Read the book: «Tribal Law»
“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
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.
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.
The free excerpt has ended.
