Under the Agent's Protection

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  The question was, did it have to be him?

  He gave a passing thought to calling his old buddy from the Bureau, Marcus Jones. A private-security outfit might suit Everly’s needs better. But Wyatt knew the real reason he had offered up his house.

  He wanted Everly with him.

  It was extremely simple and monumentally complicated at the same time.

  “I’ll be right back,” said Everly as she opened the door.

  Cold air hit Wyatt in the face, sweeping away the regrets and doubts. He took the keys out of the ignition, shoved them into his pocket and opened his own door. “I’ll come with you.”

  “I’m used to doing things on my own and can handle getting a suitcase by myself,” she said with a smile. “I am a big girl, you know.”

  Wyatt knew all too well that Everly was one-hundred-percent woman. From her long legs, to her fiery tresses, to her full lips, Everly was the complete package. He put aside his attraction and said, “Remember what happened last time?”

  She touched the back of her head, her fingers prodding the place where she’d been hit, no doubt. The smile faded. “You’re right. Thanks.”

  They approached the front of the hotel and he pushed open the doors. The desk clerk looked up from her post.

  “Hi, Darcy,” said Everly. “My plans have changed, and I’ll be checking out. Can I get my bill?”

  “Since you really didn’t use the room there won’t be a charge.”

  “Thanks for everything,” said Everly with a smile.

  “Ms. Baker,” the desk clerk said. “I spoke to the bartender about the night your brother came into the pub. Do you have a moment?”

  Everly sucked in a breath. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her skin the delicate shade of porcelain. “Of course,” she said, still breathless.

  “Well, Johanna, that’s the bartender, said that she overheard your brother arguing with one of the cooks. His name is Larry Walker.”

  An argument that ended up with one party dead was never good. Did Sheriff Haak know? And if so, why didn’t he mention the fight to Everly?

  There was also the very real possibility that Haak hadn’t bothered to ask too many questions. Maybe he knew nothing about Larry Walker.

  Doubt snuck up on Wyatt. Was Haak simply old and tired of doing his job? Had he been sheriff so long that he didn’t care? Or was it worse? Could the sheriff somehow be involved in Axl Baker’s death—and the others in Las Vegas, besides?

  True, Carl Haak didn’t fit the typical age range of a serial killer. Most of killers hunted in their midtwenties to early thirties. But, he was a white male—the hallmark gender and race for most, if not all, serial killers.

  It was an interesting theory that deserved to be explored more. Until then, it was up to Wyatt to find out all he could about Axl’s last day in Pleasant Pines.

  “Do you know what they argued about?” he asked.

  The desk clerk shook her head. “Johanna didn’t overhear much beyond raised voices and something about immigration.”

  “Could it have been migration? As in a wolf-pack migration?” Everly asked.

  To Wyatt, the question made complete sense. Especially since Axl had come to the area to find a wolf pack migrating.

  The desk clerk shrugged. “To be honest, I have no idea. I’m just telling you what Johanna told me. Like I said earlier, Everly, Johanna should be in by four o’clock.”

  “What about Larry?” asked Wyatt.

  Darcy shook her head. “He’s not on the schedule. I checked.”

  “Thanks, Darcy,” said Everly.

  Wyatt echoed, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Wyatt,” she called after them.

  Without comment, Wyatt and Everly walked down the long corridor and stopped at the elevator as they waited for the doors to open. “How well do you know Darcy?” Everly asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know her, not really.”

  “She seems to know you.”

  Was Everly jealous? At least she was interested in his life. It had been years since anyone cared and Wyatt wasn’t sure how he felt about the intrusion. The elevator doors opened, and he waited for Everly to enter.

  “Small town, I guess,” he said, following Everly. “Anyone new would cause a stir.”

  The doors closed and then they were alone. The exotically spicy scent of her perfume filled the tiny space, coating his skin and lingering on his lips. It was an exquisite torture to be alone with Everly and Wyatt’s mind was occupied with images that were as sexy as her fragrance. His body reacted, reminding him how long he truly had been without a woman’s touch.

  “What do you think about what Darcy said?” Everly asked, interrupting Wyatt’s thoughts. “Isn’t it suspicious that my brother has an argument the night that he also happens to be murdered?”

  “It’s more than a little suspicious. It’s something that Sheriff Haak should’ve known and investigated.”

  The elevator doors slid open and they stepped into the hall.

  “My room’s up here,” said Everly. “Two twenty-three.” She used a keycard to open the door and crossed the threshold.

  From where he stood, Wyatt could clearly see two beds. His mind immediately returned to his sexy musings. From the hallway, he mumbled, “I’ll wait here.”

  She seemed not to notice his reluctance and said, “It’ll be one second.”

  For years, Wyatt had lived with the fact that he’d failed to catch a killer. It was a scab that he picked at every day, never allowing it to heal. Was he really willing to try and catch the serial killer again? And what if all ended badly a second time?

  Maybe it was better if he stepped away from the investigation—and Everly—right now.

  True, he’d promised to help her. Yet, weren’t promises made to be broken?

