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Bear Claw Bodyguard
Jessica Andersen


Hot on the trail of a ruthless underground drug ring, homicide detective Jack Williams won't let anything interfere with his hunt. Not the dead-end leads, not the danger. And especially not being pulled off his case to protect Dr. Tori Bay. He can handle guarding a beautiful scientist who plays by her own rules. But keeping her out of his arms is a challenge he hadn't expected.Still, her survival depends on Jack's instincts and he isn't about to jeopardize her safety to indulge an overwhelming attraction. Jack has faced his share of challenges and usually came out on top. This time, though, as a showdown with the enemy quickly approaches, it'll take all his professional skills to ignore some very personal impulses…










Bear Claw Bodyguard

Jessica Andersen






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




About the Author


JESSICA ANDERSEN has worked as a geneticist, scientific editor, animal trainer and landscapes … but she’s happiest when she’s combining all of her many interests into writing romantic adventures that always have a twist of the unusual to them. Born and raised in the Boston area (Go, sox!), Jessica can usually be found somewhere in New England, hard at work on her next happily-ever-after. For more on Jessica and her books, please check out www.JessicaAndersen.com and www.JessicaAndersenIntrigues.com.


To the readers who have put Bear Claw State Park

on the map. Thank you!




Chapter One


“You’re off the case, Jack—period, end of discussion.”

The decision being handed down by Tucker McDermott—who was the head of the Bear Claw P.D.’s Homicide Division and, therefore, Jack’s immediate superior—wasn’t a shocker, but that didn’t stop the veteran detective from wanting to launch himself from the visitor’s chair in Tucker’s office and pace. Or maybe go over the desk to try and shake some sense into his boss. But that kind of behavior was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, so Jack made himself take a breath and do a three-count before saying, “You know you can’t afford to bench me right—”

“What part of ‘end of discussion’ are you not getting?”

Tucker’s don’t-mess-with-me tone probably should have been a clue, but it wasn’t until Jack saw a muscle twitch at the corner of his friend’s jaw that he got it. “Oh.” He leaned back. “Damn. This is coming from Mendoza, isn’t it?”

“Even if the chief hadn’t made the call, I probably would have pulled you off the case.”

“I … Yeah.” Frustration welled up, and it wasn’t entirely aimed at Tucker. It’d been an accident, but the reality was that Jack had had his hands on the witness when he went down. And with Mayor Proudfoot slashing the city’s budgets like he was clear-cutting for a financial strip mine, the P.D. couldn’t afford the bad press.

“And you did it in front of a rook,” Tucker said, reaching for the antacids that’d taken up residence in his top drawer over the past month, ever since the birth of his daughter had coincided with the explosion of two major cases that had, thanks to budget cuts, landed in his lap.

“Doran won’t get the wrong message,” Jack said of his rookie partner. “He’s solid.”

“Maybe, but you’re not. Ever since this case got hot, you’ve been on the warpath.”

At six foot and one-ninety, with prematurely salted chestnut hair and light blue eyes, Jack didn’t make any claim to native blood. But, yeah, he had some warpath going on these days. What Bear Claw cop didn’t? Out in the Colorado wilderness they were playing hide-and-seek with members of a militia so slippery they were practically ghosts, while in the city they were losing the battle against a new fad drug that was ripping through the underground and leaving bodies behind.

Leaning in, Jack grated, “You need me out there on the streets. We’re way too far behind the curve on this Death Stare thing.”

That was what the media was calling the new drug, thanks to the fixed, almost terrified looks on the victims’ faces. Why the hell that plus the number of bodies piling up hadn’t been enough to scare people off, he would never understand. But to the hard-core users, the promise of an incredible high was apparently worth the risk.

Tucker shook his head. “You screwed up, Jack. You know it, I know it, Mendoza knows it … and even if the higher-ups weren’t involved, I can’t ignore the fact that you’re way too invested in this case, and it’s making you unreliable.” His eyes softened a bit, showing the tired guy, new father and dedicated cop behind the thick “I’m the boss” layer. “Look, I’m sorry, but if I let you back on the case now Mendoza will have my butt in a sling faster than you can say ‘what the hell is this damn drug, and where is it coming from?’“

Unfortunately, there was no arguing that one. Jack shifted in his chair, still not letting himself pace off the restless frustration even though he was tempted. “So put me on background stuff. Hell, I’ll even ride a desk if that’s what you want. But don’t boot me all the way off the investigation. I need to—” He broke off. “Look, I need to be in on this.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you put your hands on your wit. Accident or not, I can’t let it go.”

“I … Damn it.” Jack slouched back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face, knowing that Tucker was right, he had only himself—along with a grease spot and volatile city politics—to blame. “This sucks.”

“No argument there.” Tucker slid a single-page printout across his desk. “Take this. It’s your new assignment.”

Jack eyeballed it, found airline info for an incoming flight landing at the local hub mid-morning and heaved a sigh. “You want me to play taxi? Who for?”

Actually, that wasn’t the worst gig he could’ve gotten handed. There had been numerous law enforcement comings and goings in the past few weeks, and Tucker had pressed senior cops into chauffeur duty a few times before to get some informal lines of communication open between the local and federal teams.

“You’re meeting a Dr. Tori Bay … and you’re going to be doing more than playing taxi. You’ll be escorting her out to the Forgotten and watching her back while she’s there.”

Jack’s tension eased some. If he couldn’t be on the drug investigation, this case was the next best thing. A few weeks earlier, the members of the Shadow Militia—also a name that came courtesy of the media—had attacked a ranger, torched large sections of the state forest, shot down a government helicopter, nearly killed two deputized cops … and then vanished from the camo-netted campsite that had been hidden within the Forgotten, a barren region at the farthest edge of the state park.

It wasn’t just the three dozen or so people who had been living at the campsite who had vanished, either; there hadn’t been any sign of the equipment and heavy vehicles that had left tracks in the drought-parched dirt. With the feds unable to pick up anything on satellite imagery or closer-in scans, the investigation had fallen back on forensics and old-school tracking. And even those avenues had come up dry, as if the entire armed camp had simply disappeared into thin air.

Given the city’s issues a couple of years ago with terrorist mastermind al-Jihad, the feds were taking the threat seriously, sending their best and coordinating things with the Bear Claw P.D. So Jack made a “bring it on” gesture. “The militia case? Hell, yeah, sign me up.”

But Tucker shook his head. “This isn’t about the militia. It’s about the trees.”

“The …” Jack trailed off, remembering the weird tree fungus that’d also been found in that same part of the Forgotten, along with a remnant population of barred eagles, which had previously been thought extinct. Thanks to those discoveries, there had also been a steady stream of scientists coming and going from the barren, dangerous wasteland. His stomach sank. “You can’t possibly want me to babysit a tree hugger. That’s a ranger’s job, or maybe a rook’s.” The Bear Claw Canyon Park Service had been coordinating with the P.D. to keep the scientists safe, both from the militants who might or might not still be in the area and from the inherent dangers of the backcountry.

“For the next couple of days it’s your job,” Tucker retorted. “Be grateful I’m not suspending you.”

“Right,” Jack said, trying to get the bitterness and “oh, hell, no” out of his voice. “Punishment.”

Granted, he deserved a smack-down for his behavior, but it seriously sucked that his reassignment was going to hurt the ongoing investigations. The department was already so shorthanded that the detectives were partnering up with uniforms; his being out in the Forgotten on babysitting duty sure as hell wasn’t going to help.

“I’d prefer to call it a few days out in the woods to get your head put back on straight.”

“I can pull it together. You don’t need to send me off to the Forgotten.”

But Tucker shook his head even as he said, “Yeah, I really do. It wasn’t just Mendoza leaning on me; it was the mayor’s office, too. I need you off their radar screens for the next few days at an absolute minimum, until something else comes along to take their minds off your blowing one of the few leads we’ve had since the overdoses started.”

Jack grimaced, huffing out a breath as he came to grips with the no-win he was up against—and the fact that it was purely his fault that he was up against it. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.” Like there had ever been any real question on the matter. He hesitated, seeing the strain in Tucker’s face and knowing the other man had undoubtedly gone to bat against the higher-ups on his behalf. “And thanks. I know it could’ve been a whole lot worse.”

