A Different Blue(24)

My door was wrenched open, and the cop who had been waving wildly for me to pull over was

standing there, his legs and arms spread, making him seem very big and very scary.

“Hi there.” I smiled nervously. Sweetness usually worked on Jimmy.

“I need you to get out of the truck, Miss.” The officer had muscles popping out from his

sleeves and a handsome face framed in sandy hair, neatly parted and brushed off his face.

“I'd rather not leave my dog, Mister,” I replied and didn't move a muscle. “He bites

strangers. And you are a stranger. I wouldn't want you to get chewed up.” Icas looked like a

bean bag with a dog head, lolling on the seat. Nobody was going to get chewed, unfortunately. I

poked at him in frustration. “Icas?”

The policeman looked at Icas and then back at me. “I think I'll be okay. Please step out of the

truck, Miss.”

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked, staring him down. “You haven't even asked me for

my driver's license.” I knew that's what cops were supposed to do. Jimmy had been pulled over

about a year ago because his truck had a broken headlight, and that police officer had asked him

for his license first thing.

“How old are you, kid?” the officer sighed.

“Old enough to drive . . . most likely,” I said, trying to sound believable.

Another policeman joined the first just beyond the opened driver side door. He was tall and very

thin, and his head was bald on top. The sun shone off it like glass, and I looked away wincing.

I told myself that was why my eyes were wet and smarting.

“Plates and Vin say the vehicle belongs to a James Echohawk.”

At the mention of Jimmy's name, my heart lurched and the smarting in my eyes intensified. The

moisture escaped and started sliding down my cheeks. I swiped at the water and tried to pretend

it was the heat.

“Shoot! It sure is a hot day! Look at me, sweating all over the place.”

“What's your name, kid?” The skinny officer had a deep voice totally at odds with his

appearance. He almost sounded like a frog.

“Blue,” I replied, my bluster fading fast.

“Blue?”

“Yes. Blue . . . Echohawk,” I mumbled. My lips trembled.

“All right, uh, Blue. Does your dad know you've got his truck?”

“I can't find him.”

The officers looked at each other and then back at me.

“What do you mean?”

“I can't find him,” I repeated angrily. “We were camping, and he said he would be back. Icas

came home, but he didn't. He's been gone for a lot of days and Icas is acting all sick and the

water is almost gone in the tank, and I'm scared he isn't coming back.”

“Icas is the dog, right?” The sandy-haired, muscley policeman pointed at Icas, who had yet to

even open an eye.

“Yes,” I whispered, trying desperately not to cry. Saying the words out loud made them real

and terrible. Jimmy was missing. He was gone. What in the world would happen to me? I was a kid.

I couldn't help it if worry for myself was equally as terrifying as worry for Jimmy.

They coaxed me out of the truck, although at the last minute I remembered the duffel bag I had

filled with tools. I ran back to the truck and dragged it out from behind the front seat. It was