Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Navy SEAL Newlywed\The Guardian\Security Breach (26 page)

“If I hadn't gotten to it, Randall would have shot it.” He took another bite of pizza and chewed, then swallowed. “Or you'd have killed it yourself. You're tough.”

The words made her feel lighter—taller. She smiled. “You couldn't give me a better compliment.”

“Is that all it takes?” He grinned, his teeth very white against his olive skin. “Maybe I'll try that line out on other women. I've been doing it all wrong, telling them they were pretty. Not that you aren't—pretty, that is.”

Her smile faded. “I heard how pretty I was my whole life. And then I woke up and that was gone. At least something like toughness can't be taken away so easily.”

“You talk as though you're horribly disfigured. It's one scar. With your hair down or in profile, it isn't even visible.”

“I know it's there, and that affects the way I think about it. I can't help it. I'm not complaining, it's just my reality now.”

“Well, just so you know, I think you're beautiful.”

“You just admitted you say that to all the girls.”

He was about to reply when his phone rang. He set down his slice of pizza and answered it. “Dance.”

“Hey, you and Abby get settled in?” Randall's voice was hearty, audible from where she sat.

“We're fine. What's up?”

“I took that snake by the park rangers' office and let them have a look at it,” he said. “One of the guys there is a wildlife biologist. He told me something interesting about it.”

“Hang on a minute, I'm going to put you on speaker.” Michael glanced at Abby. “It's Randall. He found out something about your snake.”

“It's not my snake.” She made a face.

“Okay, go ahead,” Michael told Randall.

“The snake you killed was a western diamondback,” Randall said. “A common desert species, one responsible for most of the deaths from rattlesnake bites in the United States and Mexico.”

Michael's eyes met hers across the table. She hugged her arms around herself, her appetite gone. “Why is that so interesting?” he asked.

“They don't have diamondbacks at this elevation,” Randall said. “They don't have them at any elevation in Colorado. The only rattlesnakes around her are prairie rattlers—smaller and not as venomous as the diamondback. Whoever boxed up that fellow imported him from somewhere south or west of here.”

Michael frowned. “Could you buy something like that at a pet store—you know, one that sells pythons and tarantulas and stuff?”

“It's against the law to sell venomous snakes. No, somebody caught this one in the wild and was keeping it around for special purposes.”

“That's sick,” Abby said.

“I heard about a drug dealer in Tucson who kept his stash in an aquarium with a venomous snake,” Randall said. “It discouraged theft.”

Michael sat back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him. “So what do you make of this?”

“It tells us something about the people we're after,” Randall said.

“Yeah, they're twisted.”

“Twisted, and they won't stop at anything to protect what's theirs—or to make a point.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the information. I'll talk to you later.”

“I'll let you know if anything new develops.”

“Yeah. Do that.” He hung up the phone and stuffed it back into the pouch on his utility belt.

“What point are they making with me?” Abby asked.

“You must have gotten way too close to something they want very much to hide,” he said. “First the sniper, then the snake.”

“What are we going to do about it?” She wasn't going to sit here, waiting to be a target.

“Tomorrow, I want to go back out to where we found the body and look around some more.”

“I want to come with you.”

He shook his head. “I know I said you could go on patrol with me, but this probably isn't safe.”

“I've been in unsafe situations before. I want to go. I want to see if we can help Mariposa and her baby.”

He paused, considering.

“You said I was tough,” she said. “I won't hold you back or get in the way. And if these people are as dangerous as they seem, you shouldn't be out there alone. I can watch your back.”

“All right. If I told you no, you'd probably follow me anyway.”

“I probably would.”

“At least this way I can keep you close, and maybe a little safer.”

She started to protest that she didn't need him to protect her, but the words died in her throat. So far, she had needed him. The idea wasn't as disturbing now as it had been earlier. Maybe leaning on someone for help wasn't so bad—if it was the right someone.

Chapter Seven

Belted into the passenger seat of Michael's Cruiser, Abby couldn't shake the feeling that she was headed out on a mission, just like the missions in Afghanistan. The darkness here was like the darkness over there, deepest black, unsullied by the lights of houses or businesses. The nearest city, Montrose, was a dim glow on the horizon.

She leaned forward, straining against the seat belt, trying to see farther into the blackness. Her heart pounded and her nerves twitched with the same jumpy anticipation that had defined every trip she'd made off base during the war. They'd often left early in the morning, to take advantage of the cover of darkness. But their enemies had favored darkness, too, which had made every expedition fraught with danger.

The Cruiser's headlights cut narrow cones into the blackness, enough to illuminate the scraggly trees, jutting rocks and grasses of the park's backcountry. Once, a pair of silvery eyes looked back at them, and as they drew closer, a coyote stared at them, frozen against a backdrop of reddish rocks.

She shivered and pulled her jacket more tightly around her. Even in summer, it was chilly at this altitude without the sun's warmth.

“You okay?” Michael asked.

“I'm fine.” She slipped her hand into her pocket and rubbed her fingers across the little ceramic rabbit. Maybe it was silly for a grown woman to put faith in a good-luck charm, but the rabbit had gotten her through a lot of tough times since her injury. She wasn't ready to give up on it yet.

