Tribal Law (7 page)

“Oh,” she said. “Someone smashed my window.” She didn't mention they had smashed it with a bullet.

“That blows,” he said.

Selena circled behind the truck, gripping the tracking anklet in her fist.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“Have to lock the rear door or it will swing open,” she said, hurrying to the rear and opened one door a few inches before tossing the tracker into the flatbed. Then she closed and locked the gate. When she returned Nota was already in the truck. Selena climbed behind the wheel and prayed the alarm could not be heard in the cab.

“Got to move two barrels today. My man is waiting for us on site.”

If she could just find out where the barrels were hidden, they might be able to shut this operation down. Selena swung the truck out of the drive and onto the road.

Dryer should be learning right now that her father's unit had been triggered. But he was three hours away in Phoenix.

She started the engine.
Please let him call Gabe.

Would Dryer send in his cavalry or was she out here all alone with this gangster?

Chapter Eleven

Gabe was cooperative with the Arizona investigators and answered all their questions. They had released the scene yesterday and were following up today. The state police had resources that a small police force just never would, including the crime investigation unit that included the two detectives now interviewing him. Thankfully, when Dryer had been notified of the investigation he'd admitted to having been there and Dryer's testimony should corroborate his version.

Gabe's phone vibrated. He checked the caller ID and saw Dryer's name. He excused himself and picked up.

“I'm with the detectives now,” he said by way of a greeting.

“Yeah, I know. Also spoke to Escalanti's man. So far he hasn't heard. Who's there?”

Gabe told him the names of the two officers.

“Anyone else?”

“No. Just three of us in my office.”

“Close the door and put me on speaker.”

Gabe did. Dryer raised his voice to be heard by all.

“Frasco Dosela's tracking unit just went off. That means he left the premises. He's not answering his phone. Something is wrong.”

“Where is he?”

“That's the thing, his tracker uses his mobile phone to locate. The anklet doesn't have a GPS built in, so if his phone isn't near the tracker, we can't locate him.”

Even if he had his phone, they might not be able to locate him. Gabe knew that great expanses of the reservation had no cell phone reception. That was why the radios were so essential to his force.

“You lost him?” said Gabe.

“Don't know. His cell phone is at home. But the tracker isn't.”

He might have left his mobile at home. Gabe gripped the phone. Something had gone wrong. Was Selena all right?

“Hold on. I think we got through to Frasco.” Dryer's voice was muffled as he seemed to be taking another call.

The room remained silent until Dryer's voice again boomed over the speaker, louder now.

“He said his parole officer is there right now.”

“Wouldn't he see if the tracker was missing?” asked Gabe.

“No. It can be under Frasco's sock or pant leg and I designed it to be removable.”

“He took it off, but he's at his house,” asked Gabe, clarifying.

“Gabe, he didn't leave the property.”

But his tracker did. Someone had carried it past the perimeter to set it off.

“Malfunction?” asked one of the detectives. It was a reasonable guess. The units were not perfect.

“No. Frasco didn't answer my questions. Just kept telling me that Selena had gone out with her boyfriend. That she wasn't at home.”

Gabe knew what this meant, and he was already on his feet and reaching for his mobile phone. He tugged on his hat.

“He gave the tracker to Selena,” said Gabe.

“I think so,” said Dryer.

“Why?” said one of the detectives.

“He wants us to know where she is. That means—”

Gabe cut him off. “Selena is in trouble.”

* * *

S
ELENA
DROVE
THE
truck as Pablo Nota directed. He had told her that they were meeting someone who would deliver the barrels to them and she would take them to the lab. Twice she got a glimpse of movement behind them in her side mirror, but she could not be certain.

“If it is only three or four barrels, why don't you just deliver it?” she asked.

He shook his head as if she were the dumbest person alive.

“You got insurance on your trucks?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“In case something happens, it will be covered.”

“That's why we don't deliver the precursor. Transfer of liability. We arrange transportation. We don't transport. That way if you get picked up, you go to federal prison, not me.”

She was about to say that she could identify him, but thought better of it. It was unwise to threaten a man she knew had an automatic weapon in the pocket of his oversize jacket. She knew that because he'd made it a point to show her.

Again she thought she saw something behind them. Dusk came early in the mountains and this time of year the twilight descended in the early afternoon.

Nota went on. “Besides, this is only the beginning. We got lots more coming. Got to move this out to make room. Gonna be running more labs, too. A regular cottage industry.” He motioned for her to turn in the direction of Piñon Lake.

Piñon Lake? There was no place out there to store anything. The lake was used for fishing and there was an old quarry. But no place large enough to store the kind of quantity of supplies they must need to make the drugs.

She stopped asking questions. She just wanted to pick up the barrels and get them to Sammy Leekela's junkyard.

