When you play both sides

...there’s always a price

Ty Redhorse is tied to both sides of the law. Now he’s caught between the tribe’s gang and his cop brother—and the FBI wants him to choose. Complicating the stakes is Beth Hoosay, the stunning FBI agent who always follows the rules...except when it comes to their sizzling attraction. But how long can Ty play this dangerous game before he gets caught in the cross fire?

Apache Protectors: Wolf Den

JENNA KERNAN has penned over two dozen novels and received two RITA® Award nominations. Jenna is every bit as adventurous as her heroines. Her hobbies include recreational gold prospecting, scuba diving and gem hunting. Jenna grew up in the Catskills and currently lives in the Hudson Valley in New York State with her husband. Follow Jenna on Twitter, @jennakernan, on Facebook or at www.jennakernan.com.

Also by Jenna Kernan

Surrogate Escape

Tribal Blood

Undercover Scout

Black Rock Guardian

Turquoise Guardian

Eagle Warrior

Firewolf

The Warrior’s Way

Shadow Wolf

Hunter Moon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Black Rock Guardian

Jenna Kernan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07897-9

BLACK ROCK GUARDIAN

© 2018 Jeannette H. Monaco

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

At the sound of tires crunching on the gravel drive, Ty Redhorse glanced up from beneath the hood of the ’76 Cadillac Eldorado to see two cop cars pull before the open bay of his garage. His heart sank as he straightened and came to attention, as if he was still in the US Marines. The tribal police vehicles rolled to a stop. Trouble, he thought, arriving on his doorstep.

They only had six men on the Turquoise Canyon force, and two of them were here at his shop. That did not bode well, and the fact that one of them was his younger brother only made things worse. He and Jake rarely spoke and when they did it usually ended badly. But Jake had been by yesterday and Ty had been touched to see how relieved Jakey was to see him alive and well. Small wonder after what Ty had been through.

Hemi, Ty’s dog, had been even happier, showing her unrestrained joy at finding him again. Jake had Hemi out searching and she tracked him, but by then he’d already made it home to the rez and to Kee, who stitched him up. Wasn’t easy because he’d lost a lot of blood.

Jake cast him a worried look and glanced at Ty’s shoulder as he put his unit in Park. Clearly Kee had told him about the injury. Ty inclined his chin at Jake.

The little brother Ty had helped raise, and protect from the gang, had turned out fine. The late-day sun of an ordinary Friday afternoon in late October gilded Jake’s skin, and the uniform gave him an air of respectability. Ty smiled, unable to resist indulging in the pride that rose in his chest at Jake inside his SUV.

The big man stepped from his police unit. That was Jack Bear Den, the tribe’s only detective, since they’d rescinded the offer to hire detective Ava Hood. Now, there was a woman after his heart, breaking the law to get her niece back. Yes, her career had imploded, but Ty would bet she didn’t regret a thing.

Bear Den took charge of the most important cases on the rez. And he was here. Ty’s eyes narrowed. Not good.

“Hello, Ty,” said Bear Den, extending his paw of a hand.

Ty glanced at the rag he held, knowing he could use it to wipe away the worst of the motor oil, but opted against it. He accepted Jack’s hand and watched as realization dawned. Bear Den’s clean palm was now slick with filthy brown motor oil. Ty’s smile brightened. The day was looking up.

“This is a surprise. You boys need an oil change?” asked Ty.

Jack shook his head.

“Search my shop?” He motioned to the interior.

It wasn’t really a joke. They’d done it before. But Ty’s days of running a chop shop were over. He had mediated a position that allowed him to exist on the fringe of the tribe’s gang, the Wolf Posse, which had helped him when no one else would. All that had changed when each of his brothers needed his help. Getting that help had been costly. And one, two, three, the gang had him again. Favors did not come free.

He was caught.

Bear Den held his smile as he kept his right hand well away from his spotless clothing.

“It’s clean,” said Ty, indicating the Cadillac with its hood up. “Even have the paperwork.”

“I believe you,” said the detective. “I saw the car you restored for the chief’s boy, Gus. The detailing is amazing.”

Ty’s eyes narrowed at the flattery.

Jake was now making his way over. He, at least, knew not to block the bay doors with his vehicle. His little brother had the look of a man who wished to be anywhere but where he was. He came to a stop two steps behind the detective, making it clear who was in charge. Ty’s gaze flicked to Jake’s and he read stress in his brother’s wrinkled brow. Jake did not think this would go well. Ty flicked his focus back to Bear Den.

“What can I do for the boys in blue?” Ty’s hand went to his forearm and he rubbed his thumb over his skin where his gang tattoo sat below the one of the marine emblem that he’d had done when in the United States Marine Corps. When he realized what he was doing, he forced his hand to his side. The grease covered most of the ink anyway.

“We’re here about our missing girls,” said Bear Den.

Ty knew about the missing teenagers. Suspected he knew far more than Detective Bear Den.

Police had a crime, they needed a suspect. So what crime was Jack Bear Den interested in pinning on him?

“When you getting married to that Fed, Jack?” asked Ty, changing the subject and using the detective’s first name with the desired result. Bear Den’s face flushed. “She’s an explosives expert, right? Should make life interesting.”

Bear Den did not take the bait, but he shifted from one foot to the other. Ty had him off balance.

Bear Den glanced to Jake, who stepped alongside his superior, hands on hips, as if he even had the least control of his oldest brother. Jake had two years of community college and had passed the test and joined the force right after graduation. But he’d never joined the Marine Corps or seen the kind of horrors both Ty and his youngest brother, Colt, had witnessed. Thank God.

Maybe that was why Jake felt comfortable with a gun strapped to his hip while Ty had had his fill of them in the marines.

To Jake there was right and there was wrong. That must be so comforting, not to be bothered with all those shades of gray. But who had Jake called when he realized that little white newborn he had already fallen in love with was in danger? Not the tribal police force.

“We have reason to believe that the Wolf Posse is responsible for the selection of the women that the Russian mob is targeting,” said Bear Den. “Our women.”

“Girls, wouldn’t you say?” said Ty. “What I hear, not one is over nineteen and Maggie Kesselman’s only fourteen. Right?”

Ty folded his arms, the grease on his palms sliding easily around his formidable biceps.

“You didn’t deny gang involvement,” said Bear Den.

“What tipped you off, Minnie Cobb attacking the health clinic, or Earle Glass trying to snatch Kacey Doka back?” Ty asked, naming the two gang members now in custody. The gang had already written them off, so no risk of revealing new information there. “Or maybe it was my big brother, Kee, helping you find that kidnapped detective on loan. What was her name? Detective Hood, right? Way I hear it, Kee has a new girlfriend and you got a new dispatcher. How does Carol Dorset feel about that?” he asked, mentioning the woman who had held the position since before Ty was born.

Bear Den scowled and his gaze shifted to Ty’s injured shoulder.

Ty resisted the urge to test the stitches. Kee had put them in himself two days ago after Ty managed to make it the twenty odd miles from Antelope Lake to the rez. Once he was back on tribal land, the Feds could not touch him. So they’d sent Bear Den to rattle his cage.

Ty gave in and scratched his left shoulder. The stitches were beginning to itch.

