The Warrior's Way (Apache Protectors: Tribal Thunder)

by Jenna Kernan

  Morgan was nowhere to be seen, but Meadow sat alone at the table with her coffee. She offered a bright smile.

  “There she is,” she said.

  This brought all three men around. Jack cast her a dazzling smile that made her stomach tighten.

  “Coffee?” asked Ray.

  She nodded. “Black.”

  He grinned. “Do all law personnel take their coffee black?”

  “I believe it’s regulation,” she said.

  That made Jack laugh. The sound vibrated through her insides and made her skin go to gooseflesh. Their eyes met and held. His mouth quirked and his eyes sparkled. Was he thinking about the kiss?

  As if in answer, his gaze dipped to her mouth.

  “Help yourself,” said Dylan, motioning to the counter that separated the circular gathering table from the kitchen. “We have eggs, bacon, fry bread and grits.”

  Her gaze turned to the fry bread. Her mother didn’t often make the Apache staple, but when she did, it was fine. Her mouth began to water and she took the plate Dylan offered. She joined Meadow and wondered if she should keep the conversation light or try to find something useful about the ecoextremist group her parents ran.

  Jack joined them first, leaving Ray and Dylan to manage the kitchen.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked. His warm smile shone on her like sunshine. She wanted to scooch her chair closer just to be nearer to him. Instead she lifted her coffee mug in salute.

  “Well, thank you. When will we be leaving?”

  “Soon as you’re ready.”

  She focused on her breakfast, pausing only for a second cup of coffee. Meadow finished first and left them alone at the table. Dylan and Ray had begun to argue about the importance of using butter versus oil in cooking. The discussion quickly changed to light-hearted insults.

  Jack motioned his head toward the two men. “They always do that.”

  “Most men do.”

  He sipped his coffee and the act of pursing his lips made her go all jittery inside. He lowered the mug.

  “Something wrong?”

  Really, really wrong. Wrong time. Wrong place. And wrong man.

  “Nothing at all. I enjoyed your flute playing. Do you always practice at night?”

  “Naw. That was for you. I’ve been in a deadly force encounter, Sophia. I remember the investigation and I remember not sleeping much. I’m sure it’s more formal at the Bureau. But they still put me on leave. I hated every minute.”

  She was staring now. He’d been where she was.

  “Will you tell me about it?” she asked.

  “Sure. On the way to Skeleton Cliff. Okay?”

  “That’d be great.”

  “Anything more?” he asked, motioning to her empty plate.

  Had she eaten all that fry bread? Generally her morning repast was coffee and yogurt mixed with flaxseed. This was better.

  “Yes.” She stood and took her plate to the kitchen, where Dylan relieved her of it. “Great fry bread.”

  He looked pleased. “My mother’s recipe. Few ingredients, but lots of work.”

  Pulling and stretching the dough. She remembered because she’d learned how to make the staple with her mom. Seemed they always had flour, salt, milk and shortening, even when they had nothing else.

  “Delicious,” she said.

  “You shouldn’t eat fry bread,” said Dylan. “Too much fat and carbs.”

  “Listen, there is nothing better than carbs for energy. It’s what we run on.”

  “It gives you diabetes,” said Dylan.

  Jack touched her elbow and motioned with his head toward the door.

  She let him drive. He flexed his fingers and then gripped the wheel, waving at Kenshaw as they left the compound.

  “You have enough air?” He fiddled with the direction of the vent. “Usually ride alone.”

  “I’m fine. So...” she began, trying to sound casual, and watched him brace himself. “You were in an officer-involved shooting?”

  His shoulders relaxed. What had he thought she was about to ask?

  He chuckled. “I thought you might ask about that, but I was hoping...”

  “What?”

  “You’d ask me if I was seeing anyone. I thought after last night you might want to know that.”

  “It was just a kiss.”

  “Was it? To me it was more.”

  “So. Do you have a girl?”

  “Currently unattached.”

