by Lyn Stone
“There is that, but if she had no one else but me, I wouldn’t hesitate. Family is way ahead of everything else in my book.”
He nodded and stood up, going to the back window to look out into the gathering darkness. “After meeting your grandparents and Delinda, I can see why you feel that way. Though my father and I were never very close, I can remember just enough of my early years with my mother and her people to know how comfortable I was with them, how accepted and loved.”
Vanessa felt his pain. It was almost tangible. “Can’t you recall any details of your life then?”
He shrugged again, propped his hands on his hips and turned. “I remember a goat and how the damn thing terrified me. And there was a small drum I practiced on because I wanted to drum at ceremonies. You wouldn’t believe how many recordings I’ve listened to since, trying to recognize something familiar.”
“Do you remember any of your people besides your mother?” Vanessa asked.
Clay shrugged and smiled. “I can’t say that I really remember her. I have the impression that she was beautiful, but I guess all little boys believe their mothers are that, don’t they?”
“You lived with her and her family?”
“For a while. I don’t know how long. There was a man there. He seemed very old. I called him grandfather, but I don’t know if he was. And a woman, but I don’t recall her voice or how she looked or what I called her.”
“Their clothes,” Vanessa suggested. “What did they wear?”
“Regular clothes, I guess, or they would stand out in my mind. No feathers or beads,” he said with a touch of impatience. “I’ve been over and over it and there’s nothing to indicate who they were or where they lived. I was only seven. They might have been an hour or a continent away from where my father lived.”
“And he lived in Virginia?”
“Boston. That’s where I grew up. When he came to get me, we flew there. I do remember that I wasn’t afraid. I already knew him, I think, and when we arrived, the house was not unfamiliar.” He squinted at her. “Why all the questions?”
She stirred uncomfortably in her chair. “I don’t know. It’s just interesting that your past, up to the age of seven, is nothing but a blur. I remember tons of things that happened to me before I was that age.”
He held up a finger. “Ah, but I’ll bet many of those stories were reinforced by family anecdotes told again and again, right?”
She thought about it, then nodded in agreement. “Did the old grandfather teach you things?”
“Not to climb on the cliffs,” he said without thinking. Then his gaze snapped to hers. “God, that’s the first time I’ve thought of that. He warned me.”
“Cliffs?” she asked, looking as excited as he felt about the new information. “There’s a clue!”
Clay shook his head. “I don’t know. What popped into my mind just then was more a visual memory than auditory. He pointed at these rock outcroppings and looked stern. His words escape me, but his meaning doesn’t. It is a clue, isn’t it? You are one shrewd interrogator.”
“That’s me!” she said, beaming.
“At the rate you’re going, I’ll have total recall next time I set out to find myself.” His laugh bordered on bitter and he wished he could call it back. She was only trying to help.
But Clay had spent more time and money than he wanted to admit, trying to fill in his past, with no results. His father had made quite an effort to erase those seven years and all the records that had existed regarding the marriage and Clay’s birth.
If he didn’t have the Senate eyes just like his dad’s and a build that was nearly identical, Clay would have sworn he’d been adopted. But Clayton Senate. Sr. would never have picked him if he’d had a choice and Clay knew it. The one thing his father had tried so hard to deny for almost thirty years always was and continued to be the most apparent. Clay looked Native American.
The sad thing was, if he had looked any different, he knew his father might well have been successful. The fact that his looks set him apart had made Clay what he was. Independent, introspective and sometimes irascible. For the most part, he liked himself and who he had become. At other times, he yearned to know the rest of himself.
He looked at Vanessa now, so secure in her skin, so confident and self-assured. Is that why he wanted her so?
Vanessa continued setting the table, sensing that if she stopped and paid too close attention, he would close up and slop sharing anything of his past. “What was her name? Your mother?” she asked conversationally.
“Margaret. That’s all I know about her and only that because I heard my father curse her once when he didn’t know I was listening.” He sighed. “Her name was Margaret.”
“When did she die?” Vanessa asked.
“The year I turned seven. It was sudden. One day she was there and the next she wasn’t. I don’t think it was an illness that took her.”
“An accident? Surely they would have talked about that, don’t you think?”
“They never speak of the dead,” he muttered. Then he turned, his eyes wide. “I just remembered that.”
“Another clue,” she said, smiling. “But not much of one, I’m afraid. Many tribes avoid speaking of the deceased by name. How much digging have you done into your past, Clay?”
He came back to the counter and sat down, propping his chin on one hand. “A lot. Do you know how many Indian women there are on the rolls named Margaret?”
“Quite a few, I’d guess. Well, at least you know that she loved you. That’s very important, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, very,” he agreed. “It’s what has saved me when I felt lost in the white world. I know that somewhere, at one time, I was a part of a family who cared about me. I like to think they’re still there somewhere.”
Vanessa laid her hand over his. “You made a place for yourself, though, didn’t you? Your friends in McLean accept you. And I’ll bet you made peace with your father before he died, right?”
