Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors

by Sharon Hamilton

  What could that mean?

  He rose and turned away. It meant she’d gotten lucky, that's all. Lucky she didn't get a pair of fangs in her ankle. Nothing more.

  Silently, he tracked her and the man, following a faint but distinct trail of designer cologne. Their pace through the forest was leisurely, and after a few miles he caught sight of them walking side by side and talking. Hmm. The man looked familiar.

  Following noiselessly, Coop kept well back. He wished he could hear their conversation. But at least he’d find out who the guy was and where he was taking her.

  He halted at the edge of the forest when the pair walked into a large camp spread out over a meadow. The place was littered with equipment and several large canvas army surplus tents.

  “It's not the Ritz,” the man said to Maggie, “but we call it home.”

  Coop crept closer.

  Two women sat at a foldout picnic table, eating. “Rollo! Just in time for lunch,” one of them called, hailing them over to the table. “Maggie! What a nice surprise!” She looked familiar, too.

  Maggie shook hands with the first woman and was introduced to the other—Theresa—before sliding onto the bench opposite them. “Sally, I'm so glad I finally got to visit the project,” she said. “Although, I’d probably have chosen different circumstances.”

  The man they’d called Rollo slipped his arm around Maggie's waist and told the others how he'd come across her in the middle of a snake pit. “She was very brave.”

  Coop gritted his teeth when he gave her a squeeze, and took a closer look. Ah, yes. He knew now where he'd seen the bastard before. At Gina's the other night, with the woman Coop had helped with the drunk—the one named Sally, sitting at the table.

  He scowled. That night, he'd gotten the impression Maggie hadn't known her. Perhaps he’d been mistaken.

  And maybe Maggie hadn't been lying about being involved with a man, after all...

  To stem his rising anger, he decided to sneak around to the tent that sat furthest away and take a look inside. Stealthily, he circled around the clearing, and slipped under the tent flap.

  With any luck, he’d find something that would hang the son of a bitch.

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Fifty-Five

  Maggie had listened with amusement while Rollo told the story of her brush with death. He’d spun a good yarn, she had to admit, even if much of it had bordered on hyperbole.

  “What you need,” Sally said to Maggie after he concluded, “is a good stiff drink.” She disappeared into the nearest tent, and emerged holding a bottle of scotch and four glasses. “Normally, we don't indulge this early in the day, but between your snakes and the news David brought earlier—”

  Maggie looked at her questioningly.

  Rollo took the bottle and poured out four generous portions. “David's the fourth member of our team. He ran into Justin Feldman earlier this morning.” Rollo handed her a glass. “You know Justin?” At her nod, he continued. “Well, he told David he'd just found one of our new bears. Butchered by poachers.”

  Maggie's heart fell. “Another one? So soon?”

  Sally nodded. “Justin said probably sometime last night.”

  Maggie took a sip, hardly noticing the burn as she recalled the sight of the bears she’d found. “It's so horrible. I can't believe it.”

  She had never considered the possibility that there would be another kill so soon. Whoever was doing it didn’t seem to be too worried about Fish and Wildlife. They had to know CDFW already sent someone to investigate the first kill. Were they getting inside information?

  She dismissed the uncomfortable notion that someone inside Fish and Wildlife could be working with poachers. Someone like Cooper. Or, it might just be someone familiar with CDFW’s timetable. Someone in law enforcement. Or the Forest Service.

  But she wanted to think the people she knew in all those realms would never harm innocent animals, no matter how lucrative it might be.

  She looked at Rollo. “What did you mean, it's one of yours?”

  “It was one of the bears included in our study,” he said sadly.

  “You mean David recognized it?” she asked, curious.

  Rollo took a large swallow of scotch. “When we tag a new bear, we spray paint a stripe on the back of its neck, so we don’t go after it again before we can sync the tag onto our database. It takes a while for the paint to wear off.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Bloody hell.” He drained the rest of his drink.

  He looked like he could use a change of subject.

  “You mentioned your GPS tags when we met at Tommy's,” Maggie said. “I'd love to see how they work.”

  Sally gave a half-smile. “And I'm sure he'd love to show you.” She raised her glass to him in a salute, then turned to Maggie. “By the way, how is your non-friend? Cooper, I believe his name is?”

  Maggie grimaced. “Out fishing. I hope.”

  Sally gave her a puzzled look. “Okay.” She emptied her glass, and said to Theresa, “Well, how about you and me getting some work done? With all our bears disappearing this summer, we have a ton of data to close out. And we'll have to send another begging letter to our lovely sponsors, too.”

  Theresa blew out a breath. “You're right. Four dead bears in three days is too good to pass up.”

  Sally explained, “Every time a bear dies, we get more money from the dear little old ladies. In a way, these poachers have given the project quite a boon.”

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Fifty-Six

  Coop carefully closed the flap behind him after slipping into the tent pitched farthest from the picnic table where Maggie was talking with the scientists. In the dim light of the open screened window, he could see a bank of card tables set up against one olive-drab canvas wall. The tables were covered with books, notes and photos, a digital recorder and a stack of thumb drives, a laptop, and a couple of walkie-talkies. There were also several storage-type bins. Under the tables sat a few large cardboard boxes of camping equipment, personal belongings, and more books and notes.

