Honor stared into his eyes, into the flames, and saw herself there, waiting, hoping, fearful, a leaf about to be torn from the tree. The suffering in her own gaze mesmerized her. It spoke to her heart. “It’s myself I must forgive?” she asked after a moment.
“Yes, leaf, forgive yourself, for everything. That is the only way you will ever be free to go where the wind takes you. That is how you become the wind.”
Eleven
JOHNNY STOOD IN THE open doorway of the small roadside tavern, leaning against the doorframe and looking out at nothing in particular, a longneck bottle of beer in his hand. Flashes of light from down the road and the thunder of an approaching motorcycle told him that his already lousy evening had just taken a turn for the worst. Trouble was headed his way.
The Harley Low Rider that roared up to the tavern entrance and stopped inches from Johnny’s feet was one of the toughest, sexiest machines he’d ever seen. The bike had more custom chrome and iron than a Grand Prix Ferrari race car. Johnny couldn’t help but appreciate the cycle. Its rider was another matter. He wanted no part of Geoff Dias at the moment.
Geoff rolled the bike back from the entrance, hit the kickstand, and swung off. “Hardly recognized you with your clothes on,” he said, tossing off the wisecrack as he brushed past Johnny and entered the tavern.
A moment later he came back through the doorway with a can of beer and an inquisitive expression that was trying to pretend it wasn’t a smart-ass grin. Settling himself opposite Johnny, he leaned against the tavern’s log-cabin exterior and propped a booted foot on the wall behind him. “You okay?” he asked, taking a deep swig from the can.
“I didn’t know you cared,” Johnny said dryly. “I feel as though I’ve been hung head down over a slow fire and roasted for days on end. Other than that, I’m great.”
Geoff gave out a low whistle of sympathy. “How’d you get yourself into this mess?”
“I think you got a pretty good look at the reason, you slimy bastard—Honor Bartholomew, star of my teenage fantasies and bane of my entire existence. That’s how I got into this mess.”
“Does the bane of your existence know you’re nuts about her?”
Johnny drained the bottle. “She knows I’m nuts.”
Geoff’s handsome features were uncharacteristically serious as he rested the back of his head against the log cabin, then glanced around at Johnny. “Why do you want to hurt her, man? What’s that going to prove?”
Johnny stared at the empty beer bottle, wishing he could smash it against something just for the pleasure of seeing it explode. “I don’t want to hurt her. Not anymore. I want it over, that’s all. I just want it over.”
“You may be about to get your wish.”
“Get my wish? Why?” Johnny pushed away from the door and scrutinized his ex-partner as if Geoff had announced that Honor were terminally ill and about to depart the planet. “Did she say something? Is she leaving? Where is she?”
“You’re really pathetic, man,” Geoff said, his voice husky with pained male laughter. “You’ve got it bad.”
Johnny tapped the empty bottle against the palm of his hand, fighting off the desire to use Geoff’s skull for target practice. The crazy Indian’s got it bad, he thought. Might as well hire a skywriter instead of trying to keep that fact under wraps. “I need a drink,” he said, turning to go into the bar.
“You don’t need a drink,” Geoff said forcefully. He pushed off the wall and confronted Johnny, apparently prepared to knock heads if that’s what it took. “You need to grow up, buddy. You saved my butt when those rebels ambushed me in Peru, and I never thought I’d hear myself calling you a coward. But I’m awful close to it now. If you love her, Starhawk, if you want the woman, then stop jacking around and do something about it.”
Johnny stared at his friend incredulously. “You just made a couple of big mistakes, Dias,” he said softly. “The first one is getting in my face. You oughta know better than that. The second is being right. I hate it when you’re right.”
Johnny spotted her the moment he came out of the Sunrise Motel the next morning. Honor was leaning against his Jeep Cherokee, looking squarely at him, her arms folded casually, her hair bleached to white in the dazzling sunlight. At first glance she looked like one of those visions that came to a man in his hour of need, an angel of mercy or a genie materializing out of a bottle.