When he told her to pull over, she did, still seeing nothing. Then one of the shadows moved. A big shadow, and she saw that the shadow was actually a huge man in a white snowmobile suit. He looked like a soldier on winter operations or a Yeti. When they pulled into the lot beside the quarry, she noted that he stood beside a snowmobile attached to a sled covered with a white tarp.

Nota opened the door and called a greeting.

“'Bout time,” said the giant.

He stepped toward the passenger's side and she noticed that the only things not white were his high-top turquoise basketball sneakers and the semiautomatic he had slung over his right shoulder on a strap like a handbag.

“Let's load this up and get out of here.”

“You're both coming?” she asked.

“No. We're both leaving. Didn't you hear a word I said?”

Selena climbed down from the truck and opened the rear doors. It took both of them to roll the barrels to the back of the loading truck. She attached her ramp and they used her dolly to get the first barrel aboard.

She glanced to the back of the truck where she had thrown the tracker but could neither see nor hear it, thank goodness.

Selena stood by as the two of them heaved and swore. But again her eye caught movement and this time she heard the crunch of tires approaching. In the gloom she just made out the white vehicle and her heart gave a little leap.
Gabe
, she thought.

That's when gunfire exploded from the approaching large SUV. Selena threw herself to the road and rolled under the box truck.

Above her, Pablo Nota screamed and toppled to the ground past the back tire, falling like a rag doll. Blood leaked into the snow beneath him, oozing outward and melting the thin coating of ice. She slapped a gloved hand over her mouth to keep from screaming and inched farther back. His partner's footsteps sounded above her as he ran farther into the box truck.

The SUV doors opened and she heard the shouts of men, mixed with gunfire. Selena covered her ears and allowed a whimpering cry to escape her lips.

On the road beside the truck sat the snowmobile and sled, used by Nota's partner to bring the barrels. An idea formed, but as she stared at the stretch of open ground between her hiding place and escape the idea withered.

More gunfire sounded. A steady stream of shots from inside her truck and then scattered blasts from their attackers. She knew when the big man had been hit because it sounded like a refrigerator tipping over above her.

“Where's the driver?” asked someone.

Selena stiffened as the legs of the gunmen came into view. How long before they looked under her box truck and found her hiding like a ground squirrel from a fox?

Selena scrambled toward the front of the truck. If she was going to die, it would not be lying on her belly in the snow.

Chapter Twelve

Gabe accelerated toward Piñon Lake with the two state police detectives falling behind and two more units en route. His headlights flashed across the snow, showing him only the icy flakes falling on the empty road. Where was her box truck? Selena was out here. Dryer said so. He'd used the tracker and Selena's phone to pinpoint her location, and Gabe was going to find her.

Dryer was en route as well, bringing his people from Phoenix, and Gabe knew they'd be too late.

He just prayed that
he
wouldn't be.

The flash of gunfire reached him an instant before the sound of the shots. Just ahead, someone was shooting a semiautomatic weapon in short controlled blasts. A second shooter opened up to the first shooter's left.

Gabe hit the gas, flying over the snowy roads too fast. He leaned forward as if that would make his SUV go faster and he gripped the wheel, praying to reach her in time.

His headlights reached the white Ford Yukon, revealing two men. One in front of the vehicle. One to the left.

The first man turned, pointing an automatic weapon in Gabe's direction. He rammed the Yukon, sending it sliding forward at the gunman. He saw the shooter's arms go up, the automatic spraying bullets into the dull sky for just an instant before he disappeared under the grille of his SUV. The Yukon continued forward, hitting Selena's truck and sending it gliding for several feet before it came to rest.

Gabe was out of his unit and running, gun drawn.

Another blast of gunfire came from the back of the loading truck.

From somewhere beyond the truck came the whir of a motor turning over. He identified the sound of a snowmobile engine.

He reached the front of the Yukon and discovered two bodies. One lay perfectly still and perfectly illuminated in the halogen beams of the Yukon in a bright pool of blood. Gabe dismissed that threat as his gaze flicked to the man who had fallen before his vehicle. The shooter lay on his back, his weapon still gripped in one hand as he struggled to his elbows.

Gabe aimed his pistol. “Tribal Police. Put down the weapon.”

The snowmobile accelerated, the engine revving louder. The man's mouth moved although Gabe couldn't hear him. But he could see him lift the weapon, swinging it toward Gabe.

Gabe fired at center mass. Two shots into the shooter's chest. The gunman went slack, his weapon rattling on the snowy pavement.

Gabe stepped forward and kicked it away. Behind him came the sweep of more headlights. The state police unit stopped just beyond his SUV. The detectives had arrived and exited in unison on each side of their vehicle.

“Two down here,” he shouted. But his words were lost in the roar of the snowmobile's high-pitched motor. He waved them forward. They came one after the other, weapons drawn, covering each other's advance.

