It had caused a sensational stir when the community had thought Shyla had been murdered only to learn later that she'd been in hiding. She'd returned from the dead and taken up defense for accused US Marshal West McAllister. She'd worked with Wade Yakov, and her husband Judd had been Wade's partner at one point in his career as an Alaska State Trooper.
Shyla was smart and shrewd. A survivor. She'd taken down one of the most notorious men in Alaska's history and upset the whole District Attorney's office. Heads had rolled all the way to the governor's office. The chips were still falling and Hugh Wiseman refused to be one of them. McAllister had to be found before he caged Hugh in a corner that he couldn't talk his way out of.
"You just gave those men a kill order," Garrett Hunt chimed in. Hunt was a former SEAL and always lived up to his name. He'd captured and taken down many men on the lam and had developed a reputation for finding the unfindable with his recent capture of the serial killer Stewart Browning along with Deputy Chief Seana Brogan of Dutch Harbor. Not to mention the impressive work Hunt had wrapped up last winter in Chatanika.
"I have a dead US Marshal," Hugh stressed. "And another in the hospital. McAllister put them there and he will answer for that. I will make sure of it."
"If they bring him in dead just how the hell will he answer for anything?" Judd asked. Once Judd had been a carefree man always up for a drink and a woman, until Shyla had walked into his vision. Hugh missed the old Judd. Now he was just another devoted man who had a woman holding his balls.
Hugh didn't want these men on his task force.
But then maybe he did? If he had his men work with them, they might lead him to McAllister. "All that matters is that we get McAllister off the streets before anyone is hurt or worse. The rest of this shit can be handled later in the courts."
But I'll kill McAllister before that happens.
Chapter Six
West started a fire in the stove so he could burn his prison uniform. All the while he watched Briar feed O.D. He enjoyed the otter's antics more than he ever thought he would. The animal was funny and affectionate, and West had missed that since he'd been incarcerated.
There hadn't been a lot of affection or humor in his life the last year.
Briar kept sending him looks from under her lashes when she thought he wasn't looking. One thing he did notice were sideways glances. Being in jail did that to a man. He'd been constantly on guard for too long. O.D., on the other hand, accepted him for who he was. It was refreshing, and he wanted more of this feeling. But there would be no way that would happen.
Come morning he was out of here.
He had to lay low through the initial sweep of the manhunt. Most convicts were caught within twenty-four hours of their escape because they were desperate. He had to outthink his fellow officers.
Hugh Wiseman would be running this show. He'd be surrounded by his yes-men and West wouldn’t be able to get to him until Hugh let down his guard. But get to him he would if it was the last thing he ever did.
O.D. finished his meal of smelts and oysters, chattered what sounded like a thank you, and scampered off.
"Where'd he go?" For that matter, where had he come from? West needed to know all the ins and outs of this place. His reaction to Briar had him on shaky ground, but there was no excuse for not knowing the lay of the land.
"There's a doggie door that leads outside to a pool that I have set up for him to play in." She grabbed a jacket hanging by the door and twisted the knob.
West slapped his palm on the smooth surface of the door before Briar could open it. His gun was palmed and raised without him even thinking. More second nature as he'd worked in law enforcement for most of his adult life.
She froze, and her eyes widened with alarm.
Most women only came to his chest. Not Briar. Her mouth was just a dip away. It wouldn't take any effort at all to sample those plump, rosy lips. His nostrils flared, and he leaned closer to catch her tantalizing scent of fireweed.
She inhaled sharply, and he realized how close he'd gotten. His nose was almost buried in her hair. What was he doing?
"Let me go first." His voice was low and raspy and probably didn't reassure her in the least.
"Okay. Fine. Just...don't—you move too fast." She stepped back.
Damn it, keep your head in the game and off of her.
If he didn't, he'd be dead.
