Fire Prayer (26 page)

Chapter Forty-two

She must have blacked out, because Detective Niwa's face swam into Storm's view. He was pale, and looked about ten pounds thinner than he had two days ago.

“Am I in the hospital? Am I shot?” she asked him, and realized he wasn't wearing the blue gown she'd seen him in that morning.

“You're still in the forest,” he said, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Try not to move. I think you broke your collarbone.”

“Where's Luke?” Storm still struggled to sit up, and gritted her teeth against the pain.

“If you don't stay quiet, you're going to push that bone through the skin. Then we'll have real problems.”

Storm ignored him and used her good arm to push herself into a sitting position. “Where's Luke? And Aunt Maile?”

“Christ,” Niwa muttered, but this time he helped her by supporting her back.

What was
he
swearing for? Her head pounded and her chest hurt so bad she could hardly breathe. “What happened? Where are Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone?”

“Good thing I coached Little League all those years.” He took a big handkerchief from his pants pocket and folded it into a triangle.

“Wear this.” He gently worked the makeshift sling over Storm's head.

He wasn't answering any of her questions. “Where's Poele?” she shouted. “He's got a gun.”

He lowered himself to a seat on a rock. “Poele dashed off after the boy and the horse. Probably scaring them worse. My partner is right behind. It's a regular high-speed chase, Abbot and Costello style.” He didn't smile when he said it. “I hope that kid doesn't fall off.”

“Me too.”

“Can't Nishijima bring him down?”

“Who? The horse?”

“No, Poele.” Storm wanted to scream with frustration. Pain, fear, and the knowledge of her failure to get the boy to safety were pushing her to the breaking point.

“He's trying to help.”

Storm stared at him. “No, he's looking for Luke because Luke saw him the night Jenny died.”

“It wasn't Poele he saw.”

“The murder weapon's the sculpture, you know.”

“We know. Poele brought it in.” He squinted down the path. “Problem is, we thought Connor used it. You know, to hit Brock Liu.”

“I don't think so.” Storm took as deep a breath as she could and tried to gather her thoughts.

“Me either, now,” Niwa said. “He called, told us you were on the way in here. Of course, I knew that.” Niwa winced in what looked like self-reproach. “I was still looking in the wrong direction.”

“Did Hamlin tell you what was in the letter? Who Brock accused of starting the fire?”

“It was Makani. And Nishijima went to talk to him. He was up at the ranch when Connor's call came in.”

“Jesus, it
was
Makani.” Storm wished she didn't feel so fuzzy. But how could Makani be here, in the forest? “He couldn't be after Luke, could he? He was with a new foal when Jenny died. Plus, how could he beat us here, and why didn't he stop us at the ranch?”

“Makani's not back there.” Niwa looked down the path into the forest.

He tried to explain. “Nishijima talked to Makani after you left. Makani takes responsibility for starting the fire. He's carried that with him for ten years. He told us how bad Alika hurt Tia, and how he hated him for it. He thought Alika damaged his entire family.”

“So he tried to kill him in a fire?”

Niwa nodded. “Seems his dad taught him some of the old chants before he moved to New Mexico.”

“Was Makani at the scene of the fire?”

“No. The fire started about eleven-thirty on a Thursday night. Makani was studying for a test with a classmate. He was a junior in high school, and we found the other student, who verifies they were together. But Makani says he chanted every day for a week, and he's convinced the curse worked.”

“What do you think?”

Niwa shrugged. “Who knows? I don't know how a court of law would look at it, either.” He stared past her as if he looked for answers in the leaves of the trees. “Or whether they should.”

Storm thought for a moment. “Could it have been Makani's dad? Where was he?”

“Seems Mr. Kekapu has been working with a Hopi shaman for the last fifteen years. Makani's gone to visit, but the older Kekapu hasn't been back since he left.”

“Who do you think started the fire?” Storm asked.

“I don't know yet, but I still have some questions to ask.” He met her eyes. “What I do know is they all say someone else did it. At first I thought it was a big cover up.”

“Isn't it? Isn't that why they got the tattoos?”

