Chapter Two
He’d only been good at one thing his entire life.
National Park Service Ranger Rome Foster lowered the barrel of his hunting rifle to the ground as he followed the natural curve of the mix of junipers and ponderosa pines.
The wilderness this far south wasn’t nearly as condensed and packed as that of the forest that’d lined his family’s property back in Montana, which should’ve made tracking the black bear terrorizing Zion National Park that much easier, but he’d lost the trail a few minutes back.
A twisting creek rumbled a few yards to his right as midmorning sun cut through the trees.
Animals liked to keep near water, and yet this bear—what had the other rangers called it?
Sam?—seemed to be breaking all the rules in the natural order of things.
Winter would hit strong in a few days according to the forecast, but Sam had broken his hibernation schedule. Why?
Rome slowed his approach as he swept the sway of trees ahead.
Wind whistled off bark and chased goose bumps across his shoulders.
He’d geared up in multiple layers to fight back the chill descending on Southern Utah, but it would only last him so long.
His fingers were already tingling beneath his gloves.
Despite its proximity to the equator, the park would see snow within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
That was how long he had to find this bear and put it down before it killed someone else.
Hints of pine assaulted his nose. Most people would find that smell cleansing or renewing—whatever they wanted to call it when it sprouted up in every candle store across the country every winter—but he’d never been able to stand it.
His mouth produced an alarming amount of saliva in preparation of losing his breakfast, but he’d spent more than half his life in places like this.
Enough time to exert control over himself.
A snap of a twig pulled his attention north, straight ahead.
No movement. Nothing to suggest Sam or any other wildlife had been the source, but he’d learned not to trust his senses.
It was instinct—bred into him from generations of hunters and farmers—that brought his rifle back into both hands and positioned the butt against his shoulder.
His heart pulsed strong and steady behind his ears, the only sound other than the wind in his face.
He let out a slow exhale, planting his feet as he stared down the scope of the rifle.
A flash of dark green—nearly blending into the landscape—slipped between the trees.
Then another. This one in the shape of a person.
Lowering his weapon, Rome identified two park rangers with their wide-brim hats, slacks, jackets and boots.
Had the new superintendent called in another team to hunt down the bear?
Digging for his phone, he double-checked the GPS chip attached to the bear.
The red dot blinked straight ahead on the map filling his screen. Right where those rangers were.
They must’ve found Sam before he had.
The muscles in his jaw ached under the pressure of his back teeth.
Zion’s new superintendent—Randy Potter—had called him in two days ago begging Rome to take this assignment.
They’d come up together as kids then teens, hunting elk and deer in the dense forests of Bitterroot Valley.
Randy with his father, Rome with his uncle.
Hell, his childhood friend had gotten him the job with the National Park Service back when the guy had worked out at Glacier National Park once Rome had told him about the divorce.
Two days of navigating the isolated, empty, cold backcountry with nothing more than the clothes on his back, a rifle in his hands, his phone and a pack of supplies.
Could’ve told Rome he hadn’t been the only one brought in.
Approaching at a slower pace—wilderness rangers got jumpy when taken by surprise—he called out to the rangers ahead with a wave. Both turned, hands going to their utility belts. And their sidearms. Like he thought. Jumpy.
“Sir, we have to ask you to stop right there and drop your weapon.” The taller of the two zeroed in on Rome’s rifle, his face long and full like a guy who’d grown faster than nature had planned.
His uniform hung off him in all the wrong places as though the man had lost a ton of weight in just the past few months.
“Are you aware it is illegal to hunt in a national park? We’re going to have to bring you in. ”
“Great. I’ve been freezing out here for two days trying to track down that bear for you.
You know, the one who’s been killing people.
” Rome peeled his gloves from his hands while balancing his weapon between his rib cage and arm.
If he could call them hands anymore. Really, they felt like frozen Popsicle stumps.
Damn, what he wouldn’t give for a hot shower right now.
He could still feel the grime of sand and sweat and salt at the back of his neck.
He’d let these two bring him in while he got a better understanding of the bear they were dealing with.
He wasn’t giving up his rifle though. “Get Randy on the radio. Tell him I need more time.”
Rome took a step forward. His boot sank deep into deep mud streaked with red leaves. Wait. Not leaves. What the hell? Something struck his shoulder from overhead, and both rangers raised their gazes upward, mouths open.
“What—” A glob of red goo slithered down the shoulder of his jacket. Smelling sweet and metallic at the same time. Coppery. Oh, hell. Rome craned his neck up. His gaze meeting what was left of a very human face lodged between two branches of the tree. “Is that a person?”
The second ranger held his hand out in placating surrender, his weapon forgotten, eyes on the tree above. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple thick in his throat. “Sir, you might want to take a step back.”
Another glob of innards hit Rome in the face. He closed his eyes against the assault. Considering his highly trained instincts, he should’ve seen it coming. The glob ran off his face as he straightened. “Thanks for the warning.”
