Warrior's Embrace (66 page)

She was asleep on her side with her right
hand under her cheek and her left hand stretched toward the gun on
her bedside table. A path of moonlight fell across her pale
neck.

How easy it would be to end it all now. Slide
the blade across her tender flesh and watch her blood flow onto the
pillow.

Steel whispered against leather as he pulled
the knife from his scabbard. The pale-faced witch stirred, moaning
in her sleep.

Fearless and invincible, the avenger waited.
She settled back into her covers with a great sigh. The moonlight
was on her cheek now, illuminating the bruises.

Death would be too kind to her. Suffering.
That’s what she needed. When he’d finished with her, she’d wish she
were dead.

Hal Lightfoot was on the move.

His Jeep careened through the darkness like a
drunken sailor on his first shore leave. Martin Black Elk was right
behind him, guiding the unmarked car with his left hand and
radioing with his right.

“He’s headed your way,” he said to the car
staked along the Blue River. “Don’t lose him.”

It was hard not to be spotted driving along
the back roads in Witch Dance, especially so late on a Saturday
night. Sane folks were gathered in the bars, swapping stories and
swilling beer or piled in front of their hearths eating popcorn and
watching movies. But whoever said police work was sane? Black Elk
just hoped his disguise worked. He felt like a fool with the
baseball cap and his hair in a ponytail.

Even his wife Doris had teased him.

“Honey, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say
you had a cute young thing stashed somewhere.”

“Doris, I’m too damned tired for cute young
things. The old stuff’s good enough for me.” He nuzzled her neck
and pinched her butt.

“Who are you calling old?” Doris punched his
arm. “Get out of here, you devil.”

Racing along in the dark, Martin was struck
with such longing to be in front of his own fire that he made an
instant bargain with himself to retire.

“As soon as I catch this aspiring killer,” he
muttered.

Hal swerved abruptly onto a gravel road, and,
cursing, Martin let him get a lead then went in behind him. Where
in the shit was the little bastard going now?

Martin’s car bucked in the rutted road, and
tree limbs scraped the paint off the sides. It was going to be in a
hell of a shape if he ever got out of the woods.

Abruptly he came into a clearing, and there
was Hal Lightfoot, propped against a tree, smoking a cigarette and
fondling a woman more than twice his age. With her skirt hiked up,
she was clinging to Hal like bubble gum on a shoe sole.

“What in the hell are you doing out here?”
Martin asked.

“What does it look like?” Hal removed his
left hand from the woman’s bra, then stepped in front of her, took
the cigarette out of his mouth, and blew a smoke ring Martin’s
way.

“Too bad you made that long trip all the way
from town, Chief.”

“You picked a mighty remote spot for that
kind of sport, Hal. Aren’t you afraid you’ll freeze your pecker
off?”

“Is that the business our tribal police are
in now, protecting peckers?”

“Only when it looks like it’s fixing to get
him into trouble.”

“Hell, Chief, can’t a man have a romp in the
woods without getting spied on? I know how to stay out of
trouble.”

“See that you do.”

Martin had no choice but to leave. Something
nagged at his brain, but he was too tired to give it much thought.
On the way back to town he radioed Hal’s location to the other
stakeout car.

“Looks like all he’s interested in tonight is
getting laid. Sooner or later he’ll come out of the woods, and when
he does, try not to lose him.”

Bone-weary, Martin headed home. Halfway
there, he knew what had been bothering him.

“Holy shit!” The radio crackled as he
contacted his office. “Ray, get me everything you can find on
Clayton Colbert’s wife.”

“How far back?”

“Hell, all the way back to her conception if
you have to. Clayton Colbert shot himself, and now his widow’s in
the woods, screwing Hal Lightfoot. I want to know why.”

“Will do. Chief, there’s somebody here to see
you. Won’t talk to anybody but you. Says it’s urgent.”

Probably some little old lady with a stray
cat up a tree.

“Tell them I’ll be right there.”

The station house visitor was a frightened
woman, but she didn’t have a stray cat up a tree. Her name was
Marjorie Kent, and what she had to say made the hair on the back of
Martin’s neck stand on end.