At second glance she looked like a woman who had something serious in mind. The blue blazer, skirt, and blouse she wore were all business, and the set of her lovely jaw bespoke determination.
Johnny dug his car keys from the pocket of his suit jacket. “I’ve got business,” he said by way of explanation. It was true, but it was also a convenient way to postpone whatever kind of confrontation she had on her mind.
“I know,” she said, remaining where she was, blocking the driver’s side of the car.
“My business is with your father.”
“You have an appointment?”
“Not exactly. His secretary referred me to his attorneys, but that’s never stopped me before. I’m pretty good at crashing gates.”
“That’s why I’m here,” she informed him. “I’m going with you. At least my being there will ensure that he sees you.”
“Honor, you don’t have to—”
She cut him off with a toss of her head. “I’m not doing it for you, Starhawk, and I don’t need your permission one way or the other, is that clear?”
“Abundantly,” he said softly as he stared at her sparkling eyes and expressive mouth. “Starhawk? You’ve never called me that before.”
“Be glad I did,” she said. “The other names I had in mind aren’t nearly as polite.”
Against his better judgment, Johnny realized he was fascinated. He’d always thought her fair complexion and her genteel shyness were what gave her her unique quality of beauty, but she seemed to be operating from a completely different energy source now. She was lighting up the motel’s dingy parking lot with her heat and flash.
Once, caught in the throes of his own insanity and frustration, he’d heard a word shaking on his lips when he’d been about to kiss her. He’d called her a bitch, but his fury had been mixed with awe even then. She gave new meaning to that pejorative term now. She was fabulous.
“Let’s get going,” he said. “I’m driving.”
Triumph shimmered in her smile. “If you insist.”
The trip to Phoenix, where Hale Bartholomew’s corporate offices were located, was made in deafening silence, interrupted by occasional uneasy attempts at conversation on Johnny’s part. He’d never been more aware of Honor’s presence than in the enforced confinement of the rented Jeep. He was aware of her hips as she moved in the bucket seat, of her hands clasped in her lap, and especially of her legs rustling around in the skirt she wore. What was it about a short skirt and silk stockings that made a woman’s legs look sleek and never-ending? His thoughts veered irresistibly to the night he’d opened those sleek legs.
A blaring car horn brought him out of his fantasy, but not quickly enough to stop the surge of energy in his loins. “Sorry,” he muttered, bringing the Jeep back into the lane he’d veered out of.
“Is there a problem?” Honor asked, surprised at the heated glance he gave her. She was equally aware of their tight quarters and of Johnny’s presence. Though his hair was tied back in a ponytail, it did little to subdue the animal magnetism he exuded, and neither did the business suit he wore. It astonished her that a pair of men’s linen slacks could be so blatantly sexy. And it annoyed her that she couldn’t keep her eyes off his hand as he worked the car’s stick shift!
“Hell, yes, there’s a problem,” he said huskily, gearing down as a car pulled in front of them. “Isn’t there always?”
Honor swayed toward him, her leg colliding with the very hand she’d been watching. The friction of silk sliding along bare skin created sparks of static that traveled up her thigh like an electrical charge. She jerked back and ret
urned his heated glance, determined not to respond to him. But her mind had other ideas. It flashed X-rated images of a man sliding his hand up a woman’s skirt, of steamy sex in parked cars.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, his smile darkly ironic as he echoed her words.
As they approached the outskirts of Phoenix, Honor forced her thoughts to the ordeal that lay ahead of them, the confrontation with her father. She’d sent Christmas and birthday cards, but other than that she’d had no contact with Hale Bartholomew in over a decade, and she was terribly nervous. He was a powerful man. He was intelligent, articulate, ruthless—all those qualities she’d seen in Johnny the first time she’d watched him argue a case. But her father had the hometown advantage of having friends in high places. He also believed passionately in his principles, however misguided others might think they were. She wasn’t sure even Johnny could win against such a man.
