Jake:Book 4 (The Justice Brothers Series)

  JAKE

  Book 4: The Justice Brothers Series

  By

  Taylor Lee

  JAKE, Book 4 in USA Today best-selling author Taylor Lee’s provocative new series, The Justice Brothers.

  The new Tribal Police Chief, determined to go-it-alone, is as brazen as she is beautiful

  The sophisticated Commander of the DPD, is the acknowledged law enforcement leader in the state—and the one Justice Brother no woman has been able to snare

  The murder of a young Native girl threatens their professional relationship and puts their passionate love affair in the crosshairs

  Together they discover that Justice—like Love—isn’t always fair or easy.

  WARNING: Romance so HOT it singes the pages. HOT, tough, explicit. Not for the faint at heart. Definitely bring a fan!

  Main Menu

  Start Reading

  Afterword

  Taylor Lee’s OMNIBUS Collections

  Books by Other Authors

  About the Author

  Contact Information

  Copyright Page

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Sam Delgado blinked in horror, not believing her eyes. If she’d been on her way home from the Pit Stop Bar instead of heading there, she might have thought she had a few too many Jamesons straight up. She jerked her squad car into a squealing one hundred eighty degree turn while shouting commands into her receiver, “Fuck it, dudes, get your asses over to Highway Two. Some asshole in a loaded Tundra is driving the wrong way on the one way and going at least sixty miles an hour.” Seeing the passenger car barreling toward the speeding truck, Sam’s heart slammed into overdrive. “Oh, Christ, he’s going to hit…” The words died in her throat as the passenger car veered sharply, missing the truck by inches.

  Chasing after the careening vehicle with sirens blaring and lights flashing, Sam managed to run the speeding truck off the road. She was at the door before the driver ground his Ford Tundra to a shuddering stop against a tall pine. Dragging the clearly inebriated man out of the front seat of the truck, Sam slammed him face-first against the side of his battered ride. Bending his arm hard against his back and pressing against it, she reveled in his tortured shriek. Struggling frantically to free himself, the drunk cursed her. “Goddammit, you fucking pig. Let go of me, motherfucker. You son of a bitch, I’ll have your badge for police brutality…You cock sucking.—”

  Sam responded by jerking his arm up harder, not caring if she broke the damn thing. It would serve him right. “Shut the fuck up, asshole. Filing a suit of any kind is the last thing you’ll do while you rot in jail. Attempted manslaughter while driving under the influence is a hell of a crime.”

  “Manslaughter?” The startled man barked incredulously. “What the hell are you talking about? And wait! Fuckin’ Christ, you’re a woman! A skaggy pig slut?”

  Apparently thinking he had an advantage, the irrational man fought against her, trying to break her hold. In response, Sam whipped him around to face her. She grabbed him by his shirtfront and threw him hard against her squad car. “Yeah, asshole, what if I am?”

  Slamming her knee into the drunken man’s groin, Sam was rewarded with his piercing shriek. Slumping against the squad car, the sobbing man clutched his crotch and wailed a barrage of incoherent threats. Sam eyed the bawling man narrowly, then for good measure, slammed the heel of her boot against his kneecap. Relishing his shrill scream, Sam couldn’t hold back a satisfied grunt. She’d learned in her first MMA training session that as much as a guy thought the worst hit he could take was in the nuts, Sam knew a shattered kneecap was at least twenty degrees up the pain scale. Plus, the damage to the knee was likely permanent.

  Ignoring the distraught man writhing on the ground, alternately sobbing in pain and yelling that he was going to have her badge if it was the last thing he did, Sam winked at the two dark-skinned deputies running toward her. In full uniform, with their shoulder-length hair tied at the nape with leather thongs, they could have been Beverly Hill buddy cops—Native American style. Nodding to the men staring wide-eyed at the wailing perp, Sam laughed. “Too bad I don’t have a badge to lose, isn’t it, guys?”

  Eyeing the messed-up human being cowering on the ground, Mark Staples, her lead deputy, raised a questioning brow. “Hell, Sam, think you coulda left a little for the buzzards to chew on?”

  Sam shrugged. “The motherfucker’s lucky. I let him off easy. When I think that this fucking asshole could have taken out a family, smashed nuts and a broken kneecap is the least he deserves.”

