Eye of the Storm (12 page)

"Looking like what?"

"Too damned gorgeous for my peace of mind."

"Then don't look. I'm too hungry to think about anything but breakfast at the moment. How can I help speed it along?"

"You can do the toast," he said. "And set the table."

"Where's your grandmother?"

"Visiting friends.
She hasn't been back here in a while. It's catch-up time."

Although the width of the table separated them, the space did nothing to protect Zan from the feelings he had aroused. Or the knowledge that by responding to him she had betrayed Dar's memory
.
 
At the first taste of food, her appetite evaporated. She ate because it was necessary, but what had seemed so inviting stuck in her throat. She pushed away the plate and sipped her coffee.

She knew he watched her but hadn't the strength to meet his eyes. With nowhere else to look, her gaze wandered around the table, to the sugar bowl and creamer, the bud vase filled with straw flowers, his hands as they buttered his toast and raised his cup to his lips.

How would those hands feel on her bare skin? She shivered, knowing she would come alive at their touch. The thought so unnerved her that, without finishing her second cup of coffee, she rose abruptly from the table and went out onto the porch. Unsure of where to go, she only knew she had to get away.

He caught up with her at the top step and held her back with a gently restraining hand. "Why are you always running away from me?" he asked quietly. "Tell me the truth, Alexandra."

His use of her name caught her unawares. His request seemed all the more urgent because of it, as if he wanted no artifice between them, only things as they really were.

"I've spent the last five years hating you. When I agreed to help Mac, I never expected that to change, but it has, mostly because of the way you treat people here and the way they react to you. Every time I think I can ignore my feelings you do something to prove me wrong. I'm running to keep a safe distance between us." She slid her hands into her pockets. "Does that make sense to you?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a wry smile. "Considering my own doubts about the way things between us are going, it makes perfect sense."

"Well," she said, "that's one more thing we can agree on. Maybe we can actually make this collaboration work." She sighed. "So what's the plan for today?"

"You have your work to do and I'm going to the hotel to see if I can find out something about Mr. Sawyer and his pal."

"No way will I let you go into town without me."

"You don't have to be on duty 24 hours a day."

"Yeah, I do." She arched one eyebrow. "It's my mandate."

"I didn't like having a babysitter when I thought it might be Becker. Now that I know it's you, I don't mind so much. The only thing is, some of what I need to do
has
to be done alone."

She considered that for a moment. "Okay, how about this; I have to return material Kenny lent me the other day. That should give you some of the time you need. When I'm through, I'll meet you at the hotel. Just try to stay out of trouble until I get there."

"Can we get into some trouble when you do?"

She caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes and hid her own smile with a shake of her head. "Not if I can help it."

"What a waste," he murmured. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth. "Can't think of anyone I'd rather get into trouble with."

Unlike their earlier embrace, this kiss was gentle and cool on her lips, more a sign of friendship than passion. Even so, her heart thumped painfully beneath her ribs and an electric current sizzled through her, leaving her senses on alert.

"I need to change," she said. "Give me twenty minutes and I'll bring the car around to your house."

He shook his head. "We'll use my uncle's truck. My ears would rather not be smothered by my knees."

She grinned at the bizarre image and agreed.
   

After he left Zan at the court house, Stormwalker drove to the hotel and parked. He entered the coffee shop and looked for Sawyer and his partner. He knew he'd find Bill Winter close by. The only waitress on duty carried menus and a coffee pot to an area set off by a wall of etched glass labeled as the smoking section. Potted plants ran along the bottom half, but he saw the shadows of three seated men.

He took a table close enough to hear them, but far enough away that they wouldn't be aware of him. Behind the glass, they remained anonymous figures, except for the painfully familiar Bill Winter, whose voice identified him.

"We really tried to find them last night,
y'know
. That
sonofabitch
Stormwalker's
just too crafty." A beeper sounded and he said, "I
gotta
get to a phone."

Stormwalker lifted the menu to shield his face from
Winter's
view as the deputy came around the partition and headed for the lobby.

"Those idiots could have stumbled over each other until dawn without finding him," the strange-sounding voice said.

"You shouldn't be surprised. This is his home turf, after all. Besides, we only wanted to harass him a little, keep him off balance. Later on, we'll get down to the business of making his life seriously miserable."

"How do you propose to do that?" the artificial voice asked.

"I have some ideas, but it's too early to discuss them."

"Then why am I here?"

"You wanted to scope out the scene. I didn't invite you."
 
Bill returned and the waitress took their orders, interrupting the talk.
 
When she approached
Stormwalker's
table, he ordered only coffee. By the time she left, the men had lowered their voices but he sensed their absorption by the way they leaned toward each other.

I'd give my eye teeth for a listening device, he thought, like one of those things we used in
Vlad
.

 
Winter sat back in his chair and Stormwalker watched his shadow, going over in his mind Bill's animosity toward him. They'd been as close as brothers and had ended up enemies, but he couldn't believe the falling out they'd had as kids could be connected to what was going on now.

