Could protecting her mean protecting the enemy?

As a former US Marine, Turquoise Guardian Ray Strong is no stranger to high-risk situations. But when he is assigned to protect Morgan Hooke—a single mother and daughter to the Apache who killed a mass gunman—Ray suspects there is more to his mission than meets the eye. Is Morgan an innocent bystander, or the keeper of her father’s secrets and blood money? Despite his better instincts, Ray feels a powerful attraction to Morgan. Motivated by love and the loss of his own parents and best friend, Ray will do anything to keep her out of the hands of unseen enemies.

Apache Protectors: Tribal Thunder

This was what it must be like, he thought, to have a woman not just to sleep with but to hold.

The awkwardness eased and they sat there quietly. When she pushed away he felt the tug of regret.

“Sorry about that,” she said.

He wasn’t sorry, but how could he say so?

“That’s okay. Happens sometimes.” It never happened, actually.

She stared up at him and, bang, there it was again—that ache in his chest and the zing of attraction that crackled like the glass glaze Mrs. Yeager used on her white pots. Ray dropped his arm from her shoulder down to her waist.

“Oh,” she said. Morgan inched away and met the resistance of his arm as he tightened his hold.

“My daughter is in the other room,” she said.

That broke his concentration. His arm fell away and Morgan rose to her feet. She backed toward the door, pausing just inside the threshold with one hand on the doorknob, as if preparing to slam it shut and flee. It was the kind of chase he’d enjoy, but only if she would, too.

Eagle Warrior

Jenna Kernan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNA KERNAN has penned over two dozen novels and has received two RITA® Award nominations. Jenna is every bit as adventurous as her heroines. Her hobbies include recreational gold prospecting, scuba diving and gem hunting. Jenna grew up in the Catskills and currently lives in the Hudson Valley of New York State with her husband. Follow Jenna on Twitter, @jennakernan, on Facebook or at www.jennakernan.com.

For Jim, always

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Extract

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Most folks wouldn’t trust Ray Strong to look after a houseplant let alone a woman and a child. But that was exactly what had happened. Ray watched the woman in question as she served a complimentary drink to one of the customers on the floor of the tribe’s casino—she dipped as she set down the glass to avoid showing too much leg in her skimpy skirt. A shame, really, because she had great legs.

Detective Jack Bear Den, one of his friends and a fellow member of the warrior sect of the Turquoise Guardians medicine society, told him that they had all gone to high school with Morgan Hooke. But honestly, even after observing her several times over the past five days, Ray didn’t remember her. That meant that she did not look like this back then.

Morgan was not beautiful, but compelling in a waifish sort of way. She had dark cautious eyes and a generous mouth. For reasons unknown, her thick shock of black hair was cut short on the sides and back and long on the top in a style favored by adolescent boys. He liked that cut on some actresses. But Morgan’s hair lacked the product to make it look sassy, so it fell thick and straight in a bowl haircut that looked practical but not sexy, unless you noticed the long curve of her neck. Which he did, and that slim column of sensitive flesh gave him all kinds of bad ideas.

Some of the servers had released their top few buttons to reveal more of their breasts. But not Morgan. She wore the uniform in as conservative a manner as possible. Judging from her tip glass, he was not the only man in the room that rewarded less clothing and more skin.

He watched her retreat to the bar for more drinks. She did look good walking away. Not that it mattered. Ray was not here to pick Morgan up. An outsider had been asking about the shooter’s daughter. The Anglo had even been at the casino last Sunday, Morgan’s day off. A coworker had furnished Morgan’s name, but not where she lived and the stranger had vanished. The woman had called their shaman, Kenshaw Little Falcon, who shared her concern, so he’d sent Ray to watch Morgan’s back and see what she knew about her father’s involvement in the crime. His shaman had been very specific. Keep her safe and find out if she knew who hired her father. Kenshaw believed that her father had not acted out of some need for justice but had been paid to shoot Ovidio Natal Sanchez. Why was obvious. But who—now that one was a puzzle.

Not as big a puzzle as why his shaman had chosen him for this job. Real dark horse he was and he knew it.

Morgan finished her shift and Ray trailed her out to the parking lot. Morgan stopped to pick up milk and processed cheese. Ray took the opportunity to buy beer and pork rinds. She didn’t notice him. She never did because she kept her shoulders rounded and head down all the time. He didn’t like it, wanted to shout at her to stand up straight.

Ray gazed across the space that separated them. She didn’t seem the type for secrets. But she had at least one. No one seemed to know who fathered her child, Lisa. Everyone had secrets. That made it hard to tell about a person from what you saw on the outside. And no one ever got a look at the inside.

Next Morgan drove home to the small house that she had shared with her father and still shared with her ten-year-old girl. No sign of a man in her life though. A shame. She seemed fragile and Ray wondered why no man had responded to the compulsion to look after her. Not that he was that sort. Not at all.

She stopped again at the neighbor’s to pick up Lisa. Her daughter was as skinny as a split rail with hair that flew out behind her when she ran, which she did often. In her features was the promise of beauty and none of the slinking posture her mother adopted. Lisa was bright-eyed and curious. She’d made eye contact with Ray a time or two and even thrown him a generous smile. He liked her. She was outgoing and a little crazy like him, judging from the way she climbed and swung and jumped on the playground at school during recess. But today was Saturday so no school.

When Morgan reached her dark and empty house, Ray waited on the road as Lisa charged toward the door.

April in the Arizona mountains meant that Lisa still wore a heavy coat, though it flapped open as she ran. Ray lifted his field glasses. He had the house behind hers. But this spot on the road gave him a better view of the kitchen. She never shut the curtains over the sink, so he could peer right in as she made dinner.

From his place on the shoulder, he could see both the kitchen on the front corner and one side of the house, including the back window where Morgan’s father’s bedroom was located. He caught the flash of movement in the bedroom. She left the shades up during the day; he suspected she did this for her cat, who liked sitting in that sunny window on the back of a worn upholstered chair.

Seeing a man pass the window, Ray shifted the direction of his gaze. Redirecting his field glasses, he saw that the contents of the room had been tossed about and there was someone searching the bookcase.

An instant later, Ray was out of his truck and running for the house.

Chapter Two

Morgan Hooke unlocked the front door and her daughter, Lisa, charged inside. One step took Morgan to the small rug just beyond the threshold. She exhaled, glad to finally be home. The day shifts were long and the guests were older, drank only the complimentary beverages and tipped almost nothing. Night shifts paid better, but without her father here at home, she needed to look after Lisa. That meant fewer hours and less pay. She’d picked up the Saturday hours only because a friend agreed to watch Lisa. Money had always been tight, but it had become stretched like the head of a war drum since her father’s arrest.

Morgan flicked on the light, chasing off the late-day gloom and looked to the recliner where the cat usually slept. Finding the cushion empty, she scanned the tiny room for Cookie, the cat Lisa had dragged out of a Dumpster behind the school when it was only a kitten.

Lisa had tossed her backpack by the door and now called a greeting to her pet as she entered the eat-in kitchen and switched on the light. Cookie was usually there to greet them, meowing loudly for dinner. Morgan kicked off her shoes, retrieved Lisa’s empty lunch bag from her backpack and carried both pack and bag into the kitchen. Lisa had already dropped the sack of groceries on the dinette before making her way down the hall that led to their three small bedrooms on her hunt for the gray cat with the startlingly green eyes.

Morgan frowned at the first prickling of unease. She hoped Cookie was all right because a vet visit was not in the budget.

“Cookie! Coook-key!”

Lisa sang the name and then made a familiar sound proven to lure the cat. The only noise Cookie responded to with greater frequency was that of the electric can opener.

“Mom!”

The alarm in Lisa’s voice brought Morgan around. She glanced down the hall where Lisa stood motionless with her hands lifted slightly from her sides as she stared into her grandfather’s room.

“Lisa? What’s wrong?” Morgan was already moving and had cleared half the distance separating them as she prayed that nothing had happened to Cookie. Then she saw it. Her father was in Phoenix awaiting trial. No one should be in his room. But his overturned dresser now blocked the door.