  Ignoring her deputies’ obvious surprise at the condition of the man, Sam pointed to the tribal van. “Load him up, guys. Cuff his hands and feet. Believe it or not, the fucker thinks he’s innocent and is likely to put a fight.”

  Disregarding the startled glances her men exchanged, Sam headed for her squad car. She wasn’t surprised when Mark Staples called after her.

  “Uh, Chief Delgado, I don’t want to state the obvious, but we’re a good mile off the rez. Don’t’cha think we should put in a call to the DPD, or at least the Smokey Bears? Given that the fucker is Anglo and we chased him off the rez, I’m thinking the boys in blue have jurisdiction…”

  Sam whirled on her hapless aide and pinned him with a hard glare. “Do you think I’m unaware of where we are, Deputy Staples?” She added scathingly, “What would you like me to do, Deputy? Turn a raging drunk who was driving the wrong way on a one-way road over to the DPD? Give the legitimate coppers the drunk who nearly hit an oncoming car head-on at sixty miles an hour? Now, why would I do that, Deputy Staples? So that the drunken fucker can beat a sobriety test by the time the boys in blue get their pearly white asses over here? Then what do we do? Wait around with our thumbs up our collective asses while the perp lawyers up? And then stand back while his legal eagle persuades those by-the-book DPD hotshots that because the crime started out on the rez, and his client happens to be a white man, that we can’t prosecute him?”

  Refusing to acknowledge her deputies’ concern, Sam upped the ante. “To be clear, men, not only do I want you to book the miscreant and lock him up in the tribal jail, but that’s where he’s going to stay until we try him in the tribal court.” She waited for a long moment, then added with a saucy grin, “In case you haven’t noticed, guys, there’s a new sheriff in town. Make that a new chief on the reservation. And men, the days of us rez cops playing second fiddle to the big boys, the legitimate poleeze? The days of being the bastard child of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the Fibbies, and the Department of Justice? Those days are over. From now on, the tribal police are a force to be reckoned with. No more ass kissing, fellows. So toughen up or find a new line of work. To put it as nicely as I can, from now on, it’s my way or the highway.”

  As she passed by the moaning man huddled on the ground, Sam couldn’t resist one more swipe at his dignity and battered body. Shoving the toe of her metal-tipped boot under his chin, she forced him to look up at her. Seeing the look of terror fill his bleary, red-streaked eyes, Sam snorted. “Just wanted to make sure you know who you called a ‘skaggy pig bitch’ when you resisted arrest. You know, the ‘skaggy pig bitch’ who happens to be the officer who made sure you’re gonna be peeing blood for a long time to come.” She tipped his head back farther, ensuring that he saw her face. “Get a good look, asshole. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. Oh, and by the way, the name’s Delgado. Chief Sam Delgado, the tribal chief of police on the Crow Lake Indian Reservation.”

  Chapter 1

  “I never thought I’d say it, but one of the most challenging issues we’re facing today is the continuing impact of escalating m
eth traffic.” Jake Justice tossed his brother Jared a troubled glance. He’d called the former DEA agent and now one of his most trusted detectives into his office for a sit rep on the growing methamphetamine threat bedeviling their county. “Damn, bro, until a couple of years ago the most we had to deal with were the tweakers who cranked up a load of shit on their Coleman stoves and set about ruining their own lives. That was before the big boys started getting interested. I thought we’d scared off the cartels when you and I shot down the Balkan Organized Crime network last year. Those Balkan criminals don’t scare easily. Now, after shutting out the BOC, we’ve got a full-blown enterprise in our backyard that is not only attracting the Mexican mafia, but other international cartels are sniffing around again.”

  Jared nodded in agreement. “You’re right to be concerned, Jake. It’s like a virulent virus. You think you’ve killed it but it just mutates, comes back stronger than ever. Starts out local, and before you know it you have a pandemic on your hands. I can tell you from my work at the DEA that most local police departments ignored the issue until it was too late. They mistakenly thought meth was a passing craze, an amateur drug for the ne’er-do-wells who couldn’t afford the good stuff, like smack or coke. Now it’s the hottest drug coming or going on the international market.” He added with a grimace, “Unfortunately we have a virtual petri dish sample taking place next door on the rez of what can happen when crank takes hold.”

