mussed by the wind, and by restless fingers plowing through it. Deep lines of tension etched her face. She looked almost as nervous as he felt.
But still she found the strength to give him a smile and an encouraging nod.
The shallow pit of an abandoned foundation lay in the center of the circle of tape. Scrape marks from a hand shovel identified the exact location where his brother’s remains had been excavated. Removing his sun glasses, Storm tucked them into the breast pocket of his shirt and carefully made his way to the spot.
Jasmine stood close at his side as he lowered himself on bent knee. Holding his hand inches above the ground, he let it hover for a moment. Saying a silent prayer for the spirits to guide him in his quest to allow his brother’s soul to finally find rest, he closed his eyes and lowered his hand to the ground, raking his fingers through the powdery dust.
And felt nothing but a vast emptiness in his heart.
Storm’s brows knitted into a frown. His eyes shot open. He scooped up a handful of dirt, letting it sift slowly through his long fingers. Then, shaking the dust from his hand, he looked up, meeting Jasmine’s confused gaze.
“My brother’s remains may have been here, but his soul never was. He died else where.”
“We need to tell the police,” Jasmine insisted, quickening her step to catch up with Storm’s long-legged stride to the Jeep, unable to shake the feeling that he was running away.
His strong jaw set in a resolute line, he remained stubbornly silent, refusing to answer.
Frustrated at being ignored, she grabbed his arm.
He stopped, wheeling around to face her. His eyes were dark, his glare for bidding. Beneath her fingers she felt a slight tremor in the powerful, sinewy muscles of his forearm, as though he were struggling for control.
A twinge of unwanted fear riffled through her. She tightened her grip, determined to not back down, or to let him see the effect he had on her. “We should let Gretchen Neal know that Raven was killed elsewhere. It could send the investigation into a more positive direction.”
Silently, deliberately, Storm looked down at her hand. Then he raised his eyes to her face. She shivered as he held her in his gaze for a long, discomfiting moment. Finally he said, “We can’t do that. We can’t go to the police.”
“Why not?”
“Because, Jasmine, no matter how good a detective she might be, Ms. Neal won’t be willing to change the course of her investigation simply because of a ‘feeling.’ Especially if she knew that feeling came from someone like me, an Indian.”
Disappointment and anger billowed up inside Jasmine at the unjustness of his statement. With an irritated breath, she released him, dropping her hand to her side. In his own way Storm was just as narrow-minded as the rest of the people of Whitehorn. She opened her mouth, ready to argue that his heritage should not stand in the way of Gretchen listening to him.
But something stopped her.
Reason returned.
She, of all people, should understand the prejudices of others. She’d grown up with her mother, Celeste, a woman who’d done nothing to hide her beliefs in the spiritual here after. Over the years Jasmine had endured the ridicule of a town that thought of her mother as an oddity. But it had not been easy. Unfortunately she understood Storm’s hesitancy in revealing his “feelings” to a complete stranger.
With a resigned sigh, the last of her anger dissolved. “All right, we can’t talk to the police…yet. So what should we do next?”
“There’s nothing more we can accomplish here,” he said as he glanced around the construction site. His impatient gaze glided over the dusty barren ground, the abandoned machinery and the gaping pit. He shook his head, his frustration obvious. “I just keep wondering if there’s a connection between finding Raven’s remains and Lyle’s unexplained behavior. If only we could talk to someone who knew Lyle best. Someone who might be able to help us understand what he had on his mind before he started his rampage.”
Jasmine frowned, considering the problem. “Lyle was closest to his mother. Even if she would talk to us, which I doubt, she’s already gone back to Elk Springs.”
“What about Lyle’s grandfather?”
“Garrett?” She shrugged, considering the possibility. “He did spend a lot of time with Lyle those last few weeks.”
“Do you think he would talk to us?”
“He’s always seemed like a fair and honest man to me. But