Tribal Law

by Jenna Kernan

  Gabe hit the gas, flying over the snowy roads too fast. He leaned forward as if that would make his SUV go faster and he gripped the wheel, praying to reach her in time.

  His headlights reached the white Ford Yukon, revealing two men. One in front of the vehicle. One to the left.

  The first man turned, pointing an automatic weapon in Gabe’s direction. He rammed the Yukon, sending it sliding forward at the gunman. He saw the shooter’s arms go up, the automatic spraying bullets into the dull sky for just an instant before he disappeared under the grille of his SUV. The Yukon continued forward, hitting Selena’s truck and sending it gliding for several feet before it came to rest.

  Gabe was out of his unit and running, gun drawn.

  Another blast of gunfire came from the back of the loading truck.

  From somewhere beyond the truck came the whir of a motor turning over. He identified the sound of a snowmobile engine.

  He reached the front of the Yukon and discovered two bodies. One lay perfectly still and perfectly illuminated in the halogen beams of the Yukon in a bright pool of blood. Gabe dismissed that threat as his gaze flicked to the man who had fallen before his vehicle. The shooter lay on his back, his weapon still gripped in one hand as he struggled to his elbows.

  Gabe aimed his pistol. “Tribal Police. Put down the weapon.”

  The snowmobile accelerated, the engine revving louder. The man’s mouth moved although Gabe couldn’t hear him. But he could see him lift the weapon, swinging it toward Gabe.

  Gabe fired at center mass. Two shots into the shooter’s chest. The gunman went slack, his weapon rattling on the snowy pavement.

  Gabe stepped forward and kicked it away. Behind him came the sweep of more headlights. The state police unit stopped just beyond his SUV. The detectives had arrived and exited in unison on each side of their vehicle.

  “Two down here,” he shouted. But his words were lost in the roar of the snowmobile’s high-pitched motor. He waved them forward. They came one after the other, weapons drawn, covering each other’s advance.

  He turned back to the open box truck. Inside he saw a large lump of something that could be a trash bag or a man. Beyond sat three fifty-gallon blue barrels.

  The precursor, he realized.

  The snowmobile engine revved as the driver accelerated away amid another burst of gunfire. Gabe saw a small figure on the machine, the headlight bouncing wildly as the rider shifted and nearly disappeared from sight on the far side of the snowmobile. He knew then, with certainty, who the rider must be.

  Selena, trying to escape, rode the snowmobile as their ancestors had once ridden their horses to avoid the bullets of the cavalry’s guns. She clung with one leg thrown across the seat and her hands on the steering mechanism. The rest of her body hung off the far side of the machine.

  More gunfire exploded. Gabe couldn’t see the shooter who now stood before the grille of the box truck, firing at Selena who zipped past them, heading toward the woods.

  Gabe moved to the passenger side, correctly guessing at the shooter’s path so he was there when the man stepped clear of the grille to take another shot at Selena.

  The instant he cleared the fender, Gabe shouted, identifying himself, trying to draw fire away from Selena.

  “Tribal Police! Put down your weapon!”

  The man turned, a stunned look on his face and Gabe wondered if the second shooter had not heard his arrival because of the roar of the snowmobile. The man swung the automatic pistol away from the escaping snowmobile and in Gabe’s direction.

  Gabe fired first, two quick shots. Then he hit the ground and rolled under the box truck as the bullets sprayed over his head. He saw the shooter drop to his knees and he aimed again, considering taking out the man’s knee. But the man sprawled forward, falling onto his weapon. Gabe glanced behind him and saw the detective’s steady approach. Gabe rolled out from beneath the truck to check the second shooter and heard the snowmobile motor growing louder.

  Selena had swung back in his direction. What was she doing?

  * * *

  SELENA TURNED THE snowmobile back toward the road. A glance over her shoulder had shown her Gabe Cosen’s SUV.

  He’d found her!

  But there were two more gunmen sneaking up behind him, guns poised before them as they crept from their dark sedan toward Gabe.

  She didn’t think about reaching safety. Instead she thought about Gabe facing two more killers. Did he see them? He was looking toward her instead of the threat.

  Her motor, she realized, the stupid, loud roaring of the machine kept him from hearing them.

  She headed straight for the gunmen. They turned in her direction. One lifted his weapon.

  Gabe threw up his arms and ran toward them. Why wasn’t he aiming the gun at his attacker?

  She saw them clearly now. White men, dressed in blue nylon jackets, zipped open to show neckties and dress shirts. Something about that didn’t make sense.

  Gabe was running toward the man who aimed his pistol at her. And then she saw it, the flash of gold at the man’s waist, a badge, or shield as Gabe called it.

  Selena sharply turned the snowmobile before it hit the two lawmen. It tipped and she threw herself clear of the rolling machine.

  * * *

  A SHOOTING PAIN flashed through Gabe’s chest as he watched Selena rolling over and over before she came to a stop.

  Gabe charged up the snowbank, floundering and swimming with his arms to clear the four-foot mound of snow. All the while he was shouting at the detectives to hold fire.

