“Certainly not,” she whispered.
“I didn’t think so.” He pulled back from her and stood up, looking around the room.
“Does this door lock?” he asked.
“Drew, you’re not suggesting...”
“I certainly am. I’ve waited long enough.” He picked her up and carried her to the vinyl love seat in the reading area. “This will have to do.” He went to the door and locked it, then blocked it with a filing cabinet.
When he joined her she asked, “What would you have done if Richard showed up first at the office instead of me?”
“I’d have found you,” he said grimly, unbuttoning her blouse. “I would have gotten the information out of him.”
She opened her mouth to say something else and he covered it with a large, tanned hand.
“I love you,” he said, “but if you say one more word I am going to gag you.”
He kissed her, and she discovered that she had nothing left to say.
– THE END –
BLACKFOOT
AFFAIR
Doreen Owens Malek
–
Published by
Gypsy Autumn Publications
PO Box 383 • Yardley, PA 19067
–
Copyright 1992 and 2012
by Doreen Owens Malek
www.doreenowensmalek.com
Originally published as
Arrow in the Snow (1992)
The Author asserts the moral right to be
identified as author of this work
All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author or Publisher.
First USA printing: 1992
All of the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
The dark man was watching her again.
Marisa Hancock squared off her stack of notes and fastened the pages neatly on the clipboard before her, ignoring the intense gaze focused on her. Staring at the opposition’s table in order to unnerve its attorney was an old lawyer’s trick and she wasn’t going to fall for it. She turned slightly sideways so she wouldn’t have to see him and concentrated on the task at hand.
They were deep into the third week of arguments and things were not going well for Marisa. A property and land grants attorney retained for the case by the federal government, she had taken over from another lawyer at the last minute and found herself plunged into a controversy for which she was not prepared.
Outside the windows the mild sun of a Florida winter shone down on the pale green leaves of trees barely visible through the beveled glass. She knew that the protesters were still lined up along the sidewalk outside, flanking the impatiens beds with their signs, but their chanting was not audible in the fourth floor courtroom. Marisa sighed and tried to concentrate on the droning of the court clerk’s voice, but she still felt the keen gaze on her face and, yielding to impulse, she turned and confronted the man who was staring at her.
He gazed back at her, unperturbed. She knew his name, of course: Jackson Bluewolf, the founder and President of Natives for Nature, a coalition of Native Americans fighting for conservationist issues, especially the preservation of American Indian shrines and cultural sites. Bluewolf and his group were in Florida trying to block the federal takeover of an ancient Seminole burial ground. The government wanted the land to connect two sections of an interstate highway, and the Indians wished to keep it and open a museum and cultural bookstore on the site.
“Ms. Hancock, do you have anything to add to your argument before I rule on your motion for summary judgment?” Judge Lasky said briskly, interrupting her reverie.
“Yes, your honor,” Marisa replied, rising from her seat. “I would remind the court that the savings to the taxpayers of this state if the government’s plan is implemented would be substantial—in the neighborhood of eight million dollars.”
“Thank you, Ms. Hancock. I have given due consideration to your motion and I now rule that it is denied.”
Marisa returned to her seat, keeping her face expressionless, feeling the heat of Bluewolf’s gaze on her back. The two forces had been squaring off for almost a month, and during that time Bluewolf had not said one word to her. He merely watched her with his peculiar intensity, and it was making her very ill at ease. Her discomfort was increased dramatically by the growing conviction that she was representing the wrong side.
Bluewolf’s group wanted to prevent the government from exercising its rights under “eminent domain”— a doctrine permitting the takeover of any land deemed necessary to further the public interest. Marisa had flown south from her home and practice in Maine to handle the case when another lawyer in her firm was forced to bow out of it. When she showed up for the preliminary hearing at the last minute she had to fight her way through a crowd of protesters outside the courthouse. Bluewolf had noticed her distress and cleared a path for her, unaware that she would be his adversary. And since that moment it seemed he had never taken his eyes from her.
Marisa had resigned herself to a long stay in Florida when she lost round one and the injunction to halt the highway was granted. Her explanation that the government had no desire to destroy a cultural site but merely wanted to save taxpayers money had carried no weight with the judge. It would cost a fortune to go around the cemetery rather than through it. She had outlined in detail the government’s plan to make monetary reparation to the tribe, but it all went for naught. The NFN’s argument that money could not make up for the loss of history and tradition that would result from the destruction of the three hundred year old burial ground had carried the day. And Marisa knew that Jackson Bluewolf, the NFN lawyer’s chief adviser, had been its architect.
Now she had the almost impossible task of convincing the judge to remove the injunction and let the construction begin. It would be an uphill battle and, like it or not, she was committed to it. She too thought that the Indians should be allowed to keep their land, but she could never reveal her feelings. Professional ethics required that she represent her client to the best of her ability, and she was fully prepared to do so.
“Ms. Hancock?”
Marisa looked up at the judge, then rose, clearing her throat.
“Are you prepared to continue?” the judge asked.
“Yes, your honor,” Marisa said firmly. Then she gathered her papers and put them into her briefcase.
Bluewolf’s gaze never wavered as she crossed diagonally in front of his table on her way out of the courtroom.
* * *
Several days later, Jackson Bluewolf watched Marisa as she spoke clearly and logically, her arguments cogent and well prepared, as always. It wasn’t her fault that local sympathy, among the populace and in the media, was heavily in favor of the Seminoles, or that any lawyer representing the government in the lower courts had a Herculean task from the start. She was losing on points day after day, but she was doing a hell of a job and he had to admire her for it.
He’d been aware of her from day one, mostly because of her looks; she was exactly the sort of tall, slender blonde who usually caught his eye. It had come as something of a shock when he learned that she was the attorney for the other side, but her behavior throughout the trial had only made her more attractive to him, despite the fact that she was gunning for the government. She never lost her composure, never betrayed disappointment even when the calls went against her, as they frequently had. And she acted as though she didn’t know he existed, which intrigued him. Maybe she didn’t, maybe she was so focused on her job that his almost palpable interest in her had failed to register. Well, he was going to find out shortly. Today, in fact.