Black Sheep (29 page)

“Get down,” he shouted to Lena. From the shadows in the back of the car, looked like
she wasn’t alone in there. Bernie had a gun; why hadn’t he taken care of the leopard
himself? Probably couldn’t bring himself to hurt the animal—kid was simply not cut
out to be a killer.

Not that Goose was too happy about it, either. He raised the Browning, took careful
aim, and shot. The bullet hit the hood a few inches away from the cat. The cat jumped.
First to the roof of the car; then, when Goose fired another near miss, it leapt across
the truck and to the roof of the cabin. Then Goose lost it in the darkness.

He didn’t give it any time to return, speeding the bike to the Honda. As he approached
Lena jumped out, pulling a chimpanzee by the arm.

Holy hell, could this day get any more messed up?

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Sharleen LittleJohn lived in a single-story frame house with a small porch whose roof
sagged to one side. Caitlyn walked slowly up the front path, giving Sharleen time
to know she was coming—common country courtesy that she seldom had the chance to use.
Her usual approach to a residence was to park several houses away, check through the
windows first, then finally knock with one hand on her weapon.

Mrs. LittleJohn answered the door before Caitlyn reached the top of the steps. “You’re
late. Judas Bearmeat called ages ago, said you were coming.”

She wasn’t the wizened elderly woman Caitlyn had pictured. Sure, she had plenty of
wrinkles and crow’s-feet, but she wore a purple velour tracksuit complete with New
Balance cross trainers, also in purple. She gestured Caitlyn inside, bobbing her head
impatiently as Caitlyn explained why she was there.

The frame section of the house was a modern addition to an older log cabin in the
rear. The decor was eclectic: framed family photos, grandkids of all ages prominently
displayed, hunting trophies, and gourds painted in the traditional Qualla fashion.

Mrs. LittleJohn took the initiative. “Don’t know nothing about that girl. I took her
money but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not saying you did. What exactly did Lena ask you to do?”

“Had copies of some old papers. Wanted them translated from Cherokee to English. Never
came back for them.”

“Did she explain what she was interested in?”

“She had an English translation right there with them, I told her that, but she said
she wanted to compare it to mine. At first I thought she was trying some kind of bullshit
university experiment or something, testing to see if my Cherokee was any good, but
then I realized what she was after.”

“What was that?”

“There was a difference between the two documents. Subtle, you’d never notice if you
weren’t looking, but it was there.” She motioned for Caitlyn to follow her and led
her to a dining room. There were no chairs around the table or anywhere in sight,
maybe because the table itself, a massive slab cut from a tree, polished to reveal
every ring marking the tree’s ancient history, took up most of the room.

“Been in my family for generations.” Sharleen gestured to the table. “Not that anyone
cares. Can’t get the grandkids to even visit here anymore. When they come all they
want to do is hole up at the casino, play video games, and slide on the waterslide.”

A stack of folders sat on one side of the table. Mrs. LittleJohn opened the top one
and spread its contents faceup in front of Caitlyn.

“What are these documents, anyway?” Caitlyn asked.

“These papers are the original land grant to the freedmen that accompanied the pact.”

Caitlyn turned to the final page of the English document. Signing as representative
of the twenty-two freedmen families was Elijah Hale. Lena’s ancestor. “Was Lena tracing
her family tree?”

“Nothing to do with family trees,” Mrs. LittleJohn said with a sly smile. “Everything
to do with the land. Here’s the original Cherokee.” She pointed to a photocopy of
beautifully formed characters that danced across the page. “See this here? It’s the
word for ‘south.’ But here in the English it’s been changed to ‘north.’”

Caitlyn squinted. The English version was hard to read, also handwritten in old-fashioned
script. But when Mrs. LittleJohn pointed out the text she was talking about, Caitlyn
could see she was right.

Mrs. LittleJohn crossed the room and returned with a large framed map. An antique,
hand drawn and labeled in Cherokee.

“The English version says northeast corner of the Qualla Boundary.” She pointed on
the map. “That’s here.”

“Nothing there today except forest bordering the national park and the Teddy Roosevelt
Lodge.” Which meant no roads, no possibility for development. Worthless. Although
it did explain why Lena had gone to the lodge. To explore the land across from it.
“But you said the actual land deeded to the freedmen is south.”

