Читать книгу Lakota Baby - Elle James - Страница 9

While Officer Toke stood outside on her porch smoking a cigarette, Maggie paced her tiny living room more times than she cared to count, chewing through every last fingernail. Joe had gone to the police station with the others, promising to be back soon.

The more time that passed the more the walls seemed to close in around her. With Joe there, she could handle almost anything. Without him, she felt the black hole of loss sucking her down. She couldn’t just wait around for his return, she had to do something to find her baby.

But who would have taken him? And why?

She sat on the couch and closed her eyes, focusing on everyone she’d been in contact with in the past six months. A person who could be malicious enough to steal a baby from his bed. It had to be someone who knew which room her baby slept in and that she would be the only adult in the house.

Who? Who? Who? She tapped her finger to her forehead. Faces swam in her mind of all the boys and girls she worked with at the youth center. She’d never invited any of them to her house, but one of them could have spied on her just as easily as someone had painted graffiti on her walls while she’d been away. As if her mind was on a continuous loop, she couldn’t slow her thoughts enough to wrap around an individual. None of the teens surfaced as mean enough to steal her baby.

Was it even one of the teenagers she’d been working with? Could it be someone who knew Paul? If so, she was at a complete loss. For once, she wished she’d been closer to Paul than strangers in a shared house.

She pushed to her feet and strode to the window. When would Joe get back? He would know where to begin. He’d know who to question, who to call.

God, she prayed he did.

After one more circle around the living room, she stopped at the entrance to the hallway. From Dakota’s doorway, light spread in a triangle on the carpet in the hall. As if drawn by an irresistible force, Maggie walked toward the room she’d avoided since the police left. The closer she got, the more her chest squeezed until she was gulping short, shallow breaths. The walls pressed in on either side of her. She didn’t want to go in but she had to know, to see for herself, that her child really was gone.

This wasn’t a dream.

The officers had tried to clean up their mess before they left, but she could still see the faint traces of dust from where they’d lifted fingerprints from the walls, window-sill and furniture.

Baby blankets and sheets had been stripped from the crib and sent to the state crime lab along with the blue cloud curtains that used to hang in the window. She’d made them herself from a piece of fabric she’d found in Rapid City last Christmas.

With an icy lump of pain lodged in her throat, Maggie struggled to breathe. Yet her eyes remained dry, almost too dry, with that achy, hollow feeling she couldn’t blink away.

Longing to hold her child had become a physical need, just like breathing. And now that she was completely alone in her house, worry set in with a vengeance.

Was Dakota warm enough? Was he hungry? Were they changing his diapers and holding him so he wouldn’t be afraid? She prayed whoever had taken her son wouldn’t hurt him.

A sob rose in her throat and she pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from wailing aloud.

Then she noticed a powder-blue teddy bear lying forgotten against the wall. The plush, pillow-like toy was Dakota’s favorite. He liked to sleep with it at night.

Maggie sank to her knees and gathered the plaything to her breast, inhaling the scents of baby powder and milk.

Why her child? He didn’t like going with strangers, preferring only those he recognized, his mother and his caregiver, Mrs. Little Elk.

Please Dakota, don’t cry too much. With all the child abuse and neglect she’d witnessed in the year and a half she’d been on the reservation, she hoped whoever had Dakota wasn’t one of the abusers.

She pressed her face into the teddy bear, squeezed her eyes shut and sent a prayer to God and the Lakota spirits to help Joe find her son. At this point, she didn’t care if he found out he was the father or if he sued for custody. Maggie loved Dakota so much she’d give him up to his father if she could be certain he was alive and taken care of.

Why hadn’t she heard them when they’d entered her house? A good mother would have woken up at the slightest movement. If only she hadn’t slept soundly. If only she’d woken with the dream. If only she’d left the reservation and gone home to Des Moines when Joe went to war. She should have left while she was still pregnant and Dakota was safe in her womb. Her baby would still be with her if she’d gone to Iowa. None of this would have happened.

If only.

She buried her face in the bear’s soft nylon fur, her shoulders shaking, her body racked with dry, silent sobs. Alone in the middle of the prairie, her son was nowhere to be found.

The phone in her bedroom rang twice before Maggie heard it, so deep was she in her misery.

