Laughing, she let her eyes fall closed again, blocking out his appealing smile and dark visage. She found him very attractive, and that was a damned shame. It hadn’t escaped her notice that he considered Tenaja Falls a roadblock on his path to bigger and better things.
Shay, on the other hand, was here for the long haul. She was fond of the familial atmosphere and she loved this land like a mother. If Luke Meza thought she was small town, well, maybe he was right. However common, she was proud of her heritage, and however sordid, she wasn’t ashamed of her past.
Sighing, she adjusted her gun strap, which felt like it was burning a diagonal mark across her chest. His smile faded as his eyes followed her movements, reminding her that it wasn’t necessary for them to have similar interests.
They didn’t even have to like each other.
Shay wished she’d dressed with a little more care this morning, because it was hot. In mid-April, the weather was usually cool, especially in the higher elevations, but today a Santa Ana wind was blowing, bringing an increased fire hazard and warm, dry conditions.
Her sweatshirt had been abandoned in the truck, leaving her clad in a thin cotton tank top. The black lace push-up bra she was wearing underneath had gone great with the satin camisole from last night, but it was hardly appropriate for hiking.
The sheriff must have thought so, too, because he tore his gaze away from her chest. “How much farther?”
With trembling hands, she took the GPS tracker out of her pack to double-check Hamlet’s location. He was still near the top of the ridge, probably sleeping in a shady nook, awaiting sunset. “Only another half mile.”
She’d explained how the tracking system worked when they’d dropped by base headquarters, a small stucco building where she compiled research and studied wildlife data. It was there that she’d nursed an eight-week-old lion cub back to health after his mother had been killed by local ranchers. The cub had been reintroduced to the wild when they’d found a surrogate mother lion and added him to her litter.
To Shay’s amazement, Hamlet had not only lived, he’d thrived.
It had been a risky experiment, but a young lion couldn’t survive on his own until he was several years old, and prolonged contact with humans would only reduce his chances.
Shay had been careful not to treat him like a pet during the time they’d spent together. To do so would have been dangerous for both of them. But he’d been irresistibly cute! Maybe she’d spoken too softly, touched him too lovingly.
Had she done something to assuage his fear of humans? Did he remember her still?
Over the past five years, she’d seen Hamlet on a regular basis. After he’d survived into adulthood, Shay and her fellow research biologists had collared him with the GPS device. He’d been tracked and tranquilized for routine checkups. Just last year, she’d cleaned his teeth.
And now she would kill him.
“We’ll have to go slower as we get closer, and move as quietly as possible,” she said. “If he spooks, we’ll never catch up to him.”
“Why don’t you use dogs?”
Mountain lions could be treed fairly easily. In California, it was illegal to hunt lions for sport, but in other parts of the country the practice was widespread. And unfair to both animals, in her opinion. “Hunting dogs are a risk to the lions, and vice versa. Besides, this is a wildlife preserve. Wild animals avoid places domestic animals have been.”
He studied her face, then her rifle, and she knew he was wondering if she had the heart to shoot it. “How big is this lion?” he asked warily.
“Almost two hundred pounds at his last weigh-in.”
Before they’d set out, Luke had put on his gun belt. Now he placed his hand on the holster, eyeing the trail ahead of them with some trepidation.
Shay wanted to smile, because his Ruger 9mm was no match for Hamlet. Luke was probably good with his weapon, but it was designed for close range. If Hamlet got within fifty yards of them, he could move faster than any man’s hand.
She approved of his caution, however. A person would have to be stupid not to be afraid of a lion Hamlet’s size. That was why she was glad Garrett hadn’t come along. “I know the area pretty well,” she said, to calm herself as well as him. Emotional baggage or not, this was nerve-wracking business. “His mother used to live here. There’s a low hill directly across from the den we can use for cover. From there it’s an easy shot.”
He grunted at her oversimplification. “How many times have you done this?”
“Killed a lion? Never. But I’ve tracked and tranq’d plenty.” Taking another gulp of water, she bolstered her courage. “Ready?” She wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I want to get this over with.”
