Walker Pierce

by Christa Wick

  His smile beamed down on Ashley, making her feel at that moment like the most beautiful woman in the world.

  The sensation faded when everyone moved into the formal dining room half an hour later. As the gently lobbed questions piled up, she felt like a stranger arrived in a strange new land.

  Ashley glossed over the basics. Only child, her mother Phyllis a career-focused city planner, her father Greg a ranger.

  “That’s a real case of opposites attract,” Emerson observed, his gaze shifting from Ashley to Walker then back to Ashley.

  “Well, both were dedicated professionals.” She smiled as she said it, but her cheeks hurt from forcing the expression. With both parents working long hours that spilled into the evenings and weekend, Ashley had been on her own a lot.

  “Does our large family seem weird?” Siobhan asked. “You being an only child and all.”

  Ashley shrugged. “My parents were so clearly ‘one and done’ that I never thought about siblings. My mother was always ranting about carbon footprints and urban population explosions. She had binders full of graphs on poverty rates, downward trending high school graduation numbers, crime statistics.”

  Frowning, Ashley dropped her gaze to the plate of food in front of her.

  “I guess that’s why I sort of followed in my father’s footsteps—at least the nature part of it. As a ranger, he had all those moments of absolute solitude in his work.”

  “Kismet,” Siobhan smiled, her sparkling gaze landing to the right of Ashley. “We’re always trying to get Walker to climb down from his trees.”

  * * *

  Walker turned the key in the ignition. “I should stop for gas before taking you back to Billings.”

  Drowsy from too much good food, Ashley nodded.

  “I hope that wasn’t Turk overload in there.”

  She shook her head. “Everyone is so lovely.”

  He cocked a brow. “Even Siobhan?”

  Ashley grinned. “She’s like a puppy.”

  “That hasn’t been house trained,” he added, shifting the truck into drive and pulling away from his mother’s home.

  Once they were off the ranch, his shoulders relaxed. Ashley didn’t realize there had been any tension in them until she saw it melt away. Reaching over, she rested her hand on the closest of those strong shoulders. She stroked a finger along the line of his jaw, her body beginning to thrum when she noticed his eyelids growing visibly heavy.

  “Not safe, Ash,” he warned, the corner of his mouth curling in a lazy smile.

  Taking one hand off the wheel, he wrapped it around her knee, his middle finger stroking once along the inside of the leg before he pulled his hand away and sighed.

  “Not safe at all.”

  She slid her leg out of reach.

  “Your truck, your rules,” she joked, remembering that first day of getting a ride from him.

  Walker slowed down and made the turn toward Willow Gap. She studied his face as he drove. He was still relaxed, his mood easy. Her own mood was a close mirror. The only thing troubling her was the issue of just how traditional a man Walker Turk was.

  He definitely wasn’t so traditional that he shrank from the chance at a really hot kiss and a snuggle. But that had transpired in his brother’s office and again when they had to leave for his mother’s. Walker had ready escape routes both times.

  So what about when they reached her place? Should she invite him in, or maybe sort of invite him in by signaling he wouldn’t be turned away if he asked to stay?

  Passing the city limits sign for Willow Gap, it struck Ashley how much in the middle of nowhere they were. Nearing seven on a Sunday, only two businesses were open—the gas station and, beyond that, a diner. Even in the middle of a typical weekday, there weren’t that many stores. Most of them catered to the work-related needs of the surrounding ranches. As Siobhan had joked before the trip on the ATVs, the businesses were filled with more tools than tampons.

  Walker pulled to a stop alongside a gas pump.

  “Twin tanks,” he said. “This will take a few minutes. Need anything from inside?”

  She shook her head, smiling when he got out and she had a chance to study the backside of his jeans without him knowing.

  He closed the door. Her mouth pushed into a pout for all of two seconds before she turned to stare out the front windshield. The gas station was close enough to the restaurant that she could read its sign.

  Marla’s Cafe

  The name tickled a few brain cells. She knew it wasn’t from driving past the place. As small as Willow Gap was, she hadn’t driven through this part of town.

  Opening her clutch, she pulled out her phone and hit the search bar. The only result was a document in her notepad app titled “Identify.”

  She opened the document and, five lines down, saw the restaurant’s name. The lines above and below were more food joints. This was one of Deacon’s stops where he had written on the back of a cheap paper placemat filled with advertisements.

  By the time Walker finished pumping gas and climbed behind the wheel, Ashley couldn’t stop bouncing in her seat.

  “You didn’t sneak into the store and eat a bunch of candy while I had my back turned, did you? Maybe a dozen Red Bulls?”

  She shook her head, her grin too big to try to talk around.

  “Marla’s Cafe,” she said after a few more seconds.

  Walker cocked a brow, his amusement turning to confusion.

  “Deacon made notes,” she explained. “On takeout bags and the like. I figure the notes on the bag relate to the area where the restaurant is at.”

  “Wouldn’t he have put all those notes into a computer or something.”