“Yeah, so behave yourself.” Tucker leaned back in his chair. “And keep your eyes open, okay? The abandoned campsite is smack in the middle of the worst of the tree fungus.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at that little tidbit, which said there was more to this assignment than babysitting and navel gazing. “You think there’s a connection between the tree crud and the militia?”

“Maybe, maybe not … and even so, what’s the chicken and what’s the egg? The environmental chemists didn’t find any evidence of weird contamination, but there are stranger things on heaven and earth, and all that. Maybe this Dr. Bay will see something the others missed … or maybe you will.”

Jack took what felt like the first real breath he’d drawn since he heard the brittle crack of his witness’s wrist. It wasn’t the Death Stare case, but at least he was still on active duty, and with an unofficial sanction to work the militia case. More, if he stayed out of trouble long enough he was pretty sure Tucker would shift him back over to the Death Stare investigation, which was where he wanted—needed—to be.

The key there being “stay out of trouble,” he reminded himself as he rose and grabbed the airline info. “Guess I should go get my tree doctor. Any idea what she looks like?”

“No clue.” One corner of Tucker’s mouth lifted. “Maybe she’ll turn out to be a tall, cool blonde. That’s your type, right?”

“Used to be,” Jack said, and shot Tucker a kiss-my-butt grin. “Too bad you got to Alyssa before I did.”

That was total bull. There’d never been anything between Jack and Alyssa Locke-turned-McDermott, the CSI who had become Tucker’s wife, but as a diversion it worked just fine, especially given that Alyssa had the long, cool blonde thing going on in spades.

Tucker just grinned. “Eat your heart out, bachelor boy.” He tapped the clamshell photo frame on his desk. “I’ve got myself two long cool blondes of my very own.” Technically, only Alyssa fit the bill; two-month-old baby Laurel was more along the lines of short and wide-eyed, though the fine wisps of hair caught in a bubble gum-pink bow were definitely blond. But the two of them together, yeah, that brought a pang. It was what Jack had thought he’d had lined up, the future he’d seen himself living.

Hadn’t worked out, though, and he’d moved on. Maybe he hadn’t found his one and only yet, but he’d worked out his process—slow and steady won the race when it came to relationships, at least as far as he was concerned—and he’d come to grips with being single long after most everyone else in his generation of Williamses had paired off.

In the meantime, though, he had a good job, good friends and Bear Claw was home, even if it was having its problems these days.

It was those problems that occupied the forefront of his mind as he strode across the parking lot to his SUV, subverting the more pleasant thoughts of a tall, cool anything. And as he started mentally reviewing what he knew of the Forgotten and the militia case, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to call a few contacts on the way out to the airport and make sure he was up to speed.

He might not want this assignment, but it was his ticket back on to the more important investigation. Besides, he’d be damned if anything happened to a visiting scientist on his watch.




Chapter Two


Tori saw the guy the moment she hit the baggage claim area, and only partly because the badge on his belt marked him as her Bear Claw P.D. liaison.

Mostly it was because he was really hard to miss.

In fact, she was pretty sure the brief hesitation in the determined stride of her seatmate from the plane came from a “Hello, handsome” moment rather than dismay over the “Delayed” sign blinking next to their flight number on the board.

Tori and the tall, blonde businesswoman might have waged a low-grade and unstated war over foot room and control of their supposedly shared armrest during the endless-feeling flight, but in that moment she had a feeling they were united in feminine appreciation.

The guy was maybe a shade over six feet, with dark auburn hair, piercing, pale blue eyes and an aggressive jut of a nose that made him seriously good scenery in a full-on masculine sort of way. He sported a hint of silver at his temples, but Tori put him at closer to thirty than forty, rugged and handsome in a way that made her think of mountains and fast-running rivers.

Wearing jeans, a light blue button-down that was open at the throat and rolled up over his tanned forearms and a pair of hiking boots with enough scars to suggest they had seen some rough trails, he probably should’ve looked like he had just stepped out of an ad for an expensive cologne, but even without the badge, she would’ve pegged him as a cop. It was in the way he held himself, the way he watched the flow of human traffic.

Or, rather, the way he had been watching the flow. Now he was watching the blonde.

Typical, Tori thought on a beat of disgust, and didn’t let herself try to match the other woman’s long-legged stride as she swaggered over to the cop, who was lounging against a support beam, looking like someone had dropped a piece of the wilderness in among the overprocessed, touristy posters that lined the walls.

If Blondie hadn’t spent the entire flight being a space invader, Tori might have admired the way she moved past her prey, pretending to ignore him as she frowned prettily up at the display. As it was, she sneered inwardly as the cop took the bait and said something to her. Tori wasn’t close enough to catch his opening line, but as she drew near, Blondie glanced at him, her expression caught between interest and triumph as she purred, “Are you looking for someone?”

He nodded. “Yes, indeed. And I believe I’ve found her.” He looked over and down—way down—to Tori. “Dr. Bay, I presume?”

Blondie’s smile instantly lost its wattage and her face took on a look of Really? But Tori barely noticed because she was busy doing a double take of her own, as surprise that he had noticed her was compounded by the hoo-boy of having those baby blues locked on to her.

His outdoorsy vibe might’ve made her think of the mountains, but his eyes were the cerulean of a perfectly flat high-country lake beneath a cloudless sky. The kind of lake that hikers would take a day’s climb to reach, and then be grateful to simply sit and stare. Which was exactly what she was doing.

Staring up at him. Like a five-foot-nothing dork.

Say something, idiot!

“Yes, I’m Dr. Bay,” she blurted, loud enough to make herself wince. Forcing her voice to something approaching its normal businesslike tone, she added, “How did you recognize me?”

The university typically didn’t send much advance info on their field researchers, never mind photos. Then again, the people requesting her services typically didn’t insist on police protection either.

The corners of his eyes crinkled arrestingly. “Given the knapsack, hiking boots and the insignia on your wind-breaker, I figured it was a good bet you were the tree doctor.”

Catching Blondie’s smirk in her peripheral vision, Tori bristled. She didn’t need to look down at herself to know that she was rocking the earthy-crunchy factor in jeans and a plain forest-green T-shirt, along with a U.S. Plant Pathology Association windbreaker that was a couple of sizes too big because they didn’t come in extra small. And, yeah, given that she had her bark-brown hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail and was wearing her glasses because airplanes did wonky things to her contacts, she wasn’t even close to being in Blondie’s league. And not just because she was lacking the designer suit, stilettos and a foot of height.

Worse, she had actually bothered to catalog those differences.

Hello, she thought loudly, hoping both her libido and her brain would listen up, you’re not here for a fieldwork fling. You’re here to do a job. Granted, she’d combined the two more than once in the past, but this particular job fell under the category of “potential disaster, probably shouldn’t let yourself get distracted, hunky escort or not.”

Besides, he was a cop.

Deliberately, she put her head back in the work zone where it belonged. The U.S. National Park Service was worried about the newly discovered breeding population of barred eagles, and the strange, threadlike fungus that was killing huge chunks of forest near the eagles’ nesting area. Given the ecological chaos caused by the recent oak-blight epidemic in California’s Point Reyes Park, the Park Service wasn’t taking any chances in Bear Claw Canyon. When the local scientists hadn’t been able to crack the fungus’s life cycle or the real cause of the problems the trees were experiencing, Tori had gotten the call.

Her family might not understand her choosing to save trees rather than people, but she was very good at what she did.

Giving the cop a cool look, she said, “I prefer the term ‘phytopathologist.’ Or ‘plant disease epidemiologist’ is okay, too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How about we go with Tori and Jack instead? Seems easier, and half the time when I hear ‘Detective Williams,’ I turn around to see if my dad or uncle are standing behind me.”

Which meant he wasn’t just a cop, he was straight out of a cop family, with all the “save the world and pat the little lady on the head” machismo that it entailed. Or maybe that was just her family, she thought, trying to smooth out the sudden tug of irritation he hadn’t earned.

