“I want you here,” Gabe said.

“You never look like you need help and you never ask me for it.”

“Well, I’ve never had to stand over the grave of one of my officers before, either. I hope I never have to do that again.”

She took his hand and held it to her cheek. “It’s a terrible loss. I hope you find the killer.”

He hoped that her father wasn’t tied up in all this but it wasn’t looking good. He realized that his arresting him had broken their engagement. If and when he made that second arrest and sent him back to federal prison, maybe for many, many years, would she ever forgive him?

This might be their first and last night together.

Tribal Law
Jenna Kernan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNA KERNAN has penned over two dozen novels and has 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 of New York State with her husband. Follow Jenna on Twitter, @jennakernan, on Facebook or at www.jennakernan.com.

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To Jim—Always.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

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

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Selena Dosela’s heart beat so hard in her chest she started gasping.

“For the love of God,” said her father from the passenger seat. “Where’s your Apache poker face?”

She pressed a hand to her forehead and blew out a breath but still felt dizzy.

“Better.” Her father, who was supposed to be home under house arrest, had crouched out of sight when they passed Gabe’s police car, but there was nowhere to hide in the small cab of her box truck.

Gabe hit his lights.

“Pull over,” said her dad.

She did, gliding on snow and ice to a stop on the shoulder. Gabe’s white SUV pulled in behind her.

Gabe Cosen, the chief of police for the Black Mountain Apache Tribe, would spot her father the instant he reached her door, which was in about fifteen seconds.

“Tell me when he’s next to the rear tire.”

Selena’s heart began galloping again.

She glanced in her side mirror. Gabe exited his unit, tugged down his thigh-length sheepskin jacket and put on the gray Stetson that he always wore. Now her heart pounded for a different reason. Even from a distance this man could raise her heart rate and her internal temperature.

As chief, he didn’t wear a uniform anymore except for special occasions. But he still wore that hat, as if he were a cowboy instead of an Indian. He tipped the brim down and then marched toward Selena’s driver’s side. On any other day she might have appreciated the sight because Gabe Cosen looked good coming or going. Right now she wished it was going.

“What should we do?” she asked.

Her father cast her a look of disappointment. “What do you think? Hide. I’ll be outside on the running board.”

Why had she thought he meant to harm Gabe? Did her father even carry a gun? She hoped not; he would be in enough trouble if Gabe caught him and, come to think of it, so would she.

Her attention returned to her side mirror. “Okay, he’s beside the truck.”

The passenger door eased open and her father hopped out. The door clicked shut. Her attention slipped back to the empty seat and she caught movement through the window beyond. The large rectangular side mirror showed a view of her father crouching on the runner. She gave a little shout. He straightened just enough to peer back inside and she pointed frantically at the mirror. He disappeared like a prairie dog ducking into its burrow, hopping off the running boards and moving out of sight.

“Selena?” Gabe’s voice was muffled by the glass.

She jumped in her seat, then rolled down the window to face the chief of the tribal police. The truck was old, refurbished and didn’t have power anything. In fact, it even had a cassette player on the console. But she’d chosen this truck because she’d been able to pay cash for the whole thing. Unfortunately she’d had to use it and her sister’s box truck as collateral against the 18-wheeler.

“Hey there,” he said. His breath came in a puff of condensation that disappeared almost instantly. “Everything okay?”

Her ears were buzzing. Did that mean she was going to faint? You absolutely are not going to faint. You can’t.

“Was I doing something wrong, Chief?” Her attempt to keep her voice level failed and Gabe pushed back the brim of his hat, giving her a closer look. How did he manage to get more handsome every single year? she wondered as she stared at his ruggedly attractive face.

“You’re flushed,” he said.

“Hot in here. Heater is wonky.” That lie came so easily.

“I see. What’s up?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her sweating hands on the wheel.

“Your route is finished and you’re heading out. Usually you take the car on errands.”

He had watched her that closely? She had no idea. Now she didn’t know if she should be flattered, furious or frightened.

Should she go with indignation or civility? The indignation won, hands down.

“I don’t think that’s any business of yours.”

Gabe’s brows shot up as he stared steadily back at her. His long nose and flared nostrils reminded her of a wolf on the hunt. The air of authority did not come solely from his position. She felt it even now, the need to do whatever he said merely because he said it. And that mouth, oh, she had memories of that mouth on her body.

Gabe looked Apache—his brown skin, his broad forehead and his full, sensual mouth all spoke of his strength and lineage. But his hair did not. Unlike the rest of his brothers, he wore it clipped short. Perhaps to annoy his older brother, Clyne, the tribal councilman and family traditionalist. If possible, Gabe’s thick black hair and stylish cut only made him more attractive. Gabe had once been approached by the tribe’s casino promotion team, who wanted to use him in their ad campaigns. His brothers never let him live that one down. But they didn’t want Gabe because he was boyish, like his kid brother Kino, or handsome like Clay or distinguished like his older brother, Clyne. They chose him because he made women want to take him to bed.

And she was no better than any of the rest of them because she still wanted that, too.

He narrowed his eyes. “You sure you’re all right?”

She swallowed, released the wheel and gave him her stone face. The one her father said she didn’t have. The one all Apache girls practiced before their Sunrise Ceremony.

“Can I go now?” she asked summoning a tone of flat annoyance and thinking her voice still sounded like the whine of a mosquito.

Gabe stepped back but kept a hand on the open window. She kept hers on the crank.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring him home,” he said. “I should have been the one there today.”

An apology? Selena’s mouth dropped open. Gabe Cosen was the most unapologetic man she knew, except for perhaps her father. Somehow his words had the opposite effect of what he had likely intended. Now Selena was not frightened. She was pissed.

“Well, you were there when he left, so that’s something.”

Gabe grimaced.

“If you need anything,” he said.

“I need to get going.” She lifted her brows to show her impatience and gave the crank a tug for good measure. It met the resistance of his gloved hand, but he released her door. He stood there studying her. She glared back. Why wouldn’t he leave? Her father couldn’t get back inside with him standing there and if he tried, Gabe would see him.

“Are we finished?” she asked. But she already knew the answer. They’d been finished for nearly five years and since then all their conversations had been brief, awkward and tense. But maybe not this tense.

He inclined his chin.

“Then get back to your car. It’s freezing out here.”

His brow lifted to show his surprise and she knew why. No one ever told Gabe Cosen what to do. No, this man gave orders. He didn’t take them.

“Please call me if you need me,” he said, using that infuriating, polite, professional tone.

She needed him every night. But she’d be damned if she’d call.

Gabe hesitated, waiting perhaps for her to reply or say farewell. She cranked up the window and placed her hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead. Finally, he withdrew, melting back and away from her.

