Native Born (5 page)

“Ah,” she struggled. “You're welcome.”

“Strange, don't you think, that you would be the one responsible for his protection?”

Was there an accusation there or a hint of suspicion?

“It was a rotation.”

“Yes. So I understand.” Gabe didn't try to hold on to his smile.

“I thought you'd be more present today,” she said.

“Clyne didn't want the BIA feeling unsafe.”

Had she and Luke been too obvious? She didn't think the BIA officials even noticed her.

“He's been courting them for months and was afraid my force would raise questions about security. He has another rally tomorrow. Phoenix this time. Then Friday, some folks from a home-building charity visiting. Another outdoor gathering, touring the proposed building site here on Black Mountain.”

“So you don't want help with the investigation. You asked for us to protect your brother?”

“No. I need investigators. But someone just tried to kill Clyne yesterday. I could use the help keeping him safe.”

“But why me, specifically?”

He watched her for a moment that stretched on to eternity.

“Can't you guess?”

“I don't like guessing games, Chief Cosen. Any games, really.”

“Miss Walker, you have been a mother to my sister for most of her life. Perhaps the only mother she remembers. It seemed to me that we should know something about you and that you might want to know something about us.”

She knew all she needed to know about them, or wanted to. “This has nothing to do with the investigation.”

“It does. But two birds, so to speak.”

“Do your brothers feel the same?”

Gabe rubbed the back of his neck and she had her answer.

“Gabe!” Clyne's voice was much louder than it needed to be when he called from the open door.

“Excuse me.” Gabe stepped into his brother's office and shut the door.

She could hear their words but did not understand Apache. The angry voices and the flailing arm gestures were clear enough as both men engaged in an epic battle of wills.

Gabe eventually reached for the knob. Clyne stood with both fists planted on the surface of his desk. Gabe cleared the threshold and planted his hat on his head. His breathing was fast and his nostrils flared as he turned his attention to her.

“My brother would like to take you to lunch,” he said.

The office assistant lifted her brows at this announcement and glanced from Gabe to Cassidy still waiting.

“I was meeting Luke for lunch.”

“He told me that he will see you after lunch,” said Gabe.

Cassidy reached for her phone and sent Luke a text. The reply was immediate.

C U after lunch.

Cassidy squared her shoulders and marched into the lion's den.

Chapter Six

Clyne looked back to Field Agent Walker, who glared at him from the outer office, her eyes now glinting like sunlight on a blue gemstone. She held her navy parka in her lap, because he had not offered to hang it and wore a blazer, presumably a different one. One without a bullet hole in the back. Her drab gray button-up shirt did not quite hide the flak jacket beneath, and her practical lace-up nylon boots showed salt stains on the toes. Fully erect, she didn't even reach Clyne's chin. Her blond hair had again been yanked back into a severe ponytail but the March wind had tugged the side strands away and they now floated down about her pink face. If she were Swedish, he did not think her skin could be any paler. Outwardly, they were completely different, but they had one thing in common. They were both fighters. So why did his chest ache every time he forced himself to look at her?

She seemed ready to spit nails. He lifted one of the fists he had been braced upon from his desk and motioned her forward as a Tai Chi master summoned his next challenger.

Walker's fine golden brow arched and her pointed chin dipped. He lowered his chin as well, as one ram does when preparing to butt heads with another. He thought he welcomed the fight, but her proximity raised a completely different kind of anticipation. He identified the curling tension of sexual desire and nearly groaned out loud. Not for this woman. No. Absolutely not.

Her stride was staccato and devoid of any female wiles. So why was he breathing so fast?

Now he noticed how her eyes seemed not quite sapphire, but more ocean blue and flashing like a thunderstorm.

She marched into his office with her coat clutched at her left hip, leaving her gun hand free.

“Just so we are clear,” said Clyne, “I haven't changed my mind.”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Councilman.”

He ground his teeth. Something about her made him forget his manners. He had a reputation for charm but this woman stripped away that veneer like paint thinner on varnish. He felt about as enchanting as a prickly cactus. He glared at her, deciding if he should retreat, advance or return her greeting.

“I don't need protection,” he said.

“I have a slug in my body armor that says otherwise.”

“That was down there in your world.”

She lifted a brow. “Well, I really don't own the whole thing. I'm just a renter.”

He scowled because if he didn't he feared he might laugh.

“So do you want to tell me if your problem is with my world, the FBI or just me?”

“You don't have that kind of time.”

“Try me.” She folded her arms and braced against the door frame.

“Well, let's start with single white women adopting poor little Indian children.”

She sucked in a breath as his first blow struck home. “I was married when we adopted our daughter.”

