He gave her a pained look. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, all right. The stereotype thing. Too bad.”
He swallowed as the fry disappeared into her mouth. He cleared his throat and shrugged. “It’s my family’s clan name. I like that it’s only used by those who respect the traditions behind it.”
Their attention was momentarily distracted by a short burst of activity at the cash register when Lori dropped a large take-out order on the floor. The two customers who had been waiting for it looked none too pleased. The waitress retrieved the cartons and quickly packed them in a bag, red-faced and apologizing profusely.
When the excitement was over, Coop turned back to Maggie, determined to keep her talking. “What about you? Maggie short for something?”
She gave a little smile. “Yep.”
He waited. And waited. “Margaret?” he guessed when it became clear she wasn’t going to spill.
“Nope.”
He hiked a brow. “You’re not going to give it up? After I told you mine?”
She rested her chin in a palm. “I've read that in some cultures people never tell anyone their real name because of the power it contains. If someone finds out what it is, they can use it against you.”
Coop pondered that bit of native lore. He was used to some Anglo women squeezing him for every drop of Native American wisdom and spirituality they could extract, but this was the first time he'd actually been lectured by one on the subject.
What kind of power would he have over Maggie if he knew her real name? Because of police files, for instance... Hadn’t Jack said he’d hit a dead end on her identity? Obviously, she had something to hide.
But he decided to let it drop for now. He didn't want to arouse suspicion by pushing her too far.
“You like reading about other cultures?” he asked instead.
“Sure. I've always been interested in the different ways people live. Myths, rituals, what have you.” She glanced at him. “How about you?”
“Nope,” he lied. He always avoided women who regarded him as an anthropology exhibit. The subject, however, gave him a perfect opening. “You a teacher, or something?”
“No, I work for the Forest Service,” she said, pulling the straw around her glass in a slow circle.
“Yeah? A ranger?”
“Fire prevention. I'm stationed in one of the lookout towers.”
He pretended surprise. “Really? I'm camped right below a tower. Number Eight, I think.”
She stared at him, her hand halting in mid-circuit. “Impossible. That’s my tower.” Her eyes ran lightly over his body. “And I guarantee I'd have noticed you.”
He allowed himself a lazy grin. That once-over wasn't the least bit anthropological. “Just set up my campsite this morning. Down by the lake.”
Her straw whipped around the glass, sabotaging her attempt at sounding unconcerned. “No kidding. Staying long?”
“Oh, a few weeks probably,” he said, idly watching her straw fly across the lunch counter. “I'm a writer. Doing a piece on the fishing up here.” He calmly handed her a new straw from the dispenser in front of them.
She choked a little, and said, “Well, then. I guess we'll be neighbors.” He didn’t miss the flash of consternation in her eyes.
He gave her a slow smile. “I guess we will.” And decided to take ruthless advantage of her enchanting befuddlement. He asked nonchalantly, “Seen any bears around?”
She looked as if she'd been hit by a random meteorite. “B-bears?”
He nodded. And waited. He knew when to shut up and let a suspect hang himself.
Or herself.
“N-no,” she stammered. “Well. None that would bother you, if that's what you're worried about.” Frantically she peeled the paper off her new straw.
He looked at her expectantly.
“A couple of teenagers found three bears yesterday,” she said. “Dead. They'd been killed by poachers.”
He was mildly surprised she’d brought it up so freely. “You saw them?” He kept his voice low and soothing.
She nodded, looking pale. “It was really awful.”
There it was. She’d put herself at the crime scene.
He should feel elated. But it was a bit like watching the Titanic. You already know the ending, but the whole time you can't help hoping, somehow, you'll be wrong.
He pressed his mouth into a thin line.
Damn, he hated this.
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Nine
Maggie looked up at Cooper, startled. Oh, crap. In a rush of panic, she realized she’d just given herself away. The knowing look in his piercing blue eyes confirmed it.
Could he be one of the poachers? Looking to retrieve that battery?
Or was the stress of the last couple of months making her paranoid...?
There was nothing else to do but act like this was a totally normal conversation. Even as her pulse zoomed out of control. God, she sucked at lying.
“I called it in, then went over to take a look.”
“Find anything?” he asked, continuing his quiet inquisition. On his face was an innocent curiosity that didn’t quite reach his predator eyes.
Oh, God. He was asking about the battery. He had to be one of them. Was it Cooper she’d heard coming back to the kill site to retrieve it? Had he seen her? God help her if he had. She suddenly remembered the creepy feeling she'd had, that someone was watching her. Had she been right?
“Find?” she asked, stalling for time to figure out what to say to get out of this.
He just nodded, watching her.
Her heart plummeted. She had gravely misjudged this man. He might be the hunkiest thing she'd seen in years, but she should have known better than to think a man like Blue Wolf Cooper would be interested in her for her own sake. When it came to men, she’d always had shit for luck.
Obviously.
And she had fallen right into this man’s hands, through her own foolishness.
“Nothing but the dead bears,” she answered, praying he hadn’t been there watching her. “I took one look at them and almost threw up. The scumbags who did it must be really hard up for cash. Bear paws can't be worth much on the black market.”
