Firewolf Read online

  Forrest absorbed this. “You should have called the FBI.”

  “And say what—a friend told me there’s going to be trouble in Lilac?”

  “Anonymous tip line,” said Forrest.

  “Ha,” said Kenshaw. “Anonymous. That’s funny.”

  Dylan wondered if Kenshaw was working with the FBI only to prevent himself from going to prison. Tinnin and the tribal council could protect him to some extent. They decided which cases to turn over for federal prosecution. Had they turned over Kenshaw?

  Police Chief Tinnin brought them back on track. “You were saying?”

  “I recommended the man who killed the Lilac Copper Mine mass gunman.”

  “Morgan Hooke’s father,” said Dylan. Morgan was the woman Kenshaw had sent Ray Strong to protect. He had done too good a job. Morgan was alive and they were married.

  “WOLF had wanted a man with no family, or someone who was terminally ill.”

  That was the case with Morgan’s dad, Dylan knew. He’d had only months to live when he had turned assassin for hire. But his plan to provide for his daughter and granddaughter had backfired and nearly gotten them both killed. Ray had prevented that.

  “And that was the last one you set up without us knowing about it,” said Forrest.

  Dylan thought that sounded more like a warning.

  Kenshaw nodded. “Back to Cheney. He was trying to stop that construction with legal action. He needed the fire report to file with the court. I set up the meet so he could get his report and I could get the information he had on BEAR’s next target. Cheney said they were planning something big for the explosives they stole from the Lilac mine.”

  “The house wasn’t the target?” asked Meadow.

  “My superiors think that the explosion was a warning to others not to break the ridgeline,” said Forrest. “And a way to dispose of Cheney.”

  “What do you think?” asked Meadow.

  “It was a test.”

  A test for what? wondered Dylan. His heart thudded at the possibilities. They had to find out, had to stop BEAR.

  Forrest raked his fingers through his thick hair, leaving track marks. “Now we’ve lost our contact with BEAR. We’re blind. We need someone else on the inside.”

  “Do you know any other members of BEAR?” asked Tinnin.

  Kenshaw nodded and looked to Forrest.

  “Just one—we suspect he’s their leader,” said Forrest.

  “Who?” asked Jack.

  “Meadow’s father, Theron Wrangler.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “No,” said Meadow, the outrage shuttering through her voice. “My father would never have set that fire. He’s an environmentalist.”

  “A radical one,” said Forrest. “We believe that this explosion was only a test. Cheney had information on the real target. He was supposed to deliver it to Dylan.”

  Dylan scowled. “It would have been nice if someone had told me that.”

  “He’s fought to protect wild places all his life,” she said as the outrage turned to dread. What if they were right?

  “Cheney told me that Theron headed BEAR. Theron took over after Walter Fields went to federal prison for manslaughter.”

  “What did you get him on?” asked Jack.

  “Carelessness. He ran down the owner of a fur farm and claimed it was an accident. Jury thought otherwise. Guy had two young kids.”

  Meadow knew that man. She used to call him Uncle Walt. Now her sense of dread turned to fear. This couldn’t be. She would not believe her father could do something like this.

  “Why would he endanger his daughter?” said Dylan.

  “She broadcast some spectacular footage. It’s all over the internet. You’ve gone viral, Miss Wrangler, and we would very much like to examine that footage more closely. Did anything survive the fire?”

  She nodded. “My GoPro.”

  “Where is it?” asked Forrest.

  “I hid it in the gatehouse when those men arrived.”

  “Where exactly?” asked Forrest.

  Meadow described tucking the recorder in between the sheets in the back of the gatehouse’s hallway linen closet. Forrest jotted some notes.

  “But why her?” asked Dylan. “He could have sent anyone. Why his own daughter?”

  “We have a theory,” said Forrest.

  They waited. Meadow was afraid to breathe.

  “Make her a martyr for the cause. The builder had two acetylene tanks on site. The newspapers are theorizing that they blew. The lawsuits are already flying. The builder is facing reckless-endangerment charges. The state sent a fire-and-explosion investigator.” He snapped his fingers, thinking. “Albert Waltz. He’s on site with our men. We don’t believe the tanks were the cause,” said Forrest. “They only contributed.”

  “Do you know what the investigator thinks?” said Dylan.

  “He thinks you did it,” said Tinnin.

  “Why?”

  “Means,” said Tinnin. “You know how to weld. Learned in the Marines, and you picked up a few jobs here, too. Motive. You’re Apache and everyone knows we are opposed to assaults on the environment.”

  “That’s weak,” said Jack.

  Tinnin went on as if his detective had not spoken. “Opportunity. You were there when it blew and yet somehow miraculously survived.”

  “It wasn’t a miracle. I deployed a fire shelter.”

  “Which you happened to have along,” said Forrest.

  “I always do.”

  “Most folks don’t carry them,” countered Forrest.

  “Most folks aren’t hotshots.”

  “All right,” said Tinnin. “Point being, that explosives guy, Waltz, is going to arrest you the minute you leave the reservation.”