A small gray cat could not do that.

“Lisa, honey,” she whispered as the dread flooded over her suddenly clammy skin. “Come here to me right now.”

“But what happened to...” Lisa took one step forward and threw her hand over her mouth. Then she turned and ran.

Morgan did not ask what she had seen. She asked nothing as she grabbed her daughter’s wrist and ran for the closest door on bare feet. She heard the footsteps pounding down the hall and pushed Lisa ahead.

“Hurry!”

They cleared the hall and Lisa nearly reached the kitchen door when someone grabbed Morgan by her hair and tugged so hard she saw stars.

Lisa turned back. “Mom!”

A low male voice growled in Morgan’s ear. “Where’s the money?”

“Run!” she shouted to Lisa.

But her daughter hesitated.

“Get help,” she said.

That sent her daughter off. Lisa rounded the table as the kitchen door flew open. Another man stood on the back step. Lisa screamed as the man lifted her off the ground, spun her in a circle and set her behind him on the back step.

“Run,” ordered Morgan. The last thing she saw was her daughter’s wide dark eyes before her captor tugged her backward into the hall.

“Where is it?” he asked, punctuating his question with a little shake.

Morgan grabbed hold of his wrists and twisted to face her attacker. Then she punched him in the bicep as she’d been taught by her dad. The man released her. Morgan staggered back, right into the second man.

The next instant she was behind him as he continued toward her attacker.

She saw the wide shoulders and clenched fists. Short black hair, a dark hoodie and long legs clad in new blue jeans. The man beyond him was now on his feet.

There was nothing said between them but she could tell by the way that the second man stalked the first that these two were not comrades.

“Listen, buddy,” said her attacker, holding his hands up.

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Morgan winced at the cracking sound of a fist striking the man’s face. Blood sprayed on the white paint and the school photos tacked up in the hall. Morgan balled a fist before her mouth to stifle a scream. From outside Lisa shouted her mother’s name.

Her rescuer thumped her captor’s head on the hall runner as Morgan turned and fled.

* * *

RAY THOUGHT HE should have dropped the guy when he stopped fighting but gave him just one more shot for making him blow his cover. He’d been happy watching Morgan and Lisa from a distance. Experience had told him that things looked better that way. Now they’d seen him and he’d have to come up with something.

Damn.

He released the limp intruder and noticed that the housebreaker was bleeding all over himself but more important he was bleeding on Morgan’s hall runner. Ray knew women despised mud or blood on carpets.

Once on his feet, Ray gave the guy a poke with his boot and the guy’s head lolled. He retrieved the man’s wallet and drew out his license.

“Andrew Peck.” Ray glanced from the image of the smiling well-dressed man to the bloody, slack-faced Anglo with the rapidly swelling nose.

“You live in Darabee. Right up the road,” Ray said.

A little searching of the billfold yielded several business cards. Mr. Peck was a manager at the Darabee Community Savings. Home invasion seemed a strange thing for a bank manager to be doing. He clearly was not very good at B and E or at personal defense. Ray kept the business card and tossed the wallet back on Mr. Peck’s rising and falling chest where it bounced to the ground at his side.

Ray made a call to Kenshaw Little Falcon, reporting in. Little Falcon was his shaman, his spiritual leader, the head of their medicine society and the man who had hand selected the warrior sect called Tribal Thunder. Ray was proud to be among the newest members of the elite group of two dozen Tonto Apache men all selected from within the larger medicine society known as the Turquoise Guardians. Tribal Thunder recruits came from the men who completed the rigorous warrior training required to be considered a candidate. The newest inductees also included his friends Dylan Tehauno and Jack and Carter Bear Den. Like him, all three men were former US Marines but only he had a criminal record and a stunning proclivity for screw-ups.

His shaman told him to contact Jack Bear Den, who was also a member of Tribal Thunder and, conveniently, a detective with the tribal police here on Turquoise Canyon Reservation.

Their tribe of Tonto Apache was small, only 950 members but large enough for a casino and a manmade recreational lake, thanks to the Skeleton Cliff Damn. Their tribal police force totaled seven, including their dispatcher.

When he finished with Jack, he moved to the open back door to call to Morgan and Lisa. They didn’t reply. The night was closing in but he could see that Morgan had them both locked in her car. Pitiful place to hide as he could break the glass with any number of rocks lying nearby, but at least he’d found them. She’d obviously left her keys inside the house.

He shouted to her that the police were coming and to stay put. Then he went to check out the damage the guy had done inside. He stepped over Mr. Peck to find a huge mess in the bedroom that had recently been occupied by Morgan’s father. The mattress lay askew, bedding stripped, dresser drawers all emptied out.

Ray looked back at the intruder. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

A glance in Lisa’s and Morgan’s rooms showed the man had either not looked there yet or chosen to focus on Karl’s room.

Her father, Karl Hutton Hooke, had shot and killed the mass murderer who’d killed nine people down at the Lilac Copper Mine near the border last February. Ovidio Natal Sanchez had been apprehended in the town right outside the reservation boundary. On the very day the suspect had been delivered into custody, Mr. Hooke had walked right up and shot Sanchez twice through the heart. Nobody could explain why Karl had done it and, according to Jack, Morgan’s dad refused to speak to anyone, including his court-appointed attorney.

Ray heard a sound in the hall and returned to find his captive make a failed attempt to rise.

“What were you looking for, Peck?”

Peck groaned and rolled his head from one side to the other. His hand went to his nose. He coughed blood and opened one eye.

“You want to tell me why you’re here?” asked Ray.

“Do I know you?” Peck tried to staunch the copious amounts of blood issuing from his nose with his index finger and thumb. This forced the blood in a new direction and he began to cough.

“We only just met. Why are you here?”

“I was just...” His eyes shifted toward the kitchen, judging the distance to freedom and finding it too far. “I...it...”

“Yes?” Ray asked, lifting his brows and affecting a look of interest.

“I’m not saying a thing without a lawyer.”

Ray smiled. “You have me confused with a law-abiding citizen. So let me explain.” Ray squatted on his haunches and grabbed Mr. Peck, lifting him by the front of his bloody shirt. “I’m Apache and on my reservation.” Ray showed him his empty hand. “I could kill you with this.

“Plus I have a criminal record and a bad temper. I’m not calling you a lawyer. So once again. Why, Mr. Peck, are you lying in Miss Hooke’s hallway?”

Mr. Peck started to cry. “Please. You got to let me go.”

Ray sighed and then shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

“I can pay you.”

“Pay me?” Ray snorted. “This lady is a friend of mine. You scared her. So it’s gone past money.” Ray lifted Andrew’s index finger and gave it a shake. “I expect a bank manager needs these.”

Peck tried and failed to recover his hand with a weak tug. When he reached with his opposite hand Ray slapped him in the forehead with the heel of one hand. Peck’s head thumped on the carpet and his hand fell away.

“I’m about to break this. Fair warning.”

“All right. I was looking for the money.”

The obvious question was what money, but Ray didn’t do obvious.

“Yeah. Me, too. Why do you think it’s here?”

Andrew’s mouth quirked and a little of the fear left his expression. His pale twitchy eyes reminded Ray of a rodent.

“He didn’t have much time between when he cashed the check and shot that man. Maybe twenty-four hours.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “She doesn’t seem to have it. Or she’s real smart. So I figured I’d start here.”

“And you chose a time when Ms. Hooke would find you. Why?”

“No. I thought she worked nights at the casino. Somebody at the bank said so.”

“She did. But her father used to watch her daughter. Now she’s alone so...”

Andrew absorbed that. “Oh, yeah. Right. So what do you say? Fifty-fifty?”

“How much we talking here, Andy?”

His mouth clamped shut and he sniffed. Ray selected which digit to break and Peck writhed and whined.

“Okay. Okay. It was two hundred thousand. A bank check. He asked for cash. We had to make him come back. I don’t keep that much on hand. So he came back, you know, the next day and the check was good. So I cashed it. And he walked right out of there with that money in a cardboard box. Just folded over the top flaps and tucked it under his arm.”