“What’s your plan for dealing with my father?” she asked as they pulled into the parking lot of the Bartholomew Building.
“I’m going to play it by ear, look for his weakest link. The public-exposure angle could work.”
“That was my idea,” she said, surprised.
He acknowledged her with a faint smile. “Yes, I know.”
Moments later, having maneuvered their way past the ground-floor security, Honor and Johnny stepped off the executive elevator and faced their second hurdle, the receptionist.
“She couldn’t be any worse than your receptionist,” Honor told Johnny under her breath as they approached the woman’s desk. “Hello, I’m Honor Bartholomew,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “Mr. Bartholomew’s daughter.”
The young woman looked startled. “His daughter? Do you have an appointment?”
Honor ignored the question. “Is he alone?” she asked, glancing at the vaultlike double doors.
The receptionist rose protectively. “Yes, but he’s busy. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Not necessary,” Honor said breezily, waving Johnny along with her. “We want to surprise him.”
The double doors led to a hallway of executive offices. Carried along by her own boldness and ignoring the receptionist’s calls to stop, Honor moved swiftly toward her father’s suite at the end of the hall. Fortunately she remembered the way.
Hale Bartholomew hung up the telephone as she and Johnny entered. “Honor?” he said, rising. “What are you doing here?”
Honor hadn’t realized how hard her heart was thumping until she stopped and caught her breath. All the starch and stiffness seemed to drain out of her as she came face-to-face with her tall, distinguished father. He looked even more aged and gaunt than he had on television. “Can we talk to you, Father?” she asked.
“What is it?” he demanded, obviously surprised and reluctant. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I thought you might refuse to see us.” Honor searched the lines and furrows of her father’s craggy face for any indication of his feelings. She knew he’d turned things around in his mind when she left. He’d made her the guilty party, the thankless child abandoning a well-meaning parent. Her father had always been a master at revising life to suit his purposes, and yet she wanted to believe her leaving had affected him in some way.
She felt her resolve collapsing under his silent scrutiny. After so many years of trying to win his love and approval, she would have thought herself immune, but clearly she wasn’t. She searched his slate-gray eyes for any signs of acceptance. Was he at all glad to see her?
“Who’s this with you?” he asked, turning his attention to Johnny.
“You remember Johnny Starhawk,” Honor said tentatively.
Her father’s face went slack with surprise, but Johnny nodded to the older man as if he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t seem the slightest bit ruffled by her formidable father. On the contrary, he looked as though he might even be relishing the oncoming battle.
“Johnny’s going to be representing the Apache teenager who’s been charged with sabotaging the mine,” Honor explained.
Hale’s eyes glittered with anger. “Honor, this is outrageous! I’m not going to jeopardize the state’s case by talking to the boy’s attorney, I don’t care who he is!”
He turned his wrath on Johnny next. “I think you’d better get out of here, young man. Immediately!”
“Father—”
“It’s all right. Honor,” Johnny said. “I’ve grown up a little since the last time your father kicked my butt out of town. He’s not going to do it again.” He turned to her father. “If you don’t want to hear what I’ve got to say, Mr. Bartholomew, there are plenty of people who do, including the media.”
“Are you threatening me?” Hale blustered.
“Don’t think of it as a threat,” Johnny said calmly. “Think of it as an ironclad contract. I’ve got all the evidence I need to close your operation down indefinitely—fraudulent chemical analyses, falsified reports, numbers doctored to meet government standards.” He drew the photocopied reports from his briefcase and handed them to Hale.
Honor watched with alarm as her father read the reports. His face was blotched with angry color, and when he glanced up, his voice was raspy. “Where did you get these?” he demanded to know. “From someone on my office staff?”
Johnny closed his briefcase quietly. “I don’t reveal my sources. But if I were you, I’d think twice about letting this fight go public.”
