by Christa Wick
“Where do you want these?”
“By the recliner.”
Watching him walk the unimpeded path from the door to the only real piece of furniture in the living room, Ashley chewed at the inside of her cheek.
Putting the bags down, his gaze moved around the empty space. “How long have you lived here?”
“Two months.”
Her answer was as spare as the surroundings. She had arrived in Montana on a Thursday, secured the apartment on a Friday and bought the recliner that Saturday. She had slept on it for the first few weeks until she had found a decent mattress that didn’t instantly result in sticker shock. All of her clothes were either hanging from a rod or on the shelves built into one side of her closet. There was no television, no table. Books filled half her kitchen cupboards. Pushed under the overhang of the breakfast counter, a single stool served her when she ate and when she worked on her laptop.
“Spartan,” he chuckled. “Did you bring all this from California?”
She answered with an eye roll and a shake of her head. She had purchased everything in her last apartment at thrift stores. Paying for a gas guzzling rental truck would have exceeded the value of those furnishings. She had brought her books and clothing, nothing else.
“Well,” he teased, “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
Ashley couldn’t bring herself to match his smile. She could afford a couch, but she didn’t expect to have anyone over. She was the resident special agent in charge for the office. In Billings, that meant she was the only agent. Her office, if it could be called that, was a stale, windowless eight-by-eight former break room with a door on it in one of the city’s federal buildings. Boxes of files left over from Deacon’s tenure shrank the workspace down to nothing.
Certified public accountants discussing tax codes filled the halls where she worked—when they weren’t holed up in their offices and cubes, fingers dancing over their calculators while they peered studiously at massive code and regulation books. The FBI resident agency where Emerson and Agent Armstrong worked may have been a three-minute walk on the same square block, but it was also a world away.
“Sorry,” he said, joining her at the counter. “Sorta looks like you’re just passing through.”
She shook her head. “Part of taking the Billings office when it opened up was being able to afford a house with some land.”
“Putting down roots,” he said, moving close and sucking his bottom lip in.
Ashley wanted to bite the lip while she knotted her fingers in his hair.
“Something like that,” she groaned as he brushed his thumb along the line of her jaw.
“Royce is probably getting antsy,” he said, both of his hands moving behind her head.
She felt the long, slow draw of a bobby pin from her braided hair, then heard it click as Walker placed it on the counter and found the next of three pins securing the tight bun.
“Deacon barely had any hair,” he joked, removing the third pin. He gently pulled the elastic band from the bottom of the braid. “I’ve been itching to know what this looks like down. Been imagining it from day one.”
Reaching behind her, she shook the braid loose and removed the top band. Walker took over, running his fingers through her hair as he stepped in close. He pressed a handful to his face and breathed deeply. His hand moved to the side of her throat, his fingers lightly splayed so that he touched her from earlobe to collarbone, his thumb restlessly caressing up and down.
“How’s the leg?”
“Much better,” she answered.
A reluctant smile ghosted his face.
“Liar,” he softly accused, his lips pressing a kiss at the corner of Ashley’s mouth.
She expected him to pull away, but his other hand dropped to rest just above the top curve of her ass, his touch warming the small of her back. His teeth fastened on her bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth.
Turning into jelly, Ashley leaned into Walker’s hard body. She gripped one strong shoulder, her other hand wrapping around his lean hip to secure him to her. His tongue slid into her mouth to curl and stroke between her top lip and teeth.
Her clit danced with each sensuous lick until her entire body began to shake.
Walker parted from her with a sigh and a glance at the front door.
“I don’t see you being able to drive tomorrow,” he said.
“Don’t need to,” Ashley answered, disappointment subduing her voice. “Moske said I couldn’t have any officers. But he didn’t say anything about field interns. I’ve got one coming in from the Bozeman office who can do all the driving and heavy lifting.”
He nodded, but his face didn’t look satisfied.
“I know you’re worried they’ll make you ride a desk, but driving the Jeep is the least of your worries with that leg. It’s going to take horses or ATVs to get into where those packs were at.”
Her shoulders bounced. “I’ll cross that gully when I reach it.”
Walker dropped his chin as he looked at her, his bottom lip firmly lodged between his teeth for a deliciously long second. “Don’t expect I’ll be able to tag along next time.”
Ashley shook her head. The location of the packs, if that’s what they were, was definitely on park land. The packs were evidence and the owners might be armed and dangerous. She wouldn’t take a civilian into that situation.
“Okay.” His jaw relaxed. Lightly pinching her chin, he leaned close once more. “So when might I see you again?”
She glanced at the door, surprised at how much she wished using the hauler hadn’t required a third person.
“I’m hoping I’ll be out that way tomorrow before noon. Moske may be micro-managing, but he can’t sit on his hands after what we found today.”
Walker shook his head and then his lips grazed hers. “I meant, when might I see you alone again.”
All her weight centered on her right leg, Ashley began to sway. Her eyes slipped shut. She pushed into him, hands surfing upward to rest against his chest.
“Weekend maybe,” she whispered. “You have plans?”
