What the hell did that mean? As if you don’t know, old man. You’re sweet on the woman. She’d become important to him. Mr. Zeekya’s words spurred his determination to get Shannon to open up to him, to reveal who or what she fled from. His mind flashed back to the newspaper in the truck stop. Chicago was one clue in the puzzle; he’d bet money on the fact. The object of his musings stood leaning against his truck, her back to him. He unlocked and opened the door for her. She slid in without a word. Once inside, he stretched the hand holding the fetish necklace out and let it dangle before her. She stared at it. Face devoid of emotion, she said, “It’s lovely,” and returned her gaze to look out the passenger window. “Take the necklace, Shannon.” Brow creased, expression suspicious, she asked, “Why?” “Mr. Zeekya asked me to give it to you.” She took White Bear and held him up by the rawhide to examine closely. “It’s beautiful.” She ran a finger over the carved stone.