Jake’s face flushed and he pressed his lips between his teeth, clearly unhappy to be placed between his idol and his embarrassment of a brother. His worried expression, as he braced for what Ty would do next, just burned Ty up. Afraid he’d have to arrest him, probably. Ty would like to see him try.

His brother seemed to have put on weight since he’d married Lori Mott, but Ty knew he could still take him because Jake and Kee both fought fair, while he and his youngest brother, Colt, fought to win.

“So, you boys have any idea what will happen to me if one of the Wolf Posse drives by and sees two cop cars parked at my shop?” asked Ty.

“I’d imagine it would be easier to explain than if I haul your ass into the station as an accessory to kidnapping,” said Bear Den.

Bear Den was talking about Ty transporting Colt’s girl, Kacey, off the rez and back to her captors two and a half weeks ago. Not kidnapping, but darn close, and he was sure the tribal police would not appreciate the subtle differences. He was in serious risk of the tribe bringing charges against him, possibly turning the case over to the attorney general, and Bear Den was all for that.

“Shouldn’t you be chasing the guys that blew up our dam?” asked Ty.

Bear Den’s mouth quirked. “I’m multitasking. Now, you want to talk to us here or there?”

Ty faced off against the big man. He knew he could not take Bear Den in a fair fight, but he had a length of pipe just inside the open bay door. “What do you want, exactly?”

“Just some help,” said Jake, standing with palms out. “These are our girls that they’re taking. We want them back.”

Ty had no objections to that. He just didn’t want to stop breathing because of it. “What’s that got to do with me?”

Bear Den took over again. His hair was growing out and it curled like a pig’s tail at his temples. Ty wondered again just who had fathered this monster of a man. Certainly not Mr. Bear Den, who was big but not supersized.

“No secret you’re in the Posse.” Bear Den pointed to the grease-smeared tattoo of four feathers forming a W for wolf on Ty’s forearm. The gang was an all-Native branch of the Three Kings, wore the yellow and black colors of that group and had adopted an indigenous symbol that resembled the crown worn by the Kings while representing their Native culture.

“I’m retired.”

“No such thing,” said Bear Den.

True enough. A better word would have been inactive. He knew more than he would like and less than he used to, which was still too much. And he owed favors. Way too many favors.

Ty no longer did their dirty work, but he looked the other way. Kept their cars running smoother and faster than law-enforcement vehicles and drove the occasional errand. He did what was necessary. There was just no other way to survive in a brotherhood of wolves.

“We need to know how they choose the targets, if they have targeted anyone else and where the missing are being held.”

Ty could never find out that last one because the gang only snatched and delivered. They did not store the taken. That was the Kuznetsov crime family, a Russian mob that dealt in women the way a farmer deals in livestock. Buy. Sell. Breed. And they were just one of many. The outer thread of a network that stretched around the world.

“Is that all?” asked Ty, and smirked.

Bear Den’s frown deepened. The man was aching to arrest him, but the tribal council had voted against turning Ty over to the Feds after the incident with Kacey Doka because her statement included that she had wished to be returned to her captors and that she accepted a ride from Ty. In other words, no coercion or capture, so not kidnapping. Ty suspected the fact that he was walking around free burned the detective’s butt.

“That would do it,” said Bear Den.

Ty leaned back against the grill of the Caddy and folded his arms, throwing up the first barricade. “I don’t know if they have more targets. I don’t know where the missing are being held and I don’t know how they choose.”

“But you could find out,” said Jake.

Ty gave his brother a look of regret.

“Help them, like you helped me,” whispered Jake as he extended his right hand, reaching out to his big brother from across a gap too wide for either of them to cross.

“You’re family, Jakey. It’s different.” He thrust a hand into his jeans, feeling the paper with the address of the meet in his pocket. Ty rubbed the note between his thumb and index finger. “Listen, guys, I have a nice honest business here. So how about this, how about you do your job instead of asking me to do it?”

Bear Den glanced at his garage and the car beyond the Caddy.

“It’s all legit, Bear Den. You can’t get to me that way.”

Bear Den snorted like a bull. “If they ask you for details on our investigation, could you feed them some false information?”

“They kill people for that.”

Judging from his expression, that eventuality did not seem to bother the detective in the least.

“Bear Den, your police force arrested me and you did everything you could to get the tribe to turn me over to the Feds. I owe you, but not a favor.”

“You threatening me?” asked the detective.

“That would be illegal. I am telling you, nicely, to piss off.”

“We’d like you to meet someone,” said Jake.

“Not happening.”

“She’s FBI,” said Jake.

Ty laughed. “Oh, then let me rephrase. Not happening, ever.”

Chapter Two

FBI field agent Beth Hoosay sat in the silver F-150 pickup with tribal police officer Jake Redhorse, waiting for full dark. Redhorse had parked across the highway and out of sight, but with a clear view of the roadside bar favored by bikers and Jake’s older brother, Ty Redhorse. In the bed of the truck was her motorcycle, prepped and ready.

Earlier in the day, the tribal police detective, Jack Bear Den, had tried and failed to get Ty to meet with her. So they would do it the hard way.

It was beyond Beth’s comprehension why the Turquoise Canyon Apache tribe’s leadership had voted to keep Ty on the reservation instead of turning him over to the authorities for trial. And he was walking around free.

That was about to change, in twelve hours to be exact. Because Beth was about to meet Ty on his own turf tonight and with the advantage of him not knowing who and what she was. She had backup, but she did not intend to need it. The agents could hear everything she said and had eyes on her outside the roadside bar. Once she was inside, it would be audio only because Beth insisted that the other agents would never blend in a place like this. They’d be spotted as outsiders instantly.

She, on the other hand, had been in this joint once before when she was younger and more rebellious, after her dad had died, and she’d had the gall to date a guy who owned a bike. Worse still, he had taught her to ride. She was grateful for that much. The rest of their relationship had been less positive because it seemed to her that he’d wanted her only as an accessory to his chopper. Her mother said the bike would be the death of her and that the guy had been interested only because of her unique looks, which blended Native heritage with her father’s Caribbean roots, and made her seem exotic to the son of a soybean farmer. Sometimes she just wanted to blend in. But today her looks were an asset and the reason she was here.

Beth had been handpicked for this assignment because she was Apache on her mother’s side. Not Tonto Apache, like Ty Redhorse. Her Native ancestry came from the line that fought with Geronimo and lost, which was why her reservation was up in Oklahoma instead of here, where they had lost to the US Army with the help of this very tribe. She tried not to let it bother her, but many on her rez still thought the Tonto Apache were more desert people who could not even understand their language. They spoke a language that only they and God could understand.

Beth didn’t care about old grudges. She cared about having a rare and shining opportunity to make a big case. The possibilities were so enthralling they made her chest ache. She wanted this, wanted the respect and acclaim that came with a bust of this importance.

Another truck pulled into the lot and a lone driver slid out and hiked up his jeans before slamming the truck door. The parking area was nearly full. They did good business on any Friday night, and tonight was no exception. Many of the men inside were just coming from work and others had no work but arrived when the bar was most crowded. She knew the establishment was most busy between five and eight and closed at midnight, except on weekends, when the place closed at two in the morning. It was approaching eight and she was beginning to worry that Ty might not show.