That announcement set him back and he didn't think he hid the surprise. Clyne quickly reevaluated. He'd assumed she was one of those career women who wanted it all and had decided that if she didn't want the physical inconvenience of being pregnant, she could just buy a baby.

“Was?” he said.

FBI personal records were sealed. Even Gabe, the tribal police chief, could find very little information about her. That put him at a disadvantage here because she likely knew a great deal about him. Perhaps his brother was right. They should know what kind of a woman had raised their sister.

Was she one of those modern women who thought life came as an all-you-could-eat buffet? Clyne knew better. Life was all about difficult choices.

Should he press or drop it? He studied her body language, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle as she braced against the solid wooden frame. She was in full-out protective mode. But he was off balance now, fighting with a hand tied behind his back.

“Yes, was,” she said.

“So you are now unmarried?”

She inclined her head like a queen consenting to give a response.

“But you have sole custody. Jovanna's only guardian?” asked Clyne, refusing to use the word
parent
as he considered the possibility of having to go through another custody battle with her husband.

“Guardian? I'm her mother. And yes, I am her sole guardian.”

“Then you should take a desk job,” he said. Her flashing eyes made it clear what she thought of his suggestion.

“Risk comes with living. Your mother's death should have taught you that. And this reservation doesn't have magic properties. You're not safe hiding up here on this mountain, either.”

“We aren't hiding. We're living and we choose to be separate. To preserve our culture and teach our children where they come from and who they are.” Even to his own ears his words sounded like a speech given from rote.

She had uncrossed her arms and now tilted her head. Her hair shone yellow as corn silk. He saw something in her eyes.

“Doing fabulously well by all accounts. What's the teen pregnancy rate now?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Not if you have a teenage daughter it isn't. And where you come from is not as important as where you end up,” she said. He'd heard the sentiment before, frequently from those who did not know where they came from or needed to forget. Which was she? A terrible childhood or one without roots?

“Does she even know about us?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed and that cool demeanor slipped. “She does.”

“And about the challenge?”

“Yes, again.”

What did Jovanna think about that, to learn she was not an orphan but had an entire family waiting for her? Did she feel betrayed that they had not come for her sooner?

They had gotten little information from their attorney about their sister's life. Mainly facts. Nothing that would tell him how she felt or if she had been happy.

Jovanna had been removed from the vehicle after their mother's death by a state trooper, who had turned her over to child welfare, who had seen her in her dance competition dress and turned her over to BIA. The trooper's writing, “One survivor,” had been transposed to read “No survivors” and they had learned, incorrectly, that they had lost both their mother and sister to a drunk driver.

Jovanna had disappeared into the system. Only after their grandmother had insisted they place a stone lamb on Jovanna's grave to mark her tenth birthday, had they learned that only their mother was buried in that grave. The search had begun. He had flown to South Dakota and hired an investigator. Gabe had used his badge to get more information. Kino had followed the procedures to open the adoption and Clay now waited for a ruling from the judge on their motion.

But during those nine years, Jovanna had been listed as a member of the Sweetgrass tribe of Sioux Indians. No kin had come forward, so she was placed in an orphanage at age two and then in a foster home with a Sioux family at age three. Then Jovanna had been adopted just after she turned four.

“We want to meet her,” said Clyne.

Her hand settled on the grip of her pistol and her eyes met his. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will only make it harder when we leave.”

Leave? Where was she going? And then he remembered what his uncle had said about his new partner. A hotshot. A firecracker. Destined to be promoted and transferred to a major field office. And if that happened, they might lose Jovanna again.

“You're leaving?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just as soon and as far from here as possible.”

He took a step in her direction, leaving the authority of his desk. She sidestepped until she was beyond his grasp. He lifted his top from the coat rack, his attention still on her. She rolled those crystal-blue eyes at him and exhaled.

“My brother says I am to take you to lunch.”

Cassidy did not like the twinkle in his eyes one little bit. But she was a guest here and if Chief Cosen wanted her to dine with his brother, she could do that. She wondered if anyone else found that funny.

“You ready?” he asked.

She lifted her arms, still bundled in her jacket. “Seems so.”

He motioned to the door but she waited. “After you, Councilman.”

Clyne turned to his assistant. “I'll be at Catalina's,” he said and headed out the door, leaving Cassidy no choice but to follow.

In the large foyer before the great seal she paused to zip her coat, realized she would not be able to reach her weapon and left it unfastened.

“Who is Catalina?” she asked.

“Not who. What,” he answered.

“I'll drive,” she said.

“Why?”

“Everyone knows your SUV.”

