Tribal Law Page 7

  Selena felt trapped. She glanced toward the road, thinking of Gabe. Wishing...

  Her father’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  “You know it’s over between you two, right?”

  Her heart squeezed and a cry of denial stuck in her throat. But she knew the truth of her father’s words. “Yes.”

  “Good. ’Cause he don’t want you, girlie. He’s sniffing around, but not for a wife.”

  She was about to tell her father that Gabe was a gentleman. That he was not like that. But then she remembered his hands on her hips, lifting her up as his body pressed her down to the cold vinyl of his rear seat.

  That was not the way you treated a woman you cared for. That was the way you treated a...

  “Stay away from him,” her father said. “They don’t know about you two and if they find out they might just kill him or you or both. If they hear we were there when that stupid junkie Jason Leekela and his friend got shot trying to rob their brother’s shipment...” Frasco groaned and pressed both hands to his temples.

  “There is nothing between us now.”

  Her father dropped his hands and aimed a finger at her. “The past is between you. Keep it there.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “State police called.” He lifted a scrap of paper.

  She’d told him about the state police last night after Gabe had told her. Her father didn’t look any happier now than he had been then.

  “They want to interview us both. They’re coming this afternoon, which means we need to get out of here before then.”

  “You’re on house arrest. They’ll report it when you’re not here.”

  “Let them. They already know we’re working with DOJ. If they have a leak, we’re dead anyway.”

  Her father placed a foot on the sofa and released the tracking device that was supposed to insure he stayed put and then dropped it on the coffee table.

  Her father grabbed his coat and Selena followed him out. The sound of snow crunching under tires brought them both around. At first she didn’t recognize the driver behind the wheel of the blue SUV pulling into their drive. But her father clearly did.

  “Holy hell,” muttered her father dashing past her and then scrambling to replace the anklet.

  “Who is that?” asked Selena, standing in the open door.

  “My parole officer. Drop-in visits, remember?”

  * * *

  SELENA STARED IN horror at the man she had met yesterday morning, when her father had returned from prison.

  Ronald Hare was an Apache case manager from the Salt River Reservation to their south. He’d said he had more than a few parolees up here in Black Mountain and that not all his visits would be announced. But Selena had not expected him to drop by the very next day.

  “What do we do?” asked Selena. Her instinct was to call Gabe. But was he really there for her or, as her father had said, after only one thing? No, Gabe was an honest man who did his duty first, last and always.

  Mr. Hare had gotten out of his vehicle and was moving toward them. He was an attractive young man with a broad smile on his handsome face. He had a small goatee. His hair was chin length and slicked back. He wore boots, jeans and an open, knee-length topcoat that reminded Selena of the dusters cowboys wore in inclement weather. But one look at the man’s spotless clothing told you that this Apache did not work with cattle.

  He called a greeting and her father gave a wave from the steps, his anklet now back in place. Hare was halfway to the house when a second car roared down the street, its performance exhaust system announcing its arrival before it came into view. Her father groaned.

  Hare turned and Selena glanced past him as the yellow Ford Mustang made its appearance. Selena had seen the car in Black Mountain and heard it more than a few times, but she had never seen the driver because of the illegally tinted glass.

  Selena gripped the railing as she watched the sports car come to a stop in the drive. The muscle car was the color of an egg yolk and just as shiny. The tailpipe extended beyond the fender with glistening chrome and the car’s sides were stenciled with black detailing. The car was as practical as a parasol in an ice storm, but it certainly had flash.

  The driver emerged. He was young, perhaps twenty, with a thin, angular face. His clothing was new and baggy, perfect for concealing a weapon. The dark glasses and flat-brimmed hat disguised his eyes. This could be no one other than Pablo Nota, Escalanti’s minion.

  He lowered the shades to check out the new arrival.

  “Who’s this?” he said.

  “I’m Ronald Hare, Mr. Dosela’s parole officer. And you are?”

  It was like watching two cars slide toward each other on ice. Selena knew they were going to collide and she was powerless to stop them.

  “This is my daughter’s boyfriend,” her father said.

  Selena did not think she quite managed to hide her horrified expression.

  “I see.” Mr. Hare regarded Nota.

  Nota hesitated, hands still in his jacket pockets.

  Her father spoke to Nota.

  “This is my parole officer, Mr. Hare, making an unannounced visit.”

  Nota’s hesitation was brief. He plastered a wide smile on his face and nodded his greeting, keeping both hands in his pockets.

  Selena didn’t want to think what he had in there.

  Hare drew back his extended hand.

  After an uncomfortable silence, her father spoke again.

  “She’s just getting her coat,” said her father and pushed Selena toward the door. “You want to come in, son?”

  “Naw. I’ll wait here.”

  Her father turned to their second guest. “Come on in, Mr. Hare.”

  Hare took a good look at her father and hesitated, staring at the healing gash and lump. “Jeez. What happened to you?”

  Her father didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t remember. Got pretty drunk last night. Woke up on the kitchen floor with this.” He pointed at his head.

  He did not wait for Hare to follow them but shoved Selena toward the door and followed her inside.

  “You’ll have to go alone,” said her father.

  “But...” Selena looked out the small window in the door. “Hare is on the phone.” She glanced to her father. “Quick. Call Gabe.”

  Her father hurried to the phone and had it in his hand when Hare stepped in. Her father lowered the phone.

  Ronald Hare looked from one to the other. Selena found his eyes too alert and his smile somehow threatening.

  Her mother shuffled into the room still in her robe.

  Her father motioned to their uninvited guest. “Ruthie, you remember Ronnie Hare, my parole officer?”

  Mr. Hare greeted her mother in Apache. Her father walked Selena to the door where he gave her an unexpected hug and pressed something into her hand. She took it knowing by touch it was the tracking anklet that he was supposed to be wearing at all times.

  “Take it,” he whispered.

  The minute she left the yard the unit would beep. It would alert Dryer that they were in trouble and tell him where they were. Unfortunately it would also cause the base unit to emit a high-pitched shrieking alarm the minute she left the yard. How was her father going to explain that to Hare?

  She shoved the tracker in her pocket and drew back.

  “See you soon,” she said, then nodded to the parole officer.

  Behind her she heard her father telling Hare to come into the kitchen for some coffee. He preceded her father who stooped and tore the wires from the monitoring unit so it would not sound an alarm if the bracelet moved out of range. They had told her father that they could track him with the anklet. Could they also track her? When she moved past the driveway, the alarm would sound only on the anklet. How wa
s she supposed to keep Nota from hearing it?

  Selena headed out to meet Escalanti’s man. How long did the device beep?

  “He can’t come,” she said. Should she just drop the tracker out the window as she left the drive?

  “No kidding. Let’s go.” He headed toward her truck. Nota slowed as they approached the box truck. “What’s up with the window?”

  She glanced at the patch job and sighed, hoping it would hold until she could get a new window.

  “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.”

  * * *

  SELENA 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 cau
ght 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.