pressed her head down. Then he brushed her off the seat so that she sprawled into the wheel well.
“Hold on.” His truck might not be as fast as whatever engine they had in that van, but it had higher clearance and tires especially made for riding over rock and through soft sand. Carter braked and swerved from the highway into the shoulder and then veered off toward the cover of the trees that lined the San Pedro River. He braced as more bullets punctured a line of holes across his truck’s rear gate. The rooster tail of dust and sand obscured the view of the van and hopefully them as a target from the shooter.
He needed both hands on the wheel to hold his course as they bumped across uneven ground and plowed through cacti; as the tall dry grass lashed against his bumper, sounding like heavy rain. He kept going, making for the river that he knew was dry in certain stretches for much of the year. Amber sat on the floorboards with one hand thrown across the seat and one on the glove box as she braced herself for the jolting ride through the thick chaparral to the flat stretch of the thirsty San Pedro. He had to get her out of here.
“Are they following us?” she called to be heard against the thudding of brush against the fender.
“Can’t see,” he said and lowered his chin as bursts of another desperate flight flashed through his mind like a thunderstorm.
Carter made it to Benson and found the hospital. Jack had called in some chips, and Carter found Kurt waiting beside the air ambulance to transport him, Amber and a cooler full of blood to Darabee.
“Lucky you, there was a wreck on Route 88, and Darabee needs blood.”
“Fatalities?”
“Not if we hurry. Hop in.”
Kurt began his check as Carter helped Amber up and onto the gurney where the single paramedic waited. Carter wouldn’t feel safe until the chopper was airborne. He hadn’t felt this afraid since Iraq. But this time it wasn’t his own survival he contemplated, but Amber’s.
She lay on the cot beside the paramedic who had already cleaned up the abrasions on her knees and palms. She was wrapped in a blanket and still shivering. Carter scowled and adjusted the headset that allowed him to fill Kurt in on the details.
When they touched down, both the sheriff and his twin brother, Tribal Detective Jack Bear Den, were waiting. Behind them stood a member of Carter’s tribal council, Wallace Tinnin, the chief of tribal police, and Jefferson Rowe, the police chief from Darabee. Rowe was an Anglo, with dark curly hair that was receding and was clipped short at the sides. The deep parallel lines that flanked his mouth and the broad hooked nose did not quite balance his eyes, that were too widely set. Carter glanced to the parking lot beside the landing pad. He’d never seen so many police cars all in one place. Though he imagined the Lilac Copper Mine looked much the same about now.
“We have a welcoming party.”
“Looks like a welcoming party from Grey Wolf,” said Carter, referring to General George Crook by the name his people used. Crook had defeated the Tonto Apache with the help of Apache scouts, who were from a different tribe, back in 1883.
The slowing rotor blades kept back the welcoming committee temporarily, but Carter knew they needed to get onto sovereign land if he was to protect Amber.
The sheriff approached first. His brother was at the man’s heels.
The sheriff shouted louder than necessary to be heard over the helicopter.
“Mr. Bear Den, I’m Sheriff Bill Taylor. I need you and Ms. Kitcheyan to come with us.”
“Why?”
“She is a person of interest in an open investigation in Lilac,” said the sheriff.
“Is she being charged with a crime?”
The sheriff shook his head, his hand going to his fleshy neck and then up to the bristle of hair that was all that remained after someone had taken clippers to his head.
“No. A witness.”
“She’s a member of our tribe and as such will be returning to Turquoise Canyon.”
It was a lie. She wasn’t a tribe member anymore and had no rights to protection from their people. But none of his tribe members corrected him. In fact, Jack had already opened the door to his tribal police unit and retrieved Amber, who was now flanked by tribal police officers and tribal officials.
Chief Rowe and his men watched as the sheriff took a step to move past Carter, but he shifted to intercept.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
“I was told Ms. Kitcheyan was in need of medical attention.”
“Delivered en route,” said Carter.
Amber was now in the backseat of Jack’s police car. Possession was now theirs. Carter placed two fingers above his brow and gave the sheriff a mock salute.
Then he trotted to his brother’s unmarked car and slipped into the passenger seat, dragging the door shut with a satisfying snap.
“I hope Kurt isn’t fired over this,” said Jack.
“Me, too.”
Police Chief Rowe stood beside Sheriff Taylor, who watched them with hands on hips as their chief of police, Wallace Tinnin, and tribal council member, Zach Gill, ran interference.
“They get the two in the van?” asked Carter, hoping like hell they caught the man responsible.
“Disappeared,” said Jack Bear Den to Carter as he pulled out. “Arizona State Police and local law enforcement are still searching.”
Carter glanced back at Amber, whose color had improved, but her blank expression and vacant stare worried him.
“She’s going to have to talk to them,” said Jack.
“They had video surveillance all over that building. They don’t need her.”
“Only witness, they said.”
“I saw him, too,” said Carter.
Jack lifted his brows. “But you I can protect.”
“You can protect us both.”
He gave a slow apologetic shake of his head. “It’s just a matter of time, you know. They’ll figure out that she’s not one of us, and when they do, I can’t stop them from taking her.”
Carter’s gut churned like a washing machine on agitate. Why had she done that—abandon her people and her poor parents? It was so stupid, pointless. He didn’t understand, didn’t think he could ever understand her actions. She had thrown them all away like a spoiled child.
“FBI is en route with requests to interview Amber.” Jack glanced back at his passenger.
“No,” said