Niwa shrugged. “I'm not so sure anymore. The tattoos, yeah. That's a sign of solidarity. But when you question them separately,” Niwa met her eyes, “you get the feeling no one's sure about the fire. They all cover for someone different.”

“Makani told me Dusty thought Poele did it. But then he said he overheard Poele talking about protecting Connor.”

“Poele's still keeping a secret, but I have a hunch he'll share it when we get back into town.” Niwa looked thoughtful. “I don't think he cares all that much about himself anymore.”

“I think Connor suspects Skelly.” Hadn't Makani said something about that? “Skelly gave him that black eye, you know.”

A look of distress crossed Niwa's face. “Those boys have had troubles since their mom died eight or nine years ago.”

“Makani tried to slow us down, didn't he? He only gave us two saddles, and—”

The crack of a rifle came from down the path. Niwa jumped to his feet. “Nishijima's got an AR-15, and that was a larger caliber rifle.”

A second shot rang out, a higher-pitched sound than the first. Niwa spoke a quick command into the radio transmitter on his shoulder.

But the next noise stopped him mid-sentence. Storm's blood ran cold. A child's high, thin wail pierced the still air, and it went on for longer than either would have thought possible.

Niwa was out of sight before Storm could react. It was all she could do to get to her feet and take a few shaky steps. The howl had been a chilling lament of unfathomable pain. Had Luke been shot? Where were Uncle Keone and Tanner? Most of all, why had Niwa avoided telling her whom he and his partner were chasing?

She stood alone in the silent woods. The breeze had stopped and the leaves on the trees hung heavy and still. No birds twittered or called. The only sound was the nearby stream, but its babbling no longer seemed cheerful; instead, the water was one more obstacle in keeping her from the people she'd wanted and failed to protect. It was another reminder of her defeat.

It seemed that she stood there for hours. Finally, the throbbing of her broken clavicle forced her to lower herself onto the boulder Niwa had been using. Later, she'd guess that fifteen or twenty minutes elapsed, but it seemed an eternity.

Pain blunts the senses. Storm didn't hear the trudging footsteps until they were close. Her first thought—more of a hope—was that Uncle Keone and Luke were on the way. A half second later, she knew the heavy tread belonged to a human rather than horses. He crunched leaves and squished mud with an uneven gait.

“Detective Niwa?” She stood, not knowing whether to move in the direction he'd gone or dash the opposite way. Not that she could dash; she could barely get to her feet. The raw pain of grating bone was agony.

It was Dusty Rodriguez who limped around the bend in the trail. Like Poele, he wore a camouflage shirt that was soaked with sweat. His shirt tail hung out, and one leg of his jeans was dark with blood. He reached out to Storm.

“Dusty, what happened?” she asked, but she backed away. What was
he
doing out here? Niwa had said Poele was trying to help, but he hadn't told her Dusty was in the forest, too.

“I got caught in the crossfire. Damned cop aimed over me. Sights on his gun must be way off.”

“Who was he shooting at?” She looked down at his leg. From his thigh down, the denim glistened with fresh blood. His left boot made a squishy noise. “Oh, God. You better put pressure on that.”

Squish, clump, squish, clump. He made his way closer to the rock where she'd been sitting. “Good idea.”

He almost fell trying to keep his injured leg straight and threw his arms out for support. One grabbed at a nearby tree and the other windmilled, looking for an anchor.

Instinctively, Storm took a step closer, and he grabbed her arm.

She yelped. “Ow.”

“Just help me out a sec.”

“I'm hurt, too,” she said.

But Dusty yanked her toward him, and she stumbled from the stabbing shock to her injured arm and chest. He pulled her tight, until her face was smashed against his chest. She couldn't move, and her shoulder hurt like hell.

“Stop it. You're hurting me.” Her voice was muffled against him.

The bitter stench of pain and desperation saturated his shirt. It was the odor from her dream, and it nearly choked her.

“Let go.” She tried to turn her head, but he gripped her back like a vice. If she'd been uninjured, she would have pushed free in a second, but the broken collarbone kept her captive.

He didn't answer, and she could feel the muscles in his chest contract when he turned his head from side to side. He was looking for someone.

“Why are you doing this?” Pain pulsed in her ears and she fought the sensation that she might black out.

