“How can I help?” Wind Dancer raised his chin in a take-charge gesture, his beautiful, chiseled face lit by her modern chandelier.
“I need to run some tests on you. Would that be okay?”
“Yes. Whatever you need.”
Jacque slapped him on the back. “You’re a good man, Joseph. Sorry about your friend. I really didn’t mean to hurt him.” His phone buzzed. Lifting it to his ear, he listened then shifted his eyes to Wind Dancer. “Impossible.”
Cleo felt herself go on alert as he shoved the phone inside his shirt pocket. “What is it?”
“Apparently, the Frenchman just walked out of the morgue.”
~~~~
Neosho didn’t like this land. The noise made his head hurt, and the smells confused him. Yet he understood from watching through the glass for so many years this land meant the future. Nothing harmed the white man, it seemed. They survived while his people lay dying of blisters on their skin or high fevers. Medicine of the white man would stop the sickness. He would take it to them and Cleopatra, too. When he told her how Wind Dancer caused his people to die, she would follow.
The strength in his body increased when he crossed over to this world, but he still got tired. Could the sickness be causing him to feel the weight of fatigue? He would find Cleopatra and force her to heal him so he could return to his time. Killing his enemy, Wind Dancer, might have to wait. But the Pawnee was sure to follow if he took his woman. This pleased Neosho as he rested his head against a headboard of a narrow bed.
A man with a Bible saw him wandering earlier and told him of a shelter for men. The man took a few steps away from him as if frightened at first. But, as he stroked his Bible, he appeared to become calm. Neosho let the skinny man show him the building then led him inside. After some words and writing on paper, the man directed him to a tiny space where he could sleep for a while. He had been roaming aimlessly since the night before when he crossed over. At least he didn’t have to worry about the Frenchman finding him. Neosho had watched as the man with the gun shot him. At first he thought he saw double. Did the Frenchman have a brother?
He wanted to think about this more, but his eyes became too heavy. Tomorrow, he would find the woman. He inhaled deeply, remembering how she smelled. Soft. Clean. Unlike this place. She wouldn’t be hard to find.
~~~~
“You’re joking. I checked him myself before they took him down.” Cleo folded her arms across her chest while shifting her weight to one hip in a show of defiance.
“There’s a guy with a knot on his head and an attendant who watched him stroll out all calm and collected, who will disagree with you.”
“They were high on something.”
“Maybe. But the officer who drove up as it all went down is a straight-up guy.”
Cleo unfolded her arms to steal a glance at Wind Dancer, who had begun flexing his hands. “Joseph, did you hear what Jacque said? Could your friend still be alive?”
“No. Look at this. I am very strong here.” He picked up the plastic two-liter bottle and squeezed it flat. He met her gaze and grinned ear to ear. “I am powerful.”
Jacque picked up the same bottle and folded it in half. “Dude, anyone can do that. Even the doc here, who probably couldn’t lift a ten-pound bag of potatoes.”
Wind Dancer frowned, and his eyebrows met over his nose in a confused state. “Hmm. I thought the same about you, Jacque. Yet, you fold this bottle like reeds of grass.” He picked up the bottle and examined it.
“Anyway. The Frenchman. You say he couldn’t be alive?” The detective snatched the plastic bottle from the Pawnee.
“No. He is a ghost now. Like a witch or skinwalker the Dine talk about.”
“Skinwalker? Dine?”
Cleo stepped to the detective’s side as Wind Dancer explored the condo. “The Dine is another name for the Navajo. Skinwalkers are like witches. They can make you do bad things or steal your soul and a number of other things not very pleasant. I’m guessing my dad told him all about the Navajo since his secondary focus after the Plains Indians included Southwest tribes. He worked with several universities.” The sound of a pop didn’t immediately distract her or the crumbling of an unknown substance. “If the Frenchman is alive, maybe he is going after Neosho on his own. If he is a skinwalker, then he will have a heightened sense of smell, sight, and strength. If we find him, then he may lead us to the Osage.”
Something hit the floor and they looked up. Wind Dancer stood crushing the black stones she’d collected at the beach. The size of softballs, she’d picked them up after seeing the same ones in a home interior store for a small fortune. Shipping them saved her a boatload of money. Wind Dancer picked one up then crushed it between his fingers before letting the pebbles pepper the floor. Both the detective and Cleo moved toward him, mouths parted in astonishment.
“Jacque, can you do this, too?” Wind Dancer possessed the curiosity of a child. “I could never do this on the other side. This must be why there are so many of you and you could not get sick from the smallpox. Your people are very strong.”
“Joseph, I can’t crush rocks. Something has happened to you to make you this strong.” He stared at the Pawnee with more than a little concern. A slight tremor made his voice stutter. “Let me say again, I’m really sorry I hurt your friend.”
“The Frenchman moves among us. He will find us then we hunt the Osage.”
“You knew he would return to life?” Cleo remembered the chanting and prayer-like words he’d spoken over the Frenchman as he faded toward death.
“Yes. Of course. I said the words to make it so. Only for a short time. Then he will leave.”