  He glanced over to the other side of the tent. There, an inflated queen air mattress was covered by a two-person sleeping bag and several pillows. A small end table held a propane lantern and a few letters. It also held a small box Coop recognized as being of the same type as he had purchased at Tommy's. He closed the distance and picked up the box. This must be the bastard's tent.

  His knife was in his hand before he realized what he was doing. He had to fight the impulse to slice through every one of the foil packets. Forcing himself to put the box back on the night stand, he picked up the letters. They were all addressed to Dr. Roland Timmons. Rollo.

  “Gotcha, asshole,” Coop muttered, dropped the letters, and returned to the other side of the tent.

  Quickly, he leafed through the bins on the tables. From one, he pulled out a small plastic case and popped it open. Inside, lay a thin plastic device the size of an index finger. It folded in half, and where the ends met was a kind of stud which fit together like a tie tack, except, once inserted, the pin could not be withdrawn. Inside the housing, next to a tiny silicone chip, was a place to fit a round battery. In the bin were also several packages of the batteries.

  These were the ear tags Maggie had told him about this morning. And this must be the type of battery she picked up at the previous kill site.

  He weighed the tag in his hand, then put it in his pocket. Quietly, he returned to the tent opening and pulled back one of the flaps a few inches. He couldn't see anyone, but he could hear the two women talking inside one of the nearby tents. Maggie and Timmons were still at the picnic table.

  He went back to his search, and sorted through a stack of photo printouts. They were all of bears, live bears, being tranquilized, measured, and fitted with ear tags. There wasn't a poached bear in the lot. He tossed the photos back on the table, and swiftly went through the contents of the large cardboard boxes under it.

  At the bottom o
f one of them he found a pair of old boots, caked with dried mud. He pulled one out and examined the sole. Hmm. Hard to tell. The pattern was similar to the partial left at the kill site, but without comparing them side by side, he couldn't be sure. He cast around for a way to take a sample print.

  And halted abruptly. Someone was coming. He strained to listen. Maggie and Timmons were coming closer. He went to the flap and pulled it back a fraction. Too late to escape. They had already rounded the corner of the nearest tent and were heading straight for him.

  Damn.

  He scanned the tent for somewhere to hide.

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Coop dove under the row of card tables and scrambled behind one of the large cardboard boxes just as Timmons politely lifted the tent flap for Maggie.

  Coop was already sweating.

  A good hunter was supposed to be able to blend into his surroundings, becoming one with them at will. For the most part Coop did a damn good job. But he hadn't had much practice at becoming one with a cardboard box.

  A string of curses went through his head, mostly centered on his own stupidity. If he hadn't had such an unreasonably negative reaction to seeing Maggie with that damned asshole, he wouldn't be stuck here now.

  Stupid. Stupid and unprofessional. An unforgivable combination.

  He schooled his breathing and held his body perfectly still. Moving only a forefinger, he slowly, carefully, lifted the back flap of the box he was crouched behind so that he was completely hidden from view. And blended in.

  Awesome. Becoming one with a cardboard box.

  He’d hit a new low.

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Fifty-Eight

  “This is where I keep the ear tags,” Rollo told Maggie as she followed him into the tent.

  She wanted to keep him talking...so he didn’t get other ideas. “How do they work?”

  “It's pretty simple.” He walked over to a bin on the table, took out a tag, and handed it to her. “There’s a chip that holds historical data on the individual bear, plus a standard GPS tracking device. Every five minutes it records the bear’s location.”

  “Like in cars.”

  “Exactly.” He pulled out another tag and bounced it in his hand. “Each tag also emits a unique signal, so that we can identify each bear and follow its movements in real time.”

  She looked at the small tag on her palm. “That’s cool.”

  Rollo sidled up close behind her and reached around to point. “This is where the battery goes. They last about four years, then we have to recapture the bear and put a new one in.” He moved around to her side. Just as close. “I'm working on a solar-powered model that should be ready for next season.”

  She had the distinct impression his mind was not on ear tags. “Solar powered? What about hibernation?”

  “Smart girl. Actually, a full charge lasts about a week, and once the bears are in their dens in November, we map them. They don't move much till they hear the first thunder of spring.”

  “First thunder?” Why did that sound vaguely familiar?

  “Old Indian legend.”

  She shot him a look. “Oh.” Stepping away, she asked, “How do you find them, to map?”

  Rollo dropped the tag back into the box. “A small receiver. It can pick up signals in a three to six mile radius, depending.” His gaze traveled down her body as he spoke. “We’ve been talking about experimenting with drones. Since we have all this new funding.”

  “Drones. Interesting.” Doing her best to ignore his eyes on her legs, she moved farther down the table.

  Naturally, he followed. “Gotta love technology.”

  She really had to get out of there. She just had one or two more questions.

  “So,” she asked, “could you track the tag on the bear that was killed last night?”

