“Grab the gear,” Williams said to Doran. To Matt, he said, “Lead on and let’s see what these bastards left us.”
“Not much that I could see. The scene is pretty torn up.”
Sure enough, once he got them up there, Williams shook his head. “You weren’t kidding. What isn’t bare rock is a frigging mess.” He sent Doran to take pictures and notes, but didn’t look optimistic. “I have a feeling our best bet is going to be talking to Tanya when she wakes up.”
Matt nodded, partly in thanks for the word choice. When she woke up. Not if. When.
The detective said, “Want to run me through what you saw? Maybe being up here will kick loose something new.”
“Of course.” Matt started right from the moment he heard Cochran’s first shout, but it was becoming rote. And, really, he hadn’t been there when it counted.
By the time Doran was done, Williams was ready to head back down to the station and question the Cochrans, so Matt led them back to the vehicles.
On the way, he radioed Bert for an update and got confirmation that Tanya’s injuries were from an attack rather than a fall, along with the grim news that she was still unconscious and the early scan results weren’t good. Damn it.
Forcing his emotions down where they belonged, Matt asked, “How about the CSI? Did she come through the station yet?” If Tanya wasn’t waking up, they needed to get moving on the scene. Every minute they wasted was another minute the perps were using to get away…or plan another attack.
“Yeah. She should be there any minute.”
Sure enough, the cops were loading up their SUV when the radio on his hip squalled a broken transmission. All he caught was a woman’s voice and the words “almost there.”
The dust kicked up by Williams’s departing SUV was just clearing when a new cloud took shape and a nearly identical vehicle appeared coming the other way.
Matt checked his watch and was surprised to see that even though it felt like days had passed, it had only been five or six hours of real time. That meant they had a couple of hours of daylight left.
They would need it, too. It wouldn’t be easy to truck in lights, and there wasn’t much chance of an airdrop. Tucker had already given him the heads up that the P.D. was getting pressure from higher up the food chain—aka Mayor Proudfoot’s office—to keep Tanya’s assault on the down low and not over-commit resources.
The official line was that the attack wasn’t all that different from an in-city mugging, and while Tanya would get some preference as a ranger, the P.D. shouldn’t go overboard. The real rationale, though, was even simpler: Bear Claw City was hurting for money and couldn’t afford to lose any tourists.
Matt hated the equation, the politics.
The SUV cruised in going too fast and kicked up dust, suggesting that Cassie, too, knew they were racing the sun. Grit hazed things as the door swung open and she got out, hauling a heavy-looking tackle box with her.
He headed over, extending a hand. “Let me grab that for…” He trailed off, stopping dead as his gut fisted on a surge of heat mixed with dismay.
The woman coming toward him wasn’t the businesslike blonde he’d been expecting.
Not even close.
A sizzle shot through him at the sight of a sharp, triangular face beneath a crooked cap of shiny dark hair. He told himself the sensation was dismay, because he sure as hell shouldn’t be feeling anything else toward a woman like Gigi Lynd.
Gigi. It sounded like it should come with a French label and an import tariff. And from her trendy haircut and unbalanced ear piercings—one on the right, three on the left—to the silver-gilded tips of her gleaming lizard-skin boots—black today rather than the purple she had been wearing before, but equally as impractical—she didn’t belong anywhere near the backcountry. Or him.
His pulse raced. He was going to kill Tucker.
Her white button-down was open just low enough to show a hint of cleavage, and the black belt that rode below her narrow waist had a gleam of silver that drew the eye.
“No,” he said without preamble as she squared off opposite him. “I want one of the others.”
Her smoky gray eyes narrowed. “You made that clear when you trashed me to McDermott.”
“I didn’t—” He broke off, guilt stinging because he hadn’t exactly trashed her, but he’d made it clear he didn’t think she had the backcountry experience or analytical chops to handle the case. “Look, it’s nothing personal.”
“Bull. You took one look at me and decided that I was incompetent based on, what? Some eyeliner and a little bling?” She flicked the more heavily pierced of her earlobes. “Fine, whatever, that’s your problem not mine. But you’re one-hundred percent right that this shouldn’t be personal. You don’t have to like me. Just get out of my way and let me do my job.”
The guilt twisted harder because she was right. He’d snap judged her, hard, which was so far from his usual style it was practically alien.
That didn’t mean she was the right analyst for the job, though.
He glanced up the trail. “Look, I’m sorry about the attitude. It’s just… Believe it or not, I don’t doubt your competence—McDermott wouldn’t have leaned on his contacts in Denver to get you if you weren’t the best crime scene analyst available. But you’re a long way from home, and the backcountry isn’t anything like the city. Alyssa, Cassie and Maya have all worked scenes out here before. You haven’t.”
She pierced him with a cool look. “Yet they sent me, even after you told Tucker not to. Want to take a guess as to why?”
“I don’t want to… Damn it.” He jammed both hands in his pockets, knowing he was beaten. And what was more, he was dead wrong. She hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve his suspicion. It wasn’t her fault that she was the first woman in a long time to make him want to stop and take a second, longer look. Maybe a taste.
And that so wasn’t happening.