Two hundred thousand? No wonder Kenshaw Little Falcon thought Morgan and her girl needed protection.

“You cleared the check?” asked Ray.

Peck nodded. “Sure did, after the bank in Phoenix cleared the funds.”

How long had this twerp been watching Morgan, Ray wondered.

“Karl went away two months ago. Why now?” asked Ray.

“Because people are asking questions now. They’re after it, the money. So, I thought I’d better get moving. I’d asked Ms. Hooke personally on two separate occasions when she came into the bank if she needed help investing. She declined. Seemed kind of puzzled. I think she’s got it tucked in a mattress or something.” Peck coughed blood and sniffed. “Say, mind if I sit down?”

Ray ignored the request. “What people?”

“A detective from Darabee came back in February, the one that got shot.”

“Eli Casey?”

“Yes, so I figured he was out of the picture. But then a man came right to my church last Sunday morning and right during fellowship hour he asked me if I was the one who cashed the check for Karl in the amount of two hundred thousand dollars. I was so shocked I said, yes.” Peck moved his hand and sniffed. Blood continued to flow down his face and neck. “Can I get a paper towel or some ice?”

“No. Who was he, the one from church?”

“I never saw him before. He didn’t give me his name.”

“You tell him anything else?”

“I may have said that the daughter’s name was Morgan and she worked nights at the tribe’s casino.”

Last Sunday, Ray thought, the day before Kenshaw called him in to watch Morgan.

The sound of sirens reached him, still a ways off. He turned his head and then looked back at Peck, noting the moment he heard the approaching police.

“You called the cops?”

“You’re trespassing on sovereign land.”

“What about our deal?”

“Only deal I’ll make is that if I ever see you on tribal land again, I’ll break this.” He set Peck’s hand on his chest and gave it a little pat. “And, if I see you near Morgan or Lisa Hooke again, I’ll kill you.”

Peck trembled. Somehow the man sensed Ray wasn’t bluffing. He was surprised to recognize that he wasn’t making idle threats. He knew himself capable of killing this man for daring to touch Morgan. Why did this woman rouse every protective instinct in Ray’s body? That question troubled him more than this miserable excuse for a burglar.

And who was the man at the casino asking questions? Ray set his teeth as he realized the threat to Morgan may have only just begun.

Chapter Three

Peck’s eyes widened. As Ray stood over him, the bank manager rose to his elbows.

“You want it for yourself. Did you find it already? Is it gone?”

“Yeah. Gone.” Ray made an exploding motion with both hands.

Ray left him to meet the police, passing Morgan and Lisa still sitting in the shabby white Honda with the windows rolled up and fogging. He noticed the gray duct tape securing the driver’s side mirror and shook his head. She needed someone to look after her.

Morgan looked up at him with big wide eyes and in that moment she didn’t look much older than her ten-year-old. He wondered two things simultaneously. How old had she been when she’d had Lisa and who was the bastard who left her all alone?

He gave Morgan a smile as he passed and belatedly noticed he had a bloody hoodie.

He knew the young officer who’d arrived first and directed him to the intruder. The next one he sent to speak to Morgan and Lisa.

“Tell her I’m her neighbor. I live right there.” He pointed at the house behind hers.

“I thought you lived in Pinyon Forks,” said Officer Cox.

“Looking after a friend’s place for a few days while he’s away.”

Ray waited a few minutes for Jack to arrive. It didn’t take long to tell him what he’d learned.

“He might press charges,” said Jack.

Ray shrugged and made a hissing sound of dismissal. “So?”

Jack left it at that. He spoke to Morgan and her girl and oversaw the removal of the crying mess that Andrew Peck had become as his dreams of riches turned to the real possibility of jail time.

Peck went into a police unit and Jack waved Ray over to make introductions. Morgan stood with an arm resting protectively on her daughter’s narrow shoulders. Lisa stayed close and very still, watching them.

“Ms. Hooke, this is an old friend of mine, Ray Strong. Ray and I served together in Iraq. I’m sure you have met him at some point. We were only a year ahead of you in school.”

Jack didn’t mention that Ray had dropped out and had to take his GED in order to join up with Carter, Dylan, Jack and Hatch.

The awkward pause coupled with Jack’s scowl made Ray realize that Jack wanted him to chime in.

“Oh, yeah,” said Ray. “Nice to see you again, Morgan. Long time.” He rubbed his neck and glanced to Jack who lifted his chin as if silently ordering him to continue. Ray hated small talk. “I’m staying in Felix’s place while he’s away.”

Morgan’s expression brightened and she glanced toward her neighbor’s house.

“Felix Potts? He told me he was going to Waco to visit his daughter and the new baby. It’s her third.”

Her voice was musical, like a flute, full of light air and sweet tones.

“Oh, yeah,” said Ray, his skin prickling now. “Isn’t that something?”

Ray’s customary position with women was that they either turned him on or they didn’t. If they did and they liked men with a bad reputation, and a surprising number did like that, then they were off to the races. Now he found himself in the awkward position of having to chat with a woman he had no intention of sleeping with.

He knew enough to stay clear of single mothers for a lot of valid reasons. And beyond that, it was a bad idea to mix work and play.

“He didn’t tell me you’d be watching the place,” said Morgan.

Because Kenshaw had called Potts after he’d left to ask if a fellow Turquoise Guardian could stay in his place. The answer, of course, was yes.

“Well, I’m watching it but he’s helping me out. I lost my place recently so...” He looked to Jack to take over. Because he was terrible at making stuff up. Not at lying, he was very good at lying, convincing to a fault.

Morgan held her smile and she now did look beautiful. The pause stretched and her smile faded.

“Ray is a hotshot,” said Jack. “One of our captains.”

Morgan looked impressed and well she should. Their forest-fighting team was nationally recognized and much requested. They flew all over the country battling blazes. Seemed the Apache men were good at fighting anything, including fires.

Morgan gave Ray a long, speculative look and he could almost feel her gaze like a caress. His skin tingled and his palms began to itch. That wasn’t good. Now he was staring at her mouth and his gaze had become speculative. Her lips and cheeks seemed especially pink.

She cleared her throat and he met her curious expression with a grin. That grin had gotten him into more trouble than his fists. Her brows lifted as if reading the vibe he was sending and not knowing what to do with it.

“He’ll be back next week. Will you be staying on when he comes home?” asked Morgan.

Ray squinted, wondering how to play this. “I need to find a place. I’m looking around.”

Her gaze swept over him and he wished they were alone. He thought of Morgan’s bed and imagined her stretched out naked on that the white coverlet. Clearly the sexual part of his brain had re-emerged. He shifted his position at the unwelcome ache that began below his belt.

“You were in the casino today,” she said.

And yesterday and the day before that, he thought.

“Guilty,” he said.

“Did I get you a drink?” she asked.

“No. I just come in to watch...”

Her frown deepened.

He grinned wider. “To watch the games on the big screens.”

“Oh!” Her cheeks went bright pink.

Shame on her for making assumptions, he thought.

“Baseball,” she said and smiled, the tension easing out of her shoulders.

Her daughter wiggled out from beneath her mother’s arm to take a step closer to Jack. She was staring up at the detective who was six-five in his stocking feet and now wore boots. If she didn’t quit she’d get a crick in her neck.

“Are you Apache?” she asked him.

Ray’s gaze shifted to Jack whose mouth went tight. Most folks didn’t come right out and ask, but Lisa was ten and ten-year-olds were as blunt as dull axes.

“Yeah. Sure am. Roadrunner Clan. You?”

Lisa was still eying the mountain of a man that Jack had become. He looked more Samoan than Apache and it was a constant sore spot for Jack.

“I’m Butterfly Clan,” said Lisa. “Why was that man in our house?”

Ray watched Morgan to see what her reaction might be and found her looking as curious as Lisa. Had working in that casino taught her to bluff or was she in the dark?

Was it possible that her father had not told her about the money?

He had other questions, chief of which was what in the wide world had Karl Hutton Hooke done to receive a bank check for two hundred thousand dollars with his name written on it?