She leaned across the seat but before she could open the door her father had it open and swept back into the cab.

“Go,” he said. “But not too fast.” Her father ducked down below the door so as not to be visible in the wide rectangular mirrors that flanked each side of the cab, the ones that gave her a clear view of Gabe returning to his police car.

She set them in motion, then glanced to the road and then back to Gabe. Then to the road. They had gotten away with it. She grabbed a breath of icy air.

“You missed our turn when he stopped us. Turn around. And get us out of here before he stops you again.”

Selena swung them around and caught a blur as Gabe flashed by her driver’s side window. Then he was behind her, hands on hips as he watched her taillights.

Just keep going.

“Uh-oh,” said her father, peeking at the side mirror.

Selena looked back to see Gabe had returned to the place where she had parked. He was studying the ground.

“He’s spotted my tracks,” said her father. “Drive faster.”

Chapter Two

Gabe Cosen watched Selena go and then returned to the tracks. The snow had started again and he knew that this was his best chance to get a good read. Like all of the men in his family, he had learned to read sign, which meant he could interpret the tracks of animals and men. He was adequate for an Apache, but his younger brothers, Kino and Clay, were much better.

The prints were from a large individual wearing moccasins. That was not unheard of, but most folks wore their tribe’s traditional foot gear only for hunting, ceremonies and dance competitions. The rest of the time they wore boots. He crouched beside the tracks and guessed at the person’s weight—less than two hundred pounds—from the place where the person had slipped en route to the front of the truck. Who had been in the cab with Selena and why didn’t that person want him to know?

His first thought was that Selena had found someone else. The white-hot fury at that prospect surprised him enough that he lost his balance and had to put a hand down to keep from toppling over. His break in concentration left the mark of his glove in the snow.

He’d know, wouldn’t he? If she had a date or was dating? The community was small and he kept closer tabs on Selena’s movements than he cared for her to know.

The second possibility for her unknown passenger broke through the mental fog he always felt around Selena and struck him like a rock slide. He stood and spun. The road was empty now. She had a good head start. He ran back to his unit. How long after the anklet alarm was triggered would he be notified? Someone from the Department of Corrections would have to call. They were monitoring her father, Frasco Dosela, or they were supposed to be.

He reached his unit as his phone rang. He would have sent the call to voice mail, but he saw from the caller ID that his uncle was calling. Luke Forrest was his father’s half brother, an FBI field agent and he was also Black Mountain Apache.

Gabe wondered if his uncle’s call was personal or business. He climbed into his unit. His wiper blades beat intermittently against the fine, powdery snow that continued to float down onto the windshield like confectioners’ sugar. Gabe swiped his finger over the screen, taking the call.

“Dagot’ee, Uncle,” Gabe said, using the Apache greeting. “What’s up?” Gabe flipped the phone call to his unit so he could talk while driving. Then he took off after Selena.

“Chief,” said his uncle, using his title instead of his first name. That meant this was a business call. Gabe didn’t have a lot of interaction with the Feds. Mostly he dealt with state police and occasionally the district attorney. But these were troubled times, and he had more business than he and his twelve-man force could handle.

His uncle sounded rushed. “Field Agent Walker and I are seeking permission to enter the rez.”

“You mean your new partner?” Gabe searched for Selena’s box truck. She must be speeding, because she’d vanished like smoke.

“That’s right. But I don’t think she will be my partner for long. That one is a firecracker. She’ll be in DC by June.”

Uncle Luke was a tribe member and needed no permission. As a Black Mountain Apache, his uncle could come and go as he wished. But his partner, Cassidy Walker, was not Apache. A white woman, from the Midwest he recalled. Federal agencies needed approval from the tribal council before conducting business on the rez.

“I’ll need a reason.” Gabe reached the fork to Wolf Canyon. He knew that Selena lived with her family up a side road that veered to the left.

Had she headed home or somewhere else? He didn’t know, but he followed his hunch and made the turn toward her house. If her father was the passenger, that would be their likely move.

“I’ll fax you the official request. In the meantime, I have information on the crystal meth cooks you’ve been chasing.”

For several years the Mexican cartels had been storing product on the rez to avoid federal jurisdiction. Last fall, Gabe and his men had taken out a mobile meth lab, thanks to the help of Clay. But there were plenty of places to hide on twelve thousand acres.

“Any information that would help narrow the search?”

“Some. Tessay wants a deal.”

Arnold Tessay had been a member of the Black Mountain Tribal Council until they’d discovered that he’d had been tipping off the meth cooks whenever the authorities got close. That made Gabe sick, and so did his suspicion that there were other insiders working with the cartels, beyond the Wolf Posse, which was the tribal gang that sold and distributed drugs on their reservation, acted as muscle and took on other distasteful jobs.

“According to Tessay’s attorney, the raw product is still on the rez. That syncs with our intel.”

“Good,” said Gabe. “What am I looking for?”

“Fifty-gallon barrels of liquid. The kind that your brothers Kino and Clay saw down on the border when they were working with the Shadow Wolves and ICE. Ask them to describe them to you. Water station barrels.”

“The blue ones?”

“Exactly. We don’t know how many. They might be moving them or planning another setup on our reservation.”

Gabe tamped down his anger at that second possibility. He couldn’t understand how an Apache could ever work with criminals. Scarce jobs or not, there was never a reason to help the drug traffickers use Indian land like some kind of home base. Though his own father had done it. But that was another story.

“The barrel contents, can they freeze?” Gabe asked.

“Yeah. Somewhere below zero, I think. Why?”

“Limits the places they can store them.”

“Hmm. I’ll find out for sure and get back to you.”

“Anything else?” asked Gabe.

“That’s it. Except we’d love to find those barrels.”

“I’m on it.”

Gabe gave a traditional farewell and punched the disconnect button on his steering wheel. He glanced toward the leaden sky. The snow had stopped for now, but he wondered if there would be more. They’d gotten another coating overnight, just enough to make driving interesting, as it always was in January on the rez. Especially for the tourists out of Phoenix who knew next to nothing about driving in snow.

Gabe reached the Doselas’ home. He didn’t need to head up the drive to see that Selena’s box truck was not among the personal vehicles.

After her father’s arrest, Selena had taken her father’s one box truck and doubled the business in his absence. With both her and her younger sister Mia driving, they managed two routes. When Selena purchased an older box truck, Mia took over her father’s truck and a longer route down to Phoenix and back. One year ago Selena had taken a loan for a used flatbed trailer and six-year-old 18-wheeler that the twins, Carla and Paula, took on longer runs. All three trucks were currently missing.

He cursed in Apache, did a one-eighty and headed back toward the town of Black Mountain.

As he drove, he radioed dispatch. Jasmine Grados responded, her smoker’s voice better in the afternoon.