  Jake’s frown deepened. “Talk about a perfect storm. It’s no wonder the rez is interesting to the big boys. You’ve got a downtrodden population with few opportunities. Add a treacherous drug that’s as easy to cook up as a pot of spaghetti and as addictive as mainlining smack, and you’ve got a goldmine in the making.”

  Jude Justice, the lead homicide detective in the DPD, rapped on the door as he entered. Nodding to his brothers, he said, “Sorry, I’m late, Commander. You too, baby brother. Just making sure that Marty Peterson’s shyster lawyer doesn’t spring that fucking asshole. Would be nice to know that we can keep a confessed child molester in jail at least long enough for him to experience gen pop justice. We may have to call on that AUSA brother of ours to make sure that particular brand of justice happens. No one deserves it more than Marty Peterson.”

  Jake Justice glanced at his two younger brothers and smothered a grin. Hard to know which shaggy-haired brother was better looking. If he didn’t know from lifelong experience that the dark-haired, emerald-eyed lawmen were the toughest sons of bitches on his police force, he’d have to believe that they were fighting for the hottest stud award, a virtual certainly for either or both. In addition to their older brother, Jorden, the Assistant United States Attorney for the Ninth District, the four of them were known as the Justice brothers. Jake chuckled to himself at the layered reality the moniker spoke of. As Jude had once said when some unlucky fucker had thought he could take down the intimidating foursome, “You could try, asshole.” Needless to say, the bastard didn’t try.

  Having heard Jared’s comments, Jude folded his six-foot-plus lanky body into the other chair across from Jake and added, “Jared’s right on about the rez. I’m just waiting for that petri dish, as Jared calls it, to erupt. Frankly, I think it’s more like a load of C4 ready to explode.” He shook his head. “Hell, bro. The rez is dangerous enough and frankly hard enough to control what with our crazily divided jurisdictions. But thanks to Jared’s connections with the DEA, we may finally have the ultimate UC in place.”

  Jake agreed. “Yeah, Jared. Jude’s right. I’m feeling better about our chances to get a bead on the simmering volcano smoldering on the rez now that we have Bobby Mackey in place.” Jake threw his brother an admiring glance. “Talk about a two-fer, actually, make that a three-fer. A ten-year DEA agent, a full-blooded Cherokee Indian, and a former Army Ranger. Christ, with him on board, we may just have a fighting chance to get control of the rez. For the hundredth time, thanks, bro!”

  “Yeah, Bobby is beyond professional and the best damned UC I’ve ever worked with. In the less than two months he’s been undercover, he has the trust of the most hardened Native purists on the rez.” His emerald eyes flashing, Jared grinned at his brother. “But don’t thank me too soon, big brother. There’s an issue brewing on the rez that may turn out to be as troublesome as the meth invasion.”

  At Jake’s frown, Jude and Jared shared a grin. Jude picked up the teasing narrative. “Don’t tell me that the commander of the illustrious Duluth Police Department hasn’t heard about the babe they’re all talking about at the Shipwreck.”

  Sharing his brother’s obvious amusement, Jared added, “In case you truly are clueless, Commander, the hottest news in town is the new police chief on the rez. Let me put it this way, bro, from what I hear, the good old days of Chief Johnny Whitefeather are over. Over in every possible way, big brother. Nope, seems like we’ve got us a live wire on the rez—in the impressive form of Chief Sam Delgado.”

  Jake didn’t try to hide his annoyance. “Okay, I admit it. Spending a week at the national law enforcement confab in DC put me behind in the Port City gossip. Who is the new tribal chief? And why should I be shaking in my boots? Although I can tell by the salacious looks you two horndogs are sharing that the new chief is of the female persuasion.”

  Jude laughed. “Yeah, bro, you can say that again. But she’s more than a hot babe, and she is that! Since you’re clearly out of it, here are a few particulars from Chief Delgado’s impressive resume. First, she’s qualified up the wazoo. She has multiple criminal justice degrees from three different prestigious universities. As for her personal pedigree, she’s Chief Lighthorse’s granddaughter. But let me tell you, the graciousness that epitomizes Chief Lighthorse got lost in the horizontal shuffle that produced his granddaughter. According to all the men who’ve tried to get close to her—and that is half the male population in our fair city—the conclusion is the same. To put it nicely, she’s a man-hating bitch with a chip on her shoulder that would crush Atlas if he tried to carry it.”

