Chapter 12
Twelve
The continued existence of wildlife and wilderness is important to the quality of life of humans.
—Jim Fowler, American zoologist
It was Coop’s day off, a precious opportunity for the solitude he craved. He planned to hike to the headwaters of Pilgrim Creek and look for signs that 399 might have emerged from her den. He couldn’t make up his mind about taking Kate to set up her camera near the bear’s lair, and thought a visit to the vicinity might give him the answer he was looking for—especially if 399 hadn’t made it through the winter. If the old girl hadn’t survived, it might be better for everyone to know. As he strode toward his truck, his peace was disrupted by an unexpected companion.
“Hey, Coop! Wait up!” Frankie’s voice echoed through the quiet parking lot.
Coop quickened his pace, hoping to outdistance him. He wasn’t in the mood for company, especially not Frankie’s. He wanted this day to think through a few things, like how to ask Kate Cunningham out on a date.
Frankie caught up with surprising ease. “Mind if I tag along?”
Coop shot him a glance, annoyed. “Yes, I do mind. This is my day off. I was hoping for some time to myself.”
Frankie grinned, undeterred, and opened the passenger side of the truck. “I saw what you put in your pack. I know you’re going hiking. And that probably means the backcountry. You know the park rules—use the buddy system.”
Coop sighed, knowing better than to argue that point. The kid was right. “You better not expect me to share my food with you.”
“Not to worry. I can handle my own sustainment.”
Turning onto the main road, Coop scoffed. “Your pack looks way too light. Did you even bring a can of bear spray?”
“No worries. Bears are just as afraid of me as I am of them.”
“What about a warm coat? There’s a lot of snow up there.”
“My body has a low thermostat setting.”
Fine. Coop was well familiar with a teen’s know-it-all attitude. The only way to break through it was by experience. He slowed down as he drove the truck past a line of Boy Scouts, all in uniform. “They’re working on their hiking merit badge. I spoke to their leader yesterday.”
“Yeah. That badge is a piece of cake.”
“Yeah?” Coop glanced at Frankie. “How do you know?” This kid didn’t strike Coop as the Boy Scout type.
He shrugged. “I know things.”
They didn’t chat much until Coop pulled into the parking area off Pilgrim Creek Road. After parking the truck, they hit the trail. The Middle Pilgrim Creek Trail started off easy, with a wide, flat stretch alongside the creek. As they delved deeper into the wilderness, he and Frankie encountered more snow, not just in the shaded areas. They also had to navigate several creek crossings, which could be quite tricky at this time of year, if not downright impossible. Coop couldn’t help but wonder if the hike might be too challenging for Kate. He glanced back at Frankie to check on his progress. With a sigh of relief, Coop realized he had nothing to worry about with that kid. Frankie moved like a gazelle, effortlessly conquering the ascent.
An hour or so into the hike, Frankie slipped away to water the bushes, he said, and Coop found a sunny spot to rest for a bit. He drank a few sips from his water bottle, closed his eyes, and soaked up the sun. Frankie returned with a surprise—berries, carried in his shirt like a hammock. He held one hand out to Coop. “Try these. They’re underripe, but still provide nourishment.”
Coop raised an eyebrow. “Huckleberries.”
“Yep. They thrive in montane forests.” After polishing off the huckleberries, Frankie pulled out a pocketknife and walked over to some plants. Bending over, he dug the plant out of the ground. He walked back to where Coop sat and held out the plant. “I recommend the leaves, though the tuber can be prepared like a potato.”
Coop shook his head, cringing. “Isn’t that a spring beauty?”
“More correctly known as Claytonia virginica.” He chewed a few leaves, then swallowed. “Vitamin rich, full of nutrition.”
As they nibbled on the sour berries, Coop said, “So, I’m guessing you might have had more experience with the great outdoors than you let on.”
“Maybe.”
“Boy Scouts?”
“Possibly.”
“How far’d you get?”
“Far enough.”
Coop watched him for a while. “You’re an Eagle Scout, aren’t you?” He slapped his knee when he saw the embarrassment in Frankie’s eyes. “You are! Man, that’s impressive. I sure didn’t get that far. I think only a small number ever reach Eagle.”
“Four out of every one hundred.”
Coop had to swallow a smile. There was more to this kid than met the eye. “How old were you when you made it?”
“Fourteen.”
