Free The Eagle Catcher by Margaret Coel

it look like you did it?” Banner asked.
    â€œDamn right that’s what I’m saying. Whoever took that knife must’ve recognized Harvey’s pickup, saw the tackle box in the back, decided to have a look, and hit the jackpot. This is a setup, man. I’ve been set up.”
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    Father John came toward them as Vicky led Anthony out of the compartment into the hallway. She saw the grin spreading slowly across the priest’s face, but there was worry in his eyes.
    â€œAll right,” he said, clapping Anthony on the back and winking at Vicky. “How’d you work this miracle?”
    â€œLet’s get out of here,” she said, hurrying down the hallway and past the deputy’s station without acknowledging the two figures hunched in front of the monitors. She wanted Anthony out of the building before anybody had second thoughts.
    Outside on the asphalt lot, she fumbled in her leather bag and pulled out the key to the Bronco before facing the tall priest with the tan cowboy hat pulled low over his forehead and the band of sunburn across the bridge of his nose like a warrior’s paint.
    â€œThey don’t have squat,” she said, explaining how she had telephoned the federal magistrate and talked him into releasing Anthony on a personal recognizance bond. Of course Miller had objected, but it was for the record only. There wasn’t enough evidence to keep Anthony locked up. He wasn’t supposed to leave the reservation. What was new about that? The government had been trying to keep Indians on reservations for the last hundred years.
    â€œGood work,” Father John said. He was smiling at her, and she felt the warm sense of being appreciated by a man, not just appraised.
    Ignoring the young Indian next to her, she said, “Somebody’s gone to a lot of trouble to put this on Anthony. Stole his knife while he was fishing at Washakie reservoir, used it to murder his uncle, then hid it out on the powwow grounds under some sagebrush to make it look as if he’d tried to hide it, knowing, of course, that it would be found.”
    â€œNot somebody. Ernest,” Anthony said.
    â€œErnest Oldman?” Father John looked surprised.
    Anthony nodded toward the red-brick building behind them. “I told them inside how Ernest hated Harvey. That bastard killed him.”
    â€œHold on,” Vicky said, placing one hand on the young man’s arm. “Right now you’re the one under suspicion. That’s what we have to worry about. If you want me to help you, Anthony, you’ve got to tell me everything you know, starting with the name of the friend you spent the night with.”
    Anthony stepped back, shaking his head. “There’s no way I’m going to involve her in this.”
    So it was a girlfriend he was protecting. Vicky had guessed right. And from the expression on Father John’s face, she knew he had guessed what they were talking about.
    â€œYou are in some serious trouble, Anthony,” she said, trying to control her irritation at his calm stubbornness. He was so like Lucas, except that Anthony still had a chance to make something of his life while Lucas ... It had been a long time since she’d even seen her son. The Hinono eino needed the young people like Anthony. They couldn’t afford to lose one of the brightest, not for stubbornness.
    â€œVicky’s right,” Father John said, placing one hand on the Arapaho’s shoulder as if to nudge him toward revealing the name.
    â€œNo way,” Anthony said, shaking his head. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
    â€œIn that case, get yourself another lawyer.” Stepping toward the Bronco, Vicky shot a look at Father John that said, “Talk some sense into him.” She flung open the front door and slid inside, slamming the door hard. She felt the heat of anger in her face as she caught sight of the two men in the rearview