The slide of a rifle bolt clicked behind her. “Let her go,” a voice said. A voice she'd heard, but didn't know well. Nishijima?

Dusty only intensified his grip. Tears of pain and betrayal stung her eyes. It was Dusty who'd hunted them.

“Why?” she said into his shirt front. “I always admired you.”

“You should have left us alone.” He spoke through gritted teeth and she felt a tremor pass through him. He was probably weakened by pain or the loss of blood.

Storm wanted to cry, but she knew she'd be better off trying to comfort or appease him. She had to convince him to let go.

“Are you worried about the letter?” Storm asked. He merely tightened his grip, and she gasped. “Are you protecting Makani?” Anything to make him talk. What pushed him to this act?

“It's too late.” Dusty's voice was low and sad.

“Nobody believes Brock Liu.”

“Let her go.” Nishijima's voice came from a different copse of trees. He was moving closer.

Dusty turned toward the voice and reached under his shirt tail for the gun at his back. He leaned back against the rock for stability. The movement jerked Storm forward, off balance.

She lurched, the ends of her collarbone grating with a crushing pain that buckled her knees. Pain and terror blackened the edges of her vision and a wave of nausea swept over her. She slid to one side, and as she did, another shot rang out.

***

The flurry of voices and crackling radio static awoke her. “She's conscious,” a voice said.

“Check her vitals and get a mental status evaluation,” said a voice from a radio. “What's your name?” someone said. “Do you know where you are?”

Storm forced her eyes open. A woman's face swam above her and Storm felt as if she were rocking from side to side. She closed her eyes to stop the spinning sensation. She was flat on her back, unable to lift either arm. The last thing she wanted to do was barf.

“My name's Storm,” she said. Her mouth felt as if it were filled with dry pebbles. “Shot?” was the only other word she could utter.

“No, but you got that broken collarbone jammed pretty good. You know where you are?” the woman repeated.

“I'm thirsty.” Storm could only whisper.

“Suck on this.” The woman held an ice cube to her lips. Heaven. Storm wanted a tall glass of them.

“Honey girl?” came a warm, familiar voice.

“Aunt Maile? Where are we?” She could hear the slur in her voice and she kept her eyes closed. Too much movement. Urp.

“An ambulance.”

“Tell 'em to stop that swaying.” Storm tried to open her eyes again. No spinning, but that rocking was bad.

“Road'll straighten out in a minute or two,” the ambulance woman said.

A few minutes later, Storm opened her eyes long enough to take a look around. Aunt Maile was next to her. She was strapped in, too.

An emergency medical tech sat between them, with a stethoscope around her neck. She checked the IV drip in Storm's arm and smiled. “Feeling any better?”

“A bit.” Storm looked over at Aunt Maile. “You hurt, too?”

Aunt Maile winced. “Damned horse clipped my knee against a tree when he bolted.”

“Oh, no.” Her words were still slurred, but the nausea was retreating.

“I'll be okay.”

“Where's Uncle Keone?” Storm asked.

“He's following in the horse trailer.”

Some memories began to return. Storm recalled falling off the horse and Poppy taking off with Luke. The rest was still a muddle. “Where's Luke?”

“Another ambulance. With Tanner.” Aunt Maile's voice sounded sad.

“What's wrong?” Storm turned her head suddenly and her gurney took a few whirls. The tech warned her to take it easy.

“Tanner got shot. He was protecting Luke.”

“Oh, no.” Storm blinked hard. “How is he?”

“Don't know yet.” Aunt Maile's voice was low. “Looked pretty bad.”

Now Storm was beginning to remember. “It was Dusty, wasn't it?”

“Yes.”

“He grabbed me.”

Several moments passed and no one said anything. Storm recalled his smell from the dream. The odor still lingered, as if it clung to her clothing. She wanted to gag.

“Where is he? What happened?”

“He's dead.” Aunt Maile's voice broke.

A silence fell in the swaying chamber, broken only by the crackling of a voice on the radio. The tech spoke into the receiver on her shoulder. “Stable. Tender over her clavicle, the bone end is tenting the skin. Mental status improving.” She fiddled with the IV.