Bear Bait (9781101611548) (11 page)

Her head ached, more from outrage now than from the injury she’d received less than two days ago. She shut down the computer and stood up, her muscles knotted with anger, and moved to the window to stare at the darkness.

Her mind wouldn’t stop racing in circles. Poachers, mines, arson. Kidnapping? What had happened at Marmot Lake two nights ago, and what threats were still out there? Right now, she knew the area better than anyone else. She should have ignored Schuler and explored the place earlier this evening. At first light tomorrow, she’d be in those woods, looking for clues.

Not only did her head throb, but the stitches inside her mouth were smarting again. If only Chase were here to massage her neck now. She rubbed a finger across her lips, trying to remember the feel of his kiss. Instead, she felt only the rough seam of stitches.

Was he in Seattle, or on his way back to Salt Lake? She picked up her cell phone, punched in his number, and immediately got his voice mail. Which could mean anything: he was in a meeting, he was on another call, he was in a shoot-out in a dark alley.

“Chase, it’s Sam, I mean Summer.” He always called her by her given name, insisting that it was perfect for her. And it sounded that way when it came from his lips. “Well, you know who it is. Just wanted to say that I’m thinking of you, and I hope you’re safe, and I hope I see you again soon.” She pressed the End button, feeling a twinge of frustration at not getting to talk to him.

Was his partner Nicole with him, or was he by himself now, too? That question led her to a less pleasant thought, one of Chase having an evening out with a woman decidedly more elegant than Summer Westin. In her mind’s eye, this woman was a luscious brunette in a black lace cocktail dress and heels, drinking whatever cocktail was in vogue, eating an elegant seafood meal with Chase over a white tablecloth.

White tablecloths had always made Sam nervous. She was more comfortable eating out of tin pots and sleeping on the floors of fire towers.

Chase had hinted that the fire tower had been boring. In her vision, the brunette shared a tinkly laugh with handsome Agent Perez.

Sam rubbed the frown line creasing her forehead. She was letting her imagination run away again. Chase did keep coming back to see her, didn’t he? And so far, every female he mentioned had turned out to be either another FBI agent or one of his extended family of Lakotas and Latinos. But then again, those were only the women she’d heard about. Special Agent Starchaser Perez was an expert at keeping secrets.

CHASE
sipped his Blue Moon pinot gris. The Oregon wine was a perfect accompaniment to the linguini with clam sauce. Naturally, Nicole had picked them both. Even in the smallest, most rustic hamlets like this ferry landing on the Kitsap Peninsula, she had a knack for sleuthing out the best food and drink that fit within their meager FBI expense budget.

“Where next? What’s your vote?” Nicole’s sleek auburn hair swung forward as she bent her head to take a sip of water.

On the table between their plates lay a folded map, copies of police reports, computer printouts, communiqués from the SACs in Salt Lake and Seattle.

“Despite the fact that this one was a wash, I still think the pattern generally holds. Small towns with big money and small police forces. Diversionary tactics minutes before the robbery. I choose La Conner.” He tapped the dot on the Washington map. “Small town, a lot of well-to-do citizens and vacationers. Most available law enforcement preoccupied with a bomb threat at the local high school at the time the bank was robbed.” He pushed the map back toward his partner and wound up another mouthful of linguini.

Nicole nodded. “Agreed. I’ll let Seattle know we’re headed there. Like the pasta?”

“Perfect choice.”

Chase had spent his childhood in cookie-cutter housing developments in Montana and Idaho. With his Lakota mother, his Mexican-American father, his brother and sister and all his parents’ relatives, his home had been happy and stimulating. But it was never immaculate, and rarely quiet. He’d dreamed of marrying an elegant, refined woman with a decent salary. They’d both have interesting careers and a home that was a refuge of peaceful sophistication. They’d talk about books and go to lectures and concerts.

It was probably some sort of lesson in humility that he’d been partnered with just such a woman. She made being an FBI agent look easy. He’d learned a lot from Nicole over the last six years. She seemed to manage a happy home life, too, if the persistent smile on her husband’s face was any indication. But Chase was not the least bit sexually attracted to Nicole.

