Heart of the Storm

Heart of the Storm
Lindsay McKenna

Dana Thunder Eagle is a beautiful woman with a fierce heart and powerful gift. But after the murder of her husband and mother, she ran away from the Rosebud reservation, hoping to leave the past behind her forever. Now, two years later, the killer is still on the loose. And only Dana has the mystical power to stop him.After six months of daily torture at the hands of South American rebels, Chase knows his latest mission may be his hardest: to whip Dana into fighting shape in just five weeks. Even more challenging will be to ignore his cinnamon-eyed student's graceful beauty.United in a life-or-death mission, Chase and Dana must learn to lean on each other if there is any chance of stopping a madman who seeks to destroy a people's history…and future.

Lindsay MCKenna

Heart of the Storm

To Mary Buckner, RN, and Linda Metzler,

Physician’s Assistant, friends. Thank you for your

help and support over the years; I couldn’t have

gotten this far without you. George Abbott, we

couldn’t ask for a better neighbor. In a day and

age where respect, honesty, integrity and courtesy

are dimming in our society, you shine with these

wonderful human qualities. We’re lucky we live in

the same canyon with you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER ONE

“THE VICE PRESIDENT of the United States needs to die. Now!”

Rogan Yalua Soquili, known as Fast Horse, was insistent as he stood triumphantly outside the circle of twelve Native American women. Their rapt attention fixed on the Cherokee métis medicine man, they sat in their ceremonial garb. Rogan placed his hands on the strong, capable shoulders of Blue Wolf, a Shoshone woman near his own age of forty-five.

“Make it happen,” he declared, his voice booming.

The Sierra Nevadas in early June took on a shadowy, menacing aura as midday thunderclouds grew above them. Rogan looked around gleefully. They were nestled within the Eagle’s Nest, his compound built high in the mountains, on a cliff. The wooden walls provided them sanctuary as they stood on the hard-packed earth. It was the perfect place to carry out their task. The air around them leaped and throbbed with living energy.

In the center of the women’s circle, a light feathery mist began to gather. It moved counterclockwise, never touching any of the participants. Rogan watched, mesmerized, as the wispy cloud became darker and began to resemble a doughnut whose hole was closing. Cauliflower-like towers grew upward from the sluggishly swirling clouds, and when flashes of lightning occurred, Rogan’s jaw dropped in awe. Surely, the ceremonial Storm Pipe and these women were connected to the most powerful magic he’d ever seen. Excitement coursed through him.

The women chanted as one, their voices rising and falling as the thundercloud built with the whipping wind. Rogan’s hair fell across his face, but he didn’t feel it. His eyes were on the cloud invoked by the sacred pipe Blue Wolf held in her hands. With each chant, the intensity increased and the thundercloud turned more malevolent, eventually shooting skyward to thirty thousand feet. It was coming from the pipe; Rogan could see the energy flowing out of its bowl.

As he stood behind her, he dug his fingers into Blue Wolf’s sturdy shoulders. The rhythmic chanting ebbed and flowed, ebbed and flowed. The very pulse of the building storm responded to the women’s voices, which rose in a powerful crescendo.

Rogan’s order echoed throughout the cedar structure on the side of the mountain. Standing in the west, the position of death, he kept his firm contact with Blue Wolf’s elk skin-covered shoulders. Like a bolt of lightning, heat and electricity coursed through his hands, leaped up his arms and shimmered throughout his tense body. Keeping his knees slightly bent, Rogan closed his eyes, took a deep breath into his abdomen and then slowly released it.

The thundercloud manifested by the pipe and the women was inspiring to Rogan. He’d never seen anything like this. Oh, he knew ceremonial pipes were powerful, but to create a mighty thunderhead in a matter of minutes…that was awesome. Lightning continued to radiate from the dark, churning mass far above them. Most of the electricity, millions of volts, was held within the cloud. Rogan knew that the powers involved with the pipe would not allow any of it to harm the circle of women. It would be contained within the building storm overhead.