“I just need to know, you know, if you’re ready. I want to make sure, I mean, with everything going on, that you’re up for it. That it’s what you really want to do. You know, this kind of op, with all the ins and outs of it. I mean, it’s a different kind of situation and—”
“Now you’re babbling.” What the hell?
“What?” He drew back, defensive. “I don’t babble.”
“You do. And you are. What’s your point?”
He frowned, hands on his hips. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, the way he does when he’s thinking, leaving it a little ruffled.
I melted a little. That hair. Not the time. Focus.
“It’s a hunting trip. We’re going hunting.”
“I know that.”
“But you’ve got to be able to play the part.” His expression turned stern. “I know you’re against hunting.”
“I am not.” Well, not exactly. “I think hunting is…well, most hunters. I mean…”
“Yeah?” Those eyes stared at me, waiting. Those ever-so-tempting, knock-me-flat eyes. The way he’d look at me sometimes—just a glance made my insides flutter. Downright embarrassing. Focus!
“I understand hunting for food. I get it. I don’t like it, but I don’t condemn it either. I—” be honest “—accept it. Honestly, if you’re going to eat meat, hunting is more humane than factory farming and—”
“I know. I’ve heard you say it. Many times. But I’m not convinced. And it doesn’t matter anyway, this op isn’t about sustenance hunting. We’re talking about bear hunting.”
I pursed my lips together.
“Well?”
“Oh all right. It’s abhorrent. To hunt a predator, just for the sake of killing, to brag about the conquest, make the hide into a fur rug to show off your prowess, or whatever reason people do it, it’s barbaric. It’s just plain murder.”
“You see.” He rocked back on his heels, crossed his arms. “That’s exactly my point.”
“But that’s why we’re going.”
“That’s not why we’re going.” He stepped closer, lowered his voice. “We’re not going to bust bear hunters, Poppy. We’re not activists with Greenpeace. We’re federal agents and bear hunting is legal, whether you like it or not.” He paused. “Our directive is to catch them poaching. There’s a difference.”
“I know there’s a difference.” Under the law. “And yes, I have my issues with hunting. What’s your point? Are you questioning my ability to do my job?”
He stared, blinked, then blinked again as if he were carefully choosing his next words. “I’m just thinking that maybe this is too personal.”
I drew back, anger bubbling up. “Because of my dad?”
“I know this must—”
“Yes, he was killed by poachers. Yes, I’m angry about it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do my job.” I crossed my arms. “If you think I’m not qualified, fine. Or Joe thinks our cover is weak, fine. But my dad’s file is confidential. You had no right to read it.”
His eyes turned soft from…what? Guilt? Compassion?
He looked away, then back. “I was told to.”
“By whom?”
He gave me the you-know-who frown.
I turned away. Of course my boss would know about it. I’m a federal agent. They’d done a full background check when I applied. But that didn’t mean he had a right to show it to Dalton.
The file didn’t give the full story. At best, it was a few, scant reports from the investigators, low-level government employees who’d arrived on the scene days after his murder. It was Africa. The politics of an American killed by poachers could get out of control, so justice didn’t matter as much as keeping the peace.
My dad’s murder was declared inconclusive, lacking evidence, likely an accident, though anyone who knew anything about the situation knew exactly who had killed him and why. The whole thing made my dad look like an idiot. It was a load of crap.
“That report was bullshit. My dad was murdered.”
“No doubt,” he said and meant it.
My resolve softened. I looked him in the eye. “I don’t hate poachers because a few killed my dad. I hate poachers because they poach.”
He nodded in understanding.
“It’s not going to affect my job. I swear it.”
He held my gaze. “You say that but—” He shook his head.
“But what?” God, he was exasperating!
He leaned toward me. “What’s rule number one when undercover?”
Eye roll. “Never break your cover.”