“If I did,” he answered, moving in for a long goodbye kiss. “I’d break them.”
Chapter Nine
Punching keys on her laptop, Ashley tried to keep her gaze off the desk phone. Across from her, Thomas Crane, the intern she had roped in, worked on topographical maps for the Helena-Lewis & Clark National Park. The task was little better than make-work while they waited for Phil Moske to give the go ahead.
“Do you think we’ll have another day’s delay?” Crane asked.
Back teeth clenched together, Ashley shook her head.
“It’s past ten already,” he countered. It had apparently been a slow summer at his regular assignment and he was chomping at the bit to get some field time in.
She shot a hard look that forced Crane’s gaze back to the computer’s display. Grabbing her cell phone, she pushed gingerly out of her chair.
“Back in a few,” she told him. “Don’t run back to Bozeman while I’m gone.”
Leaving the office, she entered the stairwell. She leaned over the rail and listened as she looked down, then up, to make sure there was no foot traffic. Satisfied she had relative privacy for making a call, she hit the contact number for Moske.
He picked up on the fifth ring.
“Was just about to call,” he drawled.
Moving over to the windowsill, Ashley tossed a small notepad down and pulled out a pen.
“What’s the deal?”
“The park can spare a ranger and a horse.”
“A horse?” she growled. “You’re not sending any officers?”
“If I wasn’t trying to balance resources I don’t have,” Moske growled back, “you’d have been out there yesterday. You work with what you got.”
“Fine, what ranger?”
“Howard Gould,” Moske answered before reading off the man’s callback number.
She wrote it down, angrily u
nderlining that she could only expect one ranger and one horse.
“Listen,” he barked. “You handle this within the park. Stay off private land.”
“I have permission to—”
“Not from me, you don’t.”
The words rumbled in her ear, a snarl twisting each one. She could almost imagine Moske foaming at the mouth. From the start, he had taken a hard stance with her. Ashley still hadn’t determined the cause. She figured the two likeliest reasons were her getting a job he hoped would go to someone else or he liked his agents to have the same “equipment” he had. Option number three was her weight, although the man didn’t have any room to talk and she was certain she could bench press more than Moske could at any time in his life.
“Fine,” she repeated. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. If you don’t find something today, you drop it. We don’t have enough agents for you to be out on a snipe hunt. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Ashley waited for him to hang up first. She placed the phone next to the notepad so she wouldn’t throw it. Her hand immediately curled into a fist. She eyed the window, then the brick wall. Shaking her head, she reared her left leg back—and froze.
“Okay, okay…kicking the wall would make you a Class A idiot, Callahan.”
She eased down onto the stairs and dropped her head between her knees. Whatever the hell was up with Moske, she wouldn’t be any good to the agency if her temper resulted in a re-fractured leg.
Still sitting, she reached up and pulled her phone and notepad from the windowsill. She dialed Gould and asked him if he could find a second horse because she would be bringing an intern.
“I know you’re strapped for personnel…”
“Not really,” the man responded. “Moske said you only needed one.”
Ashley’s jaw dropped. She had asked him for service agents and enough rangers to bring in the packs spotted with Sutton’s drone.
“You know, I could use more, but Phil is probably trying to save up good will,” she said.
The ranger laughed. “Can’t say I’d ever think that about him. Let’s say I tack on two forestry interns—my call and for the purpose of getting them training on this sort of thing. That leaves nothing Moske can gripe about.”
“That would be great. We should be there in about two hours if that works. I was told we need to approach the location from within the park.”
“Yeah, that’s our head ranger talking. Would be a lot faster if we used the access road on Lindy Turk’s property.”
Ashley’s brows lifted. No one in Walker’s family had talked about the land as if it belonged to them. From what little Walker had said, she thought he only had access to cut the trees.
“Maybe your boss is trying to save up good will,” she offered, covering the brief silence with a laugh.
“Not necessary with the Turks. They take their stewardship of the land seriously. Same for Lindy’s folks. That’s where the land bordering that part of the park comes from.”
“We’ll make do,” Ashley said, finishing up the conversation. “See you in two with the extra bodies and horses.”
Returning to her contacts list, she dialed Thomas and told him to be ready to go in ten minutes. Hanging up, she shot off a quick text message to Walker, letting him know she’d be out his way in a couple of hours, but that Moske was making her do things the hard way. No civilians and nothing but park access.
Hope to see you this weekend.
Reading his quick reply, Ashley smiled, the pain in her leg a lot more bearable with Walker on her mind.
* * *
Nothing, absolutely nothing!
Ashley rode her horse over the section she had just traveled. The GPS coordinates read the same as those captured by Sutton’s drone. She, Gould, Thomas, and the two forestry interns had worked a grid that accounted for any possible variations between their GPS readings and the drone’s.
Hearing the rumble of two ATVs on the hill, Ashley shored up her grip on the reins and coaxed the horse into leaving the tree line. Looking to her left, she saw Thomas and one of the park’s interns exit the woods. To her right, Gould and the second intern were out of sight.
She turned her attention back to the ridge as Walker and Sutton came into view. Using her radio, she checked in with Gould.