Using one of his gloves to wipe his face, he retreated back a few paces.
Damn it. It was going to take forever to get the blood off his jacket, and it felt like he was just smearing dead person all over his face.
A hint of decomposition settled like acid in his nose.
He really needed that shower. “I take it your friendly neighborhood serial-killing bear has struck again.”
He’d seen a lot of feral animals in his time.
Hell, for the first time in years, he had a stable job putting them down for the National Park Service in their parks all over the country, but this bear was something else.
It didn’t make sense. Three hikers—well, now four—all found within the past couple of months mauled and left in trees.
Black bears were known for climbing. They even liked to protect their kills so other predators couldn’t come along and take it from them, but they rarely left this much… meat behind.
Acid jumped up Rome’s throat as he tried to get a better look at the victim.
Yep. He was definitely going to lose his breakfast. Probably in the middle of this crime scene.
The person hanging above him was male from what he could see, based on the person’s size, strong facial jawline and the boot that’d come loose at the base of the tree.
He should’ve spotted it before stepping into the ring of blood beneath the body, but he’d been more focused on not getting shot by two backcountry rangers. He’d give himself some grace there.
“It wasn’t Sam.” The melodic voice hit him hard, as though he’d been physically struck. Closing his eyes against the thrum of recognition, Rome tore his gaze from their newly dead hiker and cut to her.
Of all the people, in all the national parks, in all the states, why the hell did it have to be her?
Platinum blonde hair came to her shoulders, shorter than he remembered it last. But that wasn’t the only change.
She’d lost some weight, her cheekbones a little more prominent, her mouth a little harsher.
Jeans and an oversize T-shirt had replaced years of blouses and slacks, but that wasn’t the change that surprised him the most. It was the lack of warmth in her eyes.
In all their years together, she’d never once looked at him as she did now, and he hated it.
Hated being the reason for that specific change.
Because no matter how he justified filing for divorce six months ago, he’d still hurt her in a way he’d never forgive himself.
Didn’t help she was just as beautiful as he remembered, though somehow sharper and softer all at the same time. “Arlette.”
She’d always hated that name, preferring Lettie and begging her mother to let her go by her middle name her entire life.
Never stuck though. Parents liked to name their kids after their favorite ancestors, and Arlette hadn’t escaped without a consistent resentment of carrying her great-grandmother’s admiration. “Sam didn’t do this.”
All right. So they were going to pretend they didn’t know each other, that they could be professional.
He could do that despite the guilt lodging in his throat.
She looked…tired. Like she’d gotten about as much rest as he had over the past few months, but he’d been called in for a job.
He had to focus on that. “The mess currently staining my favorite jacket says otherwise.” He pointed above them. “So does that.”
The taller ranger of the two shifted between Arlette and Rome, and a punch of anger exploded through Rome’s gut. What? Did the guy think he was going to hurt his ex-wife? “Dr. Larson, Sam could still be out here. You shouldn’t be out here while he’s in the area—”
“I know this bear, and I’m telling you he’s not responsible for…
that.” Arlette angled around the ranger with a jab of one elbow, which triggered a grunt from the public service worker.
Always determined to have the last word.
Always knowing better than anyone else. She was a doctor, after all.
Well, a scientist with a PhD, but it seemed that degree she had the nasty habit of waving in everybody’s face didn’t teach her any self-preservation skills.
The ranger was right. She had no business being out here getting the remnants of a bear’s kill on her—was she wearing freaking socks in the middle of a crime scene?
Where the hell were her shoes? “Nobody has even seen him in the past three weeks until someone called in seeing Sam covered in blood today. Don’t you think that’s suspicious this close to his hibernation routine?
Did you even check his den before you started hunting him? He might not even be in the area.”
Who was this woman now? PETA? Rome angled his phone screen toward her as every single reason he’d filed for divorce ran through his head.
As for why he hadn’t handed over the signed papers to his lawyer to file with the courts and make it official?
He wasn’t going to think too much about that.
“First, bears don’t have the right to an alibi.
Second, calling my skills into question doesn’t prove he wasn’t involved.
Third, the bear’s GPS says he’s been here, Dr. Larson. ”
Her eyes narrowed at the use of her official title.
What? He thought she liked being the smartest person in the room.
Or wilderness. Whatever. Within three slow steps, Arlette closed the distance between them.
He’d almost forgotten what she’d smelled like, and he was never more thankful for it than right then with the scent of pine clogging his senses.
The exhaustion she’d given him a glimpse of earlier returned.
Just for a fleeting second. Like she couldn’t fortify whatever mask she’d decided to meet him with.
“Sam didn’t do this. Something or someone else did. And I’m going to prove it.”
There was something personal in her voice Rome didn’t want to acknowledge.
An ache that threatened to spear straight through him if he wasn’t careful.
He flipped his rifle over his shoulder, careful never to let the barrel point at her or the other rangers.
No matter how much he resented Arlette. “And I hope I’m not too late to save you when you figure out you’re wrong. ”