“Right.” His eyes narrowed. His tone turned dead serious. “Your cover is a trophy hunter and an unethical one at that. Not only do you need to cozy up to these men, you need to act like you actually like them. No doubt you can. But that’s just the half of it. Much more important is when you’re in the field, gun in your hand, with a bear in your sights, will you pull the trigger?” His eyes bored into me. “Because that’s what we’re doing. That’s where we’re going. That’s the job. Are you ready for that?”
My teeth clenched together. “You don’t need to tell me my job.”
His eyes flared with frustration.
I stared right back at him. “You assume—” I paused, thinking for a beat. I needed to find the right words.
“I know that mind of yours. You’re thinking of ways around it. You think you can outsmart them. And maybe you can. But right now, you’re under the microscope. The head of Special Ops is watching. You. Me. And I’m only willing to go so far. I’m not going to lie to him. This is it, Poppy.”
I set my jaw, reached down and picked up my duffel bag. “Well, you don’t have to worry, partner. I’ll do my job.”
CHAPTER TWO
I turned my back on Dalton as I slid into my large, cushy, first-class seat then gave him a little wave as he passed toward the back of the plane. “See you in Anchorage.”
Having a best friend who’s a flight attendant for the airlines comes in handy. He’d upgraded me. Actually, Chris was more like family. With my life changing so dramatically lately, being called to Special Ops, off to Costa Rica, then right away to Norway, I admit, I’d neglected him. I owed him a phone call, some time together. Yep, as soon as I got back from this op, I was going to schedule a couple days to see him. A big thank you dinner was in order. Maybe a bottle of his favorite Malbec.
I exhaled. Dalton. What was I going to do about Dalton?
And this thing at headquarters. Investigative hearing. What did that even mean anyway?
I leaned my head back and took a deep breath. Right now I needed to set all that aside and focus on the mission at hand: Operation Grizzly Camp.
We were heading to Alaska to rendevous with Joe Nash, our supervisor and Special Agent in Charge, on an op to catch a bear poacher he’d been courting for years, practically his entire career. The elusive Mark Townsend. The State boys had given up. This guy knew all of them by name and knew every loophole. He’d become untouchable. Part of the reason was he never took new clients. Well, almost never. Joe had found a way in: me. The guy liked the lady hunters, especially daughters. It ensured, in his mind, that the men weren’t law enforcement. Having me on board was Joe’s ticket. Of course I was thrilled to play along.
My cover was the daughter of a wealthy trophy-hunter (Joe, of course) from Oklahoma, land of tornadoes, rodeos, and bubblin’ crude. Oil that is, black gold, the stuff that lines our pockets and funds our adventures. And adventures we shall have. We’re out to collect every big game trophy on every continent. Daddy’s building a wing on the house to display every one of them, so any time I want, I can relive the moment, the moment when that animal breathed its last breath, when I conquered it and could call it mine.
Egads. How do these people stand themselves? That was enough prepping. I didn’t want to drive my head into a black hole of depression. I’d wing it when I got there.
I glanced around the first-class cabin, quickly assessing the other p
assengers. Some of the other hunters staying at the lodge we were headed to might be on this plane.
Directly behind me sat a man and woman with graying hair, wearing those oversized, square-lensed sunglasses on their heads, the kind that fit over regular glasses. The woman fondled a homemade, quilted handbag stuffed to the gills that rested in her lap. Definitely not hunters. Tourists, most likely, going to catch the train south to Seward to board one of the many monster-sized cruise ships that sailed the Inside Passage.
A flight attendant, whom I assumed was the purser since she’d already served a few drinks to other first-class passengers, came down the aisle, checking on passengers. She was a slim woman, her uniform perfectly pressed. Yep, she was in charge. “Your bag needs to fit down at your feet or go in an overhead compartment,” she chirped as she passed by.
The woman shifted and moaned, trying to shove it below the seat.
“I told you not to bring all that crap,” the man grumbled.
“Oh George, don’t start with me.”
“There’s room in the overhead,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’d be happy to put it up there for you.”
“Oh, aren’t you sweet,” she said, trying to lift it over George to hand it to me.