“He’s usually here by now,” said Jake. His voice sounded hopeful. “Maybe I should go in with you. It’s a rough place.”

“I don’t need an escort, patrolman.” She let him know with her tone just what she thought of his advice. Showing up with a police officer that everyone here knew was a terrible idea.

Beth had plans. She would investigate the missing women, tie their disappearances to the Kuznetsov crime family and make the kind of case that got a person noticed in the Bureau, and with that notice came the kind of posting Beth craved. Truth be told, she didn’t like Oklahoma or the field office in Oklahoma City, known for the bombing of the federal building. She wanted a major posting with status in a place far away from the flat, windy plains. Unlike the army, the FBI measured rank with cases, postings and a title. So she set her sights on a major case, a major posting in a major office. The plan was to run a field office before she hit thirty-five. And Ty Redhorse could get on board or get out of her way, preferably in a small prison cell in Phoenix.

“That’s him,” said Jake, slumping down in his seat.

Beth smiled as Ty Redhorse roared into the dirt lot on a cream-and-coffee-colored motorcycle. The sled was a beauty, a classic Harley from the nineties, all muscle and gleaming chrome. She could not keep back her appreciation. She admired power.

Beth and Jake sat in the dark tucked up against the closed feed store across from the watering hole. Behind them, her guys sat in a van, their view blocked until Jake took off.

Ty had worked all day in his auto body shop according to surveillance. He had given no sign that his left shoulder had been recently ripped open while he was crashing through a picture window in a home in Antelope Lake. But that was the story his oldest brother, Kee, had told.

The man in question was trim and muscular and wore no helmet. He rolled to a stop right before the bar, as if he owned it, and Beth wondered if that space was reserved for him. His chopper fit perfectly between the black trucks that she knew belonged to members of the Wolf Posse, the tribe’s one and only gang. Ty cut the engine, and the world went quiet. Then he planted his booted feet on both sides of his beautiful bike and rocked it to the stand as if it weighed nothing at all.

His driving gloves ended at his palms, giving her a flashing view of fingers raking through his shoulder-length black hair. He wore it blunt-cut in a traditional style so old she did not even know where it originated. The wind had done a job tousling his hair and he took a moment to set it right, raking his fingers back over his scalp. Then he threw a leg over the seat and dismounted the bike like a cowboy coming in off the range. He glanced around and looked right in their direction, gazing at them for a minute. Beside her, Jake held his breath and scooted lower in his seat.

“He can see us,” whispered Officer Redhorse, more to himself, she thought, than her.

“Not unless he has night-vision goggles,” she said, not whispering. He’d have to be some kind of jackrabbit to hear her from clear across the road. But she could hear him, thanks to the setup from the tech guys.

His gaze flicked away to a teen who was straddling an expensive new mountain bicycle that was, of course, black. On the boy’s head sat a yellow ball cap, sideways, bill flat. He wore a new oversized black satin sports jacket. Beth made him for about thirteen because of his size. The gang colors were yellow and black, and Beth knew that recruitment started early. Ty went over to him.

“Who’s that?” she asked Jake.

“Randy Tasa. Lives up in Koun’nde. He’s in the ninth grade.”

“Long bike ride.”

“His sister, Jewell, is probably inside. She’s Faras’s girl.”

Faras Pike was the current head of the Wolf Posse and one of the targets of her investigation.

Beth lifted the cone so she could hear them.

“Whatcha doing out here so late, Randy?” Ty asked. His voice was deeper than his brother’s and held a dangerous edge.

“Deliveries.”

Deliveries, my ass, thought Beth. The boy was selling weed to the customers. He was too young to get anything but a slap on the wrist, making him the perfect pusher for the gang.

“Let me see,” ordered Ty.

The boy obediently reached into his coat and showed Ty the freezer bag filled with what Beth believed to be smaller baggies of weed.

“You make any money?” asked Ty.

“Some.”

“Give it to me.”

Was he actually shaking down a child?

“I’m supposed to give it to Chino.”

“Did I ask you what you were supposed to do?”

The boy held out an envelope. Ty snatched it from him, took the weed and then took his cap. “This bag is light, Randy.”

“No. I swear.”

“Light,” he repeated. “I’m telling Faras that you’re a thief.”

“No.” Randy was crying now. “He’ll kill me.”

“He doesn’t kill children. Run home, Randy, and don’t come back or I’ll put a cap in your ass.”

Randy wiped his nose and Ty took one menacing step toward the boy, grabbing the handlebars of the new bike. “I said run.”

The boy sprang from the seat and ran as fast as his sticklike legs would carry him. He was too young to be hanging around a bar. But not too young to have his services bought for a ball cap and a new bike. Ty might have done the boy a favor.

Beth pushed aside that thought.

Jake shifted in his seat. Yeah, she’d be uncomfortable, too, if this gem of humanity was her big brother. Luckily, she had no siblings and was free as a bird. She could pack everything she needed in the saddlebags of her bike and head to LA, DC or NY. But first she had to make a big case. Would her mother even notice she was gone?

Ty let the bike fall and headed for the door of the bar, carrying the weed in his leather bomber jacket, which was black, of course. Jake insisted that his brother operated on the fringes of the gang. Jake said that Ty’s responsibility was only to keep the gang’s cars running. All evidence pointed to the contrary.

He had enough weed on him right now for her to get a conviction, but since he was on the rez, arresting him would just get her in hot water with Lieutenant Luke Forrest, who headed this operation. She reported to him, for now. So she watched Ty walk away and ignored the bad taste in her mouth. If she got a break, she’d catch Ty Redhorse with something far more serious than a bag of weed. She didn’t expect to get that lucky. Most of her luck came from hard work and taking the occasional risk.

She reached for the door release.

“Wait,” she ordered Redhorse. “Don’t leave unless you see me leave with your brother. Then follow us.”

Beth had dressed in clothing that showed she was a woman but also concealed her high-performance liquid chromatography, abbreviated as HPLC and commonly known as pepper spray, her service weapon and handcuffs. On her right hand she wore a series of carefully selected rings designed to inflict maximum damage and lacerate skin should she have to throw a punch.

What she intended was to charm and pick up Ty Redhorse in front of all his buddies on his home turf. Tomorrow, well after all the customers in this watering hole had assumed that he’d made a successful score, Beth would let him know who and what she actually was. She suspected that Ty did not want Faras Pike, the leader of the posse, to know what he had done to help his older brother, Kee, and that he was on less than stable ground with the gang. A little more shaking might just get him on their side.

Risk and reward, she thought, and slid from the truck and onto the packed dirt parking area.

“Help me get my sled down,” she said.

Jake lowered the back gate and set the metal ramp. Because of the intentionally disabled starter motor, Beth needed to bump-start her motorcycle. She released the straps holding her bike and mounted the seat, then rolled it down the ramp in second, using the incline to get it going fast enough to allow the engine to engage.

She roared across the street, anticipating Ty’s face tomorrow morning at eight, when he saw her walk into the interrogation room. Between now and then, she intended to find out everything she could about the second-oldest Redhorse brother.

Chapter Three

Ty walked into the roadhouse and glanced about. The mix of the usual patrons filled the stools surrounding the rectangular bar, which had seating all the way around except for the hinged portion that allowed the help in and out.

