As Zach handed Cassandra a drink, he realized his hand was shaking. He refused to admit to her that the haunted words were not just frightening, they were a relief. He could no longer live with the terrible burden, padlocked away. He studied her reflection in the glass, the way she pretended as if everything was normal, and wanted nothing more than to alleviate her fears. The draw, the vibrant and dark draw they shared was all consuming.

He took a swig of bourbon and glanced out into the parking lot. She wasn’t seeing a premonition but a telling moment from the past. “I know you’re nervous.”

“You know I’m right,” Cassandra gave him a heated expression. “We need to talk about what’s going on. You need to trust me enough to divulge what you’re dealing with.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to her? “This isn’t about trust. I trust you with all that I am.”

“Then what is it about?” She rose to her feet, stepping into her shoes and closing the distance. “What is so horrible that you can’t tell me? You were obviously in a fight. Don’t lie to me.”

“Not a fight.”

“Right.” You stated in exacting terms that you were going to kill me, and I know whatever you were sent on your phone earlier today scared you to death. Maybe my visions can help you.”

As she cupped his face, rubbing her thumb across his skin, he leaned in, savoring the sweet touch. “I was in a car wreck and I’m fine.”

“A car wreck?” She exhaled before looking away.

“Yes, nothing more.” Now, he was lying to her. He wanted nothing more than to share his fears, his life, his… “Look, I have a meeting tonight. Maybe I can come over after? I’ll do what I can to explain.”

Her eyes darted away, and she shook her head. “Unfortunately, I have an appointment as well, but maybe tomorrow.”

He studied her for a solid minute. “I have a ranch outside the city. Why don’t you come by in the morning? We can go riding. We can talk.” He wanted nothing more than to take her away somewhere private. “I want to get to know you.”

“I’d like that. I really would.” She leaned toward him, kissing his lips. “You’re very special, Zachary Goodman. I think you need to be reminded of that.”

When she grabbed her things, and headed out the door, he slumped against his desk. Anger boiled within him. The damn picture. He’d kill the fucker who’d threatened her. He slammed his hand down on his desk, groaning when papers and folders scattered onto the floor. One way or another, he would find out who was behind this bullshit.

Except I’m not-

“Entertaining. I must admit,” Mitchell interrupted as he sashayed into the room, a wide grin on his face.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Whoa.” He held his hands up as he walked further inside. “I thought you’d be in a good mood after your meeting with Cassandra.” The grin remained. “You obviously took my advice to heart. Good for you.”

“Just leave it.” Zach jerked the papers off the floor, dropping them in a pile on his desk. “I was a fool.”

“Uh-huh. You are a fool, but…” When Zach glared at him, Mitchell lifted a single eyebrow. “Seriously, what’s going on? You want her. You don’t want her. I did hear you given the fact our offices are against each other.”

“Fuck.” He grabbed his jacket.

Mitchell shook his head. “You tell me you can’t see her then you fuck her in the middle of your office. Did you talk to her about the picture? Did you show her?”

“What don’t you get about letting this go?”

“Nope. I won’t. I’ve known you for a long time. We’ve seen each other through thick and thin. You know the worst about me and you’ve been the voice of reason every time, keeping me from losing my mind, by business and in truth, my life. Talk to me. Allow me into this vacuum before you fall prey to the effects of succumbing to a level of darkness you’ll never be able to crawl out of.”

Zach held his tongue and clenched his fists. Mitchell was right, but if the man knew what he was capable of, there would be no turning back. Their friendship as well as their partnership could be over. He wasn’t prepared to lose everything he worked so hard to achieve. “No, I didn’t tell her. I couldn’t. I did think about what you said.”

“But?”

“You’re a good friend but I need to do this alone. Just for now. Just until I figure out what I’m dealing with.”

“I don’t understand you and I guess I may never have the opportunity. All I can say is reach out before it’s too late.” He remained glaring at his friend, unblinking.

He allowed a slow breath to escape before nodding.

“Let’s go have that drink because at this point, we both sure as shit need it.”

* * *

He remained in his car, nothing more than a shadow, his view filtered by the few remaining cars in the parking lot. Yet he could see her. He could even tell she was pensive, her body language indicating frustration or worse. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he leaned forward in an effort to catch every detail. A snicker left his lips and he shifted in the seat, cognizant of his attraction to her.

