Heroes In Uniform (279 page)

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.

She jerked back when he put a hand on her arm.

“Am I that frightening?” he asked, reacting to the movement, his powerful frame towering over her.

Her pulse sped. “I,
um
...”

“It was you who picked me up, remember?”

“Don’t remind me.” She forced a nervous smile. “Getting myself into trouble is a bad habit of mine.”

“Well. You needn’t worry about me. Hitting women over the head and having our savage way with them went out with the buffalo.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Besides, I seem to have forgotten my tomahawk.”

She chuckled in spite of herself. His chiseled features and sun-bronzed skin did conjure up romantic images of the wild West. But how could she tell him she wasn't worried he’d have his way with her, but that he might
do
away with her?

Not that he hadn’t already had ample opportunity on the ride back, if he’d wanted to. It would have been a simple thing to run her off the road and make it look like an accident.

So, maybe he was just here to keep an eye on her. After his warning.

If he was even involved in the poaching.

Hell, maybe she should
let
him have his wicked way with her. Just a little. Like a kiss, maybe. That would be harmless enough. Just to buy a little time, until she could get the battery—and his name—to Iris and the FBI. They’d take it from there. Figure out if he was a good guy or a bad guy.

If she let him kiss her, he’d be lulled into thinking she wasn’t a risk. That he had her under control.

Right?

Sounded like a plan.

She took a step closer, gazed up at him, and murmured, “Funny, I hear the buffalo are making quite a comeback these days.”

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Thirteen

Coop searched Maggie's face uncertainly. What the hell was going on here?

The woman was nervous as hell, maybe even a little afraid. So, why was she suddenly coming on to him? It made no sense.

Even so, he was sorely tempted to accept her invitation.

He took a step toward her. Her scent drifted over him, sweet like wildflowers, spicy like the forest breeze, a hint of leather from her gloves.

He snapped himself back and plowed a hand through his hair. “Woman, you're making me crazy.” He gave her a piercing look. “Don't you know it's dangerous to tease a wolf?”

The coverall slipped from her grip and hit the ground in a puff of dust. “Sorry. I don't know what's come over me today.” She winced. “It's like I'm under some kind of weird spell.” She glanced up at him uneasily, and asked, “You're not Navajo by any chance, are you?”

He almost laughed. The woman was superstitious. A Navajo wolf was an evil magician.

He gave her a slightly menacing smile, then stooped down to pick up her coverall. “My mom's Cree, from Canada. Dad is garden variety Californian. You'd rather I was Navajo?”

“No!” She snatched the coverall out of his hands as he rose. “Nothing like that. Just wondered.”

Uh-huh
.

“Anyway,” he said. “I’ll be out fishing for a while. But don't worry if you see smoke coming from my camp later tonight,” he said. “I'm going to have a fire.” He gave her a look. “And yes, I've got a permit.”

Her gaze strayed down the hill toward his campsite. “Okay, I won't send in the troops.”

He paused before turning, suddenly reluctant to leave her. “You feel like going to Gina's tonight?”

She shook her head, just a little too vigorously. “I'm in the middle of a book I want to finish.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Okay. Then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

Unable to help himself, he stepped closer. He stood over her, nearly touching, surrounded by the sensual scent of woman. With iron control, he willed himself not to reach out to her. And murmured, “But it wouldn't be a bad idea to lock your door tonight.” Every muscle in his body chafed against the constraint. “In case I find my tomahawk.”

She blinked up at him, swaying under his deliberately erotic scrutiny. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Yeah. I'll be sure and do that.”

Then she turned and fled up the long, narrow stairs up to her tower.

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Fourteen

A couple of hours later, Coop was standing over the remains of the three poached bears. Jack had called a while ago, giving Coop the go-ahead to bury them. The very abbreviated ritual he followed was a little unusual for CDFW, but his bosses figured one way of disposing of a carcass was as good as the next.

But to Coop, the method of disposing of a bear
was
important.

He dug a large, deep hole in the loamy soil under a tree. Bit by grisly bit, he deposited the remains of the bears onto a layer of fragrant branches, only leaving out one of the patellas—a poker chip-sized, roundish knee bone. That, he slipped into an embroidered leather pouch hanging from his belt.

Chanting in a soft, deep voice, he oriented the two small skulls in the grave...and ignored the tiny voice in his head that asked what the hell he thought he was doing. As usual when he tried to follow the old ways, he had not been able to do it right. So, why did he even bother?

He shoveled his anger and frustration into the hole along with the mound of dirt. He chanted a song to send the bears on their way to Memekwesiw, and another to rid himself of his foul mood.

Afterward, he wiped his sweaty brow on the sleeve of his T-shirt and, reaching into his pouch, he took a pinch of tobacco and sprinkled it over the burial, saying a final prayer.

When he was done, he hiked down Tower Eight’s service road to his camper, which he’d carefully hidden out of sight. Easing onto the truck's bench seat, the familiar smells of fishing gear and gun oil soothed his battered senses.

He did a quick check that the glove compartment containing his department issued Glock was still securely locked. Then he eased his hand under the dashboard and checked the collapsible Mossberg shotgun mounted there. Finally, he brushed his hand over the canvas tarp rolled up around the M14-308 sniper rifle the department insisted all wardens carry. There was nothing better to bring down a charging grizzly or an angry mountain lion. Thankfully, he'd never had to use it other than at the range.

He started to scoot back out of the camper, but changed his mind. He untied the embroidered leather pouch from his belt. The worn upholstery of the truck's seat felt warm and comforting as he leaned back and tossed the small bag absently up and down on his palm.

He should ask for the dreams. Maybe they would tell him if he was on the right track. Tell him if the woman who continued to seduce his every thought was helping to send magnificent wild creatures to be viciously slaughtered.

Outside, the late afternoon was hot and beautiful. Insects hummed, and the air hung heavy and sweet with the smell of pine resin and rich soil. Normally, he would be grateful for such a day. But today his spirit was not in harmony, so he couldn’t enjoy it.