Darkness Of Truth (An FBI/Romance Thriller~ Book 6) (5 page)

What was even
worse was Duffy needed the FBI agent in front of him. Without his help mediating, he had zero shot of getting an interview. It wouldn’t be so bad, if he didn’t have a horrible taste in his mouth from the last run in with the man. Ironically, when he asked for help, this man was one of the last people he expected to see. This was just the straw that was threatening to break the camel’s back. Now he had to deal with the people he loathed. The only highpoint in his day was at least the bitch that killed his brother was nowhere to be found. It was a small consolation in the entire matter.

“You may bring in a witness
. If you wish, she may talk to a sketch artist. Only then will we look at the picture, simply because we don’t have time to deal with this. It’s happening off the Rez, and therefore not our problem,” answered Chief Soaring Eagle.

Both men stood
, as did Duffy.

“Gentlemen, we at the FBI want to work through this as quickly as possible. How about we reconvene
sometime in the next two days and try again. Right now everyone’s a little stirred up and tempers are running a little hot right now.”

As if on cue,
Duffy slammed his chair into the table and stormed outside the room, slamming the door behind him. Hot didn't quite describe how he was feeling.

The Natives
in the room watched him leave. “Agent Whitefox, you are one of our people and understand where we’re coming from. This isn’t the first time we’ve had the sheriff here accusing our tribe of some problem that keeps popping up in his town. It seems to us that every time the man has an issue, it has to be someone from the Rez. Please see it from our perspective.”

Whitefox did understand. Growing up on a reservation as a child, he’d encountered many of the same issues. They were bussed to non-native schools and the
problems carried over there too. Something disappeared then it had to be the ‘Indians’. There was vandalism? Blame the out of control, no good Natives. A car was stolen? Okay, that was probably him and his brother, but at least they didn't spray paint graffiti. Growing up they had some standards.

“I completely understand, Chief, but unfortunately we need to resolve this and go from there. Whether you like the sheriff or not, your land butts Red River
, and that means living peacefully together and working out your problems. I can’t come here to mediate every little problem that pops up.”

“I am telling you, son. We have a skinwalker running loose here on the Rez,” the chief said, elbowing the shaman.

“We do! We have other problems than white man’s poacher on the Rez. Wait and see!” stated Tallman. “Ill  winds are blowing all across our land.”

Whitefox simply nodded
, ignoring the raving craziness. “I’ll call in a sketch artist and get a composite of the drawing to you. Can we reconvene tomorrow?”

The men leaned in to talk.

“Get your drawing, and then call us when you have it finished. We’ll take a look at it.” Chief Soaring Eagle said, standing once again.

Callen was grateful,
because at least now they had a starting point. Now he just needed to hunt down the non-native and go from there. “Gentlemen, I’ll be working here out of the police department the next day or so, until this is resolved. If you need me, you can find me there.”

Both men nodded, exiting the room.
At the sound behind him, Whitefox turned, hoping the men had a change of heart and were willing to compromise more.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sir. I thought everyone left,” stated
the janitor, grabbing the filled waste paper can. “I’ll be out of your way in a few minutes. I need to straighten up.”

Callen smiled at the
man. “It’s not a problem.” He tossed his own papers and empty coffee cup, as the man wheeled the big can around the room.

“Thanks
Sir,” the man stated. “I appreciate you cleaning up after yourself.”

Whitefox nodded.
“It’s the least I can do here,” he answered. Wasn’t that the truth? It was sad when his biggest accomplishment was tossing away trash.

“Rough day?”

He laughed and shook his head, slipping his badge back on his hip. “Nothing that I’m not accustomed to working on the Rez. Outsiders versus Natives and no one wants to budge.”

“I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

Callen appreciated his positive attitude. Reading his shirt he smiled. “Have a good day, Thomas.” Whitefox grabbed his things, leaving to head out and find Sheriff Duffy. He’d hoped to reach a middle ground for both sides, but this was looking less and less likely that they’d come to a resolution. Outside he noticed the man’s vehicle gone and knew where he was headed. It looked like Whitefox was taking a little trip to the sheriff’s department.

Terrific.

Pulling out his phone, he hit speed dial and waited for the call to be answered, as he hopped up into the Denali. When it picked up on the third ring, the knots in his gut began to unravel.

“What’s up, Cal?” inquired his brother
, sitting at his desk and signing off on the mountain of paperwork.

“
I have Native and outsider issues big time, and I need a sketch artist,” he answered, pulling out of the parking lot.

Ethan Blackhawk could hear the frustration in his brother’s voice. “That bad
, huh bro?”

Callen simply laughed. “I’m mediating between two sides that have no intention of compromise. If that wasn’t bad enough, I have to deal with Duffy
again, and trust me when I say he’s not happy to see me.”

Blackhawk cringed.
That was their worst case scenario. Before sending Callen out, they’d hoped the man had retired or been shit canned thanks to his serial killer brother. “Is he giving you a hard time?”

“No more than the Natives, but you can tell his temper is just below simmer. One little misstep and the man’s going off. I’m beginning to think he’s never forgiven us for killing his brother, turning his town upside down, and beating the hell out of him.”

It was funny when he put it that way. Ethan tried not to laugh. “I’ll get you a sketch artist up there by tomorrow.”

Callen hesitated. “Is Elizabeth there?”
Generally, if she wasn’t working, she’d be perched on a corner of one of their desks.

Blackhawk
wished she was beside him. “No, she’s in her office working on payroll for the week. We both came out of meetings all morning and had to face the paperwork beast.”