  Jared broke in more seriously. “There’s a bigger issue as far as we’re concerned, bro. According to our UC, Bobby Mackey, the new police chief is hell-bent on changing the relationship between the rez and law enforcement. Make that every level of law enforcement from the Fibbies to the DEA, the Bureau of Indian Affairs on the national level, the local sheriff’s office, and most especially, the DPD. Oh, and, bro, make that change for the worse. She’s a George Wallace-wannabe standing in the doorway, trying to hold back the National Guard in the 1960s. In our case, instead of the National Guard, she’s taking on every law enforcement agency in the country. Seems that tribal police chief Delgado is intent on turning back the relationship between Native and white law enforcement agencies to the good ole days when Custer bit the dust.”

  Trying to absorb the news he was just now hearing, Jake looked up to see Sgt. Solly Solberg at his open door, a troubled expression darkening his ruddy complexion. He nodded to everyone. “Couldn’t help but overhear you guys bringing the commander up to date. Your brothers ain’t shitting you, Jake. Chief Delgado seems determined to cause a ruckus.”

  Jake sat up straight in his chair and pinned a hard frown on his trusted sergeant. “What has this tribal chief, whom I have yet to meet, done to add four more crevices to that frown of yours, Solly?”

  Solly blew out a hard sigh. “Well, Commander, if I were to characterize it, I’d say that feisty woman has thrown down a marker for all to see. Seems last night she chased a guy off the rez a good mile and a half. A white guy. Then she arrested him for DUI and hauled him back to the rez where she threw him in the tribal jail.”

  Jake whistled, then asked quietly, “Did she call the sheriff’s office, the Smokies, or us to ask for assistance?”

  Solly snorted. “Hardly. Nope, she just carted the fucker back to the rez as though fresh pursuit and ability to detain was a settled issue—in her favor.” The big man sighed again and his frown deepened. “She’s gone one further, Jake. She threw
the perp in the tribal jail and according to his lawyer—whom the chief refuses to see—she plans to try him in tribal court. Said she’s tired of the rez being a hidey-hole for the scum the DPD can’t catch or won’t prosecute. One final point, Jake, should make all of us by-the-book cops sit up and take notice. According to his lawyer, who’s a straight-up guy for an ambulance-chaser, the perp has as good a chance to win a police brutality suit as any client he’s had. The ‘brutalized perp’ claims his bloodied nutsack and crushed kneecap, plus myriad bruises and cuts, are thanks to one person and one person only. Chief Sam Delgado, the new tribal chief on the Crow Lake Reservation, who according to all witnesses, white and Native, is on a fucking warpath.”

  Jake unwound himself from his chair and rose to his full six-foot-three height. Narrowing his eyes, he pursed his lips together in a hard line and met his brother’s gazes, then nodded to Solly. After a long moment he allowed his expression to soften and said with a shrug, “I don’t know about you guys, but I think it’s time I meet the new tribal chief of the Crow Lake Reservation.”

  He strode over to the hall tree and yanked a classic gray Stetson off the rack and put it on his head, adding a couple more inches to his impressive height. Tucking a regulation nine-millimeter Glock in his shoulder holster and another in his hand-tooled leather boot, Jake grinned at his appreciative audience and added, “ Oh yeah, and I think it is more than time for the new tribal chief to meet the commander of the Duluth Police Department.”

  Chapter 2

  Sam settled back in her chair and took several deep breaths. Inhaling slowly and deeply, she blew out the air to the count of eight. She was an accomplished martial artist and had begged her grandfather to teach her the warrior arts of the Chippewa Nation since she was a kid on the reservation. The accomplished man had done so happily, but despaired of her seeming inability to master the calming arts as well as the fighting ones. Even now, the breathing techniques that according to her beloved grandfather were essential to a great leader, escaped Sam. After four measly breaths, she gave in to her churning emotions.