“Right. Back then that land would have had little value to my people. Most of the
timber was already cleared, it was too far down the mountain to be any good for hunting,
and it’s not close to the river.”

“Where’s the real land tract located? The southern area that really belongs to the
freedmen.”

Mrs. LittleJohn’s smile grew wider and she traced her finger down, coming to a stop
at a point on the outer edge of the reservation. Right where the casino was built.

“Holy shit.” Caitlyn breathed as she realized the enormity of what Lena had stumbled
across.

“Exactly.”

As Caitlyn took photos of the documents with her cell phone, she thought hard, trying
to fit all the pieces into their correct places. “If the original pact was correct,
then the English translation wouldn’t have been altered until at least 1988 when the
Indian Gaming Act was passed and the casino was planned.”

“Right. Unless the original translation was wrong to start with. Who’s to know?”

“Too big of a coincidence. Had to happen in 1988.” She remembered Bearmeat lamenting
the disarray of tribal archives. Even with the technology back then it wouldn’t be
too difficult to make a small alteration. And who would bother digging up the original
to check? No freedmen were left in the Qualla Boundary—the Hales were the last who
lived close by. Which meant no one to protest or know the difference.

“It had to be 1988,” Caitlyn decided. Right around the time of a tribal elder’s murder,
Hale’s arrest, and her father’s death. Which meant whoever was behind all of this
had not wanted the casino development project moved—or delayed. “Who else besides
Mr. Bearmeat knows Lena brought these to you?” The old woman might be a target.

“I live alone at the end of a dead-end road no one else lives on. Hell, can’t even
get my own kids to visit. So who would know?”

“Still. I’m not sure you’re safe here. If I found you, others might as well.”

At first she thought Mrs. LittleJohn would put up a fight, insist on staying, and
Caitlyn would need to find some way to protect her. But the older woman nodded. “I
had a feeling you might say that. That’s why I told you all this. Now I’m not the
only one who knows.”

She walked past Caitlyn to a door at the end of the hall and emerged rolling a purple
suitcase in front of her. The wheels spun along the irregular boards of the wood floor.
“I’m seventy-three years old. About time I see some of the world, don’t you think,
Agent Tierney?”

*   *   *

Lena wouldn’t leave the chimp and they didn’t have time to argue, so Goose ended up
ferrying them both to another cabin, the girl hugging the chimp tight to her chest
with one hand and holding on to Goose’s jacket collar with the other. No sign of the
leopard, Weasel, or any other wild animals, thank God.

“You have to help Bernie. He’s sick, needs a doctor,” Lena shouted into his ear over
the roar of the bike. They stopped in front of the cabin, and she and the chimp hopped
off. The chimp held her hand but stopped to turn and shriek at Goose, baring her teeth.
Goose figured he was getting off lucky, damn thing could’ve taken a bite out of him
anytime during the ride.

“Hey, I got you here in one piece,” he told the chimp. “What more do you want?”

Neither the chimp nor the girl answered as they bolted up the steps to the cabin.
“Bernie?” Lena called, turning on the lights. Goose arrived just in time to see her
fall to her knees beside Bernie’s still form on the bed. “Oh God, he’s dead!”

Had to admit the kid looked bad. Skin was pale and sallow, with a strange yellow tint,
eyes sunken, lips parched. But corpses didn’t sweat. Goose raised Bernie’s wrist.
“No. He’s got a pulse. It’s pretty darn fast.”

“Call for an ambulance.”

Goose grabbed his phone. No bars. He tried anyway but couldn’t get through. But Caitlyn
should be there soon. “Don’t worry. Help’s on the way.”

Maybe this was for the best—not only would he be able to keep his cover, but Caitlyn
would be safely out of the way if she was with Bernie in the hospital. He’d just have
to make up some story for why she never showed up at Hale’s house. As long as Weasel
didn’t shoot first and ask questions later, he was safe.

*   *   *

Caitlyn called ahead and Paul was waiting outside the archives when she arrived. He
waved good-bye to Bearmeat and hopped in the car.

“Where have you been?” he asked as she pulled away, speeding down Acquoni back to
Route 19.