He made a sound that could have been a laugh. “They all know your dark federal-issue sedan, too, Agent Walker. Besides, it's only across the street.”

“Walking out in the open. Bad idea,” she said.

“You want to drive? Go ahead.”

“I want you inside a vehicle and eating in a securable location. I don't know this place and we have no protection there.”

“Oh, but I have you, Agent Walker,” he said.

“You can call me Cassidy.”

He shot her that wary look again.

“If you want.”

Clyne looked like he didn't want to call her by her first name. But he nodded and then set out the door.

She followed his directions to Catalina's, which turned out to be a little diner tucked across the street and behind the main road so as to be invisible to outsiders. The exterior was humble enough, with peeling paint and large tinted windows. Cassidy knew that she would have been apt to avoid entering had Clyne not marched up the stairs, leaving her to follow.

The first thing that hit her was the aroma of frying bacon, onions and coffee, all mingled in an enticing mix that made her stomach rumble. She paused on the welcome mat to scan the room for potential threats. The place was alive with working men, seated at the counter, in booths. Men and women ate breakfast and lunch at the center circular tables. The interior was bright, large and had a central wood-burning stove that warmed the room and filled the air with the inviting scent of wood smoke.

The waitress called a greeting that she could not understand and Clyne responded in kind. He paused to speak to most of the men at the counter, patting some on the back and joking with others. But he spoke in Apache, leaving her unable to follow what was said. Each man turned to glance at her, stone-faced, eyebrows lifted. In all her travels, she had never felt so aware of her white skin, pale hair and European lineage. Clyne worked the room, settling at last in a central table by the woodstove.

The waitress arrived with a smile for Clyne and a scowl for Cassidy. She thought it was Clyne's intention to unsettle her, so she scanned the room once more and then studied the menu. It was in Apache. She blew away her frustration and set it back behind the salt and pepper shakers.

“That's what it feels like for us out there,” he said. “Being a cultural outsider, feeling apart.”

“But you choose to live apart.”

His smile was cold, so why did it warm her insides?

“Well, don't take it personally.”

She couldn't hold his gaze. It was too intense and made her all jittery inside. This was just terrible. In all her years she'd never had a crush on her assignment. But Clyne was different from anyone she'd ever met. Seemingly charming, but beneath that
protective
exterior, she sensed danger and inner strength. A heady combination, she admitted.

She lifted her gaze to catch him watching her in a way that made her insides tense.

“What would you like? I'll order for you.”

She told him and he placed the order. The waitress, an older woman dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that depicted a string of armed Apache warriors and read Homeland Security, Fighting Terrorism Since 1492.

Their coffee arrived and Cassidy sipped the strong brew and sighed.

“You have me at a disadvantage, Cassidy,” Clyne said. “You know a great deal about me. I know little about you.”

“I thought you didn't want to know anything about me.”

“I didn't. But Gabe is right. You have raised my sister.”

“I'm not talking about Amanda.”

“Fine. Your ex-husband, then.”

He'd picked the topic that cut most deeply into her heart, but she'd be damned if she'd show him that.

“What about him?” She braced for the barrage.

“Why did you two decide to adopt?”

Personal business.
But she answered. “We couldn't have children. We tried. Saw someone. But he couldn't...” She shrugged. Gerard was infertile. It had been hard to believe, so hard, when he was so virile and so... She flushed as she realized Clyne was watching her again.

“So you two decided to adopt an Indian child.”

She met Clyne's gaze and held it as she delivered the next part of her answer. “We wanted a baby, like everyone else. Boy or girl, we didn't care.”

“So why Jovanna? She wasn't a baby.”

“They said she was between three and four.”

Cassidy thought back, remembering the little girl she had been. She had looked at Gerard and then at Cassidy and made up her mind. How could they say no?

“She came up to us when we toured the facility. She was outgoing even then. And charming, like you.”

His eyebrows lifted. She hadn't meant to say that.

Cassidy sipped the coffee and tried again. “She walked right up to Gerard and took his hand. She said...well, it doesn't matter. She picked us and stole our hearts all in the same instant.”

Clyne cocked her head. “What did his family think about his adopting an Indian into his Anglo family?”

Now it was Cassidy's turn to scowl. She reached in her coat and withdrew her billfold. She didn't carry a purse. Just did like her fellows. Wallet, cell phone, personal weapon, handcuffs and shield. What else did a girl need?

She drew out the photo she kept of Gerard's official portrait taken just before his second deployment. She liked this one because he'd managed to sneak a slight smile in past the army photographers. She also liked it because he was in his captain's uniform. Cassidy slipped it from the vinyl shield and passed it to Clyne.