“Yeah? Where will he go?” The detective took the last black stone from the Pawnee’s hand and replaced it in the wicker bowl on the mantle. “Don’t be doing this kind of thing in public. It will freak people out.”
“Understood.” He stood taller as he rolled his shoulders. His eyes narrowed to slits, and his mouth thinned to a straight line.
“I should go, Cleo. I’ve lots to do before this all hits the fan.” Although he spoke to Cleo, the detective never took his eyes off the Pawnee. There appeared to be a new revelation in his voice, his eyes, and his stance. “I’m thinking if I take this guy in, locking him up won’t do much good. And I’m not real comfortable leaving him here.”
“I will protect Cleopatra. You don’t need to worry about her.”
Jacque shifted his eyes to evaluate Cleo who stood small and fragile all of a sudden. “Cleo?”
“He can stay here. It’s better we don’t lose track of him. What’s the problem?”
The detective took her elbow and led her to the kitchen in hopes the Pawnee wouldn’t hear. Although, with his heightened strength, it was a reasonable assumption his hearing had gone supersonic as well. “I don’t trust this guy. He’s a walking weapon. Who knows what will set him off if things get dicey.” He stole a curious glance over his shoulder at the Pawnee who folded his arms across his chest and watched them with the expression of a man who had eaten a green persimmon. “Besides, I don’t like the way he keeps watching you. Do you have a gun?”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous. He would never hurt me.”
“Cleo, a man like that doesn’t look at a woman like you and think about crushing plastic soda bottles. He didn’t talk much today, but when he did, you were the topic. Clearly he thinks you two have some kind of relationship.”
She wondered how she felt about the events concerning Wind Dancer. Part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms and explore the possibilities. The other part wanted to be careful not to fall for another scoundrel who would shatter any self-respect she had left.
“I can handle Wind Dancer. You do what you need to then let me know what is going on. I suspect we’re going to have to move fast once the CDC and Homeland gets involved. I’ll leave a message for my friend who can help us with this parallel universe stuff, and we’ll meet up in the morning.” She stopped at the bedroo
m door. “There’s a couple of freezer packs in the fridge. An insulated lunch box over the sink. I’ll get a blood sample from Wind Dancer for you to take. Taking this to the hospital would raise too many questions and get me in a lot of trouble. When you talk to the CDC, tell them to bring at least a thousand doses of vaccine. I’ll vaccinate you guys tomorrow, and your men.”
~~~~
Jacque nodded at Wind Dancer then yawned. He motioned for the Pawnee to join him. “Joseph, buddy, about Cleo…” He set about doing what Cleo requested. “Hands off. Understand?”
Wind Dancer lifted his hands with the usual bewilderment. “You want me to take off my hands?”
“No. I mean you can’t be touching or trying to make her your squaw or whatever you people do in your world.”
“This sounds very condescending, Jacque.” He arched an eyebrow above his stone-cold face.
The Indian knew a lot more English than he gave him credit for. “I don’t want you scaring Cleo. She’s a nice lady, and there is lots of work to be done. I know you like her, but she might not feel the same way.”
“She does. You can trust me.”
The detective exhaled as he jammed the freezer packs in the lunchbox. “Jeeze Louise. No touching,” he growled. “Promise me.”
Wind Dancer smirked and patted Jacque on top of the head like a child.
“Promise what?” Cleo said rushing into the room with a small medical kit.
“Nothing.” The men said in unison.
Chapter 7
In the room next door slept a Pawnee warrior from the nineteenth century. After showing him where he would spend the rest of the night, Cleo thought she’d noted a slight hint of disappointment in Wind Dancer’s eyes, but he didn’t complain or voice his preference to be in her bed. A wave of relief mixed with “what if” jumbled up in the pit of her stomach. To have the man of your dreams step out of a museum case, into your life, and then save you from a monster with smallpox would make any heart melt.
All those years growing up in front of him, she loved him and even talked about the future when no one else would listen or had time to notice. Wind Dancer had never wavered, not that he had a choice. Relationship after relationship failed or never got off the ground creating insecurity regarding matters of the heart. Seeing Wind Dancer in the flesh gave her some new insight to why those romantic interludes had failed. The only man she’d ever loved lived not only in a different time zone, but a parallel universe.
At a light tap, Cleo held her breath then threw the covers to go to the door. She’d locked it so when she twisted the knob a soft click popped. With only a crack to peek through, she saw Wind Dancer in the faded jeans once belonging to her father. He stood naked from the waist up, with his long black hair falling down his chest.
“I couldn’t sleep, Cleopatra, and yet I am tired.”
Cleo opened the door a little wider forgetting she wore only a long football jersey. “Probably all the caffeine you drank with the pizza. Let me give you some acetaminophen and a glass of water.” After she brought him the necessary meds, he prowled around her room with a kind of dark observation creasing his forehead. “The pill will take about twenty minutes to make you feel better. Want to talk for a while?”
She knew she should flip on some lights instead of letting the city glow seep through the one small window to make an eerie kind of romance.