Which just left her realizing that she had just told her local liaison to use her professional titles. God, she was still such a dweeb sometimes, especially when faced with a guy who felt just that little bit out of her league, turning him into a challenge.

Making herself grin rather than groan, she nodded. “Tori and Jack it is.”

She didn’t bother asking herself what it was about this guy that had her caught somewhere between lust and dorksville. He was seriously hot; she was exhausted by having done a week’s worth of grant writing in two days to make this trip; and it had been a few months since she and her last equally on-the-go lover, Greene, had called it quits. So she was noticing the handsome detective in a chemically combustible way, and it was making her a little silly. Okay, more than a little.

Focus. “We should get going. I understand that the site is pretty far off the beaten path.”

“That’s an understatement. We’ll be using Ranger Station Fourteen as a base camp and driving out to the Forgotten from there on a daily basis.”

“Wait. What?” She frowned up at him. Way up, which made her feel short, and in turn, irritated her. “We won’t need the ranger station. We’re camping out at the site for the duration.” That was SOP for the more remote locations, and she’d been assured there would be no problem.

His expression tightened and those lake waters chilled. “Not with an armed militia out there, we’re not.”

“An …” She blew out a breath, not liking the sound of that one bit. “I was under the impression that the area was secure.”

“That might be the official line, but it’s not the reality as far as my contacts within the investigation are concerned. So here’s the deal: either we bunk at Ranger Station Fourteen and day-trip it out to the Forgotten, or you hold off on your investigation until we’ve got a real handle on the Shadow Militia. Your call.”

Even as jitters took up residence in her stomach, she narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out if he was on the level or if this was another version of the familiar song that went I’ve got better things to do than drag you around; I wish you’d go away.

Most of the time, her escorts were happy to bring her to the infected site and eager to hear what she had to say about their problem. Occasionally, though, she ran into the other kind: the ones who didn’t want her around, whether because she’d been foisted on them, they saw her as a threat or because they didn’t want to be anyone’s chaper-one. She didn’t peg this guy as foistable or threatened, but he also didn’t strike her as the type to volunteer to babysit a visiting scientist. What she didn’t know was whether he was overemphasizing the danger in an effort to run her off … or if there was really a chance that there were still armed killers hiding somewhere in the Forgotten, which had the rep of being seriously rough territory in its own right.

Her jitters edged toward nerves, but she held her ground because logic said it couldn’t be that bad or her assignment would’ve been called off. Whether or not she agreed with it—which she didn’t—investigations into plant outbreaks often got shunted back behind human factors, and she’d had cases canceled over far smaller problems before.

Testing the waters, she said, “If it’s that dangerous, I’m surprised your bosses okayed the investigation.” Glancing down, she went for her phone. “Maybe I should call—”

He caught her wrist. “Don’t.”

For a few agonizing seconds all she could feel was the warm touch of his hand and the press of his fingers over her pulse. Heat washed up her throat to her face, bringing a heady mix of attraction and nerves. Her heart pounded, she couldn’t catch her breath, and … Knock it off, she told herself. He’s not that hot.

Okay, maybe he was, but that didn’t change his basic makeup: namely, a cop from a cop family. What was more, she had her answer. He was trying to play her.

Tugging her arm from his grip, she regarded him coolly. “Level with me, then. How high is the risk really, Detective?”

“Too high.” But when she just kept looking at him, he glanced away and made an annoyed sound. “Look, it’s nothing solid at this point, or else you’re right, your people or mine would’ve already called things off. But some of the cops on the task force—good cops, people I trust—say their guts are telling them that the militia is still in the area. There’ve been some signs.” He looked back at her, his eyes making her think once more of clear, still lakes and reflected skies. But there was zero sunshine in his voice when he continued, “If I’m under orders to keep you safe, then I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t suggest that you hold off on your investigation until we’re sure the area is secure. The Forgotten has been there for a long time—another few weeks or months won’t make a difference to the trees.”

It wasn’t what he said that had annoyance bubbling up inside her; it was the way he said it, with practically a verbal pat on the head. Stop being so dramatic, the woods will be fine. And even if they’re not, who cares? There are lots of trees in the forest—ha ha.

And wasn’t that just typical? she thought as anger flared to replace the heat of his touch. “For your information, Detective, we’re not just talking about trees here. This could be the beginning of a widespread ecological collapse that could take out the native wildlife in the area … including the last remaining wild population of barred eagles that we know of. Not to mention that weeks or months absolutely could make a difference when it comes to a fast-moving infection and the disruption it can cause to a fragile ecosystem. In fact, days could make a difference, which is why I canceled a speaking engagement and fast-tracked a grant application to get my butt down here as soon as I found out about the problem in the Forgotten.” She paused, though, because there were still some solid nerves beneath the irritation. And although she might be tripping over her tongue right now with her handsome escort, she wasn’t an idiot. “Please, Detective, tell me honestly—and we’re talking the absolute truth here, taking your other cases or whatever else is going on inside your head out of the mix—how much real and concrete danger will I be in if we go out there?”

His gaze sharpened on her with surprise and, she thought, maybe a bit of respect. Didn’t expect the pint-size plant nerd to push back, did you?

He was paying attention now, though, with none of the earlier eye crinkle that said he was humoring her. And his voice was dead serious when he said, “Okay, Doc, here’s the deal. There’s no hard evidence that the militants are still in the area, and there hasn’t been any sign of daytime movement, at least not that the surveillance has managed to pick up. It’s just gut feelings and suspicions right now. So, no, there’s no hard evidence. And if you’re certain that you want to do this, we’ll go. But I’m going to drive you in and out each day from Station Fourteen, and camping out up at the site just isn’t an option. Take it or leave it.” He paused, then said almost grudgingly, “For what it’s worth, I know the situation’s not perfect, and I’m sorry that it’s going to complicate your investigation.”

He even looked like he meant it, which had her tension easing somewhat, and her shoulders coming down a bit from their tight “trying to be taller” squareness. “Okay,” she conceded. “The commute is going to slow me down, but I’ll work around it somehow.”

“And you’ll do what I tell you once we reach the Forgotten?”

“I won’t do anything stupid.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

No, it wasn’t, but she knew better than to make blanket promises like that. Re-squaring her shoulders and not letting herself get trapped in those eyes, which made her want to agree to just about anything, she said, “If we’re talking about cop stuff, then yes, of course you’re in charge. But when it comes to fieldwork, I’m going to be calling the shots on when, where and what. And the ‘when’ is now and the ‘where’ is out at the infection site. I know you probably think what I do is lightweight compared to your job, but if my suspicions are correct, Bear Claw Canyon could be looking at a major ecosystem collapse unless we can—or, rather, unless I can—contain the spread of this disease.”

As if to punctuate her words, the luggage carousel finally rumbled to life, the “Delayed” sign blinked off, and her flight number came up in glowing pixels. The luggage started spitting out almost immediately, and Blondie grabbed a couple of Vuittons and clicked away with only a single last look over her shoulder, which the detective didn’t acknowledge. He kept his eyes locked on Tori, and she stared right back.

Finally, he sighed, nodded and broke their eyeball stalemate. “Okay, we’ll head out to the station and go from there. Which bags are yours?”

“I’ve got them.” As her two bulging duffels trundled their way around the conveyer, she stepped forward and snagged them. She was aware of his gaze following her as she handled the heavy load with a combination of leverage and a bone-deep refusal to let him see her wobble. When she turned back to him, he was holding out a hand. She eyed it, trying not to notice the faint but capable calluses or how much bigger it was than her own. “You want to shake on it?”

“We could do that. Or you could give me those bags and we can hit the road.”

She wasn’t entirely sure if they had reached an agreement, a standoff or what. But as she handed over one of the duffels and stubbornly kept the other for herself, and then followed him out to a capable-looking dark green SUV, she knew for darned sure that she was going to need to be on her toes around this guy if she planned on running the investigation on her terms. After all, high-country lakes might appear to be a simple, beautiful blue on the surface, but they often had submerged dangers that could snag the unwary boater … especially if she was too busy being caught up in the scenery to see the danger before she went overboard.




