Nerves held her mute. Not because she feared Reid’s threat to Deke’s life, but because of something deeper, more personal. Betrayal. If she divulged the details of their situation to her brother, would Deke consider it disloyal?
How did a simple desire to understand get so complicated?
“We’re not getting any prettier.” An eyebrow lift accompanied Reid’s nudge.
Such a turd.
“Before I start, I want your promise that you won’t share our conversation with anyone.”
“You got it.”
“Not even Brynne.”
The pen rolled to a stop.
“I wouldn’t ask it of you, but I already feel like I’m betraying Deke by seeking your help.”
“Brynne won’t say anything.”
“She won’t mean to do harm. But I know how this works. You’ll swear her to secrecy and she’ll swear someone she trusts to secrecy—probably Randi, who’ll share it with one other person—probably Britt. Within a week, the whole family will be in the know.”
“You got something going with this guy?”
“I hope to.” He studied her with such intensity that she started to squirm. “What?”
“Trying to figure out how much to piss you off.”
“Don’t hold back now. You never have before.”
“Stakes are higher.” He blew out a screw-it breath. “Listen, Squirt. I’m your brother. It’s my right to tell you I think the guy’s too old for you. Knowing you, you’ll do what you want. And if he makes you happy, then I won’t kill him.”
“Older, yes. But hardly crone material.” She smiled. “Look at it this way. He’s already worked through the pitfalls of his twenties and he’s settled into a career.” Her smile grew wider. “He’ll know how much lead to give me.”
“You said it, not me.” Some of the tension drained from his shoulders. “I’ll keep your secret. But it’s going to cost you something big. TBD later.”
“Deal.” She straightened a stack of vendor catalogs on Reid’s desk while she gathered her thoughts. “How much do you know about Deke?”
The pen rolling roared to life again. “Britt’s best friend. Works for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Drinks craft beers. Ladies like him. A lot.”
She pushed down the stab of jealousy. She’d witnessed the depth of his appeal to the opposite sex on many occasions at the Triple B. Nothing new. Nothing new.
“He’s a conservation writer with the Service.” She went on to explain about Deke’s hunting accident, his leave from work, and reminded him about the MedTour and article.
“Why would he be doing a piece on health care? Not quite his area of expertise, is it?”
“I wondered the same thing. He said he liked to freelance in his spare time. Write about other things that interested him.”
“So he joined the tour.”
“Yep, everything was going great. He even assisted us with registration.”
“But?”
“For some of our patients, he took a real interest in their personal lives—hobbies, hunting spots, favorite movie, etc.” Evie’s mind wandered over the first few days of the tour, wishing she could return and recapture the happiness.
“Deke’s always been outgoing. Loves shooting the shit with people. How he and Tarzan became buddies is one hell of a mystery.”
“I didn’t think much about him socializing with the patients, until later.”
“Are we about to get to the good part?”
Evie speared him with a knock-it-off look as she placed his spare pens in a wire mesh penholder.
“The Med Mobile made a stop in Deke’s hometown and the residents coordinated a thank-you BBQ.” Evie pushed out of her chair, no longer able to sit. She began adjusting the pictures and plaques on his walls. “Deke’s parents arrived, unaware of their son’s presence. He’s been estranged from his family since he took the job at the Service.”
“I don’t get it.”
“He’s a federal employee with an agency that places restrictions on poaching, among other things.”
“Ahh.”
“After Mitch Conrad publicly shunned his son, Deke and I took a walk. That’s when we discovered the body.”
Reid tossed the pen onto the desk, straightening in his chair. “As in dead body?”
Nodding, she moved to the window. “Gracie Gilbert. She’s a server at the local pub and a mom.”
“You okay?” The soft understanding in his voice made her throat ache.
She tried to produce a convincing smile—but failed. “The worst part—for us, at least—was the identity of the person we caught kneeling next to the woman’s body.”
“Lisa?”
“No!”
Reid shrugged. “Just a guess. There’s something about her that’s always seemed off.”
“You barely know her.”
“Exactly.”
She was certain her brother was losing his mind until she noticed how intently he studied her face. She did smile this time. “I’m okay, Reid.” His expression didn’t change. “Truly.”
Several seconds passed before he nodded. “Who was it?”
“Dylan Conrad. Deke’s younger brother.”
He whistled. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
“When Deke called out to him, Dylan yelled, ‘I didn’t do this,’ then he appeared to take something from the body before he ran off.”
“You want me to help you figure out what he took?”
“No, I want you to help me figure out who Deke really is. He’s much more than a conservation writer.”
“What am I missing?”
“He’s investigating the murder.”
“So would I if I were in his shoes.”
“You’re ex-military. A warrior. Deke’s a writer.”
“Vocation doesn’t stop a man from protecting his own.”
She couldn’t keep the skepticism from her face.
“Have you forgotten the lengths Britt and Grif went to last year to protect Randi and Carlie Beth?”