“Yes, Chief.”

“Anything on the Dosela release?” Maybe he should have stopped to see if Frasco was home, as he should be under the terms of his early release. “Send the closest man to the Doselas’ to verify Frasco’s return.”

“Roger that.”

“And all eyes looking for a box truck.”

Jasmine picked up on his line of thinking. “You mean Selena’s truck or Mia’s?”

“Selena’s. Mia should be in Phoenix. Anything from DOC?”

Frasco Dosela had been returned to the reservation with the escort of one of Gabe’s men, his parole officer and a representative from the Department of Corrections who had fitted him with a radio anklet to monitor his movements.

“Not since Officer Cienega escorted Mr. Dryer off the rez.”

“When was that?”

“About ten. Um...logged at ten eighteen, Chief.”

He glanced at the dash. It was past noon. Frasco Dosela had better be home on house arrest.

Gabe was already hitting the gas.

“Anything going on?” he asked, checking on the day’s activities.

“One thing. Officer Chee isn’t in yet.”

His patrolman had been on the force for less than a year, was green as grass, inexperienced, lacked confidence but he was punctual.

Gabe lifted the radio. “You call him?”

“Yes, Chief. Home and mobile. No answer.”

“Send a unit.”

“Ten-four.”

“Anything else?” Gabe asked.

“Pretty quiet.”

“All right. Keep me posted on Chee. Out.”

Wouldn’t be the first time someone missed a shift. Still, it wasn’t like him, and Gabe had that uncomfortable sensation that often preceded bad news. It sort of felt like there was a cold spot in his gut. He had that numbness now, though whether over his officer’s absence or Selena’s little mystery passenger he was not sure.

Gabe knew Selena’s route as well as he knew his own. The delivery of fresh baked goods took her around the entire 113-mile loop through the reservation and usually before ten in the morning.

She should have been done and home by now.

“Where you going, Selena?”

Chapter Three

“Who are we meeting?” Selena asked her father as she hunched over the wheel of her box truck, her eyes flashing to the side mirrors as she periodically searched for Gabe.

“Escalanti’s men. They’re at the meth lab with a small delivery. Dryer, too.”

Matthew Dryer was the man from the Department of Corrections who was supposed to have put a tamper-proof anklet on her father. Instead, Dryer had given him the easy-on, easy-off model. Not standard issue.

Her father continued with the plan as Selena kept one hand on the wheel and the other clenched in her hair. How could this be happening?

“Eventually they need a regular run. Bring a few barrels of chemicals to the meth lab each week for production. Then transport the finished product from the lab down to Phoenix.”

“We can’t transport off the rez.”

The moment they rolled one tire off the reservation, they both lost their protected status as members of the Black Mountain Apache Tribe. Any crime they committed could be tried in state or federal court instead of in their own tribal judicial courts.

“Escalanti doesn’t give a damn about our protected status. Only his.”

Escalanti, the new leader of the Wolf Posse, had a reputation for never leaving the reservation. In fact, he rarely left the shabby house they called headquarters.

“So that guy from the Department of Corrections is Raggar’s man?”

Her father hesitated. “Yup.”

Her dad was an excellent liar, but he had that little tell, the hesitation before answering. Selena released her hair and put both hands on the wheel. So, who was Dryer really?

“Don’t you think, with Gabe Cosen sniffing around, we should try this another time?”

“It’s all arranged. And it’s a big reservation. Besides, he won’t follow off the reservation.”

“He might. Or he might be waiting for us when we come back.”

“You can drop me. You’ll be alone. Stop worrying. You’re like an old woman.”

This just got better and better. She knew that her father had been approached in prison by the leader of the Raggar crime family, who was managing the business nicely from federal prison. Better access to criminals, she supposed.

“And what happens if we turn around, find Gabe and tell him everything?”

“Gabe arrests me and probably you. Escalanti tells his people down across the border that we can’t deliver the product and they send killers to our home. Plus Raggar won’t get the delivery and he’ll be after us, too.”

Selena had had this pressed-to-the-wall feeling since her father returned home this morning. It felt as if someone was kneeling on her chest.

“Where are we going, exactly?”

Her father directed her to Sammy Leekela’s junkyard off Route 60, just shy of the border of their sovereign land.

Sammy Leekela had a part for everything stockpiled on his four-acre lot that was ringed by rusting fencing to keep out the scavengers of the animal and human variety.

“Here? They’re cooking meth here?” she asked.

“Perfect place. Off the beaten path but close to Route 60. Lots of land. Fenced. Nothing to kill with the fumes.”

“I thought it was a mobile meth lab,” she said.

She paused at the rusty gate. Usually, if she needed a part, she went to the office. But today the gate receded the instant she pulled into the drive. Because they were expected.

She shivered with dread. Right now her father had broken parole and she had helped him. But if she continued, she’d be a drug trafficker, just like her father.

If she didn’t, they’d kill her family.

“Let’s go,” he said.

She touched the gas and they lurched forward. Her father shot her an impatient look as they rolled in. Sammy gave them a friendly wave and closed the gate, then retreated to his office. Her father directed her to a series of abandoned tractor trailer beds. Some were rusty and dented. But now she noticed one that had an unusual addition—a stovepipe. The trailer in question sat tucked between several others, further hiding it from detection. The only other clue was the number of footprints and tire tracks in the snow. That trailer was getting a lot of foot traffic.

She couldn’t believe it.

“I bought our used flatbed here. I still owe Sammy almost nine thousand dollars,” said Selena, her indignation rising.

“You want me to ask for a discount?” asked her father.

“No. I do not. I want to go home.”

“And we will, right after we drive to Phoenix and back.”

“That’s six hours, you know?”

Frasco shrugged. “I brought sandwiches.”

As her father had warned, Department of Corrections officer Matt Dryer was there to meet them. He was the only one they saw. He left the center trailer carrying a blue plastic tub in two hands.

“That’s it?” asked Selena. “You don’t need a truck for that.”

“First run. Only a few hundred thousand.”

“Dollars?” she squeaked looking at the innocuous plastic storage tub.

Selena wondered how many years in prison that would translate to. Her father had enlisted Selena to make the runs because it was too dangerous for him to be out of the house so much and because she refused to involve Mia in this.

“You know there’s no end to it,” Selena said. “Once we start, they won’t let us quit.”

“Hush up now,” said her father and climbed out to greet the crooked DOC officer. He wasn’t even supposed to be on the reservation without an escort. No federal official was. Gabe had taught her that.

“You all set?” asked Dryer.

Frasco grabbed one side of the tub and the two disappeared from sight. Selena heard the truck doors open, close and lock. The drugs were now in her truck. She thought she might throw up.