Coop practically choked on the berries. “No way. You have got to be kidding me! That makes you one of the youngest Eagle Scouts. Ever.”
“Eh. I think there’s like nine or ten of us.” Frankie looked away. “It was something my dad and I did together.”
Coop took another swig of water. “Tell me about this dad of yours. I hear he’s a muckety-muck.”
Frankie lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “He rose through the ranks of the forestry service.”
“So you basically grew up in national parks?”
“Pretty much. We kept getting moved around.”
“Like which parks, exactly?”
“Alaska, a couple of times. Acadia, Great Smokies, Yosemite.”
“Not Yellowstone or Grand Teton?”
“Yeah, but I was really small. I don’t remember them.”
“So where are your folks now?”
“Dad sold out and went to the den of iniquity.”
Coop practically choked on a mouthful of berries. “I take it you mean Washington DC.” There was a saying among rangers—all roads in the NPS led to the nation’s capital.
“Yep.”
“How long ago?”
“Last year. I refused to go with him, so I got shipped off to boarding school.”
“What about your mom?”
“She died. Car accident. Drunk driver crossed the median and crashed right into her.”
Oh man. That would be tough to get over. With a jolt, Coop realized he’d completely forgotten to call his mother on Mother’s Day. Tonight , he told himself. Call Mom tonight. “So it’s just you and your dad.”
“Yeah. Kinda. Mostly, it’s just me.”
Coop nodded, gaining a new perspective on Frankie. They got ready to resume their hike when the sound of a distant gunshot pierced the quiet. Coop froze, high alert, expecting another shot to ring out, ears straining to capture the location. But none came.
Frankie pointed behind them. “Came from that way.”
Coop’s mind jumped to Tim’s warning that there was a credible threat of a poacher after 399. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his backpack.
They rushed along the trail, boldly leaping across the creek in spots where they had struggled just thirty minutes earlier. They saw nothing unusual until they weren’t far from the start of the Middle Pilgrim Creek Trail. Frankie saw it first—a blood trail running into the creek from the bank, where someone had dragged an animal.
Climbing up from the rocky creek, Frankie suddenly crouched to check something out. “Hey, Coop!” he yelled, trying to be heard over the creek’s roar, waving him over excitedly.
Coop hurried over to see what had caught Frankie’s attention.
“Check out these tracks.” Frankie pointed out their outlines pressed into the wet, matted debris. “Definitely not big enough for a full-grown bear, but they could be from a cub, you know, a COY.”
Coop bent down to look more closely. “I think it’s a wolf.” Still crouching, he gazed around at the peaceful setting. So much wildlife frequented creeks, looking for food, water, or low spots to cross over.
He wondered why this wolf had been targeted and if the poacher planned to return. He stood up. “Frankie, help me look around for bullet casings.”
Frankie wandered along the creek bank, stopping now and then to bend down. He straightened up and turned around. “Found it!” He came back to where Coop stood and held out his open palm. In it was a shell.
“Nice work,” Coop said, growing more impressed with the kid. He pulled out his cell phone and tried to call Tim Rivers. “Dead zone. I should’ve brought the radio.” He took pictures of the scene and checked coordinates on his phone. “I think Tim said he was going to be at Mormon Row today. We’ll head over there and let him know what we found.” So much for his peaceful day off.
Frankie frowned, confusion written all over his face. “What is Mormon Row? Because I’m not going to any church service.”
“Follow me and I’ll educate you.” Coop gestured for Frankie to follow as he headed back toward the narrow path that led down the hillside. Frankie trailed behind.
Once the terrain leveled so they could walk side by side on the trail, Coop launched into his impromptu history lesson. “Alright, Frankie, let me tell you about Mormon Row. Back in the late 1800s and early 1900s, a bunch of Mormon settlers came here looking to start a new life. They built these sturdy log cabins and barns and set up farms, thinking they could make it big in the Wild West. But boy, were they in for a surprise.”
Frankie nodded, seeming intrigued. “What happened to ’em?”
“The winters here are brutal,” Coop said, glancing at Frankie to gauge his interest. “Snow piled up like you wouldn’t believe. Probably a lot like this winter had been.” He gestured to snow under a tree. “It was tough for those folks to survive, let alone thrive. Some of them gave up and headed for greener pastures, but others stuck it out. They figured out ways to tough it out, growing crops, raising cattle, and making do with what they had. Nowadays, you can still see some of those old cabins standing tall, like the Moulton Barn.”