Beyond the center altar to drinking was the stage, which rose a good sixteen inches above the floor level but was dark because the musical entertainment didn’t begin until nine. By then most of these men—working men—would be home with their families. They just needed a short transition between one and the other.

There were exceptions—men who were not drinking after work because they were still on the job. The first, Quinton Ford, sat on a bar stool. Quinton was lanky with close-cropped black hair and a hawkish face that bore acne scars on his gaunt cheeks. One hand rested in his open jacket as he used the half-lowered zipper like a sling. Ty knew his hand was on the grip of a pistol. Quinton faced the door with the other hand on his untouched beer. His eyes met Ty’s, and Ty nodded to Faras Pike’s man. Quinton raised his chin in acknowledgment and then his gaze flicked back to the door.

Ty was no threat to Faras Pike.

There were tables to the left and everyone knew the ones under the wall of highway signs, stolen from all over the state, were reserved for Wolf Posse members. There at his usual spot was Faras Pike, the leader of the tribe’s gang. Perched on his knee was his current favorite, Jewell Tasa.

Jewell wore a glittery sequined gold crop top that featured an unobstructed view of her midriff, which was tight and toned. Jewell’s skinny jeans and biker boots made her a shimmering billboard of gang colors. Her makeup was thick, ringing her eyes like a raccoon, and her long black hair had been bleached blond at the tips.

Faras spotted Ty before Jewell did, and lifted her from his lap. Then he gave her rump an affectionate pat to send her off to the group of women at the nearby table. She spotted Ty and sauntered past him, hips swaying as if advertising what he could not have.

The unattached women at the table gave Ty encouraging smiles. He was not interested in more entanglements with the gang, no matter how tight they wore their clothing. So he turned his attention to Faras.

The head of the Wolf Posse was small with a face that had been handsome once, but the smoking, drinking and responsibilities of his position weighed heavily on that face and Faras now looked like a man nearing forty, instead of twenty-eight. His hair was drawn back in a single braid and he wore a hoodie, jeans, cowboy boots that were all black and several thick gold chains around his neck. His take on the black-and-gold color scheme. His ears were pierced and he wore diamond studs in each that Ty very much feared were real.

Seated between him and the bar was his second man, Chino Aria, his newest favored muscle. Chino could handle most situations if he didn’t have to think or make any decision on his feet. Chino’s appeal came from his size and bulk. The tattoos on his neck and bald head helped discourage trouble.

Ty cut a direct path for the two men.

“S’up, bro?” said Faras as he came to a stop before the circular booth and table.

“That little shit, Randy Tasa, is stealing your stash, is what’s up,” said Ty. He slid into the vinyl seat beside Faras. Chasing off Randy was a risk, because his big sister, Jewell, was already in the Wolf Posse and becoming Faras’s favorite.

Chino looked none too happy at Ty’s appearance, judging from the way his mouth tugged down on his broad jowly face.

“Randy Tasa? He don’t work for me.” Faras snapped his fingers before Chino’s face, redirecting his stare from Ty to Faras. “Chino, we recruit Tasa?”

“Yeah,” said Chino.

“When were you going to mention it?”

“First night, boss. Wanted to see how he worked out.”

Ty scowled. You didn’t earn a bike like that in one night. Chino was lying and Ty wondered why. It occurred to him that Randy would make a very good spy, keeping an eye on his big sister’s business. But that was the sort of thing he’d expect Faras to pull. Perhaps he’d underestimated Chino?

Chino laid his beefy fists on the table, challenging Ty with his stare. Ty set the bag of weed on the padded bench between him and Faras.

“Yo, don’t bring that in here,” said Faras, sliding away.

“He was smoking the product instead of making sales. You get him that bike?”

Faras lifted a brow at Chino, who nodded. Faras glared. He knew how to recruit kids into the gang. Up until this minute, Ty thought the decision of when and who was recruited had rested solely with Faras. From the way he was glaring at Chino, perhaps Faras did as well.

“You picked it?” asked Faras.

Chino nodded.

Ty broke in. “Well, he tried to sell it to me for fifty bucks.”

“That little puke,” said Chino, coming awake. Unfortunately, he forgot he was sitting in a booth and so, when he stood, the bench did not move back and he collided with the table, sending their beer bottles sloshing to their sides.

Faras swore.

“Sorry, boss.”

Chino used his sleeve to prevent the river of beer from reaching Faras’s lap.

Ty tossed Randy’s cap onto the puddle of beer. “I took his bike. It’s out front.”

Faras sighed and lifted a finger to Sancho, the head barkeeper, who was always very attentive to Faras, met his gaze and pointed to the spilled beer. One of the bartenders was out from behind the hinged counter and mopping up before Chino had even sat his big fat butt back down.

“I’ll need to find a replacement,” said Faras. “Deliveries, you know.”

Ty knew there was no stopping that. But Randy had a future. He was a runner. A good one. If he was smart and lucky, he might just run out of Turquoise Canyon and make a life that did not involve allegiances to the posse. One little minnow, escaping the net. Ty felt a longing for a freedom from such allegiances, or at least to become something other than the family poster boy for wasted potential. He wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Kee had been asked to join the Turquoise Guardians right out of med school, as if it was a foregone conclusion. Gaining admission to the tribe’s medicine society was a coup that Ty coveted. But to be asked to join Tribal Thunder, the warrior sect of that medicine society, well, that was an honor above all others. Last month, they’d asked Jake to join.

“Chino, get rid of this and get me another beer,” said Faras.

His man grabbed the baggie Faras pushed at him under the table, tucked it into his jacket and slid out of the booth. Then he hurried to the bar.

Faras waited until Chino and the bartender both retreated.

“You can’t keep doing this,” said Faras.

Ty said nothing.

“It costs me money and time.”

Ty met his gaze and read the warning there. Things were serious now. With the pressure of the Russians and the tribal police bringing in the FBI, Faras was in a difficult spot. He could not afford to bring his suppliers less, to even let one little fish swim out of the net.

“That’s the last one. You feel me?” said Faras.

Ty nodded.

“And where you been? I’ve been trying to reach you since Tuesday. You don’t answer your phone or return my calls.”

Ty told himself not to move his healing shoulder. Not to give away that he’d been injured, running for his life in the woods, trying to reach the reservation and home before the Feds caught him and locked him up beside his dad. Because if Faras knew, he’d also know that Ty followed his brother to the holding house that was stop one in the surrogate operation.

“I had a delivery in Phoenix. That ’78 Nova. Matte-black.”

“Phoenix and back takes six hours.”

Ty met his gaze without shifting in his seat or offering further explanation.

Faras dragged his hand down his braid, tugged and then tossed it over his shoulder. “Listen, you asked me for a favor. You asked me to lie to my suppliers about a certain baby girl dying. I did that.”

“And you already called that favor. Sent me on a pickup. I drove Kacey Doka at your request and I delivered her, didn’t I?”

“And both those guys are dead.”

“How you figure that’s my fault?”

“It’s your brother’s fault. Colt killed them.”

“He’s not a dog on a leash. He loves Kacey.”

“Love? Don’t make me laugh. How did Colt know where to find those Russian dudes?”

“Dunno. Followed me?”