Michael leaned forward and switched the Cruiser's heat to high. “Tell me more about the research you're doing,” he said. “What happens after you gather all these plants and leave here?”

“I'll take them to the lab and experiment with distilling certain compounds from them, and show the effect of those compounds on cells. For instance, if something inhibits cell mutation, it could help fight cancer, or if a substance encourages nerve cells to regenerate, or nerves to build new pathways, it could combat diseases like Parkinson's. I'll have to narrow my research to a single possibility for now, but the prospects for the future are endless.”

“That's exciting, that you could be helping so many people. I'd like to do something like that.”

She didn't miss the regret in his voice. “You're protecting people from danger,” she said. “Making the park safer for visitors, trying to capture people who are hurting others.”

“In theory I'm doing those things,” he said. “But so far I haven't seen that anything I've done has directly made anyone's life better.”

“Except mine,” she said. “I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for you.”

He reached across the seat and took her hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. I'm glad about that.”

She held his hand for a moment, letting the warmth and reassurance of his touch seep into her. But she couldn't let sentiment overwhelm common sense. Michael Dance was a good guy, but she scarcely knew him. He wasn't a knight in shining armor, and she definitely wasn't a princess who needed rescuing. She pulled away and focused her gaze out the windshield, on the faint band of gray on the horizon. “The sun will be up soon,” she said.

If her sudden coolness caught him off guard, he didn't show it. “Check the GPS,” he said. “We should be getting close.”

She leaned over to glance at the dash-mounted GPS unit. “Looks like maybe another two miles.”

“I'm going to cut the lights,” he said. “Just in case anyone's watching.” He switched off the headlights, plunging them into a disorienting void. She blinked, then he pressed a button and a dim glow illuminated the few inches of ground in front of the Cruiser's bumper. “Sneak lights,” he said. “Mounted under the bumper.”

She laughed nervously. “Good name.”

The Cruiser crawled across the landscape. They'd left the road and followed what was little more than an animal trail—maybe even the same path Abby had followed when she was searching for specimens for her research.

Suddenly, Michael slammed on the brakes. She lurched forward against the shoulder harness. “What's wrong?” she whispered.

“I saw something out there. Movement.” He waited a moment and she squinted, trying to make out anything. Though the eastern sky showed a faint blush of pink, it was impossible to make out details in the dim light. “Over there.” He pointed up ahead and to the left. He eased his foot off the brake and angled the Cruiser in that direction, and turned on the headlights again. An animal ran in front of the vehicle, and then another.

“Coyotes,” she said, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“They're feeding on something.” His expression darkened. “We'd better check it out.”

“Why? I mean, it's just a bunch of coyotes.”

“They're scavengers. They eat whatever they find. For that many of them to be in one place, it must be something good-size.”

Her stomach lurched and she swallowed past the sudden bitter taste in her mouth. “Like a body?”

He stopped the vehicle again and turned to her. “I have to check this out, but you can stay in the truck.”

“Do you think it's another illegal, like the man we found day before yesterday?” she asked.

“It may not even be a person.” The Cruiser rolled forward again.

“But you think it might be.”

“It could be. But maybe not an illegal.”

“Who, then?”

“A woman went missing in the park a few days ago. At least, she's missing and they found her car abandoned at one of the overlooks. She's a news anchor from a station in Denver—Lauren Starling.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Abby couldn't put a face with it. “What would she be doing way out here?” She looked toward the spot ahead where one lone coyote stood guard, his eyes glittering in the Cruiser's headlights.

“She might have stumbled into something she shouldn't have,” he said.

The way Abby herself almost had. “I hope not,” she said.

“She also might not be connected to this case at all,” Michael said. “Some people see the park as a good place to take their own life.”

“Suicide? But why in a park?”

“Maybe they think it will be easier on their families, not having to clean up the mess.” He braked again, and the lone coyote trotted off. In the glow of the headlights she could make out a brown shape on the ground. There was definitely something there. Her stomach roiled again, and she gritted her teeth against a wave of nausea.

Michael shifted into Park and unfastened his seat belt. “Stay here,” he said.

He didn't have to tell her twice. As soon as he opened the door she caught the scent of decay. Of death. She looked away, out the side window, but felt her gaze pulled back to him as he made his way to the formless shape on the ground. He stepped cautiously, his shoulders tensed, one hand on the weapon at his side.

Then he stopped and relaxed. He crouched down and studied the scene a moment longer, then stood and hurried back to the Cruiser. “It's a deer,” he said. “There's not enough left to tell how it died. It could have been poachers, or maybe the coyotes managed to separate one from the herd.”

She sagged against the seat, weak with relief. “A deer,” she repeated. “I was so afraid...”

“I should have just checked it out and not said anything to upset you.” He put the Cruiser into gear and turned back toward the track they'd been following.

“I'd have been more upset if you'd clammed up and refused to tell me anything,” she said.

“I figured I could count on you to keep a cool head,” he said. “I'm not sure how many other civilians would hold it together as well as you have, considering all that has happened.”