Her father climbed in and moved to the center seat to make room for her new copilot. How much was Dryer getting to mix them up in this?

She thought of her siblings and put the truck in gear. They pulled out and had not gone a quarter mile when some idiot roared out of a blind drive right in front of them.

Selena’s heart rate doubled as she hit the brakes and narrowly missed broadsiding the other vehicle. The original color of the pickup before her was impossible to determine, as it had been rebuilt entirely of salvage, making it look like the Frankenstein of trucks.

Her initial blast of adrenaline receded, to be replaced by a prickling warning as her brain reengaged, signaling her that this was not coincidence. That truck had cut her off on purpose.

Their passenger must have reached the same conclusion because he shouted.

“Reverse it,” yelled Dryer and pulled a pistol from beneath his coat.

She reached for the gearshift as she gaped at this new threat and saw that the driver of the pickup was wearing a mask so that he looked like a man with a dark goatee, glasses and a black rubber hat.

The masked man was out of his truck. He pressed the rifle stock to his shoulder and aimed the business end at Dryer.

Selena had the truck in Reverse and moved her foot to the gas, but a second truck blocked her escape, pulling up fast and skidding to a halt at an angle behind her.

“Out!” yelled the masked gunman now advancing past his pickup to her right front fender and pointing his rifle at Dryer as he advanced.

Dryer threw open the door and used it as a brace to take aim with a pistol. Their attacker and Dryer both fired their weapons. Her passenger’s side window exploded and Dryer dropped to the ground in a shower of shattered glass. Selena glanced to the side mirrors and saw a second gunman approaching from the rear along her side of the truck as the masked gunman continued forward at a trot toward the place where Dryer had disappeared.

Her father lifted his hands in surrender.

“Out!” ordered the masked gunman, who now stood beside the open passenger door. Selena stared at the face that was not masked. She didn’t know which was more frightening, his rifle, aimed at her or the fact that he did not try to hide his identity. She had seen him before but did not know him.

A glance across the wide seat showed that Dryer was nowhere in sight.

Frasco slid across the seat and dropped to the ground as the masked attacker retreated a step. Selena heard the crunch of glass as she followed her father, sliding away from the unmasked attacker, across the warm vinyl and out into the cold air.

Dryer lay in a heap amid the shards of glass, looking as if he was just sleeping. Where was the blood?

“Move away from the truck,” the masked man said.

Something about his voice sounded familiar. She looked at his hands as they gripped the rifle, brown finger ready on the trigger. His skin was the same color as hers. Then she looked past the mask to the only thing she could see. His dark brown eyes. Also familiar. She glanced back to the yard of Leekela’s place. Sammy had a younger brother who had a build just like this and he was rumored to be an addict. Jason Leekela, she thought.

He came forward, rifle barrel swinging from her to her father. Her dad dropped and reached for Dryer’s pistol.

“No!” she shouted, drawing the man’s attention for just a second.

Then he swung the rifle around and struck her father with the wooden stock. Her father dropped on top of Dryer. Dryer’s pistol skittered on the icy pavement to within inches of her boot.

She did not make a move to touch it.

“Smart girl. Always were smart, Selena,” said the masked gunman.

Did he know her, too?

The second gunman had vanished. Was he waiting at the rear of the truck?

The masked gunman pointed the rifle barrel at the pistol at her feet.

“Kick that over here.”

She did and he retrieved it, tucking the weapon in the pocket of his ragged army-green jacket. She was sure now. She’d seen him in that jacket in town, looking gaunt, and his eyes had been bloodshot then, too. His brother’s dark double, the family’s cross to bear. She’d even felt sorry for him, but that was before he pointed a gun at her.

“Now, open the truck.” He motioned her to walk before him. Would he shoot her?

The fifty-foot walk was the longest of her life.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked.

“Do you?” he replied.

“Jason, what is Sammy going to say when he finds out his own brother is robbing his shipment?”

She heard him halt and turned to glance back at him. The rifle barrel dipped.

“How did you...? Never mind. He won’t find out.” His shoulders heaved as he released a whine. “Damn it, Selena. I didn’t want to have to kill you.”

Chapter Four

Selena’s skin went cold. Not from the snow that pelted her in tiny stinging droplets, but from deep inside as she realized that Jason was just sick and wounded and crazy enough to kill her.

“Why don’t we go see your brother?”

“No!” he shouted. “He’s never going to know about this. He can’t. Now get going.”

They reached the loading doors where the second gunman waited. She remembered seeing him at Sammy’s junkyard but could not recall his name. So Sammy’s brother and employee had decided to steal from him, but off grounds. Did they really think Sammy would not figure this out?

“Hurry up,” said the junkyard man, adding a second rifle to Jason’s, and this one was aimed at her face.

“Open the truck,” ordered Jason.

Her mind grasped and rejected several ideas as she stepped up onto the fender, but instead of an escape plan it provided the name of the second gunman. Oscar Hill. Selena lifted the latch that released the lock. Maybe they would just take the tub and leave her. She opened one door. Maybe they would kill her the minute they had the shipment.

Jason peered inside. “Where is it?”

That’s when Selena saw it, a white SUV, no lights, closing fast.

Gabe.

* * *

GABE CRESTED THE rise and spotted a battered pickup parked close to the rear of Selena’s box truck. The side door of her truck was open and something lay on the ground on the passenger side. A second pickup had the box truck pinned from the front. Selena was in the process of opening one of the two hind doors as he closed the distance. Between her and the pickup, stood two armed men.

In emergencies Gabe sank into a kind of animal brain, acting and flowing with the situation. But not this time. This time his heart thumped and his skin tingled with a feeling close to panic, because the men pointed their weapons at Selena.

One wore some kind of full head mask and both held rifles at the ready.

Selena glanced at him, said something to the gunmen and stepped into the truck’s compartment and out of sight.

Good move, Selena, he thought, hoping she would think to lie flat because that truck door would afford little protection from bullets.

As the distance diminished he saw that the pile of something beside the open door was most definitely a body, possibly two. He radioed for backup, shouting the code for a shooting and the location. Then he hit the brakes and turned the wheel so his SUV formed a barrier between him and the riflemen.

“Police. Drop your weapons,” he shouted.

The gunmen spun and raised their weapons at the same time the truck door swung open, sending the masked man staggering forward. Selena, evening the odds, he realized.

Gabe fired at the other man, taking him down. Selena now stood on the gate with a tire iron in her hand. He couldn’t shoot the second gunman without possibly hitting her. The second shooter recovered his footing and his grip on his rifle. Selena swung the iron down, hitting the barrel of his rifle so that it dropped. The shooter grabbed Selena by her long, loose hair, dragging her down. The tire iron clattered to the pavement as Selena fell against her captor.

