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The Warrior's Way
Jenna Kernan
To trust and protect…Tribal police chief Jack Bear Den will do anything to stop ecoterrorists. But partnering with disgraced ex-FBI explosives expert Sophia Rivas is trouble even his trail-tested skills never anticipated. Her out-there deductions are blowing up false leads, exposing treacherous lies—and sparking an attraction too dangerous for even Jack to resist.By the book was never Sophia's style. To save lives, she has to gamble on her instincts more than ever. If Jack doesn't trust her, she can handle it—but letting him uncover her deepest secrets is a distraction neither can afford. And with the clock ticking down and disaster about to strike, getting too close may be the last move she and Jack ever make.
To trust and protect…
Tribal police chief Jack Bear Den will do anything to stop ecoterrorists. But partnering with disgraced ex-FBI explosives expert Sophia Rivas is trouble even his trail-tested skills never anticipated. Her out-there deductions are blowing up false leads, exposing treacherous lies—and sparking an attraction too dangerous for even Jack to resist.
By the book was never Sophia’s style. To save lives, she has to gamble on her instincts more than ever. If Jack doesn’t trust her, she can handle it—but letting him uncover her deepest secrets is a distraction neither can afford. And with the clock ticking down and disaster about to strike, getting too close may be the last move she and Jack ever make.
She couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Sophia?” He reached out to her, his big hand falling over her tightly laced ones. “It’s okay. It will be okay.”
The warmth and the way he leaned in as he dropped his voice was her undoing. The stuttering sob issued from her and she pulled her hands from beneath his in order to cover her face. Tears spilled and the sobs got worse. Right here on the squad floor, she realized, she was going to have the cry she had kept inside since that night.
Jack rolled his chair to her so his legs straddled hers, and he drew her forward. She nestled against his chest, clutching the soft fabric of his button-up shirt. His hands rubbed up and down her back. The man was really good at this. Was that why she’d finally let go—because she knew he’d be there to catch her?
The Warrior’s Way
Jenna Kernan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JENNA KERNAN has penned over two dozen novels and has received two RITA® Award nominations. Jenna is every bit as adventurous as her heroines. Her hobbies include recreational gold prospecting, scuba diving and gem hunting. Jenna grew up in the Catskills and currently lives in the Hudson Valley of New York State with her husband. Follow Jenna on Twitter, @jennakernan (https://twitter.com/jennakernan), on Facebook or at www.jennakernan.com (http://jennakernan.com/).
For Jim, always
Acknowledgments (#u6ede9a92-864d-5dec-af38-7ed713e92d4d)
Many thanks to Lt. Christopher Knurr of the Brown County Sheriff’s Office for his expertise and advice.
Any mistakes regarding the use of explosives are the author’s.
Contents
Cover (#uf6d554a4-ca90-5d4d-968a-728eab6a44a6)
Back Cover Text (#u4eb9d271-7648-508a-9a09-baafa683fe71)
Introduction (#u3c3e2daa-7c9c-56af-9ea2-bbc70ef00fba)
Title Page (#u0447f358-4cfb-58e0-8264-482b88067577)
About the Author (#u1701c86b-22db-5b8a-b812-deb06a565087)
Dedication (#u7e5fe588-ad81-549d-a514-971b6eb31b9c)
Acknowledgments (#u1e2f5844-fd3d-5268-b950-738a969e22f8)
Chapter One (#u8e6c1036-c917-5d33-a06d-d57abd66596f)
Chapter Two (#ue6cada76-4591-5674-8582-7dc0cb2bad24)
Chapter Three (#u13d9eeac-12b9-581f-875b-8e7435770108)
Chapter Four (#u188d32ce-4e41-554e-9123-1a22bb2c6053)
Chapter Five (#uebf00202-2aaf-5493-937f-2e34e3c79329)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u6ede9a92-864d-5dec-af38-7ed713e92d4d)
Amazing how much a simple favor could cost you. FBI explosives expert Sophia Rivas waited for her escort to finish introductions. She held her tight smile firmly in place as she shook hands with the chief of tribal police, Wallace Tinnin. The man looked well past the age of retirement, judging from his deeply lined face. He ushered them from the station floor, such as it was, into his small, stuffy office, where everything seemed as old and worn-out as their chief.
