by Christa Wick
Finished securing the hauler’s tie downs, Royce Hammond jumped into the front passenger seat. Staring at Walker had erased the stable manager’s presence in my mind. Memory refreshed, I jerked, my legs and torso protectively moving toward one another. The pain was instant, but more like someone sticking sewing needles into the injured leg than the hot slice of a butcher’s knife that had made me collapse into Walker’s arms at the ranch house.
I drew a silent breath and waited until I could talk without groaning or wincing in discomfort.
Breathe in, breathe out, smile...
I threaded my hand between the two front seats.
“Thank you for the assist today.”
Taking a moment to stifle a yawn, Royce nodded then shook my hand.
“Don’t get much use out of the hauler this time of year,” he answered. “Good to stay in practice.”
“You know,” I chuckled. “Every local I run into in Montana makes it sound like I’m doing them a favor when they are the ones helping me.”
Looking over his shoulder, Royce cracked a smile.
“I guess I never thought about it that way. Just how people do things around Willow Gap.”
Catching Walker’s approach from the corner of my eye, I opened my door then carefully swiveled to get my left leg out over the big truck’s rail step. Getting into the cab had been murder, but, no matter how good a kisser Walker Turk was, I wasn’t about to be lifted up into the truck in front of two FBI agents, one local sheriff and a deputy trainee.
Standing straight, he held his arm out as a brace. I gripped it, my other hand holding onto the frame of the door, and put my left foot down first.
A ragged puff of air escaped me, but I didn’t cry out or start to fold to the ground. Hopefully, by morning, I would be back to nothing worse than a limp.
Walker waited until I stepped to the side of the truck before he reached in and grabbed my bags.
“Back in a few minutes,” he told Royce.
I had already invited both men into the apartment before we hit the road for the return drive, but Royce had passed up the offer after a glance at his watch.
While good manners had dictated that I extend the offer, I was glad Royce had declined. I wanted a few minutes alone with Walker.
I unlocked the apartment door and entered, turning the lights on with a quick flip of the switch. Without checking to see if he’d followed me in, I made straight for the freezer and a large bag of frozen peas.
Walker chuckled. “Daddy always said they were cheaper than ice packs.”
“They stay cold about as long, too,” I replied.
He wiggled his shoulders, my laptop bag and field case swinging lightly.
“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, I chewed at the inside of my cheek.
Putting the bags down, his gaze moved around the empty space. “How long have you lived here?”
“Two months.”
My answer was as spare as the surroundings. I had arrived in Montana on a Thursday, secured the apartment on a Friday and bought the recliner that Saturday. I slept on it for the first few weeks until I found a decent mattress that didn’t instantly result in sticker shock. All of my clothes were either hanging from a rod or on the shelves built into one side of my closet. There was no television, no table. Books filled half my kitchen cupboards. Pushed under the overhang of the breakfast counter, a single stool served me when I ate and when I worked on my laptop.
“Spartan,” he chuckled. “Did you bring all this from California?”
I answered with an eye roll and a shake of my head. I had purchased everything in my last apartment at thrift stores. Paying for a gas guzzling rental truck would have exceeded the value of those furnishings. I had brought my books and clothing. Nothing else.
“Well,” he teased, “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
I couldn’t bring myself to match his smile. I could afford a couch, but I didn’t expect to have anyone over. I was the resident special agent in charge for the office. In Billings, that meant I was the only agent. My 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 I 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 office 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 me at the counter. “Sorta looks like you’re just passing through.”
I shook my 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.
I wanted to bite that lip while I knotted my fingers in his hair.
“Something like that,” I groaned as he brushed his thumb along the line of my jaw.
“Royce is probably getting antsy,” he said, both of his hands moving behind my head.
I felt the long, slow draw of a bobby pin from my 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 me, I shook the braid loose and removed the top band. Walker took over, running his fingers through my hair as he stepped in close. He pressed a handful to his face and breathed deeply. His hand moved to the side of my throat, his fingers lightly splayed so that he touched me from earlobe to collarbone, his thumb restlessly caressing up and down.
“How’s the leg?”
“Much better,” I answered.
A reluctant smile ghosted his face.
“Liar,” he softly accused, his lips pressing a kiss at the corner of my mouth.
I expected him to pull away, but his other hand dropped to rest just above the top curve of my ass, his touch warming the small of my back. His teeth fastened on my bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth.
Turning into jelly, I leaned into Walker’s hard body. I gripped one strong shoulder, my other hand wrapping around his lean hip to secure him to me. His tongue slid into my mouth to curl and stroke between my top lip and teeth.
