Bear Claw Conspiracy

“A foot search?” She looked around, unable to imagine any search being able to cover the vast, varied terrain that made up the state park.

“Yeah. I’ll line up off-duty rangers, any of the on-duty rangers who can be spared, maybe even some expert hikers.” He gestured down the ridge toward their vehicles. They went down together, side by side. “I’ll get the search organized for first light tomorrow. We’ll start with her sector and work out from there.” He shot her a look. “You want in?”

“Absolutely.” The invitation kicked a warm buzz through her, not just because he was admitting she could handle the backcountry, but because it felt good to be planning something rather than just gathering data. That was a big part of why she wanted to make the jump from lab rat to HRT—she wanted to do both.

Within minutes, Blackthorn was on the radio with three other station heads, getting their cooperation and coordinating the mobilization.

As they neared the parking area, she shot him a sidelong look, struck by the change in him. His face was animated, his green eyes fierce and intense. More, his voice now carried a heavy weight of command that had the heads of the other stations practically snapping to attention.

She remembered the scars on his shoulder and waist, belatedly recognizing them as bullet strikes. Ex-military, she thought, and pegged him as an officer. But if he had that kind of background, why had he buried himself out in the middle of nowhere?

New interest stirred, not just for the sexy package, but for the man inside it. He’s complicated, she reminded herself. But this time she found herself thinking that maybe she could handle some complications for the few more weeks she would be in Bear Claw.

Especially if those complications looked—and sounded—like Ranger Blackthorn in get-it-done mode.

“Thanks, Harvey. I’ll be in touch,” he said into the radio, then clicked it off and returned it to his belt. They had reached their vehicles, which were dark shapes in the gathering dusk. His shadow merged with that of his Jeep, and his voice seemed to come from the darkness when he said, “The cops collected the hikers’ clothes and stuff, said they would log it all into evidence for you. And Williams suggested you take a look around the station house, particularly Tanya’s room.”

“I’ve done some work in profiling and victimology, and have helped Jack out on a couple of cases. He’s hoping I’ll see something that could point toward a motive.”

“You don’t think this was random?” His voice carried a new edge. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Suddenly reminded that he wasn’t technically part of the investigation, she said, “There’s nothing to tell yet. We’re still exploring options.”

He moved in closer and dropped his voice an octave. “Hiding behind the official line, Gigi?”

Nerves stirred low in her belly, coiling her tight, but she met his eyes and said levelly, “I’m just trying to do my job, Blackthorn, so don’t crowd me. And don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re something you’re not.” He wasn’t a cop, couldn’t expect her to keep him fully in the loop unless he cleared it with the higher-ups.

He growled something under his breath, but eased back a step. He tried the door of her SUV, found it locked, and set her field kit on the ground. “You’ll want to follow me back to the station. Wouldn’t want you getting lost.”

He headed for his Jeep with long-legged strides, un-slinging his shotgun and knapsack as he went.

Gigi watched him go, trying not to be fascinated. He held himself apart but felt responsible, knew how to lead but had buried himself far from any troops, respected competence but wanted to be calling the shots … and was attracted and didn’t want to be.

No, she had definitely been right the first time around.

She didn’t have the mental energy to deal with him right now, not even for some short-term fun.

Too bad, she thought, remembering the gleam of bronze skin, the pucker of two bullet scars, one high, one low. Then she shook her head, climbed into her ride, and focused on the puzzle of two attackers, one missing faceplate … and a gut feeling that said there was far more to this case than anyone suspected.

Chapter Four

Matt kept it under warp speed as he led the way to the station house, but he was tempted to hit the gas and see if he could outrun his anger and frustration.

The case and the woman had him badly off-kilter, leaving him raw and reactive … and those were two things that didn’t belong anywhere near an investigation like this one. If he didn’t pull it together, he wasn’t going to be any use to his rangers, the cops, or Gigi. And the fact that his mind slotted her into a category of her own just proved that he was badly out of whack. He didn’t prioritize like that. Ever.

The radio crackled. “Hey, boss, you out there?”

“Yeah, Bert. What’s up?”

“We’re up to five stations sending rangers for the search, and three others are pending. We’re going to be ready to roll at first light.”

“Good.” He would run it past Tucker, but couldn’t imagine there would be a problem. The searchers all had training, and it wouldn’t cost the city a dime. “How’s Tanya?”

“No change.”

“Damn.” The station lights came into view, piercing the darkness up ahead. “We’re here.”

He parked the Jeep in its usual spot, while Gigi unknowingly took Tanya’s.

She locked her field kit in a strongbox in the back of her SUV, pocketed the key and turned for the station. She hesitated when she saw him standing there, watching her, then met his stare, unspeaking, as if to say, “Here I am. What are you going to do about it?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

As before, heat laced the air between them. This time, though, there was a softer layer, one that came from the realization that she was smart and dedicated, and was busting her ass to help find Tanya’s attackers.

He wasn’t looking to get involved, hadn’t been for a long time, but there she was.

And he was in serious trouble.

“Bert!” he shouted, louder and sharper than he’d intended.

Boots thudded and the older ranger appeared in the screened doorway of the faux log cabin. “Boss?”

“I need you to show Ms. Lynd around the station for me.”

He needed some space, and he needed it now.

GIGI WATCHED HIM GO, trying to suppress a twinge of what should have been irritation but felt more like hurt. She had thought they had called a truce of sorts out at the scene. Apparently not.

“Please excuse Matt,” Bert said blandly. “He was raised by a grizzly.”

She glanced over at the older ranger, who had silver-shot hair and laugh lines at the corners of his weathered eyes. “Not wolves?”

He shook his head. “Nope, too social. We’re pretty sure it was a single bachelor grizzly of the pissed-off variety—the kind that snarls when cornered.” He toed open the screen door and held it for her. “Come on up. I’ll show you Tanya’s room and whatever else you want to see. Anything that’ll help.”

“Thanks.” Forcing her mind off Blackthorn’s Dr. Jekyll and Ranger Surly routine, she followed Bert into the station.

The building was T-shaped, with the main entrance—the public area—centered on the crossbars.

They entered a long, narrow room that was divided roughly in half by a waist-high counter, with bathrooms on either side: men on the left, women on the right. A door centered on the back wall led to the longer bunkhouse wing that finished the T-shape.

The walls of the front room were lined with maps, brochures and copies of the fliers the park service put out each year, complete with instructions on bear avoidance, trail safety and what to do in the event of an emergency. On the other side of the counter—the rangers’ side—the papers hung on the walls and office cubbies leaned more toward emergency numbers and scrawled notes.

Bert waved her through a flip-up pass in the counter, then gestured to a small desk. “That’s Tanya’s. So are the pictures.”

A row of sketches were tacked along the wall to the right of the desk. Tanya had captured dozens of moments: a stark, barren landscape of rocks and stunted trees; a doe and fawn silhouetted atop a sparsely forested ridgeline; ghostly wisps of mist rising off the surface of a pond as a coyote paused to drink; the curl of a fern, so mundane until seen through eyes that found something beautiful in it; a hawk’s flight, sketched so sparsely as to be mere suggestions of line and motion, except for the creature’s head and its bright, fierce eyes.

But Gigi’s attention was immediately drawn to a deft caricature off to one side. In it, a handsome young man—presumably Jim Feeney—and Bert were horsing around together there in the station. There was a hint of a Stetson-shadow just visible through a doorway, putting Blackthorn in the picture. Sort of.