He didn’t know what she saw in his face, but her expression softened. “I’m sorry about what happened to Tanya. And under the circumstances, I’m even sorry that my being here bothers you. But back in Denver I was the analyst of choice for badly contaminated scenes. Right before I left, I worked a murder scene at the edge of an eroded riverbank the day after a downpour. And yes, we got the guy.” She paused. “You want to get the two men who hurt your ranger? Then take me to your scene…and make it fast, because we’re burning daylight.”
Matt wasn’t sure which was worse: having been so thoroughly set down…or knowing that he was going to have to stick right with her. Because he’d be damned if anyone else got hurt on his watch.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay, yeah.” Mind already skimming ahead to what he was going to need out of the Jeep, he whipped off his shirt and held it out. “You’re going to want this.”
It wasn’t until she gave a strangled gasp, eyes going wide, that he realized he was standing there bare-chested, and she had no clue why he’d just stripped down.
Heat washed through him. Oh, hell. That was so not cool.
“There’s evidence in the front pocket,” he said quickly. “A feather Tanya was holding when I got to her. Williams said you would want the shirt, too, for transfer.” He started to apologize, would have except for one thing:
She was staring at his chest.
He stilled, watching a faint flush climb her throat and work its way to her face as she swallowed. Then she jerked her eyes to his, and the blush hit hard.
Electricity raced over his skin, tightening his body as they stared at each other for a three count.
She recovered first, with a gulp and a small shiver that he felt deep in his gut. “Um,” she said, voice huskier than it had been a moment earlier, “hold that thought.”
When she put down the tackle box that contained her field kit, he thought…hell, he didn’t know what he thought. His brain was gone, melted by whatever had just telegraphed between them. So when she rummaged and came up with a large evidence bag, he just star
ed at it for a second.
Then reality returned and his brain reassembled itself.
Tanya. Evidence. The crime scene.
What the hell was he doing?
Without a word, he folded the shirt and tucked it into the bag, watched her seal it and scrawl her name on the first line of the evidence chain. Then he turned away and headed for his Jeep, saying over his shoulder, “Let me grab my jacket and we can hit the trail.”
And as he led her up to Candle Rock, he worked like hell to get his head screwed back on straight. Because he couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted in a crisis situation. Bad things happened when he did.
Chapter Three
Wow. That was all Gigi’s brain could formulate as she followed Blackthorn along a narrow game trail that led up a sharply rocky incline.
Wow, he had a seriously fine body beneath that drab, tan-and-green park service uniform. His sleek bronze skin covered sculpted muscles, its perfection marred by two scars, one high on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his waistline.
Wow, that had been the hottest stand-and-stare moment of her life. Her blood was still humming, her coordination slightly off as her body focused inward.
And wow, this was way outside her comfort zone.
It had been a while since she had made the time or effort, but she’d had her share of relationships, all based on affection, attraction, and the freedom to move on when the time came.
Those relationships had been fun. Satisfying. And not once, not even in the bedroom, had any of those guys lit her up the way she had just ignited from nothing more than seeing Blackthorn’s chest.
Even now, as she scanned the rocks and scrub for scuff marks, the image of his naked torso seemed burned onto her retinas.
Temporary insanity. That was all it was. They’d both had their tempers up, and his adrenaline had probably been pumping for hours. More, she had been disarmed by the way he had backed down, owning his bad behavior when she called him on it.
In her experience, that wasn’t the way real jerks operated. Which meant…well, it didn’t matter what it meant. Her gut said he was complicated, and she didn’t have any room in her life for personal complications. She was there to do her job…which was about evidence, not ogling.
Deliberately, she forced her mind back on track.
The bagged shirt was tucked in the bottom of her field kit. She would process the feather back in the lab, where she could keep absolute track of the environment. But she already knew some of the assessments she would need to make: Was it real or fake? Where had it come from? Why had Tanya been clutching it?
The last question wasn’t really part of an analyst’s job—it was up to the cops and attorneys to turn the data into a story.
But then again, she lived outside the box.
When Blackthorn hit the top of the high ridge, he paused and turned back to her. Surprise flickered when he saw that she was only a few paces behind him and not even breathing particularly hard.
She grinned. “When I was in my early teens, my parents went on a survivalist kick and decided all four of us kids needed to know how to take care of ourselves, no matter what. Our family vacations turned into something out of Survivor for a few years. Yosemite, the Sonoran Desert, Alaska… Some of it seemed like torture at the time, but looking back, it wasn’t. It’s just the way my family operates.”
“As survivalists?”
“As the best at whatever we choose to do. Usually it’s academics. In my case, crime scene analysis.”
He held her eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Point taken.”
“Then let’s get to work.” She gestured around them. “How are you at tracking?”
“Fair to good, but when we came up this way the first time, I was looking more for four-legged predators than two-legged tracks. I can’t swear to it, but I don’t think there were any fresh footprints other than Cochran’s at that point, and even those were pretty faint. I took a closer look around once Tanya had been airlifted out, but nothing jumped out at me.” He grimaced. “Frankly, given the rock, hardpan and loose gravel, we’re not looking good for tracks.”
