here I am, believing in peace and goodwill between all beings. I’m sitting here happy that two humans are dead.”
“Listen, if they weren’t dead, we might be, instead. Including—” Chase lifted his head and looked to the south wall of the hogan “—Grandmother Agnes. I know this is hard on you, Dana. I know you believe in the goodness in everyone’s heart. That’s the way you’re made in this lifetime. But not all people are like that. It’s a slap in the face when you realize it. And a tough pill to swallow.” Chase squeezed her hand gently. She looked lost. Broken. His heart swelled with fierce love for her.
“You’re right,” she admitted hoarsely. “I don’t know how to make the two extremes come together in me.”
Shrugging, Dana said, “I don’t want to, but I know I have to try.”
“Everyone lives and dies down here,” Chase told her in a low tone. “The moment we’re born, we’re in a death spiral. It’s only a question of when and how we’ll die. Some people go in their sleep. Some have a violent end. Or some suffer a long, chronic illness and die an inch at a time. Maybe you have to reconcile that mystery within you, Dana. That doesn’t mean you like the thought of a violent death, but it does mean you consider it a choice by the person who’s picked that doorway out of this reality.”
Again, Chase was right. “You sound so like my mother.” Dana’s lips twitched as she held his warm, caring gaze.
“Medicine people are taught all of this at a very young age. The hard part is reconciling it within yourself when you see some tragic or horrible things happen to people around you.” Holding her hand firmly, Chase said, “So much is being asked of you right now, Dana. If you weren’t in line to carry the Storm Pipe, you probably wouldn’t have chosen such a rocky path in this lifetime. But you can’t carry a ceremonial pipe and not hold the tension of opposites within you.”
Chase grimaced. “There may come a time in the future when another person like Rogan will want to steal this pipe for his own means. To use it in a violent way again. You want to utilize it in a peaceful way—to bring rain to crops, to help and heal all our relations, so that they may not only survive, but thrive. Rogan wanted to use the pipe to kill. You see…” Chase shared a sad smile with Dana “…even a ceremonial pipe holds the possibility of peace or war within itself. It is the way the universe is made, duality and opposites, yin and yang. Only when a pipe carrier can hold these concepts within will the pipe and the individual be integrated as one.”
Heart of the Storm Page 24