She forced herself to think of the ravaged animals, hoping the horror of that sight would show in her face—not her lie.
And praying he’d believe her.
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Ten
Cooper leaned back and digested the woman’s performance. She was good. He had to give her that. Academy Award good. Her lies sounded perfectly sincere.
But he was pretty damn disappointed she’d told them.
Or... Could it be she honestly didn't know about the enormous sums of money being made by the poachers? If so, she might be swayed to turn against them.
“They weren't only after the paws,” he said, watching her reaction carefully. “They were also after the gall bladders.”
She frowned. “Why on earth would anyone want those?”
“In parts of Asia, ground up bear gall bladders are used in traditional medicine. To cure liver disease and other illnesses.”
“You're kidding me.” She looked genuinely surprised.
Coop shook his head. “Did a story on it once.” He met her eyes, and couldn’t help adding, “Bear parts have many uses over there. For example, as an aphrodisiac.”
She swallowed and quickly looked away. “But if they’re used in Asia, why poach in California?”
“Their bears are as good as extinct. So, they take ours.”
Her frown got bigger and bigger as he described a typical smuggling operation. He actually felt a stab of sympathy for her. She'd been less than forthcoming about who she was, and lied about what she'd found, but she was obviously unaware of the bigger picture—or the kind of money involved.
What was her part in the local operation, that she didn’t know any of this? Whatever it was, judging by her reaction, he was sure she could be turned, given some gentle persuasi
on.
“So, you see,” he said, concluding with a meaningful pause, “millions of dollars are at stake.”
He just needed to gain her trust, so she'd tell him the truth.
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Eleven
Maggie stared at Cooper with wide eyes. Millions of dollars...
If that wasn't a warning, she didn't know what was. People were killed every day over twenty bucks, and here he was talking millions. She supposed she should be grateful he was giving her a warning, instead of arranging a convenient accident.
She raked an unsteady hand over her forehead. “I had no idea.”
Lord, how did she get herself into these situations? She already had one set of bad guys wanting her dead. Now there could be a whole other bunch.
“You feeling okay?” he asked. He reached over and gently touched her elbow. “You don't look so hot.”
Her skin felt branded by his touch—but she wasn't sure if it was from fear or from something else, even more dangerous.
What was wrong with her? The man killed bears for a living, and she was fantasizing about his touch?
She'd lost her grip completely.
She rubbed her arm and made a stab at a smile. “Thinking about those bears upsets me. I hope I'll never see anything like that again.”
“I'm sure you won't.” He put his hand over hers. The words and gesture were undoubtedly meant to be reassuring, but the effect was exactly the opposite. Her fingers jumped, and she had to force herself not to yank her hand away.
Did he mean to make sure she didn’t? As in, permanently?
She rose on rubbery legs. She had to get out of there. Away from him.
“Well,” she said, striving to sound normal, “I guess I'd get back to the tower and look for fires, or something.”
He reached out and caught her arm. “Hold on. You're trembling like a leaf. I'm heading back to camp, anyway. Ride up with me. You're in no shape to drive.”
She shook her head. “No, I'm okay.”
“Clearly not. I'll leave the Indian here and you can bring me back to get it when you're feeling better.”
She extracted her arm from his hand. “Thanks, but there's no need. Honestly,” she said, a bit too brightly. “It was nice meeting you, Cooper. I'm sure I'll see you around.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You can bet on it.”
She hurried out of the Caf, and practically sprinted through the parking lot, just missing being run over by two men in a gray compact. Good grief. Wouldn’t that just be the perfect ending to her fiasco of a life?
She needed to calm down. She decided to leave the Yamaha where it was and walk over to Tommy’s.
Right now she could use a friendly face. She could ask him about the battery. She might find out something interesting—what it was used for, who might have bought one like it. It couldn’t hurt, anyway.
Tommy's Drugs was on Center Street, a two block stretch of highway running through the center of Marigold. The old-fashioned main street was lined with weathered brick and aging wooden structures, bordered by a run-down boardwalk and a string of curlicue street lights like the kind she remembered from her childhood in L.A.. Narrow, wooden-floored specialty stores and eateries crowded the charmingly shabby downtown blocks.
By the time she'd gotten to Tommy's, her heartbeat had slowed to its normal pace, and she had nearly convinced herself she'd imagined the whole nightmare with Cooper. She was just jumping at shadows. She had to be.
From her back pocket, she fished out the paper where she’d carefully sketched the tiny battery and written down the numbers stamped on it, and pushed through the heavy glass door.
The spry old Chinese-American pharmacist stood behind his ancient mahogany counter, refilling ceramic containers of herbal teas. As she walked over to him, her gaze landed on a big rack of batteries hanging on the wall behind him. Bingo. That battery had to come from somewhere—she hoped he’d remember who might have purchased one lately.
Like maybe Blue Wolf Cooper.
“Hi, Maggie!” Tommy called when he spotted her. His sparse, graying Fu Manchu waggled. “How's it going?”
