Читать книгу Bear Claw Conspiracy - Jessica Andersen - Страница 8

Wow. That was all Gigi’s brain could formulate as she followed Blackthorn along a narrow game trail that led up a sharply rocky incline.

Wow, he had a seriously fine body beneath that drab, tan-and-green park service uniform. His sleek bronze skin covered sculpted muscles, its perfection marred by two scars, one high on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his waistline.

Wow, that had been the hottest stand-and-stare moment of her life. Her blood was still humming, her coordination slightly off as her body focused inward.

And wow, this was way outside her comfort zone.

It had been a while since she had made the time or effort, but she’d had her share of relationships, all based on affection, attraction, and the freedom to move on when the time came.

Those relationships had been fun. Satisfying. And not once, not even in the bedroom, had any of those guys lit her up the way she had just ignited from nothing more than seeing Blackthorn’s chest.

Even now, as she scanned the rocks and scrub for scuff marks, the image of his naked torso seemed burned onto her retinas.

Temporary insanity. That was all it was. They’d both had their tempers up, and his adrenaline had probably been pumping for hours. More, she had been disarmed by the way he had backed down, owning his bad behavior when she called him on it.

In her experience, that wasn’t the way real jerks operated. Which meant … well, it didn’t matter what it meant. Her gut said he was complicated, and she didn’t have any room in her life for personal complications. She was there to do her job … which was about evidence, not ogling.

Deliberately, she forced her mind back on track.

The bagged shirt was tucked in the bottom of her field kit. She would process the feather back in the lab, where she could keep absolute track of the environment. But she already knew some of the assessments she would need to make: Was it real or fake? Where had it come from? Why had Tanya been clutching it?

The last question wasn’t really part of an analyst’s job—it was up to the cops and attorneys to turn the data into a story.

But then again, she lived outside the box.

When Blackthorn hit the top of the high ridge, he paused and turned back to her. Surprise flickered when he saw that she was only a few paces behind him and not even breathing particularly hard.

She grinned. “When I was in my early teens, my parents went on a survivalist kick and decided all four of us kids needed to know how to take care of ourselves, no matter what. Our family vacations turned into something out of Survivor for a few years. Yosemite, the Sonoran Desert, Alaska … Some of it seemed like torture at the time, but looking back, it wasn’t. It’s just the way my family operates.” “As survivalists?”

“As the best at whatever we choose to do. Usually it’s academics. In my case, crime scene analysis.”

He held her eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Point taken.”

“Then let’s get to work.” She gestured around them. “How are you at tracking?”

“Fair to good, but when we came up this way the first time, I was looking more for four-legged predators than two-legged tracks. I can’t swear to it, but I don’t think there were any fresh footprints other than Cochran’s at that point, and even those were pretty faint. I took a closer look around once Tanya had been airlifted out, but nothing jumped out at me.” He grimaced. “Frankly, given the rock, hardpan and loose gravel, we’re not looking good for tracks.”

“Hopefully I’ll have better luck.”

“It’s a mess down there.”

“So I heard.” But as she moved up beside him at the crest of the ridge, she sucked in a breath. “Okay. Yeah. That’s a mess.”

Their vantage point overlooked an oblong flattened bowl that fell away into a dry riverbed on one side. There was a brushed-clean spot where the helicopter had come and gone; ropes snaking across the shale, which was gouged where they had been moved and dragged; and a scattering of detritus in the bottom of the wash.

Although she gave Blackthorn points for not cleaning up the med techs’ leftovers after Tanya was airlifted, the overall effect was not encouraging.

He shot her a look from beneath lowered brows. “Tell me you can do something with it.”

“I’ve seen entire cases hinge on a few strands of hair or a fingernail scraping,” she said. Which wasn’t quite an answer, so she added, “I’ve worked under worse conditions. At least here I won’t have to waste time going through a ton of alley garbage that has zero relevance to the case.”

“Small blessings.”

“In this job, you take what you can get.” And you’d better watch it, we seem to be having a semi-normal conversation, she thought but didn’t say. Instead, she nodded to the shotgun he carried slung over his shoulder. “I’m going to be pretty involved for the next couple of hours. You’ll keep lookout?”