The answer seemed obvious. Her father had been paid to kill the Lilac Copper Mine Gunman. That meant that Karl Hutton Hooke was a hitman and whoever paid him had not wanted the mass gunman to stand trial. It also meant that there was a whole mess of money missing.

Jack escorted Morgan back inside and together they checked the house. Only her father’s room had been disturbed, but Andy had even gone so far as to slice the pillows and mattress.

“What a mess,” Ray said from the doorway.

Morgan directed her question to Jack. “What was he looking for, Detective Bear Den?”

Chapter Four

“Not sure what he was looking for, Morgan,” said Detective Bear Den. “Did your dad have anything of special value?”

Both Jack and Ray watched Morgan who seemed to be considering the question while lightly rubbing her fingertips over her lips. The small gesture sent an unexpected shot of longing straight to Ray’s groin.

He lifted his brows in surprise. He didn’t go for this sort of woman, the “attached with child, daughter of a murderer who might be involved with some very bad people” sort. But there it was, Ray Strong making the worst possible choice, as usual.

His attention now became speculative. What kind of a woman was Morgan in bed?

“He had some of those state quarters,” said Morgan. “Turquoise jewelry. Not a lot.”

She convinced Ray. If he was a betting man, and of course, he was, he would say dear old Dad had forgotten to tell his girl that he’d had a payday that might just get her and her daughter killed.

They all moved inside and gathered in the kitchen in a loose circle between the dinette and the worn Formica counters.

“You have somewhere you can stay tonight?” asked Jack.

Morgan drew Lisa in beside her, and her daughter hugged her mom around the middle. Morgan stood in bare feet still wearing the cocktail outfit that looked garish in the drab little kitchen.

“Lisa could stay at her best friend’s. The Herons live right next door. But I... I think I’d better stay here.”

“You have someone to call, maybe help you clean up?” asked Jack.

“I can help,” said Ray.

Morgan’s face scrunched up in a way that told Ray that he was less than smooth in her eyes.

“That’s not necessary,” she said, her smile all tight and dismissive now. That made Ray want to remind her who had removed the vermin from her house.

“I’ll have an officer escort you and Lisa to the Herons’,” said Jack.

Jack left them and called from the door into the yard. Ray clasped his bloody hands behind his back and gave Morgan a half smile that he hoped made him look less threatening. Jack returned with a young man that Ray knew.

“Ms. Hooke, this is Officer Wetselline,” said Jack, sounding all professional now. “He’ll walk you over to the Herons’. Maybe you want to wait over there until we finish up here.”

She nodded her head and took hold of Lisa’s hand. “I’ll be back.”

Ray watched Morgan go and wondered what she’d look like in tight jeans and a thin white T-shirt. Ever since he’d started watching her, he couldn’t stop these images from creeping into his mind. Why her? He didn’t date women with children but he liked Lisa and Morgan had the sort of appeal that seemed deeper than physical. She was such a dedicated mom and supportive daughter. Many women would have distanced themselves from a father who committed such a reprehensible act. Not her. According to Kenshaw, she visited her father, often. Respectable, upstanding, devoted, yeah...not his type.

Jack snapped his fingers in front of Ray’s face, bringing his attention away from Morgan. Jack filled Ray in on his conversation with their shaman.

“He wants you here on site with Ms. Hooke.”

“What? How am I supposed to pull that off?” asked Ray.

“I’m going to suggest Morgan not be alone. That her father’s arrest might have repercussions for her and Lisa.”

“You’re not going to tell her about the money?”

“You said that Peck asked her about the money,” said Jack.

“That’s the first thing I heard when I came in. But she thinks we’re talking about state quarters.” The image of Morgan being dragged backward by that cowardly little branch manager made Ray want to punch him in the face all over again.

“I can ask her a second time, suggest that her father might have some additional money.”

“Don’t suggest. Tell her the truth. Her father might have been paid to shoot Ovidio Sanchez. He cashed a huge check the day before he went to jail and that pecker Peck was in her home, looking for the loot.”

“This could be very dangerous for her. So I’m going to recommend strongly that she consider hiring a bodyguard. Then I’m putting your hat in the ring.”

“I’m no bodyguard.”

Jack seemed to know where his mind was going. “You couldn’t get to him, Ray. There wasn’t time.”

Ray never missed a beat as he skipped to Iraq and the night that none of them would ever forget.

“But I could have let him ride with Mullins. Mullins wanted him. But I stuck him with Tromgartner.” The prank had not been funny. Instead it had cost his best friend his life. If only that had been all.

“I didn’t get to them either,” said Jack. In fact, Jack had held Ray back and let go only to grab his brother Carter. Then he’d run them both out leaving Hatch behind.

Ray blew out a breath. Jack scratched at the stubble on his jaw and smoothly changed the subject.

“She doesn’t seem to know anything about the money.”

“Who knows what she knows,” said Ray. You would think a detective would be more suspicious.

“Let me talk to her when she gets back and you wash the blood off your hands.”

“This is a mistake. Kenshaw should call Dylan Tehauno. He’s clean-cut, responsible. And he’s not crazy. That’s for sure.”

“Maybe she needs crazy to protect her from bigger crazy.”

Ray sighed. He’d never felt less prepared for a job.

“One thing I know,” said Jack. “Morgan Hooke will be in danger until that money is found.”

Ray couldn’t dispute that because it was true. Her father had made a mistake going to a bank so close to home. Maybe it didn’t matter. That kind of money would bring trouble even if trouble had to travel long distances.

“Fox guarding the hen house,” muttered Ray.

“Yeah, well that hen got plucked a long time ago.”

Ray was interested in this conversation. “Who?”

“Don’t know. No rumors even.”

Ray frowned. In a small place like this, there were always rumors. “See if you can find out.”

“Because?” asked Jack.

“Because I’m curious, is all.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

He sounded so shocked it pissed Ray right off.

“Yeah.”

“Not your type, Ray.”

“I know that, Jack.”

“Fine, I’ll see what I can find out.”

Jack followed his officer, leaving Ray in Karl Hooke’s empty bedroom. Ray ducked into the bathroom to wash his hands and then returned to set Karl’s room in order. First, he righted the dresser. Jack returned as Ray was sliding the mattress back in place.

“Where would you put it?” asked Jack.

“Not in the room beside where my granddaughter slept.” As if he’d ever have a granddaughter, Ray thought, which he wouldn’t. He was actually shocked he’d lived this long.

“You think Kenshaw knows?” asked Jack.

The two shared a hard look. He understood what Jack was asking. Detective Jack Bear Den wondered if their shaman knew about the money when tribal law enforcement did not. Ray knew Kenshaw had some information because he’d asked Ray to find out if Morgan knew who hired her dad. That meant Kenshaw either knew or suspected that Morgan’s dad did not act of his own volition. Did Kenshaw also know about the money?

Is that why his shaman had sent him? Was it more than a stranger’s interest in Morgan that caused Kenshaw to send Ray to her? He couldn’t send a detective to investigate this because Jack had an obligation to uphold the law and investigate crimes. Meanwhile Ray was blissfully free of such responsibility—any responsibility really, including taking care of houseplants.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” said Ray. “Might be that Kenshaw saw Hooke make the withdrawal at the bank or Hooke contacted him to look after his girls.”

Jack made a face. “Or maybe Carter was right.”

Jack’s twin brother, Carter, was currently in federal protection with his new wife, Amber Kitcheyan, who was Kenshaw Little Falcon’s niece. They were witnesses in a federal case involving an eco-extremist group called WOLF. Carter had been sent by Little Falcon to deliver a message to their shaman’s niece. As a result, his niece had survived the slaying that had killed everyone else in her office, and Jack’s brother was now gone from the rez as the Feds prepared their case. Jack feared Carter might have to enter witness protection after the case settled because of possible threats from the extremists. Jack believed the timing of Carter’s mission was evidence that their spiritual leader and head of their medicine society had foreknowledge of the mass slaying. If he did, Jack was obliged to arrest him.

“I’m back,” called Morgan from the open doorway.

“Wait here,” said Jack to Ray.

