by Jenna Kernan
Ty adjusted his hands on the wheel and stepped on the gas. In a few minutes, they arrived at his mother’s place. Burt Rope was out in the yard watering down the dusty driveway and greeted them with a wave.
“Well, what a nice surprise. You missed Sunday supper,” said Burt.
The largest meal of the week was served at noon, after church. His brothers Jake and Kee were now bringing their significant others. Ty was almost happy he’d been in the interrogation room, because the idea of joining his family for the Sunday meal with this woman posing as his girlfriend did not sit well.
They were all gone, thank goodness. He knew this because their trucks weren’t there.
He asked in any case. “They gone?”
“Yup. Jake took the girls, too. Off to visit their younger brothers,” said Burt.
Jeffery and Hewett were fostering with one of the tribal council members, Hazel Tran, because Ty’s mother just couldn’t house two more children.
“Abbie, too?” he asked, getting out of the car.
“Abbie, too.” Burt turned to Beth, who now stood on the drive beside the passenger side of the GTO. “Who’s this?”
Ty made introductions. Beth shook hands. Neither her weapon nor her shield was in evidence and she seemed as if she’d just come from church, instead of his funeral.
“I didn’t know that Ty had sisters,” said Beth.
Like hell, he thought. She thought she knew everything about him. But that was impossible.
“Oh, he has one, plus three more now. We’ve taken them in.”
The Doka girls included sixteen-year-old Jackie, thirteen-year-old Winnie and eleven-year-old Shirley. Three girls, four including his sister, and all the right age for the Russians to pluck like flowers. Ty knew that his cooperation was what kept them from entering the rolls of removal. Faras had said as much and as head of the Wolf Posse, he made the selections. But now, with the doctor killed at Antelope Lake, operations had ceased. For now. He feared that this was a temporary respite.
And the FBI was so concerned about their problems that they had allocated one single agent. Now he must decide if he would add her to his growing list of those he must protect, or throw her to the wolves.
* * *
BETH ENJOYED MEETING his mother and Burt Rope. She knew all about them on paper, but she appreciated meeting the real version. His mother’s life had been difficult. She’d married young to a violent man who had been in and out of jail until the felonies piled high enough to make him serve real time. Despite that, May Redhorse had managed to get all four of her boys raised and each had graduated from high school. Two had additional higher education. May had a big heart, obviously, because she was fostering the Doka girls, though she had neither the room nor the resources to do so. The girls were lucky. They would likely have a chance now, Beth decided, all because of May.
Ty introduced Beth as his girlfriend, as arranged. Beth felt a twinge of guilt at the joy on May’s face. Did his mother see the promise of grandchildren when she looked at Beth? Beth had been undercover for up to six months at a time. But somehow fooling this woman made her feel dirty.
She was relieved when they finally left, having been fed lunch, of course, from the leftovers of the Sunday supper they had missed.
The stop to pick up his dog had lasted over an hour. Hemi now sat in the rear seat, her eyes half-closed and her tongue lolling.
“She’s a great cook,” said Beth as they returned to the car. “And quite a woman.”
“Yes.”
“She’s strong like her sons.”
But not her body, thought Beth. Her body was dying bit by bit because of the diabetes and the diet she had not altered. Fry bread and sugary baked goods were abundant in the house.
“I don’t want you to see her again,” Ty said.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t bring my women here. Coming here makes you special to her. I don’t want you to be special.”
He was right, of course. So she couldn’t understand why it hurt her that he wanted distance between her and his mom. Under other circumstances, they might have been friends.
“It’s good that you look out for her,” she said.
He snorted but said nothing.
“Lucky she didn’t lose you and your dad both after that robbery.”
Ty’s laugh held little humor. “Yeah. Lucky.”
“Your age, I mean. Protecting you.”
“You could see it that way.”
Now he had her attention. “How do you see it?”
“Hey, I’m just glad he’s gone.”
“But he’s up for parole again.”
His grim expression showed that he knew that all too well. Ty pulled into the drive in front of his shop in the golden light of late afternoon. The landscape was lovely here and changed by the mile. The river rushed along beside the road in places and there were vistas of rocky bluffs and mountains. She had yet to see the ridges of turquoise from which the tribe derived its name. The territory was so different than the city where she lived and the flat plains that surrounded it. Hemi stood in the backseat and stretched. Ty let her out first, leaving Beth to collect her gear and follow them into his place.
“Apartment is up that way.” Ty pointed to the stairs that ran up the outside of the building. “It’s unlocked.”
He left her, returning to his shop and the rusty Ford Impala in the second bay.
She settled into the upstairs apartment that Ty called home, dropping her bag beside the couch before going to explore. The main area was divided into a tiled kitchen-dining combo and a carpeted living room. Anchored to one wall was a long couch, draped in a brightly colored Navajo blanket. Above the couch was a framed vintage poster of a Model 101 Indian motorcycle.
She smiled. “Can’t argue with that.”
That bike was a classic.