“What’s the Moulton Barn?”
This kid surprised Coop with his wilderness knowledge, but he still had a lot to learn about the park’s history with people. “The Moulton Barn is probably one of the most photographed sites in the entire Grand Teton National Park.”
“A barn?” He scoffed. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of ... poetic, I guess. It reminds me of the grit and determination those settlers had.” Coop finished his impromptu history lesson, feeling pleased with himself. He picked up his pace, eager to get to his truck. Frankie kept up, not saying anything, and Coop assumed he’d probably grown bored.
But as they reached the truck and climbed in, Coop noticed Frankie didn’t automatically reach for his earbuds to listen to music. Instead, he said, “I could’ve survived back then.”
Coop couldn’t help but grin. “Think so?”
“Know so,” Frankie said with a scoff.
Yep, Coop had definitely hooked him. Finding a way to engage Frankie wasn’t all that different from teaching in the classroom. He just needed to find the right angle.
Kate sat at the desk in her room at Jackson Lake Lodge, carefully examining each photograph she’d taken this morning after downloading her camera’s memory card onto her computer. In one photograph, a white egret took flight off the still-as-glass Snake River. Kate frowned. It was a slightly fuzzy white egret. That moment could not have been more perfect. Her skills as a wildlife photography were so ... imperfect.
Scrolling through, she felt her frustration grow. Amateurs wouldn’t even notice the flaws, but she was painfully aware of how these pictures revealed her inexperience with wildlife photography. One glaring error was misjudging the lighting conditions, resulting in overexposed shots that washed out the vibrant colors of the birds she’d been so excited to capture. Another mistake was not adjusting her camera settings quickly enough when the birds took flight, leading to images that lacked the sharpness she had envisioned, like the egret.
To make matters worse, Kate realized she had chosen the wrong lens for some of the shots, resulting in a lack of magnification and detail in her subjects. As she clicked through the photos, each one highlighting a different mistake, she felt a sickening disappointment settle in her chest. She’d put so much pressure on herself this week to capture stunning images, like those she’d seen from the seasoned professionals at the park with whom she rubbed elbows each day. Now, faced with her own serious shortcomings, with an impending time limitation from the National Geographic editor, she couldn’t help but question her abilities.
Should she even be here? Maybe the zoo was where she belonged.
With a sigh, Kate closed her eyes and leaned back, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She reminded herself that mistakes were a natural part of the learning process. “Each one has a lesson to teach,” she said to herself. She gave her head a shake. It was time for a change. She took a pad of paper and pen from the desk drawer to make notes on each picture, to identify the mistakes she’d made. Later today, she’d try out different settings on her camera and practice with different lenses.
Reinvigorated, she scrolled back to the first picture of the day, to the egret. She was focusing so intently that she jumped when her phone buzzed. Oliver’s name flashed at the top of the screen. She hesitated for a moment before answering, bracing herself for the conversation she knew was coming.
“Hey, Oliver,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Kate! I’ve been trying to reach you.” His tone was tinged with relief. “What’s going on? Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
She felt a pang of guilt at his words, knowing that she’d been avoiding his calls and messages for the last day or so. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I’ve been out in the field nonstop.” True.
“Out in the field?” Oliver repeated, as if she had used a foreign phrase.
“Well, that’s where the wildlife is.”
“I don’t understand why it’s taking so long to get your picture. Hasn’t that bear showed up yet?”
“No, she hasn’t.” There was an unmistakable tinge of annoyance in her voice.
“And no one else has spotted it? No rangers? None of the other photographers? You’re absolutely sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Could the photographers be lying to you? I can see why they wouldn’t want to share that info. I mean, you’re all competing for the same picture, right?”
“I suppose. But word travels fast around here. I’m sure I would know if someone spotted her.”
“It’s only that ... I can’t help but worry about you, that’s all.”
Kate’s frustration ebbed. His concern was sweet. “I’ll be home soon enough.” That was true too. She just wasn’t sure if she’d be back with a great photo or back to the zoo.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he said, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice. “You know, having you away has got me thinking about what you said before you left. About how this time apart would be good for us.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice laced with relief. Yes! Yes, yes, yes.
“The more I think about it, the more I think you’re right. A change is needed.”