“My husband overheard them, Chief, the
medicine man and some man he didn’t know.”

“Did he see a face?”

“No.”

“Could he tell anything about the size?”

“No, they were sitting down, smoking the
pipe. It was dark, and the man’s back was to him.”

“Did they use any names?”

“No. Only the tormentor and the avenger.”

“Did either of them say anything to indicate
that one of them might be the avenger?”

“They talked about him in abstract terms, as
if he were some kind of god.” Marjorie Kent twisted her hands in
her lap. “I know this is all hard to believe.”

“I believe you, Mrs. Kent.”

“My husband didn’t want me to come. He said
it would only cause trouble. He was there to consult the shaman
about the children.” Her voice trailed off. “I had to come here. I
didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing, Mrs. Kent. You were
very brave to come all that way this time of night.... Smith, take
her into the break room and get her a cup of coffee.”

Everything the woman had said confirmed tips
from his own sources. As soon as they were out the door, Martin
picked up the phone.

“Mingo, I believe Kate Malone may be in real
danger. The man who calls himself her tormentor plans to strike
soon.”

o0o

It was still dark when Deborah slipped into
the clinic. Kate had no idea she’d come. In fact, Kate would be
furious if she knew Deborah was out so early after the long,
horrible ordeal they’d endured the day before.

First, they’d discovered the note slipped
under the door of the clinic. “Your tormentor watches you, white
doctor witch. Repent or burn in hell.” The words were as clear to
Deborah as if she were still seeing them.

And then there had been the magazines
scattered across the floor as if a great gust of wind had blown
them there. Strange that the man who alternately called himself the
tormentor and the avenger had done nothing more than trash a few
magazines.

Did that mean he was tiring of his sick
game?

Deborah walked briskly through the clinic,
checking to see if anything was out of place. After yesterday, she
wanted to spare Kate. Finding the note had been bad enough, but
seeing Deborah’s engagement ring at the same time must have been
devastating.

Kate had tried to hide it, but Deborah knew.
She’d heard the gasp; she’d seen her face.

“Eagle and I are engaged.” It was all Deborah
could think of to say.

“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”
She’d recovered quickly, and her congratulations had been sincere.
“You’ll make a beautiful bride.”

“Will you stand beside me, Kate?”

“You bet.” The enthusiasm of her reply took
the sting out of her slight hesitation. “I’d fight anybody who
tried to take my place.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. Now, let’s get this place cleaned up
and get our butts out of here. We have a house call to make.”

Remembering, Deborah held her finger aloft so
the diamond would catch the pale morning light.
Diamonds are
forever
. Who had said that? And was it true?

There had been no sparks between them when
Eagle had slipped the ring on her finger.

“With this ring, I pledge my loyalty to you,
Deborah,” he’d said.

What about love?

“You will bear my name and my children, and
you will be protected always under the Mingo mantle of honor.”

What about passion?

He’d kissed her and nothing more. Obviously
he was saving his passion for the wedding bed. With the faint
morning light filtering through the blinds and sparking on the
diamond, Deborah tried to remember if there had been any passion in
their kiss.

How sad that she had to wonder. And how silly
to stand there, trying to remember.

Summoning up some cheer, she hummed as she
tidied up the front room. There were no signs of yesterday’s
malicious mischief. That was good, for she and Kate must once again
make the long journey to the Kent cabin to check on Adam and
Rachel.

It had snowed on them the day before as
they’d made their way up the mountain on horseback. Kate had been
like a child at Christmas.

“Snow! Every winter when it comes, it’s like
seeing it for the first time.” Kate caught the fat, cold flakes on
her tongue, then, laughing, she turned to Deborah. “I used to write
letters to Santa, asking him to bring snow to South Carolina.”

“If you’d had to shovel the sidewalks when
you were a kid, you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes, I would.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would.”

They argued like children then laughed
themselves silly while the snow covered their tracks and the chill
filtered through their coats and scarves. Laughter was the way they
stayed sane for the ordeal ahead.