In the two months she’d been coming to the village for supplies, she and Tommy had formed a deep and easy friendship. Just seeing his affable face made her relax.
She smiled, and held up the paper. “I'm in need of a battery, Tommy.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” Grinning, he jerked a thumb at the sizable display.
To her surprise, there were dozens of packages of the same type as she’d found at the kill site. “Geez. What do people use all these for?”
She jumped when a deep voice sounded right behind her. “Watches, mostly. And travel clocks.”
Spinning around, she nearly collided with a tall, rangy man wearing jeans and a blue work shirt that set off his sandy-colored hair and nice tan.
He grabbed her shoulder to keep her from toppling, and smiled broadly. “But I use them on bears,” he said in a distinctly British accent.
She gaped at him. Good lord. Could this be Cooper's poaching partner?
She pulled away and took two steps backward. “Um... Bears?”
Tommy chuckled. “Maggie, this is Dr. Roland Timmons. He studies bears.” Apparently, Tommy took the dumbfounded look on her face for something hormonal, and grinned. “Rollo, this is Maggie Johansen. She looks for forest fires.”
She frowned with faint suspicion as she shook his hand. “I didn't realize bears ran on batteries.”
Rollo chuckled. “Only when they’re out of blackberries.”
Tommy laughed. “Rollo's been studying black bears around here for years.” He took the stack of batteries Rollo handed him and headed for the cash register to ring them up. They were the same kind as she’d found at the kill site.
“Wow. That’s a ton of batteries you’re buying,” she said with a smile to cover her sudden nerves.
Rollo gave her a wink. “I'm in charge of the ongoing U. C. Davis bear project. The batteries go into the electronic ear tags we use to track them.”
Electronic ear tags. She recalled seeing something like that on Nat Geo. “Sounds interesting,” she said.
“I'd love to show you.” He gave her a shamelessly flirtatious smile. “Our base camp is at Thompson Peak, right off the access road. Come by anytime.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’d like that.”
Could a legitimate scientist be involved in poaching? Given the right motive, why not? And big money was a hell of a motive.
After he’d gone, Tommy came over to where she was perusing his rack of romance novels.
“You got a burning interest in bears all of a sudden?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
She forced a casual grin. “Could happen. Know anything about that Rollo guy?”
“Nice fella,” Tommy said. “Comes in every once in a while. Has a steady stream of visitors out to the camp.”
“Really? I'm surprised bear research arouses much outside interest.”
He gave her a knowing look. “I'm not sure it's the research they're aroused by. They're mostly of the young, female, co-ed persuasion.”
“Ah. Well, he is attractive.” Classic features and a well-assembled body, for sure. His character? At this point, questionable.
Tommy shrugged. “I’m surprised you haven't run into him over at Gina’s.”
Gina’s was the local watering hole. The lookouts and the guys from the firefighter battalion were regulars over at the rustic bar, including Maggie. Since several of them spent their days alone in the lookout towers, it was nice to get together in the evenings for a few hours, schedules permitting.
“Maybe I have. You know how crowded it is at Gina's.”
Gina and Tommy were also an item.
He laughed. “By the way, did I see you and that ponytail guy riding into town together this morning?”
The old man had sharp eyes.
“Not exactly together. But we did meet. His name is Blue
Wolf Cooper. A sports writer. We had lunch together at the Caf.”
“And?”
She blinked. Her cheeks suddenly felt unaccountably warm. “He has a nice bike.”
Tommy tipped his head and quirked a brow. “Maggie...?”
“Okay, okay. That cowboy's sexy as hell.” She shivered involuntarily. “But he makes me very nervous.”
Tommy looked immediately concerned. “Why? Did he do something—”
“No, no.” She held up her hands. “Nothing like that.” Nothing she could point a finger at without sounding paranoid. Or blowing her cover. “Just...my imagination, I’m sure.”
He snickered. “Yeah, or maybe the shock of being turned on by an actual man in broad daylight. Sounds like love to me.”
“Very funny.” She gave him a withering look. Love. That was the one thing she was absolutely sure it wasn't. “I gotta go,” she said, heading for the door. “See you later, Tommy.”
“Hey, you forgot your battery!”
She smirked, and called over her shoulder, “Maybe I'll just see if Roland has an extra.”
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Twelve
When Maggie went back to the Yamaha, she spotted Cooper sitting on the Indian across the street at Fuller's Fill'er Up and Go. He looked suspiciously like he’d been waiting for her.
She ignored him and climbed on her bike, her nerves humming when he snapped his helmet in place and took off after her, keeping a discrete distance.
Yeah. Real subtle.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled the Yamaha up under Tower Eight in a cloud of dust, and parked next to a battered green truck with U.S.F.S. stenciled in white on the door. Grabbing her coveralls off the back of her bike, she plucked uneasily at them while he parked the Indian.
She should be running up the lookout tower stairs to get away. The man could be a dangerous criminal—a heartless poacher who killed innocent animals for profit. But for some unfathomable reason, her mind didn’t want to believe that. And her woefully misguided body didn't care.
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