by Jenna Kernan
She’d parked it at an angle so no one parked too close and so she could push it out, if necessary.
“You rode in here?” asked Ty, turning his attention to the bike.
“Yeah. It died at the diner. So I checked what I could and then did a push-start. Lucky the diner is on a hill. Got it going all right.”
Ty looked at the bike. “Battery, maybe.”
“It’s fine. Nearly new.”
“You might have left the headlight on when you were in the diner.”
She flipped on the headlight, which glowed brightly.
She pointed to the console. “Says it’s good, plus I flipped back the saddle and tested one of the terminals to ground. It arced just fine.”
“Gas?” he asked.
She cut her gaze away. “Please.”
“So I won’t ask if the kickstand was up and the sled in Neutral.”
“You try and start it,” she said.
He straddled the bike. She couldn’t believe it, but he looked even more handsome. The neon glow from the beer signs illuminated his high cheekbones, and a lock of hair fell over his forehead as he tried and failed to get the bike started.
“How are the plugs?” he asked.
“Good, I think.”
“Well, then I’d say you have gunk in the fuel lines. Maybe the clutch starter. Bike needs air, fuel and spark. We know you have spark and fuel, so...”
She swore as if surprised it was not a quick repair.
“Did the guy at the diner mention that I have a garage?”
Beth nodded.
“I live above my garage.”
Which she knew, but it was obvious he wanted her to know where the closest bed might be.
“You want me to bring it tomorrow morning?”
“Now is good.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “Only thing, you’ll have to drive. I already had too much to drink.”
Which was interesting because she knew from Jake that Ty Redhorse did not drink.
“I don’t think I want a drunk working on my bike.”
“I could fix a carburetor drunk or asleep.”
“Nobody drives my bike.”
He slid back on the seat. “You want me to bump-start the bike with you on the back?”
He wiggled his eyebrows and she accepted the challenge.
“What about your bike?” she asked.
“In good hands.”
No one would touch his bike. He had the protection of the Wolf Posse and tribal police, since his brother was on the force.
“Just out of curiosity, how were you planning to get home?”
“I never plan that far ahead,” said Ty.
“You don’t look or act or smell drunk,” said Beth.
“Maybe I just can’t resist lying flat across your back or maybe I want to see what an eight-hundred-cc inline engine feels like. It’s a tour bike. Plenty of room.”
“If you fix my bike, I’m paying for the repair and I’m not sleeping with you.”
“If you say so.”
Had she anticipated an argument? She didn’t expect him to give up so easily. But maybe he figured, wrongly, that he could change her mind. He was too charming and too good with that sexy mouth. She imagined he wouldn’t disappoint in the bedroom. But her plan involved trapping him, not the other way around. Sleeping with him would give him power, and she was not going into that meeting tomorrow in a position of weakness.
“You got a helmet?” she asked, retrieving hers.
“Never wear one.”
Of course he didn’t. Another bad decision, she thought.
“Then let’s go.” She lifted her leg and slipped it neatly over the saddle, then knocked back the kickstand. Once she had the bike in Neutral and the clutch in, she rocked them forward and turned the wheel away from the line of trucks. It took a moment for gravity to grab hold, but by the time they reached the road they were gliding at five miles an hour. She shifted with her foot to second, waited until they hit fifteen miles an hour and then popped the clutch. The engine turned over and she gave it some gas. A moment later, they were ripping down the road.
“Where’s your shop?”
He called directions as he slipped his hands around her waist. It felt good, riding with him. She loved the bike, despite what her mother thought, and knew that in this, at least, they would find common ground.
His body warmed her back as they raced in the direction of Koun’nde, one of three settlements here on the Turquoise Canyon Apache Indian Reservation.
After a few minutes he pointed out his place. The two-story building was mostly dark except for the floodlight over the double-bay doors. She could see a row of windows above the shop and knew that was where he lived.
She rolled up to the bay doors and cut the engine. Something moved to her left, an animal, big and black. Beth startled.
“That’s just my dog, Hemi.”
She glanced back at him. “Like the motor?”
His smile showed a kind of appreciation that warmed her far more than it should have. “That’s right.”
He slid off the bike and she removed her helmet, leaving it on the seat.
“Nice ride,” he said, and then he turned to Hemi and scratched her behind the ears. “Hemi, this is Beth.”
She dropped the kickstand and straddled the bike, offering her hand to the canine, who had a definite wolfish look to her.
“Hey there, Hemi,” said Beth.
Hemi took two steps in her direction and then dropped to the ground, her head between her front paws. Beth’s brow wrinkled as she watched the dog, trying to interpret this odd behavior.
“What’s with that?” she asked, lifting her gaze to Ty, who was now scowling at her.
“You packing?”
“What?”
“Hemi says you’re carrying a gun.”
Beth eyed the dog. Likely his brother would have warned her about the gunpowder-sniffing dog if she’d told anyone what she had in mind. She hadn’t because the chances were too great that Jake would tip off his big brother.
Forrest had agreed, but she had only one shot, because every agent he put on the abduction case was one less on the eco-extremist investigation.