No, he wasn’t interested in anything more than the end result, what seemed like a lifetime of planning, preparing for his moment. What the fuck was he thinking. What moment? He simply wanted revenge, a taste of the same bullshit that had been dealt on a wretched winter’s night almost a decade before. Everything he’d worked so hard to achieve had been ripped away, given to the asshole. The stupid kid wanted no part of it. Whatever. He would have his day, his retribution.

Sniffing, he grabbed a cigarette and his lighter, lighting up as she fumbled to find her keys. She had no idea what she was in the middle of. What fucking luck. Taking a puff, he envisioned her face the moment she learned the truth.

When she stopped short, her entire body tensing, he took a long drag, allowing the smoke to swirl before blowing out of the cracked window. There was no way she could see him or distinguish anything about his truck or his appearance. He’d taken careful steps to avoid being recognized, even now.

She turned in a full circle, her eyes searching the darkness. Who exactly was she looking for? If only she knew what he was thinking.

He waited until she climbed inside and started her engine before turning the key. At least following her would be easy enough given the location of the building. The interstate was within a mile and the traffic was heavy. However, he had no trouble following her. She did as he expected her to do, followed the same path back to her tiny house, on a lonely rural street that had few streetlights and neighbors who didn’t seem to give a shit about safety.

When she eased into the driveway, she took a full minute to collect her things before heading into the house. He pulled the truck just across the street, killing the engine. And he waited again. He could easily take her, breaking her neck or worse, but she remained of interest, intriguing in a way he hadn’t anticipated. She was also the catalyst. His gut had given him the instant moment of clarity the minute he’d seen her eyes, the way they bore into his, searching.

Yet, she had no idea the kind of monster she’d challenged. He longed for a stiff scotch, maybe two, but he had work to do before he could obtain any relief.

A single light turned on, then another. She was going out tonight. Her house would be left empty. A playground of information. For her, waiting would almost be a pleasure. Leaning back against the seat, he folded his arms and closed his eyes. He was unable to help envisioning her face, her naked body. His cock twitched, grinding against his tight pants. He had to keep his mind out of the gutter. One night. Yes, perhaps one night.

His keen senses would let him know when she was leaving but he forced himself to watch her house.

He didn’t have to wait long. He knew the moment she walked out of her front door, could sense the fact she’d changed clothes. Even in the darkness, he could see and study the way the dress clung to her voluptuous body, was able to gather a whiff of her intoxicating perfume. He inhaled, allowing the sweet perfume to permeate his nostrils, fill his lungs. He breathed in and out, savoring the moment. Even his cock remained at attention, aching to have her, taste her.

Gritting his teeth, he slunk further into the shadows as she drove past. Everything had to be a surprise, perfect timing. He waited for two full minutes before exiting his vehicle. There was no worry that a curious neighbor would approach or bother calling the police. There was no need to duck behind plants, hiding his intentions. No one gave a shit.

He was able to maneuver the lock easily and was inside within less than a minute. As he became accustomed to the darkness, he listened for any signs of a pet. There was nothing but a slight rattle coming from the kitchen. He slipped into gloves and made his way through the house, turning on what lights he needed in order to scan the perimeter, search the various drawers. The woman had very little to her name and certainly nothing of any value.

The thought was enough to give him a grin. As if things mattered to him. He had all the money in the world, yet he cared for nothing. No one. The only reason he was inside her house, digging through her precious and private things was to find a connection. Any connection. If there was none, maybe he’d allow her to live.

He stood in her bedroom, his eyes sweeping the tiny room. After searching her closet and dresser, he was satisfied at finding nothing useful. Then again, too fucking bad. His thoughts turned venomous, his desires breeching the very limited amount of humanity he’d been able to capture, pretending he was another man.

No, he had to wait. To play this out. He left her bedroom just as he’d found it and headed for the front door. The second hallway drew his attention. The half bath contained nothing remotely useful, but the closed door grabbed at his curiosity. A cold wafting of air assaulted his senses when he walked in and he fumbled to find a light.

The harsh overhead illuminated a series of pictures, paintings that he knew instantly belonged to her. He was drawn, pulled toward them as if by some unforeseen force. He studied the faces, men and women who had no idea their picture had been taken. The situations were odd, very off kilter. Why would anyone paint something like this?