He shrugged. “More or less. We had great differences I don’t believe we’d ever have ironed out, but we didn’t hate one another. The Sextant agents are the closest thing to family that I have now. They tolerate me pretty well,” he said, grinning, turning his hand over to clasp hers.
“Good for you,” Vanessa said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ll go and see if the others are finished packing and ready to come and eat. You get to put ice in the glasses for tea while I’m gone.”
He accepted the task and began as Vanessa hurried up the stairs. She needed to jot down a few notes on his background before she forgot any of the details.
“I have a job for you while you’re at my place,” she told her grandmother.
“Not organizing your closets, I hope.”
Vanessa laughed out loud. “I’d never saddle you with that. This is much more important and calls for your special skills.”
When they came to the table, Vanessa’s hopes were high that eventually they could give Clay a gift greater than one of her grandmother’s pretty baskets.
Dilly commandeered the conversation at dinner. Her excitement about the coming trip to Asheville had eclipsed her former curiosity about the day’s events and the warthog. She dimpled every time she looked at Clay. “You’re a good horsey player,” she told him while busy licking the mayo around the edge of her sandwich. “Your shoulders are way high up.”
“Everyone’s always asking how the weather is up there,” he commented. “Glad to give you a ride any old time.”
“Now?” Dilly asked, already wriggling to get down from her youth chair.
“No, no, not now!” he said, laughing. “Later, after we eat. Horses need hay and I’m starved, aren’t you?”
She giggled and reached across to smack his hand playfully. “You don’t eat hay, Uncle Clay! You silly boy.”
Vanessa noted the way Clay’s eyes softened at being called uncle. It was something Dilly did naturally, drawing everyone into her
little family circle. If he knew how many uncles the child had claimed since she’d learned the word, he probably wouldn’t be quite so thrilled.
“You don’t know what you’ve started now,” Vanessa warned him. “You’ll be galloping around all evening. Better you than me, though,” she added with a grin. “Dilly’s putting on weight from all those cookies!” She gave the little girl an affectionate poke on the tummy. “Will you be good when you go to stay at my place? Stay out of my makeup?”
Dilly hung her head, looking up guiltily from beneath her long lashes. “I’ll try.”
“Just stay out of the nail polish and you can have my pink lip gloss, okay?” Vanessa told her.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dilly agreed.
Vanessa tried to keep the conversation light for Dilly’s sake. She knew her grandparents were extremely worried about James’s return to Cherokee and especially the fact that he had shown up today looking for his daughter. They should be safe in Asheville. Reprisals from perps that agents apprehended were always a risk, so the locations of apartments were a well-kept secret. No one gave out her address. Only the family and her fellow agents knew where she lived.
Unless James followed them there, he would not be able to find them. She meant to insure that they weren’t followed. Then, once the family was away and safe, she and Clay would continue their search for James in earnest.
She wanted him found and incarcerated before they returned here.
The evening passed with happy laughter from Dilly and the others. Vanessa enjoyed every minute and felt especially warmed by Clay’s participation. The man was obviously hungry for interaction with others, but he had to be pushed a little even so. What sort of life had he led that made him feel so isolated?
Vanessa couldn’t imagine. She had lived among her people all her life and by the time she’d left, had a solid sense of self and her place in the world. Clay had clearly missed that. Maybe that was why she felt so inclined to wrap him in her family. Or maybe there was another, deeper reason she wasn’t ready to admit.
Dilly wasn’t the only one determined to find homes for her strays. The kittens were almost all spoken for already, thanks to her persistence. Even now, she was working on the last one, trying to persuade Clay to take it.
They sat on the floor by the fire, coloring in Dilly’s Cinderella coloring book. “Give me the purple,” Dilly ordered. “Why don’t you want Snazzy? She’s the prettiest one. Won’t your mama let you have a kitten?”
Clay shook his head and picked up another crayon. “My mother’s gone to heaven.”
“Mine, too,” Dilly said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Maybe they’re together. Is your daddy there, too?”
He hesitated only a few seconds. “I expect so. Swap me the purple so I can do this robe. Do you have all your things ready to go in the morning?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.
Dilly nodded. “Are you coming, too, Uncle Clay?”
He stopped coloring and smiled. “No, not this time, but I’ll be here when you get back. We’ll have another ride around the yard, okay?”
“Better get to bed now, sweetie,” her grandfather said. “We need to get an early start.” He got up from his rocker and held out his hand to Dilly. “I’ll tell you one quick story.”
Dilly jumped to her feet and flung herself at Clay, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Night, Uncle Clay. Sweet dreams!”
“Thanks,” he replied, his voice gruff. “Same to you. See you in the morning.” His eyes followed Dilly up the stairs, then settled on Vanessa. “She’s an amazing child. Just brilliant.”
Vanessa had to laugh. “She’s an average, rambunctious four-year-old who has wrapped you around her little finger, that’s what she is.”
He grinned. “You’re jealous! Just because I’m in love with Dilly, you’re green with envy,” he teased.
Vanessa smiled back at him, happy to see him so happy. “Sucker,” she said. “Next thing you know, she’ll have that kitten in your suitcase with holes poked in it for air. You will have a cat, Uncle Clay, whether you want one or not.”