Chapter Three


By the time he steered his SUV onto the final section of road leading up to Ranger Station Fourteen, Jack was more than ready to get the hell out of the car. He was riled up, wound tight and needed to move so badly that it was taking him an almost physical effort to not stomp on the gas and blast up the last few miles going way too fast for safety.

It wasn’t because of anything his passenger had done either. Before they even reached the highway, Tori had pulled off her windbreaker, wadded it up against the doorframe to use as a pillow and fallen instantly asleep. Nope, she wasn’t the problem at all; he was. Because with her sleeping so soundly, he was free to glance over at her time and again, trying to figure her out.

When she had first come through the security checkpoint, he’d instantly gotten the impression of movement and energy, creating a vitality that had filled the space around her so thoroughly that he hadn’t realized how tiny she was until she was right there in front of him. Even then, she had radiated such competence in her practical clothes and tomboy appearance—a cute tomboy in glasses and a ponytail, but a tomboy nonetheless—that he had told himself she’d be okay in the Forgotten.

Heck, she’d had no problem standing up to him, had she? She’d gone right after him with a one-two punch of logic and determination, with the subtle threat of “let’s call our bosses” behind it all, much as Tucker’s wife, Alyssa, might have done, or any one of the other rock star lady cops Bear Claw was fortunate enough to have in the field.

He hadn’t anticipated that sort of grit, guts and determination from a tree doctor—he’d been expecting someone quieter and a lot less fiery, he supposed, and that was probably what he got for making assumptions.

Now, though, seeing her asleep with one hand folded beneath her head, the other curled loosely around the seat belt where it crossed her chest, he was acutely aware that if he gripped her wrist his fingers would overlap his thumb almost fully. And, granted, that had nothing to do with her competence as a scientist … but it sure had him twitchy about bringing her out to the backcountry.

Lucky for me she’s not the long, cool blonde Tucker was talking about, he thought. Because it was going to be bad enough dividing his attention between his diminutive protectee and the militia case; the last thing he needed was to have any kind of inappropriate attraction rear its head. And, hello, why was he even thinking about that? She was here for a few days, a week or two at the most, which was nowhere near long enough to start something like that.

“We’re here,” he announced as the SUV rolled past the rustic, T-shaped building that housed Ranger Station Fourteen—empty now, with the season having closed a few weeks earlier—and continued on to the quirky little house beyond it: an old research observatory that head ranger Matt Blackthorn had converted into his private quarters, and where he lived more or less year-round despite the harsh conditions.

Matt was every inch an ex-cop even though he didn’t like to talk about his time on a city force far away. The ranger didn’t like to talk about much really, although that had been improving since he fell for Gigi Lynd, the pretty CSI who’d wound up embroiled in the initial round of attacks by the Shadow Militia. Last Jack had heard from Gigi—who had done some ride-alongs with him and become a casual friend—she and Matt were keeping a sharp eye on things up at Fourteen but hadn’t seen any evidence of the militia. He hadn’t been able to get hold of her today, though, and was looking forward to getting an update from her and Matt.

As he pulled into the parking area in front of the observatory and killed the engine, Tori sat up and blinked around, her brown eyes looking owlish behind her glasses, and then lighting as she took in their surroundings.

And, yeah, Matt’s house was pretty cool, almost an inland lighthouse, with two levels of living space and a tall platform sprouting from one side. Towering high above the surrounding trees, it overlooked sweeping, rock-strewn vistas on all sides, some furred with a light, high-altitude tree covering, others bare. It was all drought-dry and dusty with ash from the wildfires that had leveled large portions of the forest to the south and west of Station Fourteen, but he still thought it was a seriously cool sight.

Her lips curved and she sighed. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

Restless energy kicked through him like a jet on afterburners, making him want to … Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted to do except get moving. Maybe Tucker was right about his needing some time and space to get his head clear after all.

Jerking a thumb toward the main door, he said, “Come on in. I need to pick up some extra gear before we head out to the site.” A glance at the sky had him frowning. “If you even want to bother going up there today, that is. You’re really going to get only a few hours out at the site before we have to call it a night.”

Although there was a road between Fourteen and the Forgotten now, it was questionable at best, treacherous at worst, and there was no point in tackling it after dark.

“I’ll take what I can get,” she said firmly. “While you’re loading your stuff, I’ll change out of my airplane clothes and drop off some of my stuff if there’s a place for it.”

“There should be. It’ll be tight quarters with you, me, Matt and Gigi, but we’ll make it work.”

Once he let himself through the unlocked front door, though, the first thing he saw was a note lying on the butcher-block breakfast bar, with his name scrawled at the top. A quick scan told him that things weren’t going to be nearly as crowded as he had thought … and he really didn’t want to analyze why that information had his gut fisting on a low burn of heat.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Matt and Gigi are going to be out of town for the next few days. Looks like we’ll have the run of the place, along with a little extra elbow room.”

She avoided his eyes and shrugged. “Fine by me either way. I’m used to living in close quarters, and most of the time we’re here, I’ll be working on the data and samples I’ve collected. Don’t worry about entertaining me. The more I work, the faster you can get back to whatever you were doing before you got stuck babysitting me.”

“I’m not … Hmm.” He caught her faint grin, and almost wanted to laugh at himself, restlessness and all. “Hell. Go dump your stuff and we’ll get moving.”

She might be tiny, but she gave as good as she got.

Nodding, she strode across the lower level, which had the kitchen at one end, a good-size fireplace at the other, bracketing an open space filled with cushy couches and chairs strewn with colorful pillows and throws that were undoubtedly Gigi’s influence. She headed for the spiral staircase off in the far corner, but as she reached it, she turned back. “Sorry, I’m on autopilot. I’m in the guest room upstairs, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be on the couch, keeping an eye on the perimeter.” The main station house had recently been rebuilt after the militia members torched it as a diversionary tactic after all, and with the other rangers stationed on the ski slopes for the winter, they were going to be alone up there.

It wouldn’t pay for him to let down his guard. On the contrary, it could be a huge mistake. And if, deep down inside, he knew damn well that his taking the couch also had more than a little to do with his having noticed that behind those glasses her brown eyes were lush and gorgeous, and framed by some of the longest lashes he’d ever seen, he was the only one who needed to have any inkling of it, or of the way his heart skidded a little at the thought that the two of them would be alone together tonight, on either end of a spiral staircase.

She looked at him for an extra moment, making him wonder what she saw, but then she nodded and headed upstairs.

He didn’t watch her go, instead turning to the pile of gear Matt had left for him, which included additional firepower and survival gear. He thought the water purifier was overkill—especially given that they were in the middle of a drought—but there was plenty of room in the SUV, so he figured he’d load it all on the “better safe than sorry” theory. And he had asked the ranger to hook him up with everything he thought they might need out at the Forgotten.

Ten minutes later, as he came back in for the third and last load, he saw Tori coming down the stairs. And he stopped dead, his brain vapor locking and his body going on red alert, and his only coherent thought one of Oh, hell.

He was in serious trouble.

She wasn’t wearing her windbreaker or glasses anymore, and those changes made way too much of a difference. Gone was the impression of an adolescent owl or a teenager wearing her boyfriend’s jacket. In its place was the sight of a woman who might not be built big, but she was built right. Her legs were long in proportion to her body, and her slim waist accentuated with a webbed utility belt fitted through the loops of cargo pants that hugged her hips and moved lovingly with her as she came toward him. Her T-shirt was tight across a pair of surprisingly full breasts and snugged in at her waist and across a flat stomach that showed just a hint of a feminine curve.

She was carrying a knapsack over one shoulder, and the combined effect made him think of coeds and college. Hesitating near the breakfast bar, she said, “What’s wrong?”

In other words, he was staring. And that thing he’d been thinking about there not being a problem with attraction? Yeah. That had just gone straight out the window. She might not be long, cool or blonde, but he was attracted all right.