“Hopefully I’ll have better luck.”
“It’s a mess down there.”
“So I heard.” But as she moved up beside him at the crest of the ridge, she sucked in a breath. “Okay. Yeah. That’s a mess.”
Their vantage point overlooked an oblong flattened bowl that fell away into a dry riverbed on one side. There was a brushed-clean spot where the helicopter had come and gone; ropes snaking across the shale, which was gouged where they had been moved and dragged; and a scattering of detritus in the bottom of the wash.
Although she gave Blackthorn points for not cleaning up the med techs’ leftovers after Tanya was airlifted, the overall effect was not encouraging.
He shot her a look from beneath lowered brows. “Tell me you can do something with it.”
“I’ve seen entire cases hinge on a few strands of hair or a fingernail scraping,” she said. Which wasn’t quite an answer, so she added, “I’ve worked under worse conditions. At least here I won’t have to waste time going through a ton of alley garbage that has zero relevance to the case.”
“Small blessings.”
“In this job, you take what you can get.” And you’d better watch it, we seem to be having a semi-normal conversation, she thought but didn’t say. Instead, she nodded to the shotgun he carried slung over his shoulder. “I’m going to be pretty involved for the next couple of hours. You’ll keep lookout?”
Something shifted in the dark green depths of his eyes, and he nodded. “Nobody else is getting hurt on my watch.”
Sensing he didn’t want to hear that he wasn’t responsible for what had happened to Tanya, she gripped his forearm briefly. “Thanks.”
As she moved past him, she felt his surprise just as clearly as she had felt his leashed strength through the thin layer of his windbreaker. She wasn’t sure if his shock had come from the touch or the fact that they were getting along, but she would take it.
She had a feeling she would be better to have him a little off balance around her, not vice versa.
When she was halfway down the incline, he called, “Hey. Gigi.”
He gave it the softer pronunciation, as though they were in Paris rather than the middle of nowhere.
She turned back and found him backlit by the afternoon sun, a solitary figure on the ridgeline. She had to clear her throat before she said, “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I was a jerk to you back in the city. You’re okay.”
“Be still my heart.” But she grinned when she said it. “And my name is Gigi,” she corrected, giving it the harder sound. “It’s short for Greta Grace, so you don’t need to get fancy with it. Or with me.”
He didn’t say anything, just gave her a slow nod, but she felt his eyes follow her the rest of the way down.
Then she tuned him out and got to work.
The next ninety minutes were a focused blur of photographs, sample bags and jars, and a whole lot of frustration at the lack of what she thought of as “big foam finger evidence”—the kind that pointed straight to an answer, or at least a new set of questions.
Granted, that was the exception rather than the norm, but still, she had been hoping for a quick break in the case.
By the time the sun dipped behind the mountains and the sky went pink around the edges, she was finishing up her preliminary round of collection. She locked her kit, and hauled its now considerable weight back up the ridgeline, where Blackthorn stood guard, silhouetted against the dusk.
He gave her a long, unreadable look. “All set?”
“With the first step, anyway. Now it’s time for me to put in some serious lab hours.”
He took the case from her without asking, his fingers brushing against hers. “But you’re not hopeful.”
“I’m always hopeful,” she corrected, telling herself it was impossible to get a whole-body tingle from
that small contact. “But in this case, I’m not very optimistic. I didn’t see anything I could link straight to Tanya’s attackers. Between that and the beating her radio took, it was like she was dropped…” She trailed off, sudden excitement sparking. “Wait a second. Let me see your radio.”
He unclipped it from his belt and handed it over. “Bert can hook you up if you need a patch-through back to the lab or something.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
She took the sturdy unit, which, aside from being bright yellow rather than matte black, was very like the ones used by the HRTs back home, with long-range capabilities, GPS, a digital display…and a hinged faceplate that usually broke off within the first few weeks of use. It was the one design flaw in an otherwise solid piece of equipment.
Blackthorn’s still had its faceplate in place, though, and had a couple of upgrades she hadn’t seen before. “Is this new?” she asked.
“They arrived last week.”
Damn it, she had assumed Tanya’s faceplate was long gone—and because she had made an assumption, she almost missed the evidence…or lack thereof. “Do all of your rangers carry the same model?”
“Yeah, they’re interchangeable. We just grab one off the charger in my office. Why?”
She looked up at him, pulse kicking. “Did hers still have its faceplate when she left this morning?”
He thought for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure it did.” He looked back down to the scene, making the connection. “It could’ve bounced pretty far. Even given that some of her injuries came from an attack, she still hit hard when she fell.”
“Or we were meant to think she did.”
He went very still, eyes darkening as he slowly looked down, then back at her. “Damn. I saw it.”
“The faceplate?”
He shook his head. “No, that there was a problem with the way she and the radio had fallen.” His expression went distant as he replayed the scene in his head. “She was lying flat on her back, kind of sprawled, with the radio a few feet away. There weren’t any impact marks…but there was a smoothed-flat place.” He refocused, met her eyes. “Like someone had been there, swept his tracks, and then tossed the radio down after the fact.”
Bear Claw Conspiracy Page 3