Beth set her jaw and glared at the dog.
“So what is it?” asked Ty.
She opened her jacket and showed him the holster and her service weapon. She did not show him the FBI shield she had around her neck and under her blouse.
Ty’s expression went grim and all anticipation left his eyes. They went flat and lifeless. He looked at her as if she had disappointed him. That would be ironic.
“I don’t allow weapons in my place.”
“Girl’s got a right to protect herself.”
“Deal breaker,” he said.
“You act like you’re on parole.”
That made him glare. So he didn’t like being painted as a criminal, even if that was just what he was.
“Not on parole,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “Tell you what. I’ll get you started again. Take it to Piňon Forks. Spend the night at the casino and call Ron in the morning.” He grabbed a pen from his shop and extended his hand for hers. She gave it to him and he wrote a number on the palm of her hand.
Was he actually sending her off? Beth couldn’t believe it and she really couldn’t believe that her disappointment was way more physical than emotional. Damn him and that kiss.
“He’s good with bikes,” said Ty.
“Where’s his shop?”
“Across from the police station. You know where that is, right?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer, just positioned himself behind her bike. She didn’t even have her helmet on when he started to push as if he could not wait to be rid of her.
&nbs
p; But he wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
Chapter Six
On Sunday mornings, Ty worked on his own projects. Today it was body repair on the 1978 Pontiac Trans Am that he’d saved from the scrap yard. But his enthusiasm for muscle cars did not generally get him up at 5:00 a.m. Still, that was what had happened the last two mornings and he knew exactly who to blame for that. The woman—Beth.
She captivated him. Not just the way she looked but the way she handled that bike and how she knew things, like that his dog was named after his favorite engine and how to bump-start a bike. Who was he kidding? It had been their kisses that had kept him from sleep.
Beth was too good to be true. Women like that did not just show up in your life. Someone had sent her. And that was the other reason he could not sleep. It wasn’t the Wolf Posse. She didn’t have the look of Russian mob. That left cop.
“Damn.” He threw aside the rag he used to wipe his hands.
The phone rang, echoing in the empty space. He glanced at the clock on the wall to see it was already eight in the morning. Ty reached for the greasy handset. Jake was on the line, telling him that they needed him to come into the station.
Ty’s stomach dropped. Had the tribe reversed their decision about not turning him over to the Feds? As much as Ty wanted to be free of the Wolf Posse, a prison cell was not his chosen route. He had driven Kacey to the Russians, but her statement corroborated his. She had known where he was taking her and gotten into his vehicle voluntarily.
Maybe they matched his blood from the window at Antelope Lake. Some trumped-up charge on B&E? he wondered. The coffee he’d had for breakfast now clung to his stomach lining like motor oil.
“I’ll be there,” he said. He thought about his go-bag, the one under his bed. He’d added to it bit by bit, knowing that someday he’d have to use it.
Was today that day?
You could only dance with the devil for so long. Eventually the devil had to be paid. What kept him here was his mother and his brothers and the looming threat of his father’s return.
They were all worried about what would happen upon Colton Redhorse’s return. Ty wasn’t worried because he knew how it would go—badly. Because people didn’t change except to get worse.
He’d have to leave in forty minutes because the ride from Koun’nde to Piňon Forks took twenty. Ty removed his welding helmet and hung it back on the wall. Then he turned off the tanks. Friday, he’d spoken to tribal police and he’d made his position very clear. He didn’t imagine that Detective Bear Den was going to have a second round of asking for his cooperation. So that meant they were going to charge him.
It was his own stupid fault. He must be losing his edge because he did not make that incredibly sexy woman as a cop. The way she hugged those curves on her bike, the woman could ride. And that kiss. Ty growled and headed upstairs with Hemi at his heels.
He showered and packed a duffel in case they kept him. Ty dragged out the go-bag from beneath his bed and unzipped it. Inside was survival gear, camping gear, first-aid supplies, ready-to-eat food, tools, money, a horse bridle and the keys to one car and one bike. Was today the day he’d need to run?
Ty carried both duffels to the GTO. Then he fed Hemi. After they’d both eaten, he took his dog to his mother’s place. His mother, May, lived on the high ground outside Piňon Forks. Redhorse was busy getting his sister, Abbie, and the foster girls ready for church. She tried to feed him, of course, and accepted a kiss on the cheek. He asked Burt Rope, her new husband, to look after Hemi.
Burt knew exactly what that meant. “You in trouble, son?”
“Maybe. Tribal police want to talk to me again.”
“Three times, isn’t it?”
“Four.” Four times and each time they had more pieces of the puzzle. Maybe they’d just take a blood sample today and let him go.
“We’ll look after your dog, Ty.” Burt laid a hand on Ty’s shoulder and gave him a little pat.
Burt was a good man. Not like his rotten of a father. He felt relieved that his mother had found a man who, though not very industrious, was as reliable and kind as any he’d ever met.
Ty drove to tribal headquarters in his ’67 Pontiac GTO because he didn’t want to leave his bike outside the station. Burt could pick up his car. But no one drove his Harley but him.