He turned back to the open box truck. Inside he saw a large lump of something that could be a trash bag or a man. Beyond sat three fifty-gallon blue barrels.

The precursor, he realized.

The snowmobile engine revved as the driver accelerated away amid another burst of gunfire. Gabe saw a small figure on the machine, the headlight bouncing wildly as the rider shifted and nearly disappeared from sight on the far side of the snowmobile. He knew then, with certainty, who the rider must be.

Selena, trying to escape, rode the snowmobile as their ancestors had once ridden their horses to avoid the bullets of the cavalry's guns. She clung with one leg thrown across the seat and her hands on the steering mechanism. The rest of her body hung off the far side of the machine.

More gunfire exploded. Gabe couldn't see the shooter who now stood before the grille of the box truck, firing at Selena who zipped past them, heading toward the woods.

Gabe moved to the passenger side, correctly guessing at the shooter's path so he was there when the man stepped clear of the grille to take another shot at Selena.

The instant he cleared the fender, Gabe shouted, identifying himself, trying to draw fire away from Selena.

“Tribal Police! Put down your weapon!”

The man turned, a stunned look on his face and Gabe wondered if the second shooter had not heard his arrival because of the roar of the snowmobile. The man swung the automatic pistol away from the escaping snowmobile and in Gabe's direction.

Gabe fired first, two quick shots. Then he hit the ground and rolled under the box truck as the bullets sprayed over his head. He saw the shooter drop to his knees and he aimed again, considering taking out the man's knee. But the man sprawled forward, falling onto his weapon. Gabe glanced behind him and saw the detective's steady approach. Gabe rolled out from beneath the truck to check the second shooter and heard the snowmobile motor growing louder.

Selena had swung back in his direction. What was she doing?

* * *

S
ELENA
TURNED
THE
snowmobile back toward the road. A glance over her shoulder had shown her Gabe Cosen's SUV.

He'd found her!

But there were two more gunmen sneaking up behind him, guns poised before them as they crept from their dark sedan toward Gabe.

She didn't think about reaching safety. Instead she thought about Gabe facing two more killers. Did he see them? He was looking toward her instead of the threat.

Her motor, she realized, the stupid, loud roaring of the machine kept him from hearing them.

She headed straight for the gunmen. They turned in her direction. One lifted his weapon.

Gabe threw up his arms and ran toward them. Why wasn't he aiming the gun at his attacker?

She saw them clearly now. White men, dressed in blue nylon jackets, zipped open to show neckties and dress shirts. Something about that didn't make sense.

Gabe was running toward the man who aimed his pistol at her. And then she saw it, the flash of gold at the man's waist, a badge, or shield as Gabe called it.

Selena sharply turned the snowmobile before it hit the two lawmen. It tipped and she threw herself clear of the rolling machine.

* * *

A
SHOOTING
PAIN
flashed through Gabe's chest as he watched Selena rolling over and over before she came to a stop.

Gabe charged up the snowbank, floundering and swimming with his arms to clear the four-foot mound of snow. All the while he was shouting at the detectives to hold fire.

He called to her and she did not move.

The motor continued to whine. The snowmobile, on its side, sputtered and finally died. Then he reached her and rolled her into his arms.

“Selena?”

“Gabe?”

Her voice was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. She lifted her arms and clung to him as tears flowed down her cheeks.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“Me?” He blinked at the moisture at his eyes. “Did he hit you?”

“No. I don't think so.”

He eased her back, searching for injury, his hands moving down her face and through her hair as his gaze swept over her. And then he saw it, the tiny hole in the shoulder of her coat.

“Who are they?” she asked, glancing back at the two men who had moved to the back of her truck.

“State police, detectives. Investigating yesterday's shooting.” He pushed his finger into the hole in the fabric, feeling down through the brown workman's coat and coming out the other side. “Take this off.”

He helped her draw it back and checked her shoulder. The bullet had missed her. Gabe blew away a breath.

“You were clear. Why did you come back?”

“I thought they were with the others.”

He dragged her against him and she clung. “Oh, Selena. You scared me. You can't do this. It's too dangerous.”

She didn't say anything. But a high-pitched cry emerged from her throat. He drew back and saw her shoulders begin to jump. He remembered what that signaled. Selena was weeping.

He held her close, stroking her head as she cried into his coat.

“I'm s-sorry.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He rocked her. “You have to stop this. We have to get you and your family out of here.”

From behind him came the shout of Detective Spencer. “Clear.”

Gabe lifted his cheek from the top of Selena's head. Had he really just failed to clear the scene of gunman?

Selena wept against his chest. He needed to get her out of here and then he needed to do his job. Four more men killed in a gun battle on his reservation.

How could he protect her and still break this meth ring? He couldn't, he realized. He would have to choose.