She lurched to her feet, the teddy bear still in her hand, and raced for the cordless phone on her nightstand.

“Hello?” She practically hyperventilated with her hopes and fears tangled in her chest.

“We’ll trade the baby for what was stolen from us. Coyote Butte. Saturday, midnight. Come alone or we kill the kid.”

“My baby? Is Dakota all right?” Maggie asked in a strangled whisper. “Please. Is he okay?”

An infant’s cry could be heard in the background, before the line went dead.

“Dakota!” Maggie crushed the receiver to her ear, straining to hear her baby. Her hands shook so much she banged the phone against her temple, the pain barely registering. “Dakota! Oh, please, let me have my baby!”

“Maggie?”

As her vision blurred, the phone slipped from her ear. They had her baby and he was alive. Blackness curled around her and her knees buckled.

“Maggie!” Joe was there, gathering her into his arms, holding her up when her legs gave way. He smoothed her hair from her face and muttered soothing words.

She stood for several moments, reminding herself to breathe, telling her heart to go on beating, absorbing the strength, smell and touch of Joe holding her in his arms.

Finally, Joe tilted her chin up and stared down at her intently. “What happened, Maggie?”

“I heard my baby.” Her fingers clutched at the lapels of his shirt. “They have Dakota. He’s alive.”

THANK THE SPIRITS. Joe held her face against his shoulder. “Shhh, he’ll be okay.” He hoped to hell they found the child before the kidnappers did something stupid. The tribal police were already combing through a list of possible suspects and the state police had issued an Amber Alert throughout South Dakota and the bordering states. The FBI would be there within the next two or three hours. For now, the best he could do was to hold Maggie and help her through the terror of her loss.

With her body pressed against his and the scent of herbal shampoo stirring his senses, memories flooded in.

It had been extremely hot the summer he’d first met Maggie. He’d hung around the activity center on the pretext of working out with the young people. What he wanted was information about drug abuse and drug dealing involving the teens. What he found was a pretty white woman playing a lousy game of basketball with the young adults. Sweaty, her hair curling wildly around her flushed face, she’d looked so alive, so vibrant. Joe couldn’t resist hanging around. And she’d been so good with the kids, concerned and caring about everything in their lives.

Even after he identified the teens involved in the drug trafficking, he still went by the center with one excuse or another to talk to Maggie. His fascination for the auburn-haired social worker with the sunny smile was pretty obvious.

Charlie Tatanka, a recovering teen drug abuser, had agreed to assist in a DEA sting operation to bring the dealer in. Because of the rapport and level of trust he had with Maggie, the teen insisted she be close at hand as the bust went down.

Within the first two minutes of the maneuver, the dealer realized it was a setup and freaked, pulling a gun. Charlie was shot in the arm before the DEA and the tribal police could disarm the perpetrator.

Joe remembered how upset Maggie had been. As distressed as any parent would be over her own child, she’d accompanied the boy in the ambulance to the hospital where she’d stayed half the night ensuring Charlie was comfortable and had the proper treatment.

After the drug dealer was handed over to the state police, Joe dropped by the hospital to check on Charlie and Maggie. Charlie’s father was there to take him home in his pickup truck. Joe offered to give Maggie a lift. That’s when his inward struggle began.

She was still wired, talking nonstop during the trip back, riding an adrenaline high. Although worried about Charlie she couldn’t contain her excitement over ridding the reservation of another dealer. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shining.

She’d been so beautiful, Joe had had a tough time concentrating on the road. When they’d arrived at Maggie’s small house on the reservation, he’d insisted on checking out the place to make sure she was safe. Reluctant to leave her, he’d been caught up in her exuberance, the passion of her conviction spilling into him and kindling a similar passion of another nature.

When Joe started to leave, Maggie made the mistake of throwing her arms around his neck to thank him for caring about the teenagers. Unable to resist, he’d returned the embrace, kissing her until he was breathless, amazed at the burst of desire surging through his body.

In the heat of that embrace, he hadn’t given a thought to what color, race or religion she was. That she wasn’t Indian didn’t cross his mind once. He only knew he had to hold her, touch her and feel her skin against his. The kiss didn’t end until morning. He’d spent the night in Maggie’s arms feeling as if he’d been given a gift from the spirits.

