Lakota Baby. Elle James
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“You must think I’m a complete flake.”
“No, your son was kidnapped. I’d say you’re reacting the way any mother would.”
“Thanks.” A tentative smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Then her eyes filled with more tears and her lips trembled.
Joe wanted to kiss those lips and chase away her fears, instead he folded her into his arms. Her watery smile was a sad reminder of the how happy she used to be. That seemed like a lifetime ago. “I remember the first time I saw you at the youth center. You were playing basketball with some of the kids.”
A hiccupping laugh was muffled against his shirt. “I was terrible.”
“No,” He tipped her head up. “You were wonderful.”
“How can you say that? I didn’t even know how to dribble.”
“But you tried.” She’d laughed and played, even though she couldn’t bounce the ball once without having it taken away from her.
Maggie’s lips twisted. “I never could get a ball in the bucket.”
His arms tightened around her slim waist. “Yes, you did.”
“Not by myself.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she tucked her head against his chest.
He’d helped her make a shot by standing behind her and placing his hands over hers. Her backside had pressed against him, stirring his blood in a way he couldn’t ignore.
The warmth of Maggie against him now brought back those memories. His body remembered her shape and responded. Joe closed his eyes and willed the surge to subside. He wasn’t there to make love to Maggie. “Who were you playing with? I can’t remember.”
“Charlie, Tray and Kiya…” She stopped her list and her breath caught.
Joe glanced down to see her eyes fill again with tears. “What?”
Her fingers curled in his shirt and she pressed her face against his chest. “Kiya was alive then.”
Joe had received the news from Paul that Kiya Driskall, one of the troubled teens Maggie had been working with, had overdosed.
“What happened, Maggie?”
“I don’t know.” Maggie tore away from Joe and walked toward the window. “She’d been through detox at the hospital. She was doing so well.” She inhaled a jerky stream of air and let it out, her shoulders bowing with her release. “Charlie found her behind the center, she’d injected meth. There was nothing we could do. She was already dead.” Maggie turned to Joe, her eyes haunted.
“It wasn’t your fault, Maggie.” He reached for her, but she backed away.
“No, Joe.” She jerked away. “I failed her. Just like I failed Dakota. I wasn’t there when she needed me. The kids quit coming to the facility, even the ones that weren’t involved in drugs or alcohol. They just quit coming. I ended up going to them. One by one. But no one would talk to me except Charlie and even he was afraid to be seen with me. It was like I was the plague.”
Joe shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself, Maggie. Something else must have happened.” Possibly something related to Dakota’s kidnapping?
“I don’t know. I wish to hell I did.” She turned back to the window and pressed her cheek to the glass. “Now Dakota’s gone.”
“He’s not dead, Maggie. Don’t give up on him.” Joe stepped up behind Maggie and turned her toward him. “You ready to go to work on this case?”
For a moment she stared at him, her eyes glazed and unseeing.
She blinked, and the Maggie he remembered—the Maggie who could fearlessly stand up to a group of rowdy teenagers surfaced. “I’m ready.”
Chapter Three
“That’s my girl,” he said.
Joe almost dropped his arms from around her at the words. She’d married his brother and had a kid as soon as he left. How could he wish Maggie was his girl? Then he looked into eyes so green they reminded him of prairie grass in springtime. He could see why Paul had fallen in love with her and offered to give her what Joe couldn’t. Maggie was the kind of girl who was easy to love, if you didn’t have a thick head.
During the time he’d spent hunkered down with his troops, with bullets and mortars flying overhead, he’d discovered what a fool he’d been. The soldiers he’d fought with were his brothers. Black, white, red—it didn’t matter. They relied on each other to survive. They shared the same world, the same country. He wished he’d seen the truth before he left. Before Maggie had married Paul.
Her full lips drew into a thin line. “Where do we start?”
“First, let’s get you out of here.” He let go of her and walked back toward the living room. “Grab a coat, you’re going to work with me.”
She reached into a closet for a winter jacket, scarf and gloves, pulling them on before she paused to say, “What did they mean, give back what I stole? I didn’t steal anything. At least not that I know of.”
“That’s what we want to find out. When we get to the station you can tell me everything you know about what’s been going on on the Painted Rock Reservation and anything Paul might have been involved with at the Grand Buffalo Casino.”
“That won’t take long,” she muttered.
He grasped her hand and gazed down at her. “Everything, Maggie. Even the smallest detail may be a clue as to what triggered someone to hold your baby for ransom.”
“Okay,” she said, not sounding convinced. She drew away from him, her chin down, making a show of fitting her gloves against her fingers.
Was she uncomfortable about sharing information with him?
Probably. He’d been a jerk before he’d left. What proof did she have that he wasn’t still a jerk? A bitter lump of regret settled in the pit of his stomach. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, one of the other officers can interview you.”
Her head came up, her eyes widening. “No. I want you.” Was that trust in her eyes? Or was he mistaking desperation for something he wanted to see?
“Okay. But let’s get out of here.”
She glanced back at the living room, heaving a long sigh. “I want him back, Joe.” The words had become Maggie’s mantra, echoing inside Joe’s thoughts.
He stared at the plain room with what looked like hand-me-down furniture. The faint scent of talcum powder and baby lotion permeated the air. The only bright spots in the room were the playpen in the corner and a few toys scattered on the couch cushions and the floor. A happy enough environment to raise a kid, missing only one thing.
The kid.
Joe’s gut twisted and he wrapped an arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “We’ll find him.”
“Alive?” she said, her voice a breathy whisper.
“Yes.” If it was the last thing he did.
MAGGIE CLIMBED into the passenger seat of the SUV Joe used as his official tribal police vehicle. She felt funny, as though she was the criminal, even though the cage between the front and back seats was behind her. The thought angered her. Her house had been violated and her baby stolen, not the other way around. She jumped when the radio on Joe’s shoulder squawked.
“Sorry.” He flipped a switch on the device and it quieted.
Joe sat silent all the way to reservation police headquarters, a metal building with tan siding in the heart of the scattered community.
He climbed down and rounded the hood while Maggie sat with her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes staring out the windshield. As her mind replayed the message from the