  “The same. Most men aren’t very understanding of the hours I keep.”

  “I hear that.”

  His smile lit up the compartment and made her insides squeeze. Her cheeks went hot and she had to look out the window at the river to catch her breath.

  “So...” she said, bringing the conversation back to safer ground. “About the officer-involved shooting.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jack didn’t like to talk about it. Every law enforcement officer knew the risks. Knew they might die on the job. But most didn’t really consider the impact a deadly force encounter would have on the rest of their lives.

  “First off, I was a US Marine. I saw action in Iraq and lost a good friend there. Dylan, Ray, me, my brother Carter and Yeager Hatch all joined up together. I almost lost my brother and Ray. Hatch didn’t come back. We miss him all the time.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve never lost a colleague.”

  “He wasn’t a colleague. He was Ray’s best friend and the five of us were inseparable.”

  “Yes. I see.”

  “We were attacked by insurgents. I wish I could say that I felt something for the men I killed over there. Mostly I still just feel anger. But the deadly force incident was different. I knew them.”

  She sat in quiet attention as he continued driving along the river and into Piñon Forks.

  “There was a warrant out for the driver. I pulled him over and found he had a passenger. His kid brother, Donny, was eighteen. They were both dressed all in yellow and black.”

  “Yes?” As if she wasn’t sure what that signified.

  “You don’t work gangs then?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “They don’t use explosives, generally.”

  “Yellow and black are the gang colors favored by the Latin Kings.”

  She nodded her understanding. “What was the warrant?”

  “Skipped on his hearing. Used Donny’s 18 Money to make bail and then pulled a no-show.”

  The accumulated per-capita dividends from the tribe’s revenue sources, including their casino, was called 18 Money. She’d used her own 18 Money to get out. The funds were enough to pay for her education, her first apartment and a very old Toyota. Her mother expected her to turn the money over to her for her use. When she didn’t, her mother threw her out.

  “I had both of them out and had the driver cuffed when Donny pulled a gun on me. I wish I could say I saw it coming, but I didn’t, and he got a shot off before I drew my weapon. They never found that bullet, but his gun had been fired so all clear on that. I hit him three times in center mass. He was wearing leather and that loose clothing the gang members wear so he didn’t die right away. I had to watch it happen with his older brother cursing and crying and swearing he’d kill me.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “His brother’s in jail. Donny’s in his grave and I was cleared. Justified use of force. I was on leave for ten days and rode a desk another two. We use outside agencies to investigate and they took their sweet time. Just about drove me crazy.”

  “Were you hit?” She pointed at the scar through his eyebrow.

  “This? Naw. I cracked this on a rock jumping off the canyon wall into the river when I was sixteen. We all jumped from that ledge as kids. As young men we all had to scale the canyon wall. I was the first one in my group to reach the top. Carter was second.”

  She drew a deep breath and said nothing, but her jaw was clamped tight.

  “Thank you for telling me that.”

  He nod
ded and tried to focus on the road, which was a challenge with Sophia sitting beside him.

  They left Piñon Forks and drove along the river. Just past the casino he saw a familiar bright yellow pickup with black pin striping. He knew the truck and the driver, and knew he had warrants for skipping a tribal court appearance on a drugs and weapons charge.

  He hit the lights. “Hold on.”

  “Wait a second. I can’t pull someone over.”

  “Just stay in the SUV.”

  She didn’t, of course. Just as soon as he had the vehicle pulled to the shoulder and was out of the SUV, she was out as well and she had her hand on her replacement weapon as he made his approach.

  *

  SOPHIA FOLLOWED JACK, noting that he had his hand on his weapon as he reached the driver side and ordered the driver to put both his hands out his window. He had the driver out of the vehicle in short order as she covered him and kept an eye on the passenger side door. There was no telling who was inside because of the tinted windows, which she hated. But when Jack made the collar, the passenger side door opened and a woman poked her head out.

  “Back in the vehicle. Now!” Sophia ordered.

