Eye of the Wolf Read Online Free Page A

“You’re going the wrong way.”
    â€œFrankie Montana’s been arrested,” she’d told him.
    In an instant, the light disappeared and his eyes became opaque. A mixture of disgust and annoyance moved through his expression before his face settled into a blank and unreadable mask, the kind of mask that Indian people had presented to outsiders for centuries. She felt a spark of anger ignite inside her. Whenever she and Adam had a disagreement, he had a way of pulling on that mask reserved for outsiders.
    â€œI’ll explain later,” she’d said, shouldering past. She hurried down the street and around the corner toward the parking lot where she’d left the Jeep, conscious of Adam’s eyes boring a hole into her back before the door had thudded shut.
    It had taken all morning to go through the legal maneuvers. She’d driven north on the reservation to Fort Washakie and obtained a copy of the charges from the Wind River Police: assault with a deadly weapon—a rifle—a detail that Lucille hadn’t mentioned. Trent Hunter and two brothers, Rex and Joe Crispin, had filed the complaint. All were in their twenties—Frankie’s age, the same age as her own kids, Susan and Lucas, which, she supposed, was one of the reasons why she’d always agreed to defend Frankie, hoping along with Lucille that he’d get his life straightened out. She’d driven to the tribal attorney’s office in Ethete and demanded that Frankie be brought before the judge today— He’d already been held for twenty-four hours. Then she’d gone back to the low, reddish brick building with the sign in front that said, “Wind River Law Enforcement,” where both the police headquarters and the jail were housed. She’d cooled her heels in the hot, cramped entry for what had seemed an hour and had probably been fifteen minutes, checking in at the office on her cell while she waited. “Boy, is Adam in a tear thismorning,” Annie had told her, the sound of a pencil tapping against the edge of a desk. “Dumped a pile of work on me and wanted it done yesterday. What’s going on?”
    What was going on? Adam Lone Eagle did not approve of clients like Frankie Montana, that’s what was going on. He hadn’t approved of Annie Bosey, either. “We need someone more professional,” he’d argued. “More polished and less nosey.” But Vicky had insisted upon bringing Annie to the new firm. Reliable, unafraid of hard work. Annie had a couple of kids. . . . And she’d seen herself in the woman. Vicky was barely twenty-eight when she’d divorced Ben Holden. Juggling classes at the University of Colorado in Denver, working nights as a waitress, trying to raise the kids. In the end, she’d given up and brought the kids to her mother on the reservation. By the time she’d finished her law degree, Susan and Lucas were old enough to be on their own, but the loss of their childhood—it was always there, like a dull ache.
    Ignoring Annie’s probing question, Vicky’d said that she wasn’t sure when she’d get back to the office and pushed the end key. Finally, an officer in the dusty blue uniform of the Wind River Police had guided her through the steel doors and into the interview room in a corner of the jail.
    Not exactly the picture of an innocent man, Frankie, tall and wiry, tattoos creeping below the sleeves of his tee shirt, black hair pulled back into a ponytail, striding around the interview room, threatening to break the hell out of there, shouting that he hadn’t done anything wrong, just protecting himself was all. The Shoshones had gone to Fort Washakie looking for him, wanting to start trouble. They had a grudge against him. She’d been aware of the faint antiseptic odor that permeated the air, and the dull daylight filtering past the metal grille on the window. Outside was the empty