“You better hope that’s how it went. If you tipped him...” Faras sat back in the booth and looked at the ceiling. Then dragged in a long breath and exhaled.

Ty read the signs. Now he was already in the danger zone. He regretted chasing off Randy. The timing had been bad.

Faras met his gaze across the table, his eyes flat and cold. “You still owe me for the baby. I’m calling it in. Moving you to transport.”

“I delivered Kacey. That covers it.”

“Not hardly. Two more of Vitoli’s guys were killed in Antelope Lake.”

“Too bad.” Ty tried and failed to look sorry. The bastards had nearly killed Kee.

“And you were there.”

“No.”

“Says you.”

Faras didn’t know. He was fishing, putting together the pieces.

“No way,” said Ty.

“Just making a three-day delivery of a Chevy Nova. Yeah, I heard. You want that baby to stay dead?”

Ty felt trapped. His entire life he’d been trapped. By his father, by the Marine Corps, by the gang. All he wanted in this shitty world was to have the chance, like Kee and Jake and Colt, to make something of himself. But he’d made his bed at eighteen. He didn’t regret what he had done. But he never anticipated that by accepting Faras’s help back then he would be tied to the man forever and painted with the same broad brush.

He wanted out. But if he left, just got on his bike and rode, who would protect his family from these predators that lived inside their rez like a nest of vipers?

The police couldn’t do it, because they had laws to follow and they were outmatched in numbers and finances. The Feds couldn’t do it. They didn’t operate here unless invited and they flitted in and out like migrating birds while he wallowed down here in the mud.

“You hear me, Ty?” said Faras.

Ty nodded.

Faras leaned in. “I got a new operation. We’re cookin’ now. Ice.”

Ty frowned, hating crystal meth and hating even more that the posse would be in production on his rez. “That so?”

“Yeah. First lab is in production up on Deer Kill Meadow Road. Old hay barn up there.”

“Won’t someone see the smoke?”

“Nights only. You gonna start transport next week.”

The hell he was. “Sure.”

Chino returned with the beer. Ty left his on the table, went to the bar and sat beside Quinton. Ty was sitting facing the taps when Quinton’s foot dropped heavily off the bar stool as he sat forward. He did not reach for his gun, but his eyes widened and he looked as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in his face.

Ty spun on the swivel stool toward the door. A woman paused on the Budweiser floor runner and glanced about. Ty thought her attention paused on him, but that might have been wishful thinking.

“Damn,” said Quinton. “Why I have to be working when something like that shows up?”

Ty thought it was a someone, not a something. But he agreed with Quinton that the woman was spectacular. She was tall with a confident stride and an economy of movement that spoke of power. Ty waited a beat for her partner to arrive and then it settled over him that this woman had come by herself to an unfamiliar watering hole, one with at least eight Harleys parked out front, and she had walked in with a self-assurance that showed either foolishness or strength.

Strength, he decided. That to him was more appealing than beauty because it took grit to survive up here. Both fortitude and compromise.

The tilt of her head and the way she scanned her surroundings gave her the air of a woman who knew what she was doing. There was no hesitation or wariness as she took in her surroundings. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she owned the place.

The conversation lulled as one after another of both the single and married men considered their chances. Several of the men turned back to their beers, taking themselves out of the race by fidelity to their mates, or just by judging themselves to be farm-league players in a major league game.

Ty leaned forward and drank her in like water. High brown suede boots, with silver studs around each ankle, hugged her well-defined calves. Her jeans were dark, new-looking and tight, showing legs that went on and on. The cropped leather jacket seemed to have lived a long, interesting life as a favorite garment, and Ty resented the way it hugged her upper body and breasts. Below the bottom of the jacket was a wide silver rodeo buckle, the kind that was won, not purchased. From here, it looked like the lady was a world-class barrel racer. Oh, how he would love to see her ride.

Her fawn-brown skin held the luster of gold undertones, catching the light on her high cheekbones. She seemed multiracial. He thought he recognized the Native American lineage in her distinctive facial structure. Her pale eyes hinted at European roots, and she had full lips, light brown skin and a curl of her brown shoulder-length hair. A natural beauty.

Women, sitting beside their men, placed proprietary hands on their companions, claiming them as she again swept the room with a slow scan. Her gaze fell on him. Her mouth quirked and he saw trouble coming his way, again. Only this time he felt like walking out to meet it.

She raised her voice to be heard above the jukebox as she kept her eyes fixed on his. “I’m looking for Ty Redhorse.”

Chapter Four

In Beth’s opinion, the photos of Ty Redhorse did not do him justice. They didn’t capture his roguish grin or his speculative stare. His mug shot, taken when he was just seventeen, showed a scared kid, and the one furnished by his brother pictured a man posing with his family as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin.

Maybe he was just uncomfortable with his family. Must be awkward at Sunday supper with his two remaining brothers. Comparisons were inevitable.

This man was broad-shouldered with a slim athletic frame. He also had the devil-may-care smile of a pirate. His forehead was broad and smooth, making him look more like twenty-one instead of twenty-eight. There was a slight, shallow cleft in his chin. One of his eyebrows lifted in conjecture. Dark eyes met hers and set off a flutter low and deep inside her.

She ignored the warning and continued on. Nerves, she told herself as she moved toward him. She might find Ty physically attractive, but he was just her admission ticket to the Wolf Posse, a means to an end. So it didn’t matter how appealing she found his face and body. Beth liked bad boys, just not this one.

Still, there was something about him that made her regret the missed opportunity he presented. In another time and place she might have acted on impulse. But not now with so much on the line.

Beth had met his brother, Jake Redhorse, a rookie tribal officer, and had none of this immediate attraction. His younger brother had a look that she would describe as brooding. From the family photo, she thought the oldest brother, Kee, radiated the stability of a professional man with none of the indescribable edge of danger she found tempting. Unlike his oldest brother, this Redhorse man had none of that serious, stable aura. She knew of his youngest brother, Colt, only via computer records. Colt shared some of the defiant disregard she read in Ty’s expression. But he also had PTSD and had given up speaking for months. That was way too much for her to ever want to take on. She met Ty’s inquisitive stare. Everything about Ty seemed to broadcast mischief and the invitation to forget the rules and play.

“I’m Ty,” he said.

All heads turned in his direction and then boomeranged back to her.

Beth had not anticipated the relaxed confidence of his physical self. He sat neither at attention nor slumped. Instead, he looked like he knew she was a problem heading toward him and he welcomed the diversion.

She used her thumb to adjust one of the rings on her right hand, breaking the steady stare. The man to his left was Quinton Ford, one of the Wolf Posse’s higher-ups. Ty sat right beside the gang’s right-hand man.

How cozy, she thought.

He rose to his feet in an easy glide, his movements as relaxed as his expression. But his eyes glittered a warning that belied the ready smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got bike trouble. The owner of the diner said you were the man to see and he told me that I would find you here.” She extended her hand. “I’m Beth.”

He looked at her hand as if inspecting it and then his gaze flicked to her left hand. Was he searching for a ring on that all-important finger? Or the indentation and lighter skin that showed there had been one there recently? She wasn’t sure, but there was a hesitation before his palm slid along hers in a sensual glide that made her skin pucker all over. His hand was clean, calloused. His nails showed the stain of stubborn motor oil. He gripped her hand and did not shake so much as stroke, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin on the back of her hand. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and her lungs suddenly demanded more oxygen.