“Yes.” Wind Dancer sat down on her bed. He bounced a time or two as if getting the feel then scooted to the middle. “Come.” He stretched out his hand. When she didn’t take it, he patted the space where she’d lain minutes earlier. He rubbed his hand across the area as if he could still feel the warmth of her body. “Please, Cleopatra. I mean, Cleo.” The disarming smile beckoned her, and she crawled up on the bed then propped some pillows behind her. “Would you like for me to tell you about your father?”
“Is he well?”
“Yes. And he is very proud of you. Once I brought him to the museum case, hoping you would come.” He readjusted his position, moving up next to her, and rested his head against the headboard. “This is a much better way to sleep than where I come from. I think, though, it might make a man soft.”
“After my father disappeared I couldn’t bring myself to keep returning to the museum.”
“I missed you.” His breath moved her hair when he moved his head toward her. “Now, here you are. This makes me very happy.” He smiled as he looked away.
You have no idea what I’m feeling. “Why didn’t my father return?” She needed to change the subject. Talking about her father threw imaginary cold water on the possibility of becoming physical.
“For a while, he wasn’t strong enough. Then”—he slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and then down around her waist— “he fell in love with my youngest sister. They have a little boy. Another child is on the way.”
A bolt of lightning could not have made her jump more as she twisted to face him. “My father has another family?” She felt awe and betrayal as she remembered the pregnant woman who tried to get her to come through the wall of the earth lodge. The chances existed the woman might be her new stepmother.
“Yes. You sound angry.” Wind Dancer tightened his hold. With her only inches from his face, he continued. “I like how your eyes flash when this happens. I can feel your breath. It smells like the sweetgrass of the prairie after a rain. You are more beautiful in person, Cleo.”
She felt like a balloon someone pricked with a pin, letting all the frustration escape at an alarming rate. “I think maybe you aren’t here to talk.”
“No. But Jacque thinks I should talk more not touch. Is this true?” His lips whispered against hers. Those dark eyes appeared to flame with longing as his hand pressed against her back so she melted against his chest.
“I. Don’t. Know.” In the flesh he was so much more than she ever imagined all those years chatting with him through the case at the museum. Her heart pounded, desire welling up inside her. Their lips touched as he grinned, and in his hands came up to her hair. As he closed his eyes, he slumped into her. She jerked away. “Wind Dancer?”
His dead weight filled her arms. He drifted toward a sleep state. “Who knew acetaminophen would tranquilize a universe-jumping Pawnee?” She gently shoved him away and watched him scoot down onto one of the pillows. His hand gripped her arm and one finger played against her skin. “Don’t go,” he whispered, dreamlike. “Cleo?”
She covered him with a blanket. “Yes, Wind Dancer?”
“I love you.” His deep breathing signaled he drowned in slumber with such peace, Cleo could do nothing but sit and stare at him. She didn’t try and resist such masculinity as she placed a kiss on his mouth, beckoning her to taste a new life rising within her.
“And I love you, Wind Dancer, more than any woman should. I always have,” she whispered.
~~~~
Even before the ragged men stirred, Neosho rose moving through the building with peeling paint and the smell of body odor. White men stank. Why didn’t they bathe? He would never understand this. With so much water a few miles away and a river meandering through the city, surely it occurred to them they should clean themselves. These men repulsed him. They shuffled their feet and mumbled things he did not understand. The men on the street and at the museum did not resemble these people.
A bearded man who stood as tall as him, covered with what he knew to be tattoos, handed him a cup of hot liquid.
“Have some coffee, friend. Doughnuts over there on the table.” He pointed to a large box down the hall. “There’s a chill in the air this morning. Springtime weather in Chicago is wishy-washy. By the looks of ya, you might need a coat.” His eyes traveled up to the Mohawk haircut. “I think I saw a couple of caps in there, too. The wind off Lake Michigan can be brutal even in spring, although I think the weather said we’re in for a warm-up.”
Neosho recognized the smell of coffee. The hot liquid warmed his body. He gobbled three doughnuts, liking the sweetness. As he gra
bbed a fourth, he shoved past the bearded man to inspect the box of coats. He dug through, throwing what he didn’t want on the floor until he found a green one with a large letter on the back.
“I think you picked a new one. Notice the letter G? Means Green Bay Packers. People around here are Bears fans. Probably why the thing has never been worn.”
Neosho frowned as he detected some contempt in the man’s voice.
Neosho inspected the coat after listening to the bearded man. He slipped it on and then dug through the box until he found a matching sock hat. Placing it down over his ears, Neosho had no idea he resembled a crazed Packers fan come to wreak havoc on Chicago. “I will take these.”
“Suit yourself. I guess you can handle yourself okay.” The man eyed Neosho from head to toe. “Those moccasins might not be the best. Someone brought some boots in yesterday. You’re welcome to try them out.”
Neosho wiggled his toes, feeling the damp cold seep up from the concrete floor into his feet. He followed the man in silence as they entered a small space behind the counter where he’d checked in the night before. Sitting down on the floor, he tugged to remove the moccasins then measured them against the bottom of several pair of boots.
“Are these Green Bay shoes, too?”
The bearded man chuckled. “What? Are you, like from outer space? No. They’re from Wal-Mart. Brand new, too. Take’em.”
Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1) Page 6
