Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
I spread the map crisscrossed with a maze of forest service roads across my warm hood, then double check the landmarks.
I’m in the right place, but there’s no sign of our poacher, not even fresh tire tracks in the snow.
And the road I’m supposed to access has a locked gate.
Why the hell would Rowdy send me all the way out here?
From the pocket of my jacket, my phone chimes. It’s probably Rowdy, finally calling me back.
“Did you know—”
“CJ?”
I blink at the logged hillside rising into the clouds. “Linnea?”
At least, I think it’s her.
About fucking time.
“Are you available? I, um, could use some help with something.”
There’s an edge in her tone that I don’t like. I snatch the map and hurry to climb behind the wheel. “Tell me what you need.”
“There’s an injured animal. On South Fork Road. She’s been hit, and I…” She breaks off with a shaky sigh. “Where are you?”
I glance around. “Looking for a poacher.”
“Oh.” It comes out quiet, deflated.
“But I’m heading your way right now.” I start my truck and execute a four point U-turn on the narrow road. I’m still getting to know this area but I remember South Fork Road. It’s northwest from here, closer to town.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Because they harvest timber up here, even in the winter, the gravel roads are in decent shape, but they’re twisty with steep drop offs. Not that it keeps me from putting the pedal down.
All week I’ve been hoping for a chance to see her again.
Rowdy’s kept us away from the office, which under normal circumstances would suit me just fine.
And we’ve been busy. After apprehending the shed hunters harassing the Lost River herd on Wednesday, we had to give formal statements to Canyon County’s Assistant D.A.
about recovering Samantha Bowen’s body from Cascade Lake.
Yesterday, we checked fishing licenses on the Clearwater.
Today would have been the day to bump into Linnea thanks to the all-agency meeting about the winter feeding program, but Rowdy said both of us attending was a waste of manpower, so he sent me to Copper Mountain to chase this Bald Eagle poacher instead.
Or was it a ruse to keep me away from his daughter?
Linnea still hasn’t called me, but she also hasn’t turned down the date Bear and Maryanne are trying to plan for the four of us tomorrow night. I’m about ready to storm into her office if I have to, demand she give us a shot.
Once I’m on South Fork, I break the 45MPH speed limit on the plowed road, my hands gripping the wheel.
Linnea is a biologist. Why is she out here with an injured animal alone? The call should have gone to Rowdy, and if he didn’t pick up, it would reroute to the sheriff.
I spot a red Tahoe with a dented brush guard pulled to the side of the road. Behind it is a silver Ford pickup with the IDFW crest on the door and a light bar on the top—Linnea. No sheriff’s deputy rig. What the hell’s keeping them?
As I pull to the shoulder, I spot the injured animal in the shallow depression between the road and the forest. She’s completely still except for the rapid rise and fall of her side as she breathes.
From my height in the truck, it’s easy to assess her shattered hind leg and the pulpy gash on her flank—and what needs to be done.
After cutting my engine, I step down to the shoulder, my boots crunching on the compact snow.
Across the road, Linnea climbs out of her pickup, her expression so tense with anguish that my throat aches, like someone’s squeezing the breath out of me.
Our eyes lock, and she rubs her lips together.
She’s dressed for the office like when I saw her Monday, her long hair falling in silky waves down her back, and her heavy work parka zipped up to her chin.
The driver of the Tahoe starts his engine and rolls down his window, calling out a thanks while pulling onto the road.
I scowl at the wave he flashes me, his engine’s throaty rumble fading as he accelerates. What a fucking coward.
“Did you tell him he could leave?” I call out to Linnea.
She shakes her head. “I have his information though.”
“You can take off too. It’s okay.”
Her chin lifts. “I’ll stay.”
Something is off about her reaction, but maybe there will be time to figure it out later.
“Okay.” I draw my Glock and cover the distance to the injured doe.
It’s quick and immediate, the gunshot cold and loud in my ears.
The doe goes still, and I exhale a full breath.
There’s a tiny comfort in knowing I’ve put an end to her suffering.
Suffering she didn’t deserve. It’s the first time I’ve fired my weapon on the job, and I know the memory will stick for a long time. Maybe forever.
After securing my weapon, I check both ways and cross the road. There’s paperwork to fill out and other steps to complete, but those can wait.
Linnea’s wearing silver earrings in the shape of raindrops that sway in the steady breeze. Or maybe she’s swaying. Her face is pale and her eyes could be ice cut straight from a glacier. “Thanks for getting here so fast.”