Yanking his attention to the last of the gear he hadn’t yet put in the truck, he set his jaw. “Nothing. Everything’s just fine.” He would make damn sure of it, in fact. Grabbing the last of the stuff, he turned away. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

As far as he was concerned, the sooner she finished her studies and headed back wherever she had come from, the better, because right now he couldn’t afford the distraction. He had to protect her, look for clues on the militia and get back on the Death Stare case as quickly as possible. The victims might be nothing more than junkies to some, but as far as he was concerned, they were just as important as any other group of victims. Which meant that he didn’t have time for big brown eyes or surprising breasts, or the way his body tightened as he heard her come outside behind him.

And even if he did have time, he reminded himself as he stowed the last of his gear, he wouldn’t be spending it with another woman who was just passing through. Been there, done that, bought the tux.

BY THE TIME Jack parked the SUV in a small clump of scrubby, stunted trees that looked exactly like the last thousand such clumps they had passed since leaving Ranger Station Fourteen, Tori wasn’t sure which was worse: the way he was grimly ignoring her, or the fact that it bothered her far more than it should.

Throughout the drive, one part of her had been cataloging the passing scenery, tapping notes into her handheld and generally getting a feel for the northernmost reaches of the state park and the damage done by the recent drought conditions. Another part of her, though, had been all too aware of Jack as he navigated the rugged one-lane track with deceptive ease and one hand on the wheel. Beneath that layer of calm, though, there was an electric tension that was transmitted in his every shift and breath, and in the few glances he sent her way.

She didn’t kid herself into thinking that he, too, was far too aware of the small space they were sharing. No, he was undoubtedly still seething over having to babysit a “tree doctor” instead of working other, more important—to him, at least—cases. But even that didn’t seem to be enough to make her hormones cool their jets, because as he climbed out of the SUV and turned back to retrieve a shotgun from a box in the backseat, she caught herself admiring the smooth grace of his big body, and the lethal economy of his practiced movements, which made her feel simultaneously safer and more exposed.

More, as she set about pulling the nonessentials from her knapsack, lightening the load for her first look around the site, she was acutely conscious of the way he slung the shotgun across his back with an easy, practiced move that brought a shiver of pure feminine appreciation.

Still, though, while he might be easy on the eyes and practically oozing outdoorsy pheromones, facts were facts: he was a cop; he was a local; and, justified or not, he was making it difficult for her to do her job. Three strikes and you’re out.

She should do herself a favor and remember that. Focus. She needed to focus, darn it. Forcing herself not to watch him as he walked an ever-widening spiral away from the vehicle, scanning the territory as he went, she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. When she did, the world spun slowly, warning her that she was more tired and jet-lagged than she’d even realized. Which explained her overactive libido but warned her that she needed to pay attention to her surroundings, not her escort. The Colorado backcountry could be seriously unforgiving, as could a mishandled investigation.

The scuff of a footstep had her straightening and turning to face him, hoping that he couldn’t see anything in her face—not the fatigue, not the knowledge that she wasn’t at her best and certainly not the buzz that entered her bloodstream as he drew close, eyes still scanning their surroundings, then going to the sky as he said, “You’ll have about three hours before we need to turn back, and even at that time we’re going to be getting in later than I like.”

His voice sounded strange to her after so much quiet between them. He didn’t offer an explanation or apology, but then again, he didn’t owe her either of those things. Regardless of what her hormones thought, they were nothing more than temporary business acquaintances. And if he could keep it professional despite not wanting to be there, she could do the same despite wanting … Well, better not go there.

Dredging up a professional smile and keeping a tight rein on both her thought process and her tendency to blurt the first thing that came to mind, especially when she felt a little out of her depth, she nodded. “Like I said before, I’ll take what I can get. Are we at the edge of the infected area?” The trees around them appeared normal, with none of the ghostly white filaments she’d seen in the photographs that had been sent to her by the prior Park Service investigator.

“Yeah. The white stuff starts about fifty feet from here and stretches all the way to the river, which is a few miles away. We can walk it or drive it, your call.”

She didn’t make the mistake of thinking the “your call” would extend one iota beyond when it suited him, but had to give him credit for trying. “It’ll take me a couple of hours to take preliminary samples and measurements, so parking here and hiking works for me. Then tomorrow I’d like to start from the river and spiral in from there.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

It didn’t take her long to select the gear she wanted to carry with her and load it into her knapsack, then jettison a few of the less crucial pieces so she wouldn’t kill herself trying to carry it. Jack stood nearby the whole time, keeping watch. With the shotgun slung across his back and a 9 mm in a hip holster, and his eyes scanning the trees with practiced intensity, he didn’t look like any cop she’d dealt with before. There was no badge or polyester, no subtle twitch that said he was more comfortable with civilization than out in the backcountry. Instead, there was the deep stillness she associated with hunters and spiritualists, though he didn’t strike her as either of those things, or at least not entirely. He was … different, she decided. Unexpected.

And she really needed to stop trying to figure out her chaperone and do her darned job. “Ready?” she said too brightly.

He gave her a look that said they weren’t headed off to a picnic and she didn’t need to sound so happy about it, but aloud, he said only, “You take point and I’ll watch our backs. You see anything suspicious, yell out, okay? I don’t care how small or silly it might seem—let me make that call.”

Sobering, she nodded. “Got it.” Even though given how thoroughly he was scanning their surroundings, she had a feeling he would pick up on anything suspicious way before she even had a clue. She wasn’t sure why that made her nerves worse rather than better, but she was definitely on edge as they headed off along the continuation of the tire-beaten track. She was hyperaware of his walking slightly behind and off to the side of her like a big, bristling guard dog at heel. Only he was so much more than that … which made him far too distracting.

Then she saw the first thready tendrils hanging from a strangely gnarled branch, and her attention sharpened between one heartbeat and the next. She paused on the track and said softly, “Oh. Hello there.” And in that instant, she felt like herself for the first time since she’d stepped through the final airport security checkpoint and into Jack Williams’s world.

She was aware of his watching her and keeping close as she moved off the track and circled from one infected tree to the next, following where the tendrils grew thicker and thicker, along a wandering line that angled away from the roadway. She dragged her fingertips along the trunks but didn’t touch the tendrils yet. Instead, she cataloged her impressions of the desert-dry backcountry, where the sun beat down even at its fading angle and the dust had a faint tang she couldn’t quite place. What are you? she thought, looking up at the white strands and seeing the way the branches curled inward where they attached, becoming bent, until the most infected of the trees came to look like ancient gnomes, stooped and gnarled, with wispy white hair that trailed nearly to the ground.

“Anything I can help with?” Jack asked.

She looked back at him, startled, both because for a moment she’d almost forgotten he was there and because he actually seemed to mean it. “Actually, there is. Give me the local-level dirt on this place.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How’d you figure me for a local?”

“You mentioned your father and uncle being detectives here, too. I made the leap.”

That earned her a considering look before he nodded and said, “Good leap. Yep, umpteenth-generation local here. My great-something-grandparents helped found the city, and there have been Williamses policing Bear Claw pretty much ever since.”

“Which makes you the perfect person to fill me in on the Forgotten,” she said, turning her attention back to the trees and telling herself there was no reason for her to feel a pang at the confirmation that his roots went deep.

“What do you already know?”

“Pretend I just walked in here with no advance info. You never know what’s going to spark a connection.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I know how that goes. Okay, the Forgotten … Well, it’s a federal buffer zone beyond the state park, too far away from civilization to interest regular campers and not challenging enough to interest the hard-core mountaineers. Doesn’t have anything really in the way of natural resources or any real reason for anybody to pay attention to it, although it recently changed hands, going from federal to the city, and then almost to a public sale.”

“I saw that in the file,” she said, reaching up to sift her fingers through the dry, wispy strands of the parasitic fungus that was gnoming the trees, killing them. What are you? she asked inside. Aloud, she said, “What happened with the sale?”

“Mayor Proudfoot was pushing to sell the land to a private investor who, not surprisingly, dropped the negotiations when things broke.”

“I assume you’ve taken a good, hard look at the investor? It would seem to me that buying the property would be to the militia’s benefit.”

He shot her another sidelong look. “Thought you were a plant … whatever it was.”

“I’ve got a couple of cops in my family. You learn the thought process.” Among other things.