Britt had almost gotten killed trying to save Randi and a pack of red wolves from a trophy hunter. And Grif had stopped Carlie Beth’s stalker from killing everyone she held dear.
“Those situations were more organic. They dealt with the onslaught with their brains and hands and whatever they had at their disposal—like paintball guns.”
“You mentioned ‘tactical’ earlier. Explain.”
“Jumping ahead—I followed Deke to his brother’s apartment.”
“‘Followed’ him?”
She waved off his comment. “He was there with another guy. They were talking with a woman on speakerphone, asking her to do some research. I got the impression she was a computer whiz.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to match words to feelings. “It seemed like—”
“An operation?”
“Yes!” She played the scene through her mind again. “The conversation had structure, like they’d all done that sort of thing before.” She turned to her brother. “He’s not military or law enforcement. What is he?”
Reid peered over his shoulder to the landscape beyond the window. “There’s one thing. Definitely a possibility.”
“That is?”
“A U.S. Fish and Wildlife special agent.”
“Special agent? Like the FBI?”
“Yeah, but for wildlife.”
She plopped down in her chair. “Why would a wildlife agency be investigating a murder?”
“Because it involves his brother. Remember, Britt and Grif used everything at their disposal. Deke must be, too. The only difference is that your boyfriend’s resources are far more vast.”
“When I cornered him on his reason for joining the MedTour, he admitted it wasn’t to write an article on us. But I couldn’t get him to say more.”
“Could be undercover.”
“He lied to me. Used the tour.”
“Nah. He kept quiet out of necessity. Probably to protect you. And
his team. Undercover work is a puzzle with a frickin’ billion pieces.” He lowered his voice. “Sorry to say, Squirt, everything, including his feelings for you, comes in second to his job. Work’s his priority and he can’t share details of his mission. It would risk his integrity and the mission. He’s gotta measure possible outcomes of any action he takes—or doesn’t take. One screw-up could blow months of work and put people—or animals—in danger.”
Her head spun like an out of control carousel.
“You think he was on a wildlife case, but got derailed by Dylan’s situation?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He rubbed his chin. “Based on the secrecy and number of players involved, I’m guessing he’s black ops.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Depends on your perspective.”
“What’s yours?”
“He’s the best of the best in his field.”
27
“How’s your shoulder holding up?” asked Luis Vasquez, director of SONR.
Deke rolled his shoulder. Grimacing at the twinge of pain but glad to be rid of the sling. He leaned back in the chair across from Vasquez’s desk. “I won’t be playing on the jungle gym anytime soon. The physical therapist set me up with some exercises. They’re helping.”
“What about Matteo?”
“Saw him yesterday. He’s doing well.”
“Did you see anyone else from the team?”
Now he knew the true reason behind the director’s summons. “Briefly.”
“I’ve received word about some unusual activity generated by your team.”
“What sort of activity?”
“Jax and Taji seem to be quite interested in—” he lifted a sheet of paper from his desk, “—Dylan Conrad. Any relation?”
“Since when do your analysts keep tabs on my team?”
“Since Washington amped up its scrutiny. Personal agendas could put the whole SONR program at risk. I won’t let that happen.”
“He’s my brother.”
Vasquez nodded as though Deke’s admission confirmed what he already knew. “Did he do it?”
“No.”
“So certain?”
“Dylan can be an idiot at times, but he’s not capable of murder.”
“I can’t authorize the use of Service resources for personal matters. Leave your brother’s situation to local law enforcement and refocus SONR’s energy on locating the origin of Gold Star.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sorry, Deke,” Vasquez said in a low voice. “Family’s important. But SONR’s success is my top priority.”
“Understood.”
“Anything new on that front?”
“The MedTour was cancelled due to the nurse practitioner getting sick. I have a couple leads to follow up on.”
“Very good. Keep me up-to-date.”
Closing the door behind him, Deke left the director’s office with mixed feelings. He understood Vasquez’s position. It had taken a lot of persuasion to establish SONR. His elite team of agents didn’t come cheap. The cost of the equipment they used could feed a third world nation for an entire year.
But every cell in his body rebelled at the notion that Vasquez’s analysts were following the team’s actions. He pushed through the last door exiting SONR’s private wing and nearly mowed over Colin Fisher—one of Vasquez’s analysts.
“Deke, don’t be pissed.”
“I’m not.” He kept walking. “Just trying to understand.”
“Our employment agreement compels us to declare any unauthorized activity to the director. If we don’t, we could lose our jobs.”
Who was watching the analysts to make sure they were honoring their agreement?
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.”
“Good, good,” he murmured to himself. “Marisol will be relieved.”
“Marisol was the one who notified the director?”
Panic widened Colin’s eyes and he stumbled through a set of words that made no sense. The only thing that Deke caught was “Gotta go.”
He followed the analyst’s retreat, shaking his head. Colin’s bumbling attempt to placate him actually diffused some of the tension knotting his neck.
Now he had to figure out how to do the impossible with nothing more than his brains and determination. But first, he needed to speak with Evie and set things right between them. Too many days had passed since their fight. The whole thing weighed on his mind, gnawed at his conscience.