  She couldn’t see the woman’s hands. Sophia kept her hand on her replacement weapon and felt the unfamiliar grip. The loaner pistol made her even more uncomfortable with the situation. This wasn’t her personal weapon and she was not accustomed to using a .45 caliber.

  Was he crazy, putting her in this position? The passenger stared at her from the open door.

  Sophia repeated her order and the woman retreated but called to her associate.

  “Trey, we got any female cops on the rez?”

  Trey was pressed against the bed of his truck, feet spread wide and hands cuffed behind his back. Jack was efficient at least. Trey lifted his head to stare at her. Sophia watched the emotions play across his broad face. The look of disgust changed to one of interest. Finally a smile curled his lips as he looked at her as if she was the bounty.

  “Well, well. What we got here?” he said.

  Jack ignored him, keeping one hand on Trey’s neck as he asked if his suspect had anything sharp on his person.

  “No, man. No weapons, drugs. I’m clean. Why don’t you introduce me to your bitch?”

  “That her?” asked the woman from inside the truck.

  Is that who? Sophia wondered.

  “How ’bout you come over here so I can get a look at your fine ass,” said Trey.

  “Shut your mouth,” said Sophia, releasing the grip on her weapon as Jack called for backup.

  “Uppity little thing, too. Sassing me.” Trey turned his head to speak to Jack. “She my woman, I’d crack her across the mouth. She never talk back again. I guarantee you that.”

  Jack escorted him by the collar to his SUV. “Yeah, well, good thing she’s not yours.”

  She could already hear the siren of the second unit. With Trey in the back of Jack’s SUV, Sophia kept her eye on the passenger in the vehicle as Jack went to speak with the young woman.

  “You own this truck, Minnie?” he asked. He knew her, of course.

  “Naw. I gave it to Trey. Early birthday present.”

  She gave it to that jerk? Sophia found her jaw clamped. She knew what this was because she’d seen it before. There had been older men suddenly interested in her during her seventeenth year. At first Sophia had been flattered. Her mother had been on to them, ready for them actually, and had chased them all off, even the gangbangers. Though Sophia later realized it was for her mother’s own selfish reasons and not to protect her daughter’s best interests. It was a minor miracle she had gotten out.

  “You use up all your Big Money?” asked Jack.

  Minnie raised her chin. “I got some left.”

  Sophia stared through the open window at the girl and realized with little imagination that this could have been her future, she could have squandered her one chance on someone like Trey.

  This woman was actually little more than a girl, Sophia realized, and Minnie had used up her accumulated portion of the annual tribal revenue on this jerk.

  “You should keep it. Don’t spend it on some guy.”

  “He ain’t some guy. He’s my fiancé.”

  “Yeah, well, your intended is going to jail.”

  “He didn’t do nothing,” said Minnie without hesitation.

  “And then they impound his property and sell it at police auction. In other words, you lose this truck.”

  That got her attention. She stepped out of the vehicle and Sophia plainly saw the gun in the woman’s hand. Sophia had hers out and aimed. Minnie kept her weapon at her side.

  “Put down the gun, now,” barked Sophia. She was already in a cold sweat just thinking about shooting someone else.

  The siren grew so loud that Sophia couldn’t hear what Minnie replied. But she did see her drop the pistol into the sand that lined the shoulder of the road.

  Tires crunched behind her and car doors slammed. Jack shouted something and Sophia kept her attention and her aim on Minnie. A uniformed tribal police officer rushed past her and ordered Minnie to place her hands on the roof of the truck. Sophia waited until the woman was in cuffs before holstering her weapon.

  At Jack’s direction, the officer came back with an evidence bag and gathered Minnie’s gun. Then both Trey and Minnie were transferred to the marked unit and read their rights. Sophia was trembling when they pulled away.

  Jack came over to where she stood by his SUV and gathered her up in his arms. She let him hold her for a moment, felt the comfort of his embrace and the callused hand that stroked her neck, lifting the tiny hairs there. Then she pushed off of him.