  Underneath it all, there was a magnetic pull toward the case. To ignore that draw went against everything Wyatt was—or at least, everything he used to be.

  In less than a minute, Everly wheeled her suitcase from the room. Strapped to the handle was a laptop bag. “Let me get that for you,” he said, reaching for the bag.

  Everly released her grip on the handle. “Thanks.” They walked back down the hallway and she pushed the button for the elevator. The doors opened immediately, and they were once again in the confines of the car. The air was heavy and settled on his flesh.

  “What should we do about Larry Walker?” Everly asked as the elevator came to rest on the ground floor.

  “Without question we need to look into the cook and the possibility that the argument became deadly.”

  “How do we do that? I’ve watched all sorts of cop shows over the years. Do we interrogate him?” she asked as they exited the elevator.

  He laughed. “It’s not quite that simple, even if you are a sworn law-enforcement officer. But, neither one of us has a badge, so we’re on our own and can only learn what people are willing to share. I say we start by talking with the bartender.”

  “Darcy said that Johanna’s shift starts at four.” She removed the phone from her purse and brought up the home screen. “Which is now.”

  At the far side of the lobby stood the in-house bar. Despite a sign that read, Open 5:00 p.m., the lights were on.

  “Looks like she’s right on time,” said Wyatt.

  With Everly’s suitcase in tow, they entered the pub. A long mahogany bar filled one wall, shelves full of liquor bottles and several beer taps sat behind. A row of bar stools stood in front and more than a dozen tables filled the rest of the room. A TV hung on the wall. There was a cable news show on, but the sound was muted. A young woman with dark hair pulled into a ponytail stood next to a cash register. She looked up as Wyatt and Everly approached.

  “Sorry, folks, we don’t open until five o’clock. If you come back in an hou
r, I can get you a drink then.”

  “Are you Johanna?” Everly asked.

  “I am.”

  “Mind if we ask you a few questions?” asked Wyatt. “It’s about a customer who came in two nights ago. His name was Axl Baker.”

  Johanna’s eyes widened with sudden recognition. “That means you must be Mr. Baker’s sister. Darcy told me that you might stop by.”

  Despite the tears that shone in Everly’s eyes, she nodded.

  Wyatt saw the sadness in Everly’s expression, and wondered what he should do. Take her hand? Squeeze her shoulder? Nothing seemed right, and it only made him want to get the answers she sought. He said, “So, you remember Axl Baker?”

  “Of course, I remember him. He was really cute, kind of hard to forget. Then the next day we all heard what happened. It was just real sad.”

  “We were told that you overheard an argument between the deceased and the hotel’s cook. Do you know what they disagreed about?”

  “It was pretty busy that night. But their voices were raised, and I heard a little bit of a quarrel over the other customers’ conversations.”

  “What makes you say it was an argument?” asked Wyatt. He knew enough not to prejudge what had happened without more evidence. “If it was noisy, they might have been talking loud to be heard.”

  “It was their body language, too,” said the bartender. “Larry poked Mr. Baker in the chest and Mr. Baker swiped away his hand.”

  “What happened next?” asked Everly.

  “Then Larry sort of threw up his hands and I told him he couldn’t argue with the customers and to go home. He left without causing a scene. Afterward I kind of made a joke that Mr. Baker shouldn’t order anything from the menu, you know—because Larry’s the cook and all.”

  “What did Mr. Baker do afterward?”

  “He kind of laughed it off, then paid his bill and left.”

  Everly asked, “Do you remember what he had to drink?”

  “Oddly enough, I do. It was a seltzer water and he left a tip that was twice the price of his drink.”

  Wyatt pictured the room as it would have been, filled with midweek customers. The two men, their discussion becoming heated. Words exchanged. One person had laid hands on the other. But did it end there? Did Larry go home and fume, getting angrier and angrier until he had to exact revenge? And while the scenario might fit a hundred other crimes, how did a serial killer play into the circumstances?

  “Today’s Larry’s day off,” said Johanna. “But I can text and let him know you’re looking for him.”

  That was the last thing Wyatt wanted. “No thanks.” He paused. “I do have one other question. Is Larry a native of Pleasant Pines?”

  Johanna narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “I’m not sure where he’s from originally. I’ve only been in town for a little over six years, but I do know he moved here from Las Vegas not much more than two and a half years ago.”

  * * *

  Las Vegas? Everly felt herself shaking. There was a hot breath as Wyatt’s whisper touched her neck. “Don’t react here. Just listen to my voice and let’s get to the truck.”

  Dazed, she let him maneuver her through the lobby. With a hip, he pushed open the door. Cold air and blowing snow hit Everly full in the face, shaking her from her state of shock. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “I’m fine now.”

  Wyatt continued to hold her arm. She liked the feel of his strong hand on her flesh. The warmth of his body. The feel of his hot breath on her cool skin.

  “Really?” he asked.

  She feared that if he let go, she truly would fall. But she’d die before admitting it. “I’m better, at least.”