  Meadow’s anxiety switched from her father to Dylan.

  “He didn’t do it.”

  The chief of tribal police gave her an indulgent smile. “That likely won’t matter. Waltz has a warrant and has applied to the tribal council for Dylan’s release to his custody, which they won’t accommodate. Makes him a prisoner here, though.”

  “Only way around that is to clear his name,” said Jack.

  And that meant getting Waltz a new suspect—her father, she realized.

  “My video!”

  “It shows me heading to the site,” said Dylan.

  “And coming back. You didn’t have time,” she said.

  “Could have done it earlier,” said Jack.

  “We need to see that footage,” said Forrest. “Excuse me.” He stepped away to make a call.

  “His partner is at the epicenter,” said Tinnin. “With that inspector, Waltz.”

  Forrest returned to the table and spoke to Meadow. “Can you tell me what you shot?”

  She gave him a summary. She’d filmed the ridge before construction and then the house in various stages of development.

  “Oh, there’s other footage on there, too. Unrelated. I’m working on two projects.”

  Forrest quirked a brow. “What’s the other?”

  “A documentary—in its early stages—on the effect of damming the Hakathi River. They modified it to prevent floods and generate hydroelectric power. But they changed it irrevocably.”

  “What did you film?” asked Jack.

  “The power company gave us permission to film the exteriors of all four dams and I got some interior shots at the Skeleton Cliff and Alchesay Canyon Dams. Those guys up there were really friendly. Even took me in a crane basket for some of my footage.”

  Jack straightened and Forrest met his gaze. They both looked to Kenshaw.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  They didn’t like that information. Meadow waited for someone to s
peak. Instead, their shaman motioned for her to continue. So she described the footage she had taken.

  “The inside of the powerhouse isn’t very cinematographic, just cooling turbines and sluice gates to control water flow and a lot of compressed air in big tanks. That’s on there, too. Just in between the ridge footage.”

  “You stream any of that?” asked Forrest.

  “No. It’s for research on the next project. Nice guys up there, the engineers.”

  Dylan said something to Detective Bear Den in Tonto Apache and the detective shook his head and replied, looking to Forrest. The next thing Dylan said was a question. She could tell that much.

  “Skeleton Cliff is right above our reservation,” Dylan said in English. “It will be at capacity after the summer rains.”

  He’d gone pale. Meadow recalled the ridge explosion and suddenly felt sick. If the dams were the real target, the target Cheney would have revealed to the shaman through Dylan, then his tribe, his people, his home—everything and everyone in his entire world would be washed away if Skeleton Dam failed.

  “What do you mean?” asked Meadow.

  Dylan shook his head as if words just failed him.

  “My father didn’t blow up that house. Neither did Dylan,” said Meadow to the FBI agent.

  “Well, if you really believe that, then you’ll want to clear your father,” said Forrest. “You’ll want to help us out with the investigation.”

  Meadow hesitated. Her actions could incriminate her father. What would she do if it became a choice between her father and the man who had saved her life? Meadow prayed she would never have to make that choice.

  “I won’t do anything to incriminate my father.”

  “We just want the truth, Meadow. We all want the truth.”

  “What is it you want her to do, exactly?” asked Dylan.

  Forrest switched his attention to Dylan. “We want her to go home.”

  “That’s it?” said Meadow. Some of the tension eased from between her shoulders.

  “And wear a wire.”

  Her muscles tensed again. A wire? Like those things she saw on TV. She’d then be some kind of family narc. How had her life become a crime drama? Forrest’s phone chirped and he glanced down at the screen.

  “We have your camera,” he said to Meadow. “Thank you for providing us the location. We’ll make a copy of the footage for you and get the hardware back to you soon.”

  Meadow snorted as if she doubted that and stuck to the topic of the wire.

  “You want me to be an informant against my father.”

  “We want you to prove us wrong.”

  She wasn’t falling for that bait.

  “What if I don’t?”

  “Nothing. You can go home, alone, without FBI protection to your loving family.”

  Meadow glanced to Dylan.

  “Oh, he stays here. He leaves, he loses tribal protection. Remember?” said Forrest.

  Dylan placed his arm across the table, a visible barrier between Meadow and Forrest, just to let Forrest know he wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

  “She stays here,” said Dylan.

  “No. Whether or not she cooperates, I’m placing her into custody. Whether that becomes public knowledge is also up to Miss Wrangler. Of course, I could arrange for Waltz to back off for a while.”

  Meadow understood the threat. If she cooperated and wore a wire like a good girl, she’d get Dylan and the FBI’s protection. Refuse, and she’d be left alone and everyone would know she’d been detained by the FBI—everyone, including her father. Meadow rubbed her hand over her mouth as she considered her options.

  “Don’t, Meadow,” said Dylan. “It’s too dangerous.”

  But it was also a chance to clear Dylan’s name and, if she was right, her father’s, as well.

  “Under the condition that you get Dylan cleared of charges before we leave the reservation.”

  “I can’t clear him. I can only buy him time.”

  “But you know he didn’t do it.”