Something shifted in the dark green depths of his eyes, and he nodded. “Nobody else is getting hurt on my watch.”

Sensing he didn’t want to hear that he wasn’t responsible for what had happened to Tanya, she gripped his forearm briefly. “Thanks.”

As she moved past him, she felt his surprise just as clearly as she had felt his leashed strength through the thin layer of his windbreaker. She wasn’t sure if his shock had come from the touch or the fact that they were getting along, but she would take it.

She had a feeling she would be better to have him a little off balance around her, not vice versa.

When she was halfway down the incline, he called, “Hey. Gigi.”

He gave it the softer pronunciation, as though they were in Paris rather than the middle of nowhere.

She turned back and found him backlit by the afternoon sun, a solitary figure on the ridgeline. She had to clear her throat before she said, “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I was a jerk to you back in the city. You’re okay.”

“Be still my heart.” But she grinned when she said it. “And my name is Gigi,” she corrected, giving it the harder sound. “It’s short for Greta Grace, so you don’t need to get fancy with it. Or with me.”

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a slow nod, but she felt his eyes follow her the rest of the way down.

Then she tuned him out and got to work.

The next ninety minutes were a focused blur of photographs, sample bags and jars, and a whole lot of frustration at the lack of what she thought of as “big foam finger evidence”—the kind that pointed straight to an answer, or at least a new set of questions.

Granted, that was the exception rather than the norm, but still, she had been hoping for a quick break in the case.

By the time the sun dipped behind the mountains and the sky went pink around the edges, she was finishing up her preliminary round of collection. She locked her kit, and hauled its now considerable weight back up the ridgeline, where Blackthorn stood guard, silhouetted against the dusk.

He gave her a long, unreadable look. “All set?”

“With the first step, anyway. Now it’s time for me to put in some serious lab hours.”

He took the case from her without asking, his fingers brushing against hers. “But you’re not hopeful.”

“I’m always hopeful,” she corrected, telling herself it was impossible to get a whole-body tingle from that small contact. “But in this case, I’m not very optimistic. I didn’t see anything I could link straight to Tanya’s attackers. Between that and the beating her radio took, it was like she was dropped …” She trailed off, sudden excitement sparking. “Wait a second. Let me see your radio.”

He unclipped it from his belt and handed it over. “Bert can hook you up if you need a patch-through back to the lab or something.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

She took the sturdy unit, which, aside from being bright yellow rather than matte black, was very like the ones used by the HRTs back home, with long-range capabilities, GPS, a digital display … and a hinged faceplate that usually broke off within the first few weeks of use. It was the one design flaw in an otherwise solid piece of equipment.

Blackthorn’s still had its faceplate in place, though, and had a couple of upgrades she hadn’t seen before. “Is this new?” she asked.

“They arrived last week.”

Damn it, she had assumed Tanya’s faceplate was long gone—and because she had made an assumption, she almost missed the evidence … or lack thereof. “Do all of your rangers carry the same model?”

“Yeah, they’re interchangeable. We just grab one off the charger in my office. Why?”

She looked up at him, pulse kicking. “Did hers still have its faceplate when she left this morning?”

He thought for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure it did.” He looked back down to the scene, making the connection. “It could’ve bounced pretty far. Even given that some of her injuries came from an attack, she still hit hard when she fell.”

“Or we were meant to think she did.”

He went very still, eyes darkening as he slowly looked down, then back at her. “Damn. I saw it.”

“The faceplate?”

He shook his head. “No, that there was a problem with the way she and the radio had fallen.” His expression went distant as he replayed the scene in his head. “She was lying flat on her back, kind of sprawled, with the radio a few feet away. There weren’t any impact marks … but there was a smoothed-flat place.” He refocused, met her eyes. “Like someone had been there, swept his tracks, and then tossed the radio down after the fact.”

“All we’re going to have on that is your statement,” she cautioned, “and my not finding the faceplate doesn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t there. I can’t use a negative to prove a positive.” But they were onto something. She was sure of it. “We’re going to need more.”

His expression firmed. “Then we’ll find it.” He paused. “You think this is a secondary scene. A dump site.”

She nodded. “That’s how it reads to me. And it’s consistent with her Jeep not being right in this area.” The vehicle’s GPS wasn’t registering and it hadn’t been sighted along what should have been Tanya’s morning route, either.

