Native Born. Jenna KernanЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“My daughter is on her way to you now. I need you to promise to keep her safe. Don’t forget she’s just a child.” Cassidy turned toward the windows. “A child who should not have to make this choice.”
“She will be with us for her Sunrise Ceremony.”
“Are there drugs involved? Peyote or some such? Because I will bust you, all of you, so fast.”
Clyne rolled his eyes. “You see. This is the trouble. You don’t know anything about us.”
“I know it’s illegal to give drugs to a minor.”
“We won’t.”
“Fine. Dress her up in feathers and beads. It won’t change her.” She stomped across the room and then back, her arms flapping occasionally. Finally she stopped before him. “I can’t believe I kissed you.”
He gave her a satisfied smile. “Well, you did.”
Native Born
Jenna Kernan
JENNA KERNAN has penned over two dozen novels and has received two RITA® Award nominations. Jenna is every bit as adventurous as her heroines. Her hobbies include recreational gold prospecting, scuba diving and gem hunting. Jenna grew up in the Catskills and currently lives in the Hudson Valley of New York state with her husband. Follow Jenna on Twitter, @jennakernan, on Facebook or at www.jennakernan.com.
For Jim, always.
Contents
If Cassidy Walker had known what would happen that Monday morning, she most certainly would not have worn her new suit. As an FBI field agent, Cassidy had drawn the short stick on assignments today or perhaps this was her boss’s idea of humor. He knew there was no love lost between her and Tribal Councillor Clyne Cosen. Yet here she was watching his back.
Did her boss think it was funny assigning her to Cosen’s protection or was this still payback for her bust in January? Was it her fault he was skiing in Vail when she and Luke had found both the precursor and the second meth lab? He’d gone back to the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force to report his agents had made the bust, but he hadn’t been there.
Another feather in Cassidy’s cap.
She glanced over at her supervisor, Donald Tully. Because of his dark glasses, she could not see his eyes. But his smirk was clear enough. The man could hold a grudge.
Cassidy adjusted her polarized lenses against the Arizona sun. From her place behind the speaker, she scanned her sector for any sign of threat. Her assignment was to protect the speaker from harm. This was not her usual duty, but today the stage was filled with a mix of state and national officials and that meant all hands on deck.
Outdoor venues were the most dangerous, but the Apache tribal leaders had insisted on staging the rally here in Tucson’s downtown river park.
As the next speaker took the podium she tried hard to ignore his rich melodious voice and the fine figure he cut in that suit jacket. The long braid down his back had been dressed with leather cords and silver beads. His elegant brown hands rested casually on either side of the podium. He had no speech. Clyne Cosen, tribal councilman for the Black Mountain Apache, didn’t need one.
She gritted her teeth as she forced her gaze to shift restlessly from one person to the next, looking for anyone lifting something other than a cell phone. Judging from the wide-eyed stares from most of the women in the crowd and the way they were using up their digital storage snapping photos of the handsome tribal leader, it seemed she was not the only one who admired the physical presence of this particular speaker.
Cassidy glanced at the cheery arrangement of sunflowers just before her feet and resisted the urge to kick