“Sorry you even had to be here.” I glance down the straightaway. Where is the sheriff? Rowdy’s comment from that night on the lake rings in my mind. There’s lazy, and there’s negligent. I’d say the sheriff blowing off this call qualifies as negligent.
She reaches up to swipe the edge of her cheek. “I needed to stay.”
I step in closer and catch her gaze. “Hey, you’re not okay, are you?”
Her bottom lip trembles. “Should I be?”
That she’s admitting this to me softens the knot of tension I’ve been carrying inside my chest all day. “Sorry. Stupid question.”
At least this gets me a flicker of a smile, but it’s gone just as fast. “I’m tough.”
She’s killing me a little bit with her bravery. It’s clear this situation put her heart in a vise, yet she stuck around to see it through. I rest my hands on my hips. “Nobody’s saying you aren’t.”
“My boss would probably disagree.”
A car whooshes past, kicking up a gust of snowy road grit.
“On what grounds? You’re out here while he’s in his comfy office.”
She shrugs, but it feels heavy. Resigned. “It’s happened before. It’s fine.”
This doesn’t sound fine. “How do you mean?”
“Being the new person, the youngest. Being the girl.” She shrugs again. “Everyone expects less. Expects you to fuck up. Expects you to not carry your weight. Expects you to get emotional. Expects you to quit.”
“Sounds like you’ve been working with assholes.” Who is this boss? Sounds like he needs an attitude adjustment. Maybe from me.
She crosses her arms. “I need to call the salvage crew.”
“How about I take that off your hands?”
Her gaze sharpens and she studies me for a long moment. Does she think I’m one of those assholes?
“Promise not to give me shit about it?”
I hold up my pinky finger.
To my delight, her brow furrows like she’s concentrating.
“Come on,” I say in a mock singsong that coaxes a smile from her lips. “A pinky promise is an upgrade from a regular promise.”
With a laugh, she links her pinky with mine. Her finger is so slender and smooth wrapped around mine, and even though her skin is cold, the connection sends an electric current zipping beneath my skin.
“I promise I will not give you shit about this,” I say, watching her eyes. “One teeny catch though.”
Her look turns shrewd.
“Double date tomorrow night. Movie and dinner after.”
She sighs, but she’s trying hard not to smile.
I hold her gaze, unwilling to look away. Say yes, damn it.
“Okay.” She gives my pinky a squeeze, then releases it.
Though I want to shout in victory, I manage to open her door for her without spontaneously hugging her or pressing her up against the side of her vehicle and kissing her senseless.
Maybe I’ll get my chance to do both of those on Saturday.
She climbs behind the wheel. When she’s buckled, I carefully shut the door, then step back so she can pull a U-turn. I watch her go, the knot in my chest loosening just a little.
She said yes.
I shoot Bear a text.
We’re on
BEAR:
I was beginning to think you’d lost your touch
I’m filling out the forms in my truck when a black SUV with a light bar rolls up. About fucking time. When I glance up at the man stepping out, my happy bubble pops.
But still, I blink, not believing what I’m seeing.
Harlan Thomas.
What the hell is he doing here?
After he got kicked off the fire crew, he disappeared. There was a rumor going around that he got a job with border patrol, but I didn’t believe it. Not after the shit he pulled.
He was always a big boy, but he’s bigger now, and I would bet my first paycheck that it’s not from working out.
I step down and shut my door, which draws his attention from the dead deer.
When his beady little eyes meet mine, I can practically see his slow brain working to put the pieces together.
But I don’t look anything like the skinny goof-off with a buzz cut that I was back then, so maybe he doesn’t recognize me.
He puts his hands on his hips and scans the opposite side of the road. “Where’s the driver responsible?”
“He left when I arrived.”
Harlan juts out his chin and his tongue rolls over the bulge of chewing tobacco tucked into his gums. “And you didn’t stop him?”
“Dispatching a critically injured animal was my priority.”
“Figures.” He spits onto the road. “Salvage crew coming?”
“Yeah.” Thank fuck he doesn’t outrank me because I’d rather eat my boots than call him Sir.
He studies me for another moment, disdain shining in his eyes.
Like he expects me to snap my heels and salute or some other bullshit.
I hold my ground, and he spins and waddles back to his rig. Seconds later, he pulls a U-turn, flashing the CLEARWATER COUNTY SHERIFF lettering in my face as he does.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
How did a crook like Harlan Thomas end up as sheriff?