“Well, it’s not a bad theory, but the investor was legit, if an idiot. He had some geologist swearing to him that there’s gold in the area, and thought he was going to put one over on the government by buying the Forgotten and striking it rich.”

“I didn’t think there was gold around here,” she commented as they moved into a clearer area, where infected trees were more sparsely distributed among clusters of huge boulders. These trees were more severely affected than the surrounding clusters, though, which had her antenna quivering. Was there some environmental component at work?

Jack shook his head. “There isn’t any gold. Just some played-out copper mines.”

“Right.” She had seen that from the photos, just as she had learned about the land deal from the dossier. She needed something else, something more. So, as she went into her pack for the first of the sampling kits, she said, “What about rumors, old campfire stories, that sort of thing?”

“You want to use old legends to figure out a tree disease?”

“Like I said, you never know what’s going to make a connection.” And, yeah, maybe she liked the sound of his voice when he wasn’t being condescending, and she liked being back on her professional footing where things made sense and she didn’t feel nearly so off balance, even with him only a few feet away.

“Local legends, huh? Well, depending on which story you believe, the Forgotten was either considered cursed by the native tribes in the area, or the story of the curse was whipped up later to scare people away from what was actually a hideout for the toughest of the Wild West outlaws in the decades after the Civil War.”

She made a “bring it on” finger wiggle with her free hand as she tweezed fibers into a series of sterile sampling units, sealing them shut and tucking them away.

“Okay, here’s how the story goes. There was once a young brave named Bear Tooth, who was smaller and weaker than his friends, and always came in last when they raced. But then one day—”

Sudden gunfire split the air, cutting him off. They were under attack!




Chapter Four


Jack reacted instantly, tackling Tori and hurling them both into the lee of the nearest boulder. His arms went around her and he muffled her scream in his chest, protecting her from the impact as they collapsed together against the stone.

Moments earlier, the fallen slab had seemed huge. Now it felt small and thin as shots rang off the far side and he anticipated the burn of a bullet crease, or worse. There was just the one shooter, but his weapon was high-powered; he was shooting from the concealment of a trio of larger rocks on higher ground; and he wasn’t missing by much.

Body going into automatic mode, Jack shouldered his shotgun and snapped off two return shots that blasted off the rocks and got the guy’s head down even as his mind revved with the sickening realization that the damned Shadow Militia hadn’t ghosted after all … and he had led his protectee straight into an ambush.

Worse, if the guy moved and Jack didn’t notice, the only thing between her and a bullet was his body. He had her crowded up against the rock. Their legs were tangled, his chest was pressed to her back and he could feel the pound of her heart and the heave of her ribs as she gasped for air.

“Don’t panic,” he said, bracketing the words with two more shots and a reload. “I’ve got you.” His hand was itching to reach for his phone, but he didn’t make the grab because they were out of cell range and far away from backup. Which meant he needed her to stay calm and help him out. “Keep breathing. In and out. You got it?”

She whipped her head around and stared wildly up at him, her eyes huge and dark in her face. But he could see her struggling against the fear, see the growing determination as she nodded. “I got—”

Crack—crack—crack! The trio of shots hammered into the stone, breaking off a piece and sending something burning across Jack’s upper arm. “Son of a—” he hissed.

Tori’s face went stricken and she choked off a scream as she grabbed him and tried to drag him away from the point of impact. “You’re hurt!”

“Barely.” It was little more than a scratch really, and there would be far worse in store if he didn’t do something drastic, because they were pinned down in a weaker position. Catching Tori’s hands, he eased her back against the rock. “Stay,” he growled, “and I mean it. Don’t move. Just keep your head down.”

“Where—” She clamped her lips together, pale but resolute as she followed his gaze to the track he would need to take to reach the gunman, and winced. He could get to the rocks the guy was hiding behind—he would have to get there—but it meant crossing nearly a hundred yards of open space. “You’ll be a sitting duck.”

“You’re right.” And the fact that she recognized it argued for some basic proficiency with a gun. He hoped. “Take this.” He yanked his pistol, thumbed off the safety and handed it over. “When I say the word, put four bullets into those rocks up there. Space them out a little and don’t worry about aiming, it’s just cover fire. Just don’t point it at me, okay?”

She took the weapon, surprised the hell out of him by checking it with practiced ease, though her hands shook, and looked back up at him. “Only four?”

“Save the others in case I’m not the one who comes back for you.” He didn’t have time to sugarcoat it, punctuated by the crack-crack of two more shots.

The last of the color drained from her face, but she nodded and tightened her grip on the pistol. “Make sure you are, okay?”

He slid his hand up her arm to the back of her neck and squeezed in a gesture that suddenly felt more intimate than he’d intended it to. “Will do.”

Then, before he could think about all the ways this could go very wrong very fast, he popped his head around the stone, pounded two more shots into the rocks where the bastard was hiding, and then took off, staying low, moving fast, and keeping as much cover between him and the shooter as he could.

A bullet slammed into a nearby tree trunk with a fleshy, splintering noise. He ducked, dodged, snapped off a shot, saw that he was about to hit open ground and shouted, “Tori, now!”

The first shot rang out almost immediately from behind him and kicked up the gravel below the gunman’s position. He didn’t look to see where the second and third hit, just took off running in a jackrabbit zigzag across the open ground. His feet skidded on the loose, sandy gravel, his body burned with the anticipation of the next shot, and the rocky cover up ahead looked farther away with every step he took. But Tori’s third shot came when he was halfway across, her fourth at the three-quarter’s mark, and then he was there!

Breath rattling in his lungs, he dived behind the bigger boulders that led the way up to where the bastard was hiding, slammed back against the cool stone surface and made himself take the time to reload, even though his heart was slamming with the rhythm of get him, get him, get him!

Determination gripped him—anger, even. It wasn’t coming just from the drive for justice that was part of the Williams DNA either, wasn’t because of the troubles that had been hammering at Bear Claw and its overworked, understaffed P.D. either. It was bubbling straight up from deep inside him: a raw and atavistic need to make sure nothing happened to Tori.

Growling low in his throat, he charged up the hill, staying low and moving fast, sacrificing some stealth and cover for speed because he was all too aware that the gunman hadn’t gotten off a shot in nearly a minute.

He led with his shotgun, swung around the last outcropping—and stopped dead at the sight of an empty, scuffed-up spot where the shooter had been.

Tori! He shouted the word in his skull but didn’t let it out as he spun in a quick three-sixty, not sure if the guy had gone after her or taken off. Please, let him have taken off.

There was no sign of the gunman save for the scuff marks leading down, a single line where the guy had retraced his trail and then branched off—straight onto a wide, rocky ledge that didn’t hold any tracks and was headed straight for Tori.

Pulse thudding in ears that strained for the sound of gunfire, Jack charged along the ridge of stone, and then crept to within a few boulders of where he’d left Tori, hoping to hell that the silence meant she was hiding, not taken hostage. The last few seconds were the worst, as he got to within a single stone of her position, straining to see if he could detect the sounds of one or two people on the other side. Then, knowing it was better to risk his position than take friendly fire, he called softly, “Tori, it’s Jack. I—”

A blur came at him from the side. He wheeled with his gun up and ready, then jerked it to the side as his brain registered petite curves and huge brown eyes. There wasn’t time to notice much else before she flung herself against him and hung on tight, all warmth and curves and slight-ness against him.

Even as he told himself to detach and go after the guy, his arms closed around her with equal force.

“You’re okay!” Her words were muffled in his shirt and her body vibrated with tension. “I thought …” As if suddenly realizing what she’d done, she pushed away from him, blushing. “Here, take this.” She shoved the pistol into his free hand, leaving him standing there with a gun in each hand and the imprint of her body on his as she took a couple more steps back, holding her hands out to her sides as if to say “Sorry, don’t know what got into me.”

And even though he knew the moment had come from fear and relief, part of him was dying to close the gap between them and touch her for real.

Bad timing, he told himself. And a really, really bad idea. So instead of reaching for her, he safetied and holstered the pistol, then turned away from her to scan the scene. “Did you see him?”