Oh, thank goodness! “Sounds like we’re on the same page. We can talk more when I get home.”
“And when exactly do you think that will be?”
Kate hesitated for a moment. She was holding out hope that Coop would take her up to 399’s den. He hadn’t said yes but he hadn’t said no. “Honestly, I’m not quite sure,” she said. “For now, I’d better get back to work. There’s something I need to finish up.”
“Oh. Okay.” He sounded a little hurt. “You get back to your photography adventure. Let’s talk again tonight, okay?”
“Absolutely!” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel. She hung up before he could try to pin her down with a specific time.
Maisie pedaled her bike hard along the winding trail that led to String Lake. She was getting better on Pops’s bike. In Denver, where she lived with her mom, she didn’t bike much. Partly because of the heavy traffic and partly because her bikes kept getting stolen.
As Maisie made a turn into String Lake’s parking lot, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Frankie, shooting a thrill of excitement through her. Frankie had a level of coolness that no other boy in her middle school could ever hope to match. He acted like he had nothing to prove and no one to prove anything to. Soooo cool.
“What happened here?” Maisie asked, hopping off her bike to join Frankie. He was cleaning up a picnic table full of half-eaten leftovers, empty cans, and discarded food wrappers.
“Coop assigned me to pick up trash left by stupid people who can’t seem to clean up after themselves.” Frankie grimaced as he gestured toward the mess. “What is wrong with people? Why do they come to a national park to litter? Why not just stay home and keep their slovenly ways to themselves?”
Frankie was brilliant. Who used the word slovenly ? “Looks like they had fun, at least.” Maisie picked up some chewed cobs of corn by their stems and added them into the trash bag. “I can’t eat corn with my braces.”
“I don’t care if they had fun. Leaving their junk behind is how bears end up preferring human food.” Frankie’s voice was laced with frustration. “And then the bears end up getting euthanized. What’s worse, it’s usually the COY or yearlings.”
Maisie froze. “Cubs?” she whispered. “Cute little cubs?”
Frankie nodded grimly as he continued to gather up the trash. “Yep. Happens all the time. A fed bear is a dead bear. They should punish the stupid people, not the bears.”
Once the area was picked up, Frankie took the bags over to Coop’s truck and heaved them into the open bed. Maisie trotted behind. “Where’s Coop?”
“He’s down by the lake talking.” He made a yak yak yak gesture with his hand. “Somebody said there was a big ol’ bear sniffing around here.” He chuckled. “Then again, if I were to encounter a bear the size of Bruno, I’d raise a racket.”
“Bruno?”
“Yeah. Bruno the boar.”
“A pig?”
“You should know better than that. You’re a ranger’s grandkid.” He scoffed. “A boar is a male grizzly. Biggest bear in the park. Bruno’s the sire of most of 399’s offspring.”
“I’m not a kid. But I do think that’s sort of sweet.” Frankie gave her a look like she sounded silly. “What? It’s kind of romantic to think bears pair up.”
He scoffed. “Bruno has sired the cubs of a ton of female grizzlies.”
“Oh. So he’s not a monogamist.”
A laugh burst out of him. “Not even close.”
Waiting for Coop, he tipped his head toward a bench. She took that as a bona fide invitation. She had to remember this moment. Someday she would tell their children about their first date. “You know what I love most about being here? The fresh air.” She took in a deep breath. “I haven’t had to use my inhaler once.” She lifted up her leg to reveal a lump in her sock, where she kept her inhaler in case of an asthma attack.
He glanced at her sock.
“Fun fact. String Lake got its name because it looks like a string.”
He shrugged, like big deal .
Okay. She had more. “Another fun fact. Jenny Lake is named after the Shoshone woman who married Beaver Dick.”
“Who?”
“I told you about him. You know, String Lake? Beaver Dick was an Englishman named Richard Leigh. He was a guide and a settler and a trapper. That’s how Leigh Lake got its name.”
Frankie didn’t respond, but she could tell he was interested. Sort of.
“So Beaver Dick and Jenny had this super happy marriage and a bunch of kids, and they were really popular. Everyone talked about their generosity and hospitality and kindness.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s going to be a terrible end to this story?”
“Because you’re right . They invited this sick guy into their home and he got everyone sick, including Jenny. Not Dick. They all died, one by one. Not Dick, but everyone else.”
He looked at her, astounded. “That is incredibly tragic.”