He did as he was told, setting the drawers back in the dresser and then piling the scattered clothing on the bed. He wondered about Morgan’s father. He understood the need for a payday. But he did not understand risking his freedom and his daughter’s life in the pursuit of money. Whether it had been his intention or not, Morgan’s life was now in danger because Ray just knew that branch manager Andrew Peck was not the sort of man who could keep a secret. The minute he figured out he needed help to get his greedy mitts on the loot, he would tell someone—someone more competent and more dangerous.

More would come for the money and when they couldn’t find it, they’d come after Morgan and her daughter. Their troubles were far from over and Ray wondered again if he was up to the task Kenshaw had set for him. Keeping Morgan safe just became a full-time gig.

Chapter Five

Morgan felt suddenly unsure about entering her own kitchen. Officer Wetselline had accompanied her from the Herons’ home back here. And she knew her attacker was gone. But still her heart hammered as she stood poised to cross that threshold.

Flashes of the attack exploded like fireworks in her mind. Lisa’s scream. Her own voice. Run! The man growling as he yanked her backward against his fleshy body. Where is it?

“Ma’am?” asked the young patrolman behind her.

She glanced back at him, enfolding herself in a hug and rubbing at the gooseflesh that lifted on her arm.

“Getting cold,” she said, making excuses for her chattering teeth.

“Would you like me to walk you in?” he asked.

She smiled and was about to tell him that was unnecessary, but her stomach tightened and she felt dizzy at just the thought of walking down that hallway.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Thank you.”

His skeptical look told her she hadn’t fooled him.

She glanced about the empty interior. Her daughter’s checked nylon lunch bag sat on the counter with the sack of milk and groceries. The red-and-white soup can had rolled halfway across the dull surface. Otherwise everything looked normal. She stepped gingerly inside and felt the terror close in as she realized how close her daughter had been to the intruder. Her shoulders gave an involuntary shudder. She swallowed and then called out to Detective Bear Den.

“I’m back.”

Morgan glanced out the door, past the officer to the lights of her neighbor’s kitchen. She knew that Lisa was safe with Trish and Guy Heron. Her neighbors had naturally been concerned about the break-in, but she assured them that the guy had been caught and that she just needed to clean the place up before retrieving her daughter. They had been wonderful, as always. The Herons’ daughter, Ami, was Lisa’s best friend and the two of them had disappeared into Ami’s room moments after their arrival.

Where is it?

The chill climbed up Morgan’s neck.

Where was what? she wondered.

Ray Strong was nowhere in sight, but Detective Bear Den stepped out from the hallway and paused in the eat-in kitchen beside the oval table. His tread was light for such a big man. She had known him since elementary school when he had begun growing early and fast. Lord, he was big. She also remembered his brother, Carter, because his twin did not look a thing like Jack. None of the younger Bear Den boys had Jack’s build or looks either. It had caused Jack trouble all his life.

She vaguely remembered that Ray Strong had been connected with something bad.

“How is Lisa?” asked the detective.

“Scared. But all right. What was he looking for?” she asked. Where is it? Was that voice going to haunt her dreams?

“What makes you think he was looking for something?”

“He broke in. Tossed things around in my father’s room. I thought...” She stopped talking. Should she tell Bear Den what her attacker had asked?

“Have there been any repercussions from your father’s involvement with Ovidio Sanchez?”

What a polite way to ask if her father assassinating the prime suspect in a mass slaying had affected them.

“Lisa has been having a hard time at school. Kids can be mean.”

“And you?”

“I had to switch to days because Dad isn’t here at night anymore.” And her daughter had lost the only father she’d ever known and Morgan didn’t understand why her father had done such a thing. It was like standing on the shore of a river only to discover that the water had undercut the bank. She and her daughter had tumbled and were still falling toward an uncertain future. Morgan knew that soon she would have to petition the tribe for assistance and the prospect shamed her. She didn’t say any of that aloud, however, and only just managed to mutter that it had been hard.

Bear Den’s brows dropped lower over his pale eyes. “I am asking if you have received any threats.”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Did you know what your father was planning?”

“The police at Darabee already asked me that. I was interviewed over there.”

“By Jefferson Rowe?”

“Who?”

“Police Chief Rowe?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. A detective. I don’t remember his name. He asked me if I knew beforehand, too. I didn’t.” And she felt stupid that she had noticed nothing unusual...and sad that her father had not confided in her and angry at what he had done. She glanced toward the door. “Have you seen a gray cat?”

“No.”

She tried calling Cookie from the back door but with the strangers about and the flashing lights, she didn’t expect to see the cat until things calmed down.

Her interruption did not distract the detective from his line of questioning.

“Did your father leave you anything? Instructions. A letter.”

“Like a suicide note?” Morgan was still hugging herself. The April air turned cold at night in the mountains so she moved to close the kitchen door. Ray Strong anticipated her actions and got there first. Her hand brushed his before she could draw back. The contact was quick so she could not understand why her insides tightened and her breath caught. The door clicked and she met Ray’s dark compelling eyes. One of his brows quirked.

Bear Den cleared his throat, snapping Morgan’s attention back to the detective’s question. Did she have foreknowledge of her father’s plan to commit murder?

“He didn’t say anything. The morning before the shooting he took his truck. He’s not supposed to drive anymore. I was sleeping when he left. I get home from work about eight a.m. and Dad usually gets Lisa up and I get her ready for school. Then I usually sleep from nine to about three. He wasn’t here when Lisa got off the bus but he was here before my shift. He wouldn’t tell me where he had gone. The next day he...” She hesitated, tugging at her ear. This topic still made her feel nauseous and baffled all at once. “He left and afterward they arrested him in Darabee. I was waiting for Lisa’s bus when tribal police and the FBI got here. They searched the house. They took some things. Maybe they found something like that.”

“They didn’t. Usually when someone is planning such a thing, they make preparations. Say goodbye.”

She thought back to the evening before when she saw him last. “He asked me to pick up a chocolate cake.”

Bear Den scowled. “Cake.”

“He wanted cake. Gave me the money.”

“What money?”

Now she scowled. “For the cake. I don’t buy that junk and he shouldn’t have it either. But I bought the cake and we had that after dinner on Thursday night for no reason.” She stared at the detective. “Was that it? The cake? Like some kind of going away party?”

Jack Bear Den shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Morgan stared at her kitchen tiles and tried to keep from crying.

“Ms. Hooke, my friend Ray spoke to the guy who broke into your house. The man indicated he was searching for money. He said your father cashed a bank check for two hundred thousand dollars in Darabee.”

She snorted at first, thinking he was kidding and then her jaw dropped open as she saw he was deadly serious.

“I have to report that to the FBI. So what I want to know from you is, did you know about this money?”

She couldn’t even speak, so she shook her head.

“Do you know where the money currently is?”

“No.” Her words were a whisper. “I don’t. You think he actually had that much money?”

Jack nodded. “I believe your father was accepting payment.”

“Payment? What could he possibly do that was worth that kind of...”

Morgan’s knees buckled and Bear Den caught her, drew out a chair and guided her into it. Her fanny hit with enough force to jar her gaze to the detective.

“This can’t be happening.”

Bear Den looked down the hall. “Ray? Can you come out?”

Her protector emerged from the hall. The front of his shirt was soaking wet and stuck to his chest, revealing the ripped muscles of his abdomen. Morgan’s breath caught at the perfection of his form.

“Why are you all wet?” she asked.

Bear Den followed the direction of her gaze. Ray shrugged. “Washed off the blood.”

The detective groaned and Morgan blinked, finally forcing her attention away, but took one more long look because a sight like that should be committed to memory.

Bear Den took a seat across from her and Ray retrieved the one between them, spun it and sat, his long legs straddling the back. Then he hugged the top and rested his chin on his hands. At least she couldn’t see the wet spot or his tight abs any longer.

Bear Den cleared his throat. “I was just relaying what the intruder told you.”

Ray’s gaze flicked from the detective to her. “You have some problems, Morgan.”

“What are you two implying exactly?”

Ray deferred to the detective.