  “Not the gossip,” she answered. “If you put everything you hear into an investigation file, it becomes part of the case file and the prosecution could be left unable to prove something beyond a so-called ‘reasonable doubt’ because of something a cataract-riddled witness thought she saw on a day that might have been the day you were asking about.”

  “So you’ve got notes on one of Marla’s bags.”

  “Placemats, to be specific, but, yeah, I do. They were some of the last notes Deacon put down before his stroke.”

  “And what do they say?”

  Ashley’s smile cracked all the way open.

  “That my investigation at Lewis & Clark is far from over.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Setting out for Sunday dinner, Ashley had hoped her evening would end with Walker in her bed. She just hadn’t pictured being fully clothed with placemats from Marla’s Cafe and several topographical maps between them.

  A glance at the clock on her nightstand revealed it was half past ten.

  “What?” he asked, catching the flush of her cheeks.

  “Just feeling guilty that I’m keeping you late.”

  She allowed only part of the truth out. She excluded how her guilt was rooted in the delay in his departing being work-related. She also had a flash of relief that Walker lived alone. As much as she wanted to get under the sheets with him, she didn’t want anyone thinking she had. They’d known each other a grand total of seven days!

  “One blush, maybe,” he said, reaching out to stroke just under her chin, the caress forcing an involuntary tilt of her face upward as her eyes drifted shut. “But, that second blush…”

  A moment of silence passed and then he laughed.

  “And now there’s a third blush.”

  Snorting, Ashley pulled away and pointed at one of the colored book flags she had used to mark a location on the map. The spot was a one-acre site with a house and outbuildings on it. The parcel carved into the family timberland Walker was working.

  “You know who owns this?”

  Walker frowned. “The bank. Was repossessed last year.”

  “So it’s vacant?”

  He nodded then slid the map toward the foot of the bed. “You really want to know or were you deflecting my question?”

  She hu
ffed, looking away as he inched closer.

  “I was thinking it was a good thing you live alone and don’t have to sneak into your mother’s house. There might be the impression of all sorts of malfeasance.”

  “Malfeasance, huh?”

  The warm amusement in his tone settled around her like a favorite blanket. Then his lips touched lightly against her bare shoulder and wildfire raced through her belly.

  As the heat gently receded, she realized she didn’t want Walker in her bed—at least not yet.

  “Well,” she exhaled. “Having lived in California the past few years, some people might think I’m…very…liberal in some…”

  Turning to him, cheeks burning, Ashley cocked both brows in a silent plea for him to fill in the blanks.

  Averting his gaze, Walker captured a lock of her hair and brought it up to his face.

  “No worries, Ash.”

  She desperately wanted to know what he meant. But she couldn’t ask, just offered a silent prayer that he was the kind of guy to wait and not go looking for the next willing female.

  She really felt like there could be something special between them.

  Releasing his hold on her hair, he pulled the map between them once more.

  “I can see why you’d be interested in the Webber place. If anything was being staged outside of the park, that would be a perfect location. I could do a walk around, say I’m interested in buying it.”

  She shook her head. “Officially, that’s not something I can ask someone to do.”

  “Officially?” he echoed.

  “Yeah. Any evidence would probably get tossed out of court for an illegal search.”

  His slow nod of acceptance didn’t feel like acceptance at all.

  “I’m not unofficially asking you either,” she said, curling her palm against his arm.

  “Noted.” Bringing Ashley’s hand to his lips, he kissed it. “Anything I can actually do?”

  She looked at the maps and the placemats. They had added to Deacon’s notes with a red pen. The retired agent used a lot of abbreviations. Some were familiar work abbreviations, others were easy to guess the most likely meaning—like HLC for the Helena-Lewis & Clark National Forest, or “Lewis & Clark” as the locals on the Willow Gap side of the park still called it after the merger. Other abbreviations might be the initials of names, some of the initials terribly common. Walker had helped her narrow down those abbreviations to the people Deacon might have had regular contact with.

  Turning her gaze back to Walker, Ashley shook her head. “It would have taken me weeks to get this far, with more blanks than anything.”

  “So, you going to run this past Moske?”

  “No, no and no,” she answered, a bitter edge to her voice. Snatching up the placemats, she tidied them into a straight-edged pile then reached for a map. “Tomorrow, I’ll call a couple of the names, pray that they’ll talk to me and see if I’m on the right track. At least Deacon put dates on everything.”

  Grabbing the second map, Walker carefully rolled it up and put a band around it, same as the one Ashley had just rolled.

  “So, no idea when you’ll be back my way?” Pausing, he offered a pointed glance at her leg. “Or when I’ll be welcome to come back your way.”

  Welcome to come back? She didn’t want him to leave. She also no longer wanted the likely consequences of him staying the night. She’d experienced a couple of unintentional one-night stands. Her love life might not survive adding Walker Turk to that list.

  “If I make it out to Lewis & Clark this week,” she answered. “I’ll have Thomas in tow.”

  Walker ran the back of a finger along her arm from shoulder to elbow, the caress producing a tickle in her belly.

  “So Saturday?” he asked. “There are probably a few places left in Billings that you haven’t seen.”