How he would make things right and still protect the team, he didn’t know.
He had to figure out a way, though. Hurting her ate at him like an aggressive cancer. Silent, unseen, lethal.
28
Evie’s butt was numb.
Uncrossing her legs, she straightened in the wooden chair she’d swiped from the bar below and flipped to the next page. She’d read the same five pages three times in the past hour.
Every floorboard creek or distant door slam or explosive laugh distracted her from the warrior-beast battle playing out on the pages. She loved fantasy romance novels. So much fodder for the imagination.
She stared at the white door leading into Deke’s domain. According to Randi, Deke had been bunking in the spare apartment above Triple B since the MedTour had ended. Why stay in Steele Ridge? Why hadn’t he rented a place closer to Rockton? Had he found Dylan?
She’d asked the same questions over and over again, another reason she hadn’t finished a chapter. The natural light coming in from the fire escape window began to fade, and she had to hold up her book to continue reading. Pretty soon, she would have to go in search for a switch for the bare bulb outside Deke’s door.
Or call it a day. No telling when he would return. If he returned at all.
If what Reid had surmised about Deke’s true profession proved to be true, she doubted he had any normalcy to his life. She still couldn’t believe it. In the span of a single conversation, she’d learned the guy she’d obsessed over for years wasn’t who she thought.
Her cerebral conservation writer was a bullets-and-bones Jarhead. Okay, so he wasn’t a Marine, or even in the military, but he was freaking black ops. His work was more like Reid’s than Britt’s. Did Britt know?
What would it be like to lead a double life? To have to lie—or prevaricate—all the time?
A door below squealed open, then clicked closed. This one sounded louder, not muffled by walls and people. Could it be the one leading up to Deke’s apartment? She waited for telltale signs she was no longer alone.
After a few breath-stealing seconds, she caught the heavy weight of a man’s step. Just one. The confirmation that Deke had arrived made the flock of hummingbirds in her stomach flare to life.
She stood, laying her book on her chair seat. Would he be surprised to see her? Angry? Indifferent? Please Lord, not the latter. She could work with any reaction except apathy.
Unable to wait him out, she strode to the top of the staircase. “Hello?” The light from the window only reached a third of the way down the stairwell. Deke remained in shadow. “I know this is a bit of a surprise, but we need to talk.”
He paused, one boot in the light. The rest of him appeared as a gray silhouette against a black backdrop. She frowned. Her gaze traced the outline of his body. Her breath caught.
She’d spent years memorizing every angle, every plane, every perfection and imperfection of Deke Conrad. The man on the staircase wasn’t her Deke.
“Sorry,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “I thought you were someone else.”
The stranger said nothing. Just stood there, staring at her. Alarm bells skittered along her spine, awakening her to the precariousness of her situation. She had nowhere to go. Deke’s locked apartment hovered behind her and the silent stranger loomed before her. The fire escape was her only viable option, but she’d have to fling herself out the window to have any chance of eluding danger.
Trapped.
�
��Can I help you?”
Rather than answer, he began climbing the stairs again. Methodical. Predatory.
She backed away. “Who are you?”
Creepy Guy continued his quiet ascent. His hand slid beneath his jacket.
Self-preservation kicked in, and she dove for her purse. Ripping it open, she searched the bottomless pit for the pepper spray Reid had insisted she carry after their discussion earlier.
The spray had been a concession, a compromise. Otherwise, her brother would have stuck to her like gorilla glue until the Rockton murder was solved.
She shoved aside wallet, makeup, deodorant, tampons, pens, notepad, and things she should have removed months ago, but couldn’t locate the damn pepper spray.
“Shit! Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”
Her heart socked the wall of her chest. Once. Twice. Three-four-five times. Blood rushed to her head and breathing became a chore.
Not now!
She needed her wits. Couldn’t afford to be debilitated by a panic attack.
A jean-clad leg appeared on the landing. Attached to the leg was a long, muscular body and a handsome, youthful face. Her attention riveted on his eyes. Long lashed, green, dead of emotion.
Her fingers wrapped around a cylindrical-shaped object and she aimed it at Creepy Guy. “Stop. Don’t make me use this.”
His gaze shifted to her hand. Unconcerned, he continued his slow stalk, a pistol menacing at his side.
Still struggling for every breath, she fought to stay upright and conscious. She aimed the pepper spray at his face and pressed.
Nothing happened.
She tried again.
Nothing.
She opened her hand, palm up, confused. The fear faded long enough for her to realize she’d tried to defend herself with a tube of mascara.
It was her last rational thought before Creepy Guy lifted the arm holding the gun.
29
Evie wasn’t answering her phone.
After numerous phone calls, he discovered that she’d resumed the MedTour but after finishing up with the patients she’d returned to Steele Ridge. He stopped by all of her known haunts—Tupelo Hill, wildlife center, and a handful of other places.
Roaming Wild (Steele Ridge Book 6) Page 15