Stopping his ATV in front of the park border sign, Walker jumped off. Ashley rode forward, dismounted and used the sign to tether the horse.
Staying on the other four-wheeler, Sutton pulled out a set of binoculars and scanned the terrain. He interrupted the survey a couple of times to look at his phone, swiping through pictures he had downloaded from the drone’s original flight.
“There,” he pointed toward a pine that stood a good twenty feet higher than any of the surrounding trees. “The gap is there.”
Twenty feet to the south of where Sutton pointed, Gould emerged from the trees, his intern in tow and scowling.
Kaylee, the other intern, sidled up on her horse and snickered. “Dave is still working on his navigation badge.”
“Easy enough to get lost in there,” Sutton said, stowing the binoculars. “I know I have.”
Kaylee shrugged, but her gaze lingered on the former soldier. He still wore a military cut and his shirt was all starched lines and smooth planes despite riding the ATV.
Restarting the machine, he drove along the park border. Ashley remounted her horse and followed, Walker overtaking her on his ATV and Kaylee and Thomas bringing up the rear.
Reaching the Turks and Gould, Ashley found that the men had already hashed out an agreement to help. Sutton would be allowed to ride his ATV “gently” through the trees. Walker could go in on foot or double up on one of the horses.
“I’ll walk,” he said with a nod at the dense woods. “Not a one of you is getting through that faster on four legs than I will on two.”
Except for the clearing, he was right. And at times he was faster than the riders having to carefully guide their horses around underbrush, gnarled roots and other hazards.
About ten feet past the clearing, Sutton stopped and got off his ATV. Taking his phone out, he took a picture then walked a few more trees ahead and snapped another photo.
“You didn’t miss seeing the packs,” he said when everyone caught up. “You missed seeing their absence.”
“What?” Kaylee asked, dismounting. “I’ve seen their absence all over the place.”
Offering Ashley a hand in getting down from the mare she was riding, Walker snorted.
“Don’t wait for everyone to not see what you’re not seeing, Sutty. Just show us.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Sutton shook his head.
“Independent verification provides better validation.”
“I’m game,” Ashley said, walking over to the area where he had taken the first photo. She looked at the trunk, ran her hands over the bark, looked at the lowest tree limbs.
“Here,” she said. “The bark has been worn down from the rope.”
With her finger pointed, she traced a line around the tree and up over a branch.
“Same on this one,” Thomas said, standing by Sutton.
“So the packs were here, but we’ve got no idea what was in them, who placed them, and who took them back out.” Gould pulled his cap off and wiped some sweat from his brow. “That about right?”
Chewing at the inside of her cheek, Ashley nodded. “We also don’t know why they picked between sometime today and two nights ago to retrieve the packs.”
Gould crossed his arms, his stance mirroring Sutton’s. A tic flared at the corner of his jaw.
“Could be coincidence,” Thomas offered. “Or the activity with the drone was noticed the last time you were out and spooked whoever stored the packs here.”
Stroking the mare’s neck, Walker looked at Ashley and frowned.
“Whatever the reason,” he said, “you’ve got nothing to take back to Moske.”
She nodded. Walker w
as right.
The investigation, for now, was finished.
Chapter Ten
Sitting in her office on Saturday evening, left leg propped up on two of Deacon’s boxes, Ashley sorted through the retired agent’s files. She only loosely thought of them as “files.” The man had been a packrat. He had notes written down on fast food bags and the paper placemats filled with advertising that smaller diners used. The scuttlebutt recorded didn’t always have geographical notations. She figured the location likely coordinated to the area around the relevant diner or burger joint, so she made piles for each establishment.
Deacon’s wife, still distressed by the heavy toll of the job on her husband, had told Ashley to burn everything for all she cared. Moske had told her to shred it—that any useful information would already be in the official files since Deacon had no open cases or trials at the time of his stroke.
She couldn’t bring herself to do either. Deacon couldn’t talk for himself yet. He might never be able to talk for himself again. But she would hold onto all of it until Moske forced her to take action. In the meantime, what wasn’t a lead last year might be worth something this year, especially where Willow Gap was concerned.
Placed atop a stack of McDonald’s bags, her phone vibrated, its unsteady support threatening to dump it onto the floor. She snatched the phone up and answered without looking at the caller.
“Agent Callahan.”
Walker’s voice came through smooth and mellow. “Hello, Agent Callahan.”
“Oh, hey…” she fumbled with the phone, accidentally scattering the bags. “Sorry if I gave you the brush off yesterday.”
She must have picked up her cell a dozen or more times in the six hours she’d been in the office, all with the intent to call Walker Turk. She just didn’t know what to say after the curt text replies she’d sent on her way back to Billings the night before.
“If?” he teased before immediately offering her an exculpation. “You had a lot to think about with the packs gone and the timing of their disappearance.”
“Yeah.” She growled at how convenient the timing was. Sure, it could be coincidence or their Wednesday scouting trip with the drone could have spooked the people who placed the packs. But she couldn’t get it out of her head how Moske had delayed her a day and given her next to no resources to check things out.