Queen’s Den wasn’t so much a cave as a sheltered rock outcropping with enough brush to hide the comings and goings of its inhabitants. Hamlet had been born and first captured at this place; now his life had truly come full circle.
Shay would much rather have tranquilized him and let the veterinary scientists at UC Davis handle a more humane euthanasia, but that was against policy. Several years ago, two victims were attacked by the same lion on the same day. The incident was unprecedented, but it created a scandal within the Department of Fish and Game. The warden was accused of dragging his feet, and the “shoot to kill” solution implemented afterward was very much a political maneuver.
It was up to her to make Hamlet’s passing as peaceful as possible.
Peering across a grassy, sun-drenched clearing, Shay attached the scope and lined up her shot. She was lying on her belly along the slope of the hill, ants crawling up her arms, pebbles digging into her elbows. A strand of hair fell into her eyes. She blew it out of her face.
“Okay,” she whispered, signaling Luke.
He had the stronger arm, so he threw the lure. The fist-sized balloon of deer blood exploded on impact, splattering a cluster of rocks below the den. Flattening himself next to her on the slope, he cupped his hands over his ears and waited.
Her heart roared with trepidation. Sweat stung her eyes.
For a long moment, she thought Hamlet wasn’t going to come out. A sated lion didn’t always answer the call of the lure, and it would be too risky to go in after him.
Then she saw him, moving stealthily, so low to the ground he was almost crawling. She couldn’t pull the trigger too early or he would bolt, but her body was taut as a wire, her finger screaming to flex.
Wait for it, she told herself. Just wait for it.
Hamlet had excellent eyesight, but he didn’t see them. Lifting his nose in the air, he didn’t smell them either, for they were downwind. He only caught the scent of the lure, and walked right into its heady trap.
He came out into the clearing, muscles rippling beneath his tawny coat. Her heart jumped into her throat. He was immense. A healthy male in his prime, two hundred pounds of pure, unadulterated power.
He could close the gap between them in about fifteen seconds.
Beside her, Luke’s attention was rapt. Intuition told her he was sharing this experience with her, feeling the same conflict she was. They were in awe of the lion’s presence, exhilarated to be in such an intense, dangerous situation, and disturbed that a magnificent animal had to die this way.
Blood thundering in her ears, she lined him up in the crosshairs, stroking her finger over the trigger, waiting for the perfect opportunity …
And when she had it, she took the shot. Straight through the heart.
Hamlet fell like a titan.
Stumbling forward, he lost his footing and collapsed in a boneless heap. He didn’t get up. It had been quick and easy and virtually painless, just how Shay wanted it, but she wasn’t proud or satisfied or even numb.
She was devastated.
Rolling away from the rifle, she clenched her hands into fists and pressed them to her stomach, trying not to sob.
Luke tore his gaze from Hamlet’s lifeless form. “What happened?” he asked, instantly alert. Taking her by the wrists, he pu
lled her hands away from her body, searching for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, unable to speak. Unable to breathe.
His hold on her wrists loosened. Her lungs expanded and contracted, releasing her from panic’s grip.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, gentling his voice.
She closed her eyes, seeing the cub Hamlet had once been. Batting at dragonflies, leaping through foxtails. Falling asleep in the cradle of her arms, just like her brother, Dylan, had done so many times, so many years ago. “I bottle-fed him,” she whispered, feeling like a fool.
“Who?”
“Hamlet.”
He looked around in confusion. “The lion?” he said, his tone incredulous. “You bottle-fed that beast?”
She laughed so she wouldn’t cry. “He was just a baby then.”
His expression softened as he checked on Hamlet, making sure he was still down. Rather than reproaching her for the misplaced compassion, he rubbed his thumb over the bones in her wrist and let her hands go.
“You’re some crack shot,” he said admiringly, and she burst into tears.
They waited at a safe distance for the helicopter to land.