“I know!”
“Where do you learn this stuff?”
“I read a lot. There was a kid in my math club who gave me a book about Jenny. And Pops tells me a lot.”
He grinned. “By Pops, you mean”—he made his voice deep and authoritative—“Ranger Tim Rivers?”
“Yes. He knows everything about the park. About all of the parks.” She looked at him with sincerity. “I hope you realize how lucky you are to have both Coop and Pops looking out for you this summer. They’re wonderful men. True heroes.”
For a brief moment, Frankie’s face lost his bravado. Then back it came. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Speaking of, here comes the warden.” Coop was heading toward his truck and motioned to Frankie to come join him. “I’d better go.” Frankie gave her a high five. “Thanks for the janitor help.”
Maisie could’ve hugged him. Their first date! And it was a great success.
He stood up and took a step, then turned to her. “How old are you again?”
“Almost fourteen.”
“So let me get this straight. You keep an inhaler stuck in your sock. You’ve got a mouth full of metal. And you’re in math club.”
She nodded, delighted he had been listening to her.
“When you get to high school, if you want to keep your cool on, you might want to space out nerdy things.” He sauntered off to Coop’s truck.
And just like that, Maisie’s happy feelings popped like soap bubbles.
She heard a text come in from her phone and pulled it out of her backpack to read.
Mom
How’s everything going?
All good! How ’bout you?
Not so well. This spiritual retreat isn’t what I expected.
How so?
Bible-thumping. I might cut it short. Thinking we should head back to Denver so I can start job hunting.
Maisie felt panic. She didn’t want to leave Pops and the park! Her week had just begun.
Give it a chance, Mom. Remember, Rebecca Woodbine treated you to this retreat. If you leave early, she’ll probably want you to pay her back.
Long pause.
Good point.
Long pause.
I’ll give it another day.
Over the radio, Sally Janus had told Coop to come to her office as soon as possible. When he asked why, she bristled. “How ’bout you find out when you get here.”
That was an uncomfortable end to a public call with the acting chief ranger that every other ranger was listening in on.
Frankie gave him a look. “Aww, man. What’d you do wrong?”
“Nothing that I know of.”
Thirty minutes later, after dropping Frankie off at the Jenny Lake Stables to help the shorthanded handler clean out horse stalls—a task Frankie was not happy with, but what else was new?—Coop stepped into Sally’s office, immediately sensing an unusual tension in the air. She gestured for him to take a seat, and as he settled in, the door clicked shut behind him, sealing them in the uneasy atmosphere. She folded her arms against her chest.
“Tim said you came across evidence of poaching activity.” Her tone was sharp, cutting straight to the point. “What information did you gather?”
“Just what I told Tim,” Coop said, trying to match her seriousness. “Pretty sure it was a wolf.”
“Did you see any sign of the poacher that we can go on? Snares, traps, bait? Tire tracks?” Sally fired off questions like bullets from a gun.
Each time Coop shook his head, he felt the weight of Sally’s disappointment in him settle in the room.
“Broken branches, trampled vegetation? Any clue that might have indicated the path he took?”
“Pretty sure he went through the creek,” Coop said, feeling a twinge of frustration at his own lack of findings. He should’ve done a more thorough investigation.
“Any sign of human activity? A gum wrapper. A tissue.”
“No. I filled out the report. Here, I have a copy.” Coop opened his notebook, but she waved it away dismissively.
“I read it,” she said, her expression conveying her dissatisfaction with both the report and Coop’s detective skills. “Coop, hon, you aren’t giving me much to go on.”
“There wasn’t much to go on. Other than the shell casing which, by the way, Frankie the intern found. So at least we know the make of the rifle.”
“It was a rifle that would be common for any hunter.” Sally leaned forward, her eyes probing. “What were you doing up there, anyway? You’re assigned to the valley.”
“It was my day off.”
Sally narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I asked what you were doing up there. It’s off-limits.”
Coop hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. He settled on a half-truth. “I assumed that meant off-limit to public access. You see, it’s one of my favorite day hikes.”
Sally wasn’t buying it. “So did you see 399? Any signs that she’s emerged from hibernation?”
“No. I didn’t see her. We didn’t get as high up as I had hoped to. The gunshot interrupted the hike.”
“Coop, do you think she didn’t make it through the winter?”
“Not sure.” He hated to think so, but it was starting to look that way.