“He’s gone?”

“Looks like it.” And sure enough, a quick but thorough search of the immediate area said that the gunman had left. Jack wasn’t willing to bet on how far he’d gone, though, or that he wasn’t coming back with reinforcements, so he turned them back the way they had come, feeling the prickle of unseen—maybe imagined, maybe not—eyes on the back of his neck. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Hang on.” Tori dug in. “I need my bag.”

He might have argued—his gut said they had to get out of there fast—but the sudden gleam in her eyes told him that he’d be wasting his time. Besides, it wasn’t much of a detour over to where her knapsack had fallen … and he wasn’t sure how much of his disquiet came from the gunman and how much from feeling that he and Tori were skirting the edge of dangerous territory … especially given that her stay in Bear Claw had a guaranteed expiration date, and he wasn’t wired for “casual.”

Still, though, as he led her back to the SUV using a different track than the one they’d taken before, just in case, he was acutely aware not just of their surroundings and the unusually quiet tension in the air, but also of her. The practiced moves of her body said she was used to moving silently through the woods, but the slight hitch in her breathing said she was terrified and doing her best to hold it together.

On the drive earlier, he had been thinking that she was too slight to handle the Forgotten, skilled or not. Now, his respect notched up—she could handle herself and then some. Still, he wished like hell that he’d talked her out of the trip. She shouldn’t have been in the line of fire, period.

That was fixable, though. He would get her back down to civilization, load her onto a plane, and get back to work. There was no way Tucker could keep him off this investigation now, not when—

“Oh, hell.” He stopped dead at the sight of the SUV. It was still sitting where he’d parked it, but the hood was popped. “Stay put,” he ordered grimly, “and get ready with that pistol.”

“Shouldn’t we stick together?”

“Not if … Not right now.” If the damn thing was wired to blow, he didn’t want her anywhere near it—and the militia had done worse. Without taking his eyes off their surroundings, he dug into his jacket for a canteen and his pocketknife. “Hold on to these for me, will you? If we get separated, I want you to head back down. Stay off the road but keep it in sight.”

“You …” She trailed off, then caught his hand for a moment, squeezed it. “Don’t do that to me, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.” They shared a look that lasted a beat too long to be for simple luck, and then he pulled away. “Cover me. If something that’s not me moves, shoot it. I’d rather lose a deer than our lives.”

Without another word, he slipped out into the open and headed for the SUV. To his surprise, Tori melted almost immediately into the trees; he couldn’t see her even though he knew exactly where to look. Damn. His respect notched up another bit, and along with it his determination not to let her down.

Steady, he told himself as he got to within a few feet of the SUV. Don’t rush it. But he was also very aware of the first blush of pink on the horizon, heralding the too-quick autumn dusk. He had the equipment for them to camp out, sure, but not in the face of a potential armed standoff, or worse.

Forcing himself to focus, he scanned the vehicle. He didn’t see a tripwire or evidence of explosives, although with today’s miniaturization, that was no guarantee. But he was losing light and his gut said they had to get moving. So, holding his breath, he opened the hood.

“Son of a—” He bit off the curse, then ran the hood the rest of the way open, staring dismayed at the mess of wires and hoses that had taken the sharp end of a knife. Which made sense, he realized after the fact: assuming that the gunman had stumbled over them, he wouldn’t have been carrying explosives or tripwires. But he’d obviously had a knife with him, and he’d probably be coming back with the other stuff.

Lifting his hand, he beckoned Tori in from the tree line. She looked at him hopefully as she approached, but must have seen something in his eyes, because her face was grim by the time she joined him at the SUV.

“I think I can cobble things back together with the supplies I’ve got on hand,” he said. Hopefully his patches would last long enough to get them back down to the station, or at least into radio range of help. “I need you to keep watch from the trees while I work on this.”

“Not from here?”

He thought about sugar coating it, but went with the bald truth instead. “Matt and Gigi were nearly killed when the militia nailed their Jeep with a rocket-propelled grenade.”

Her eyes whipped back to him. “In other words, we’re sitting ducks.”

“Which is why I need you in the trees.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut once more. Nodded. “Of course.” Then she surprised him by catching his hand and tugging him down, to brush a kiss across his cheek. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job,” he said automatically, as he had done pretty much since his first days as a rook when someone wanted to thank him. This time, though, his skin heated and he found himself wanting to say something more even though he didn’t have a clue what that might be. Then she pulled away and headed for the trees, walking almost silently and keeping her eyes moving.

Damn, she impressed him.

No distractions, he reminded himself, and rummaged in the SUV for the wire stripper and a fat roll of electrical tape before he turned back to the slashed hoses and wires. This time, though, he focused wholly on the job, trusting that his partner—or, rather, his protectee—had his back. And given the list of rooks he’d been working with over the past couple of years thanks to Mayor Skinflint, it had been a long time since he’d had anyone watching his six for real. It should’ve rubbed wrong that it was a scientist he could practically blow over … but it didn’t.

He’d think about that later, though. Like after they were the hell out of there and she was on a plane headed home.

“This one goes to this one …” He talked himself through the patches, working too quickly to really be methodical, but not letting himself make any mistakes because there wasn’t any time for a do-over. He was barely two-thirds of the way through when he realized he was squinting to see, and had to click on a small flashlight and hold it between his teeth.

All the while, the back of his neck was strung tight waiting for the sound of a footstep or the crack of a gunshot. He was sweating by the time he taped the last connection into place. Then, sending up a wordless prayer, he leaned across the driver’s seat and tried the key.

The engine turned over and started to come to life, but then coughed and died. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, slinging himself into the seat and risking a glance over to the tree line. Tori was just barely visible within the branches. She flashed him a thumbs up and mouthed You can do it, then faded back into the branches, leaving him to think she had stepped into view just for him.

Shaking his head, he tried the key again, goosing the gas a little. The SUV started, and this time it stayed running. “Nice!”

He waved to Tori as he lunged out of the vehicle to slam the hood, heart suddenly pounding where he’d been mostly calm up to this point. So close. They were so damn close to getting out of there! She burst from the trees, moving fast but still quiet, gripping his pistol two-handed and somehow managing to look simultaneously terrified and utterly capable as she piled into the SUV from the other side and banged the door shut with a slam that was gunshot-loud after all the quiet.

Pulse racing, he met her eyes. “Here goes nothing.” Only it was really everything as he shifted into gear, the transmission synched up and he hit the gas … and everything worked the way it was supposed to. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it came out in a big whoosh. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath. “Hang in there.”

Tori didn’t say a word, just kept the pistol in her lap and her eyes moving, scanning the passing scrub. But she reached over with her free hand and briefly gripped his wrist in thanks.

For Jack, the next few hours passed in a blur of death-gripping the steering wheel, squinting to tell the faint tread-marked trail from the surrounding unstable shale, and hoping to hell his patches would hold. He and Tori exchanged a few words now and then on the practicalities, and once they were out of the Forgotten, she set aside the pistol, turned up the heat and sagged against her door, her eyes still moving, watching for trouble even in the moonlit darkness.

They both knew that if there was going to be a problem at this point, they likely wouldn’t see it coming. The SUV’s headlights lit the night with an “aim the RPG here” sign in neon, but it wasn’t like he could turn them off. He was having a devil of a time staying on the trail as it was. So he drove, wincing with every bounce and bang, imagining his patches loosening up and the hoses teetering on the brink of separation.

He was strung out, his eyes burning, his body caught in a surreal state of exhausted terror that had him hallucinating as he tried his damnedest to see the track. That had to be a hallucination, because there was no way—

Tori jolted and straightened. “It’s the tower! We made it!”

He blinked hard, then had to blink again to clear his burning eyes, but the lights didn’t disappear along with the gritty fog shrouding his vision. They stayed true—small, amber pinpricks that expanded to glows and then became the solar floodlights that topped the observatory.

Station Fourteen had never looked so good.

“We could walk it from here,” he rasped, feeling the tension draining away, leaving him nearly limp with relief.

“Let’s not and say we did,” she said drily. Then she flashed him a grin, her eyes gleaming with the same mad joy that was suddenly pumping through him.

