Honor Bound(34)

"He was a chief?"

Greywolf nodded. "Little good that it did him. He died poor, disillusioned, defeated, as many men of my race do."

The warden studied the dossier in front of him. "It says here he was a landowner."

"But he had been swindled out of three-fourths of his land. He gave up. Stopped fighting. Before he got too sick, he was reduced to performing Indian ceremonial dances for tourists. Religious ceremonies that had at one time been solemn rites to him had become spectator sports to others."

Suddenly he lunged out of his chair. The warden jumped and reached beneath his desk for the panic button that would set off an alarm. But when he saw that the prisoner posed no physical threat to him, he placed his hand back on the desktop. He gave his full attention to Greywolf, who was pacing angrily, his body taut.

"Grandfather's only hope lay in me. He forgave me my white blood and loved me in spite of it. He raised me more as his son than grandson. The idea of my being in prison was intolerable to him. He had to see me out of it, he had to know that I had conquered it, before he could die peacefully. That's why I had to do it."

He faced the warden and Dixon thought that if this man couldn't sway jurors, no one could. His physical presence was dynamic. He was eloquent. He was a man of conviction and passion. What a waste that he wouldn't be allowed to practice law.

"I didn't want to escape, Warden Dixon. I'm not a fool. I asked for permission to leave for two days to see my grandfather. Two goddamn days. Permission was denied."

"It was against the rules," the warden countered calmly.

"To hell with the rules," he spat. "That is a stupid rule. Don't you people running this place realize how rehabilitative it would be to grant a prisoner some favors, give him back some dignity?" He was leaning over the desk now, full of threat.

"Sit down, Mr. Greywolf." Dixon spoke with just enough firmness to let the prisoner know he was getting out of line. After a considerable time had passed while they stared each other down, Lucas threw himself back into the chair. His handsome face was sullen.

"You're a lawyer," the warden said. "I think you realize how light you're getting off this time." Putting on a pair of silver-rimmed reading glasses, he scanned the report lying on his desk. "There was a young woman, a Miss Aislinn Andrews." He peered at Lucas over the rims of his glasses. The inflection at the end of the statement indicated that it was actually an inquiry.

Lucas said nothing, merely stared back at the warden with implacable eyes that revealed nothing of what he was thinking. The warden returned to the report. "Curious that she didn't press any charges against you." Still Lucas held his silence, though a muscle in his cheek jumped. Finally the warden closed the folder and took off his glasses. "You may return to your regular cell, Mr. Greywolf. That's all for now."

Lucas stood and headed for the door. He had already turned the knob before the warden halted him. "Mr. Greywolf, were you personally responsible for the assault on those policemen during that riot? Did you order the destruction of those government offices?"

"I organized the protest. The judge and jury found me guilty," he said succinctly before opening the door and making his exit.

Warden Dixon stared at the door for a long time after Lucas had closed it. He knew when a guilty man was lying. He also sensed when a man was innocent. Consulting the file on Lucas Greywolf again, he made a decision and reached for the telephone.

As Lucas was being escorted back to his cell, his heart was thudding, though on the outside he gave no indication of his inner turmoil.

He had expected to be told that he was being charged with breaking and entering, assault, kidnapping, and God knows how many other state and federal crimes. He had dreaded the ordeal of another trial, a trial that would further embarrass his mother and add to her heartache.

To learn that his escape had cost him only six more months in prison was a tremendous surprise. He would be busy during that time. By now the small table in his cell would be stacked with letters from people seeking legal advice. He couldn't charge them for it. He could never officially practice law again. But he could offer free legal advice. Among the Indians the name Lucas Greywolf represented a ray of hope. He wouldn't turn down anyone asking his help.

But why hadn't Aislinn Andrews pressed charges? Surely the state and federal authorities had tried to build a case against him. But without her testimony they couldn't prove he'd done anything but break out of prison. Why hadn't she cooperated with them?

Lucas Greywolf hated being indebted to anyone, but he owed Aislinn Andrews his gratitude.

* * *

Aislinn slipped through the bedroom door and closed it quietly behind her. The doorbell rang for the second time. She rushed down the hallway to answer it, hurriedly tucking loose strands of hair up into her casual ponytail. She checked her appearance in the hall mirror and saw that she was at least decent. Her face was expectant and wearing a half-smile when she pulled the door open.

The smile never made it to a full-fledged one. Indeed, it froze in place when she saw who her caller was. Her eyes glazed; she slumped against the door for support. For a moment she thought she would very likely faint.

"What are you doing here?"

"Did I frighten you again?"

"Are you … out?"

"Yes."