She jerked back when he put a hand on her arm.
“Am I that frightening?” he asked, reacting to the movement, his powerful frame towering over her.
Her pulse sped. “I, um...”
“It was you who picked me up, remember?”
“Don’t remind me.” She forced a nervous smile. “Getting myself into trouble is a bad habit of mine.”
“Well. You needn’t worry about me. Hitting women over the head and having our savage way with them went out with the buffalo.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Besides, I seem to have forgotten my tomahawk.”
She chuckled in spite of herself. His chiseled features and sun-bronzed skin did conjure up romantic images of the wild West. But how could she tell him she wasn't worried he’d have his way with her, but that he might do away with her?
Not that he hadn’t already had ample opportunity on the ride back, if he’d wanted to. It would have been a simple thing to run her off the road and make it look like an accident.
So, maybe he was just here to keep an eye on her. After his warning.
If he was even involved in the poaching.
Hell, maybe she should let him have his wicked way with her. Just a little. Like a kiss, maybe. That would be harmless enough. Just to buy a little time, until she could get the battery—and his name—to Iris and the FBI. They’d take it from there. Figure out if he was a good guy or a bad guy.
If she let him kiss her, he’d be lulled into thinking she wasn’t a risk. That he had her under control.
Right?
Sounded like a plan.
She took a step closer, gazed up at him, and murmured, “Funny, I hear the buffalo are making quite a comeback these days.”
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Thirteen
Coop searched Maggie's face uncertainly. What the hell was going on here?
The woman was nervous as hell, maybe even a little afraid. So, why was she suddenly coming on to him? It made no sense.
Even so, he was sorely tempted to accept her invitation.
He took a step toward her. Her scent drifted over him, sweet like wildflowers, spicy like the forest breeze, a hint of leather from her gloves.
He snapped himself back and plowed a hand through his hair. “Woman, you're making me crazy.” He gave her a piercing look. “Don't you know it's dangerous to tease a wolf?”
The coverall slipped from her grip and hit the ground in a puff of dust. “Sorry. I don't know what's come over me today.” She winced. “It's like I'm under some kind of weird spell.” She glanced up at him uneasily, and asked, “You're not Navajo by any chance, are you?”
He almost laughed. The woman was superstitious. A Navajo wolf was an evil magician.
He gave her a slightly menacing smile, then stooped down to pick up her coverall. “My mom's Cree, from Canada. Dad is garden variety Californian. You'd rather I was Navajo?”
“No!” She snatched the coverall out of his hands as he rose. “Nothing like that. Just wondered.”
Uh-huh.
“Anyway,” he said. “I’ll be out fishing for a while. But don't worry if you see smoke coming from my camp later tonight,” he said. “I'm going to have a fire.” He gave her a look. “And yes, I've got a permit.”
Her gaze strayed down the hill toward his campsite. “Okay, I won't send in the troops.”
He paused before turning, suddenly reluctant to leave her. “You feel like going to Gina's tonight?”
She shook her head, just a little too vigorously. “I'm in the middle of a book I want to finish.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Okay. Then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”
Unable to help himself, he stepped closer. He stood over her, nearly touching, surrounded by the sensual scent of woman. With iron control, he willed himself not to reach out to her. And murmured, “But it wouldn't be a bad idea to lock your door tonight.” Every muscle in his body chafed against the constraint. “In case I find my tomahawk.”
She blinked up at him, swaying under his deliberately erotic scrutiny. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Yeah. I'll be sure and do that.”
Then she turned and fled up the long, narrow stairs up to her tower.
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Fourteen
A couple of hours later, Coop was standing over the remains of the three poached bears. Jack had called a while ago, giving Coop the go-ahead to bury them. The very abbreviated ritual he followed was a little unusual for CDFW, but his bosses figured one way of disposing of a carcass was as good as the next.
But to Coop, the method of disposing of a bear was important.