George crossed his arms with a harumph as I took the bag and lifted it into the storage compartment. I gave him a big smile. See if a little sugar could melt that heart.
I made a quick scan of the other passengers before I sat back down in my seat. On the other side of the aisle, two men, also in the row behind me, looked like possibilities—morning stubble, camo baseball caps, flannel shirts. Once we were in the air, I would be able to hear them talking. I could even strike up a conversation with them. They couldn’t have been five years older than me. A little flirting might do the trick.
The woman seated next to me, by the window, sat upright with the posture of a 1950s debutante and had the hairdo to match, all pinned and coiffed.
With my Oklahoma accent, which I’d been practicing for a couple weeks, I asked, “What takes you to Alaska today?”
A warm smile spread across her face. “Visiting my grandchildren. My son is in the service, stationed in Anchorage. And where are you going, my dear?”
“Oh, I’m heading out to the backcountry.”
“Well, you be careful. There are bears everywhere, you know.” She patted the back of my hand. “Make sure you wear bells on your shoes.”
I stifled a grin. Someone, somewhere had come up with the notion that wearing little bells would scare bears away. No doubt some ambitious souvenir vendor. Sure, you wanted to make your presence known, avoid startling a wild animal, but little jingly bells tied to your shoelaces were more likely to arouse curiosity than to actually scare away a bear. Bells aren’t terribly loud and the jingling is easily lost on the wind or amid the sounds of the forest. It’s much more effective to use your own voice.
“I won’t need any bells,” I said with a grin. Then, loud enough for the men behind me to hear, “I’ll have my Ruger 375 H&H Mag rifle. I’m taking me home a trophy.”
Her face turned stone-like and her lips made a tiny pucker.
Yeah, I’m with you, Grandma.
She slowly reached into the seat pocket, pulled out the in-flight magazine, and with a curt smile, turned her attention to it.
Well played, Grandma. Well played.
I turned in my seat, caught the eye of one of the hunters, and gave him a little you-get-it shrug.
He nodded and asked, “Where are you headed?”
The man seated next to him leaned in to hear my reply.
Gotcha. “A lodge near Katmai. Hunting bear.” They both nodded, as if they knew where that was. “You?”
“North of Fairbanks,” the one said. “We’ve got two more flights after this one.”
I could see now, by their eyes, they were brothers. The one chattered on. “Bears are fun, but a bull moose in rut, whew-weee, now there’s a beast to reckon with.”
The other one chimed in. “What my brother means is, statistically, you’re more likely to get attacked by a moose than a bear. Here in Alaska about ten people are wounded or killed by moose annually.”
The woman behind me leaned over her husband to join the conversation. “Are you sayin’ them moose is dangerous? I thought them were big deer. They’s just grazers, ain’t they?”
“They are,” the first brother replied. “Deer that weigh fifteen-hundred pounds with spiked antlers that span six feet.” He held his hands up in the air, spreading them wide. “A moose gets fired up in the rut, he’ll plow down half the forest to get to you. If one comes after you, run like hell.”
“A moose can outrun you though,” the other brother added, his face full of life. They were all fired up.
“Yeah, you’ll want to zigzag between big trees.”
“Zigzag?” she said, incredulous.
He nodded. “Zig zag. They don’t corner well. Kinda top heavy.”
“So you’re on a moose hunting trip, I take it?” I asked.
Their heads bobbed, grins taking over their faces. They were downright giddy.
The first brother’s eyes lit up. “We’ve been planning this trip our whole lives. We can’t wait to take one down.”
I hid my dismay behind a cordial smile. These men’s lifelong dream was to kill a living being. A beautiful, magnificent creature. To chop it down. Rather than be thoughtful, introspective, they were bouncing in their seats. I really wanted to slap some compassion into them. Instead, I did my job and stayed in character. “Boy, that sounds exciting. You been hunting your whole lives?”
“Yep,” the first brother answered. “We own a family ranch in Texas.” The other brother dug around in his pockets for his wallet while the first kept talking. “A game farm. Two hundred fifty acres.”