“Let her go,” ordered Gabe.

“He has a pistol,” shouted Selena.

Her masked gunman gave her a shake and she gripped the hand that threaded into her hair with both of hers.

“Drop your gun or I kill her,” said her captor.

“Jason Leekela, you let me go before your brother finds out about this!”

Gabe knew Jason. He had arrested him more than once for possession.

“Let her go, Jason.”

But he didn’t. Instead he reached in his pocket and drew the pistol she had warned him about. Selena kicked at him. Jason staggered and Selena fell hard to her knees giving Gabe a clear shot. Jason lifted the pistol toward Gabe. Gabe fired.

Jason Leekela fell.

He landed facedown. Selena scuttled backward like a crab as Gabe came forward at a run. Selena sat on the icy road, knees drawn up to her chest.

Thank God she was safe, because he was going to kill her.

She was on her feet an instant later, throwing herself into his arms, burying her face in his coat. The familiar pull of attraction flared as her scent rose up in the icy air, like springtime in January. Still lavender, he realized. The scent was so familiar and still intoxicating, making him ache down low and deep. He drew her in, allowing himself one more full breath and the pleasure of having her arms around him again. In one hand he held Selena. In the other he held his gun.

He tried to pull her away, but she clung.

“Selena. You have to let go.”

She did. Stepping back, her cheeks wet with tears. “I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t going to do it. He had a sinking feeling that she’d crossed a line from which he couldn’t rescue her. He swallowed the lump that rose as he looked down at her forlorn, beautiful face. Why couldn’t he get over her? Why?

“Who is up front?” he asked.

“My dad and Matt Dryer. He shot Dryer and hit Dad really hard with his gun stock.”

“Dryer? The guy from DOC?”

Selena nodded. He ordered her to stand back by his vehicle, knowing he should cuff her, search her for weapons. But Gabe just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he retrieved the rifles and locked them in the rear of his unit. Then he returned to the gunman.

His pulse check told him he’d just killed two men. He glanced back at Selena who watched with wide eyes as she twisted one hand with the other.

“Dead,” he reported and then went to check on Dryer and Dosela.

Frasco had struggled to a sitting position. He had a gash across the top of his head, sending a steady stream of blood down his forehead. He blinked up at Gabe and wiped his eyes. Dryer lay facedown in broken glass.

He pointed at Frasco. “You armed?”

“No, sir,” said Frasco.

“Step back.”

Frasco struggled to his feet, using the door to steady himself.

“On the ground,” Gabe ordered Frasco. “Facedown. Don’t move until I tell you.”

Frasco stretched out, using his arms to keep his head off the pavement. Gabe hated to do this to her father, but it was that or frisk and cuff him.

“How’d you find us?” asked Frasco.

“You were spotted on Route 60. Then I saw the tracks on the turn.”

If not for the fresh snow, he might have missed them and Selena might be dead. That thought made him cold all over. Gabe moved to check Dryer.

“What happened to him?” asked Gabe, motioning to the DOC officer.

“They shot him in the chest is what.”

Gabe did a visual and saw no wound. Then he opened Dryer’s jacket and tore open his shirt, sending buttons flying in all directions. What he found next surprised him. Dryer had been wearing body armor and the shot that should have killed him had been stopped by the vest.

Dryer groaned and his eyes fluttered open. Gabe had never caught a bullet in his vest, but understood it hurt like hell. Dryer winced. Gabe couldn’t tell if he was fully conscious.

Gabe got right to the point. “Mr. Dryer. Frasco Dosela. You are both under arrest.”

“That’s what you think,” mumbled Frasco. Then it almost sounded as if he laughed.

Gabe could not believe he was arresting Frasco Dosela again and on the day of his early release. He knew that his next arrest would likely be Selena and his heart squeezed in pain. This was the second time she had put him in this kind of position.

Chapter Five

His second in command, Detective Randall Juris, was the first on the scene followed closely by Gabe’s youngest brother, Kino. Both ran without lights or sirens.

Juris pulled to a stop and exited his unit with gun drawn.

“Clear,” said Gabe, and Juris holstered his weapon.

The detective paused at the rear of the truck and massaged his neck with one hand as he regarded the two dead bodies. Then he glanced to Gabe. Juris was in his midforties and had worked as an extra in several Western movies. His rugged good looks and classic Indian features had softened with age and the expansion of his middle, so he now seemed a little too top-heavy to ride a horse. As a detective, he no longer wore the gray shirt and charcoal trousers of a patrolman. Today he was in jeans, boots and a fleece-lined denim jacket.

“Where you want me?” he asked.

“Take him.” He motioned toward Frasco Dosela.

Juris ordered the bleeding, older Dosela up and he made it to the front fender of the box truck unassisted. Juris searched him, cuffed Dosela’s hands before him and led him to the detective’s unit. Juris retrieved a towel from his trunk and offered it to Dosela with a warning.

“Don’t bleed on my upholstery,” he cautioned, as he put him in the backseat.

Dosela pressed the towel to his bleeding head with both hands.

Kino left his unit and stopped beside Selena. Kino was nine years Gabe’s junior, newly married to a Salt River woman and was a two-year veteran of the force, so he still wore the patrolman’s uniform, including the charcoal-gray jacket that had the tribal seal on one shoulder and the police patch on the other. Unlike Gabe, Kino wore his hair long and tied back with red cloth as an homage to their ancestry. But they shared above-average size, athletic frames and a calling to serve their people through law enforcement. Kino’s ready smile was absent today as he looked to his chief for direction.

“Keep an eye on this one,” Gabe motioned to Dryer. “Tell me if he stops breathing or comes around. And radio in an all clear.”

“Ambulance?” asked Kino.

“Take too long. We’ll transport.”

Kino took over the watch beside Dryer.

Gabe took hold of Selena’s elbow and led her to the front of her truck. Before he could question Selena, Juris reported that he had found two quart-size plastic baggies that appeared to contain crystal methamphetamine.

Gabe’s heart sank still further at this news. Drugs. Selena was transporting drugs in her box truck. And she was driving. He glanced to Selena and met her gaze. She dropped her chin. He’d never seen anyone look more guilty in his life.

He spoke to Juris but never took his eyes off Selena. “Thank you. Give us a minute, please.”

Juris retreated.

“Selena?”

She reached for him and he stepped back, widening the space between them. She wasn’t going to grab his weapon or pull some other stunt. He needed to start treating her as any other suspect. But he couldn’t. Not Selena.

He felt sick to his stomach.

Her eyes flashed back and forth, reminding him of a cornered animal. He noted the speed of her breathing and lifted a brow in worry.

Finally she spoke, the words bursting forth in a harsh whisper. “You have to send Kino to my house. Someone.” She glanced about again. “Someone you can trust. Please, Gabe.”