She waved him to silence. Thankfully it was too dark in the car for him to see the
cut on her head—otherwise she’d never get him to shut up. She called her mother. Goose
might be suspicious of Jimmy and everyone else at the VistaView, but there was no
way her mother could be involved. Plus, Jessalyn was staying in one of the apartments
behind the casino, away from the crowds. Where better to stash Paul, Lena, and Bernie?

“It’s me, I need a favor,” she said when Jessalyn answered the phone.

“First you run out on your family and now you call for a favor? You really are like
your father.”

Harsh. But maybe deserved. Caitlyn didn’t have time to parse their mother–daughter
dysfunction right now. “Can Paul and a few friends stay at your place? Just for a
little while?”

“Why not get them a room at the resort? I’m sure Jimmy—”

“See, that’s the thing. I need for no one to know they’re there. Not even Jimmy.”

A long pause. Which felt even more surreal since she was passing the VistaView as
she spoke. Was tempted to drop Paul off but she’d already kept Goose away from his
job too long and she needed to get Lena and Bernie to safety.

“What’s this about, Caitlyn?”

“Just a few people who need a safe place to stay. Only for an hour or so.” Or until
she was sure Goose didn’t need her help. “Then I’ll get them out of your hair.” It
would be so much easier if they could trust local law enforcement or if there was
a FBI office closer than Asheville, but given Goose’s situation, she couldn’t risk
blowing his cover and getting him killed.

Jessalyn’s sigh coincided with a gust of wind that shook the Subaru. “Okay.”

“Thanks. We’ll be there soon.” She hung up just as they reached the turnoff to the
Teddy Roosevelt.

“Where are we going?” Paul asked as she sped up the narrow, twisting road. “What was
that all about? I’m not staying with your mother. And who are these other people?”

“One of them is Lena Hale.” A fact she’d conveniently forgotten to tell her mother.
Whoops.

“You found her? Caitlyn, that’s great.”

“Maybe. There are some not-so-nice folks after her. I need you to watch her while
I take care of business.”

“Not alone. You’re going to call the cops, right?”

Depended if she could figure out a way to involve the sheriff without exposing Goose.
Trust no one, assume nothing—that’s what kept undercover operatives alive. There was
a damn good reason Goose had waited so long before telling her the truth.

“Yeah, sure,” she told Paul. “Just as soon as I get you guys to safety.”

The lie kept him quiet long enough for them to reach the lodge. Only one building
had its lights on, so it was easy to find the others. As she pulled up, Goose appeared,
holding his 9mm at the ready. He didn’t relax until he saw her emerge from the Subaru.

“Change of plans,” he told her. “We’ve got trouble.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“What’s going on?” Caitlyn asked Goose as she hustled Paul inside the small cabin.

“Bernie’s sick. Real sick. He needs a doctor.”

“Paul, take a look, will you?” He stared at Goose but then looked past the biker to
Bernie. Caitlyn followed his gaze; the kid really did look sick. Like next-to-dead
sick.

“What were his symptoms?” Paul asked, dropping to one knee beside Bernie’s bed and
taking his pulse.

Lena came out of the back room, a chimpanzee holding her hand. Caitlyn recognized
the girl from her photo—the chimp was a stranger. “What the hell?”

“Things are more complicated than we thought,” Goose said in a wry tone.

“No shit.” No time for reunions with long-lost best friend’s baby sisters. She beckoned
Goose outside to the porch. “Tell me everything.”

“The Reapers took a bunch of exotic animals as payment for a bad debt, were gonna
use them for target practice. Kid couldn’t bear to see them killed, so he stole them
from the Reapers, brought them here. There’s three more chimps and a leopard running
loose, a lion over there in that cabin, a sloth and some other monkey-things in the
one beside it—”

“Wait. Did you say there’s a leopard running loose?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Told you it was complicated. But it gets worse.”

“What?”

He held up his phone. “GPS tracker on Poppy’s SUV. He’s headed this way. Probably
not alone.”

“Your cover team?”

“Haven’t been able to reach them, but they’ve got my GPS signal.”

“But they won’t come unless they know you’re in trouble, right?”

He nodded. “Plus, they’re following Caruso and his men, hoping they’ll lead them to
the money. Might not even be looking to see where I am. Last they knew I was supposed
to be sitting around with Weasel, waiting for you to walk into our trap.”