and teach our children where they come from and who they are.” Even to his own ears his words sounded like a speech given from rote.
She had uncrossed her arms and now tilted her head. Her hair shone yellow as corn silk. He saw something in her eyes.
“Doing fabulously well by all accounts. What’s the teen pregnancy rate now?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Not if you have a teenage daughter it isn’t. And where you come from is not as important as where you end up,” she said. He’d heard the sentiment before, frequently from those who did not know where they came from or needed to forget. Which was she? A terrible childhood or one without roots?
“Does she even know about us?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed and that cool demeanor slipped. “She does.”
“And about the challenge?”
“Yes, again.”
What did Jovanna think about that, to learn she was not an orphan but had an entire family waiting for her? Did she feel betrayed that they had not come for her sooner?
They had gotten little information from their attorney about their sister’s life. Mainly facts. Nothing that would tell him how she felt or if she had been happy.
Jovanna had been removed from the vehicle after their mother’s death by a state trooper, who had turned her over to child welfare, who had seen her in her dance competition dress and turned her over to BIA. The trooper’s writing, “One survivor,” had been transposed to read “No survivors” and they had learned, incorrectly, that they had lost both their mother and sister to a drunk driver.
Jovanna had disappeared into the system. Only after their grandmother had insisted they place a stone lamb on Jovanna’s grave to mark her tenth birthday, had they learned that only their mother was buried in that grave. The search had begun. He had flown to South Dakota and hired an investigator. Gabe had used his badge to get more information. Kino had followed the procedures to open the adoption and Clay now waited for a ruling from the judge on their motion.
But during those nine years, Jovanna had been listed as a member of the Sweetgrass tribe of Sioux Indians. No kin had come forward, so she was placed in an orphanage at age two and then in a foster home with a Sioux family at age three. Then Jovanna had been adopted just after she turned four.
“We want to meet her,” said Clyne.
Her hand settled on the grip of her pistol and her eyes met his. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it will only make it harder when we leave.”
Leave? Where was she going? And then he remembered what his uncle had said about his new partner. A hotshot. A firecracker. Destined to be promoted and transferred to a major field office. And if that happened, they might lose Jovanna again.
“You’re leaving?” he asked.
She nodded. “Just as soon and as far from here as possible.”
He took a step in her direction, leaving the authority of his desk. She sidestepped until she was beyond his grasp. He lifted his top from the coat rack, his attention still on her. She rolled those crystal-blue eyes at him and exhaled.
“My brother says I am to take you to lunch.”
Cassidy did not like the twinkle in his eyes one little bit. But she was a guest here and if Chief Cosen wanted her to dine with his brother, she could do that. She wondered if anyone else found that funny.
“You ready?” he asked.
She lifted her arms, still bundled in her jacket. “Seems so.”
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