“It appears that your father cashed a check twenty-four hours prior to his attack on the prime suspect in the Lilac Copper Mine shooting.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ray tucked in his legs and lifted his chin from his hands. “Your father was a paid hitman. Now word is out about the payday, and that means you can expect more like that nitwit I found in your hallway.”

Morgan’s stomach heaved. She pressed a hand over her pounding heart.

“More.”

“More and more competent.”

“Competent?”

“Dangerous. The kind of men that don’t pull hair. And they won’t stop until you deliver that money.”

“What money? I don’t have it.”

“Well I suggest you find it fast. The trick will be to keep you safe in the meantime.”

She sat back in the chair. “How am I supposed to do that, exactly?”

“That’s where I come in.”

Morgan looked from Ray to Detective Bear Den.

“You need a bodyguard, Morgan. Someone tough, resourceful and capable of protecting you.”

Her gaze flicked back to Ray Strong.

“Ray has agreed to act as your bodyguard,” said Detective Bear Den.

He stood there watching her like a hungry wolf in his transparent T-shirt rippling with contained potency. He was just the sort of male to cause a woman all kinds of trouble.

“I can’t afford to put gas in my car,” Morgan said. “How am I going to pay for...” She let her traitorous eyes caress him and his mouth twitched. His eyes glittered as if he knew what she was thinking. “I couldn’t afford to even feed him let alone pay him.”

“You can’t afford not to,” said Bear Den.

Morgan regarded Ray Strong. The man was tough, powerful and had already shown himself capable of protecting her and Lisa. He also ignited in Morgan an unwelcome burst of lust coupled with a rational sense of fear. The man was dangerous and the threat he posed was more than physical.

She shook her head. “This is a bad idea.”

Bear Den spoke again, his voice deep and resonant. “Are you familiar with the Turquoise Guardians?”

“My dad’s medicine society? Sure.”

“There is a sect within that organization called Tribal Thunder. This is a warrior band.”

Morgan didn’t think they still had warriors, not the real kind that defended their families to the death, made war on their enemies and took what they liked. She found her gaze slipping back to Ray like a thief on a night raid.

“I don’t know of Tribal Thunder.”

“Ray is a member of that sect. So am I. We’ve sworn an oath to defend our tribe.”

Now Ray took up the conversation. His voice did funny things to her insides.

He thumbed over his shoulder at her closed back door. “That little twerp is going to spill his guts. Word will get out. There is no calling it back. If you won’t do this for yourself, do it for your daughter.”

Word will get out.

Lisa. Her gaze went to the back door. What had she caught while her mother was attacked? What had she overheard the officers say afterward and most importantly, what had she told their neighbors?

“I need to get Lisa back.” Was that her voice? It didn’t even sound like hers.

“I’ll have one of my officers fetch her,” said Jack.

“No!” Morgan headed out the door at a run and Ray caught her easily. He didn’t grab her or try to stop her, just jogged along beside her across the dirt and gravel that separated her door from the Herons’.

She burst through the back door to find Guy Heron alone in the kitchen with Lisa. He had a hold of each of her daughter’s shoulders. Every hair on Morgan’s neck lifted. At seeing Morgan, his expression changed from eagerness to guilt. His gaze flashed from her to Ray Strong, now standing behind her. Now she saw fear.

“Oh, hey,” said Guy. “Everything all right?”

Morgan glanced to Lisa. Her daughter looked frightened and she did not need to call to her. Morgan just lifted a hand and Lisa ran to her mother. Their hands clasped and Morgan drew herself up as she tugged Lisa behind her.

“We were just talking about what happened tonight. Just your dad’s room, huh?” Guy’s voice held a note of force levity but the room had gone deadly quiet.

“Take Lisa home,” said Ray.

Morgan turned to go and then paused as she recalled the man Ray had beaten in her house. She’d seen him dragged out by two officers. His face had been swollen, raw and bloody. Morgan glanced at Mr. Heron. The man had been interrogating her daughter. Morgan knew it and so did Mr. Strong. The fury and fear mingled into a hard lump in Morgan’s stomach. Then she looked at Ray Strong, who had dipped his chin and fixed his gaze on Guy in a way that seemed like anticipation. The muscles at his neck bunched in coiled potential energy.

He tore his gaze from Guy to meet hers.

“You’re hired, Mr. Strong.”

Chapter Six

Ray returned to Morgan’s kitchen to find Jack alone at the dinette taking notes on a notepad.

Ray’s head swiveled. “Where’s the girl?”

“Bedroom. Morgan’s with her. Lisa was crying.”

Ray’s fists clenched and he considered taking Lisa’s distress out on Mr. Heron.

“Everything okay?” asked Jack, lifting his chin in the direction of the neighbor.

“He’s not bleeding, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Ray briefly related the high points of his chat with her dorky, slimy neighbor.

“He knows from the girl that Karl had money. Not how much. But he’s already put two and two together.”

Ray hoped he had reached an understanding with Guy Heron. But in his experience, the one thing that trumped fear was greed.

“We’re done here,” said Jack. “You’ll be staying in her father’s room.”

Appropriate, he thought because her father and he shared certain things. They were both Turquoise Guardians, Apache men and they both had a tendency to break the law. The downside of the room choice was that Karl had a big bed and it was right across the hall from the tempting Morgan Hooke.

“You staying while I get my kit?” asked Ray.

Jack nodded and laced the fingers of his massive hands on the dining room table.

“Be back as quick as I can.”

* * *

RAY MOVED QUICKLY, scouting once around the perimeter before returning to Felix Potts’s home to retrieve his belongings. He returned from Potts’s house and moved his truck, parking prominently in the driveway beside Jack’s tribal police SUV. Then he pulled his olive green gunnysack over one shoulder and lifted his small duffel, which held mostly weapons.

When he reached the kitchen stoop he was greeted by a gray cat that meowed loudly. Then it stood and rubbed against his leg.

“You live here, too?” he asked.

He rapped on the door and let himself in. The cat scooted past him.

He found Jack leaning with his back to the sink beside Morgan who stood at the stove. The aroma of tomato soup and cooking macaroni greeted him. Morgan stopped stirring the contents of one pot and held the dripping spoon poised over it as she watched him drop his things beside the door, wipe his feet and step into the space. Maybe he should have knocked.

Jack pushed off the sink, which was good because Ray thought there was only one reason to stand that close to a woman. Jack was single. So was Morgan. It shouldn’t have mattered because Morgan was a job and a burden, yet her boyish looks had unexpectedly hit him down low and deep. So it did matter.

He glared at Jack, who lifted his brows in surprise and moved out of the kitchen.

“Need any help?” asked Jack.

Ray shook his head.

“I’ll check in tomorrow. Let you know what else we get from the bank manager.”

Since Jack wasn’t allowed to use his fists with the same liberty as Ray, he doubted he’d get much. Little dweebs like that always lawyered up.

Jack called a farewell to Lisa and then to Morgan.

“You’re in good hands, Morgan. I’d trust Ray Strong with my life. You can do the same.”

She thanked Jack with a sincerity that made Ray scowl all over again. He could see them together—naked. Ray rubbed his eyes. Jack shook his hand and headed out into the night. Ray locked the door behind him and found satisfaction in the click.

The cat rubbed against his leg and meowed loudly again.

“What?” Ray asked it. “If you want food you’re at the wrong human.”

“Cookie!” Morgan ran to the feline and lifted the boneless ball of fluff. “Where did you find her? Lisa will be so happy.”

In Ray’s experience cats never needed finding. Morgan squeezed the cat, which now hung over her shoulder, its green eyes watching Ray. Morgan carried the cat to Lisa’s room and was met with squeals of delight from the interior. When Morgan came back, her smile eased away at the sight of him still in her kitchen.

“How’s your girl?” asked Ray.

“Better now that she has Cookie.” Her smile was so sweet and so compelling, Ray took a step toward her before he realized he had moved.

“Detective Bear Den said that you would work for room and board as a favor to my father.” He’d work for nothing, but staying on site would make it much easier to guard Lisa and Morgan.

