Sacred Burial Grounds (An FBI Romance Thriller (book 2)) Read Online Free Page B

reservation and hunting grounds apart and possibly find the truth. That he couldn’t let happen. All he could hope was that the fox would be incompetent, and write it off as a medicine wheel created with animal bones and nothing more.
    He made the choice for now that the Indian police chief would live, but only because he couldn’t risk the outsiders coming. He only hoped the spirits would forgive him for the tarnished offering, giving him another chance to rectify his bungled gift.
     
     
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    Callen Whitefox and his officers cordoned off the area as the only reservation doctor came in and inspected the scene. Deep down, inside he hoped the man would start laughing at any moment, telling him that they all were out of their minds. He kept waiting for that laughter to come, and yet nothing of the sort was happening. Now the tendrils of unease were beginning to choke him and he was feeling more and more edgy as time passed.
    He pulled on a pair of gloves, and instructed the men to do the same. “Pull your hair back, and then glove up if you're touching anything here. We can’t compromise this scene with our own DNA,” he warned, just in case. He’d had experience on one or two crime scenes where there were remains. His stint as a deputy gave him some experience. Enough that he could instruct his men, and ensure they didn’t make this any harder on whoever had to work and investigate this mess after them.
    The d octor knelt beside the circle, carefully checking the smallest bones. Gently he turned them over in his gloved hands, checking the joints and the markings. Holding them reverently, he tried to not smear or touch the red symbols. Never had he seen anything quite like this before in his life. This was completely new to him, and he’d been living on the reservation for many years, since marrying one of the women who called the tribe home.
    Doctor Wolman was once an outsider and not trusted. Many looked at him with suspicion, but time worked in his favor and they began to accept him. When they realized he wasn’t going to leave, they welcomed him and allowed him to blend in seamlessly. It had been his mission to help the Native American Indians living in poverty and sickness, and instead of just helping them, he fell in love with one of them.
    What came next was a lifetime of dedication to the health and wellbeing of the tribe’s inhabitants. In the grand scheme he was now one of them, despite the fact that he practiced the white man’s medicine. Getting the call from Callen Whitefox meant a great deal to him. It meant he was integrated into their community and finally one of them.
    “What do you say, Doctor?” asked Whitefox, hoping that at any second the doctor was goin g to tell him he had bird or squirrel bones.
    The older man looked up at him and put his glasses on the top of his head. “Callen, this is something odd and strange.”
    “Are they human? I can deal with odd and strange at a later time, once I figure out if they’re human remains.”
    The older man held the bone up to the light. “I do believe they’re human,” he said, hesitating and staring at the bones in his hand.
    “But?”
    “The thing is, ” he paused. “They’re still soft and look at the size. I would say almost miniature in stature.”
    Whitefox didn’t like where this was heading . Already, he felt that knot in his stomach at the idea that these were miniature human remains, and that was disturbing. It could only mean one or two things. “By miniature, do you mean a very small person in stature? Are we talking about a very small adult?” The only other option was making his insides twist into a giant knot. There was this burning feeling in his gut, as the bile almost wanted to climb up into his throat.
    “I think these are the bones of a child. Babies have three hundred bones in utero. As they develop they change from cartilage to bone, fusing