Black Rock Guardian

by Jenna Kernan

  Faras waited until Chino and the bartender both retreated.

  “You can’t keep doing this,” said Faras.

  Ty said nothing.

  “It costs me money and time.”

  Ty met his gaze and read the warning there. Things were serious now. With the pressure of the Russians and the tribal police bringing in the FBI, Faras was in a difficult spot. He could not afford to bring his suppliers less, to even let one little fish swim out of the net.

  “That’s the last one. You feel me?” said Faras.

  Ty nodded.

  “And where you been? I’ve been trying to reach you since Tuesday. You don’t answer your phone or return my calls.”

  Ty told himself not to move his healing shoulder. Not to give away that he’d been injured, running for his life in the woods, trying to reach the reservation and home before the Feds caught him and locked him up beside his dad. Because if Faras knew, he’d also know that Ty followed his brother to the holding house that was stop one in the surrogate operation.

  “I had a delivery in Phoenix. That ’78 Nova. Matte-black.”

  “Phoenix and back takes six hours.”

  Ty met his gaze without shifting in his seat or offering further explanation.

  Faras dragged his hand down his braid, tugged and then tossed it over his shoulder. “Listen, you asked me for a favor. You asked me to lie to my suppliers about a certain baby girl dying. I did that.”

  “And you already called that favor. Sent me on a pickup. I drove Kacey Doka at your request and I delivered her, didn’t I?”

  “And both those guys are dead.”

  “How you figure that’s my fault?”

  “It’s your brother’s fault. Colt killed them.”

  “He’s not a dog on a leash. He loves Kacey.”

  “Love? Don’t make me laugh. How did Colt know where to find those Russian dudes?”

  “Dunno. Followed me?”

  “You better hope that’s how it went. If you tipped him...” Faras sat back in the booth and looked at the ceiling. Then dragged in a long breath and exhaled.

  Ty read the signs. Now he was already in the danger zone. He regretted chasing off Randy. The timing had been bad.

  Faras met his gaze across the table, his eyes flat and cold. “You still owe me for the baby. I’m calling it in. Moving you to transport.”

  “I delivered Kacey. That covers it.”

  “Not hardly. Two more of Vitoli’s guys were killed in Antelope Lake.”

  “Too bad.” Ty tried and failed to look sorry. The bastards had nearly killed Kee.

  “And you were there.”

  “No.”

  “Says you.”

  Faras didn’t know. He was fishing, putting together the pieces.

  “No way,” said Ty.

  “Just making a three-day delivery of a Chevy Nova. Yeah, I heard. You want that baby to stay dead?”

  Ty felt trapped. His entire life he’d been trapped. By his father, by the Marine Corps, by the gang. All he wanted in this shitty world was to have the chance, like Kee and Jake and Colt, to make something of himself. But he’d made his bed at eighteen. He didn’t regret what he had done. But he never anticipated that by accepting Faras’s help back then he would be tied to the man forever and painted with the same broad brush.

  He wanted out. But if he left, just got on his bike and rode, who would protect his family from these predators that lived inside their rez like a nest of vipers?

  The police couldn’t do it, because they had laws to follow and they were outmatched in numbers and finances. The Feds couldn’t do it. They didn’t operate here unless invited and they flitted in and out like migrating birds while he wallowed down here in the mud.

  “You hear me, Ty?” said Faras.

  Ty nodded.

  Faras leaned in. “I got a new operation. We’re cookin’ now. Ice.”

  Ty frowned, hating crystal meth and hating even more that the posse would be in production on his rez. “That so?”

  “Yeah. First lab is in production up on Deer Kill Meadow Road. Old hay barn up there.”

  “Won’t someone see the smoke?”

  “Nights only. You gonna start transport next week.”

  The hell he was. “Sure.”

  Chino returned with the beer. Ty left his on the table, went to the bar and sat beside Quinton. Ty was sitting facing the taps when Quinton’s foot dropped heavily off the bar stool as he sat forward. He did not reach for his gun, but his eyes widened and he looked as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in his face.

  Ty spun on the swivel stool toward the door. A woman paused on the Budweiser floor runner and glanced about. Ty thought her attention paused on him, but that might have been wishful thinking.

  “Damn,” said Quinton. “Why I have to be working when something like that shows up?”

  Ty thought it was a someone, not a something. But he agreed with Quinton that the woman was spectacular. She was tall with a confident stride and an economy of movement that spoke of power. Ty waited a beat for her partner to arrive and then it settled over him that this woman had come by herself to an unfamiliar watering hole, one with at least eight Harleys parked out front, and she had walked in with a self-assurance that showed either foolishness or strength.

  Strength, he decided. That to him was more appealing than beauty because it took grit to survive up here. Both fortitude and compromise.

  The tilt of her head and the way she scanned her surroundings gave her the air of a woman who knew what she was doing. There was no hesitation or wariness as she took in her surroundings. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she owned the place.

  The conversation lulled as one after another of both the single and married men considered their chances. Several of the men turned back to their beers, taking themselves out of the race by fidelity to their mates, or just by judging themselves to be farm-league players in a major league game.

