the woods.â
He leaned forward, one elbow on the beautiful cherry wood of the table, and stared right into her eyes.
She felt nauseous. She folded her arms over her breasts and stared into space, shivering. It was the worst nightmare sheâd faced in her young life.
âAll right, donât go into mental convulsions over it,â he said quietly. He looked as if nothing ever ruffled him. In fact, very little did. âHe wonât touch you, I guarantee it. I have a solution.â
âA solution?â Her green eyes were wide and wet, and full of hope.
âI know of a scholarship you can get at George Washington University, outside Washington, D.C.,â he said, thinking how good it was that heâd learned to lie with such a straight face, and never thinking this lie might come back to haunt him. âBooks and board included. Itâs for needy cases. Youâd certainly qualify. Interested?â
She was hesitant. âYes. Butâ¦well, how would I get there, and apply?â
âForget the logistics for now. They arenât important. They have a good archaeology program and youâd be well out of reach of your stepfather. If you want it, say the word.â
âYes, I want it!â she said. âBut Iâll have to go back homeâ¦â
âNo, you wonât,â he said shortly. âNot ever again.â He threw his legs off the chair and got up, reaching for the telephone. He punched in a number, waited, and then began to speak in a language that was positively not English.
Sheâd lived around Lakota people most of her young life, but sheâd never heard the language spoken like this. It was full of rising and falling tones, and sang of ancient places and the sound of the wind. She loved the sound of it in his deep voice.
All too soon he ended the conversation. âLetâs go.â
âThe truck, the other orders,â she protested weakly.
âIâll have the truck taken back to your stepfather, along with a message.â He didnât mention that he planned to deliver both.
âBut where am I going?â
âTo my mother on the reservation,â he said. âMy father died earlier this year, so sheâs alone. Sheâll enjoy your company.â
âI donât have clothes,â she protested.
âIâll get yours from your stepfather.â
âYou make this sound so easy,â she said, amazed.
âMost things are easy if you can get past the red tape. I learned long ago to cut it close to the bone.â He opened the door. âComing?â
She got up, feeling suddenly free and full of hope. It was like one of those everyday miracles people talked about. âYesâ¦â
Chapter One
Present day
Washington, D.C.
C ameras were flashing all around Cecily Peterson. Microphones wielded by acrobatic television journalists were being thrust in her face as she walked quite calmly out of the fund-raising dinner that Senator Matt Holden was hosting.
Behind her, a furious tall man with a long braid of black hair was waiting for a tureen of expensive crab bisque to complete its trip down the once-spotless dress slacks of his tuxedo before he tried to move. The diamond-festooned blond socialite with him was glaring daggers at Cecilyâs back.
Cecily kept walking. âFilm at eleven,â she murmured to no one in particular, and with a bright little smile.
She didnât really look like a woman whose entire life had crashed and burned in the space of a few minutes. Her life was like Tate Winthropâs tuxedoâin ruins. Everything was going to change now.
She went to the big black utility vehicle that her date had driven her here in, to wait for him to join her. Her high heels were damp from the grass. She could feel her medium blond hair coming down from its high, complicated coiffure. The street and traffic lights were blurs of color to her pale green eyes because she