A wave of anxiety grabbed at his heart, closing his throat. The faces were all familiar. But from where? There was nothing beautiful about them. No smiles. No laughter. They were all in the throes of despair. Anger, hatred, fear and self-loathing aspects were portrayed. Time and time again in bold and vibrant colors. He moved around them, refusing to get but so close. If he touched even the edge of a canvas, he knew he’d be sucked in, pulled into her realm. What in the fuck was he thinking?

He rubbed his mouth, hissing as beads of sweat flowed down both sides of his face. Who was this girl? His air supply continued to be constricted and he had difficulty catching a single full breath. He had to get out. He had to leave this place. Dear God, they were all coming for him. The people in the paintings were looking at him. Staring at him. Beckoning to him. “No!”

The word seemed to echo. Then they were laughing. They were laughing at him. Panting, he tried to make sense of what was happening as a cold chill shifted down his spine. Nausea gripped his stomach and he backed away, stumbling. Red. Blood. Something caught his eye, the details swirling, images moving closer to him. Closer still. “Get away!”

He walked forward, unable to stop himself. He tried to back away. He tried to leave, to get the fuck out of this…

You will die…

Had the words been said? Had he issued them. He continued taking steps closer. One more painting. One last vestige of his very sanity. Then he saw the face, the man’s face and he…

He wasn’t certain how long he’d been inside the house or how he managed to get out. He honestly had no idea if what he’d seen was real or a nightmare created so many years before. As he started the engine, he gave her house one last look.

Then he smiled.

* * *

“I’ve been looking into New Horizons,” Mitchell said casually as he sat back in his seat. “Quite a bit, given our concerns.”

“Interesting. I thought that was my job.” Zach studied the small jazz club and tried to relax. He knew enough about his friend that Mitchell wouldn’t let his concerns just drop.

He nodded and leaned forward. “While you were enjoying some recreation, I was doing some digging and don’t you dare push me away. If we’re going to do this deal with New Horizons, we need to know what we’re facing. If there’s something going on that’s of a sinister nature, then we are walking away.”

Zach wanted to be angry but regardless of the threats, he couldn’t allow Rush to become compromised for any reason. “All right. I agree.”

“Good.” He glanced around the room before leaning further over the table. “Didn’t it seem odd to you that the owner of the company suddenly disappeared, leaving two men we’ve never talked to in charge of the deal?”

“Business. Happens all the time. What are you getting at?” His buddy was fishing for something.

“The owner, Jeff Parker has been a go getter on the development scene since he was eighteen years old. New Horizons belonged to his father and Jeff took over when his father had certain issues.”

“Issues. You mean the criminal activity?” Zach had spent several hours digging into the corporation, trying to find any dirt or otherwise unscrupulous activity. “There are some missing pieces regarding the company. His father was a heavy hitter, and not in a good way.”

“An understatement. You know? We pay you well for a reason.” Mitchell laughed and wrapped his hand around his drink, looking over his shoulder then lowering his voice. “Jeff worked hard trying to alleviate the bad reputation his father had left on the floundering company. From what I’ve been able to tell, New Horizons was stellar in business practices as well as how they handled their clients. Jeff is a consummate businessman and worth millions.”

“But?”

“There have been certain insinuations made during the last year.”

Zach thought about the various newspaper articles he’d read. “Worries that the recent development failures forced Jeff to turn to his father’s old clients?”

Mitchell nodded. “Bingo. Then out of the blue the man disappears. There is no sign of him. None. He left his office one day and hasn’t been heard from since. No wife. No real family to speak of given his father died almost two years ago. Poof. He’s gone.”

“What are you thinking? That he was murdered?”

He exhaled and took a sip before answering. “I’m thinking that there’s some reason New Horizons wanted to dump the land. As far as Jeff’s whereabouts, my guess is that he’s sitting on some pristine beach, drinking margaritas at this point. He’s a smart enough man to know when to get the hell out.”

“And you don’t think this has anything to do with Indian burial ground.”

“Well, in a manner of speaking, yeah it does, but not for the reasons of whether or not bodies are rotting away in the dirt.” Mitchell swirled his glass, dropping his gaze as he shook his head. “I know some people who have been around the real estate development world for over thirty years. I asked a few questions.”

Zach heard the tone of Mitchell’s voice change. “What did you find?”

Mitchell hesitated, his eyes sweeping over Zach.

“What are you so afraid of telling me?”

“When you unearth ugly rocks and turn them over, you know what you find, rats and roaches.”

Zach was beginning to feel smothered. He took a gulp of his drink, a sixth sense settling in. “Spit out what you’re dying to tell me.”