Way he figured, tribal was done asking for his help. So they would either charge him or turn him over to the Feds. The only good thing about the attention of the police was it had kept Faras Pike from pulling him all the way back into the Wolf Posse.
Ty rolled his shoulder, wondering if Kee would be willing to take the stitches out a few days early. If the Feds took his clothing and saw him without his shirt, they might just wonder how he sliced his shoulder open and then remember the blood they’d found on the shattered picture window at the house on Antelope Lake where two women had been held.
Neither Kee nor his girlfriend, the tribe’s new dispatcher, had mentioned that Ty had been there. Kee thought Ty should get some credit for helping them get away from the Russian mobsters. Ty knew that the questions as to how he knew where to find them would make him vastly less heroic and possibly culpable for some serious jail time.
Ty knew about the capture because Faras told him that Ty was on call as a driver. That meant that the Russians had sent someone after Kee’s girl and he was the backup if there was trouble. Ty had been on hand when the Russian, Yury Churkin, captured Ava Hood. The rest of the job was just shadowing them to the location where the women were being held. Faras’s order to Ty to drive the Russian to safety if he ran into trouble would be enough to connect Ty to the criminal organization, and down the toilet he would go with the rest of them.
He drove to the station in Piňon Forks, which had been relocated now that the dam had been reinforced by the US Army Corps of Engineers. The state of Arizona had already begun repairs to the compromised Skeleton Cliff dam above their rez.
Ty parked at the health clinic, right next door to tribal headquarters, where the police station was housed. Kee was likely up to his eyeballs in patients, since he was now the only physician on the rez. The other, Hector Hauser, was dead and Ty could not muster a drop of regret over that. Ty wondered if they’d lock him up today or just tell him not to flee. Where would he go?
Alaska, he thought. He could follow his youngest brother, Colt, up there to a wide-open state where his reputation would not dog him. More likely he’d be relocating to a cell next to his father in the federal prison down in Phoenix.
Ty made the long walk across the formal courtyard between the buildings into tribal headquarters. Once inside, he turned toward the police station. Jake greeted him in the squad room.
“I need a lawyer?” Ty asked his little brother.
Jake did not smile or make a joke. The look he cast back was deadly serious. “Don’t think that will do it.”
“Am I getting arrested?” he asked, glancing toward the chief’s office and making eye contact with Wallace Tinnin, who rose from behind his old battered desk and collected his aluminum crutches.
“It’s one of the possibilities. Ty, I think you should cooperate.”
Jake didn’t understand. How could he? Jake had never been on the wrong side of anything. Yet Ty’s younger brother had understood how things worked well enough to ask Ty to get Faras to report to his associates that the baby Jake wanted to adopt had died. Ty had done it and hoped Jake never learned what the favor had cost him. How would his brother feel if he knew that Ty had been pulled into service driving the Russians off the rez because of that little favor?
Tinnin clicked his way to them on his crutches. The foot, broken in the blast after the dam collapse, was in a black plastic boot.
“Thanks for coming in, Ty,” said the chief. “If you’ll follow me, please.”
Damn, they were taking him to the interrogation room. He wond
ered if he still had the card with his attorney’s phone number in his wallet.
They locked Ty in the room for twenty minutes. Enough time for him to consider exactly what evidence they had turned up. He’d heard that the tribe had voted to turn Kacey Doka’s mother over to the Feds after she was connected to the surrogate ring. And they voted to turn over the former tribal health clinic’s administrator, Betty Mills, after she broke the conditions of her agreement for cooperation by failing to tell them that Ava Hood’s cover had been blown. That nearly got Ava killed, which was no skin off his nose except that Kee was in love with her. So he’d followed Churkin and waited for Kee and Hauser. Then when the shooting started he’d busted through that plate glass window and bled all over the place.
They were probably looking at him through the one-way mirror right now. He forced his bouncing knee to stillness.
The door latch turned and in stepped Detective Jack Bear Den, one of Ty’s least favorite people. Bear Den held the door for Tinnin, who thumped in on his crutches, and behind him came...
Ty sat back in his chair. He did not keep his jaw from dropping as his mouth opened like a trapdoor as she strode in—Beth. There she was, the woman on the BMW sled whose kisses rocked his world. But today her eyelids did not shimmer and the liner around her eyes was not black, but was an earth tone. She was more beautiful today, with a burgundy-colored lipstick that added to her aura of authority. She wore blue slacks, practical shoes, a blazer and a white cotton blouse. The outfit made it easy for him to see her pistol, holstered at her hip, and the FBI shield and plastic ID on a lanyard about her neck. Today she radiated a different kind of power, the kind that came with the full weight of the system. Ty had run against that system often enough to know that it didn’t work. At least not for him.
FB freakin’ I.
Ty closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes on her.
Beth’s crazy, curly beautiful wild hair was tugged back in a scalp-hugging bun and gleamed with some kind of hair product. She stood there with a triumphant glint in her lovely pale green eyes and the hint of a wicked smile curling her wide lips. The woman had counted coup on him, defeating him with a touch of the metaphorical crooked coup stick, like the plains Apache of old. And she knew it.