“Nice to meet you, Beth.”

She drew back her hand, but it continued to tingle as if she’d just touched an electrified livestock fence.

“If you need a bike fixed,” said Quinton Ford, interrupting, “you should ask Chino.” He thumbed at the mountainous man sitting with the leader of the Wolf Posse.

“That so?” said Beth. “Why’s that?”

“It’s his specialty. Ty’s is cars.”

“A motor is a motor,” said Beth. “And I don’t think that Nathan would steer me wrong. What do you say, Ty?”

His smile relayed anticipation and mischief. “Let’s have a look.”

The whole point of coming here was to have everyone on his home turf see her leave with Ty and make the obvious conclusions. Her story to her supervisor, Luke Forrest, about getting a read on Ty was nonsense. She didn’t need a read. All she ever wanted or needed to know about Ty Redhorse she’d found in his FBI file. What she desired was traction, an inescapable hook to get him on board, because he’d already turned down the Bureau’s offer presented by his tribe.

If tomorrow morning, he discovered that he’d been seen leaving the roadside bar with an FBI field agent? Well, that was the sort of thing he might be inclined to want to keep to himself.

But Chino was on his way over. “I’ll fix your bike,” he said.

Beth had not anticipated a war over her sled. She definitely didn’t want this mountainous wall of muscle to help her.

Ty stepped to intercept Chino Aria. “Lady asked for me.”

“Because she doesn’t know me,” he said.

“And you’re working,” Ty reminded him.

Chino’s expression went blank for a moment as his eyes lifted toward the ceiling. Then he glanced back at his boss, Faras Pike, who motioned to his muscle with two fingers.

“Master’s calling,” said Ty, just having to get a dig in, it seemed.

Not smart, thought Beth. If she wasn’t undercover, she’d already have her hand on the grip of her pistol.

Chino shot Ty a glare that should have given him pause. Instead, it gave rise to a cocksure crooked smile that Beth admitted made her lips curl upward, as well. There was something satisfying about seeing the big man forced into retreat.

Chino pointed at Ty as if his finger was a gun. “Later,” he said, and pulled the imaginary trigger.

Ty said nothing but scratched beside his mouth with his middle finger. Chino frowned and gave Ty one last angry look before he stalked away.

Ty motioned to the door. “Shall we?”

Beth swung her hips for all she was worth as she sauntered toward the exit. Just before leaving she grabbed Ty by the front of his black T-shirt and tugged. The kiss came naturally.

That surprised her. She’d thought it would feel forced. Unfortunately, they fit together all too well. Ty’s mouth was hungry. His hands moved down her arms to capture her waist and tug. She did not resist, falling against him as he deepened the kiss.

She barely registered the hoots and banging from the customers, who all had ringside seats, as she’d intended. Beth closed her eyes and savored the velvety contact of his mouth and the sandy stubble of his cheek. She hadn’t been really kissed in so long she had forgotten what it felt like.

As his tongue slid along hers and her body began to tingle in all the right places, she realized that she’d never been kissed like this. The warning bells sounded too late. She’d made a mistake, a costly one, because her body did not understand that this was work.

Beth broke away and saw that she’d wiped the crooked smile off Ty’s face. He was now looking at her with a mixture of anticipation and healthy wariness. All large predators had that instinct—the ability to judge if he was facing an opportunity or a threat.

Ty reached past her and pushed open the door. The roar of the customers mixed with shouts of encouragement.

Someone shouted after them. “Fix that bike, Ty!”

Beth turned but not before she saw Ty wave to the crowd like the victor of some sporting competition. Beth smiled. He thought he’d won, but she believed that, in the interrogation room of his tribe’s police station, when she flashed her badge, he might see things differently.

Chapter Five

Outside, the world was dark except for the single spotlight fixed above the bar, illuminating the rutted dirt parking area before the roadhouse. In the windows, the neon glow of beer advertising sent beams of bright color reflecting off the windshields of dusty pickup trucks.

“I’m this way,” she said, leading him to the darkest portion of the lot.

Ty dragged her between two trucks and kissed her again. This time she did not kiss him for show. Oh, no, this time she let herself enjoy each nerve-tingling second. But when his hand moved from her lower back to her backside, she stepped away.

“The bike?” she reminded him.

“Yeah, but I’m figuring that if I fix it, you might use it to get away.”

She smiled at him. He really was a handsome man. Such a shame he’d chosen so poorly in life. Those dark eyes gleamed with the promise of pleasure, and his mouth turned up in a way that offered a challenge she was tempted to accept. It was a winning combination. Especially when coupled with the hard jawline, straight nose and dark, slashing eyebrows. His hair was a windblown mess, as if he didn’t care how it looked or, perhaps, understood that his mop of hair begged a woman to comb her fingers through the tangles. She indulged herself in the impulse as her eyes feasted on the quintessential bad boy.

The tribe should make warning posters about this one. Still, she was tempted. So tempted to see what he had.

“You need a shave,” she said. His hair was as thick as a horse’s tail. She drew her hand back and touched her own cheek. “You’re giving me razor burn.”

“I have a razor at my place,” he said.

The man did not waste time.

“Unfortunately, I can’t ride there. My bike...” She offered him a regretful look, but her eyes offered something else.

“Let’s go see.”

She led the way across the rutted, dusty lot. He fell into step just behind her left shoulder.

“What kind of sled you have?”

“It’s a BMW F800GT.”

He whistled as his hand stroked her bike, starting at the leather saddle and gliding all the way up to the instruments until his long fingers finally wrapped around one grip.

Beth shivered in response to that sensual glide, and he hadn’t even touched her.

“Rich,” he said. He stretched out his fingers and then wiped his hand across his flat stomach.

Beth’s skin flushed and she found she needed a long intake of air. “I got it used off a guy who...well, he gave me a good price.” She let him wonder about that. The bike was truly hers. She had purchased it at a police auction and knew it had been owned by a man who liked to gamble with his clients’ money. The way she figured it, a bike like this deserved a better owner.

She’d parked it at an angle so no one parked too close and so she could push it out, if necessary.

“You rode in here?” asked Ty, turning his attention to the bike.

“Yeah. It died at the diner. So I checked what I could and then did a push-start. Lucky the diner is on a hill. Got it going all right.”

Ty looked at the bike. “Battery, maybe.”

“It’s fine. Nearly new.”

“You might have left the headlight on when you were in the diner.”

She flipped on the headlight, which glowed brightly.

She pointed to the console. “Says it’s good, plus I flipped back the saddle and tested one of the terminals to ground. It arced just fine.”

“Gas?” he asked.

She cut her gaze away. “Please.”

“So I won’t ask if the kickstand was up and the sled in Neutral.”

“You try and start it,” she said.

He straddled the bike. She couldn’t believe it, but he looked even more handsome. The neon glow from the beer signs illuminated his high cheekbones, and a lock of hair fell over his forehead as he tried and failed to get the bike started.

“How are the plugs?” he asked.

“Good, I think.”

“Well, then I’d say you have gunk in the fuel lines. Maybe the clutch starter. Bike needs air, fuel and spark. We know you have spark and fuel, so...”