  Ty leaned forward and drank her in like water. High brown suede boots, with silver studs around each ankle, hugged her well-defined calves. Her jeans were dark, new-looking and tight, showing legs that went on and on. The cropped leather jacket seemed to have lived a long, interesting life as a favorite garment, and Ty resented the way it hugged her upper body and breasts. Below the bottom of the jacket was a wide silver rodeo buckle, the kind that was won, not purchased. From here, it looked like the lady was a world-class barrel racer. Oh, how he would love to see her ride.

  Her fawn-brown skin held the luster of gold undertones, catching the light on her high cheekbones. She seemed multiracial. He thought he recognized the Native American lineage in her distinctive facial structure. Her pale eyes hinted at European roots, and she had full lips, light brown skin and a curl of her brown shoulder-length hair. A natural beauty.

  Women, sitting beside their men, placed proprietary hands on their companions, claiming them as she again swept the room with a slow scan. Her gaze fell on him. Her mouth quirked and he saw trouble coming his way, again. Only this time he felt like walking out to meet it.

  She raised her voice to be heard above the jukebox as she kept her eyes fixed on his. “I’m looking for Ty Redhorse.”

  Chapter Four

  In Beth’s opinion, the photos of Ty Redhorse did not do him justice. They didn’t capture his roguish grin or his speculative stare. His mug shot, taken when he was just seventeen, showed a scared kid, and the one furnished by his brother pictured a man posing with his family as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin.

  Maybe he was just uncomfortable with his family. Must be awkward at Sunday supper with his two remaining brothers. Comparisons were inevitable.

  This man was broad-shouldered with a slim athletic frame. He also had the devil-may-care smile of a pirate. His forehead was broad and smooth, making him
look more like twenty-one instead of twenty-eight. There was a slight, shallow cleft in his chin. One of his eyebrows lifted in conjecture. Dark eyes met hers and set off a flutter low and deep inside her.

  She ignored the warning and continued on. Nerves, she told herself as she moved toward him. She might find Ty physically attractive, but he was just her admission ticket to the Wolf Posse, a means to an end. So it didn’t matter how appealing she found his face and body. Beth liked bad boys, just not this one.

  Still, there was something about him that made her regret the missed opportunity he presented. In another time and place she might have acted on impulse. But not now with so much on the line.

  Beth had met his brother, Jake Redhorse, a rookie tribal officer, and had none of this immediate attraction. His younger brother had a look that she would describe as brooding. From the family photo, she thought the oldest brother, Kee, radiated the stability of a professional man with none of the indescribable edge of danger she found tempting. Unlike his oldest brother, this Redhorse man had none of that serious, stable aura. She knew of his youngest brother, Colt, only via computer records. Colt shared some of the defiant disregard she read in Ty’s expression. But he also had PTSD and had given up speaking for months. That was way too much for her to ever want to take on. She met Ty’s inquisitive stare. Everything about Ty seemed to broadcast mischief and the invitation to forget the rules and play.

  “I’m Ty,” he said.

  All heads turned in his direction and then boomeranged back to her.

  Beth had not anticipated the relaxed confidence of his physical self. He sat neither at attention nor slumped. Instead, he looked like he knew she was a problem heading toward him and he welcomed the diversion.

  She used her thumb to adjust one of the rings on her right hand, breaking the steady stare. The man to his left was Quinton Ford, one of the Wolf Posse’s higher-ups. Ty sat right beside the gang’s right-hand man.

  How cozy, she thought.

  He rose to his feet in an easy glide, his movements as relaxed as his expression. But his eyes glittered a warning that belied the ready smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got bike trouble. The owner of the diner said you were the man to see and he told me that I would find you here.” She extended her hand. “I’m Beth.”

  He looked at her hand as if inspecting it and then his gaze flicked to her left hand. Was he searching for a ring on that all-important finger? Or the indentation and lighter skin that showed there had been one there recently? She wasn’t sure, but there was a hesitation before his palm slid along hers in a sensual glide that made her skin pucker all over. His hand was clean, calloused. His nails showed the stain of stubborn motor oil. He gripped her hand and did not shake so much as stroke, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin on the back of her hand. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and her lungs suddenly demanded more oxygen.

  “Nice to meet you, Beth.”

  She drew back her hand, but it continued to tingle as if she’d just touched an electrified livestock fence.

  “If you need a bike fixed,” said Quinton Ford, interrupting, “you should ask Chino.” He thumbed at the mountainous man sitting with the leader of the Wolf Posse.

  “That so?” said Beth. “Why’s that?”

  “It’s his specialty. Ty’s is cars.”

  “A motor is a motor,” said Beth. “And I don’t think that Nathan would steer me wrong. What do you say, Ty?”

  His smile relayed anticipation and mischief. “Let’s have a look.”

  The whole point of coming here was to have everyone on his home turf see her leave with Ty and make the obvious conclusions. Her story to her supervisor, Luke Forrest, about getting a read on Ty was nonsense. She didn’t need a read. All she ever wanted or needed to know about Ty Redhorse she’d found in his FBI file. What she desired was traction, an inescapable hook to get him on board, because he’d already turned down the Bureau’s offer presented by his tribe.