The brother handed me a business card that read: Wilson’s Hunting Ranch. Giraffes, Kangaroos, Deer & More! Native & Exotic. 40+ Species for Hunt. 100% Success Rate. Book a hunt today!
My mind stuck on the size of the ranch. Two hundred fifty acres. Hunting there, if you could call it that, would be like shooting fish in a barrel. These brothers sold canned hunts. Whatever animal the hunter wanted they’d release from a cage into a small fenced area, so it could be shot on the spot.
I looked up at them, lost for words. Their whole lives revolved around killing. I could hardly stomach any more. “Well, good luck,” I said and started to turn around in my seat when I saw Chris, zipping down the aisle toward me from the back of the plane. I didn’t know he’d actually be on the flight. A smile spread across my face.
He gave me a wink. Crap. My eyes went right to the hunters. I had to be careful. “I need your seat belts buckled,” Chris said as he blew through. I couldn’t believe it. He’d rearranged his schedule to be on my flight.
The man behind me gave his wife a look of disgust. “Of all the stewardesses in the world, we get this candyass,” he said aloud while he took his sweet time fastening his seatbelt.
His wife’s cheeks turned pink and her eyes dropped to her hands.
Asshole. I swung around and faced forward. Chris dealt with bigotry all the time, and always with class, it was one of the things I admired about him, but it got my cockles up. I tried to push it out of my mind. And the hunters and their lust for killing. What was it with this world?
I pulled out the in-flight magazine and stared at the pages, not reading a word. Focus on the op. Mark Townsend was his name. And we were going to nail him.
So sit back and enjoy the flight.
The aircraft pushed back from the gate. We were headed north.
No matter how many times I fly, I still love that sensation when the plane goes racing down the runway, the landing gear rattling and shaking, as the sheer power of the jet engines thrusts me back into my seat. Then there’s that moment, that tiny, precious moment, when the wheels leave the ground and I’m airborne. Defying gravity. Freedom.
As we climbed and climbed, I leaned ov
er to see out the window. All I saw, for miles and miles, was a landscape sectioned off in green and brown squares, with lines and lines of concrete roads, crisscrossing in intricate patterns. Amazing how we’ve carved and shaped and formed the earth to fit our needs. No part of this world has gone untouched, unaltered. I fear we’ll regret it someday when all the animals are gone, and the ecosystems are damaged beyond repair, ecosystems we rely on more than we can possibly comprehend.
Over billions of years, the earth has come to a beautiful ecological balance, one where humans have thrived. Mess with it too much and we won’t. Simple as that. Why doesn’t everyone see what we’re doing to this world?
Once the captain turned off the seatbelt sign, Chris came to my seat. “The purser would like to speak with you. Would you follow me?”
“Sure,” I said with a shrug.
He led me to the galley area up front, just behind the cockpit and hidden from the view of most of the passengers.
“This is a full flight,” he whispered. “I had to do some serious negotiating to get you in first-class.”
I wrapped my arms around him in a big hug. I didn’t realize until now how much I’d missed him. “Thanks, you know I appreciate it, but why didn’t you tell me you were going to be on the flight?”
“I wanted to surprise you. I’ve never been to Anchorage and we haven’t seen each other in forever and you’ve been so distracted and—”
“Oh Chris.” I hugged him again then lowered my voice, “Just remember, I’m undercover and I—”
“I know. I know. I just—we haven’t talked in a long time.” He paused, drew in a breath. “You know, talked.”
“What? We talk all the time on the phone.”
“Yeah, but, well, you talk, but I just really, you know.” He sighed. “It’s just that I have something I’ve been wanting to tell you. In person.”
“What? What’s happened? Are you okay?”
He chewed on his bottom lip. “I guess I didn’t think this through.”
“Now you have me worried. What is it?”
He frowned. “Everything is great. I promise. It’s good news.” He stared at me for a moment with an intensity I hadn’t seen for a long time, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t have come. You’re undercover right now. It can wait until after you get back.”
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 38