In front of the couch, there was a square maple coffee table with a stack of Popular Mechanics magazines on it, along with the motorcycle auction news. Between the table and kitchen, a worn leather recliner faced a modest-size flat-screen TV. Before the television was a large padded circular dog bed, the faux-sheepskin inner lining liberally sprinkled with dark hair.
A window flanked one side of the television. Bookshelves lined the other side. He had a good collection of mysteries and thrillers, plus some biographies. But most of the shelving was filled with framed photographs.
His brothers at all stages of life grinned at her. His sister as a toddler, on Ty’s skinny knee. His mother in full regalia. Kee in a cast sitting in a hospital bed surrounded by his family. There was one person noticeable in his absence from Ty’s collection. He had no photos of his father, Colton Redhorse, on display.
The only actual photo Beth owned was in her wallet. It was of her mom and dad and her, back when they were happy and whole. The rest of her photographic memories of her family were at her mother’s home in boxes.
The remainder of the upstairs consisted of a short hallway. On one side was a full bathroom with white porcelain tub, sink and toilet and a small study. On the other side of the hall sat the master bedroom with a queen-sized bed, reading chair and bureau. The bed was also covered in a Navajo-style wool blanket, this one in red, black and yellow.
She had not expected his inner sanctum to be so scrupulously clean and Spartan. He lived like a man in a monastery. All the flash of his bike and the style and character of the cars he restored did not transfer to his apartment.
Beth headed to Ty’s bedroom and poked around. His clothing was also utilitarian. Jeans, not too tight or loose. Worn, but not worn out. T-shirts in muted colors. She found no jewelry, no rings or necklaces, no earrings or hair adornments. He liked leather for his jackets, boots and belts. She found no drugs or weapons of any sort. Why didn’t he carry a weapon?
She wondered how Ty had surviv
ed so long without one or if, perhaps, his unwillingness to carry a weapon had kept him alive. She liked a puzzle, and Ty was that. In spades.
There was nothing of interest under his bed but a stuffed squeaky toy squirrel that she guessed, from the teeth marks, belonged to Hemi. Beside that was an old baseball glove cupped around a tennis ball. In his bedside table he had batteries, a lighter, a candle in a glass jar. She sniffed, inhaling the scent of balsa wood and pine. The drawer also held a flashlight and condoms.
Her search of his bureau and bathroom turned up no drugs, legal or otherwise except for extra strength BC Powder. Ty did not take drugs, apparently, and suffered from no more than an occasional headache. Meanwhile she carried a roll of antacid tablets perpetually in her pocket and chewed them like breath mints. The acidic condition of her belly being a result of stress, according to her doctor.
“What gives you headaches, Ty?” she asked her reflection in the medicine cabinet. “Your family? The gang? The police? Your conscience?”
Beth returned the packets to their place.
Where were the clues to a man whom she had not yet placed in his proper box? Chief Tinnin believed Ty was a tragic hero. Bear Den believed he was a criminal who had slipped from the noose.
Who was right?
As it got later in the afternoon, Beth joined Ty in his garage, hoping she would gain more insights from him there.
He lifted his head at her arrival.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked.
“Nice selection of condoms,” she said, hoping to wipe that smug smile from his mouth.
“I aim to please,” he replied, and returned to his work.
Now she was the one blushing. She perched on a stool beside his workbench with her laptop on a clean rag spread upon the surface. Hemi appeared from beyond the bay doors and settled into her dog bed at Beth’s feet. She stared at the dog, who regarded her with one open eye. It was a neat trick, spotting weapons. She wondered if it was the scent of gunpowder or the gun oil that alerted the canine. And she wondered if Hemi knew any more tricks.
Tonight Ty would be introducing her as his new woman at the bar. She had been right to meet him there first. It gave her a much-needed advantage and the leverage necessary to gain his help.
At 5:00 p.m., Ty finished work and used some goop to clean the grease off his forearms and hands. The process was a sensual glide of skin on skin. Beth tried not to be mesmerized, but failed. She liked tattoos and appreciated the US Marine Corps insignia on his arm. It was, unfortunately, beneath the one near his elbow that marked him as a member of the tribe’s gang.
Upstairs Ty left her to shower. Beth dressed in her costume and carefully applied the makeup that said she was trouble. She liked this mask. It gave her a different kind of power and the edge she needed to take on the role. The best kind of power came from military rank and now her FBI shield. She still had both, but now she also had red lipstick. She let down her hair and worked in the product until it coiled in wild ringlets. Then she popped an antacid as a preemptive strike against nerves.
Ty appeared in black jeans, a white T-shirt and a brown bomber jacket that looked vintage. His feet were covered with motorcycle boots, of course, and he radiated danger. Nearly irresistible, she thought.
What he didn’t wear were gang colors. Ty somehow operated on the gang’s periphery, and she didn’t understand why.
On the drive to the roadhouse, she tried and failed to ignore the spicy scent of his aftershave. He spoke first.
“You work gangs before?”
“No.”
“No gangs?” He was frowning now, as if he had already decided she was not the woman for the job.
“It won’t be a problem. I’ve been briefed by our experts.”
“Any of those experts actually been in a gang?” Ty asked.