He snorted, guffawed, cracked up. And they rolled into the parking lot laughing like a pair of idiots.

The second he took his foot off the gas and hit the brake, though, the engine thudded and died. Kaput. Done.

He choked off the tension-relieving laughter, letting it bleed away in a long sigh. “Holy crap, Tori. We made it.”

She reached across and gripped his wrist as she had done before, only this time she let her hand linger. “We only made it because of you. Thank you, Jack. I …” She shook her head. “Thank you.”

The old “just doing my job” got stuck in his throat, locked there by the flare of heat that kindled at the point where she was touching him and rolled up his arm to fill his chest. He just shook his head, not even sure what he was denying anymore as he turned his grip inside hers to thread their fingers together and tug her closer.

She could have pretended not to understand, could’ve pulled away. She didn’t do either of those things, though. Instead, as the breath backed up in his lungs and the warmth turned to a gnawing ache mixed with flames, she leaned toward him in the darkness. He lifted his other hand and drew his fingers along the side of her face and back to brush her hair behind one ear, giving her one last chance to retreat. She didn’t, though.

And so, in a broken-down SUV that had died in the back of beyond, he broke the rules he’d spent most of his adult life figuring out—three dates to a kiss, at least ten to take it further, everything slow and methodical, and designed to test the compatibility and long-term potential of each match. This wasn’t the third date, wasn’t even a date, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was kissing Tori.




Chapter Five


As Jack’s lips touched hers, Tori decided that she didn’t care that he was a cop and a local; she only cared that he was solid and warm against her. His mouth was firm, his grip demanding even though she knew he would let her go if she pulled away.

She crowded closer instead, and parted her lips to taste him.

A groan rumbled in his chest as their tongues touched and slid, and her soft moan echoed beneath the sound, coming from the sharp, masculine flavor and the heat that seared through her, surrounded her. He was there, he was real, and that was a shock to the senses in the wake of the last few hours, which felt suddenly unreal, as if they had happened to someone else, or came from a movie about shootouts, sabotaged vehicles and car chases.

The man kissing her was equally outside of her normal zone, as were the heat and desire rocketing through her, but she could grab on to those feelings, dig into his solid strength and feel alive. They had made it out, made it down. They were okay, thanks to him. If he hadn’t been there. She shuddered against him, feeling safe and protected.

But at the same time she was very aware that this, too, was a moment out of reality, fleeting and temporary. It had to be. So when her hands wanted to clutch, she made them caress instead, and when his body stiffened and he made a low noise of surprise, she let go and leaned back, hands up and open in the universal gesture of “don’t freak, no harm, no foul.”

That was how she ran each and every one of her short-term relationships, after all: no harm, no foul.

They sat there a moment, in a pool of light coming from the observatory’s floods, staring at each other. His breathing was fast, his eyes hot with a desire that speared straight into her and made her want to fling herself at him, on him, kiss him until neither of them was thinking about anything but the slip and slide of flesh and the pounding of their hearts.

But even though his eyes were hot, he shook his head slowly as if to clear it, or maybe deny what had just happened between them. And although that rejection pinched at her feminine core, she was the one who’d let go first, and she was the one who broke the suddenly strained silence to say, “Sorry. Got caught up in the moment there.”

He searched her face for an interval that stretched long enough for her to wonder what he was looking for, what he saw. But he only said, “We should get inside and start making calls. The guys at the station house need to hear about what just happened, as do the members of the task force; I need backup, and you need an official escort back down to the city.”

The implication was “and a plane ticket the hell out of here,” and she wasn’t arguing—there was a line between dedication and stupidity, and sticking around when she was being shot at would put her way over onto the “stupid” side.

THE RINGING PHONE brought Percy Proudfoot groggily awake. As he fumbled on the nightstand for his cell, he muttered, “Damn it.” He slept alone, so there was nobody to care if he kept up his cursing when he knocked the phone off the nightstand and onto the floor and had to get down there and hunt for the damn thing. And if the staffers who lived in the other wing of the mayoral mansion heard anything, they’d been well-paid to turn a deaf ear to far stranger sounds.

The Aubusson carpet scuffed his bare knees and he nearly brained himself on the corner of the nightstand, but he came up with the phone and leaned back against the giant canopy bed to flip it open. There was no ID on the display, just a number, but when he saw that it was coming in on his most private line, the sleepy cobwebs disappeared.

Taking a deep breath, he clicked the call live and answered with a professional, borderline respectful, “Proudfoot here.”

It wouldn’t do any good to irritate the man on the other end of the line. He was powerful, far-reaching, and he had Percy’s mayoral future in a vise.

“You said you’d keep the cops away from the Forgotten.” The Investor—that was what he’d told Percy to call him from the very start of their association—sounded more than irritated. He sounded coldly furious. Murderous, even.

Uh-oh. Going on instant alert, Percy searched his memory banks for even a hint of trouble, and drew a blank. “I did. They are. Chief Mendoza pulled his people off the militia investigation and prioritized the drug case last week. There’s nothing going on out in the Forgotten.”

“You’re out of the loop, Mayor. There was a cop there today, Jack Williams, along with a woman scientist.”

“Bull. They wouldn’t—” But given his increasingly strained relationship with the Bear Claw P.D., it was possible that they had cut him out. Or rather, that they had delayed crucial info as long as possible, knowing he would clamp down on anything that sounded expensive. Ice chased through his veins and he went into damage control mode. “What happened?”

“One of my scouts found their vehicle and tracked them into the hot zone. They were less than a mile away from the encampment when he found them. Unfortunately, he couldn’t pin them down, and his comm malfunctioned, so he had to go back on foot for help, and by the time he returned with a team, they were gone. Which means they made it back down to the city most likely, and you don’t have much time to clamp down on whatever kind of a response your people are putting together. And I mean clamp down, Proudfoot. The Forgotten is my territory, bought and paid for.”

“I know. I … Damn it.” Percy’s mind raced as he sorted through his options, knowing he would have to be very careful right now, not just to get the Investor’s needs met, but his own as well. There was an election coming up, after all. If he spun this right … yeah. He could make it work. “Okay, I can handle this, no problem. But I could use your help …”

WITHIN A COUPLE of hours of Jack calling in the attack, Tucker and several other cops were up at the observatory taking statements and starting the process of reorganizing the Shadow Militia task force. At least that was the plan, but then things started to get strange.

“Well, this puts a new spin on things,” Tucker said, his expression thoughtful as he clicked off his phone—which was the only satellite-enabled phone the P.D. had managed to fund, despite repeated requests.

“A guy seriously walked in off the street, handed over his hunting rifle and confessed to going after me and Tori?” Jack asked, having picked up the gist from his boss’s side of the conversation.

They were sitting in the downstairs main room of the observatory, Jack on one of the sofas, Tucker in a big club chair. Tori was upstairs and, outside, the floodlit parking area was starting to get busy, as more cops and feds arrived and the militia task force started assembling prior to making the trek out to the Forgotten at first light.

Except now it sounded like it might not have been the militia after all.

Tucker nodded. “A drifter named Wayne Gibbs. He’s got priors in California for aggravated assault, is strongly antigovernment, and says he’s been camping in a cave a little ways away from where you and Tori were searching. As far as he’s concerned, he was just protecting his homestead. And, yeah, he’s got a prescription for antipsychotics that hasn’t been filled since summer.”

“Damn.” Jack shook his head, not just because it sounded too convenient, but also because he could actually see it. Hell, he had seen it: a couple of years earlier, there had been a similar case when an ex-marine decided the country owed him some land. The guy had moved his camper and his junkyard dog onto a chunk of land near Station Eight and claimed squatter’s rights, then went after a couple of rangers with his shotgun when they tried to run him off.

And that wasn’t the only instance of people squatting on state and federal land in the area either. Between the economy and the loss of most of Bear Claw’s homeless shelters due to budget cuts, there were more and more indigents trying to scratch a living wherever they could, including the state park.

They were usually found pretty quickly, though. Which begged the question, “Why did it take us this long to notice him?”




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