Tribal Ways Read Online Free

archaeologist I certainly know how to avoid contaminating or disturbing a site. Also I may be able to infer something from the dig site that someone who isn’t a trained and experienced archaeologist would miss.”
    His black eyes gazed at her for the space of several breaths. “I’m not proud, Ms. Creed,” he said. “Leastwise, not prouder than I am eager to save a whole bunch more poor folks from getting torn up like that. I could use any information I can get. So let’s go ahead and call you a consultant on this one. You need a contract?”
    She shook her head. “Nor do I need any fees. Let me use your name, and back me up if I need it. I promise I won’t embarrass you.”
    He nodded. “Good enough. And thanks for not asking for any money—things are pretty tight, budgetarily speaking, even for a sensational case like this. I’ve worked with archaeologists before. Heck, I worked with Ted Watkins, the archaeologist who got killed out there this morning. So I know you understand about not trampling through a crime scene like a herd of buffalo. I wish half the law enforcement people who’ve been up through there already had half the sense about that kind of thing as you people do. I’ll give you the little speech, anyway. Stay out of the way of any cop types, whether they’re troopers, county mounties or, heaven help us, the Feds. If you encounter the suspect do not try to detain or interact with him, for God’s sake. Otherwise, knock yourself out. And I’ll put out the word you’re helping me on a discreet kinda basis.”
    “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
    “I’m not sure it’s a thanking matter, ma’am.”
    They both stood. He was a good three inches shorter than her. Annja nodded at the beefy revolver holstered at his right hip. It was matte silver metal with contoured wooden grips. They looked well-worn.
    “I couldn’t help noticing you carry a double-action revolver, Lieutenant,” she said. “Looking at the other troopers I thought the Oklahoma Highway Patrol issued Glock 22s.”
    He looked as if her query surprised him. It clearly didn’t displease him.
    “Smith & Wesson 657,” he said with unmistakable pride. “It’s a .41 Magnum, N-frame, stainless. Custom Hogue grips. Got me a special exemption from the department to carry it. Helps I’m a Comanche and all, plus I’ve been with the patrol since old Quanah Parker was a lance corporal. I got nothing against the Glocks—they’re pretty good guns, even if I can’t help feeling like they’re flimsy for being half made out of plastic and all. And there’s nothing wrong with .40 caliber. I just like the authority the .41 Mag gives you, without it having so much recoil it takes all day to haul it back down on target every time you shoot, like a .44 Magnum does. And maybe some of that cowboy wheel-gun mystique.”
    He slapped the weapon affectionately. “This pup got me all the way through the fast drive to Kuwait City in ’91. Not much call to use it then, although it was a power of comfort to me. Been out of the holster a time or two since, though. And never once let me down.”
    “Kuwait City, 1991? Wait, you were Force RECON?”
    “That’s right, ma’am. You wouldn’t be former military yourself, would you? Or from a service family? You seem to know a fair amount about the forces.”
    “I have a lot of friends in the military. But—you’re a Marine.” She already knew better than to say ex -Marine.
    “ Semper fi, ma’am!”
    “The young man in the photos on your desk is Army.”
    Ten Bears’ thin-lipped mouth tightened ever so slightly, and his eyes narrowed just a hair. “Boy always did know how to piss me off,” he muttered. “Even if he did make Ranger.”
    “Well, thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll let you know if I find anything that I think you might be able to use.”
    “You look like a woman who knows how to take care of herself,” he said.
    “I like to think I can.”
    “Well, this isn’t the time or the place to