Then he’d woken to reality and a vast amount of guilt. He’d made a promise to his father that he’d continue the ways of his people. There was no room for a white woman in the Indian culture—no place for her in his promise to his father. He’d left that morning without a word, before she’d awakened.

He’d taken two days off from work and escaped to the bluffs on a vision quest, his mind a confused mass of old beliefs and fresh desire. The quest turned into a reaffirmation of his Lakotan beliefs, but he moved no closer to resolving his feelings for Maggie.

Nor would he be given the chance to work through them.

Upon his return, the first thing that hit him was the message on his answering machine from the South Dakota National Guard. “You’ve been ordered to active duty. You have twenty-four hours to report to your assigned duty station.”

His world had rushed in around him and he’d made a decision. For the next fourteen months, he’d lived with the result in the hell of Iraq.

But now he stood with Maggie once again in his arms and knew what a terrible mistake he’d made. Her soft curves had blossomed even more as a mother and he liked it—almost too much. She was his stepbrother’s widow, still mourning the loss of her husband.

When Maggie stopped shaking, he held her away. “Are you going to be all right?”

She sniffed and rubbed her nose against the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “You must think I’m a complete flake.”

“No, your son was kidnapped. I’d say you’re reacting the way any mother would.”

“Thanks.” A tentative smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Then her eyes filled with more tears and her lips trembled.

Joe wanted to kiss those lips and chase away her fears, instead he folded her into his arms. Her watery smile was a sad reminder of the how happy she used to be. That seemed like a lifetime ago. “I remember the first time I saw you at the youth center. You were playing basketball with some of the kids.”

A hiccupping laugh was muffled against his shirt. “I was terrible.”

“No,” He tipped her head up. “You were wonderful.”

“How can you say that? I didn’t even know how to dribble.”

“But you tried.” She’d laughed and played, even though she couldn’t bounce the ball once without having it taken away from her.

Maggie’s lips twisted. “I never could get a ball in the bucket.”

His arms tightened around her slim waist. “Yes, you did.”

“Not by myself.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she tucked her head against his chest.

He’d helped her make a shot by standing behind her and placing his hands over hers. Her backside had pressed against him, stirring his blood in a way he couldn’t ignore.

The warmth of Maggie against him now brought back those memories. His body remembered her shape and responded. Joe closed his eyes and willed the surge to subside. He wasn’t there to make love to Maggie. “Who were you playing with? I can’t remember.”

“Charlie, Tray and Kiya…” She stopped her list and her breath caught.

Joe glanced down to see her eyes fill again with tears. “What?”

Her fingers curled in his shirt and she pressed her face against his chest. “Kiya was alive then.”

Joe had received the news from Paul that Kiya Driskall, one of the troubled teens Maggie had been working with, had overdosed.

“What happened, Maggie?”

“I don’t know.” Maggie tore away from Joe and walked toward the window. “She’d been through detox at the hospital. She was doing so well.” She inhaled a jerky stream of air and let it out, her shoulders bowing with her release. “Charlie found her behind the center, she’d injected meth. There was nothing we could do. She was already dead.” Maggie turned to Joe, her eyes haunted.

“It wasn’t your fault, Maggie.” He reached for her, but she backed away.

“No, Joe.” She jerked away. “I failed her. Just like I failed Dakota. I wasn’t there when she needed me. The kids quit coming to the facility, even the ones that weren’t involved in drugs or alcohol. They just quit coming. I ended up going to them. One by one. But no one would talk to me except Charlie and even he was afraid to be seen with me. It was like I was the plague.”

Joe shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself, Maggie. Something else must have happened.” Possibly something related to Dakota’s kidnapping?

“I don’t know. I wish to hell I did.” She turned back to the window and pressed her cheek to the glass. “Now Dakota’s gone.”

“He’s not dead, Maggie. Don’t give up on him.” Joe stepped up behind Maggie and turned her toward him. “You ready to go to work on this case?”

For a moment she stared at him, her eyes glazed and unseeing.

She blinked, and the Maggie he remembered—the Maggie who could fearlessly stand up to a group of rowdy teenagers surfaced. “I’m ready.”