Gabe could almost feel Selena’s panic. Her entire body trembled as she spoke.

“Please. Send someone to protect my family. Right now.”

“Protect them from what?”

She lifted her hands, gesturing wildly. “I don’t know. More gunmen. My dad said that if we didn’t do this, they’d hurt us. Gabe, please, if they find out you stopped us, they might...might...” She pressed her hand to her mouth as her eyes went wide with horror. She dragged her hand clear. “Tomas is in school. They might go there. Oh, Gabe. Help them.”

“Slow down, now.” He tried and failed to resist the urge to place a hand on her shoulder. She trembled beneath his touch, seemingly frightened to death. “Who threatened you?”

“I don’t know!” She clamped a hand over her mouth again, then let it slip. “Someone. My dad knows. Some Mexican gang. And Escalanti. He mentioned someone... Escalanti is his name. They need Apache transportation on the rez and we have to bring barrels. Some kind of barrels.”

Gabe’s mind flashed to his uncle’s request that he search for blue fifty-gallon drums.

“What kind of barrels?”

Selena threw up her hands. “What difference does it make? They might be headed there right now.”

“Selena, if you were threatened, why didn’t you call me?”

She slapped a hand over her eyes. “Because I didn’t want them to kill you, too.” She dropped her hand and gave him a beseeching look. “Please, Gabe. Send someone!”

He lifted the radio he kept on his hip. Selena batted at his hand and he retreated another step.

“Not the radio! They listen. Mr. Dryer said so to my father.”

Gabe lowered the handset. “I already used it to call for backup and signal the all clear.”

“Did you mention our names or Mr. Dryer’s?” asked Selena.

“No.”

“Please don’t.”

He clipped the radio back to his belt. Then he called Juris. The detective appeared almost immediately. “Call Officer Cienega and tell him to go out to Selena’s place in our unmarked unit. Don’t park where he can be seen but keep an eye on her family. Then send the closest unit to the high school. No radio contact. Tell them to use cell phones only. Finally get two units at each end of this road. No traffic in.”

“I’m on it.” Juris reversed course.

Selena’s shoulders sagged. “Thank you.”

He tried to ignore her watering eyes as he led her back to his vehicle.

“You carrying a weapon, Selena?”

She gave him a horrified look. “No.”

“I have to check.” He took no pleasure in patting her down. He had spent more nights than he cared to remember trying to figure how to get his hands on Selena. This had never been one of the possibilities. She was clean, as she had said.

He opened the door and she slipped in. He knew he should read Selena her rights, but he just could not summon the will.

“I’m under arrest. Aren’t I?”

He gave her a grim look. “Not yet. Wait here.”

He closed the door, knowing she now had no choice but to stay put. She was locked in behind the cage that separated his front and backseats, and the doors did not open from the inside.

Through the windshield, Selena cast Gabe a long look that seemed like regret.

Kino called to him.

“He’s waking up.”

Gabe headed over to the prison official.

Dryer now sat up, shivering in the thin nylon DOC windbreaker. Black Mountain had four seasons, something the rest of the Arizona residents couldn’t seem to remember. The wind made his pale skin blotchy and pink as a strawberry. His light blond hair had been clipped in a stylish cut, but strands of feathery hair now fell over his forehead. The man was muscular and fit, too fit for a guy who pushed paper for a living. But that wasn’t his only job, Gabe thought. He also arranged transportation from manufacturing to distribution. A bit of a drug-family middleman, Gabe thought.

“You frisk him?” he asked Kino.

“No. Not yet. He’s just coming around.”

Dryer still seemed dazed, judging from his out-of-focus stare. Blue eyes, Gabe realized. He looked like a weatherman or TV personality and stood out here like an albino puppy.

Gabe snapped the cuffs on him. Then he and Kino assisted Dryer to his feet. The man swayed.

Gabe patted him down, beginning with his shoulders. He quickly found an empty shoulder holster and a hip holster that was not empty. He relieved Dryer of his phone and an automatic pistol with a sixteen-round clip, tucking the weapon in the back of his waistband. Gabe suspected that the gun Jason Leekela had brandished belonged to this man.

“Any more weapons?” he asked Dryer.

Dryer groaned.

Gabe’s search reached his hips.

“You got anything sharp in your pockets?”

“No.”

“Where’s your ID?” asked Kino.

Dryer snorted in a humorless laugh.

“I don’t carry ID when I’m working undercover,” said Dryer.

Gabe’s eyes narrowed. Any federal operations on his reservation had to be cleared with his office. Kino looked to Gabe for direction, their gaze meeting for an instant before Gabe turned back to Dryer.

“Who are you?” Gabe asked.

“I’m with DOJ.”

Department of Justice. But of course he had nothing to back up his claim.

“Boy, you better not be,” said Gabe.

“Well, I am.”

Gabe stared at Dryer, who now stood with his hands cuffed behind his back. His jacket and shirt dangled open, revealing his body armor and the empty holsters.

“You hear me?” said Dryer. “I’m a special agent.”

Juris joined them, standing beside Kino to watch the unfolding developments.

“You believe him?” asked Juris.

“Easy to check.”

“Does Dosela know?” Juris asked Dryer.

“I sure hope so. I recruited him.”

“What about Selena?” asked Gabe.

Dryer gave him an odd look. “She doesn’t know I’m DOJ. Too much risk.”

“For you or her?” asked Gabe.

Dryer shrugged. “Less who know the better.” He gave the three tribal officers a gloomy look.

“You going to tell her? Or should I?” asked Gabe.

“Doesn’t matter. I got to tell her something.” Dryer looked toward Selena and then he directed his attention to Gabe. “She’s in because her dad told her that they’ll kill their family if she didn’t drive.”

“Another lie?” asked Gabe.

“That one is true. These guys are animals.”

Gabe resisted the urge to shove Dryer up against the car for dragging Selena into this.

Instead of falling in with criminals, Selena seemed to have done something more dangerous. She had fallen in with their hunters.

He glanced back at the vehicle where she waited and met her gaze. The urge to go to her was so strong he had to brace against it.

Gabe lifted the radio from his hip.

“No. No. You can’t use the radio or I’m made. Nobody can know about this.” Dryer scanned the scene. “Tell your guys to block traffic. A miracle no one has been by yet.”

Not really, thought Gabe. He already had a man stopping traffic at both ends of this circular drive from Route 60. This little side road led only to the junkyard and then back to the highway. Nobody was coming down this road unless it was from the junkyard some half mile beyond his unit. The miracle was that Gabe had seen the box truck’s tracks at the first turnoff from the highway.

“Hey, did you call an ambulance?”