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Fifty-Nine

  At Maggie’s unexpected question, Cooper caught himself just before he jerked his head up in shock and slammed it into the tabletop above him.

  Fucking hell! A bear was killed last night? Another one?

  And she knew about it. Even before Coop did.

  Anger spilled through him, stinging hot.

  Damn.

  He carefully lowered the box flap a couple of inches and peeked over it. Only Maggie and the asshole’s legs were in view, but that was enough.

  “No. David asked about the tag, but Justin said the bear’s head was taken by the poachers,” Timmons answered her. “The tag was probably destroyed.”

  Coop didn’t know who David was, but one of the Forest Service guys from Gina’s—the guy who thought Coop had called Maggie a bitch—was named Justin. That could explain how she knew about the kill.

  A deadly still crept over Coop as he watched Timmons move in close to her.

  She didn't back away. “What did you mean about having more funding?” she asked. “Is that what Sally was talking about?”

  Timmons stuck his hands in his pockets and turned aside. “She's got quite a little racket going. After the first couple of bears were killed, we felt obligated to inform the project's sponsors—a few rich society ladies who are worried black bears are being wiped out by hunting and poaching. Sally's letter convinced them they were right. They increased our grant considerably.”

  “That’s, um...”

  Cooper scowled. Opportunistic? Conniving? Slimy?

  Timmons went on, “Every time a bear dies, she sends out another letter, and we get more money, and a few more sponsors.” The bastard laughed wryly. “Because of the poaching, we're positively rolling in it.”

  “Unbelievable,” Maggie murmured.

  No fucking kidding.

  Timmons turned back to Maggie, his legs nearly touching hers. “You know, I'm really glad you decided to visit.” His voice was low and seductive. “I never properly thanked you for helping Sally the other night.”

  Coop balled his hands into fists.

  Thankfully, she backed up a step. “It was really Cooper who helped her.” Well. Nice to get credit for something. “Will you be at the barbecue tonight?”

  “Will you?” Timmons closed the gap again. This guy really had his moves down.

  “Wouldn't miss it.”

  “Then, me, neither.” There was a thick pause. “But we've got hours before we have to be there. It's barely past lunchtime.” When Timmons leaned into Maggie for what could only be a kiss, Coop held his breath waiting for a slap—as she’d given him—or even a protest.

  His blood chilled when the only sound he heard was the bastard’s satisfied purr.

  “Rollo...” Maggie murmured, turning Coop's heart to stone.

  “I know, I feel it, too, darling,” the slime whispered into her ear.

  “I really should get back to the tower.” She backed up toward the door.

  “Perhaps you're right,” Rollo said, following her outside. “It's more private there.”

  Coop almost knocked over two folding chairs and a propane lantern crawling out from his hiding place. Clearly, he was no longer one with the cardboard box. The only thing he was one with was the deluge of jealousy flaring through his entire body.

  He went to the tent opening and cracked the flap, seething. How could she be involved with that smarmy, greedy lothario?

  Coop’s infamous instincts had definitely taken a separate vacation this trip. To think he'd had delusions of falling in love with the woman!

  Unconsciously, he wiped the sleeve of his T-shirt over his mouth, and stared stonily after Maggie and Timmons as they walked toward a couple of Jeeps parked at the edge of camp.

  He was about to slip out the door and get out of there, when his gaze fell on a high-powered rifle leaning against a dark corner of the tent. He collected his wits and went over to examine it. It was a Winchester 30.30. He scanned the surrounding floor. A box of ammunition peeked out from under the table. Carefully, he extracted a shell and slid it into his pocket.

  If there was a God, it woul
d be a type match with the one from the previous kill site. Enough for a search warrant and court order to test the rifle’s ballistics.

  And nail the bastard.

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Sixty

  Rollo expected to be asked up, Maggie thought grimly.

  After all, he thinks he's irresistible.

  To be honest, he was amiable and quite attractive. She had no doubt what Tommy had said about him was true—he probably charmed the socks off every co-ed who came his way. Socks, and everything else.

  He didn’t, however, do a thing for her.

  She had not wanted to kiss him when he swooped down on her in the tent. But to avoid a scene she'd allowed him a quick peck. Definitely no fireworks. None of that bone-melting rush of desire she felt when Wolf kissed her. Not even close.

  She whipped off her seat belt and jumped out of the open Jeep before he could turn off the engine. “Thanks, Rollo!” She slammed the door shut. “For rescuing me from those snakes, I mean. And for the tour, too. It was great.”

  He looked momentarily stricken. To his credit, he recovered quickly, and took the rebuff in stride. “My pleasure. Rescuing damsels in distress is a favorite pastime of mine.” When he smiled, his dimples winked.

  She waved. “I'll see you at the barbecue tonight.”

  He shifted the Jeep into reverse with a sigh. “He's a lucky man.”

  “Who is?” she called, her hand faltering in the wave.

  He winked, threw it into first, and eased out the clutch. “The guy you think kisses better than me,” he yelled as the Jeep bounced away over the gravel.

  She stared open-mouthed after him. How the hell had he known that?

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Sixty-One