Night of the White Buffalo: A Wind River Mystery Read Free

and black—stood in the shadows beyond the parked truck.
    Headlights burst into the darkness as the black truck swerved into a U-turn and shot toward them, weaving into their lane. Adam stomped on the brake pedal, sending the BMW skittering toward the borrow ditch as the truck sped past. Vicky watched the taillights flare like red firecrackers in the side mirror.
    â€œJesus. What the hell was that?” Adam drove slowly, tentatively, as if he expected the dark phantom of yet another vehicle to rear up in front of them.
    Vicky rolled down her window and leaned outside. Something wrong about the skewed way the parked truck sat alongside the ditch, rear tires sloping downward, as if the driver had stopped suddenly and unintentionally. As they drove past, she caught a glimpse, like a reflection in a mirror, of a man slumped over the steering wheel, off balance as if a strong wind might push him backward onto the seat.
    â€œHe needs help, Adam.”
    â€œWe don’t know what just went down here. Could’ve been a drug deal.”
    â€œStop, Adam. Please. We have to see if he’s okay.”
    â€œVicky . . .” Adam shook his head, braking lightly, finally bringing the car to a stop. He shifted into reverse and, turning to look past the driver’s window, steered backward, then veered to the right and pulled in where the other truck had stood. “What do you think you saw?” He was looking into the rearview mirror, studying the truck behind them.
    â€œThe driver looks sick or hurt. He’s alone.”
    Adam leaned past her, opened the glove compartment, and withdrew a small black pistol that gleamed in the dashboard lights.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œStay here.” He opened the door and got out.
    Vicky yanked at her handle, pushed the door open, and jumped onto the slope of the borrow ditch, holding on to the door to steady herself. Adam had already closed the narrow space between the rear of the BMW and the front of the truck, the pistol tucked into the back of his blue jeans, the grip riding above his belt.
    â€œGo back.” The words came like a hiss of steam over his shoulder.
    Vicky was beside him, staying in rhythm with his footsteps toward the driver’s door, her gaze fastened on the head propped sideways against the steering wheel. They were still a few feet away when she saw the hole in the man’s forehead, the wide eyes fixed and blank, staring out the opened window.
    â€œHe’s been shot.” Adam stepped in front of her, as if to shield her from the sight. She felt the pressure of his arm on hers. “Let’s get out of here.”
    â€œWe have to get help.”
    â€œThe man’s dead, Vicky.” She looked back as Adam turned her around and began pulling her along the asphalt. He was right. Death had its own stillness.
    She yanked herself free, hurried ahead to the BMW, grabbed her bag off the floor, and began rummaging for her cell phone. Tapping in 911, she started back to the truck. Adam blocked the way, like a cottonwood that had materialized on the highway. An intermittent sharp bleeping noise sounded in her ear.
    â€œGet into the car.” A little shock ran through her as Adam grasped her arm and started wheeling her backward. “We have to get out of here.”
    â€œWhat is your emergency?” A disembodied phone voice.
    Vicky twisted herself free. “A man’s been shot on Blue Sky Highway.” Vicky could hear the frantic pitch of her voice. “South of Trosper Road. He’s in a . . .”
    â€œFord,” Adam said.
    â€œDark Ford truck pulled over in the southbound lane.”
    â€œI’m sending the police and an ambulance. What is your name?”
    â€œVicky Holden. I’m with Adam Lone Eagle. We are attorneys in Lander.”
    â€œThe police will want to speak with you.”
    â€œWe will give our statements tomorrow,” Adam said, as if he were part