“So we have another crime scene to find.”

With another man she might’ve told him to stay out of the way and let the cops do their job. Given that he was the local expert, though, and the P.D. was spread very thin, she said, “The faceplate is going to be a needle in a really large haystack, and there’s no telling whether the Jeep is even still in the park. Take your pick.”

A muscle ticked at the corner of his jaw. “The Jeep would be an easier target, obviously, but an air search is going to be difficult to pull off, if not impossible. All the working birds are tied up fighting the wildfires, and a bunch are down for repairs. We’ve put out feelers to other parks, other options, but so far we haven’t come up with much.” His head came up and his shoulders squared. “So we go old school.”

“A foot search?” She looked around, unable to imagine any search being able to cover the vast, varied terrain that made up the state park.

“Yeah. I’ll line up off-duty rangers, any of the on-duty rangers who can be spared, maybe even some expert hikers.” He gestured down the ridge toward their vehicles. They went down together, side by side. “I’ll get the search organized for first light tomorrow. We’ll start with her sector and work out from there.” He shot her a look. “You want in?”

“Absolutely.” The invitation kicked a warm buzz through her, not just because he was admitting she could handle the backcountry, but because it felt good to be planning something rather than just gathering data. That was a big part of why she wanted to make the jump from lab rat to HRT—she wanted to do both.

Within minutes, Blackthorn was on the radio with three other station heads, getting their cooperation and coordinating the mobilization.

As they neared the parking area, she shot him a sidelong look, struck by the change in him. His face was animated, his green eyes fierce and intense. More, his voice now carried a heavy weight of command that had the heads of the other stations practically snapping to attention.

She remembered the scars on his shoulder and waist, belatedly recognizing them as bullet strikes. Ex-military, she thought, and pegged him as an officer. But if he had that kind of background, why had he buried himself out in the middle of nowhere?

New interest stirred, not just for the sexy package, but for the man inside it. He’s complicated, she reminded herself. But this time she found herself thinking that maybe she could handle some complications for the few more weeks she would be in Bear Claw.

Especially if those complications looked—and sounded—like Ranger Blackthorn in get-it-done mode.

“Thanks, Harvey. I’ll be in touch,” he said into the radio, then clicked it off and returned it to his belt. They had reached their vehicles, which were dark shapes in the gathering dusk. His shadow merged with that of his Jeep, and his voice seemed to come from the darkness when he said, “The cops collected the hikers’ clothes and stuff, said they would log it all into evidence for you. And Williams suggested you take a look around the station house, particularly Tanya’s room.”

“I’ve done some work in profiling and victimology, and have helped Jack out on a couple of cases. He’s hoping I’ll see something that could point toward a motive.”

“You don’t think this was random?” His voice carried a new edge. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Suddenly reminded that he wasn’t technically part of the investigation, she said, “There’s nothing to tell yet. We’re still exploring options.”

He moved in closer and dropped his voice an octave. “Hiding behind the official line, Gigi?”

Nerves stirred low in her belly, coiling her tight, but she met his eyes and said levelly, “I’m just trying to do my job, Blackthorn, so don’t crowd me. And don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re something you’re not.” He wasn’t a cop, couldn’t expect her to keep him fully in the loop unless he cleared it with the higher-ups.

He growled something under his breath, but eased back a step. He tried the door of her SUV, found it locked, and set her field kit on the ground. “You’ll want to follow me back to the station. Wouldn’t want you getting lost.”

He headed for his Jeep with long-legged strides, un-slinging his shotgun and knapsack as he went.

Gigi watched him go, trying not to be fascinated. He held himself apart but felt responsible, knew how to lead but had buried himself far from any troops, respected competence but wanted to be calling the shots … and was attracted and didn’t want to be.

No, she had definitely been right the first time around.

She didn’t have the mental energy to deal with him right now, not even for some short-term fun.

Too bad, she thought, remembering the gleam of bronze skin, the pucker of two bullet scars, one high, one low. Then she shook her head, climbed into her ride, and focused on the puzzle of two attackers, one missing faceplate … and a gut feeling that said there was far more to this case than anyone suspected.