He dug a large, deep hole in the loamy soil under a tree. Bit by grisly bit, he deposited the remains of the bears onto a layer of fragrant branches, only leaving out one of the patellas—a poker chip-sized, roundish knee bone. That, he slipped into an embroidered leather pouch hanging from his belt.
Chanting in a soft, deep voice, he oriented the two small skulls in the grave...and ignored the tiny voice in his head that asked what the hell he thought he was doing. As usual when he tried to follow the old ways, he had not been able to do it right. So, why did he even bother?
He shoveled his anger and frustration into the hole along with the mound of dirt. He chanted a song to send the bears on their way to Memekwesiw, and another to rid himself of his foul mood.
Afterward, he wiped his sweaty brow on the sleeve of his T-shirt and, reaching into his pouch, he took a pinch of tobacco and sprinkled it over the burial, saying a final prayer.
When he was done, he hiked down Tower Eight’s service road to his camper, which he’d carefully hidden out of sight. Easing onto the truck's bench seat, the familiar smells of fishing gear and gun oil soothed his battered senses.
He did a quick check that the glove compartment containing his department issued Glock was still securely locked. Then he eased his hand under the dashboard and checked the collapsible Mossberg shotgun mounted there. Finally, he brushed his hand over the canvas tarp rolled up around the M14-308 sniper rifle the department insisted all wardens carry. There was nothing better to bring down a charging grizzly or an angry mountain lion. Thankfully, he'd never had to use it other than at the range.
He started to scoot back out of the camper, but changed his mind. He untied the embroidered leather pouch from his belt. The worn upholstery of the truck's seat felt warm and comforting as he leaned back and tossed the small bag absently up and down on his palm.
He should ask for the dreams. Maybe they would tell him if he was on the right track. Tell him if the woman who continued to seduce his every thought was helping to send magnificent wild creatures to be viciously slaughtered.
Outside, the late afternoon was hot and beautiful. Insects hummed, and the air hung heavy and sweet with the smell of pine resin and rich soil. Normally, he would be grateful for such a day. But today his spirit was not in harmony, so he couldn’t enjoy it.
His grandfather had taught him that a good hunter listened to his whole body—mind, heart, eyes, and instincts. But right now, Coop’s mind and his eyes were telling him different things than his heart and his instincts. That had never happened before. He didn't quite know how to handle it.
A dozen questions about Maggie Johansen buzzed around in his head. Ones that needed answering. Tomorrow, he would have to start asking them. But in the meantime...
He tied the pouch back on his belt, resolving to do a ceremony that evening, and ask for the dreams to come. Perhaps Memekwesiw would help him find the truth.
Perhaps, this time.
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Fifteen
Tower Eight was perched on a mountaintop surrounded by unending pine forest, steep peaks, and dramatic valleys. The small, square lookout post sat about thirty-five feet up off the ground at the very top of a sturdy wooden frame. Over one-hundred-fifty stairs corkscrewed steeply up the inside of the frame, leading to a sparsely furnished cabin that served as both lookout and living quarters.
The two most pr
ominent features inside the cab were the Osborn fire finder located in the very middle of the floor, and a large, tripod-mounted telescope off to one side. There were no walls—the entire space was enclosed by floor-to-ceiling windows with no curtains. The function of the lookout tower was to spot fires, not to have privacy.
A microscopic kitchenette stood in one corner below the windows. A two-way Forest Service radio took the place of a phone. A single electrical conduit had been added a few decades ago, and that ran everything not powered by solar battery. Drinking water was bottled, and wash-water came from an large barrel-like rain catch-tank on the roof of the lookout, which was accessible through a small hatch in the cab’s ceiling. Primitive facilities were located down the stairs on ground level, along with a tank-fed, solar-heated shower.
The best part of the set-up was the catwalk that completely surrounded the cab. Maggie had bought a couple of lawn chairs and a tiny patio table which just fit on the narrow wooden walkway. Whether she craved moonlight, sun, or shade, there was always a part of the deck she could relax on, guaranteed to have a splendid view.