Luke felt the strange urge to comfort her while two men from UC Davis rolled Hamlet into a body bag and hefted him aboard the craft. Although Shay had remained stone-faced, for the most part, at the sight of a dead woman, she’d fallen apart after the lion went down.
He’d also been shaken by the incident. Judging by what he’d seen this morning, getting mauled by a lion was a horrible way to die, and when he’d caught his first glimpse of Hamlet creeping across the meadow, he’d been damned scared. He wasn’t comfortable putting his life in a stranger’s hands, let alone a tree-hugging Barbie who’d been partying all night, but her trigger finger hadn’t wavered and her aim was true.
Gazing upon the lion’s prone form, with Shay weeping silently beside him, he’d felt his own measure of sadness. Unlike humans, animals killed without malice. Luke’s ancestors would have mourned the loss of this rogue lion’s spirit.
The helicopter would take Hamlet all the way to UC Davis for analysis. His coat bore no trace of blood, but Shay said all cats were fastidious. Either way, forensics would tell the tale. His teeth, claws, fur, and stomach contents would be tested for human tissue.
She waved at the pilots as they lifted off, her expression sober. When the noise faded and the wind from the rotor died down, she surprised him by taking his hand.
And just like that, the mood changed. One moment he was lost in contemplation, a thousand miles away, the next he was right there beside her, having a very physical, very inappropriate response to the feel of her palm sliding against his.
“Thanks,” she said, nibbling on her lower lip.
She had a lush mouth, ripe for kissing, and if she didn’t know the effect it had on men, she was a fool.
Luke had to force himself not to jerk his hand from hers. His reaction was immediate and visceral. He wanted her. Her face was smudged with dirt and her tank top damp from sweat, but he wanted her. Wanted to press her down to the ground and make her dirtier, pull off her top and make her sweatier.
“What are you thanking me for?”
She blinked her wet-lashed eyes. “For not being like Garrett.”
“What’s Garrett like?” he asked, although he knew.
Proving she wasn’t a fool, she pulled away from him. “Never mind,” she said, picking up her rifle and adjusting her pack.
For a moment, he was sorry he’d been so abrupt. Her doelike innocence might be feigned, but her love for animals was genuine and her shooting skills were impeccable. Maybe lust had tainted his perception, changing a simple gesture of gratitude into what seemed like a blatant come-on.
Luke wasn’t a trusting soul, for good reason. He’d been blindsided before.
Whatever her intention, he couldn’t afford to be distracted by her. The bond they’d forged over the course of the morning had caught him off guard. Yeah, he felt an instant connection to her, an almost irresistible sexual pull, but he wasn’t going to act on it. He didn’t need any extra complications right now. Her relationship with Jesse Ryan, a suspect, was more than enough incentive to keep his distance.
They headed back down the canyon in silence. It seemed as though several days had passed since Luke was woken up by the emergency telephone system at the station. Having no interest in securing permanent lodgings in Tenaja Falls, he’d been bunking at the fire-house like a vagabond. He had plenty to do before he called it a day, including interviewing the man who’d reported the body and talking to the coroner about the autopsy.
He wouldn’t have believed it was only midafternoon if the sun wasn’t beating down on the top of his head.
Being from Vegas, the heat didn’t bother him, and although he was no outdoorsman, he found his surroundings remarkably peaceful. The vegetation was green, the air was fresh, and the nearby brook bubbled pleasantly. He also enjoyed a strenuous workout, and Shay Phillips could hike her curvy little butt off.
When she stopped midstride, he almost lost his footing. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” she said, skirting around him.
He waited while she ducked behind some bushes.
“I have to pee, Meza.” She fiddled with the tab of her jeans. “Give a girl some privacy.”
“Oh. Right.” Turning on his heel, he went on ahead without her.
He hadn’t gone far before he realized he had no idea where he was. She’d been following a trail of some fashion, but damned if he could see it. The ground beneath him was strewn with oak leaves, and there was no discernible path. Gnarled tree trunks loomed close, their sharp-edged branches reaching out to snag at his clothing. When the underbrush began to snarl around his feet, he had to admit he’d made a wrong turn.