Morgan poured the macaroni into a colander in the sink, sending steam billowing upward.

If Morgan Hooke knew the location of the two hundred thousand dollars, would she be eating condensed soup for dinner?

“And on behalf of your medicine society.”

He nodded and tugged at his drying shirt, wishing he could avoid this chatting.

“Tribal Thunder,” said Morgan. “I never heard of that sect.”

He really could not speak of his medicine society with a woman, even an Apache woman like Morgan. But he did say that it was a warrior sect.

“We’ve vowed to protect the sovereignty of our heritage, resources and tribe.”

“And I fall under tribe,” she said, flipping on the hot water and engaging the sprayer to give the limp pasta a shower. Deftly she dumped the noodles back into the pot, added milk, butter and the envelope of fluorescent yellow cheese-like product. Then the pot went back on the stove on a low flame.

“I added another box because—” she waved a clean wooden spoon at him “—you look hungry.”

Wow, she shouldn’t have said that. He stepped closer. Her eyes rounded. He closed in on an impulse so strong he didn’t even question it.

He wrapped her up and found that slippery cocktail dress made her glide up his chest as if she wore satin. When he angled his head to kiss her she pointed the clean end of the wooden spoon into his chest like the butt end of a nightstick.

The mac and cheese was sizzling as the milk boiled away.

“Bad idea,” she said, but then licked her wide lower lip, sending him mixed signals.

“That’s what I’m best at.”

She pulled away and he let her go.

They faced off.

“Listen, you might have some ideas about me because I have a child and no husband. And because I serve drinks. So let me set you straight. I’m not interested in casual sex.”

“Great. Because sex is one of two things I take very seriously.”

She lowered the spoon. “What’s the other?”

“Protecting you and Lisa.”

* * *

MORGAN STARED UP at her protector. He stood only an arm’s length from her with his hand still resting on her shoulder. His face was clean-shaven, revealing the hard line of his jaw and his prominent chin. It looked like the kind of jaw that could take a punch and the kind of chin that dared you to try. He had tousled thick black hair that needed a trim and a wide square forehead with heavy brows. His brown eyes now seemed to hold a hint of green and shone with mischief. He wasn’t done with her, they seemed to say. Not by a long shot. His mouth quirked, confirming her suspicion. The man was imposing as all get out, but right now that was what she needed. A man capable of taking care of things as well as her and her daughter.

Morgan understood the seriousness of her situation. It was bleeding into her consciousness like dye into fabric.

“You going to be able to do this?” she asked.

He never took his eyes off her as he nodded.

Ray Strong cocked his head, lifting a hand to trail his fingertips down the sensitive skin of her neck and on to the hollow at her throat. She shivered as sensation rocked her.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” he said.

His grin promised devilment.

Trouble.

“Mom?”

Chapter Seven

The man was a chameleon, Morgan thought.

Ray now stood at a respectable distance from Morgan, his powerful arms folded and his posture relaxed. Even his smile was different. His expression held none of the banked desire she’d witnessed. Instead she saw only a benign hint of a smile that made him seem, if not exactly safe, at least not imminently dangerous.

She cleared her throat and forced a tight smile.

“Lisa honey, dinner is ready.”

Lisa had halted on the bare floor where the carpet runner had been pausing at the place where hallway gave way to the worn floor tiles of the kitchen. The cat sat at her heels, tail tucked around its front feet. They both stared at Ray with curiosity. Lisa’s eyes were focused on Ray as if seeing a rattlesnake coiled in her path and calculating her way clear. Her dark eyes seemed to assess a new potential threat. Her girl had more sense than her mother, thought Morgan.

“Lisa, this is Mr. Strong. He will be staying in Pop-Pop’s room for a while.”

“Why?”

While Morgan debated how much to tell her, Ray stepped forward as Lisa slid a foot backward, preparing to retreat.

“Because the man who broke in here was looking for something of your grandfather’s. You have friends at school?”

Lisa nodded.

“Anyone ever have a big secret?”

Lisa nodded again.

“What happened to that secret?”

Lisa looked to her mother and then fixed her attention on Ray. “My friend told our other friend and she promised never, ever to tell, but she must have because I didn’t tell and then Bobby Farrow knew and he told all the boys.”

“Exactly.”

He didn’t draw the connection. Just waited. Morgan waited, too.

“So that man, the one who grabbed my mother, he’s going to tell Pop-Pop’s big secret?”

Ray nodded. “Smart girl.”

Lisa’s eyes widened in understanding. “And Mr. Heron. He knows because I told him that man asked Mom for the money.”

“Yes.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Morgan went to her daughter and brushed her thick black hair from her face. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

Lisa kept her attention on Ray.

“How did you know that the man would hurt us?”

“I didn’t. But I’ve been watching over you two for a while now.”

That made Morgan’s attention snap from her child to Ray. How long had he been watching them?

“I’ve seen you at the store and other places.”

Ray nodded. “That’s right. I got asked by a friend of your grandfather’s to watch over you and your mama.”

“Do you know the secret?”

“Just that it’s about money. Hidden money.”

Morgan didn’t think Lisa should know that. Didn’t want her at risk. But she was at risk, whether she knew or not.

“It’s here?” asked Lisa.

“Nobody knows where.”

“Except Pop-Pop, so let’s go ask him.”

Ray glanced back at her and Morgan nodded. That was the logical next step.

“Tomorrow,” said Morgan, knowing there were visiting hours then. “Wash up. Dinner is ready.”

Lisa moved to the kitchen sink and washed her hands. Morgan eyed him and he followed Lisa, but he had already washed his hands when he’d removed her intruder’s blood. Morgan fed the cat some mush from a can. Cookie, apparently, ate first.

They sat down to a meal of tomato soup with mac and cheese. Ray finished his portion and glanced around for more, finding the only remaining pasta on Lisa’s plate. He glanced at Morgan who shot him a stern look. She was such a fierce feisty woman it made him smile.

After supper, Lisa drew out her school books and mother and daughter sat together. Morgan read the paper and helped Lisa as needed. Ray took the opportunity to bring his things into Karl’s room and to peer out all the windows on the back of the house.

He heard someone enter the room and turned to see Morgan standing with a mound of folded sheets in her arms.

“I thought I’d change these,” she said, lifting her arms slightly to indicate the linen.

“Thanks.” He stripped off the lovely Pendleton wool blanket that had bold black stripes on a field of red and had the top sheet off before she reached the bed.

“I can do this,” she said.

“So can I. I was in the US Marines for a while. One thing I learned was how to make my bed.” He’d also perfected his aim with a rifle and handgun. Ray had already known a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat and had more practical experience tracking than most men gleaned in a lifetime.

“My father fought in Vietnam.”

Ray knew that. He’d shared a few stories with Karl at their medicine society.

“Sharpshooter,” said Ray.

Morgan’s jaw dropped but she recovered. “That’s right.”

She pulled free two corners of the fitted sheet and he released the corners on his side. Morgan began replacing the linen and Ray worked on the two pillowcases. They worked in silence with a fluidity that made their motions seem almost like a dance. They leaned over the bed from opposite sides to place the pillows and their eyes met. Morgan flushed so Ray guessed she was thinking of him stretched out on these clean white sheets...alone...possibly naked.

She straightened and threw out the top sheet so that it fluttered to his side. The blanket followed. She placed a clean sage-green towel on the foot of the bed.

“There. You’re all set.”

“Thank you again. And for letting me stay.”

“I have great respect for Kenshaw Little Falcon and for my father, despite what he has done.” She sat on the bed, her hands splayed on the red wool, her shoulders slumped again in that whipped-dog posture he despised. She glanced up at him. “Do you think people deserve second chances, Mr. Strong?”

He sat beside her. “I’ve already tried to kiss you, Morgan. I think you should call me Ray.”

He wanted to try again.

“Fine. Ray. My father killed a man. Probably for money. I can’t get my mind around that.”

He’d killed more than one man, Ray knew. More than Ray had killed. Karl had been very good at his assignment in Vietnam.

“I can think of two reasons he might want to earn money.”