“Just hold on. Christopher Parker, Jeff’s father, was considered one of the most corrupt businessmen in California. He was worth millions and although he started out legit, at least from what I’ve heard, his needs escalated. Power is often treacherous.” He allowed the words to sink in as if waiting for a retort. “Then he got involved with some shady characters. They developed a new business, one that branched out.”

“Illegal activities. I read the limited reports. They ran the West, spiraling their business practices into various industries, allowing them to stay one step ahead of the law.”

“You knew more than you wanted to tell me. Interesting,” Mitchell said quietly.

“I like to put all of the pieces together. You know that,” Zach retorted.

Mitchell snorted. “Okay, then no doubt this is redundant but let’s go on with the story. Mr. Parker and his consortium had ties to organized crime and while the four men involved maintained lucrative and legal businesses, their fortunes were made in drug money. That much is on the records. There were difficulties, threats and many of the employees were rounded up and sent to prison. That put a damper on the business.”

Zach remained unblinking, sipping his drink.

“When Christopher turned over the business to Jeff, he was being investigated by the DEA as well as the FBI for various crimes. There was supposed to be a significant amount of money on the table that also disappeared. The story gets sketchy from there. A hell of a lot of information simply doesn’t exist. From what my friend told me, Christopher was indicted then the charges were dropped soon after.” He took another gulp of his drink.

Beads of sweat oozed down the back of Zach’s neck. This much he didn’t know, didn’t care to learn. “The witnesses disappeared.”

“Two in particular and the others refused to testify after that. My buddy couldn’t tell me much else other than the name of one other member of the consortium. There’s no information that I can find on this man. No newspaper articles, no reports of any kind. The consortium all but disappeared, along with a huge amount of the money the group had amassed.”

Zach had no idea what to say.

Mitchell eased his glass onto the table and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “I did find this.” He held his hand on top and locked eyes with Zach. “Things are often not what they seem. Look carefully, my good friend.”

The words were a double-edged sword, a direct jab. When Mitchell finally slid the paper across the table, he hesitated before picking it up. The black and white picture was grainy, the four men standing in front of an office building obviously taken from a telephoto lens, but in the few moments as he concentrated, staring at a moment from the past, he held his breath, his mind swirling. He was taken back to so many years before, a time that he wanted nothing more than to erase from his mind.

And from his life.

“The one on the right is Christopher Parker. Do you recognize the other three?” Mitchell asked after a full minute.

He swallowed and fingered the photograph, his anger increasing. Tamping back his emotions, he looked at his friend in the eye. “Not at all. Do you know who they are?”

“I have one name. The other two men were never in the forefront of the business.” He held back, his finger moving back and forth across the lip of his glass.

“Who is it?” Zach managed.

“Thomas Blackfoot. From what I understand, he is a well-known Indian Chief, or at least he was before his untimely murder almost ten years ago.”

The words hung, floating around him. “Never heard of him.”

“Hmm… Okay. Well, at least we have one of the names.”

“What are you getting at?” Zach challenged. “What does this have to do with the real estate deal we’re facing now? Are you trying to insinuate that one or most of them are back in the picture?”

Mitchell leaned forward again. “I’m not insinuating anything. These four men controlled Indian real estate as well as introducing drugs to various reservations. They used certain tribes in order to gain profit. They allowed their greed to destroy good men and women. Christopher and Thomas were murdered because of their involvement. At least that’s the gossip from years ago. Word on the street is that the third man in the consortium wanted to take control and the fourth simply vanished, much like Jeff has. Whether Jeff has any remaining ties to his father’s organization is anyone’s guess. Then again. Like father. Like son. Family business is hard to shake. This sale is for a reason. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

He pushed the picture back across the table. “Then we don’t purchase the land.”

“I don’t think that’s what this is about any longer. Do you? I think there are deeper and much darker reasons that Rush is involved. My guess is. So. Do. You.” Mitchell polished off his drink then shoved his chair back, climbing to his feet. His hand gripped the table and he tipped his head, his face pensive. “When you’re ready to tell me the truth about your past, I’ll be happy to listen. When you’re ready to allow me in, to give me an understanding of why, then I’m here. Until that point, you’re on suspension as our counselor. Do you understand?”

He could hear such angst in his friend’s words, such trepidation and sadness. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do. I think you understand completely. Why you decided to hide your past from Camden and myself is beyond me, but I guess you have your reasons.” He took a step away from the table then leaned down. “I suggest you look in the mirror. The past is coming back to yank you straight into Hell.”