It was embarrassing, really. He hadn’t been on his own for five minutes, and he was already lost.
Looking around the shady glen he was standing in for a familiar landmark, he noticed a rock wall he didn’t remember passing. It was cracked and moss-covered, seeping with moisture. At the base, behind a waist-high bush, one of the fissures widened to a good-sized hole.
If he wasn’t mistaken, it was some kind of cave.
His heart rate kicked up, blood surging with adrenaline. He squinted into the dark confines, almost certain he could see something in there.
Something … wriggling.
The sound of leaves crackling behind him made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in awareness. He put his hand on his gun, wondering if Yesenia Montes had been given a similar warning before the lion pounced.
Shay had expected Luke to walk a few feet down the trail and wait for her there, so she was surprised when she couldn’t find him. Tracking his footsteps, she realized he’d wandered off in the wrong direction.
Smothering a smile, she followed his obvious path through the thick sagebrush. When she heard a surprised shout, she started running, panic flooding her system.
He was on the other side of an enormous oak, back pressed against a flat rock formation, pointing his 9mm handgun at a ferocious, menacing, terrifying …
Skunk.
“Don’t shoot it,” she cried out, holding a hand over her heart. She was weak with relief, giddy from too little sleep and too much stress, all of her emotions on edge. Apparently, the skunk had startled him, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the picture he made.
He cast a withering glance in her direction. “I wasn’t going to,” he said, holstering his weapon.
With Shay standing behind the female skunk, trapping her in, and Luke blocking the front of her den, the protective mama did what nature deemed appropriate. Turning around, she raised her tail.
“Oh, no,” she gasped. She tried to tell him not to move, but she couldn’t quite get the words out.
When he sidestepped, the spray hit him full-on, with absolute precision.
Shay clapped a hand over her mouth, snorting with laugh
ter. Taking affront, the mother skunk whirled around and sprayed again, coating Shay in the most noxious substance on earth. With a final twitch of her tail, she darted past Luke into the shelter of her den.
Shay’s amusement cut off like a switch. The stench was overwhelming; she couldn’t breathe, let alone laugh.
“Come on,” she choked, gesturing for him to follow. Crashing through the brush, she made her way toward the water, trying to see through stinging eyes.
She dropped her gear at the edge of Deep Creek, shed her boots and socks, and jumped in. Luke did the same, wading in after her.
The water brought instantaneous relief.
Ducking her head under, she scrubbed at her face and arms, hoping the smell wouldn’t linger on her skin. She’d known dogs who’d been skunked, and with or without tomato juice, sometimes their fur carried the scent for weeks.
After a vigorous washing, she felt brave enough to look at him.
“That was your fault,” he accused. He was glowering, waist-deep in icy cold water, soaked to the skin.
“My fault?” she sputtered. “You pulled a gun on a skunk!”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “If you hadn’t shown up and started laughing, it wouldn’t have sprayed.”
She smiled back at him, admitting her guilt. Then, cocking her head to one side, she said, “I don’t know about that. You were tromping around by her babies, way off the beaten path.”
“Beaten path,” he scoffed.
The pool they were standing in was one of many along Deep Creek. It was a pretty area, sun-dappled and bright, surrounded by cattails and purple larkspur. The water wasn’t deep, but it was clear and fresh, fortified by snowmelt from Palomar Mountain, and so cold it made her teeth chatter. Even on a hot day it wasn’t the place to take a leisurely dip, but she found herself wanting to linger. When Luke Meza let his guard down, he was good company.
She lifted her arm to her nose and sniffed. Either she’d washed off the scent, or she was suffering from olfactory fatigue. “Is it gone?”
He eyed her warily. “I don’t know.”
Shay was about to ask him to smell her when she noticed him averting his gaze. She looked down, realizing that her tank top had been rendered see-through, putting her black lace push-up bra on intimate display. Embarrassed, because the lingerie was designed to accentuate curves that didn’t exist, she waded out of the water and pulled her tank top over her head.
Set the Dark on Fire Page 4