  Forrest leaned in. “You don’t get it, do you, Meadow? I don’t care who did it. I want to know who has the rest of those explosives and where they plan to strike next. Someone out there has dump trucks full of explosives and a moral obligation to send the entire Southwest back into the Stone Age. That’s not happening. Not on my watch. So you can help me or you can watch it happen.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  * * *

  DYLAN DID NOT like the plan, but he waited as Meadow was outfitted with a wire, and then he stood placidly as Forrest applied one to him, as well.

  When she returned, she was given a burner phone to call her father. Dylan listened on headphones with the rest of them. He picked up on the first ring, his greeting taciturn.

  “Yeah?”

  “Daddy?”

  Everything in his voice changed. “Princess. Is it you? I knew it. Oh, baby, are you all right? Where are you?”

  If he was acting, it was darn convincing. Dylan read only relief and joy in Theron Wrangler’s voice.

  “I’m okay. I’m sorry if I worried you. I only just got the phone replaced.”

  “They found your car. But not you... Sweetheart, what happened?”

  She relayed the lie as it had been set up.

  “I got out before the fire. Some guy picked me up and we just made it out.”

  “Thank God. Thank God.” He was mumbling to himself now. “I knew... I just knew it.” There was a choking sound.

  “Daddy?” Meadow’s eyes rounded as she listened to her father weep. She held Dylan’s gaze and he saw her eyes fill with tears. “Daddy? I’m sorry. I should have called right away.”

  “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  Dylan thought again that this did not sound like a man willing to martyr his daughter for the cause. But if he was not the one, then who?

  “You need to come home,” he said. “Tell me where you are.”

  “I’m in Darabee.”

  “Darabee? In the mountains?”

  “Yes. The guy that got me out, he lives up here. I lost my phone and my wallet and everything but the camera. Did you see the footage, Dad?”

  “The hell with the footage. I’m sending Jessie to pick you up. They have a small airport. Can you get there?”

  “Yes. Daddy, can I bring him?”

  “Who?”

  “The man who saved my life.”

  “Heck, yes. I want to meet that young man.”

  She lowered her voice. “Daddy, he’s Apache, from the Turquoise Canyon tribe.”

  Dylan’s eyes narrowed at the long pause.

  “Apache? That’s a heck of a thing. What’s his name?”

  His tone had changed now, seemingly casual but with a hard undercurrent that Jack and Luke also caught because their eyes flashed to him and then each other.

  “Dylan Tehauno. He’s wonderful.”

  “Sure he is. He’s a hero. Saved my baby girl. Tell him there’s a reward in it for him.”

  “He doesn’t want money, Daddy.” Her face wrinkled in disapproval and she shot Dylan an apologetic look.

  “Well, what does he want?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hmm.” Dad had been around long enough to know that everyone wanted something, and if it wasn’t money it was something worse. “A job?”

  “No. Daddy, we’re dating.”

  Another long pause. “I don’t think so.”

  “What?” Her expression read absolute disbelief.

  “You’re not dating a boy from the rez.”

  “He’s a man.”

  “Without a job, likely, who latched on to the best thing that ever came his way.”
>
  “I’d better go,” she said.

  “I’m sending Jessie.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll find my own way home.”

  Forrest was waving at her as Meadow went off script.

  Silence stretched as Meadow affected a look of petulance Dylan had never seen. The grit and intelligence of this woman dissolved as she reverted into a child on the verge of a tantrum.

  “All right,” said Wrangler.

  Meadow’s mouth curled in a smile. The victor, Dylan realized.

  Wrangler continued, conceding. “He can come. But do not introduce him to your mother as your newest flame. She won’t have it. You know that.”

  “She doesn’t have to date him.”

  “You need her approval.”

  “Only if I want a wedding with five hundred people.”

  “Wedding! Princess, we need to talk.”

  Dylan’s eyes widened at this turn and his gaze flashed to Jack, who was now scowling. Dylan shook his head, wondering what game Meadow was playing.

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing?” asked Meadow.

  “Have you met his family?”

  “Some,” she lied.

  “Did you meet a man named Little Falcon up there?”

  “No. Just his mother. She’s lovely. Very gracious and welcoming. She didn’t seem to mind that I was a white girl.”

  “Of course she didn’t. I’m sending Jessie. Get to the airport.”

  “With Dylan.”

  “Great.” His voice belied his words.

  “Love you, Daddy.”

  “Oh, Princess, I am so damn glad you are alive.”

  “See you soon.” She disconnected.

  Forrest slumped in his chair. Jack shook his head in disbelief, and Dylan wondered if he was as easily manipulated as her father.

  “What?” she said.

  “You’re used to getting your way,” said Dylan.

  “With Daddy, yes. But Mom is tougher.” Meadow tucked away her new smartphone in the pink sparkle case. “She’s very hard to please.”

  Was that why she’d given up trying, playing the family screwup, instead. Any attention was better than no attention after all.

  “I’m sorry,” said Dylan.

  “About what?”

  “Your mom.”