Cracking open the door, he carefully peered out. The summer sun hung like a large orange ball of flames on the horizon. It wouldn't be long before it finally set for the short night. There was nothing but wilderness in front of him, nothing stirred in the trees, no ripple on the tide. It made him nervous. No way could he be this lucky. His skin itched to move, to run, but that was what Hugh wanted, counted on.
"Where are we headed to first?" he asked, before venturing out of the cabin.
"Back to where you grabbed me."
The sourness of guilt settled in his stomach. If only she hadn't shown at that moment, hadn't seen him. He would've been able to bunker down in the shed for the night and not involve her. By morning she wouldn’t have known he'd been here.
He motioned for her to leave the cabin, staying vigilant of the surroundings as he followed her up the path. Silence stretched between them, and he knew his actions had brought back her apprehension.
Truce or not, that didn't mean she trusted him. And there was no reason why she should. She was smart not to. For one, he didn't trust himself around her. Not with these foreign urges begging him to lay her down on the field of wildflowers and let his body imprint upon hers.
"How'd you get into this?" he asked, hoping small talk would get his mind off of the sensual way she innately moved and how those movements would translate to the bedroom. If she walked like that, how would she—
"My dad," she answered.
Yeah, the mention of parents was pretty close to a cold shower. West dragged in a deep breath, thankful the evening temperature had cooled a bit.
"He had a weakness for the wounded and kept taking in abandoned and hurt animals," she continued, without a clue to how he struggled to keep his hands from touching her, reaching out to hold her hand, or drape an arm around her capable shoulders. "Word got around."
"Sounds like he had a big heart."
"The biggest."
"Where's your mom in this picture?"
"She was never a part of it. She left us when I was really little. I have no idea what became of her."
"Never heard from her in all these years?"
"Nope. Dad raised me, taught me. Don't feel bad for me. I was loved and had the best of childhoods."
But he caught the flicker of something. Want. The need for a mother's love. He could imagine a curly redheaded little girl running all over the open fields of fireweed, looking like one of the tall stems herself, living free amongst the wildlife and wilderness, but needing a mother to hold her and tuck her in bed at night.
"What about you?" she asked. "Where do you hail from?"
"Idaho, actually."
"Wow, that's a little removed from Alaska."
"Worlds."
"What brought you here?" she asked, grabbing the wheelbarrow she'd loaded earlier.
"The US Marshals. I was recruited and volunteered for a post here. My grandfather always wanted to travel to Alaska but he was tied to the farm." It irked him not to push the wheelbarrow for her, but he couldn’t take the risk of letting down his guard. He hated being out here in the open where anyone could come upon them. The sooner they finished these chores the better.
"What about your parents?" she asked.
"Divorced. I was the result of an unprotected prom night. Dad's career military and my mom married another guy when I was twelve. We've never seen eye-to-eye, but he treats her decent. To say I was a handful as a teenager was an understatement. She sent me to live with my grandfather when my stepdad had had enough."
"How old were you?"
"Fourteen."
"And your
grandfather?"
"Still running the farm at ninety. Man looks the same as he did when I was a kid." His smile faltered. He needed to clear his name before the old man died. Disappointing his grandfather had been the hardest thing to take. Harder than being locked in jail with the type of men he'd spent his career securing behind those same iron bars. Didn't make him popular. Or maybe too popular. They all had something to prove it seemed. He'd spent a lot of time in solitary for this own protection, doing nothing but thinking, plotting how he'd get out of the mess he'd found himself. Wishing he could figure out how he'd been framed. It hadn't been a stretch as to who was behind it, but proving that was an entirely different problem. A problem he might never solve.
One thing was certain, he wasn't going back. He'd end this nightmare. Wanted dead or alive, he'd be dead before they took him back to jail.
They left out food for a moose who regarded them with hooded eyes from the cover of the spruce trees.
"Black Heart likes to charge," Briar warned, "so keep your distance."
"Why is she here?"