  He called to her and she did not move.

  The motor continued to whine. The snowmobile, on its side, sputtered and finally died. Then he reached her and rolled her into his arms.

  “Selena?”

  “Gabe?”

  Her voice was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. She lifted her arms and clung to him as tears flowed down her cheeks.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “Me?” He blinked at the moisture at his eyes. “Did he hit you?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  He eased her back, searching for injury, his hands moving down her face and through her hair as his gaze swept over her. And then he saw it, the tiny hole in the shoulder of her coat.

  “Who are they?” she asked, glancing back at the two men who had moved to the back of her truck.

  “State police, detectives. Investigating yesterday’s shooting.” He pushed his finger into the hole in the fabric, feeling down through the brown workman’s coat and coming out the other side. “Take this off.”

  He helped her draw it back and checked her shoulder. The bullet had missed her. Gabe blew away a breath.

  “You were clear. Why did you come back?”

  “I thought they were with the others.”

  He dragged her against him and she clung. “Oh, Selena. You scared me. You can’t do this. It’s too dangerous.”

  She didn’t say anything. But a high-pitched cry emerged from her throat. He drew back and saw her shoulders begin to jump. He remembered what that signaled. Selena was weeping.

  He held her close, stroking her head as she cried into his coat.

  “I’m s-sorry.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He rocked her. “You have to stop this. We have to get you and your family out of here.”

  From behind him came the shout of Detective Spencer. “Clear.”

  Gabe lifted his cheek from the top of Selena’s head. Had he really just failed to clear the scene of gunman?

  Selena wept against his chest. He needed to get her out of here and then he needed to do his job. Four more men killed in a gun battle on his reservation.

  How could he protect her and still break this meth ring? He couldn’t, he real
ized. He would have to choose.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m taking Selena home,” Gabe said to state police detectives Spencer and Murdy. He wasn’t asking their permission.

  Selena had had enough. He knew that much.

  Three hours had elapsed since the shooting at Piñon Lake. And he was now surrounded by his men, representatives from the state police and a team from DOJ. The FBI was en route. Clyne had arrived alone, as requested by DOJ, without the other members of the tribal council. And from the look he cast Gabe, he was mightily pissed that Gabe hadn’t kept him in the loop.

  Selena had been questioned and from that he had learned how she came to be out here in a restricted area with two known gang members.

  It was Dryer who identified her two attackers, rival gang members from Salt River. How they had known Selena’s location and that she would be transporting barrels of precursor remained a mystery that Gabe planned to unravel.

  Dryer lifted a brow. “Thought you’d like to be here when your boys track down the origin of the snowmobile.”

  The snowmobile that had transported the barrels and therefore would likely have left a trail leading to the location of the rest of the precursor. Gabe glanced at the snowmobile, still and silent on its side, the trail of packed snow behind it so clear that it was visible in the starlight from twenty-five yards. Then he looked at Selena. She stood beside Detective Juris, her arms folded across her chest as she stomped her feet to stay warm.

  Gabe looked back at Dryer. “Yeah, well, I’ll be back.”

  Dryer shrugged and Gabe continued toward Selena, who spoke to Clyne and Detective Juris.

  “Come on,” he said to her.

  “Who needs to speak to me now?” Her voice was dull with weariness.

  “I’m driving you home.”

  Selena knit her brows. “My truck?”

  “Part of the crime scene,” said Gabe.

  “We’ll notify you when it is released,” said Juris.

  As Gabe started walking, Selena shuffled along beside him like a sleepwalker. He could almost feel the exhaustion weighing her down.

  “Where?” she said, as if forming a complex sentence was just too much effort.

  “Home,” he answered.

  “Mine or yours?”

  He blinked.

  “Yours,” he said automatically, and then wondered if Selena had just asked him what he thought she had.

  She forced a smile that cut across her full mouth like a knife blade. He’d never seen her look more miserable.

  The photographer from both the state police and his department had already finished with his SUV, which now sported a freshly damaged front bumper. Would he have hit that gunman’s vehicle if he had known that Selena had been hiding under hers?

  The picture of her box truck tire rolling over her body sent a shiver through him.

  Gabe ushering Selena toward his vehicle, opened her door and pulled her safety belt across her waist. She sat like a tired child, allowing him to fasten the clasp. He hesitated then, leaning over her as the sweet scent of lavender mingled in the air close to her exposed neck. He shifted his gaze and found her dark eyes fixed on him. Her lips parted. His stomach dropped.

  He leaned in to kiss her, but before their mouths met, he stopped. Her eyes opened and she gave him a quizzical look. He stood and glanced about to find Detective Murdy regarding them with quiet, hawkish attention.

  Gabe hadn’t done anything wrong. But he felt like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Kissing the only surviving witness at a crime scene was skirting pretty close to the kind of unprofessionalism he usually had no trouble avoiding. But this was Selena. He’d always had trouble avoiding her.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She nodded and he closed her door, feeling guilty for almost kissing her and feeling guilty for not kissing her. As he rounded the creased front fender he tamped down his desires and focused on her. Selena had been through a terrible ordeal. What did she need now? A shoulder to cry on? Food? Sleep? Someone to listen to her? He didn’t know. But whatever she needed, he wanted to be there for her.

