she disengaged from his stare.
“Rogan lives up in a fortress in the Sierras,” Chase began. “He has a compound near Carson City, Nevada. The twelve women who work with him are true warriors. They are fanatical about keeping that ceremonial pipe for themselves. These women have placed their lives on the line to protect it and Rogan.”
“I’m not a killer.”
“No, but Rogan is. And his women will kill you if you don’t know how to be stealthy and protect yourself. This is no game, woman.”
“Dammit, stop calling me ‘woman’! My name is Dana Thunder Eagle.”
She felt stung by Chase’s humorless smile. Now, he was laughing at her, as a coyote would a hapless rabbit.
“Better to be called ‘woman’ than ‘child.’”
Drawing herself erect, spine taut, shoulders back, she said, “My name is Dana.”
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