He took another sip of the pinot gris. How could it be that this expensive, delicate wine was not nearly as delicious as the cheap Chianti he’d shared with Summer last night? The time he spent with her always seemed so…refreshing. Which was a ridiculous thought, now that he stopped to analyze it, because when he was with her, they were forever scrambling over rocks or wading through rapids.

How had he gotten involved with a woman who slept in fire towers and tramped around in the wilderness for a living? Had he ever seen her without a smudge of dirt or a scratch or bruise on her face? Damn that Greg Jordan! If he’d only shown up at the fire tower a couple of hours later.

“Chase?”

He looked up.

Nicole’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re thinking about
her
, aren’t you?”

It was embarrassing, how easily his partner could read him.

“How long have you two been playing this game? It’s been nearly a year now, hasn’t it? Just go for it, partner,” she told him. “Take her on a romantic vacation.”

A snort escaped his nostrils. “Right. That’s worked out well so far.”

He’d scheduled a rendezvous last November, but then the Bureau sent them to Boston on a supposed emergency that turned out to be totally bogus. Then he’d set up a ski trip in March, but Summer had been sent off to write up a bird-watching event in Oregon and he’d been shipped off to Homeland Security training at Quantico. The two of them seemed destined to revolve around each other like two moons locked into separate orbits.

“Well, keep trying,” Nicole advised. “In the meantime, send her a fantastic gift to show you care.”

Easy for Nicole Boudreaux to say. Jewelry, clothes, art would suffice for her. But what could he buy for Summer Westin, who was more impressed by sunsets and bears than gold and silk?

Although she wasn’t nearly as tough as she liked to believe, Summer was a strong woman. He worried about the hazardous situations she jumped into, but the truth was, she could handle herself pretty well. She didn’t really
need
him. He understood that: he didn’t really
need
her, either. But sometimes he
wanted
her so badly it hurt.

Nicole’s cell phone chimed. She slid it from her purse, glanced briefly at the screen, and mouthed “SAC” to him before answering in a low voice, “Boudreaux.”

She listened quietly for a moment, glanced at her watch, and then said, “We’ll be there before midnight.” As she slid the phone back into her purse with her right hand, she used the left to wave to the waitress across the room, then pointed to herself and to him and mouthed
Coffee
.

The waitress nodded and headed for the counter. Chase hurriedly shoved another forkful of pasta into his mouth and chewed.

Nicole turned back to him and explained, “Hot off the press—bank robbery in Rock Springs, Wyoming, minutes after the train derailed in the middle of town.”

“Sounds like our guys,” he said. “I suppose they got away?”

“You suppose right.”

“So we’re off to Wyoming?”

She shook her head. “We just caught an attempted armored car robbery near Blaine, up by the Canadian border, called in fifteen minutes after an arson fire at a local hospital.”

Either coincidences were spreading like fungus or they were definitely following a large group of operatives. He poured the last of the pinot gris into his glass.

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you hear me say we’re off to Blaine?”

“Yep. It’s your turn to drive.”

As she glowered at him, he tossed back the wine, swallowed, and wound up another forkful of pasta. “You said an attempted robbery. Cops in Blaine catch the perps?”

Nicole shook her head again. The waitress arrived with coffee. He asked for the check as she poured. Nicole waited until the waitress had moved away. “The robbers escaped into the countryside; cops are still searching. But they captured their vehicle.”

“The key,” he murmured wishfully through the last of his linguini.

“Let’s hope. We’re getting closer.” She checked her watch. “The next ferry leaves in twenty minutes.”

They both reached for their coffee cups.

SAM
shook her head at her mental meanderings about Chase. They lived hundreds of miles apart. There’d been no promises made between them; the man was free to go out whenever he wanted, with whomever he desired.

As was she. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of any other man she’d recently been attracted to. Every time she thought about men, she thought about Chase. And he wasn’t there.

But it wasn’t as if she was cloistered or anything. She knew plenty of males, even if most of them were just friends. Blake was gay, but he still counted. Kent and
Rafael in Utah, Joe Choi here. She was in a man’s apartment right now, even if the man wasn’t there. Mack was sitting with Lisa Glass until 9
P.M.