“It’s in Black Mountain. Take another thirty or forty minutes,” said Juris. “We can transport you and Frasco to the medical center. Be quicker.”

“What did you call in over the radio?”

“Ten seventy-one,” said Gabe.

“Shooting,” said Dryer. “That’s okay. We have to make something up. But we have to get the truck out of here. Sammy Leekela cannot see this robbery attempt and we still got to make the delivery,” said Dryer and swore. “Two years’ work.”

Gabe wasn’t moved. Now he was pissed. “Next time, maybe tell us you’re operating on our land.”

“Yeah, right.” Dryer lifted his joined wrists. “Cuffs.”

“Stay on until I have confirmation.” He wanted to punch him for involving Selena in this. “Who is your supervisor?”

Dryer provided the name and number. Gabe saw Dryer seated in the rear of his brother’s unit but left the door open. Then he gave Kino the information Dryer had provided.

“Use your phone to call Yepa,” he said, referring to his personal assistant. “Don’t use the radio. Ask her to call DOJ and then ask for George Hayes.” That was the name of the supervisor Dryer had given them. “Tell her not to mention the call to anyone. If Hayes exists, see if he’s got an agent named Dryer on our land and tell him to call me directly or his boy is going into a jail cell.”

Kino stepped away to make the call. In his absence, Juris and Dryer practiced staring unblinkingly at each other and Gabe tried unsuccessfully to keep from glancing at Selena.

His brother returned with an expression that told him all he needed to know. “Yepa spoke to Hayes, said he was rude, furious and demanded his agent’s immediate release.”

Juris’s mouth twitched. “I guess that’s a yes.”

“Did you tell her about the shooting?”

“No, Chief.”

Gabe’s phone buzzed and he fielded an angry call from Dryer’s supervisor. Gabe told Hayes his agent was under arrest, refused to let him go, hung up on Hayes and then ignored his second call.

“Turn him loose,” Gabe said to Juris who removed the cuffs from Dryer’s wrists.

“You going to let me go?” asked Dryer.

Gabe shook his head.

Dryer snorted in annoyance. “We need to get out of here now.”

“Why’s that?” asked Juris.

“We have to make a delivery. All of us. If we aren’t all three in Phoenix in about three hours this operation is blown.”

Juris motioned to the bodies lying in the road. “Don’t you think this might be an issue?”

“I can have a team clean this up,” said Dryer.

Gabe shook his head. “No.”

“We can save this operation. But we have to move now.”

“Is that the operation that I know nothing about that endangers two members of my tribe?” asked Gabe.

Juris and Gabe exchanged a look and Juris gave a halfhearted shrug, leaving the decision about what to do up to his chief.

“We’re bringing Frasco in. And you’re coming, too,” Gabe said to Dryer.

“No. You are going to let him and the girl go with me. I gotta make a call,” he added.

“Who?”

“My contact who works with the distributor.”

“Name,” said Gabe.

He provided it, but it meant nothing to Gabe.

Dryer explained the basics. DOJ had the location of the meth lab on Black Mountain and Dryer would tell them where it was, but only if Gabe let him go. Gabe needed to know where the drugs were being received to figure out their distribution operation. Specifically where they were keeping the ingredients for production.

Gabe thought he could find the tractor trailer bed now functioning as a meth lab unassisted and from there he might locate the blue barrels. But it would be faster with the help of DOJ.

“Listen,” Dryer continued. “I have the lab and I have the American supplier, Cesaro Raggar. But we want to shut down distribution and production. So far all Raggar’s orders come through Nota. But we don’t know who is delivering messages from the Mexicans to Escalanti. Nota is Escalanti’s man. But I need time to connect Escalanti to the operation and find the Mexican’s go-between.”

“Manny Escalanti?” asked Juris, naming the head of the Wolf Posse.

Dryer nodded.

Selena had mentioned Escalanti a few minutes ago. She was terrified of him and with good reason. Manny Escalanti had become the leader of the Wolf Posse after the murder of his predecessor, Rubin Fox. Nota was a known gang member. Gabe knew the posse sold the weed they got from Mexico. He did not know that the gang took orders from a Mexican cartel or that they were producing methamphetamine.

Gabe returned Dryer’s phone and listened while Dryer placed a call.

“Listen, we’re going to be late.” A pause. “Icy roads is all. Have to put chains on the tires.” Another pause. “Chains. That’s what they use.” Dryer listened. “No, there’s snow. Fourteen thousand feet, remember? It’s a frozen wasteland up here.” A pause and then. “Sure. I’ll be careful.” Dryer disconnected and tucked away his phone.

Juris gave his captain a look. “You going to let the Doselas do this? They leave the rez and we can’t protect them.”

Gabe didn’t like that one little bit.

“Clearly someone knows your route,” Gabe jerked his thumb to the back of the truck where the two bodies had been placed.

“You ID them?” asked Dryer.

Gabe provided the name of the known gunman.

Dryer nodded. “Oh, yeah. That figures. That’s the junkie brother of the guy who runs the yard. Sammy must have tipped him off somehow.”

“That where the lab is, on Leekela’s place?” asked Juris.

“Yes. In a tractor trailer. Leekela is paid to look the other way. His brother must have found the lab and decided to make a few bucks.”

“What exactly is your operation and how does it involve the Doselas?”

“It’s the first delivery. If we make it, then they plan to put Frasco’s family in charge of transportation, bringing the chemicals to the lab and the product from the lab. We’ll have the precursor’s location. But we pull a no-show in Phoenix, then these rats will scurry back into their holes. One of those holes is likely on your reservation, Chief. And it’s full of fifty-gallon barrels of precursor. Enough to supply Raggar’s customers with meth for years. This is big, Chief. I’m ordering you to release the box truck and the Doselas to me immediately.”

Dryer’s order seemed the last straw for Detective Juris. He wheeled on Dryer, aiming a finger at him like a gun as he spoke to his chief.

“He doesn’t call the shots here.”

Gabe lifted a hand in conciliation. “Let’s take it easy.”

But Juris was past that. “He can’t set up a sting operation on our reservation without letting us know.”

“See, now that’s the trouble,” said Dryer. “Every time we let you know anything, they move the operation.”

“That was before we got Tessay,” said Gabe.

“You got that first lab up on Nosie’s land thanks to your brother Clay. But not the second mobile meth lab on the Leekela place,” said Dryer.

That was true.

“The precursor? Any leads?” asked Dryer.

“I found you,” said Gabe.

Dryer huffed. “An undercover federal agent. Not stellar. You can detain me, but I have immunity.”

“Don’t you always,” said Juris, regaining his control and his stoic expression.

Dryer shrugged. “Bottom line, you haven’t found that second mobile meth lab or the precursor.”

“It’s twelve thousand acres,” said Juris.

