I wondered who’d told him: Junior? John-John? “Because you have motives for wanting both Arlette Shooting Star and Verline Dupris dead. The tribal president is pushing the tribal cops to crack down on drug deals on the rez. Killing Elk Thunder’s niece sends a message the new crackdown doesn’t make you happy.”
“Don’t matter what the tribal prez wants, or what he thinks he can tell them cops. They ain’t dumb. They know who to make happy.”
Meaning no one messed in Saro’s business. Was that why the tribal cops refused to consider Saro a suspect? “Why did you hire Junior Rondeaux?”
“Don’t push me. I don’t answer your questions, you answer mine.” Then Saro slammed the back of my head into the window. My vision wavered. His hand clutched the side of my face, and he dug his thumb into the cut on my lip.
Stupid church rules that wouldn’t let me attend services armed. I could’ve shot this ass wipe twice by now. But instead, I had to play helpless because I had no way to defend myself.
“Do the feds know where Cherelle is?”
“I don’t know.”
He pushed harder into my bloody lip. “Don’t. Lie.”
It’d be difficult to speak since he wouldn’t move his hand, but I wouldn’t ask him to move it. “I’m not lying. DEA is handling that case. Not us.” The intimate press of his body against mine kicked in my gag reflex.
“You shot the bitch who killed my brother.” Not a question.
“Yes.”
Saro released me. “If I wanted to prove a point to the tribal prez, I’d turn his niece into a drugged-out whore, not kill her. That way, she’s making me money and shaming her family. Win-win for me.”
A Sumo-looking guy, whom I assumed was Saro’s henchman, appeared from out of nowhere. He glared at me, and Saro slipped away into the darkness. Then Sumo dude disappeared as well.
My mouth bled. I hated that I’d started to shake. I hated him. I yelled, “Great talking to you, Barry.”
No answer. Not even Saro’s stupid girly laugh echoed back to me.
You’re an idiot for taunting him after you escaped with just a bloodied lip this time.
Footsteps on the gravel had me reaching for my sidearm, only to come up empty again. But it wasn’t Saro sneaking up on me from another angle. It was Shay Turnbull.
He reached for my hand. “Come on.”
I allowed myself to be led, mostly out of shock that Turnbull was here. Standing in the shadows watching while a psycho, murdering, drug thug pushed me around. I jerked my hand. “Let go.”
Shay stopped, too. “What?”
“Is there a reason, Agent Turnbull, you just let Saro rough me up?”
He shrugged. “You had it handled.”
“Handled?” I pointed to my mouth. “I’m bleeding, asshole. Couldn’t you have arrested him for assaulting a federal officer or something?”
His eyes narrowed. “Jesus, Gunderson. Why are you shaking like that?”
“Because Barry Sarohutu is deranged. And the last time I crossed paths with him? He cut me. Six slices across my neck. Oh, and then he jabbed a knife into my chest, while taunting me about carving up my family members, before he choked me out. So yeah, be glad I’m just shaking and not fucking screaming.”
Shay muttered, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me along behind him until we reached his Blazer; he deposited me in the passenger’s-side seat.
I fumed.
He fumed.
A snap. Rustling. A tearing sound. Then a terse, “Look at me.” I faced Shay, and he said, “Hold still.” He dabbed at the cut with a Wet-Nap.
“Shit, that stings,” I hissed.
“Suck it up, Sergeant Major. It’s an antibiotic wipe. Who knows what diseases a vermin like Saro is carrying.”
I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself while Shay gently cleaned me up. I felt ridiculous for letting him tend to me. I was perfectly capable of patching myself up. I opened my eyes.
“That oughta stop the bleeding and keep you from catching-”
“Asshole-itis? Douche-bag-ism?” I supplied.
Shay permitted a quick grin before he became serious. “No bullshit, Mercy. Tell me when Saro did that to you.”
I looked away. I didn’t ever want to relive that night.
“Maybe this will help loosen your tongue.”
I glanced back to see Shay waggling a silver flask. “Really, Turnbull?”
“What? Don’t all injuns carry firewater? For medicinal purposes?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not really Indian, or so I’ve been told.” Still, I grabbed the flask and drank deeply. Ooh. That went down smooth. No burn to this stuff. I took another swig before I handed it back. “That’s definitely not Wild Turkey.”
“Life’s too short to drink cheap whiskey.” He knocked back a slug and said, “Start talking.”
I told him everything from that night.
Shay didn’t respond for the longest time. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I know sorry won’t cut it, but I am sorry you had to go through that. If I’d known, I sure as hell wouldn’t have let him…” He snatched the flask and drank. His eyes shone with fury when he looked at me. “We’re not partners, but as much as we’re working together we might as well be. This is something I needed to know. I can’t mentor you, or do whatever this is, unless you’re up front with me.”
I understood where he was coming from. But there’d been no reason to mention the incident with Saro until now. I said as much.
Brooding Shay returned briefly. “Does Dawson know what happened with Saro?”
I shook my head. “Two days later I killed Anna, so we both had plenty to deal with.”
“Are you going to tell him what happened tonight?”
“Probably not.”
We didn’t speak for several long moments.
I finally said, “What are you doing on the rez tonight?”
“Thought I’d check out Verline’s wake to see who showed up.”
“Aren’t you convinced Rollie murdered Verline?”
“Yes, but it’s looking less like he murdered Arlette Shooting Star. And the real kick in the pants? My original suggestion that the cases aren’t connected would still make the most sense, if not for the digitalis found in both victims.”
“I hadn’t completely discounted Saro, but after tonight, he’s fallen farther down the list.”
“I have to agree.”
“What do you know about the BIA sending a new lawman rep?”
“Nothing. I’d like to know where Saro is getting his information. Although the BIA has a presence in Eagle River, it doesn’t maintain a permanent law enforcement agency. But they’re quick to point out under federal statutes they can, at any time, change that.”
“Awesome.”
“Are you all right to drive home?”
I rolled my eyes at his insult and his abrupt dismissal. “It takes more than a couple of sips of whiskey to affect me.”
“I’ll remember that when we go out drinkin’.”
Not if, when. Bizarre, imagining Shay and me tying one on together. “Now that you’ve introduced me to the good stuff, Turnbull, I won’t be nearly the cheap drunk I was.”
“Cheap is a state of mind. Need me to walk you to your car, Sergeant Major?”
“Need me to kick your ass?”
He snickered.
“See you tomorrow.”
Dawson had left the porch light on for me.
I trudged up the porch stairs, not out of breath, but the exertion had me trying to remember the last time I’d gone for a run. Not since before the Shooting Star case. The thought of hauling my ass out of bed at five a.m. in the dark to run in the cold… made me shudder. But I’d rather be tired than out of shape.
When I glanced up from wiping my boots on the rug, I saw Dawson had files spread over the kitchen table. Since he didn’t start gathering them up, away from my prying eyes, they weren’t confidential.
He helped me take off my coat. When I looked at him, his gaze was on my swollen lip. “Don’t ask.”
Mason placed tender kisses all around the area. Twice. When he eased back, I said, “That was way better than a Band-Aid.”