  He opened the door to his truck and held Everly’s hand as she climbed into the seat. He stowed her suitcase behind the bench and closed the door, then rounded to the driver’s side. Everly concentrated on taking deep, cleansing breaths. She tried to clear her mind, just for a moment. Still, the fact that Larry Walker had moved from Las Vegas couldn’t be ignored.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You might be in shock, and getting hit in the head won’t help anything,” Wyatt said. “Maybe we should take you to see Doc Lambert.”

  “I’m fine,” she said again. This time it was closer to the truth. “Las Vegas. That’s something that links your old case to Larry Walker. The timing seemed right, too. It can’t just be a coincidence.”

  Wyatt silently put the truck into Reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. He drove, his eyes on the road.

  “I’d say Larry Walker is a decent suspect. He’s better than the guy we arrested when I was with the Bureau.”

  “What do we do next?” she asked.

  “We go back to my place and see what can be found about Larry Walker, formerly of Las Vegas. We check to see if he’s got a criminal record. Employment history. Friends and family.”

  Everly sat back in the seat and stared out the window. The sky was a leaden gray and snow zoomed past like a million tiny stars. Had she really only been in Pleasant Pines for a few hours? It seemed like days. And yet, Wyatt Thornton was giving her the first shred of hope she’d had since she arrived. “I’m not sure that I’ve thanked you properly,” she said.

  “I’m not the kind of guy you should count on,” he said. “I can run an internet search and ask a few questions.”

  “Not to be too forward,” she said. “But you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  “Too forward?” he echoed with a laugh. “Everly, you have been nothing but forward since you tripped over me this morning.”

  She gave a quiet laugh. “Fair enough,” she said. “I’m glad you knocked me over. You’re a great resource—and someone I can trust.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You shouldn’t trust me. I’m nobody’s hero.”

  Everly glanced at Wyatt before looking back out the window. She wasn’t some foolish girl, trying to find a man who needed fixing. If a guy came with a warning, she always listened.

  Everly reminded herself, once again, that she didn’t need the burden of romance. Especially if she wanted to figure out what happened to her brother.

  Wyatt turned on to the long drive and his house came into view. It stood on a rise, with a thick copse of trees nearby. To her, it looked as if the home was part of the landscape, like the Rocky Mountains, the forest, or the sky.

  “This house must have a lot of history,” she said. “How’d you come to own a place like this?”

  “I was given a really good severance package when I left the FBI. It paid for the house and gave me enough to live on for a couple of years.”

  That answered some of Everly’s questions, but not all of them. “Why Wyoming? How’d you pick Pleasant Pines and this house in particular?”

  “I was angry when I left the Bureau,” he said. The truck slowed as they neared the house and Wyatt parked next to Everly’s rental car. “At first, I wanted to get away from everything and everyone. No connections. Nothing. One day, I stumbled on Pleasant Pines and stopped at the diner on Main Street.”

  “The one you took me to earlier?” she asked, then rolled her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you decided to stay because of the apple pie.”

  He turned off the engine but stayed in his seat. “To be honest, I don’t know why I stayed. But I found a Realtor and she brought me here. Nobody had lived in this house for years—a decade almost. You should have seen it then. Peeling paint. Rotted roof. Crumbling porch.”

  Everly could well imagine the house and Wyatt’s labor of love.

  He continued, “Because it was in such rough shape, I got a great deal. I adopted Gus from a local shelter. The house needed a lot of work and those renovations occupied my time. Made it harder for me to think about...things I didn’t want to think about. There’s not much else to tell.”

  He opened his door and stepp
ed from the truck, and Everly assumed he was done talking. Following suit, Everly hopped down just as Wyatt rounded to the passenger side. He hefted her suitcase from behind the seat and carried her bag to the door.

  “I haven’t had a guest before, but we can make do,” Wyatt said. “The sofa’s comfortable enough.”

  No guests? No job? No more repairs? “What is it that you do out here?”

  “I walk my dog.”

  “That’s a lot of walking.”

  “I go into town once a week for supplies. I stop in at Sally’s and get pie and coffee. What else do I need?”

  “It sounds about as opposite to my life as you can get. I work for a public relations firm in downtown Chicago and my schedule is nothing but meetings, lunches and dinner parties. And you know what? I love my job. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Wyatt kicked open the door and slapped a switch, turning on an overhead light. “After what happened to me in Vegas, I’d never go back to living at lightning speed.”

  His words came out with venom. Her face burned. Obviously, she’d said something wrong. “I never meant to suggest that you should. Or to criticize your life here,” she began. He stared at her, his eyes as dark and stormy as the sky. Everly’s words failed her. “It’s just that we’re different, that’s all.”

  Wyatt cleared his throat. “I guess we are.”

  For the first time, Everly understood that she’d been hoping that somehow, she and Wyatt Thornton were compatible—the wish was so secret that she hadn’t even acknowledged it herself—and only felt disappointment once it was gone.

  Gus ambled into the room and greeted them with a happy bark and a madly wagging tail.

  Cold from the outside had crept into the house and the room held a chill. Wyatt knelt at the hearth and within minutes, flames crackled in the fireplace, filling the room with light and warmth. She sank into the sofa. Tension that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding slipped from her neck.