She loved living in the lookout tower. She understood perfectly why her Uncle Dan had been coming back year after year for practically no pay. The best memories she had of her own childhood were the camping trips her parents had taken her on to California’s many magnificent national parks.
Lying on her narrow sleeping cot, she stretched and yawned. After pacing around the cab for a couple of hours, she’d decided to try for a short nap to clear her mind. But she was far too wound-up to fall asleep. She was tossing and turning, her mind stuck in a chronic histeresis of the encounter with Blue Wolf Cooper.
She couldn't remember ever having been so attracted to a man at first glance. Or of being so wary of one. Even her former boss, Sam Whitney, on trial for crimes far worse than poaching, had not seemed nearly as dangerous.
Dangerous and attractive.
Dangerously attractive.
God. She put her hand over her eyes. The pressure was getting to her. Hiding out in the remote Trinity Forest, jumping at every noise in the night, nervous at every encounter with a stranger—and now these dead bears.
Giving up on sleep, she rose and went out onto the catwalk, and leaned her elbows on the railing. Looking down, her gaze was pulled to Cooper like a compass to the north. Although it was over half a mile down the hill, she could clearly see the setup of his camp. Up on her mountaintop perch, sights and sounds came unhindered from incredible distances.
She watched him move around the small meadow by the lake, arranging gear, stringing a bear-proof canister over a tree limb. A triangular, one-man sleeping tent stood back by the pines. A few yards away, he had erected a small round-topped structure. She had no idea what it was.
Damn. If only he were an everyday fisherman and she an ordinary woman with a certain future, she would welcome the company. Coming from her family, she should be used to the solitude, but after six frenetic years at the stockbrokerage back home in L.A., where she interacted with dozens of people every day, she liked the snappy repartee and the constant roiling of humanity at close quarters.
It got really lonely out here in the forest.
She squeezed her eyes shut against an unbidden ache. Hell, to be honest, it got lonely everywhere. Even surrounded by people, loneliness had followed her all her life. She wasn’t sure why.
Maybe she should join the guys at Gina's tonight, after all. She had never been too crazy about going to bars, but the informal Forest Service get-togethers gave her a chance to talk to other human beings.
Unfortunately, she'd already told Cooper she was staying in. It would look suspicious if she suddenly took off.
She watched him down below and let out a hum of appreciation. Dangerous or no, he was one gorgeous hunk of masculinity.
Too bad things were so screwed up. Even if he wasn’t involved in the poaching, she would still have to keep her distance. She was dangerous to be around at the moment, a moving target. If Whitney found her, things could get really ugly. If he was acquitted at the trial, she would have to disappear into the Witness Security program for a long time. Possibly forever. It wouldn’t be fair to start something that could end so abruptly...or so badly.
She’d also feel a whole lot better knowing she wasn't camped next to a criminal.
How could she check him out? Maybe Dinny would run a check on him. She could even call Jane, her good friend at the Pasadena Star News back in L.A.. Jane could easily find out what magazine Cooper worked for.
Thinking of Jane, she felt a brief stab of guilt. Maggie was under strict orders from Dinny and the FBI not to make contact with any of her friends or family. The usual 24/7 guard had only been dispensed with because of the remoteness of her hiding place, and her solemn promise not to talk to a living soul who knew her. But after the first few weeks of terrified isolation, she’d thought she would go nuts if she didn't talk with someone sympathetic—who already knew about her situation as a witness. So, she had called Jane from the burner cell phone Dinny had given her...and felt guilty about it ever since.
Jane was the whole reason she was there. When Maggie had stumbled onto the secret data files in Whitney's computer detailing his massively illegal derivative fraud, she had told Jane about it, thinking a newspaper article might be a good way to expose Whitney anonymously while giving Jane's career a boost. Together, they dug around a bit, until it became clear they were well out of their league. It was Jane who'd recommended bringing in the FBI. It had been good advice.
