Naked Edge (12 page)

"What's your address?" Kat called to him.

He ground it out, trying not to grit his teeth. "Nine-forty-five Tenth Street."

"Thanks." She repeated it over the phone.

He dropped the pizza box on the table, set two paper plates and a small stack of paper napkins down beside it, the night having officially gone to hell. Why should he care if Kat wanted to head home? If that's what she needed, that was fine by him. It's not like he'd planned to have her spend the night. And if the thought of her sleeping in his bed--without him--had pleased him in some strange way?

It only proved that she was right. It was best if she left--best for both of them. He was getting way too caught up in her.

She appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Her husband, Marc, is at a regional drug task force meeting in Broomfield. He'll be here in about twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes.

Why do you care, Rossiter?

He ignored the question.

"That gives you plenty of time to get something in your stomach." He pulled out a chair for her. "I hope you like pepperoni. Pizza Hut was clean out of mutton."

AN AWKWARD SILENCE stretched between them while they ate, Gabe unable to take his gaze from her. She made what she called a Spirit Plate, putting a bit of her pizza on it and asking him if she could set it outside his back door. He thought he knew what it was for--an offering for the spirit of Grandpa Red Crow. He opened the back door for her himself and watched as she set it on the ground in the inch or so of snow that had gathered, speaking words he didn't understand.

But it looked like Red Crow's spirit was getting more pizza tonight than Kat. She nibbled at it, obviously too upset to be hungry. And he had to blame himself for part of that. He'd brought her here to give her a quiet place to rest and recover from the shock of Red Crow's death. Instead of peace and quiet, she'd been pawed and verbally harassed. No wonder she wanted to get the hell home.

He raised his beer, took a swallow, set the bottle down again, his conscience refusing to leave him in peace. "I'm sorry, Kat. I had no idea she was going to show up here like that. What she said to you--she was way out of line."

Back to avoiding eye contact with him, Kat dabbed her lips with her napkin. "She seemed very upset that you'd broken up with her."

"I didn't break up with her. We were never together--not like that. We had an arrangement. She wanted more than I could give her. I ended it. She doesn't mean anything to me. Hell, we barely know each other."

His words sounded incredibly shallow, even to his own ears.

Could you have possibly said anything more crass, dumbass?

Kat met his gaze, her hazel eyes seeming to see through him. "So you slept with her, but she doesn't mean anything to you?"

"That's not what I meant."
Yeah, it is. That's exactly what you meant.
"We did not
sleep
together."

"I saw how it was when she was here." Kat put her napkin down and stood. "I guess I should thank you for stopping when you did. I'd be devastated if I'd made love with a man and he treated me that way. Thanks for supper."

She turned to leave the kitchen.

"Kat!" Gabe was on his feet, blocking her path, drawing her into his arms, relieved when she seemed to come willingly. He ran a finger over the curve of her cheek. "It wouldn't have been like that, not with you. If we'd had sex--"

The doorbell rang, stopping him from saying God only knew what.

"That must be Marc." She drew away and hurried off to get her things.

Gabe opened the door and found a man about his own age. With shoulder-length brown hair and wearing a faded denim jacket, the man stood tall enough to look Gabe straight in the eye, and Gabe was certain he'd seen him somewhere before.

"I'm guessing you're here for Kat." Gabe moved aside to let him in.

The man stomped the snow off his boots and stepped inside, sizing Gabe up like a big brother who'd found a stranger sniffing around his little sister. It made Gabe wonder whether Kat had mentioned their little make-out session when she'd spoken with her friend. And why did the bastard look so familiar?

The man held out his hand. "Marc Hunter, Denver PD."

And then it clicked. This was the son of a bitch Gabe had spent three weeks chasing through the mountains in the dead of winter, the son of a bitch whose face had spent the better part of a month hanging on Gabe's office wall--on a wanted poster.

"Gabe Rossiter, Boulder Mountain Parks." Gabe shook Hunter's hand, giving back as good as he got. "I busted my ass trying to bring you in."

"It's lucky for both of us that you didn't find me." Hunter glanced about, obviously looking for Kat, his gaze falling on a climbing harness that Gabe had overlooked on the hallway floor. "You're a rock jock, huh? I bet that helps you out when it comes to scrambling up the east face of the Third Flatiron and shit."

"No, not the east face of the Third."
You prick.
"But it did come in handy when a couple of guys got stuck in a freak blizzard climbing the Diamond on Longs Peak not too long ago."

Hunter's eyebrows rose a notch, and he nodded. "Thanks, by the way, for saving Kat's life this past summer and for stopping that son of a bitch who pulled her hair. I'd like to kick his ass."

"That makes two of us."

And then Kat was there, already wearing her coat and ready to go. She looked up at Gabe, tears shimmering in those guileless eyes of hers. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you did to help Grandpa Red Crow today-- and for being there for me. Walk in beauty, Gabe Rossiter.
Hagoonee'"

As Gabe watched her climb into Hunter's Jeep Cherokee and disappear down the snowy road, he wondered how long it had been since he'd walked in any way that even remotely resembled beauty.

CHAPTER 7

KAT WATCHED THE lights of the city glide past the window, as if in a dream, Marc driving in silence, seeming to understand that she didn't have the energy just now to talk about what had happened. He'd already made it clear that he and Sophie expected her to spend the night at their house.

"You shouldn't be alone tonight," he'd said. "No arguments. Got it, kiddo?"

"Got it." She'd smiled at the no-nonsense tone in his voice, his words more protective and brotherly than anything any of her brothers had ever said to her.

Sophie had married a good man.

