Eye of the Storm (19 page)

"You said he has a partner. What can you tell me about him?"

"Nothing."

"All right.
I'll look into the matter and get back to you. In the meantime, keep digging."

Hours later, Stormwalker placed a soft kiss on her temple and went to the door. "I'm going to sleep, Red. I suggest you do the same. This will keep."

She looked up at him with that foggy expression he'd come to recognize whenever she worked at the computer, as if he'd pulled her back kicking and screaming from some totally enthralling other-world. "You could sleep on the bunk bed."

"If I stay, neither of us will get any sleep." Even from a distance, he could tell she followed his train of thought.

"It has been a struggle to concentrate on work with you close by," she said with a shy smile.

 
"Exactly.
Besides, I don't want to leave the animals unguarded all night."

She grinned at him. "But you'll leave me here defenseless and alone."

He gave her a look filled with irony.
"Alone, maybe, but defenseless?
Never.
I'll see you in the morning."

With him gone, the camper seemed empty in a way it never had before and, without his overpowering presence, much too big for one person. She shut down the computer and went outside. At the moment, nothing seemed as important as being with him.

She found the barn door slightly ajar. Its well-oiled hinges worked smoothly as she slipped inside. Although she expected familiar stable smells, her nose twitched at the harsh smell of cleaning fluid. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a lashing of flame cut through a pile of hay and called out a warning to Stormwalker. She dove to her left and used her body to smother the flame. As she struggled to her feet something hard struck the side of her head with a sharp crack. An electric blue-white light flashed in the darkness; then, even the darkness disappeared.

The sun shone through the window as she woke in the reservation's clinic. She felt the bandage behind her ear. Pain shot to the top of her skull. Otherwise, her body seemed to be in working order. Dr.
Josey
confirmed that fact when he came to check on her.

"You suffered a mild concussion," he explained, "nothing more. A day or two of rest will take care of that."

"And the weapon of choice?"

"They found a length of two-by-four beside you. If it had hit you square, your injury would have been much worse. Your assailant caught you at an angle hard enough to knock you out but not do any permanent damage."

"How is Stormwalker?" she asked.

"He's fine."

"Can I see him?"

The doctor shook his head. "He left once he knew you were in no danger. He didn't say where."

Zan watched him with a thoughtful expression. "That rest you prescribed . . . does it have to happen here?"

He removed the blood pressure cuff from her arm. "I want to make sure you get the time you need. If you leave, I have to trust you'll do as I prescribe."

"You can," she assured him.

"Rest means just that . . . no excitement or strenuous activity. It means putting your feet up while you settle for the distraction of a good book and nothing more."

She nodded. "Okay. I'll do as you say."

"Good," he said with a smile. "Mike Eagle said to call him when you were ready to leave. He'll come over with his pickup."

Mike provided transport back to the camper, but couldn't tell her where Stormwalker was. "Don't fret about him. He'll turn up before long."

"I can't help fretting, Mike. He's in danger and it's my job to keep an eye on him."

"I wasn't a fan of yours in the beginning, but I have to admit you've done a pretty good job of protecting him so far."

"Well, I can't keep it up if I don't know where he is. So if you hear anything, please let me know."

"Will do," Mike agreed affably. "I like the idea of you looking out for my nephew. You'd stand by him, not like that other one, his wife, who ran away when the going got rough."

"I haven't been totally steadfast myself, Mike."

"All I know is
,
you seem to come through when it counts. And don't tell me
it's
part of your job when I know different."

"Do you?"

"Am I wrong?"

She sighed.

"I didn't think so." Mike pulled up to the camper. "You go inside and get some rest. I'll fetch you when dinner's ready."

"That's not necessary. I can take care of myself."

"My nephew would want it that way, and so do I."

She nodded and went inside the RV.
 
She gave in to her aching head and double vision and lay down. Within seconds, sleep claimed her. When Mike woke her hours later, she couldn't decide if
Stormwalker's
voice whispering love and his lips on hers had been real or a dream.

Stormwalker's
heart had hammered in his chest as he'd carried Zan to the clinic. It never stopped until Dr.
Josey
declared the head injury minor. The next day, he borrowed Mike's truck and went to the hotel.

Sawyer had checked out, the desk clerk told him.
"How long ago?"
Stormwalker asked.

The young man looked at his watch.
"'Bout an hour."

Stormwalker nodded his thanks. He took the stairs two at a time, intent upon searching the room before the housekeeper made it ready for the next guest. He opened the door with little trouble and eased inside.

He found an unmade bed and a bathroom cluttered with damp towels. The dresser drawers were empty, but a search of waste paper baskets yielded the torn bits of a single price tag.