  If tomorrow morning, he discovered that he’d been seen leaving the roadside bar with an FBI field agent? Well, that was the sort of thing he might be inclined to want to keep to himself.

  But Chino was on his way over. “I’ll fix your bike,” he said.

  Beth had not anticipated a war over her sled. She definitely didn’t want this mountainous wall of muscle to help her.

  Ty stepped to intercept Chino Aria. “Lady asked for me.”

  “Because she doesn’t know me,” he said.

  “And you’re working,” Ty reminded him.

  Chino’s expression went blank for a moment as his eyes lifted toward the ceiling. Then he glanced back at his boss, Faras Pike, who motioned to his muscle with two fingers.

  “Master’s calling,” said Ty, just having to get a dig in, it seemed.

  Not smart, thought Beth. If she wasn’t undercover, she’d already have her hand on the grip of her pistol.

  Chino shot Ty a glare that should have given him pause. Instead, it gave rise to a cocksure crooked smile that Beth admitted made her lips curl upward, as well. There was something satisfying about seeing the big man forced into retreat.

  Chino pointed at Ty as if his finger was a gun. “Later,” he said, and pulled the imaginary trigger.

  Ty said nothing but scratched beside his mouth with his middle finger. Chino frowned and gave Ty one last angry look before he stalked away.

  Ty motioned to the door. “Shall we?”

  Beth swung her hips for all she was worth as she sauntered toward the exit. Just before leaving she grabbed Ty by the front of his black T-shirt and tugged. The kiss came naturally.

  That surprised her. She’d thought it would feel forced. Unfortunately, they fit together all too well. Ty’s mouth was hungry. His hands moved down her arms to capture her waist and tug. She did not resist, falling against him as he deepened the kiss.

  She barely registered the hoots and banging from the customers, who all had ringside seats, as she’d intended. Beth closed her eyes and savored the velvety contact of his mouth and the sandy stubble of his cheek. She hadn’t been really kissed in so long she had forgotten what it felt like.

  As his tongue slid along hers and her body began to tingle in all the right places, she realized that she’d never been kissed like this. The warning bells sounded too late. She’d made a mistake, a costly one, because her body did not understand that this was work.

  Beth broke away and saw that she’d wiped the crooked smile off Ty’s face. He was now looking at her with a mixture of anticipation and healthy wariness. All large predators had that instinct—the ability to judge if he was facing an opportunity or a threat.

  Ty reached past her and pushed open the door. The roar of the customers mixed with shouts of encouragement.

  Someone shouted after them. “Fix that bike, Ty!”

  Beth turned but not before she saw Ty wave to the crowd like the victor of some sporting competition. Beth smiled. He thought he’d won, but she believed that, in the interrogation room of his tribe’s police station, when she flashed her badge, he might see things differently.

  Chapter Five

  Outside, the world was dark except for the single spotlight fixed above the bar, illuminating the rutted dirt parking area before the roadhouse. In the windows, the neon glow of beer advertising sent beams of bright color reflecting off the windshields of dusty pickup trucks.

  “I’m this way,” she said, leading him to the darkest portion of the lot.

  Ty dragged her between two trucks and kissed her again. This time she did not kiss him for show. Oh, no, this time she let herself enjoy each nerve-tingling second. But when his hand moved from her lower back to her backside, she stepped away.

  “The bike?” she reminded him.

  “Yeah, but I’m figuring that if I fix it, you might use it to get away.”

  S
he smiled at him. He really was a handsome man. Such a shame he’d chosen so poorly in life. Those dark eyes gleamed with the promise of pleasure, and his mouth turned up in a way that offered a challenge she was tempted to accept. It was a winning combination. Especially when coupled with the hard jawline, straight nose and dark, slashing eyebrows. His hair was a windblown mess, as if he didn’t care how it looked or, perhaps, understood that his mop of hair begged a woman to comb her fingers through the tangles. She indulged herself in the impulse as her eyes feasted on the quintessential bad boy.

  The tribe should make warning posters about this one. Still, she was tempted. So tempted to see what he had.

  “You need a shave,” she said. His hair was as thick as a horse’s tail. She drew her hand back and touched her own cheek. “You’re giving me razor burn.”

  “I have a razor at my place,” he said.

  The man did not waste time.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t ride there. My bike...” She offered him a regretful look, but her eyes offered something else.

  “Let’s go see.”

  She led the way across the rutted, dusty lot. He fell into step just behind her left shoulder.

  “What kind of sled you have?”

  “It’s a BMW F800GT.”

  He whistled as his hand stroked her bike, starting at the leather saddle and gliding all the way up to the instruments until his long fingers finally wrapped around one grip.

  Beth shivered in response to that sensual glide, and he hadn’t even touched her.

  “Rich,” he said. He stretched out his fingers and then wiped his hand across his flat stomach.

  Beth’s skin flushed and she found she needed a long intake of air. “I got it used off a guy who...well, he gave me a good price.” She let him wonder about that. The bike was truly hers. She had purchased it at a police auction and knew it had been owned by a man who liked to gamble with his clients’ money. The way she figured it, a bike like this deserved a better owner.