  Gabe started the vehicle and reversed course, turning them in the direction that would take her home.

  Selena had been allowed to call her parents, so they knew she was delayed. Had she told them everything or nothing?

  From the time they left Piñon Lake until he pulled onto Wolf Canyon Road, he heard only the hum of the tires.

  “Are you all right, Selena?” he asked.

  “I...I’m so sorry to hear about Officer Chee, and about what happened to Jason and Oscar, and for today.” Her voice rose, cracked. She struggled with the last two words. “Just everything.”

  The lump in his throat rose so fast that he thought he might choke. He’d been so involved in the investigation that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel anything. Until now. He was nothing but feeling around Selena.

  “How did you hear about Dante?”

  “On my route this morning. Folks were talking about it. And then I saw Andre Chee,” she said, referring to Officer Dante Chee’s brother, who worked for HUD and volunteered at the fire house.

  “Where?” asked Gabe.

  “He was at the convenience store in Black Mountain when I made my delivery.”

  Oh, God, was he tearing up? He swiped at his cheek and clamped his jaw against the ache in his chest.

  He pulled into her driveway, threw the SUV into Park and switched off the headlights. On the other side of the front steps was a yellow Mustang GT. Gabe tried to ignore the dead man’s car, but realized he had to talk to Dryer about it. Likely they’d leave it, as its location temporarily corroborated the cover story he’d devised for tonight’s shoot-out. Dryer wanted Gabe to report the shooting as it occurred with one small change—Nota was driving and he was alone.

  The car ticked and then went still. He didn’t want her to leave but did not know how to make her stay.

  Selena sniffed and he turned toward her.

  He could see from the dashboard lights that she was crying. And he just sat there like a chunk of wood, wishing he could take her in his arms. Knowing what would happen if he did.

  She reached out and he clasped her cold hand, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. Her fingers were smooth and elegant, and devoid of the wedding band he had promised her. The lump in his throat moved to his heart.

  This touch was not sexual and yet, somehow, it felt more important. They’d always had the physical attraction. Fierce and alive as an electrical storm. And for a while they’d had the intimacy, too. But that had all changed after her father’s arrest. How he missed it. Being able to tell her everything, anything, and knowing what she was feeling, too.

  Had he lost that because of his job or because of her father?

  Selena spoke again, her voice intimate in the closed compartment. “Andre invited me to the funeral on Saturday.”

  “Will you go?” Gabe asked, resisting the urge to bring her soft fingertips to his lips. What would he give to have her run her fingers over his face and through his hair?

  “Of course. And he told me you’ll be speaking.”

  Gabe felt a stab of sorrow slicing through his middle.

  “I’ve never given a eulogy before.”

  He’d never needed to. Dante Chee was the first of his men to be killed in the line of duty.

  She brushed her thumb over the back of his hand. “You’ll be wonderful.”

  He didn’t remind her that he wasn’t the family orator. That was Clyne.

  “I’d rather be locking up his killers.” Though it seemed that the two gang members who had been killed tonight might be the shooters. A preliminary check indicated the footwear worn by Nota and the second man might be a match. If their shoe tread
s and the tracks at the site of the body dump were the same, the police might right now be zipping Chee’s killers into body bags. Too good for them, he decided.

  “Andre told me they still don’t know who killed his brother.”

  “We’ve got some leads.” He said nothing else.

  She cast him a sidelong glance. Was she waiting for him to say more? He had always avoided speaking about his police work with Selena. Up until today, he had believed he was protecting her from the darker side of his profession. Now it felt more as if he was just shutting her out.

  Back when he had discovered what her father had been doing with his delivery truck, he’d been very glad that he’d never divulged anything that might have compromised an investigation. Could he have been using his job as a way to keep Selena from getting too close?

  Gabe shifted uncomfortably. He glanced over to see her staring out at her house.

  Could his silence feel like distrust to her?

  Selena had stopped stroking his hand. His gaze snapped back to her. She studied him with her brows raised and he scowled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Her hand slipped from his and she turned away, staring out at the snow that glistened under starlight.

  Gabe glanced at Nota’s car parked beside her sister Mia’s box truck and then at the empty place where Selena’s truck should now be parked. She had no truck for tomorrow’s run.

  “I know you’ll find Dante Chee’s murderer,” she said, her voice filled with a sort of world weariness. “You never let anything stand between you and an investigation.”

  And that included her. They both knew it.

  “What will you do tomorrow?” he asked, pointing at the place her truck should be.

  “I’ll take Mia’s truck. She’ll have to wait until I get back. We did it that way for a long time, remember?”

  He did.

  She glanced toward the front door. His heartbeat accelerated. He wanted to keep her here, if only for a moment more. Every moment with Selena was worth the pain that came afterward, when he was without her again.