Sophie was waiting for them at the front door. She greeted Kat with a silent hug, then settled the three of them in the family room with cups of steaming hot tea, little Chase already fast asleep in his crib. Then she and Marc listened while Kat told them about meeting Gabe at Mesa Butte, hiking up the butte and finding first Grandpa Red Crow's truck and then his body.

As the words poured out of her, she found herself telling them things she'd never told any of her I-Team friends before--how her mother, brothers, and sisters had rejected her almost from the moment she was born, why she'd left the
dinetah,
how much Grandpa Red Crow had done to help her adjust to life off the rez, introducing her to Lakota ceremonies and ways of life, bringing her into his family, helping her to make peace with the life she was living--and the life she'd left behind.

"He was like a father to me," she told them, unable to hold back her tears.

"I'm so sorry, Kat!" Sophie hugged her tight.

"If you'd like Darcangelo and me to look into it, to stay on top of the Boulder cops, we'll do it," Marc offered, something in his eyes telling her they would do it whether she asked it of them or not.

"Thanks. I'd be very grateful."

Of Gabe and her confused feelings for him, she said nothing. She'd reached a decision tonight--a decision to let him go from her life. He didn't want the same things she wanted, so there was no point in spending time together and letting their mutual attraction, or "chemistry," confuse matters. When she'd told him farewell tonight, she hadn't meant farewell only for now.

Sophie settled her in their guest room for the night. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to come wake me, okay?"

"Thanks, Sophie."

The moment Kat's head hit the pillow, she was dreaming. In her dream, a coyote ran loose circles around her, now in the distance, now close behind her, yipping and howling as if trying to tell her something. But when she awoke the next morning, she'd forgotten the dream.

THEY MET WHERE they always met--on the edge of town in the parking lot at the baseball fields. This time of year, the place was deserted, especially in the middle of the night. For a moment, they stood in silence.

"Tell me you had nothing to do with that man's death."

"It couldn't be helped. One minute I was digging hard, the next he was just there. It was like he knew where to find me."

"You imbecile! Murder was never part of our deal!"

"What the hell was I supposed to do? Ask him to please keep a secret? I don't know about you, but I am not going to prison. And if they catch me, they catch you."

"Is that a threat?"

"Take it however you want."

"You know, a dead body is going to attract a lot more attention to that place. At the very least, you should have dumped him somewhere else."

"For someone who claims to be the brains of our operation, you're a fucking idiot. If I'd moved his body, they'd know for sure it was homicide. The way I did it, I bet they'll rule it an accident and maybe even blame the old man."

"It's not that simple. Katherine James from the I-Team is going to be all over this. She's one of them, you know--an Indian. If she finds out--"

"If she finds out, one of us is going to have to deal with her."

"What? You mean kill her? Is that your answer to everything?"

"Either scare her into backing off or kill her."

"I won't have anything to do with it."

"That's what you think."

NEWS OF GRANDPA Red Crow's death raced through Indian country. By the time Kat had retrieved her truck from Gabe's house--he was already at work--and made the drive back to Denver, she had sixteen messages on her voice mail. By noon, her living room was filled with people who'd come to hear from her what had happened and to pray, pickup trucks parked along both sides of the street for a city block.

Everyone brought food, Pauline taking charge in the kitchen because Glenna was too weak and upset. Nathan Spotted Eagle brought his drum. And Allen Lemieux, called "Uncle Allen" because he was Grandpa Red Crow's cousin and a spiritual leader in his own right, brought his
chanupa
--his sacred pipe. Everyone listened while Kat told the entire story, silent tears running down the women's faces--and some of the men's, too--when she described how he'd died.

A long moment of silence passed when she had finished.

Then Allen spoke. "I want to thank our sister Kat for her courage and for watching over Grandpa Red Crow's body."

"Aho!"
several men called.

Allen went on. "It's a terrible thing to lose our grandfather at this troubled time. Our
inipi
was interrupted. Our women were harassed. Now Grandpa Red Crow is gone from this earth. But we Indian people know that you can kill a man's body, but you cannot kill his spirit."

"Aho!"
More shouts.

Glenna's quiet weeping.

"Whoever pushed Grandpa Red Crow off the butte doesn't know that he sent our grandfather to a place where his spirit can watch over us. Our prayers are stronger than any man's hatred. We'll hold an
inipi
for Grandpa Red Crow at the lodge up above Conifer tonight. But first I think we should ask this ranger who protected our Kimimila and who cared for our grandfather's body to join us. If you can tell us how to find him, Kat, Nathan and I will go and ask him respectfully--in person."

Kat's pulse skipped. She hadn't thought to see Gabe again. She'd known she might have to speak to him again in a professional capacity one of these days, but she hadn't thought to see him in a personal way again. She hesitated.

Around her, heads nodded in approval.

It seemed fate wasn't going to let Gabe go from her life quite so easily.

GABE GOT THE call around two, just moments after he'd finished helping Rocky Mountain Rescue bring down a couple of drunk college kids who'd gotten themselves stranded at the top of the Third Flatiron, too stupid and drunk not to keep their feet on the ground but not stupid or drunk enough to attempt to climb down. That was the problem with the Third Flatiron. Any idiot could make it up the east face. Gabe could probably climb it in roller skates. But getting down the three deadly hundred-foot pitches of the rappel on the west face was enough to make even seasoned climbers piss their pants.

"There are a couple of Native American men here, who say they want to talk to you," Webb's voice said over Gabe's cell phone. "Know anything about this?"

Damn!

"Nope," Gabe lied, certain this had to do with Kat--whom he absolutely should not have been kissing last night or thinking about today.