“I didn’t falsify those reports,” Bartholomew said harshly. “And I don’t know who did.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” Johnny cut back. “We know how that works, don’t we? You guys at the top never get your hands dirty. You have some minion to take care of the problem, and you let him know you don’t care how he gets it done. Right?”
As if declaring war, the older man crushed the reports in his hand and threw them in his wastebasket. “Don’t underestimate me, young man,” he warned. “That would be a serious mistake.”
Johnny lifted his head, his eyes catching the glare from the window. “The mistake has already been made, Mr. Bartholomew, and it’s going to cost you dearly. The toxins seeping from your holding pool are poisoning the reservation’s pasturelands. The tribe’s livelihood is being destroyed, and it’s just a matter of time before human health is affected, if it hasn’t been already. The personal damage suits alone will bankrupt you.”
“It would take an act of God to bankrupt me, Starhawk.”
“Maybe that can be arranged.”
The two men locked eyes for a moment, and Johnny knew he was dealing with a worthy adversary. Hale Bartholomew might be past his physical prime, but he was as mentally sharp and cunning as ever. The man was a gut-fighter.
“There’s more than just the dollar cost,” Johnny said. “The tribe will be perceived as victims, and the media blitz will turn public opinion in their favor. Activists from all over the country will haunt you, Mr. Bartholomew. They’ll picket your home and all your other business interests, not just the mine. They’ll turn your life into one long protest rally from hell.”
“Are you done?” Bartholomew asked.
“No,” Johnny said, “I’m just getting started. If you don’t clean up your act where the mine’s concerned, compensate the tribe for their losses, and arrange to have the charges dismissed against the boy, I’m going to have plenty more to say, in court.”
The older man hit an ornate brass humidor on his desk, banging the lid with a loud crack. “My daughter should have warned you that I don’t respond well to intimidation tactics, Mr. Starhawk. If you think you can beat me in court, then why are you here now? Tipping your hand, I might add.”
“I’m here to save us all some grief, Mr. Bartholomew. A court fight will be time-consuming and costly.”
“I have plenty of time and money,” the older man snapped. “Do your clients?”
Honor stepped forward, appalled at what was happening. They were going at each other verbally like two pit bulls.
“Father, for heaven’s sake, accept his terms,” she urged. “I’ve seen the reports. Whether or not you had anything to do with them, your company did, and you’re responsible. The mine is polluting reservation land. Why can’t you just admit it?”
She drew in a breath as she met his stony gaze, and her voice began to tremble. “Why can’t you do the right thing for once?”
He leaned forward on his desk, his arms unsteady. “You walked out of my life a long time ago, Honor. That act stripped you of any right to preach to me about ethics. I won’t have you marching into my office haranguing me about my responsibilities, do you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you.” Honor felt a surge of hurt and fury. How many times had she answered him with exactly those words? How many times had she swallowed whatever she’d needed to say because he wouldn’t allow her to speak?
Johnny touched her arm, but she waved him off.
“Yes, I did hear you,” she repeated with quiet force as she approached her father’s desk. “Now you hear me, dammit. If you don’t accept Johnny’s terms, and this case goes to court, I will be up there on the stand, testifying against you.”
“Honor, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t—”
“Yes!” she said, “I can, and I will.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing!”
“I know how you make deals. Father. Did you forget that I was there when you invited the judge to dinner after Johnny’d been sent away? I heard the two of you congratulating each other on your cleverness at having Johnny’s sentence dismissed on the condition that he leave town. The judge received an important appointment that same year, didn’t he?”
Her father stared at her in shock, the color slowly draining from his face. He slumped into his chair, and for a moment Honor was frightened for his health.
“How could you do this?” he asked her, indicating Johnny. “How could you align yourself with him?”
Honor heard the prejudice in his tone, but instead of anger, she felt pity. Her father’s world was so narrow. Her twin brother was the only one who had ever been able to please him, and that was because he’d made Hale, Jr., into a replica of himself. Perhaps she was fortunate to have escaped her father’s love.
Night of the Panther Page 16