Zach homed in on the words, the inflection and the thumping sound as Mitchell left the table and walked toward the exit. His heart racing, he gripped the table and slumped in his chair, glaring at the picture. Why now? Why couldn’t he leave the ugliness from his past in the padlocked black box he’d placed it in? Why?

He knew the answer and it terrified him to death.

Hanging his head, he grabbed the photograph, shoving it into his pocket. The secret was coming to a head. The monster who’d brutalized his life would never leave him alone. Death was the only answer.

He dropped money and couldn’t get away from the table fast enough. When he stormed through the club, a table caught his eye. Even in the darkness, the simply lit romantic space highlighted by the glow of warm candles, he could see her face. Cassandra. She was laughing, her face lit up as if enjoying every moment.

Sucking in his breath, he watched as if in slow motion the way her companion eased his hand over her arm, gripping. Caressing. Danger. The word hovered like a wretched omen. His life was being ripped apart.

Only this time, he refused to accept what was happening. This time, he would take control. And no man was going to take what belonged to him.

Not without a fight to the death.

* * *

Cassandra sat in her car in front of her house for at least ten minutes. She wasn’t frightened of going inside. She didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Then again, she’d been offered the opportunity to go home with Diego. He didn’t want to take no for an answer. He’d seemed surprised, even incensed when she’d rejected the offer. Yes, the man was good looking and yes, she could have considered dating him in another lifetime, but not after watching both he and Ken maneuver around their objectives for having her at the meeting. One thing was for certain. Diego Myers and Ken Logan were more than they pretended to be. She didn’t need her spirit world to tell her that piece of information. Slimy had come to mind, even though she wasn’t entirely certain why.

They were just… Hissing, she allowed her thoughts to shift to Zach. She wanted nothing more than to curl up with him, hold each other tight. She had a terrible feeling that wasn’t going to happen soon if ever again.

When she finally found the courage to ease out of the car, she shivered, her body covered in goose bumps. She’d seen Zach at the bar and knew he’d noticed her. The look on the man’s face had been…accusatory. Then again, Diego had been more than attentive, hungry to find out more about her.

The meeting had lasted maybe thirty minutes, the women had been pleasant but not at all interested in having Myers and Logan Associates design anything. They’d left the restaurant altogether. Why had the man bothered to have her along? She’d been right on the money. The moment had been nothing more than a fishing expedition disguised as a business meeting. When the women had left, she’d remained in the company of two men, who seemed far more interested in what she knew about Zach, as well as Rush Enterprises, than anything else.

She thought about Rebecca’s suggestion to open her own firm. The idea was a damn good one. Finish this design then move on. Yeah, if she was allowed to finish. Zach. What in the hell was she going to do about him? What could she do? Frustrated, she walked toward the front door, jamming her key into the lock. Everything was slipping out of her control.

The moment she walked inside, she gathered a whiff of cologne. She inhaled, and the fragrance lingered for only a few seconds. Fumbling to turn on the light, she stood where she was, searching the living room for any signs of an intruder. Nothing was amiss or out of place. Maybe she was exhausted, her senses on overdrive. The club had been filled with people, every one of them reeking from cheap cologne.

She remained cold, the chill shifting into her bones. Who was Zach and why was she drawn to him? What secrets did the man hold and why was she so frightened? After locking the door, she headed into the bedroom, turning on the overhead light. The garish glow highlighted nothing more than dust bunnies and a cluttered environment. She dropped her purse and yanked off her shoes, rubbing her arms as if the distinct and terrifying sensations would magically disappear.

The house held an unsettling quiet, as if filled with memories. Ghosts. She could no longer ignore the fact the spirits had opened a door leading her to those needing her help. The word ‘salvation’ came to mind. She had no idea how to help ease their pain.

After grabbing a glass of wine, she stood in front of her computer, pacing back and forth. Finding any details about Zach could mean learning his dirty little secrets, ones he refused to acknowledge. What the hell was she doing? She laughed and eased down onto the chair, hitting the space bar. Any information could prove helpful.

Or damning. Damning. Damning!

My God. She was afraid of finding out, learning about the man she’d… The words lingered in her mind. She couldn’t be falling in love with a man she barely knew. How? Why? Because he opened the door to your desires. A laugh bubbled from her throat. What desires? To be owned? To be a submissive? She fingered the keyboard and took a gulp of her wine. The truth was difficult to face. Zach was everything to her.