"Wonder what the guy bought," he said aloud, "and where." The fact that he'd found only one tag told him the man had probably removed the others before he returned to the hotel. "One must've slipped by him," he added into the silence. "Well, what the hell - nobody's perfect."

He pieced the tag together in his palm and studied it as he sat on the edge of the bed. Something crumpled beneath his weight. He rose and shook out the spread, catching a sales slip from a local sporting goods store as it fluttered to the floor.

"Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy," he muttered while welcoming the carelessness that had given him a clue to the man's next move. "
A hunting
we will go. . . ." He sang softly as his gaze traveled down the list of items that included clothing, camping equipment, rifles,
ammo
.
"Can't imagine who the prey will be."

Stormwalker stopped at the store where Sawyer had made his purchases. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light within. The place appeared much as he remembered. Dark and cluttered, it smelled of rubber and powder and gun oil. The musky odor came as easily from the collective scent of generations of hunters and outdoorsmen as the stuffed animals that stood randomly placed around the sales floor.

He recognized the owner, but went to a salesman behind the counter and showed him the receipt. "Do you know who handled this sale?"

The man examined the slip and pointed across the room. "Mr.
Doerner
did, but I fetched and carried. Near broke my back
luggin
' the stuff from the stockroom to their van."

"They sure bought a lot of equipment, didn't they?"

"Yep," the older man agreed. "
More'n
paid my wages for the month."

"You recall if they mentioned where they were going?"

The man considered the question,
then
shook his head. "Can't say as I do, but the two of them sure were loaded for bear." He smiled and shook his head again. "Said so, I did,
makin
' a joke, but it went right past '
em
. They just said no, it was small game they
was
after."

"Did you recognize either of them?"

"Nope.
But they were vets, I think. Had that look about '
em
, you know?"

"War marks men."

"I still remember mine – W-W-Two – the big one before your time."

"Too bad it wasn't the last," Stormwalker said. "I wouldn't have minded working in a different field."

"The business of
fightin
'
ain't
no
fun for a sane man." He thrust out his hand. "I'm Corley Hyatt. I know who you are."

Stormwalker shook Hyatt's hand. "How come you're so helpful?"

 
"Never thought you did
them
things the papers said. Still don't."

"I appreciate that. Do you remember anything about those two?"

"
Nothin
' stands out. They were just ordinary Joes."

If Sawyer and his buddy were afraid of being recognized, they might have sent in a couple of shills to make their purchases. Understandable for the man whose voice would make him easy to remember, but what did that say about his partner? Could he be a local? If so, Stormwalker knew he had at least two likely candidates.
 

"Well, thanks for your help."

"No problem," Hyatt said. He leaned over the counter and said urgently, "Watch your back, boy."

"
Yessir
, Mr. Hyatt. I'll be sure to do that."

Outside, Stormwalker glanced up at a sky full of dark gray clouds moving from west to east, driven by a strong wind. He knew they'd blow over, unlike his problems which seemed to hover above him without any hope of resolution. He could hear Mike chide him for his indulgence in self-pity and considered his next move.

Bringing the evidence to Zan would expose her to danger again, the last thing he wanted. But Mac needed to know what he'd found.
And I need to know if Kenneth Becker can be trusted.
Although his hackles rose at the thought, he headed for the courthouse.

Standing at his secretary's desk, the man greeted him with a flippant, "You get lost or something?"

"Or something."
He followed him into his office.

Becker motioned for Stormwalker to close the door,
then
sat behind his desk. Stormwalker seated himself in the chair beside it and stretched his long legs before him.

"You get the ballistics report back yet?"

"No. They haven't finished the tests."

He handed Becker the sales slip and waited until he'd examined it and looked up again.

"I found that in the room of a man named Sawyer after he'd checked out." Stormwalker had been watching Ken's face for some kind of reaction. He saw only a momentary narrowing of his eyes. "A salesman at
Doerner's
confirmed that two men bought that equipment. They were strangers, but looked experienced."

"Interesting bit of information," Becker mused as he examined the paper once more. "The guy plans to be around for a while, though obviously, not at the hotel."

"The salesman says they loaded the equipment into a van."

"They bought a lot of camping supplies. And that butane heater tells me they're prepared for an early winter."

Becker hit a button on one of two phones on his desk. "It's Ken," he said into the mouthpiece. "I'm putting you on the speaker."

He pressed a button and Mac's voice filled the room. "Who's there with you?"

Becker turned down the volume.
"Stormwalker."

"Good morning, Major."

Relieved that Mac had chosen to ignore their recent conversation, he did, too. "Sir, since I haven't accomplished anything here yet, isn't it a bit premature to use my rank?"

"I don't know," Mac drawled. "The pay vouchers I approve for you every month are computed at a major's rate. And don't call me 'Sir'. It was always Mac."

"That was before."