My clit danced with each sensuous lick until my entire body began to shake.
Walker parted from me 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,” I answered, disappointment subduing my 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.”
My shoulders bounced. “I’ll cross that gully when I reach it.”
Walker dropped his chin as he looked at me, 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.”
I shook my 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. I wouldn’t take a civilian into that situation.
“Okay.�
�� His jaw relaxed. Lightly pinching my chin, he leaned close once more. “So when might I see you again?”
I glanced at the door, surprised at how much I 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 mine. “I meant, when might I see you alone again.”
All my weight centered on my right leg, I began to sway. My eyes slipped shut. I pushed into him, hands surfing upward to rest against his chest.
“Weekend maybe,” I whispered. “You have plans?”
“If I did,” he answered, moving in for a long goodbye kiss. “I’d break them.”
9
Ashley
Punching keys on my laptop, I tried to keep my gaze off the desk phone. Across from me, Thomas Crane, the intern I had roped in, worked on topographical maps for the Helena-Lewis & Clark National Park. The task was little better than make-work while we waited for Moske to give the go ahead.
“Do you think we’ll have another day’s delay?” Crane asked.
Back teeth clenched together, I shook my 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.
I shot a hard look that forced Crane’s gaze back to the computer’s display. Grabbing my cell phone, I pushed gingerly out of my chair.
“Back in a few,” I told him. “Don’t run off to Bozeman while I’m gone.”
Leaving the office, I entered the stairwell. I leaned over the rail and listened as I looked down, then up, to make sure there was no foot traffic. Satisfied I had relative privacy for making a call, I 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, I 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?” I 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.
I wrote it down, angrily underlining that I 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 my ear, a snarl twisting each one. I could almost imagine Moske foaming at the mouth. From the start, he had taken a hard stance with me. I still hadn’t determined the cause. I figured the two likeliest reasons were my 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 my weight, although the man didn’t have any room to talk and I was certain I could bench press more than Moske could at any time in his life.
“Fine,” I 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.”
I waited for him to hang up first. I placed the phone next to the notepad so I wouldn’t throw it. My hand immediately curled into a fist. I eyed the window, then the brick wall. Shaking my head, I reared my left leg back—and froze.
“Okay, okay…kicking the wall would make you a Class A idiot, Callahan.”
I eased down onto the stairs and dropped my head between my knees. Whatever the hell was up with Moske, I wouldn’t be any good to the agency if my temper resulted in a re-fractured leg.
Still sitting, I reached up and pulled my phone and notepad from the windowsill. I dialed Gould and asked him if he could find a second horse because I would be bringing an intern.
“I know you’re strapped for personnel…”
“Not really,” the man responded. “Moske said you only needed one.”
My jaw dropped. I 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,” I 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.”
My 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, I thought he only had access to cut the trees.
“Maybe your boss is trying to save up good will,” I 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,” I said, finishing up the conversation. “See you in two with the extra bodies and horses.”
Returning to my contacts list, I dialed Thomas and told him to be ready to go in ten minutes. Hanging up, I shot off a quick text message to Walker, letting him know I would be out his way in a couple of hours, but that Moske was making me do things the hard way. No civilians and nothing but park access.
Less than a minute after I hit send, my phone signaled a new text.
Hope to see you this weekend.
Reading his quick reply, I smiled, the pain in my leg a lot more bearable with Walker on my mind.
Nothing, absolutely nothing!
I rode my borrowed horse back over the section I had just traveled. The GPS coordinates read the same as those captured by Sutton’s drone. I, Gould, Thomas, and the two forestry interns had worked a grid that accounted for any possible variations between our GPS readings and the drone’s.
Hearing the rumble of two ATVs on the hill, I shored up my grip on the reins and coaxed the horse into leaving the tree line. Looking to my left, I saw Thomas and one of the park’s interns exit the woods. To my right, Gould and the second intern were out of sight.
I turned my attention back to the ridge as Walker and Sutton came into view. Using my radio, I checked in with Gould.
Stopping his ATV in front of the park border sign, Walker jumped off. I 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’d 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. I remounted my horse and followed, Walker overtaking me on his ATV and Kaylee and Thomas bringing up the re
ar.
Reaching the Turks and Gould, I 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 rest of us as we carefully guided the 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 me a hand in getting down from the mare I 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,” I said, walking over to the area where Sutton had taken the first photo. I looked at the trunk, ran my hands over the bark, looked at the lowest tree limbs.
“Here,” I said. “The bark has been worn down from the rope.”
With my finger pointed, I 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 my cheek, I 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.