Sally’s gaze softened, betraying a mix of emotions. “I sure hope that big darlin’ made it through.”
“Me too,” Coop said.
Sally shook off her sentiment. “If there’s any sighting of 399, I want you to let me know immediately. Day or night. Let me know if any of those wildlife watchers catch sight of her. How many photographers have you counted so far?”
“At least forty.” Forty-one, if he counted Kate.
“Do you recognize them from last year?”
“Most.” Kate was new.
“Any one photographer who might be ... seem to have questionable motives?”
Still thinking of Kate, Coop coughed a laugh. “No. They’re all ... dedicated to 399’s well-being. Their livelihood depends on her.”
“Well, if they see the bear first, you’re to let me know,” Sally said in a firm voice. “Did you happen to pass anyone on the trail?”
“Nope. No one’s up there.”
“I’ve decided to extend the area along Pilgrim Creek to be closed to public access. All the way down to the road.”
“But what about the photographers waiting for 399?”
“Unaffected. They can stay along the road.”
“Sally, the whole park is going to be restricted soon.”
“It’s just temporary, Ranger Cooper.” She gave him a look, as if to say, Don’t forget that I’m the boss here. She cleared her throat. “One more thing.” Her face softened. Even her voice grew tender. “Tim might seem to feel a little...”
“Tim?” Coop leaned forward. “Feel a little ... what?”
“Maybe a little ... put on the back burner—” But a knock on the door made Sally put an abrupt end to that sentence. “Come in.”
A very tall ranger entered Sally’s office. Coop couldn’t help but notice how Sally’s demeanor shifted. Tense. Stiff.
“Ranger Feldmann, come in. Ranger Cooper was just leaving.”
I was? Apparently he was. Coop rose from his seat and reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Are you new to the park?”
Before Feldmann could respond, Sally answered. “He’s on loan from Yellowstone.”
“Really?” It was only then that Coop noticed his Yellowstone badge. “I’ve never known Yellowstone to have enough staff to loan out.”
“The parks,” Sally said, “have been working on a way to better support each other. I met him at the conference I attended recently, and he volunteered to help us out during opening season. That’ll be all, Ranger Cooper. There’s a bear jam over at Moose-Wilson Road that could use your expertise.”
As Coop left Sally’s office, he felt unsettled. The bear jam at Moose-Wilson Road had plenty of rangers to cover it. He’d driven by on his way to Sally’s office and knew it to be so. Sally wanted him out of her office when that super tall ranger came in. Or maybe he just seemed tall because he stood next to Sally and she was so small.
A lingering sense of curiosity gnawed at him. There was something else behind Sally’s questions, something beneath the surface. How could she think that any wildlife photographers could be potential poachers? Especially the ones dedicated to 399.
Something struck Coop as odd about that Ranger Feldmann too. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
And then it dawned on him. When he shook Feldmann’s hand, his palm was smooth. Unusually soft.
Wade couldn’t believe it when Feldmann told him details about the turncoat. A chief ranger. A woman. He didn’t know which was worse. “What were you thinking?” Wade practically spat out the words, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.
Feldmann’s nonchalant demeanor faltered slightly. “I thought I told you. She’s our best bet.”
“Best bet?” Wade scoffed. “She’s a chief ranger, Feldmann. She’s not some rookie we can manipulate easily.”
“That’s exactly why. I went as a mole to a conference at Yellowstone. This ranger was asking a lot of questions about park employees’ retirement package, and she didn’t like the answers. So, after the meeting, I made a point to get to know her. Sat next to her at meals, you know, that kind of thing. It was obvious that she was angry at the NPS and that she needed money. By the end of the conference, I knew she was willing to play ball. I actually think it’s genius that she’s a chief ranger. In her role, she’s got power to help us.”
“How?”
“By limiting public access to areas where that bear might be.”
Okay, Wade thought. Apart from one clean shot at the wolf, proving the turncoat could actually hunt, he still wanted proof that she could be trusted. “I want her put to the test. Have her go after a bear.” He patted his chest. “Not my bear. Just any other bear. Let’s see if she’s playing ball or if she’s playing you for a fool.”
Feldmann nodded. “I’ll get it set up.”
With that, Wade turned on his heel and stalked back to his hotel room. This turn of events only fueled his determination to succeed, but it also made him wary.
Time was ticking.