She looked at him. “You mean me and Lisa. I would much prefer to have my father here with us. You might not believe this, but he was wonderful with Lisa. Very kind and patient. He’s been with her since she was born, more a father to her than a grandfather, and she doesn’t understand any more than I do why he would do such a thing.”

“We’ll ask him tomorrow.”

Her sigh was heavy and Ray felt an unexpected urge to comfort her. That wasn’t his forte, holding women who were wearing their clothing. But he wrapped an arm around her and tried to ignore the flowery fragrance of her hair. It took a few moments and his remembering being rocked back to sleep by Mrs. Yeager during one particularly vivid nightmare, but he finally remembered a long-forgotten skill, one he’d learned without realizing. Comfort was not something that women came to him for. Never before, actually, but Morgan hadn’t come to him. He’d been forced on her. He had to remember that.

She sagged against him and rested her head on the hollow between his shoulder and collarbone. Funny, the rocking and the warmth of her little body against him made him close his eyes to savor the sensations. And suddenly she was comforting him.

This was what it must be like, he thought, to have a woman not just to sleep with but to hold. The awkwardness eased and they sat there quietly. When she pushed away he felt the tug of regret.

“Sorry about that,” she said.

He wasn’t sorry but how could he say so?

“That’s okay. Happens sometimes.” It never happened, actually.

She stared up at him and, bang, there it was again, that ache in his chest and the zing of attraction that crackled. Ray dropped his arm from her shoulder and down to her waist.

“Oh,” she said. Morgan inched away and met with the resistance of his arm as he tightened his hold.

“My daughter is in the other room,” she said.

That broke his concentration. His arm fell away and Morgan rose to her feet, perhaps belatedly realizing it is always unwise to enter a tiger’s cage even if it appears docile. She backed toward the door, pausing just inside the threshold with one hand on the doorknob, as if preparing to slam it shut and flee. It was the kind of chase he’d enjoy, but only if she would, too. He smiled as images of Morgan, playful and laughing, danced in his mind. They’d roll on the couch and onto the floor, where he’d let her sprawl on top of him, pink cheeked and giggling.

“So...we’ll go see my dad tomorrow at the jail? Ask him about the money.”

Ray let the daydream end as reality encroached. He wanted to go right now but he could see that Morgan was done in. And he knew that Lisa’s bedtime varied only slightly on the weekends. And federal authorities were very strict about rules like visiting times for prisoners.

“Yeah. First thing.”

Morgan looked scared all over again but there was no helping it.

“I have to put Lisa to bed.”

He heard Lisa complain and the television snap off. Lisa slowed at his door and stared at him before her mother pushed her along. Lisa’s room and his shared a wall and hers was at the end of the hallway. A few minutes later Lisa walked past his room again wearing pink pajamas that made her look about seven instead of ten. Who was that girl’s father?

Had he died like Ray’s or simply slipped away? He couldn’t imagine having a child...or a woman like Morgan. They seemed so normal and unprepared for the chaos that had swept them up. Why would Karl do this? Money didn’t seem like enough reason to leave these two to the wolves. He hoped like heck that Karl hadn’t planned on abandoning them and taking the cash. It would be hard to keep his temper if that was the case. Ray had always been in loose control of his temper and there were many places to lose it. One place he had never lost his temper was with a woman or a child. Never had. Never would. Was that why Kenshaw had chosen him?

Ray checked his mail and texts. Lisa appeared in the door with her mother at her back.

“Good night, Mr. Strong. Thank you for saving my mom tonight.”

Ray stood to face the child, feeling as out of place as a war club at a child’s tea party. He shrugged by way of a reply.

“Mom says you were an army man.”

Ray winced. “Marines.”

“I’m glad you know how to fight. Do you have a little girl, too?”

Ray glanced at Morgan whose expression told her that Lisa had gone off script.

“No. I don’t.”

“A wife?”

“Not one of those either.”

Lisa’s smile seemed satisfied and her eyes glittered with devilment. Ray knew when he was being set up. Normally he’d be saying good-night, which he was, but this time he’d be staying under the same roof with Morgan right across the hall.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Lisa strode forward and offered her hand.

Ray hesitated. She was thin and tiny and her hand was so very small. But he shook hers as if sealing some deal.

Then she surprised him again by thanking him formally in perfect Tonto Apache.

“My grandfather taught me that,” she said.

He watched Lisa pad from the room on bare feet and wondered what else Karl had taught her.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING Ray woke to the sound of a shovel rasping against gravel and earth. He headed for the window that faced the backyard. The sun wasn’t even up and there was Guy Heron digging up the tire planter in the backyard. The ceramic toad lay on its side next him, one eye staring up at the sky. Ray swore and then tugged on his jeans. He hoped the guy didn’t have a job that required him to see out of both eyes.

Ray was out the door a moment later. The day was gray and the air temperature lower than crisp. Heron took another shovelful of earth and dumped it on the ceramic frog. Then he knelt to check inside the hole.

Ray’s approach was soundless, not just because of his bare feet whispering over the ground but because of his training here on the reservation and with the US Marines. But still Heron spotted him before he reached him. The man sprang to his feet, gripped his shovel and ran across the driveway that separated the Hooke territory from the Herons’, but there was no distinction as all land here was communal. There Heron stopped as if protected by some invisible boundary, the kind that Anglos drew all over the earth. He expected better from a member of his own tribe.

“I didn’t find anything.”

Ray kept coming. Heron made his second mistake of the day. He held his ground.

“This here is my property.” He motioned with the shovel at a line that was not there and then lifted the shovel as if he intended to use it like an ax.

Third mistake, thought Ray as he came to a stop.

“This here?” he asked, marking the line that didn’t exist with an index finger.

Heron nodded.

Ray did a fair impression of a mime meeting an invisible wall. Heron’s brow knit as Ray seemed flummoxed by the barrier. His big finale was jabbing Heron in the eye.

Heron’s knees buckled but Ray grabbed him by the collar before he fell to his face. Then he dragged him back across the driveway and to the hole he had been digging.

“You taking up horticulture?” asked Ray.

Heron struggled, choked and dropped his shovel.

Ray threw him onto the freshly dug soil.

“He just planted these,” said Heron. “Right before the shooting.”

Ray placed his fists on his hips and admired the speed with which Heron’s eye swelled shut.

“Last night I told you that you should stay away from Morgan and her girl.”

“And I didn’t go near them.”

Ray pointed at the ground. “This counts.”

“I just thought, you know, maybe I could help her find it.” He motioned toward the hole.

Ray grabbed Heron’s wrist. A moment later he had that wrist behind Heron’s back and the man’s cheek pressed into the earth to the edge of the hole.

“Don’t help her anymore because if you do, I’m going to use your shovel to bury you in this hole.” He forcibly turned Heron’s head so he got a mouthful of the dirt. “Do we understand each other?”

Heron spat and wiggled but stopped when Ray increased the pressure on his wrist and shoulder.

“All right!”

Ray held him a breath longer by pressing his knee in his back, using it to stand back up. Then he offered his hand to Heron who ignored it as he drew himself up, glared at Ray and moved toward his home in a gait that was as close as a man can come to a jog without jogging.

Ray followed him to the driveway, carrying the shovel Guy had abandoned in his haste. When Guy turned back, Ray sent his shovel after him. The man made a squeak of alarm and broke into a run. There was nothing like the satisfaction that comes from doing what you love, thought Ray.

When he turned toward the house, he saw the shocked faces of both Morgan and Lisa in the window of Lisa’s bedroom. He dusted off his hands and headed toward the house. He tried not to let their looks of shock and horror affect him. He was doing what he’d been sent here to do, but frightening Lisa didn’t sit well and Morgan now looked at him as if someone had let a wild animal loose in her home.

In fact that was exactly what had happened, but until someone found that money that was just the way it was going to be.

Chapter Eight

Morgan gasped as Ray pursued Guy to the driveway and tossed his shovel after her neighbor like a spear. The blade bit deep into the earth and the handle vibrated. Morgan blinked at the bunching muscles of Ray’s back and the ease with which he tossed his captive aside.

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