Her gaze flashed to the CRT monitor on his desk that looked straight out of the 1990s. Those things still had cathodes and vacuum tubes inside.
Her escort, FBI agent Luke Forrest, had moved into the office and now gave her a look of warning.
Sophia met Luke’s gaze. He was her cousin and the reason she had been recruited into the Bureau. She owed him a lot, but that didn’t mean she agreed with him. This entire thing continued to feel like a bad idea.
She opted to remain standing in the chief’s office rather than sit in either of the stained chairs facing his overcrowded desk. Chief Tinnin headed the Turquoise Canyon Tribal Police Department, which consisted of nine officers, all male, and one dispatcher, female.
“He should be here soon,” the chief assured them.
Who were they waiting for again? Luke told her she’d be working with their best man. Best of nine, she realized. What was his name? Bear Trap. Bearton. Something like that.
With luck he could take her to the reservoir and she could give her opinion and be heading back to Flagstaff by dark. It was midafternoon on Friday and the days were still long. She’d be leaving well after the rush-hour traffic, but would still be heading back to the refuge of her little apartment after the longest week of her life. She usually loved the sanctuary of her place, but this week, on leave, it had become a kind of holding cell, where she paced and obsessed over the review team’s findings on her use of deadly force.
Forrest was more than a decade her senior and his short black hair and pressed suit did not hide the fact that, like her, he was Apache. But not of the Turquoise Canyon tribe. They were both Black Mountain, both spider clan, making them kin. They also shared a grandmother, so the connection was especially close. And even though Luke worked in the Phoenix field office, he had heard she was on leave during the investigation.
Had she made a mistake that night, one that could cost her the thing she valued most in this world—her job? No. They would clear her.
She glanced from her cousin to Wallace Tinnin, who moved behind his desk. She wondered why he used an old rusty spur as a paperweight. Had he once ridden in the rodeo? That would account for the limp.
What was happening back in Flagstaff? She knew the protocol because they’d explained it all to her. But she didn’t know how long the investigation process would take. “As long as it takes” was not very helpful, but was the only answer her supervisor provided before placing her on mandatory leave.
This was the process. She had to trust it. But she didn’t. She didn’t trust anything that threatened her job.
Tinnin set down a cup of water before her and asked her to take a seat. She politely declined both.
“Coffee?” asked Tinnin.
She glanced at the well-used drip coffeemaker on his sideboard.
“Maybe just water.”
It was delivered in a Dixie cup instead of an unopened bottle. Her smile remained but she cast her cousin a certain look. He seemed to be enjoying himself, judging from the smirk.
The chief opened the top drawer of his desk, drew out a silver foil packet that she recognized was for nicotine gum, popped a white cube into his mouth and chewed. The pouches beneath his eyes spoke of a man running a department that she knew must be understaffed and underfunded.
There was a polite knock and her cousin opened the door. In walked a mountainous man who surveyed the room with a quick sweep before he fixed his stare on her.
“Sophia?” said Forrest, motioning toward the new arrival. “This is Detective Jack Bear Den.”
The first thing she noticed—that anyone would notice—was how damn big he was. Big, tall and broad-shouldered, with a body type very unlike the men she knew from her reservation on Black Mountain. The second thing that she saw was the cut across his lifted eyebrow—not a cut really, but more like a blank spot where a tiny white scar bisected the brow and made him look roguish, like a pirate.
What he did not look like was Apache.
Was their best detective really from off the rez?
“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rivas. I’m roadrunner, born of snake.”
She answered automatically, giving her clan affiliation. “I’m butterfly, born of spider.”