Dryer ignored Juris and directed his attention to Gabe. Gabe knew what Dryer implied—someone was informing the cartel of their movements. Someone on the inside.

Chapter Six

The cold spot in Gabe’s stomach was gone, replaced by a solid pain that shot across his middle. It felt like that bucking strap they used in the rodeo to make the horses kick.

“You think my department has a leak.”

“Leak? You have a damned river. Tessay isn’t the only one here on Raggar’s payroll.”

“Who?”

Dryer rubbed his neck. “Escalanti is the only one we’re sure of.” He waved a hand at the highway. “Roadblock?”

Gabe turned to Kino. “Put the cuffs back on him.”

Kino moved to comply, looking much more content.

Dryer held up his hands, talking fast, trying to get it out before someone drove past and saw Selena’s truck. “All right. I’ll tell you. But only you. If you’re the ones, we’re screwed anyway.”

“What ones?”

“There’s a reason we haven’t sought permission this time.” Dryer rubbed his neck. “We don’t know who it is. What we do know is that when there is a joint operation, they know. Nota bragged about it.”

Gabe felt sick. When he had arrested Arnold Tessay, he thought he had found the one traitor here. Had that been naive?

“It’s back to business, here on Black Mountain,” said Dryer. “But with only one meth lab they aren’t meeting supply demands. They need to expand. But since Tessay’s arrest, they have moved the precursor stores twice. Just in case Tessay rolls, they’re moving it again. I don’t know when or where. But not here. You’re too much of a pain in their asses, Chief. I hear that you’ve even been close a few times. They’ve been debating if they should move operations or just kill you.”

Gabe glanced at Kino and saw him go white.

“Lucky you,” said Dryer. “They’re moving. Nota says it will be to Salt River Reservation.”

“I have to notify my tribal council of your presence here and alert the authorities on Salt River,” said Gabe.

“And he has to go. I’ll be glad to show him off our sovereign lands personally,” said Juris pointing at Dryer.

Dryer threw up his hands. “You need help. Admit it.”

“Not your kind of help,” said Juris.

“You telling me the federal authorities don’t have rights to investigate federal crimes on federal land?”

“They do,” said Gabe. “With our knowledge. The FBI uses the channels we established. DOJ needs to do the same.”

Dryer made a face. “You think I’m alone up here? I’m not. This is a joint operation.”

In spite of the doubts he felt, Gabe kept his poker face.

“You get a call about those barrels?” asked Dryer.

He had. From his uncle Luke. Gabe felt sick. Had Luke been playing him? Was it true that an Indian who worked for the Feds wasn’t Indian anymore?

Gabe had aspirations to become a field agent. But not if it meant betraying his people.

“The FBI is aware of our investigation.”

And yet his uncle had not notified him. Was that because Gabe was also a suspect? Frasco was back trafficking and Gabe had once been engaged to Frasco’s daughter. Guilt by association. Gabe wondered.

“Before you get all pissy, your uncle doesn’t know about me. It’s above his pay grade.”

Because his uncle was Black Mountain Apache and so could not totally be trusted? Gabe narrowed his eyes. The fury sparked, burning his carefully cultivated control.

“He should have been informed,” said Gabe.

Kino’s brows lifted, recognizing the potential for danger in Gabe’s quiet tone.

“He’s Apache. You are thick as thieves up here. Everyone is somebody’s cousin. His department thought it best to keep him out of the loop. Not my call. We’ve been coordinating with his supervisor and his partner.”

“Cassidy Walker?”

“Right.”

Cassidy Walker, the one his uncle said had ambitions to transfer to DC. Gabe smelled a rat all right, but not in the Apache hierarchy.

“She’s running this. Senior man, even though she’s a woman.”

“So you suspected my uncle?” he said.

“Seemed logical.”

“Because he’s Indian.”

“Black Mountain Apache. Brother to a known drug trafficker.”

Dryer was referring now to Gabe’s father. He had been a convicted felon when he had been murdered by a trafficker who went by the name The Viper.

“My uncle went through FBI screening. He’s clean.”

“He’s related to people involved with this case, just like your big brother, the tribal councilor.”

“Clyne? You suspect Clyne? He’s incorruptible.”

“Everyone’s corruptible, Chief. Your dad. Your tribal council...your big brother...you. Hey,” he said his voice full of forced enthusiasm. “You back to seeing Frasco’s daughter?”

Gabe was stunned speechless. How would Dryer know that he’d once seen Selena?

“I hear you two spent some quality time together. But be careful. You know the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Gabe spun him with one hand and hit Dryer squarely across the jaw. The DOJ field agent dropped like a stone. It took both Kino and Detective Juris to drag Gabe back. It was only after the red haze had cleared that he realized he had just struck a federal officer.

Gabe watched Dryer shake off the blow as Gabe tried to decide if he should arrest him, cooperate with his investigation or hit him again.

Dryer struggled to his feet. Neither Juris nor Kino lifted a hand to help him.

“I wish I’d done that,” said Juris.

Dryer rubbed his jaw. “That was worse than getting shot,” he said.

Gabe glanced at Selena, feeling embarrassed now for his outburst. How much could she hear back there through the raised windows?

She met his gaze and tried to exit the unit but found the doors locked from the outside. She was trapped. Gabe lifted a hand and she flopped back in the seat, clearly impatient with her captivity. But if what Dryer said was true, arresting her was at least a way to keep her safe.

Gabe turned to Dryer. “Do you want to press charges?”

Dryer cocked his head. “Against you?” He snorted. “No.”

It was hard, but Gabe thanked him and Dryer offered his hand. The handshake was brief and halfhearted.

“Okay,” said Dryer, as if getting back to business. “No comments about Selena. Got it. But that box truck. It can’t be mentioned in your reports or on the radio. I know Escalanti listens to the police scanner. So, no mention of the truck, the Doselas or me.”

Gabe’s gaze flicked to the DOJ agent, wishing he could put him in a gag as well as handcuffs. “If there’s no box truck, why did I shoot Jason Leekela and an unknown gunman again?”

“I don’t know...brandishing a weapon. Shooting at you.”

“So you want me to lie.”

“I want you to keep a lid on the undercover operation.”

“In exchange for full disclosure,” said Gabe.

Dryer considered his offer. Then qualified. “To you, only. Not to the council.”

“I could get fired for doing that.”

“And you could catch these guys if you do what I’m telling you.”

Gabe didn’t like being told what to do by outsiders.

“My brother and first officer here already know.”

“That’s all they know from here forward, and you keep them quiet.”

Both his men put their hands on their hips, clearly not liking that plan.

“Deal?” Dryer offered his hand.

Gabe thought of all the deals offered by white men to Indians and grimaced. This one didn’t seem any better.

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