Heroes In Uniform (278 page)

A drop of sweat trailed down his back, making him squirm in discomfort. He took a gulp of his root beer and attempted to wrestle his unruly libido into submission. Then he made the mistake of looking at her.

And got even hornier.

He clamped his jaw and focused on the long blond hair that she’d shaken so provocatively from her helmet. “Anyway.
You
ought to watch those sudden transformations,” he said. “Might give some poor guy a stroke.”

She pursed her lips. “So, your male chauvinist stereotype of who should be riding a motorcycle is
my
fault?”

He chuckled. Sexy and sassy, just the way he liked his women. He spun the stool around so he faced her, leaning in close. “Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't do it deliberately, to knock me right on my stereotype.”

A curl of hair at her temple stirred when he exhaled, and he had to restrain himself from smoothing it back in place.

She looked him in the eye. Her lips twitched only slightly. “Pretty perceptive for a male chauvinist.”

He grinned. “I've done my share of stereotype bashing in my day.”

“I'll just bet you have.” She swung her stool from side to side, her eyes measuring the depth of his heritage. “By the way,” she added nonchalantly, gesturing down the length of her amazing body, “is
this
outfit more to your liking?”

His jaw dropped, then he tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh, yeah. Nice outfit.” He echoed his earlier words, his amusement swiftly taking on a wolfish edge. He let his gaze drift along the contours of her body, hesitating at the tips of her breasts, which were clearly outlined under her thin tank top. “
Very
nice.”

A blush ripped across her cheeks and she lowered her lashes. Her green eyes darkened to the color of the wild forest at midnight.

Oh, yeah.

Coup.

He sat back, and the primitive male in him wallowed in her confusion. There was nothing better than having this kind of effect on a woman who had single-handedly sent his own libido into orbit.

He lifted a hand to smooth away that errant curl—and caught himself just in time.

Shit
.

Reality came crashing down.

This woman was a damn
suspect
. He shouldn’t even be
thinking
about his libido, let alone acting on it.

He had a job to do, a case to solve. He needed to get his head back in the game.

No, his
other
head.

Taking a cleansing breath, he extended his hand. “The name's Cooper,” he said.

His hand hung in the air so long he was about to pull it back, when she finally took it.

“Hi. I'm Maggie Johansen. Nice to meet you.” She gave his hand a brief, businesslike shake. “Cooper? That your first or last name?”

He hesitated. “Depends on who you ask. Friends call me Coop.”

She tilted her head, taking in his features. “Tell me, Coop, what does your mother call you?” Reaching out, she helped herself to one of his fries.

He squelched a prick of arousal at her intimacy with his lunch. “Coop.”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she wagged the fry at him. “How 'bout your grandfather? What does he call you?”

He regarded her for a long moment. “
Nimosom
—my grandfather—calls me Blue Wolf.”

The fry halted an inch from her lips. She cracked a smile. “Hey, that's a great name. Why don't you use it?”

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 persuasion.

“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.