Hallowed Ground by Lori G. Armstrong Page B

out.

    “Rondelle. Come on. We gotta go.”

    He was a good-looking Native American male, about thirty, cocky, with intense eyes. On second thought, shifty eyes.

    “Frankie, I told you to stay over there. No one’s supposed to know I’m here.”

    “This is boring as shit. How much longer I gotta wait?”

    “Until I’m done.”

    Like an angry stallion he tossed his head; a long black mane cascaded over his broad shoulder.
    “Who the fuck is she?”

    “Who the fuck are you?” I retorted.

    Frankie sneered and said something to Rondelle in Lakota. I caught wasicu , the derogatory name for a white person. Great.

    Her abrupt response to him included hand gestures.

    Lip curled, he glared at me, destroying his previous beauty. Bald tires spun gravel as he sped away.

    “Frankie Ducheneaux, I presume?”

    “Yeah.” She watched his taillights disappear. “How’d you hear about him?”

    “Donovan.” I settled back against the car door. “What’s the deal? You dating him?”

    “I did for awhile, after we met at a meeting.”

    With the way Rondelle had knocked back the vodka I’d bet my last fifty bucks it wasn’t a Sacred Buffalo Sobriety meeting. “A church social?” I joked.

    “Sort of. Medicine Wheel Holy Society.”

    “The group that opposes the casino? You’re a member?”

    “Used to be. Frankie still is.” She closed her eyes. “Lately he’s worked at Trader Pete’s in the restaurant.”

    Seemed strange Frankie wouldn’t have told her who she was working for.

    “Know what’s pathetic? The only reason he hooked up with me was to get me to feed him information from Donovan about what was goin’ on at the building site. Then he could share it with the Medicine Wheel Society and act like a big man with the leaders. When I wouldn’t tell him nothin’ anymore, he dumped me.”

    “Then why are you here with him now?”

    “Not my choice. Harvey tracked him down and told him to bring me here. Frankie ain’t stupid enough to tell the Hombres no . Jerk knew where I’d been hidin’ out.”

    “Do you trust him?”

    She laughed. “No. I ain’t leavin’ with him, either.”

    I counted to ten, patting myself on the back for my uncharacteristic patience. “You sure you should be telling me this, Rondelle?”

    “No, but there’s some other stuff you oughta know. It’s about the Carluccis. Somethin’ I didn’t want them to hear.”

    Withholding more information? Not a smart move. “Martinez is better equipped to deal with any problems you’re having with them.”

    “No. You’ll understand because . . . ”

    “I’m a woman?”

    “Yeah.” She gnawed on her lip for a second, debating. “See, there’s a reason I didn’t tell them the guy’s name I was with when I overheard that stuff about the sabotage. I wasn’t s’posed to be in the private meeting room.”

    I waited; alarm bells rang in my head. “Who brought you there?”

    “Little Joe Carlucci,” she said softly.

    “Oh shit.”

    “Exactly.”

    “How did you get mixed up with him?”

    “He started buggin’ me the first week on the job. I was sorta flattered, I mean, he’s a good lookin’ guy, smooth, has money. And everyone called him ‘Junior’, not Little Joe. My boss, Robin, just told me to be nice to him.”

    “So, how nice were you?”

    “Guess.”

    On her knees or naked on her back kind of nice.

    I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know what she’d been dealing with. “Straight sex?”

    “Mostly.”

    “How long did this go on?”

    “Too long. I got sick of it real fast. Didn’t need his bullshit with all the other junk goin’ on in my life, so I gave notice.”

    Rondelle didn’t strike me as the type who’d give warning before she left a crappy job. “Why didn’t you just quit?”

    “Would’ve put my boss, Robin, in a bind, tryin’ to fill my shifts. I trusted her to keep it quiet.”

    Half a dozen Harleys roared in, making conversation impossible until they