Since coming to the park she'd stumbled over a dead body and been shot at by a sniper and threatened with a deadly rattlesnake. “I'm not exactly sleeping like a baby, but I'm okay,” she said. “Maybe it's similar to being in battle—you do what you have to do at the time, then fall apart later.”

He glanced at her. “I hope you don't fall apart.”

“Maybe I'm stronger now.” Despite a few flashbacks, she did feel stronger. Maybe the man beside her even had something to do with that.

“Give me the GPS coordinates on this spot.” He took a small notebook from his shirt pocket.

She read off the coordinates. “Why do you need them?”

He shrugged. “You never know when someone might want to check this out. Maybe we suddenly have a rash of poaching and we need to document it.”

“And to think I always pictured national parks as such peaceful, safe places.”

“For most people, they are.”

She stared out the windshield, at the expanding glow on the horizon. The gray light allowed her to make out more details in the landscape now—the silhouettes of trees and the distant mountains. “We're only a mile or so from the place where the sniper ambushed us,” she said.

“I'm going to cut the lights again,” he said. “It's getting light enough to see to drive, and if someone's watching, they'll have a harder time spotting us.”

She watched the GPS as they crawled forward again. After a few more minutes, she held up her hand. “This is where I parked to hike into the area where we found the body, and where I saw Mariposa.”

“And where the sniper fired at us.” He put the Cruiser into four-wheel drive and turned off the faint track. “We'll drive a little farther into the backcountry, then get out and have a look around.”

She pulled the zipper of her jacket up higher. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Anything that looks out of place. They'll probably have used camouflage, but a building is tough to conceal. Look for a grouping of trees or rocks that stand out from the rest. Or they could set up a compound in a gully or canyon, where it's harder to detect.” He tapped the console between them. “In here is a topo map. I highlighted some places they might try to conceal an operation. There's a Mini Maglite in there, too.”

She found the map and light and when he stopped the vehicle she spread the heavy plastic-coated map between them. Yellow highlighter circled a box canyon, a dry wash and a small woodland. She studied the lines indicating elevation. “This wash is closest,” she said, pointing to the area he'd circled. “And there's a seasonal creek nearby. This time of year, it will still have water from snowmelt. If I was going to set up a compound out here, that's what I'd choose.”

“Let's give it a look, then.”

She read out the GPS coordinates, and he turned the Cruiser toward them. “What do we do if we find something?” she asked.

“We call for backup. There's no sense going in alone when we don't even know how many people we're up against. This morning, we're just out sightseeing.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“But you were prepared to go in with just me?” He glanced at her, though she couldn't read his expression in the shadowed interior of the vehicle.

“I guess I trust your judgment,” she said. “Is that a mistake?” After all, he didn't strike her as reckless. And he'd saved her life before—she couldn't imagine he'd be eager to throw it away now.

“You can trust me,” he said. “Just like I trust you.”

“Trust me how?”

“If we do get in a tight spot, I trust you to have my back.”

“Of course.” The words were casual, but the feeling in her chest was anything but lighthearted. Even the soldiers she'd worked with in Afghanistan weren't all so willing to rely on a woman for help. Michael's high opinion of her meant more than she was ready to say.

“What's that?” He hit the brake and leaned forward, gripping the steering wheel.

“What's what?” She saw nothing in the grayness ahead.

“I thought I saw a light.” He switched off the sneak lights and the interior instrument lights. She stared out the windshield at a landscape of gray smudges, backlit by the first rays of the rising sun to their left. But she didn't see the light that had made him stop.

Michael opened the car door. “We better go in on foot,” he said. “Stay close to me.”

She slipped on her backpack and put one hand to the reassuring heft of the gun at her side. She was back on patrol again, minus the heavier pack and body armor. Even after so much time, the absence of that familiar weight made her feel vulnerable. Exposed.

She shut the door of the Cruiser without making a sound. But there was no way to move across the rugged ground without the occasional scrape of a shoe on rock, or the snapping of a twig that sounded as loud as a slamming door to her ears. Every sense felt heightened—sounds louder, sights clearer, the dawn breeze on her cheeks and the backs of her hands colder. She sniffed the air and grabbed Michael's arm. “Stop.”

He halted. “What is it?”

“Do you smell that?”

He inhaled sharply through his nose. “Wood smoke.”

“A campfire,” she whispered. “I think we're getting very close.”

“Which direction do you think it's coming from?”

She considered the question, then pointed ahead and to the right. “Over there.”

They moved forward silently, slowly. The sky changed from gray to dusky pink to pale blue. The smell of wood smoke grew stronger, too, and with it came the scent of food—corn, maybe, or baking bread. Soon they were close enough to hear muffled voices, and the scrape of cutlery and clink of glassware.

Michael dropped to his belly and indicated she should do the same. They crawled on their stomachs, dragging themselves forward on elbows. She winced as a sharp rock dug into her forearm. At least here they didn't have to worry about land mines. Probably. She wished she hadn't thought of mines. Someone who'd employ a sniper, and maybe had access to a ghillie suit and military-grade weapons, might decide to use land mines, too.