  Frowning, she lifted her left leg. The flare-up from the old injury had the worst timing, both professionally and personally.

  Boots still off, Walker stretched out on her bed. Rolling onto his side, he took her hand and laced his fingers through Ashley’s, his heavy head lightly resting against her shoulder.

  “So I pack a picnic lunch that we enjoy indoors. I can bring some of Leah’s coloring books and art pencils. You won’t have to leave the bed except to let me in. And you can stay in your pajamas.”

  Ashley rolled onto her side, her free hand curling against his neck as she stared into the green eyes. A Saturday in bed with Walker, coloring books or not, sounded perfect.

  She wanted to kiss him but knew where that would lead. Her body skirmished with her brain, small battles playing out. Lips tingled and ached from the kiss denied. Her right thigh twitched with the need to drape itself across his hip. Lungs threatened not to breathe until she pressed her chest tightly against his.

  “How’s that sound?” he asked, gaze boring into her through the long silence.

  Sliding upward, she risked a short kiss against his forehead before she slid back down and answered.

  “Sounds like a date.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Working from the list of potential names Walker compiled, Ashley had her intern track down contact numbers while she made the actual calls. Then she set Thomas to work determining from which cities within their enforcement zone the other bags and placemats originated.

  “Another hang up,” she sighed, returning the phone to its cradle then pushing her coffee cup toward Thomas with a guilty smile.

  “You’re lucky I like quest games,” he groused, grabbing the cup and heading for the break room.

  Looking at the three numbers she had left to call, Ashley strummed her fingers on the desk’s surface. None of the other names had panned out. She didn’t hold much hope for the few remaining ones. The next step would be to search records for all people within Deacon’s—and now her—enforcement zone with those initials, not just the ones Walker figured Deacon would have crossed paths with.

  Even cross-indexing the names with police records, she would wind up with a long list of future hang ups and know-nothings, with a large serving of obscenities ladled in.

  Sighing, she dialed the next number and got an out-of-service recording.

  Thomas popped just his head into the room. “Be a few minutes, had to brew a new pot. Gonna hit the head.”

  “Wash your hands before you pour my coffee,” she joked, dialing the next number.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” she started.

  “If you’re a bill collector,” the woman interrupted. “I ain’t got no money.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m—”

  “I ain’t got no money! Get lost!”

  The call went dead. Ashley glared at the re-dial button a few seconds then made a note next to the number.

  Doesn’t let me identify. Get address for in-person visit?

  Punching in the next number, she held her breath. A woman answered. Ashley identified herself as Agent Callahan, the replacement for Agent Deacon.

  “I expect you’re trying to reach daddy,” the woman said, her voice clicking over to a tired monotone. “Frank Messeger? He and Deacon would visit whenever Joe came through.”

  Ashley did a silent dance in her chair. Despite the sudden change in tone, this was the first mostly friendly voice to acknowledge any contact with Joe Deacon. And it was the only name left on the list.

  “Yes,” Ashley answered. “Is he available?”

  “Depends on your definition of available,” the woman said. “I do hope you can keep this in confidence, but my father has been on dementia medication for a couple of years. He has suffered a rapid decline in the last few months.”

  “Oh…” Ashley fumbled around for the right thing to say. “I’m so sorry…I, uh…”

  “If you want me to ask him something, I can try,” the woman continued. “He doesn’t deal well with new people, so I would really prefer you not come by.”

  “I understand,” Ashley answered, pulling out the placemat with Frank Me
sseger’s initials on it. “I think my inquiries would be too vague in your father’s present condition.”

  “Even if they were clear as glass, his answers might have you chasing ghosts,” the woman added.

  I already am, Ashley thought.

  “True,” she answered. “Thank you. I won’t take up any more of your time and I’m sorry to hear about your father’s decline.”

  “You’re welcome, Agent Callahan. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye,” Ashley echoed.

  Grabbing her notebook, she recorded the basics of the call and the information from the placemat then fed the placemat into the shredder.

  Muttering, Ashley reached for her pencil. She needed another line of leads. Or she needed to connect the leads she had into something that generated insight and put her on the right path.

  Turning to the next blank page in her notebook, Ashley made a grid of events, from the skinned fox to the packs tied to the trees before subsequently removed to the four incidents of vandalism. Then she looked for where she could draw connecting lines.

  The fox didn’t directly connect to anything. She had read a morning briefing from a park in another state about potential fox farms, the cages filled by poachers for a massive, and completely illegal, hunt in which every participant was all but guaranteed several kills. Often, the only way for the hunt organizers to come up with enough animals was to slip onto protected land and trap them.

  The briefing had been reason enough to check on the fox population at the parks within her enforcement zone. This time of year, finding an empty den wasn’t suspicious on its own. But finding a freshly skinned carcass so close to the den was ominous.

  Still, the downed trees and closed roads only cut off one route of access to the fox den and didn’t require the other two sites being vandalized. The missing supply packs they had observed with the drone, however, connected to the sabotage against Walker’s company based on their location.

  Thomas returned with the coffee. He placed the cup down then turned Ashley’s notebook around so he could read it.