Witch Creek still demanded sacrifice. And it
looked as if Rachel and Adam Kent would be the latest offerings.
Kate worked with them all day long, tireless and determined,

“You’re my hero,” Deborah had said on the way
home.

“Shucks, ma’am. You don’t have to say that
just because my eyes are puffy and my tail is dragging.”

“No. I mean it. All these years, I’ve never
told you how I feel. From the first day you came to Witch Dance, I
wanted to be like you. You’ve always been my hero. And I don’t care
if you laugh at my terminology; I don’t retract a word.”

“I’m not laughing.”

There had been tears in Kate’s eyes when she
guided her horse in close and took Deborah’s hand, the one with the
engagement ring.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,
Deborah Lightfoot. The very best. Nothing will ever change
that.”

Standing in the clinic, Deborah twisted the
ring on her finger. No, nothing could ever come between them. Not
even the man they both loved.

She kissed the shining diamond, then started
toward the back to get the medicine they’d need for the long
journey to the Kent cabin. She was standing in the doorway with her
hand on the light switch when she heard the noise. A small squeak,
like someone easing across the floor.

“Who’s there?” she called.

A hand closed over her mouth. Deborah tried
to scream, but the hand muffled the sound. Twisting and thrashing,
she caught a glimpse of a buckskin-covered arm as she was dragged
into the back room.

His movements were swift and sure, like an
athlete ...or a madman bent on murder. With one hand he stroked the
side of her face.

“Don’t be afraid.”

His voice was smooth and silky, hypnotic,
even sensual. Sweat broke out on Deborah, and the smell of fear
filled the room.

“What a pity you got in the way.”

Deborah rammed her right foot down hard on
his. He didn’t even grunt.

“Don’t struggle. It will only make things
worse.”

Pale light seeped through the blinds, and
somewhere in the woods behind the clinic an owl called. Sheer
terror seized her. When her captor loosened one of his hands, she
managed to twist herself halfway out of his grip.

The face that stared back at her was as
familiar as her own.

“We all have our missions to perform,
Deborah. Mine will soon be over.”

Abruptly he released her. Then with a smile
both beautiful and terrible he tossed a match into a pile of rags.
The smell of oil and smoke choked Deborah. Her scream filled the
room and pushed against the walls.

Suddenly she realized she was free. With her
mouth wide open she started to run. The blade of a knife flashed
once, cutting off her scream.

Flames licked the sky and smoke curled upward
as the clinic caved in upon itself. She tried to turn her head
toward the inferno, but Eagle tightened his hold on her face,
forcing her not to watch.

“It’s over, Kate.”

His voice mesmerized, and his hands upon her
skin. Kate fought her way out of the sweet web of memories that
threatened to steal her reason.

“No. It will never be over.”

The fire crackled, its reflection wavering
across the snow. And in that macabre dance, Eagle’s eyes burned as
hot as the flames.

“You’re right. It will never be over.” He
wheeled his stallion away from the blaze, away from the cottage and
the dark brooding trees that surrounded it. The wind caught Kate’s
hair and whipped it around her face.

“What are you doing?” she yelled.

“I’m taking you with me.”

“Dammit, Eagle. You can’t kidnap me.”

He tightened his arms around her as his
stallion thundered across the prairie. Plumes of snow spewed up
from the hooves, and all around them the land was white and pure,
as if they’d left the menace far behind in the blackened ruins of
her clinic. Eagle pressed the stallion to a speed that was
reckless, daring, obsessive. She was forced to cling to him to keep
from falling off.

“Stop right now. I have to go back. Do you
hear me, Eagle? I have to go back!”

He rode, still silent, his body rigid and his
eyes as cold as the frozen earth. She balled her hands into fists
and battered his chest.

“Take me back,” she said.

“Save your rage for the man who did this to
Deborah.”

Unbidden, her last image of her friend came,
lying on the clinic floor in a pool of blood. Beautiful Deborah,
with her sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. Her blood was still
on Kate’s hands, would always be on her hands.