The light was blinking on Mack’s answering machine. The Play button activated Peter Hoyle’s voice. “Lindstrom, this is a message for Westin. I assume she’s staying with you.” The pause that followed was probably meant to indicate Hoyle’s disapproval.

“Westin, I need you to sit with Lisa from seven to nine tomorrow morning; the regulars have a staff meeting then. You can work late to make up for it. I left this message on your voice mail, too.”

Sam grimaced. Damn! She wouldn’t be at Marmot Lake at first light, after all. The message continued, “If either of you know anything more about Lisa, now is the time to spill it. The emergency contact number we have on file for her isn’t valid. And Lindstrom, about the meeting tomorrow, try to be on time for once—it begins at seven forty-five, not eight, not eight fifteen.”

Sam reset the machine. As she was writing a note for Mack, her cell phone began its distinctive wolf howl. “Westin,” she answered.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Hearing Mark Westin’s voice surprised her; her father usually called on Sunday afternoons. “Hi, Dad.”

“I was sitting here reading before I went to bed and thinking about you when suddenly it occurred to me that I could check on you, now that you have a cell phone.”

Oh, great. She struggled throughout the week to think of safe topics to talk about on Sundays and now he was going to start calling at other times, too? She’d finally bought a cell phone for business reasons, but carrying one around had its drawbacks.

“You’re still coming to the wedding, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Although a formal wedding in the August heat in Kansas wasn’t an event she could actually look forward to, even if it was about time her father and his “lady friend” tied the knot. In western Washington,
it was easy to forget that summer was proceeding full blast in the rest of the country. She’d compared temperatures in the paper yesterday: Seattle, 72; Wichita, 99. She wilted just thinking about jetting into that oven.

“And remember, Zola wants you to come a couple of days early. She’s made you a dress in your size, but she says there’s a final fitting. I know how you girls are.”

Sam winced at a mental picture of herself in a lavender chiffon spaghetti-strapped concoction, with her half-tanned, muscular arms exposed for the church ladies to critique. “I’ve made reservations for August twentieth, Dad, so there’ll be plenty of time. Is Zola there?”

“Of course not, Summer. It’s after ten o’clock here.”

She felt like a naughty teenager, to have imagined that his fiancée would be in his house that close to bedtime. He’d always had a way of reprimanding her with only a few words. “I know it’s late, Dad. Anyhow, tell her I’ll be there on August twentieth.”

“Give me your flight number. We’ll come and pick you up.”

“I’m not home right now, Dad, I don’t have it with me.”

“I’ll get the flight number later, then.”

“No, Dad, it’s too far to Wichita. I’ll rent a car.” She’d go berserk trapped there without transportation of her own. At least she could drive herself out to the lake and howl at the moon when she needed to. “My plane gets in around noon, so I should be there around two.”

“If you’re sure you don’t want me to come…”

“I’m sure, Daddy. It’s too much trouble.” There was a brief, uncomfortable stretch of nothing but background static, and then she said, “Well, good night, Dad. Say hi to Zola for me.”

“I will, Sugar. Good night. God bless.” He hung up.

She sat cross-legged on the carpet, listening to dead air for an instant, then sighed and pressed End. That air of unspoken dissatisfaction had always existed between them. She was nearing forty, unmarried, childless, flitting from one peculiar job to another, sharing her small home with a gay man.
She knew it was hard for Reverend Westin to find anything about his daughter’s life that he could even mention to his friends, other than the stories and photos she had published.

If she were a featured speaker at the wildlife conference, that would be a source of pride. She could send him a brochure with her name in it. A soft groan escaped her lips. She had to take that offer.

Her cell phone began its wolf howl. That had to be Chase. She eagerly raised it to her ear again. “I hope you’re studying those special agent tricks, FBI,” she breathed into it.

“Uh.” A childish voice. “Is Summer Westin there?”

Lili. “It’s me, honey,” Sam said, embarrassed. “I thought you were someone else.” She
had
to start checking the caller ID before answering.

“I guess so. You know someone in the FBI?”

“I have a friend who’s an FBI agent.” She wasn’t about to share her love life with a thirteen-year-old.