Easing the glass down on the desk, she moved her mouse, hovering over Google. When she garnered the courage, she typed in his name. Various articles and Press releases came up first, items regarding Rush Enterprises from acquisitions to a few awards. She scanned each and every one, finding nothing but items giving her a smile.

She flipped to a fourth page then a fifth. Still the same. The wine was going down too easily, and she hadn’t realized she’d finished almost half of her glass by the time she managed to find an article dated years before. Ten to be exact. She read the short clip then frowned. The name was wrong, but his face was almost the same, although holding the look of youth.

She read to the end then sat back, contemplating the information. What did the damning article even mean? The further she researched, the less she found. Information had either been deleted or changed. Or maybe there was nothing else to tell. She hit print on the piece and continued searching, finding nothing else that seemed to matter.

Whoever Zach Goodman truly was, he was lying to everyone he knew. Or had he been? She dropped her head into her hands as an intense headache settled behind her eyes. The wine from before had left her foggy, her thinking unclear.

The doorbell sounded, and she jumped, gripping the edge of the desk. It was almost midnight. Who the hell would just drop by so late? She debated not answering, but was drawn. Maybe Zach had followed her home, longing or just curious. No. He’d seemed so angry, as if she’d been out on a date. Groaning, she walked toward the door, peering through the small peephole. The face was unrecognizable.

As she opened the door, she held her breath. He was dressed as any other man would be, rugged blue jeans and a simple white shirt, cowboy boots and hat. But she knew who he was. And for some reason, she was apprehensive. “Chief Whitehorse.”

“Cassandra Jeffries.” He studied her face, her eyes before holding out his hand. “I understand you called my office earlier.”

“I did but…” A moment of utter clarity settled into her system. The man was of considerable importance to his people. To her people. He was studying her, searching her own spirit. Exhaling, she glanced at her watch, more to break the trance he’d wrapped her in than anything.

“I apologize for my lateness. I was drawn to you. Called in a sense. May I come in?” His voice was quiet, the tone of his voice a deep baritone. He had sad eyes, as if experiencing the horrors of the world firsthand.

“Of course.” She held the door open, her stomach in knots. The energy he gave off was powerful as well as spiritual. She found herself unable to think clearly, a fog settling behind her eyes. His expression was one of concern. “There was no urgency. I merely wanted to make contact, to discuss your concerns regarding a piece of property.”

He remained quiet as he eased onto the couch, sitting on the edge. His breathing was deep, his muscular chest heaving.

She slid onto the chair opposite. Every synapse was electrified. “I know you believe there are issues of concern; however, I’ve been looking over the maps and if there is burial land on the site, then it’s fairly hidden or isn’t considered holy. Is there another reason you believe the sacred ground has been disrespected?”

Chief Whitehorse didn’t gesture, didn’t offer any form of expression, but his black eyes were beseeching, as if looking right through her.

Uncomfortable, she clasped her hands together. “Chief Whitehorse, I don’t mean to sound pushy but—”

“Your father was a very wise man. He was also respected for a period of time.”

“My father? You knew my father?” She whispered the question.

He nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of material. “I enjoyed his company very much, as I did your mother’s for a time.” His words were laced with such sadness.

“I barely remember my father.”

“That is most wise, child. You have his eyes and you have his spirit. You are fighting your spirit vessel, a gift from the very Gods.”

Cassandra shook her head, the few memories surfacing driving into her heart. “They are with me every day, although I don’t know what they mean.”

“You will, child. As long as you open your mind, your eagle will soar.” He reached out, placing the folded square into her hand and curling her fingers around the gift. “I do not care about the land; however, the men are evil.”

“Evil?”

“They have killed many and will do so again. Take heed and walk away.” Chief Whitehorse stood.

“I don’t understand.”

“Your spirit has such light, such beauty. You are a good woman. You will know what needs to be done.” He moved past her, heading for the door.

“Chief Whitehorse, please. What are you trying to tell me?”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “My spirit saw your death by the hand of a man close to you, one you trust. He is not as he seems.”

She shivered, her heart racing.

“He is the devil.”

Jumping as the door was closed, she held her arms while she controlled her heart rate. When she remembered the note, she turned over her hand, peeling away at the corners.

As her eyes registered what she was seeing, she began to cry.