She swore as if surprised it was not a quick repair.

“Did the guy at the diner mention that I have a garage?”

Beth nodded.

“I live above my garage.”

Which she knew, but it was obvious he wanted her to know where the closest bed might be.

“You want me to bring it tomorrow morning?”

“Now is good.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “Only thing, you’ll have to drive. I already had too much to drink.”

Which was interesting because she knew from Jake that Ty Redhorse did not drink.

“I don’t think I want a drunk working on my bike.”

“I could fix a carburetor drunk or asleep.”

“Nobody drives my bike.”

He slid back on the seat. “You want me to bump-start the bike with you on the back?”

He wiggled his eyebrows and she accepted the challenge.

“What about your bike?” she asked.

“In good hands.”

No one would touch his bike. He had the protection of the Wolf Posse and tribal police, since his brother was on the force.

“Just out of curiosity, how were you planning to get home?”

“I never plan that far ahead,” said Ty.

“You don’t look or act or smell drunk,” said Beth.

“Maybe I just can’t resist lying flat across your back or maybe I want to see what an eight-hundred-cc inline engine feels like. It’s a tour bike. Plenty of room.”

“If you fix my bike, I’m paying for the repair and I’m not sleeping with you.”

“If you say so.”

Had she anticipated an argument? She didn’t expect him to give up so easily. But maybe he figured, wrongly, that he could change her mind. He was too charming and too good with that sexy mouth. She imagined he wouldn’t disappoint in the bedroom. But her plan involved trapping him, not the other way around. Sleeping with him would give him power, and she was not going into that meeting tomorrow in a position of weakness.

“You got a helmet?” she asked, retrieving hers.

“Never wear one.”

Of course he didn’t. Another bad decision, she thought.

“Then let’s go.” She lifted her leg and slipped it neatly over the saddle, then knocked back the kickstand. Once she had the bike in Neutral and the clutch in, she rocked them forward and turned the wheel away from the line of trucks. It took a moment for gravity to grab hold, but by the time they reached the road they were gliding at five miles an hour. She shifted with her foot to second, waited until they hit fifteen miles an hour and then popped the clutch. The engine turned over and she gave it some gas. A moment later, they were ripping down the road.

“Where’s your shop?”

He called directions as he slipped his hands around her waist. It felt good, riding with him. She loved the bike, despite what her mother thought, and knew that in this, at least, they would find common ground.

His body warmed her back as they raced in the direction of Koun’nde, one of three settlements here on the Turquoise Canyon Apache Indian Reservation.

After a few minutes he pointed out his place. The two-story building was mostly dark except for the floodlight over the double-bay doors. She could see a row of windows above the shop and knew that was where he lived.

She rolled up to the bay doors and cut the engine. Something moved to her left, an animal, big and black. Beth startled.

“That’s just my dog, Hemi.”

She glanced back at him. “Like the motor?”

His smile showed a kind of appreciation that warmed her far more than it should have. “That’s right.”

He slid off the bike and she removed her helmet, leaving it on the seat.

“Nice ride,” he said, and then he turned to Hemi and scratched her behind the ears. “Hemi, this is Beth.”

She dropped the kickstand and straddled the bike, offering her hand to the canine, who had a definite wolfish look to her.

“Hey there, Hemi,” said Beth.

Hemi took two steps in her direction and then dropped to the ground, her head between her front paws. Beth’s brow wrinkled as she watched the dog, trying to interpret this odd behavior.

“What’s with that?” she asked, lifting her gaze to Ty, who was now scowling at her.

“You packing?”

“What?”

“Hemi says you’re carrying a gun.”

Beth eyed the dog. Likely his brother would have warned her about the gunpowder-sniffing dog if she’d told anyone what she had in mind. She hadn’t because the chances were too great that Jake would tip off his big brother.

Forrest had agreed, but she had only one shot, because every agent he put on the abduction case was one less on the eco-extremist investigation.

Beth set her jaw and glared at the dog.

“So what is it?” asked Ty.

She opened her jacket and showed him the holster and her service weapon. She did not show him the FBI shield she had around her neck and under her blouse.

Ty’s expression went grim and all anticipation left his eyes. They went flat and lifeless. He looked at her as if she had disappointed him. That would be ironic.

“I don’t allow weapons in my place.”

“Girl’s got a right to protect herself.”

“Deal breaker,” he said.

“You act like you’re on parole.”

That made him glare. So he didn’t like being painted as a criminal, even if that was just what he was.

“Not on parole,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “Tell you what. I’ll get you started again. Take it to Piňon Forks. Spend the night at the casino and call Ron in the morning.” He grabbed a pen from his shop and extended his hand for hers. She gave it to him and he wrote a number on the palm of her hand.

Was he actually sending her off? Beth couldn’t believe it and she really couldn’t believe that her disappointment was way more physical than emotional. Damn him and that kiss.

“He’s good with bikes,” said Ty.

“Where’s his shop?”

“Across from the police station. You know where that is, right?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, just positioned himself behind her bike. She didn’t even have her helmet on when he started to push as if he could not wait to be rid of her.

But he wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

Chapter Six

On Sunday mornings, Ty worked on his own projects. Today it was body repair on the 1978 Pontiac Trans Am that he’d saved from the scrap yard. But his enthusiasm for muscle cars did not generally get him up at 5:00 a.m. Still, that was what had happened the last two mornings and he knew exactly who to blame for that. The woman—Beth.

She captivated him. Not just the way she looked but the way she handled that bike and how she knew things, like that his dog was named after his favorite engine and how to bump-start a bike. Who was he kidding? It had been their kisses that had kept him from sleep.

Beth was too good to be true. Women like that did not just show up in your life. Someone had sent her. And that was the other reason he could not sleep. It wasn’t the Wolf Posse. She didn’t have the look of Russian mob. That left cop.

“Damn.” He threw aside the rag he used to wipe his hands.

The phone rang, echoing in the empty space. He glanced at the clock on the wall to see it was already eight in the morning. Ty reached for the greasy handset. Jake was on the line, telling him that they needed him to come into the station.

Ty’s stomach dropped. Had the tribe reversed their decision about not turning him over to the Feds? As much as Ty wanted to be free of the Wolf Posse, a prison cell was not his chosen route. He had driven Kacey to the Russians, but her statement corroborated his. She had known where he was taking her and gotten into his vehicle voluntarily.

Maybe they matched his blood from the window at Antelope Lake. Some trumped-up charge on B&E? he wondered. The coffee he’d had for breakfast now clung to his stomach lining like motor oil.

“I’ll be there,” he said. He thought about his go-bag, the one under his bed. He’d added to it bit by bit, knowing that someday he’d have to use it.

Was today that day?

You could only dance with the devil for so long. Eventually the devil had to be paid. What kept him here was his mother and his brothers and the looming threat of his father’s return.

They were all worried about what would happen upon Colton Redhorse’s return. Ty wasn’t worried because he knew how it would go—badly. Because people didn’t change except to get worse.

He’d have to leave in forty minutes because the ride from Koun’nde to Piňon Forks took twenty. Ty removed his welding helmet and hung it back on the wall. Then he turned off the tanks. Friday, he’d spoken to tribal police and he’d made his position very clear. He didn’t imagine that Detective Bear Den was going to have a second round of asking for his cooperation. So that meant they were going to charge him.