“Well, I’ll be getting the prettiest one. Dilly said so.”
“So you will. Okay then,” she said, standing and stretching. “Want first watch or shall I?”
“I’ll take it,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Shall I wake you at two?”
Vanessa nodded. “Good night,” she said, unable to resist looking at his mouth, wishing she could just stand on tiptoe and kiss it.
“Sure is,” he replied, meeting her gaze with one of longing she recognized. “Sweet dreams,” he said, echoing Dilly’s wish for him.
Vanessa knew they would be sweet, probably X-rated, too. Whew! The man really stirred her up. She needed to watch lhat because she wasn’t altogether sure he was keeping his guard up the way he should.
Early the next morning, after seeing her grandparents nnd Dilly off to Asheville, Vanessa instigated the search for James. They covered quite a bit of ground, but found no sign of him.
She tried to keep her mind on driving. She’d had trouble with that all day long. Clay wearing jeans and boots, minus that outer layer of sophistication provided by a business suit, turned her on big time. The dark gray pullover he wore emphasized the steely color of his eyes and the pushed-up sleeves granted her the chance to admire those muscular forearms again. Wow. That was the only word for him.
He kept shooting her looks of approval, too. She had to admit that she’d spent very little time deciding what to wear. And her decision had been solely based on comfort and how appropriate the attire for possibly having to chase a suspect through the wilds. Clay obviously liked her favorite straight-leg jeans and the chocolate-brown V-neck sweater.
She glanced over, caught him studying her breasts, but pretended not to notice. She blew out a long-suffering sigh and determinedly focused on the road.
“We’ll find him,” Clay said, totally misinterpreting the reason for her mood.
“I know,” Van replied. “The question is, will we get him before he wreaks more havoc?”
Unfortunately, no one reported spotting Hightower or his truck. Vanessa worried he had changed vehicles, taken to the mountains on foot, or maybe even left the county to wait for the search to die down. The latter option would be most like him, she figured.
“We can’t keep up the intensity of the search effort for more than a few days,” she told Clay. “Regular police business is already taking precedence.”
“The casino bombing’s a couple of weeks old now and no one was hurt. I get the feeling some are thinking this was simply a prank to cause some property damage. When we checked in at one of the roadblocks, one of the guys admitted to me he thought the bomb could have been planted by a competitor out to eliminate the competition.”
“That’s just.. .stupid! People could have been killed in that blast, very nearly were! I know it was James.”
“He’s the most likely suspect, I agree. We should bring in more people. Use my resources to find him,” Clay suggested yet again.
She was already shaking her head. “No good. Those on duty now know all the side roads and the people who live in the isolated areas. Anyone up the mountains who had seen lames probably wouldn’t give that up to a stranger.”
After riding around and checking in with the various teams all day, she wasn’t entirely sure those on duty now were looking all that assiduously. But she knew she was right about bringing in strangers. The community was pretty tight and was set on solving its own problems. She was just worried that they might not be considering Hightower as a high-priority problem. Even if he had planted that bomb, no one had really suffered in the end. The place had been insured, no one had been killed and the casino was repaired now and back to business as usual.
The thing was, James could not have planned for it to work out that way. People could have died in that blast and had probably been meant to die. She had been lured there with an anonymous lie and caught up on the second fl
oor with several people she’d had to throw off the roof to save. And he wasn’t through yet. Catching him was certainly high on her list of priorities.
“Well, I guess we should call it a day,” she said, feeling dispirited. With the sun nearly down, the beauty of the fall colors was enough to take your breath away. Darkness would fall quickly. For now, there was nothing to do but get a good night’s rest and start fresh in the morning.
“I’m beat,” she said, “yet I feel like I haven’t really accomplished a thing today. Almost home,” she said with relief. “And I’m looking forward to a long soak in the hot tub.”
“Not exactly what I need,” Clay muttered.
She knew what he meant. Maybe she would opt for a cold shower, too. She admitted to herself that she was a little worried she might do or say something totally out of line to Clay unless she avoided him for the entire evening. He just looked too damn scrumptious. And if the way he had been looking at her was any indication, he was definitely more interested than he thought was prudent.
They’d just have to play it by ear and see what happened, she thought with an inner shrug. Maybe they should just go with the flow, but Vanessa knew that was just her hormones thinking. She wondered what his were recommending.
With the last turn up the mountain, her grandparents’ house came into view. Vanessa braked abruptly. Their car was gone from the driveway beside the house since she had sent them to Asheville. But in the place of the green Jeep her grandfather drove sat a black Chevy truck. And James Hightower was perched on their front porch as if he owned the place.
Vanessa grabbed her weapon. Clay was one step ahead, already out of the car and rushing the porch, pistol braced in a firing stance. “Get down!” he shouted.
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Chapter 6
James had missed seeing his daughter, but he hadn’t really expected to get that close. Later, after he had gotten rid of Vanessa and the rest of the Walkers, getting the kid would be a cakewalk. This attempt had been mostly to sucker Vanessa into crying wolf to the locals. The more she railed against him, the more they would believe she was out for vengeance.