"Shot in the shoulder. A woman mistook her for her drunk husband stumbling through the yard late at night. She has a pair of twins—the runaways—hiding behind her."
"Black Heart and the Runaways, as in Joan Jett?"
She brightened and gave him a look of happy surprise. "Yeah. Not a lot of people would make the connection."
He motioned to the Black Sabbath t-shirt he wore. "I'm starting to see a pattern here with the rock legends, you know, other than O.D."
"Most don't catch on. I grew up without television. Music was our entertainment. Vinyl mostly, but you should have seen my dad's face when I gave him an iPod loaded with all his favorites a few years ago for his birthday." A bittersweet memory crossed over her expression. "The man was in rock heaven."
West pointed to Black Heart. "Is she going to be okay?"
"She's a success story, and Lord knows we don't have enough of those. We not only saved her but her calves as well. I hope to release her in a few weeks as she's almost as good as new."
"We?" His awareness sharpened to a razor's edge. He scanned the trees and surrounding fields of wildflowers. His hand itched to grab the gun tucked in the back of his jeans again.
"I'm state and federally funded, so there are a network of people who help me out. But I'm the primary caregiver, unless there are more animals in need of care."
"Anyone else I need to be aware of? I don't want any surprises, Briar."
"No one." She swallowed. "It's the weekend. Monday, I have a few interns from the Sea Life Center coming out."
He'd be gone before then.
West held her gaze, searching for any deception. Her crystal-blue eyes glimmered with an openness that was as deep as the ocean. He could get lost in those eyes. He stepped closer without thinking and brushed a crimson curl away from her face.
God, she was stunning. Creamy skin and rose-shaded lips with the most glorious wild hair. He wanted to unleash the mass and let it twist around him.
He didn't believe in love at first sight, but there was something here between them. Maybe it was the intense situation he found himself in, knowing that chances were he wouldn't survive on this earth long and that he wanted—needed—to connect with another human being. Connect with a woman.
This woman.
Her eyes widened as he leaned closer, his intent clear. His lips hovered above hers, waiting for her to push at his chest that was only a heavy inhale away from brushing hers. Their breath mingled and he savored the hint of fireweed and honey.
Her lush lips parted and before she could utter a protest he sealed his mouth over hers. She froze for a moment, and then she melted.
Warmth surrounded him. A warmth so welcoming it was like he'd come home. She tasted blissfully sweet, like cherry cobbler with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. He welcomed the heat and acceptance as coherent thought and reason flew from him. Gathering her against his body, he loved the solid feel of her in his arms.
Here was a woman.
Not just any woman, but HIS woman, an urgent voice deep inside him whispered.
She trembled under him and then moaned, her mouth opening further, inviting him to kiss her deeper, harder. Blood rushed through his veins, inundating him with the overwhelming need to really know her. Know how she liked to be touched, what made her voice catch with desire, what made her scream as her body clenched around his flesh.
She broke the kiss, breathless and looking as dazed as he felt. Then he heard it. The crunching of gravel under the wheels of a heavy SUV followed by the sound of a lone wolf's warning howl. He wanted to answer that forlorn sound, but dread and the consuming need to live long enough to kiss Briar again flooded in.
Dragging her to the ground, he covered her mouth with his hand, but she pushed against his chest and twisted free of his hold.
"You have to go," she said. "Now."
"No." He reached for the gun, but she stayed his arm and pointed to the pen up the hill.
"Alice Cooper looks like he will tear your head off, but he won't. Stay there. And don't worry, I'll get rid of whoever it is."
An Alaska State Trooper vehicle turned the corner, coming up the drive, flashing gold as the setting sun hit the badge painted on the side of the white door. If the troopers were looking this direction, they'd be seen any second.
"Briar—"
"Just go!" She pushed him off of her and hurried to her feet, rushing down the path to greet the troopers.
He turned, staying low to the ground, and ran.
Chapter Seven
"Hey, officers," Briar called, slowing her gait and trying to appear casual. "You're a long way out. What can I help you with?"