“No. Of course not.”
“If you have no experience with gangs, Agent Hoosay, why are you here?”
“You should start calling me Beth.”
“Sure.”
“I was asked to join the task force because I have specialized knowledge regarding organized crime.”
“And because you’re Apache,” he said, his words accusatory.
She did not quite keep herself from making a face. “It’s not a factor.”
He actually laughed. “You think they could have sent a male agent to do what you’re about to do?”
She didn’t.
“They picked you because you’re hot, young, enrolled in an Apache tribe and stupid enough, or hungry enough, to take some monster risks. What is it you’re after, exactly? Promotion? Accolades? Make Mama proud?”
She pressed her lips together and watched him. Finally she gave him something. “I wanted out of Oklahoma City.”
“You have a bike. Easy to get out.”
“Is it? So why are you still here?”
“Touché,” he said.
She turned to watch him as she spoke, his strong jaw illuminated by the dashboard light. He certainly was easy on the eyes.
“I was stationed in DC. Worked at Quantico and I got interested in the FBI.”
“Stationed?”
“US Army.”
Ty groaned.
She ignored it. “I applied to the Bureau and they took me.”
“And assigned you back to Oklahoma?” he asked, guessing correctly.
“Exactly. Plunked me right back where I started because I was familiar with the territory.”
“Ironic. And reassignment to a bigger field office requires you to make a case—a big one. Isn’t that right?”
Now, how did he know that? She was constantly reassessing him and still she’d underestimated him again.
“What you work on up there?”
“Organized crime for the last five years. I know this group. We know every player.”
“Yet they’re still walking around.”
“Hopefully, you can help change that.”
“I’m just going to get you proximity. That was the deal I signed.”
Beth smiled, but said nothing to reassure him.
“You don’t want them gone?” she asked.
“Depends on the cost.” He changed the subject. “Why do you want out of Oklahoma?”
She snorted. No way was she answering that. “The Midwest is too flat.”
“What about Arizona?”
“It’s not flat.”
“Is that what you’re leaving behind?” he asked. “The landscape?”
She didn’t answer. His questions had turned too personal. “You have my cover story down?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He pulled into the lot, already half-full with a variety of pickups and bikes. It did not escape her that most of the vehicles were some variety of the gang’s colors, black and gold.
Ty cut the engine of the GTO, and the world went quiet for just a moment before the sounds of music from within the roadhouse reached her. Beth’s heartbeat pulsed and her skin prickled a warning as she faced the lion’s den with only Ty Redhorse as her backup.
He grinned. “Ready to meet my friends?”
Chapter Nine
Ty tried not to admire the way that Beth had dressed for success in tight blue jeans and a hip-length brown suede jacket that tied at the waist and hid the pistol she now had in the inner pocket. The jacket gaped open to show a tight V-necked top in cherry-red that revealed enough cleavage to make a man want more and to take his attention away from her face. The red matched the color of her lipstick. Ty loved a woman in high boots, and hers were high and laced up the front.
Inside the bar the Sunday football game still blared on the television and patrons at the bar cheered as the Houston Texans’ kicker sent the ball through the uprights for a field goal.
Ty kept an arm abo
ut her as they entered, staking a claim. But at the bar, Beth chatted up several of the customers, zeroing in on any wearing gold and black. Ty beat her at pool because she let him and they drew a crowd. Faras claimed winner, but he didn’t want to play Ty, so he stepped aside and let Beth do her job.
She was good. Just the right amount of charm and allure. Not overdone, but when Faras invited her to the Wolf Den, Ty stepped in and told them the two of them had plans. He cast Beth a warning look that you would have to be blind not to see.
She ignored it. Was he responsible for her safety if she did stupid things that might get her seriously messed up? He growled as he realized that, even if she deserved it, he could not let her go to the Wolf Den alone.
He was prepared to advise her on what a bad idea going into their crib could be for a woman, but she turned down the invitation, looping her arm in Ty’s as she chatted with Faras.
Ty scanned the occupants of the bar. There were the usual characters and a large number of the posse, who were watching the game on the large-screen television. Eight men plus the one outside. Just the ones he could see outnumbered the tribal police force by two, and there were more, Ty knew. Five women, all longtime members of the posse, watched Beth from their usual table. None were exclusive except for Jewell. She’d risen in the ranks to become a favorite with Faras. Ty knew why. Jewell was young, only twenty, but she was cunning and beautiful, the female version of an alpha.
The last true couple in the Wolf Posse had been Minnie and Trey. But Trey got clipped and Minnie switched horses, going with Earle. Now they were both awaiting trial. Ty smiled as he thought of his small part in their capture. Hemi had done most of it. Luckily, Hemi wasn’t talking and the FBI kept anyone from seeing those two so they had no chance to spill the beans to Faras that Ty had been there watching over Jake and his new baby girl.
He saw Jewell speaking to Chino and sensed trouble. Faras was paying too much attention to Beth for Jewell to do nothing, and Ty’s claim on Beth meant nothing because all here knew that Faras took what and whom he wanted.
