In the Arms of Stone Angels - By Jordan Dane Page 0,14

I didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t let it go. From the corner of my eye, I saw shoppers coming out of Home Depot. Most of them rushed by and didn’t make eye contact. No one was going to help me…until one woman grabbed her cell and made a call. I hoped she dialed 911, but I couldn’t be sure.

“That damned Indian killed Heather. Ain’t you got nothin’ to say?” He stared down at me. “He’s gonna pay when they stick a needle in his arm.” I felt his bully friends close in and the heat mixed with the stink of sweat and body odor. It was so bad that I had to hold my breath, but Derek’s words were even more torture.

I imagined White Bird strapped to a table in an execution room and it scared the hell out of me—like I needed something else to keep me up nights.

“He hasn’t been convicted. His case never went to court.” I swallowed hard and raised my chin, digging deep for a little defiance.

Being related to the sheriff, Derek wasn’t stupid enough to beat me up in broad daylight, not when there’d be witnesses. But what scared me was what I knew would come. This redneck was only getting started. I had to curb my inner smart-ass and keep my mouth shut or I’d pay later when the jerk could corner me without witnesses. If I pissed him off now, that’s what would happen for sure. I had to play it right and let him think he’d won this round.

“Oh, but he’s guilty. And we all know it.” Derek got in my face, close enough for me to smell his bad breath and get a zoom on his zits. One on his chin was ripe. The dude seriously needed to harvest.

“If you’re so sure, why are you hassling me?” It was the only comeback I could think of. Lame, I know. I had no business arguing with a guy who could break me like a twig. And I didn’t want to die in the parking lot of Home Depot, especially on an empty stomach.

“You were screwing him, weren’t you?” he said.

With guys like Derek, it always came back to sex. What a tool! He couldn’t see a guy being friends with a girl. Correct that, friendship between a white girl and a Native American boy was off-limits in his pea brain. Guys like Derek shouldn’t be allowed to breed.

When I opened my mouth to speak—completely unsure what I’d say—I saw a police patrol car coming and I breathed a sigh of relief when Derek saw it, too. He backed off and leaned against his truck, crossing his beefy arms and acting all innocent. The jerk!

“Is everything okay here? Derek, is that you?” A deputy I didn’t recognize took in the scene. “What’s going on?”

He was older than Will Tate, the cop who had found me at the cemetery. But this guy saw I had shopping bags in my trunk and that Derek and his buddies had blocked my car.

I glared at Derek and made him sweat more than he already was. I could have narked him out, but I knew it wouldn’t end with me filing a complaint for the sheriff’s office to deal with. Derek was the kind of guy who hated losing, especially to a girl.

“Nothing, Deputy. I was heading home. My mom had me running errands, but she’s expecting me. I gotta bounce.” I avoided looking at Derek when I slammed my trunk. He was a guy who had worked hard on his body, but anything above his shoulders needed a serious “do over.” All I wanted to do was get out in one piece.

“Then you better back up your rig, son. Let the little lady out. You’re in her way.”

The deputy stepped between us and got Derek to back off my bumper. And in my rearview mirror as I drove away, I saw that the deputy wasn’t done with the beef boy squad. He kept Derek talking while I drove off the lot. Hell, they were even laughing like it was a damned frat party. Although the cop had given me a head start, I wasn’t dumb enough to believe it was over between me and Derek and his no-neck buddies. Guys like him never let anything go, but I had better things to do.

And all I had on my mind now was seeing White Bird.

Red Cliffs Hospital

Wearing torn jeans and a striped tee with a long scarf,