Right now, Maggie was in need of some more good advice. Maybe an objective listener would be able to pick up on something she was overlooking regarding Mr. Tall, Dark, Handsome, and Dangerous.
Tomorrow she’d call her friend. If anyone could dig up the dirt on Blue Wolf Cooper, it was Jane.
After dinner, Maggie watched him build a fire ring with rocks he picked up from the lakeshore, and lay a fire, which he soon had blazing nicely. The late summer sunset played hide and seek with the mountain peaks, lighting his camp in a dusky glow. She wandered over to the telescope next to the window and trained it on him. He was wearing jeans but was shirtless, his midnight hair cutting a dark swath across his broad, straight back.
As she watched through the telescope, he placed a silver-dollar-sized object on one of the rocks of the fire ring. She focused in on it, but had no clue what it was. She squinted closer.
He sat before the fire, his whole being seemingly concentrated on the tiny object. The soft whisper of a strange song, a melodious chant, drifted up to the tower, carried on a smoky suggestion of campfire.
Maggie was fascinated. Living ritual was a rare thing these days. She’d always been interested in different cultures. What had started as an exploration of her own heritage had ended up in the discovery that even the most divergent cultures always shared some aspects. The common links never ceased to amaze her.
Jumping to her feet, she went to grab her flashlight.
Then halted abruptly. Was she insane? How could she even consider going down to his campsite?
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Sixteen
After the short ritual, Coop sat cross-legged in front of the crackling fire, relaxing. The heat of the flames felt good on his face, and he loved the smoky, pitchy scent of the burning pine logs. He tilted his gaze up to the blanket of stars in the black crystal sky and breathed in deeply. It had been too long since he had lived on the land. It was at times like these he realized how much he missed being out in the wilderness. Even undercover, it was seldom he spent more than a night or two sleeping under the stars.
In his youth he had spent many of his summers with his Cree grandparents in their village close to the Hudson Bay in Canada. The Cree were one of the last hunting and fishing cultures still in existence. His upbringing had given him a unique perspective on how nature could be utilized by man, and preserved at the same time. His innovative ideas had caused him to rise swiftly through the ranks of the CDFW. His s
uperiors wanted him to continue that rise, but he resisted. He knew that would land him firmly behind a desk.
It would be different if he had a family waiting when he came home to his bungalow at night. Laughing kids, a slobbery dog, a warm, loving wife to lose himself in. Then he wouldn't mind a desk job nearly so much. But for now, he'd just as soon not go there. He’d just be reminded of his self-imposed, solitary existence.
It's not that he didn't meet women...but the ones he did meet tended not to get past his surface. Most often, they didn't care so much about Blue Wolf Cooper, as what he represented. They were so infatuated with his distinctive looks and the stereotypes of his ancestry that the real man beneath all that suffered acute neglect.
He smiled, thinking of how Maggie had called him out on his own preconceived notions. Damn. It wasn't going to be easy to bust her, if that’s how it went. He hated to think of a woman as sexy and full of mischief as Maggie Johansen languishing in a prison cell.
He glanced up at the dark tower. She was going to be a challenge. On all fronts. He just hoped he could keep his hands off her long enough that she’d implicate herself in the poaching ring. His record was near perfect to date, and he'd be damned if he'd let a woman change that just because she looked good in jeans and a tank top.
He froze at the sound of approaching footsteps. Noiselessly, he rose and stepped out of the circle of firelight, melting into the dark forest fringe behind camp.
The steady progress of a flashlight beam paused at the edge of the clearing, then moved haltingly toward the fire ring. The circle of light made a jerky pass around the campsite, then stopped briefly on the bear patella resting on a rock by the flames.
“Cooper?” Maggie's voice called out uncertainly. “Are you here?”
She took a few steps toward the small lake behind the meadow, shining her beam on the gently lapping water. A pair of ducks floating in the reedy shallows looked up sleepily, then tucked their heads under their downy wings.
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