Still,
Winter's
actions seemed to put him in the middle of things. Stormwalker finished his coffee, threw down two bills and left before the others could see him.

He went to the front desk. "I'd like to leave a message for Mr. Sawyer and his friend," he said to the desk clerk.

The young man handed him a slip of paper. "He's in a single, so I can't help you about the other person."

Stormwalker nodded and scribbled, "Welcome to South Dakota" then folded it in quarters and wrote the man's name on the outside.

When the clerk placed the note in the appropriate slot, Stormwalker read the number and left to search Sawyer's room. A credit card slipped the flimsy door latch and he eased inside. He sifted through the contents of the dresser drawers, found the usual assortment of clothing, personal items and some cash, but nothing else. He went to the closet and searched through pants and jacket pockets, then pulled out a linen blazer. Sawyer was a big man, shorter than he and more rotund.

"Forty-Eight Regular, I'd guess."

He turned at the sound of Zan's voice behind him. "How'd you find me here?"

"I saw you in the coffee shop, watching our 'friends'. I followed you."

"Thought you were going to see Becker."

"I missed him again. He must be out seeing clients." Her expression was neutral, but her eyes shone with suppressed laughter. "Sorry you have to share the fun with me."

Stormwalker began a search of the man's luggage but found nothing that hinted at his identity. They went into the bathroom and checked out the toiletries on the counter.

"You ever see this brand of deodorant before?"

"Nope," she replied. She turned the can and read along the seam.
"Made in
Vermont
."

"No comb or brush, no shampoo, no stray hairs in the sink or on the counter top. Yet the beds are unmade, which means the housekeeper hasn't been here."

"Do you think he's bald?"

"That's a leap."

"Maybe."
Zan shrugged. "But that doesn't make it any less possible."

They checked the room to make sure everything appeared undisturbed and took the stairs down to street level. Rather than risk running into the others, they decided to return to the reservation. Stormwalker had insisted on driving again.

"This is the first time I've been behind the wheel in years. You can drive some other time."

He couldn't afford to call attention to himself by getting a ticket. He checked his rearview mirror frequently and kept his speed at the legal limit. When a tan Jeep came close enough for him to recognize the driver, he realized the precaution had been futile. At the blip of a siren, he
pull
onto the shoulder.

"Reach behind the seat and get that Stetson, Red."

"For you?"

"No, for you.
Tuck your hair up under there and don't turn around, no matter what happens."

"What's the problem?"

"It's Bill."

"I can help. That's what I'm here for."

"Hey, I appreciate that you probably kept me from being killed, but this time you have to stay out of it. I can't continue to hide behind you. I need to face this guy down, probably more than once or I'll never rid myself of him."

 
He watched the vehicle pull in behind him and stop. He got out of the jeep, intending to intercept the deputy who walked toward him in a leisurely stroll that reeked with insolence.

Winter checked the license plate. "How come you're
drivin
' this rig?" he asked. "I know it
ain't
yours."

"I borrowed it," Stormwalker replied.

The deputy snorted.
"Stole it,
more'n
likely.
No one I know would trust you with his vehicle." He removed his sun glasses and made a production of cleaning and putting them back on. "Whose is it?"

"Mike Eagle's," Stormwalker replied.

"Figures," the deputy countered, "but I think I'll check this out anyway.
Gimme
the keys, boy."

 
"I don't think I want to do that, Deputy. Suppose I walk with you to your vehicle and wait while you call in?"

Winter rested his hand on the holster at his hip as a long moment of silence passed between them. Finally, the lawman started for his vehicle with Stormwalker beside him.

 
A voice over the radio confirmed that the vehicle hadn't been reported stolen. The deputy requested a patch through to the newspaperman and chuckled when an annoyed Mike shouted into the phone that, of course, he'd given Stormwalker the keys to his truck. Stormwalker stared at
Winter
without any reaction. The deputy frowned, and got into his vehicle, spinning the wheels in a cloud of dust and churning gravel. Stormwalker slowly walked back in the direction of Mike's pickup.

The engine of
Winter's
vehicle roared as a surprised Stormwalker watched it head straight for him. Suddenly a body hurled itself at him, sending both of them down a shallow embankment. They barely avoided the deputy as he sped past and out onto the highway, his arm upraised, his fingers doubled into a fist.

Zan had anticipated the attack. As
Winter
started his run, she did the only thing she could think of to protect Stormwalker. Now they lay at the bottom of the ditch in a tangle of arms and legs, with Stormwalker cursing under his breath as they struggled to extricate themselves.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"No damn it. And I could have managed without being tackled from behind."

She tried to ignore the hard body pressed intimately against hers.
And
failed. "I didn't know what else to do."

"I don't know why you felt compelled to do anything," he countered, but his tone had softened and his eyes, so warmly, deeply, golden green told her he was pleased. "I thought I'd been bowled over by a Mack truck, but this feels pretty good."