“So, you boys have any idea what will happen to me if one of the Wolf Posse drives by and sees two cop cars parked at my shop?” asked Ty.
“I’d imagine it would be easier to explain than if I haul your ass into the station as an accessory to kidnapping,” said Bear Den.
Bear Den was talking about Ty transporting Colt’s girl, Kacey, off the rez and back to her captors two and a half weeks ago. Not kidnapping, but darn close, and he was sure the tribal police would not appreciate the subtle differences. He was in serious risk of the tribe bringing charges against him, possibly turning the case over to the attorney general, and Bear Den was all for that.
“Shouldn’t you be chasing the guys that blew up our dam?” asked Ty.
Bear Den’s mouth quirked. “I’m multitasking. Now, you want to talk to us here or there?”
Ty faced off against the big man. He knew he could not take Bear Den in a fair fight, but he had a length of pipe just inside the open bay door. “What do you want, exactly?”
“Just some help,” said Jake, standing with palms out. “These are our girls that they’re taking. We want them back.”
Ty had no objections to that. He just didn’t want to stop breathing because of it. “What’s that got to do with me?”
Bear Den took over again. His hair was growing out and it curled like a pig’s tail at his temples. Ty wondered again just who had fathered this monster of a man. Certainly not Mr. Bear Den, who was big but not supersized.
“No secret you’re in the Posse.” Bear Den pointed to the grease-smeared tattoo of four feathers forming a W for wolf on Ty’s forearm. The gang was an all-Native branch of the Three Kings, wore the yellow and black colors of that group and had adopted an indigenous symbol that resembled the crown worn by the Kings while representing their Native culture.
“I’m retired.”
“No such thing,” said Bear Den.
True enough. A better word would have been inactive. He knew more than he would like and less than he used to, which was still too much. And he owed favors. Way too many favors.
Ty no longer did their dirty work, but he looked the other way. Kept their cars running smoother and faster than law-enforcement vehicles and drove the occasional errand. He did what was necessary. There was just no other way to survive in a brotherhood of wolves.
“We need to know how they choose the targets, if they have targeted anyone else and where the missing are being held.”
Ty could never find out that last one because the gang only snatched and delivered. They did not store the taken. That was the Kuznetsov crime family, a Russian mob that dealt in women the way a farmer deals in livestock. Buy. Sell. Breed. And they were just one of many. The outer thread of a network that stretched around the world.
“Is that all?” asked Ty, and smirked.
Bear Den’s frown deepened. The man was aching to arrest him, but the tribal council had voted against turning Ty over to the Feds after the incident with Kacey Doka because her statement included that she had wished to be returned to her captors and that she accepted a ride from Ty. In other words, no coercion or capture, so not kidnapping. Ty suspected the fact that he was walking around free burned the detective’s butt.
“That would do it,” said Bear Den.
Ty leaned back against the grill of the Caddy and folded his arms, throwing up the first barricade. “I don’t know if they have more targets. I don’t know where the missing are being held and I don’t know how they choose.”
“But you could find out,” said Jake.
Ty gave his brother a look of regret.
“Help them, like you helped me,” whispered Jake as he extended his right hand, reaching out to his big brother from across a gap too wide for either of them to cross.
“You’re family, Jakey. It’s different.” He thrust a hand into his jeans, feeling the paper with the address of the meet in his pocket. Ty rubbed the note between his thumb and index finger. “Listen, guys, I have a nice honest business here. So how about this, how about you do your job instead of asking me to do it?”
Bear Den glanced at his garage and the car beyond the Caddy.
“It’s all legit, Bear Den. You can’t get to me that way.”
Bear Den snorted like a bull. “If they ask you for details on our investigation, could you feed them some false information?”
“They kill people for that.”
Judging from his expression, that eventuality did not seem to bother the detective in the least.
“Bear Den, your police force arrested me and you did everything you could to get the tribe to turn me over to the Feds. I owe you, but not a favor.”
“You threatening me?” asked the detective.
“That would be illegal. I am telling you, nicely, to piss off.”
“We’d like you to meet someone,” said Jake.
“Not happening.”
“She’s FBI,” said Jake.
Ty laughed. “Oh, then let me rephrase. Not happening, ever.”
FBI field agent Beth Hoosay sat in the silver F-150 pickup with tribal police officer Jake Redhorse, waiting for full dark. Redhorse had parked across the highway and out of sight, but with a clear view of the roadside bar favored by bikers and Jake’s older brother, Ty Redhorse. In the bed of the truck was her motorcycle, prepped and ready.
Earlier in the day, the tribal police detective, Jack Bear Den, had tried and failed to get Ty to meet with her. So they would do it the hard way.
It was beyond Beth’s comprehension why the Turquoise Canyon Apache tribe’s leadership had voted to keep Ty on the reservation instead of turning him over to the authorities for trial. And he was walking around free.
That was about to change, in twelve hours to be exact. Because Beth was about to meet Ty on his own turf tonight and with the advantage of him not knowing who and what she was. She had backup, but she did not intend to need it. The agents could hear everything she said and had eyes on her outside the roadside bar. Once she was inside, it would be audio only because Beth insisted that the other agents would never blend in a place like this. They’d be spotted as outsiders instantly.
She, on the other hand, had been in this joint once before when she was younger and more rebellious, after her dad had died, and she’d had the gall to date a guy who owned a bike. Worse still, he had taught her to ride. She was grateful for that much. The rest of their relationship had been less positive because it seemed to her that he’d wanted her only as an accessory to his chopper. Her mother said the bike would be the death of her and that the guy had been interested only because of her unique looks, which blended Native heritage with her father’s Caribbean roots, and made her seem exotic to the son of a soybean farmer. Sometimes she just wanted to blend in. But today her looks were an asset and the reason she was here.
Beth had been handpicked for this assignment because she was Apache on her mother’s side. Not Tonto Apache, like Ty Redhorse. Her Native ancestry came from the line that fought with Geronimo and lost, which was why her reservation was up in Oklahoma instead of here, where they had lost to the US Army with the help of this very tribe. She tried not to let it bother her, but many on her rez still thought the Tonto Apache were more desert people who could not even understand their language. They spoke a language that only they and God could understand.