little forward from overdeveloped back muscles, a characteristic of men who’d cut timber most of their lives. In the years he’d been in prison, Two Knives had used his time to develop the rest of his body as well. His chest was massive. The sleeves of his plaid flannel shirt were rolled back, revealing sinewy arms. But prison had also developed something else in Two Knives, and it showed in the coldness of his dark eyes.
“Sarah told us you’d be here. I need to talk to you, Stormy.”
“I’m busy.”
“It’s important. It’s about your uncle.”
Two Knives reached down to where a thermos sat on a stump. He poured cold water into the thermos cup and took a drink. He offered the cup to his son.
“Wendell? What about him?”
“Have you seen him lately?”
“Why?”
“It’s important I talk to him.”
“Haven’t seen him.”
Louis Two Knives handed the thermos cup back to this father. “He’s in the Boundary Waters.”
“Louis,” Stormy Two Knives snapped.
“He’s been gone a long time,” the boy continued, ignoring the hard look from his father.
“Stormy,” Cork said. “He may be in trouble.”
“The only trouble an Indian is ever in is with the law. Has my uncle done something?”
“He guided a woman into the Boundary Waters. We think somebody may want to hurt her, and they might try to use Wendell to get to her.”
“We?” Two Knives coldly scrutinized Arkansas Willie Raye, looking directly into his eyes, an unusual thing for an Ojibwe. But prison had changed Stormy Two Knives in a lot of ways. “I know you.”
“Call me Arkansas Willie,” Raye said. He thrust a hand out, but Two Knives only looked at it.
“Used to watch you on TV,” Stormy Two Knives said. “Didn’t know you were still alive.” He turned his attention back to Cork. “I don’t know anything about my uncle.”
“Stormy, this woman’s life may be at stake. Your uncle’s, too.”
“My uncle can take care of himself.”
“I’ve been told he goes in and out of the Boundary Waters frequently. I think he must take supplies to this woman. Louis says he’s been gone a long time. That makes me worried.”
“Look, what do you care, O’Connor? You’re not the sheriff anymore. You don’t make the laws around here.”
“I never did, Stormy.”
“Like I said,” Two Knives went on, lifting his chainsaw, “I’m busy. Hand me that bar tool, Louis. I want to tighten this chain.”
“I’ll pay you,” Willie Raye said.
Two Knives paused. “How much?”
“A thousand dollars.”
“We get an allotment from the casino profits now.” He hefted the saw and plucked at the chain to gauge the tension. “You can take your thousand dollars and shove it up your ass.”
Willie Raye moved forward a step. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just plumb scared, Stormy. I got me a little girl out there, lost as a blind kitten in a kennel full of hounds. I’d give my left nut just to know she’s okay. A man loses his family, doesn’t matter what else he’s got. He’s got nuthin’. There’s no reason you should help me. No reason on earth. Except you’re the only one who can.”
Stormy Two Knives stared at him. “You her father?”
“I’m her father.”
Two Knives’ face was impassive as he stood considering. Louis reached out and touched his father’s arm. Two Knives bent down and the boy whispered.
In the quiet, Cork heard the crack and pop of twigs as someone approached from the direction of the old logging road. In a moment, Booker T. Harris and Dwight Sloane appeared. They walked to where Cork and Raye stood and Harris addressed Stormy Two Knives.
“Is your name Hector Two Knives?”
The skin around Two Knives’ eyes went tight as old leather. “Everyone calls me Stormy. Except cops.”
“Is that your Ranger parked out there?”
“That’s my Ranger.”
“Mr. Two Knives,” Harris said, taking a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket, “you’re under arrest.”
13
“ Under arrest?” Two Knives’ eyes flashed toward Cork. “What for?”
“Sloane,” Harris said.
Agent Sloane held out his hands. He wore black gloves. Cradled in the palms of his gloves was a big handgun. Cork guessed, from its size and square trigger guard, that it was probably a Ruger Super Blackhawk,. 44 magnum. Not an uncommon handgun.
“I found this in the toolbox in the back of your truck,” Sloane said.
“You have a search warrant to look in the toolbox?” Cork asked.
“The lid was up,” Sloane said.
“That’s not mine.” Stormy stood rigid, the saw poised in his hands.
“You can argue that from your prison cell. This is a parole violation, Hector. You’re going back to hard time,” Harris said. “Put that saw down.”
Stormy didn’t move. “You didn’t find that in my toolbox.”
“I will testify under oath that I did,” Sloane said. He put the gun in a plastic evidence bag.
“What’s this all about, Harris?” Cork demanded.
Stormy shot Cork an angry glance. “You know them?”
“FBI,” Cork said. “That’s Special Agent in Charge Booker T. Harris. And that’s Agent Dwight Sloane. They’re looking for the woman, too.”
“Too?” Harris said. “I thought we were working together on this, O’Connor.”
“So did I,” Cork said. “I thought we agreed to do it my way.”
Stormy Two Knives regarded Cork as if he had murder on his mind.
“Read him his rights,” Harris said to Agent Sloane. He stepped toward Stormy with the cuffs in his outstretched hands. “Unless he wants to tell us where the woman is.”
“I don’t know where the woman is,” Stormy said.
“Then how do you explain this?” Harris took from Sloane another plastic evidence bag. Inside was a brown envelope, approximately nine by twelve inches. Harris slipped black leather gloves on his hands, carefully took the envelope from the bag, and held it delicately by one corner as he removed the contents-a stack of hundred-dollar bills and a piece of plain typing paper. “Care to read what the note says? Out loud, if you please.” He held the paper out for Cork to read.
“‘As agreed. For making sure our little wood nymph doesn’t leave the forest. Split it with Stormy anyway you want.’”
“There’s fifteen thousand dollars here,” Harris said, waving the stack of bills in the air.
“Where’d you get that?” Cork demanded.
“The trailer you just left. The door was open. Envelope was on the kitchen counter.”
“How convenient,” Cork responded.
Stormy Two Knives glared at the money. “I don’t know anything about it. And my uncle would never have anything to do with something like that.”
“You have a search warrant for Wendell’s trailer?” Cork asked.
“It was in plain sight,” Harris said. “And we had reason to be suspicious. Even if it doesn’t hold up in court,
