Sarah M. Anderson - A Man of Privilege

“Nice guy, unless you’re on the wrong side of the law. Blue-blooded, East Coast, rich. His mother has the fortune, but his father has the power—maybe you’ve heard of him? Alexander Carlson? Used to be the secretary of defense?”

Maggie swallowed. She was way out of her league here. Secretary of defense? Alex Carlson? Even Maggie knew who that was. That wasn’t just blue blood or rich. That was pure power. His father had launched wars , for crying out loud. Even if James had not been a lawyer she couldn’t trust, she wouldn’t dream of fantasizing about him now. He wasn’t just a lawyer. He was a somebody —and she wasn’t. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”

“Carlson is just biding his time,” Tommy went on. “We’ve been building this case for about four years, and he won’t let anything sink it. He needs this victory. Going to run for office after he wins. Sooner or later—sooner, if I know him—he’ll make a run at the White House.”

The air in Maggie’s lungs stopped moving. So she’d had a conversation with a possible future president of the United States today. And she’d told him off. That sickening feeling of having done something wrong got a lot stronger. “He’s going to win?” The case, the elections—one and the same, as far as she was concerned.

Tommy snorted. “He’s got a perfect track record. He’ll win it one way or another.”

That sounded ominous. How ridiculous was she to think that a man like him was looking at her with desire? A man like him had perfect women at his beck and call. Maggie was so far from perfect that she wasn’t even in the same zip code. “Do you trust him?”

Tommy gave her a sideways glance. “With my life.” It could have sounded flip, but he was dead serious. “You got that card he gave you?”

She dug around in her bag until she found it. “Yes.” Rosebud Armstrong, Attorney at Law. There was a phone number, but that was it. No address, no law-firm name. Fate had a sense of humor. She’d escaped from the Rosebud reservation. Now her life might rest in the hands of a woman with the same name.

“You can trust her. She’s Red Creek Lakota—my tribe. And she went to law school with Carlson. She knows how he thinks. If you want a lawyer, you tell her I sent you.”

Of course, Tommy also knew how Carlson thought, being as they were on the same team and all—and what had that gotten her? Nothing. “I don’t want to call her. I don’t want any of this. I have a normal life now, and you and your ‘team’ are threatening to ruin it—and for what? Because that stuck-up spoiled brat of a lawyer wants an insurance policy? No. I’m nobody’s bargaining chip. I refuse.”

Although she was in danger of pouting, she crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. Which made the laughter that suddenly burst out of Tommy that much more startling.

His reaction only made her madder. “You can go to hell, Thomas Yellow Bird, because you are a dog. You didn’t have to find me. What happens when word gets out, huh? And don’t give me any bull about confidentiality. What happens when Leonard Low Dog or my uncle find out I’m not dead?”

“Nothing.”

“You know that for sure—how? You going to put a bullet in their brains for me?”

“Low Dog is doing twenty to life in Leavenworth, and your uncle lost both his legs and his eyesight to diabetes a couple of years ago.”

“Leonard’s in prison?” And her uncle was legless. She shouldn’t feel so happy at this news, but she couldn’t deny the relief that made her want to jump up and shout. They couldn’t get to her. She was safe.

Tommy gave her a long look. “I put him there, about seven years ago. You were gone by then. I asked around, but everyone said you’d died.”

“You didn’t believe that?”

“Nope.”

Which explained why James Carlson would have even bothered to look for her. Yellow Bird had promised he could find her. “How did you find me?”

“I got lucky.” He didn’t elaborate, damn him.

“That’s it? You’re not even going to tell me how you tracked me down?”

“Nope.”

“Fine.” She smoothed out her skirt again before she caught herself, so she folded her arms to keep her hands quiet. “Be that way.”

A flood of conflicting emotions threatened to swamp her. James Carlson was threatening her because she was nothing more than an uncooperative insurance policy. But there’d been more to his interest than that of a prosecutor. Had he really been curious about who she was seeing, or had he just been using flattery to manipulate her into doing what he wanted?

They pulled up in front of the house Nan had built into a low hill. She kept the front half whitewashed, but the back end of the place was completely sunk into the earth. Sure, it was dusty in the summer, but it stayed cool in the summer and warmish in the winter. Maggie had always taken comfort in the fact that no one could sneak in a back way. There was no back way, just hill. They were close enough to Aberdeen that they had nice things like television reception and internet connectivity, but far enough away that they couldn’t see any other lights after dark. That isolation had been exactly what Maggie had needed.

Tommy put the car in Park, but he didn’t turn it off. She still had so many questions. “ Why did you find me?”

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel again. “I wanted to know what happened to you.”

She’d be lying if she didn’t admit she’d wondered what had happened to him, too. “Like I told him once upon a time, a boy named Tommy tried to save a girl named Maggie. But he couldn’t. No one could.”

Tommy looked at her, a sad smile pulling on his mouth. “No one could. She had to save herself.” He reached over and touched her cheek. “Carlson’s a good guy, but you do what you’ve got to do.”

“Okay.” It was going to be okay. She’d told herself that for years, hoping that hope alone would make it so, but suddenly, she knew with certainty that it would be okay. She could do anything. Even handle a special prosecutor.

She got out of the car. Agent Yellow Bird waited until she was at the front door before he took off at chase speeds again.

Maggie stood there for a moment, feeling a lightness that matched the orange glow of the sunset. She looked out over the land that was her home now, over the rows of vegetables she’d have to weed tomorrow and the windmill that powered the water pump. Suddenly, after today’s events, she didn’t feel as though she had to hide out here anymore. Just the same, though, she wanted to stay. This was her life.

Nan was where she always was, sitting in her recliner and watching Deadliest Catch . “Well?” she said without lifting her eyes from the pillow she was embroidering.

“Low Dog is in prison and my uncle is blind and in a wheelchair.”

Nan’s needle paused in midair. “So, good news, then?”

“That part, at least. A special prosecutor wants me to testify against that judge.” She left out the part about the prosecutor being handsome and rich and powerful.

Nan made a tsking noise and kept sewing. If Maggie hadn’t seen the pictures of Nan as a young woman with freckles and fiery-red hair, she wouldn’t believe the woman before her wasn’t an Indian. She had everything—the way she wore her hair, the clothes she chose, even the way she talked—down pat. The sun had tanned her face and hands a leathery brown, and she was an expert on Sioux traditions.

“I see. What did he offer you?”

Maggie pulled up short. “Nothing.”

The needle paused again. “Nothing?”

“Well, he offered not to charge me.”

Nan tsked again. “Must not be a very special prosecutor if he didn’t give you anything you wanted.”