she turned onto the street when another engine fired up. An old Ford pickup—even older than Ethan’s rattletrap Chevy—emerged from the lot behind the building and followed her car.
Damn. Loopy wouldn’t be able to bring any prey down himself. He was a scavenger. The other one must’ve been driving. Between the two of them, they could do some damage.
Ethan joined the parade. When they reached a one-way residential street, Bella parked her little white Honda on the curb near the front entrance to a modest two-story apartment building. Ethan peeled away from Loopy’s tailgate, pulled over to the opposite curb, and watched Loopy and his pal roll past Bella’s parked car. They’d taken the hint. Ethan chuckled. My job here is done.
Bella hopped out of her car, slammed the door and turned toward Ethan’s pickup, gripping some kind of bag made out of blanket material with a string handle—was it a purse, or a grocery sack?—under her arm.
“Hey! I carry a .38 Smith & Wesson, and I know how to use it!” she shouted across the street. “So whatever you’re thinking, think again.”
Her face was hidden in the shadows, but her hands were steady, her shoulders squared and her long black hair shone blue-white under the streetlight. He didn’t know who she thought she was talking to, but she wasn’t bluffing.
And he loved it.
He was thinking, I’ve got your back. Not that she needed him, but he was there, just in case.
Hell of a woman, he told himself as he watched her stand her ground. She was on TV, but that was just a job. It wasn’t her life. Pretty cool. Cool enough to get the message without some big explanation to go with it. Whatever her interest was in Senator Perry Garth—the man who’d helped put Ethan away for two years—it was of no interest to him. Neither was any rivalry between neighbors, nor tribal politics. Ethan was looking for a new life. He wanted the kind of freedom Bella had—the opportunity to chart her own course, to do a job and then some, and that some could be more than what somebody else was willing to pay for.
The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a sweet young girl with a big brain. He’d assigned her brain a role, but the girl was sweet and young, and she’d had that straight body and those big ideas. Sure, she’d had the hots for him, but back then she’d been more appealing walking away from him in a huff than looking up at him all wide-eyed and innocent. She’d had some growing up to do.
She turned and mounted the steps to the front door.
I’ve still got your back, Bella, but I can appreciate your front now, too. Turn around. Let me see those pretty eyes.
No such luck. She pushed the door open and disappeared.
Ethan grinned as he shifted out of neutral. Yes, sir, little Bella Primeaux had grown up just fine.
Chapter Two
The tiny reservation town of Sinte, South Dakota, hadn’t changed much, but the house Bella had grown up in looked different. In only five years weeds had taken over Ladonna Primeaux’s flower beds. A swing set occupied what had been the vegetable garden, and an old Jeep had muscled in on the shrub roses that still more or less lined the driveway. Mom had fussed over that yard the way some women gravitated toward babies. With her gone, it looked like most of the other yards in the neighborhood—a cottonwood tree or two, a bunch of kids’ toys, maybe a deck and some struggling grass.
Bella could hear her mother now. Don’t ever let your yard go, Bella. All it takes is a little interest. People who take an interest, those are the interesting people. They’re the ones you always want to talk to.
Ladonna Primeaux was an interesting person. Everyone thought so. Bella had been certain of it. Her mother was as knowledgeable as she was opinionated, which was fine by Bella. Nothing wrong with having opinions if you had the knowledge to back them up. Mom was also dependable, practical and psychic. It wasn’t always easy being the only child of a woman who was constantly one step ahead of the one Bella was about to take. But she’d followed the deep imprints of her mother’s footsteps until there were no more.
The home they’d shared wasn’t there anymore, and the house alone gave no comfort. No point in lingering, hoping for more than memories. Bella didn’t need guidance or approval anymore—she knew who she was and where she was going—but with her mother’s death she’d been cut off at the roots. She was growing as a journalist, but every time she looked at her résumé, she felt like a fraud. Maybe not on the outside—she had the look, totally—but deep down she was missing something.
Her KOZY-TV News assignments rarely touched on Indian issues, so she’d started blogging as Warrior Woman, and her site was gaining followers. But the comments from people who claimed to be Native were few and far between. Maybe they were out there but just weren’t saying so. Or maybe they weren’t even there. Maybe what was missing was new growth. Her interest in Lakota issues was real, but what about Lakota life? What about the home she’d left as quickly as she could and the mother who’d encouraged her daughter to fly while she’d remained in the nest? What about the remnants of those severed roots? Deep down they were still there, like shorn whiskers creating an itch that needed attention.
Guess what, Bella, you’re not a kid anymore. You need to touch up your roots or grow some new ones.
A stop sign and two right-hand turns took her to Agency Avenue. The old Bureau of Indian Affairs building with its spacious offices had been turned over to the Tribal government, and the BIA had moved into the building once occupied by the Tribe. Sign of the times, Bella thought as she took in all the changes. There were more windows, fewer walls, and the colors of the four directions—red, white, black and yellow—had replaced BIA green and tan. There were new names on the directory. Indian names. But there were no office numbers, and so she asked the receptionist whether Councilman Logan Wolf Track was in the house. He’s around here somewhere was the old familiar answer. Monday-through-Friday casual.
“Of course I remember you.” Logan greeted her with a handshake when he came out to greet her. He was lankier than his son but not as tall, not quite as handsome. “Full scholarship to a fine college on the East Coast, right?”
“University of California at Berkley.”
“I meant West Coast.” He smiled easily. “I remembered the important stuff. Full scholarship, terrific college and Bella Primeaux. Your mother was so proud of you we could hardly stand it.”
She lifted one shoulder. “Sorry about that.”
“Hey, just kidding. We’re all proud of you.” He glanced through the plate glass that separated the sparsely furnished lounge from a small parking lot. “And we sure miss your mother. She was something else, wasn’t she?” He turned back to Bella, assuring her with a nod. “In a good way.”
“She was the best nurse Indian Health ever had.”
“She sure was.”
“She could have been a doctor.” It was something she’d always thought, but she couldn’t remember saying it out loud before, giving due credit, open admiration. She’d felt it, but she hadn’t said it within range of her mother’s ear. What kind of range did Ladonna Primeaux’s hearing have now?
“She was a damn good nurse.”
“Yes, she was.” But she could have been a doctor. She’d said so herself, many times. What she’d never said was that she’d had a child to feed. “I ran into Ethan the other night.”
“Where?”
“In a bar,” Bella said, an answer that clearly surprised Logan. “Rapid City. I live there now.”
“I watch you all the time on TV.” He lifted one shoulder. “Well, not every day, but whenever I watch the news.”
She smiled. It was good to be watched and even better to be acknowledged. She owed him something in return. “Ethan’s following in your footsteps.”