"Are you Briar Levine?" asked a serious looking trooper about her height though he carried fifty pounds extra of what looked like pure muscle. He took off his trooper hat to reveal a clean-shaven head that really worked to enforce his don't-mess-with-me attitude. His eyes seemed to catalog everything about her, down to her underwear which she knew he couldn't see. But she felt naked just the same.
She didn't want anything to do with him.
The other trooper seemed a lot younger and more approachable as he rounded the hood of the car and tipped his hat. "Ma'am."
Classic good cop/bad cop. She didn't trust either. "Yes, I'm Briar Levine. What's this about?"
"I'm Alaska State Trooper Isaac Stohl," the bad cop introduced himself. "And this is Trooper Dean Hagan. Have you heard of the statewide manhunt for escaped convict West McAllister?"
"Yes, when I was in town earlier today." Her pulse pounded in her ears. She had a decision to make here. Whatever she did—said—to these troopers could be used against her later if the truth came out that she helped West.
She'd never broken the law. Not even in high school. The law was not something she was interested in testing. Not with her profession testing her all the time.
"You are aware that McAllister is considered extremely dangerous," Trooper Stohl continued. "He's already killed a US Marshal and another is fighting for his life as we speak."
She swallowed. "What do you need from me, officers?"
"We're doing a house-to-house search and would like permission to look around."
Did they know something? Had someone seen West with her? A hiker? Someone out on the water? Most stayed away from her place with all the 'No Trespassing' signs and warnings, but that didn't stop everyone. It hadn't stopped West.
"You're welcome to take a look around," she said, "but I won't have you unaccompanied on the property."
"Why not?" Trooper Stohl asked, more like pounced.
"This is a wildlife rehabilitation habitat." They knew this. They were just trying to trip her up. "I have wounded and sick animals on the place and someone will get hurt if they look around on their own." She let that sink in hoping they'd leave. "What I have up that hill is more dangerous than this man you're looking for."
"What do you have
up the hill?" Trooper Hagan asked, looking in that direction. Luckily they couldn't see the pen from the driveway as the cabin was in the way.
"Alice Cooper. A Kodiak brown bear. You might have seen him featured on National Geographic's most dangerous animals a few years ago. He's actually pretty famous." And she'd sent West into his den.
There was a roar that sent chills up her spine. West must have just met Alice. She hoped they were getting along. "It's his dinner time, and I was about to feed him."
"This won't take long," Trooper Stohl said.
"All right, search the place and then check me off your list. But you have to make it quick. Alice Cooper doesn't wait for anyone."
"After you, ma'am," Trooper Hagan said. He seemed the most agreeable of the two.
Trooper Stohl looked like he could use some more fiber in his diet or a beer or two.
She entered the cabin, holding the door for the troopers to enter behind her.
"You live alone?" Stohl asked. He had his hand on his holstered gun with the leather snap undone.
She had to swallow again. Quickly, she scanned the area hoping there wasn't anything left out that showed evidence of West being inside.
"Yes."
Stohl held up the red flannel shirt that West had hung on the back of the chair. "Who does this belong to then?"
She felt the blood drain from her face. Any minute now they were going to cuff her and read her her rights. "My dad's. I...uhm...lost him last year...and sometimes I like to wear his shirts." That wasn't a lie. If she could stick as close to the truth as possible, maybe she'd get out of this.
Why was she covering for West?
She didn't even know him. But she was a good judge of character when it came to dangerous and wild animals. West McAllister fell more into that category than anyone she'd ever met. He hadn't hurt her, and he'd held her when she'd cried. There was more to him than what everyone thought, and while she might be digging her own hole with this decision, until she was shown differently she felt compelled to help West.
Some things in life you just went with. Her dad had taught her that.
Stohl regarded her with suspicion and then slowly laid the shirt back over the chair.
Wild Women of Alaska Collection Page 20