“Is she okay? Is the baby fine?” He hated checking up on her, especially behind Elizabeth’s back, but he was continually concerned about his child’s wellbeing
and the woman he loved. Being apart from her was killing him.

“Well, she’s eating, scaring the hell out of the techs and entertained that they have a ‘baby daddy’ pool going.”

For the first time all day, Whitefox laughed. “Who’d she get to cheat for her?”

Both men knew she’d enjoy screwing with the gossiping
hens that were betting against her and the men.

“
No one would this time. Earlier two techs were discussing it over coffee. Our Elizabeth strolled right up to them and asked who was in charge of the pool.”

Callen started laughing. “That had to scare them shitless.”

“Oh yeah it did. They spilled it pretty damn fast, assuming there’d be fallout. Then she proceeded to track the tech down and put fifty into the pool personally.”

He
was confused. “Ummm, she’s aware of who the father is, wont that give it away?”

Blackhawk began laughing outrageously.
“Our woman put fifty on ‘spawn of Satan’ and started a new category. I hear it’s a popular choice now too.”

Both men
were entertained at how funny that had to be to watch go down. Nothing made her happier than jacking with the gossiping tech team.

Whitefox was feeling better knowing that she was fine without him. There was nothing to worry about. “Tell her I love her, and kiss the baby belly for me.”

Blackhawk would for his brother. “I miss you, Cal.”

“I miss you too, Ethan. Get me that sketch artist before I have world war three here
, and I end up the casualty.”

“Want me to send Elizabeth up to kick all their asses?” Blackhawk teased. “She’ll have it all settled in minutes.”

“Yeah, then we’d have a crime scene. You keep her far away from here. I don’t want her anywhere near Duffy. His brother was a few short of a deck, and I don’t want our woman near that crazy train as it pulls into the station. Who knows what’ll get off the caboose.”

Blackhawk
snickered at the visual. “Call us tonight. We’ll have dinner together via video conference.”

“I will,” he said, pulling into the sheriff’s s
tation. “Love you both,” he replied, before hanging up and hopping out of the Denali. Now he had to deal with the other part of the miserable situation- Sheriff Duffy and his staff of grudge bearing assholes.

This assignment ranked right up there with a non-anesthetized lobotomy.
It was giving him a killer headache.

All Whitefox could hope was
there’d be a new bunch of employees and none of the prior ones would still be working there. Once inside the door, he knew he was batting zero today. It was official; he had the worst luck ever in Red River.

Sitting at the first desk was the meanest, nastiest
pit bull secretary he’d hoped to never see again.

“Hello Ms. Court. Is Sheriff Duffy
in his office?” inquired Callen, remembering the wickedly vicious woman from round one a year ago. This day was just getting better and better.

The bleached blonde glanced up and the look on her face said it all. “Yeah, what do you need?”
Automatically, she crossed her arms and stared at him like he was public enemy number one.

“I need to make an appointment with the witness
, regarding the poaching and get her to sit with a sketch artist.”

Sheila Court
despised the man. She didn’t like him the first time he showed up with the gothic looking ME, and now it was no different. The FBI agents came into their town, stirring it up once before. When they left, so many lives had been ruined. Poor Jimmy barely overcame losing his brother to that black-haired, gun toting bitch. “I’ll buzz the boss.”

Whitefox waited patiently looking around. Behind him there were
two deputies watching him cautiously. Apparently, his reputation preceded them.

Duffy exited his office
still looking irritated. “Come on in, Agent.”

Callen didn’t correct him and tell him it was actually director. What was the point? “I have a sketch artist arriving tomorrow morning. Can you have the witness come in and sit with her?”

It was best he said very little. “I can.”

The tension was obviously there. “Sheriff Duffy, are you going to be able to work with me? I sense there
’s a great deal of underlying hostility between us.”

The man just stared at him open mouthed. “Underlying? I can’t stand the FBI and for that matter you, Agent. The last time you came to Red River, I lost my brother and nearly my job. I was sucker punched in the face, and knocked into a snow bank by that
crazy pregnant woman.”

“Director Blackhawk,” he corrected, calmly. “She has a name
, use it. I believe it was your disrespect that landed you on your ass and toothless that night.”

Duffy sat back in his chair
, trying to stare the man down. He wasn’t going to be baited into another fight over a woman that wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “I’ll see you here tomorrow with the sketch artist, Agent.” The man dismissed him.

Whitefox stood up
and headed to the doorway. “Oh and Sheriff Duffy?”

“Yeah?”

“If you can’t find a way to be civil and work with me, there is one other option,” Callen added.

The sheriff stared up at the Native man in the doorway. “What’s that?”
He’d rather work with a viper than this man.

“
I can easily call in for a replacement to negotiate.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I do believe Elizabeth and Ethan Blackhawk were both willing to drop in for a visit and have a little chat with you- especially my brother. He missed seeing you put your hands on his wife last time.”

James Duffy said nothing, wondering if he’d just been threatened.

Whitefox closed the door a little louder than he intended, having Sheila jump at the sound.

“Good day, Ms. Court,” he
stated, nodding as he dropped his sunglasses on his face and headed out the door.

So much for keeping everyone calm, including himself.

Shit.

He hated this damn town.

Two days later

Tuesday Mid-morning

Callen sat
at the reservation police department, doing his paperwork. The assignment was officially going nowhere. The Natives were given the sketch of the perpetrator, and they denied having any input on the identity.