Since the Turquoise Canyon people were Tonto Apache and she was Western Apache, they did not share linguistic roots, so she spoke in English, her second language.
Her brain was still sending her signals that he was not roadrunner or snake or Apache. He did not fit. Did not look like any other Apache man she had ever met. Still, she extended her hand.
He stepped forward, meeting her gaze. She saw his eyes were hazel with a shift of color toward brown near his pupil, which blasted outward to give way to a true green at the outer rim of his iris. Most Apache men did not have green eyes.
The rest of him was equally appealing, particularly his strong square jaw and welcoming smile, which disappeared as their hands brushed. Tingling awareness zinged from their melded palms all the way up her arm. His eyes glittered and his brows descended. Then he broke the contact as if reconsidering the wisdom of a custom of the white world and not of theirs. He drew back, wiping his palm across his middle as if the touch was somehow dangerous. He left his hand stretched across his flat stomach for a moment, his long fingers splayed on the blue cotton fabric of his button-up shirt. Her stomach did a nervous little flutter as her senses came alive. His fingers were thick with a dusting of hair near each knuckle. His fifth finger brushed the top edge of the silver belt buckle bearing a medicine wheel inlaid in black, red, yellow and white. The four directions, the circle of life, the seasons and a compass to guide a man as he walked through life. Why did he wear that symbol?
Her attention dipped below the buckle and stayed fixed long enough for the room to fall silent. The detective’s hand shifted toward his personal weapon. Holstered at his hip was a .45 caliber. Then his hand dropped to his side, at the ready.
They’d taken her Glock for the investigation and offered a replacement weapon—a .45 caliber, just like his. She didn’t like the stronger recoil. It affected her aim on multiple discharges.
Tinnin cleared his throat and motioned Jack forward. He took a position near her, in front of the desk between Tinnin and Forrest, in only three strides.
Her hand continued to tingle as if she had touched the hot wire of a horse pasture.
She wasn’t attracted to Jack Bear Den. She couldn’t be. She didn’t mix business with pleasure and she wasn’t planning to stay one minute more than it took to deliver the bad news.
All three of them were now staring at her. Had they asked her a question?
“What’s that now?” she said, her voice sounding odd above the constant buzzing in her ears.
Tinnin fielded that one. “I said, we would like you to advise us on where we might be vulnerable. Specifically, how to protect the reservoirs above us.”
“You’re on low ground. No protecting you if any of the dams blow.” She gritted her teeth as both Tinnin and Bear Den exchanged glances. She should have thought before she spoke.
The councilors told her that she was bound to feel some anxiety after the shooting and that she would question her own judgment. They hadn’t even a clue at how this investigation was messing with her. She was usually way more thoughtful.
“I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn,” she said.
She met Bear Den’s steady gaze. Her skin felt clammy as the stirring sexual desire crashed against her determination to avoid entanglements. If she’d met him in a different place and time, maybe. But he still looked dangerous. Some part of her liked that, but not the part that liked to eat. Protecting her job meant keeping things professional. What would they say at headquarters if they heard she’d used her leave to bed this guy? Her stomach tightened in dread.
Sophia glanced away from temptation, past the window and the dusty venetian blinds. It was a fine bright September day. The air was cooler at this elevation and it made her homesick for Black Mountain. Everything was green now after the annual monsoonal rains and those, too, reminded her of home.
“I’m sure I can make some useful suggestions,” she said. Suggestions like recommending they all move to higher ground if they believed the threat was viable.
She looked to the yellow-and-white rock face that rose on the far plain beyond the flowing water. The Hakathi River threaded through the wide plain. This land, even this office, had once been river bottom. But that was before the dam had captured the water—before the government stole this land and then gave it back to the Turquoise Canyon people.
Bright September sunlight glinted on the glassy surface. The placid winding river didn’t fool her. It was dangerous, the vanguard of what lay above their settlements.
“Will that be all right, Sophia?” A man’s voice snapped her back to attention. It was Luke who had posed the question.