Bear practically leaps down the steps to my truck when I pull up outside the vacation cabin he bought this winter to fix up and sell. When he climbs in, I shoot him a knowing smirk.
“Shut up,” he groans while buckling in.
I laugh. “I didn’t say anything.”
He scoffs. “So what if I’m excited to see her? Is that some kind of crime?”
I put the truck in gear. “No, it’s just a look I haven’t seen in a while.” Bear’s last girlfriend and the one before that dumped him for someone else after four months, and he’s been gun-shy ever since.
His scowl softens. “I like her. She’s nice and she’s pretty and bonus points, she laughs at my jokes. I just can’t figure out why she’s single, or why she wants to hang out with me.”
“Because you’re a handsome stud, and the world’s biggest teddy bear.”
“Stop flirting.”
I take a left, passing more vacation homes, some with chimney smoke curling into the darkness. “How’s the reno coming?”
“Progress was a bit hampered by all the snow this week.”
Bear has built an impressive side gig flipping vacation rentals in places with excellent skiing. “Because you ditched to go skiing?” I tease.
He gives me a good-natured chuckle. “Thursday they had fifteen inches of fresh, man. How am I supposed to pass that up?”
“I thought you were going Tuesday?”
“They shut the whole mountain down for some fancy wedding.”
I scoff. “They do that?”
“It’s a rich people thing.” He snaps his fingers. “Which reminds me. Maryanne knows the groom.”
“And we care because?”
“He’s Linnea’s ex.”
I shoot him a questioning glance. “No shit?”
“And we don’t like him. I guess he’s super controlling. Toxic.”
I want to know more, but this feels like Linnea’s story to tell. “That night at the Sweetwater, she was celebrating him marrying someone else.”
He snorts. “Sounds like a worthy cause.”
A hard gust sends a wave of spindrift at the windshield and rocks the truck.
Bear shoots me an inquisitive glance, one eyebrow arched. “Nice story in the Journal, by the way. Have you arrested anyone yet?”
“Dude, what?”
“That woman you pulled out of the lake. There was a story on it. Sounds like she was murdered, yeah? So let’s fucking go, man.”
“I didn’t talk to any reporters.” I pause at a stop sign. “Show me the story.”
He leans sideways to slip his phone from his pocket, then taps his screen a few times before handing it over.
Though the piece is brief, the journalist, Annaleise Bell, gets right to it.
There’s one diplomatic quote from Deputy Director Shay, and several from Jake Kelso, the Cascade Lake Lodge owner who accompanied us onto the ice that night.
Annaleise somehow got her hands on a couple of pictures, too.
One of the boat ramp from that night flanked by the emergency vehicles, red and blue lights glowing against the ice.
Another of the frozen lake, taken during the day.
And what looks like an ID badge shot of Samantha Bowen, though the only feature I recognize is her long dark hair.
No mention of Rowdy’s suspicion that ties her death to a possible cover up, or Sons of Eden.
Maybe this Annaleise is just getting started, or maybe it means those theories are false.
Either way, it’s troubling to see the details of that rescue splashed across the Journal.
I return Bear’s phone and turn onto the mountain road heading back to town. “Do I need to remind you that I don’t investigate murders? Poaching, yes. Fishing without a license, yes. Abusing resources, yes.”
“But she was found on public land, right?”
I follow a tight turn down the freshly plowed road. It’s snowing again, tiny flakes dancing in the headlight beams like ash. “Yeah, but the sheriff’s the one who—oh shit, I didn’t tell you. Guess who’s sheriff of Clearwater County?”
He gives me a shrug.
“Harlan Thomas.”
His eyes widen. “The fuck?”
“We crossed paths yesterday or I wouldn’t have believed it. I looked him up last night. He got elected sheriff of Clearwater County last year.” The smallest county in the state as well as the least populated since a big slice of it is wilderness.
“Who in their right mind would elect him?”
The road curves around another wide bend. “He must have made some powerful friends.”
Bear shakes his head. “What does that mean for this murder case?”
I stare into the swirling snowflakes. “I don’t know. At least he’ll have to work in tandem with several other agencies.”
“Good. Because there’s no way Harlan knows the first thing about running a murder investigation.” Bear taps his thumb on his knee the way he does when he’s thinking. “Did he recognize you?”
“Not that I could tell, but maybe he’s been practicing his poker face.” I stop at a four-way intersection then turn toward town.
“Watch your back, dude. Harlan’s the kind of guy who plays dirty.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”