last.
She set her coffee cup down so violently she heard it crack. But she ignored it, and standing up she cried, "What do you want from me? What do you want ? I don't understand you, I don't understand anything that's happening! Why are you doing this? What are you after?"
Her voice climbed to the edge of panic, and Johnny Winterhawk stood up and gripped her wrist over the table. "All right," he said, his deep voice breaking into the confusion of her thoughts. "All right, sit down."
She sat because there was nothing else to do. She looked up at him as she fought for control. Johnny Winterhawk sat, too, and watched her for a long moment over the rim of his coffee cup.
"What do you know about Cat Bite Valley, Miss St. John?" he asked at last.
Six
"Cat Bite Valley?" she repeated in stupid surprise. It was a change of topic so abrupt he might have been talking about a sea of the moon. Smith thought she might have misheard him, but he nodded briefly and watched her.
"Well, it's a tract of provincially owned land up by Jeremiah Bay," she said, wondering how this could possibly be relevant. "My father has the timber rights on it."
Johnny Winterhawk's black eyes bored into hers in sudden anger. "That's all?" he demanded.
She shrugged. "That's all I can remember about it. Why?"
His angry eyes became tinged with contempt as he gazed at her. "Where the devil have you been this past year?" he demanded scornfully.
"In Europe," she replied in surprise, for surely he knew, but her answer seemed to take him aback.
"What?"
"I've been in Europe for a year, studying the markets," she said. "I came home when my father had his heart attack." She looked at him. "As if you didn't know."
His lips thinned and he raised an eyebrow in curious inquiry.
"You must surely have done some research on my father before you decided to kidnap him. Don't tell me you only made your plans yesterday!"
"Mmm," he grunted, and stood up. "Come with me," he said.
She followed him out of the kitchen, along corridors and steps and through rooms, moving up the hillside as though the house itself were a flight of stairs. When they were near the top he opened a door and ushered Smith through.
In front of a wall of living rock that seemed to be a part of the actual cliff face a huge desk dominated the room. Johnny Winterhawk crossed to the desk in a few long strides and in a moment was unfolding a large map across its top.
"Look at this," he commanded her, as, head bent over, he smoothed out the map with his broad bronzed hand, a new tension in his body making his movements surer, more economical; a tension that crackled in the air like electricity. Fascinated, she crossed to his side.
She looked and saw a large-scale map of a section of the coast between the northern half of Vancouver Island and the city of Prince Rupert. One well-shaped finger pinpointed a blue inlet.
"Jeremiah Bay," he said. His finger ran along to the winding blue line that joined it. "Cat Bite River," Johnny Winterhawk said, and stopped.
After a moment Smith looked up to find his gaze on her, waiting to be met. "Jeremiah Bay and Cat Bite River have been the fishing grounds of the Chopa nation since long before the advent of the white man." His tone was dry, succinct, like the voice of a university lecturer. He dropped his eyes, and his finger moved along the line of the river, encircling it. "Cat Bite Valley is the traditional hunting ground of the Chopa. This is Stony Water—" his finger stopped a short distance north of the river, then moved to the south of it "—and this is Eagle's Nest. They are Chopa reserves. From Jeremiah Bay in the west—" the strong forefinger tracked his words "—to Feather Mountain in the east, and from Hackle Ridge and Salmontail Lake in the north to the Chopit Range in the south is the Chopa land-claim area."
Johnny Winterhawk raised his head to shake the two curving wings of his black hair out of his eyes. He looked at her again. "Do you
She set her coffee cup down so violently she heard it crack. But she ignored it, and standing up she cried, "What do you want from me? What do you want ? I don't understand you, I don't understand anything that's happening! Why are you doing this? What are you after?"
Her voice climbed to the edge of panic, and Johnny Winterhawk stood up and gripped her wrist over the table. "All right," he said, his deep voice breaking into the confusion of her thoughts. "All right, sit down."
She sat because there was nothing else to do. She looked up at him as she fought for control. Johnny Winterhawk sat, too, and watched her for a long moment over the rim of his coffee cup.
"What do you know about Cat Bite Valley, Miss St. John?" he asked at last.
Six
"Cat Bite Valley?" she repeated in stupid surprise. It was a change of topic so abrupt he might have been talking about a sea of the moon. Smith thought she might have misheard him, but he nodded briefly and watched her.
"Well, it's a tract of provincially owned land up by Jeremiah Bay," she said, wondering how this could possibly be relevant. "My father has the timber rights on it."
Johnny Winterhawk's black eyes bored into hers in sudden anger. "That's all?" he demanded.
She shrugged. "That's all I can remember about it. Why?"
His angry eyes became tinged with contempt as he gazed at her. "Where the devil have you been this past year?" he demanded scornfully.
"In Europe," she replied in surprise, for surely he knew, but her answer seemed to take him aback.
"What?"
"I've been in Europe for a year, studying the markets," she said. "I came home when my father had his heart attack." She looked at him. "As if you didn't know."
His lips thinned and he raised an eyebrow in curious inquiry.
"You must surely have done some research on my father before you decided to kidnap him. Don't tell me you only made your plans yesterday!"
"Mmm," he grunted, and stood up. "Come with me," he said.
She followed him out of the kitchen, along corridors and steps and through rooms, moving up the hillside as though the house itself were a flight of stairs. When they were near the top he opened a door and ushered Smith through.
In front of a wall of living rock that seemed to be a part of the actual cliff face a huge desk dominated the room. Johnny Winterhawk crossed to the desk in a few long strides and in a moment was unfolding a large map across its top.
"Look at this," he commanded her, as, head bent over, he smoothed out the map with his broad bronzed hand, a new tension in his body making his movements surer, more economical; a tension that crackled in the air like electricity. Fascinated, she crossed to his side.
She looked and saw a large-scale map of a section of the coast between the northern half of Vancouver Island and the city of Prince Rupert. One well-shaped finger pinpointed a blue inlet.
"Jeremiah Bay," he said. His finger ran along to the winding blue line that joined it. "Cat Bite River," Johnny Winterhawk said, and stopped.
After a moment Smith looked up to find his gaze on her, waiting to be met. "Jeremiah Bay and Cat Bite River have been the fishing grounds of the Chopa nation since long before the advent of the white man." His tone was dry, succinct, like the voice of a university lecturer. He dropped his eyes, and his finger moved along the line of the river, encircling it. "Cat Bite Valley is the traditional hunting ground of the Chopa. This is Stony Water—" his finger stopped a short distance north of the river, then moved to the south of it "—and this is Eagle's Nest. They are Chopa reserves. From Jeremiah Bay in the west—" the strong forefinger tracked his words "—to Feather Mountain in the east, and from Hackle Ridge and Salmontail Lake in the north to the Chopit Range in the south is the Chopa land-claim area."
Johnny Winterhawk raised his head to shake the two curving wings of his black hair out of his eyes. He looked at her again. "Do you
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