  “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

  Chapter Eight

  “He has outstanding warrants,” said Jack, as if this was reason enough.

  “I’m on administrative leave. You’re my escort. I’m not here to help you make a collar.”

  “It was a good one.”

  “I had to draw my weapon!”

  “You sure did.”

  She pressed her hand to her forehead and then growled at the sky. Finally she focused back on the detective, who smiled at her with a new appreciation. She ignored the tingle that smile caused and stuck with her fury.

  “Now I have to report that I drew my weapon.”

  He seemed puzzled now. “You have to do that?”

  “Of course I do! While they are reviewing my fatal force encounter I have to explain why I was making arrests up here on the mountain.”

  “It’s federal land. Your jurisdiction.”

  “I am on administrative leave!”

  “Got it. No more collars.”

  “Oh, for the love of...” She got back in his SUV and slammed the door. She still had her hand pressed to her forehead when he climbed in and set them in motion. Eventually she could not stand the silence.

  “My cousin told me you are the only detective up here. Is that true?”

  “Yeah, but not for long. One of our guys is getting his gold shield soon.”

  “Not the guy that took over our collar.” She hadn’t really gotten a look at him except to see he was Native and young.

  “No. That’s Jake Redhorse. He’s so green he still has that new car smell. Good kid.” Jack sighed.

  “Yeah?”

  He stared at the road, thinking of the Redhorse boys, Ty, Kee, Jake and Colt. He feared he’d have to arrest Ty if he didn’t straighten up, and Colt...

  “He’s got three brothers like me. Two were in the service, like me and Carter, and they both...” Jack’s words trailed off.

  “They both, what?” she prompted.

  “Changed. Ty is raising hell and it seems self-destructive to me. Like he’s punishing himself. He won’t talk about the war. At least not to me.”

  “Keep trying,” she said.

  “Colt, well, that boy is just gone.”

  “Mentally?”

  “No, he left. Ty said he’s
living like some Apache survivalist in a cabin up past Turquoise Ridge. Still on our rez, I’m told, but no one but Ty ever sees him.”

  “What did Chekov write...? Happy families are all alike, but unhappy families are unhappy in their own way.” Hers certainly had been.

  “Tolstoy,” said Jack.

  “What?”

  “Tolstoy wrote something like that.”

  She lifted her brows at that but said nothing. Did she think he could not or did not read?

  “And he was right, I think.”

  Approaching from below the man-made structure, they made it to the Skeleton Cliff Dam. The dam itself spanned the river from canyon wall to canyon wall in a great gray concave ellipse that vomited water back into the river through a controlled spillway gate. A narrow road ran along the top of the dam far above them.

  “According to your shaman, there is a highway patrol vehicle up there, angled to block the east entrance with the help of a movable barrier.”

  He cast her a look of skepticism. “I could knock him clear with this vehicle, not to mention a dump truck or tractor trailer loaded with explosives.”

  She turned her attention back to the gray wall looming above them.

  “Placement of explosives at the top would cause minimal damage. For real compromise you would need to be inside the working of the powerhouse or at the base of the dam.”

  “I’ve been up here in our police boat.”

  “Is that the little fishing boat tied up near the station?”

  “Yeah. I took it up here more than once on search-and-rescue, right to the foot of the dam.”

  “Well, do you think the words Tribal Police on the side improved your access?”

  “Heck, anyone who can untie a knot could take that boat. Keys are in the ignition.”

  “Maybe you should reconsider that policy. And that little boat couldn’t carry enough to do any real damage. A bigger boat would bottom out.”

  “That twenty-four-footer has a gross-load capacity of over fifteen hundred pounds. That’s a lot of RDX,” he said, mentioning the explosive he’d used in Iraq.

  “They’d see it. The explosives.”

  “Who? There’s no one up here but the guys working the dam. I could fill the livewell with explosives and they’d never see them,” he said.