It was his own stupid fault. He must be losing his edge because he did not make that incredibly sexy woman as a cop. The way she hugged those curves on her bike, the woman could ride. And that kiss. Ty growled and headed upstairs with Hemi at his heels.

He showered and packed a duffel in case they kept him. Ty dragged out the go-bag from beneath his bed and unzipped it. Inside was survival gear, camping gear, first-aid supplies, ready-to-eat food, tools, money, a horse bridle and the keys to one car and one bike. Was today the day he’d need to run?

Ty carried both duffels to the GTO. Then he fed Hemi. After they’d both eaten, he took his dog to his mother’s place. His mother, May, lived on the high ground outside Piňon Forks. Redhorse was busy getting his sister, Abbie, and the foster girls ready for church. She tried to feed him, of course, and accepted a kiss on the cheek. He asked Burt Rope, her new husband, to look after Hemi.

Burt knew exactly what that meant. “You in trouble, son?”

“Maybe. Tribal police want to talk to me again.”

“Three times, isn’t it?”

“Four.” Four times and each time they had more pieces of the puzzle. Maybe they’d just take a blood sample today and let him go.

“We’ll look after your dog, Ty.” Burt laid a hand on Ty’s shoulder and gave him a little pat.

Burt was a good man. Not like his rotten of a father. He felt relieved that his mother had found a man who, though not very industrious, was as reliable and kind as any he’d ever met.

Ty drove to tribal headquarters in his ’67 Pontiac GTO because he didn’t want to leave his bike outside the station. Burt could pick up his car. But no one drove his Harley but him.

Way he figured, tribal was done asking for his help. So they would either charge him or turn him over to the Feds. The only good thing about the attention of the police was it had kept Faras Pike from pulling him all the way back into the Wolf Posse.

Ty rolled his shoulder, wondering if Kee would be willing to take the stitches out a few days early. If the Feds took his clothing and saw him without his shirt, they might just wonder how he sliced his shoulder open and then remember the blood they’d found on the shattered picture window at the house on Antelope Lake where two women had been held.

Neither Kee nor his girlfriend, the tribe’s new dispatcher, had mentioned that Ty had been there. Kee thought Ty should get some credit for helping them get away from the Russian mobsters. Ty knew that the questions as to how he knew where to find them would make him vastly less heroic and possibly culpable for some serious jail time.

Ty knew about the capture because Faras told him that Ty was on call as a driver. That meant that the Russians had sent someone after Kee’s girl and he was the backup if there was trouble. Ty had been on hand when the Russian, Yury Churkin, captured Ava Hood. The rest of the job was just shadowing them to the location where the women were being held. Faras’s order to Ty to drive the Russian to safety if he ran into trouble would be enough to connect Ty to the criminal organization, and down the toilet he would go with the rest of them.

He drove to the station in Piňon Forks, which had been relocated now that the dam had been reinforced by the US Army Corps of Engineers. The state of Arizona had already begun repairs to the compromised Skeleton Cliff dam above their rez.

Ty parked at the health clinic, right next door to tribal headquarters, where the police station was housed. Kee was likely up to his eyeballs in patients, since he was now the only physician on the rez. The other, Hector Hauser, was dead and Ty could not muster a drop of regret over that. Ty wondered if they’d lock him up today or just tell him not to flee. Where would he go?

Alaska, he thought. He could follow his youngest brother, Colt, up there to a wide-open state where his reputation would not dog him. More likely he’d be relocating to a cell next to his father in the federal prison down in Phoenix.

Ty made the long walk across the formal courtyard between the buildings into tribal headquarters. Once inside, he turned toward the police station. Jake greeted him in the squad room.

“I need a lawyer?” Ty asked his little brother.

Jake did not smile or make a joke. The look he cast back was deadly serious. “Don’t think that will do it.”

“Am I getting arrested?” he asked, glancing toward the chief’s office and making eye contact with Wallace Tinnin, who rose from behind his old battered desk and collected his aluminum crutches.

“It’s one of the possibilities. Ty, I think you should cooperate.”

Jake didn’t understand. How could he? Jake had never been on the wrong side of anything. Yet Ty’s younger brother had understood how things worked well enough to ask Ty to get Faras to report to his associates that the baby Jake wanted to adopt had died. Ty had done it and hoped Jake never learned what the favor had cost him. How would his brother feel if he knew that Ty had been pulled into service driving the Russians off the rez because of that little favor?

Tinnin clicked his way to them on his crutches. The foot, broken in the blast after the dam collapse, was in a black plastic boot.

“Thanks for coming in, Ty,” said the chief. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

Damn, they were taking him to the interrogation room. He wondered if he still had the card with his attorney’s phone number in his wallet.

They locked Ty in the room for twenty minutes. Enough time for him to consider exactly what evidence they had turned up. He’d heard that the tribe had voted to turn Kacey Doka’s mother over to the Feds after she was connected to the surrogate ring. And they voted to turn over the former tribal health clinic’s administrator, Betty Mills, after she broke the conditions of her agreement for cooperation by failing to tell them that Ava Hood’s cover had been blown. That nearly got Ava killed, which was no skin off his nose except that Kee was in love with her. So he’d followed Churkin and waited for Kee and Hauser. Then when the shooting started he’d busted through that plate glass window and bled all over the place.

They were probably looking at him through the one-way mirror right now. He forced his bouncing knee to stillness.

The door latch turned and in stepped Detective Jack Bear Den, one of Ty’s least favorite people. Bear Den held the door for Tinnin, who thumped in on his crutches, and behind him came...

Ty sat back in his chair. He did not keep his jaw from dropping as his mouth opened like a trapdoor as she strode in—Beth. There she was, the woman on the BMW sled whose kisses rocked his world. But today her eyelids did not shimmer and the liner around her eyes was not black, but was an earth tone. She was more beautiful today, with a burgundy-colored lipstick that added to her aura of authority. She wore blue slacks, practical shoes, a blazer and a white cotton blouse. The outfit made it easy for him to see her pistol, holstered at her hip, and the FBI shield and plastic ID on a lanyard about her neck. Today she radiated a different kind of power, the kind that came with the full weight of the system. Ty had run against that system often enough to know that it didn’t work. At least not for him.

FB freakin’ I.

Ty closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes on her.

Beth’s crazy, curly beautiful wild hair was tugged back in a scalp-hugging bun and gleamed with some kind of hair product. She stood there with a triumphant glint in her lovely pale green eyes and the hint of a wicked smile curling her wide lips. The woman had counted coup on him, defeating him with a touch of the metaphorical crooked coup stick, like the plains Apache of old. And she knew it.

Ty pressed a hand to his forehead as it sank in. Faras had seen him kissing Beth. So had Chino and Quinton and at least four other members of the Wolf Posse. Everyone in the roadhouse saw him leave with her, this two-faced woman who was on the opposite side of the law. His problems just got bigger than Antelope Lake. If the posse knew who and what she was, he was a dead man.

“Good morning, Ty,” she said, taking a seat across from him and laying a file folder on the table between them. “How was your weekend?”

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