Chapter 3
Of course he was back. Because this couldn’t be easy, right?
“Really?” Harley stood, unmoving, except for her heart slamming into her ribs. She glanced at Deke. “You might have mentioned this.”
Deke glanced between them. “You guys haven’t made up yet?” He sighed. “This will be fun.” He walked back to the board with the maps.
No, oh great, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off . . . well, He Who She’d Promised to Forget.
Oh boy.
“Jericho.”
“Harley.”
Her jaw tightened.
He smiled, as if . . . As if he hadn’t completely abandoned her. As if . . . Well, as if she meant nothing to him. Or, at least, nothing anymore.
Great. Perfect. Her breath locked up inside her. How was it that she hadn’t seen the man in seven years and he could still set a burr under her skin with that stupid, annoying smile?
Didn’t help that he looked good.
Too good. At thirty-four, he should be sort of fat, maybe with a few stress lines around his mouth.
Would help if he had a receding hairline too, but noooo, Jericho Bowie had just gotten more handsome with age.
Still bore the rugged edge, that intense hazel-blue gaze, his dark hair sticking up in messy waves, and his jaw set so tight he might break a molar.
He’d filled out, shoulders wider, thicker, his stance that of someone who knew how to walk into a room, possess it.
Possess her, even.
No, no—
“I didn’t . . . what are you doing here?” Stupid mouth. Stop. Talking.
His eyes narrowed, just briefly, a flicker, and then he drew in a breath as if, again, she might be too much trouble. “You first.”
A beat, then it clicked and she impaled Deke with a look. “Really? He’s the one with—”
“The K9 scent dog,” Deke finished. “Yes.”
“I saw the dog. I thought maybe he was a comfort dog.” She glanced at Jericho. Smiled, nothing of warmth in it.
“Only if you are buried in snow,” Jericho said evenly. “You might find him comforting when he shows up to save your life.”
The dog was cute. Black and brown, he wasn’t huge—midsized at best.
“He’s a Bernedoodle,” Jericho said. “Part Bernese mountain dog, part poodle.”
Her stupid mouth wouldn’t stay quiet. “So, he’s going to what . . . sniff out Mars Sorros?”
“Yep,” he said, his tone cool, measured. Unfazed. “I know he doesn’t look it—he was the runt, so he drew the short straw on size—but he’s smart. And sturdy.”
“Seems your type.”
He raised an eyebrow and, oh, why did she say that? Sheesh. Jericho had never drawn the short straw on anything. Especially his size. Or his smarts.
Maybe just on his ability to keep a promise.
Oh, calm down. Seven years was a lifetime. For all she knew he was married, had a kid or two. Had probably ditched his nomad ways.
And now that felt like a punch to her throat. Because if he had settled down, then maybe he wasn’t the problem.
Another beat.
“I’m still asking the question. Why is she here?” Jericho looked at Deke.
“She’s the PI helping with the investigation,” Deke said.
She put her hands on her hips. “I usually work solo.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Jericho said.
Her mouth opened.
And then, weirdly, he closed his eyes, almost a wince. Opened them. “Sorry. Listen. I didn’t come here to fight.” He took a breath. “Good to see you, Harley. You look . . . wait—is that a black eye?”
Oh great. She sort of forgot the throbbing on her cheek and just barely resisted the urge to put her hand over it. “Work injury.”
He shook his head, his mouth a tight line.
Yeah, this was fun.
“So, now that the reunion is over, let’s talk about Mars,” Deke said, pointing to the map on the wall.
So far from over, but, “Yes, let’s.”
Deke crossed his arms. “We saw Mars’s license plate in town yesterday—he was in a ’98 Ford. Our traffic cam outside the station flagged it, and one of our deputies recognized the truck as one he’d seen at a Sons of Revolution camp last summer.”
“Sons of Revolution?” Jericho asked. His dog sat next to him, as if paying attention.
“They’re a militia group that a local smoke jumper team ran into this summer. They caused some trouble, and we were able to shut them down. But they have camps all over the region. If Mars was a part of their group, he’d likely hole up at one of them.”
“You already checked his house or other known places?”
Deke nodded. “Although, who knows. The Sorros brothers are . . . diversified. They know a lot of . . .”
“Drug users?” Harley said quietly.
Jericho shot her a look, his mouth tight. So, he’d heard about Gabe. She didn’t know why that sent a sliver into her heart.
“Yes,” Deke said. “And other troublemakers. But it’s a small town. You can’t get into trouble without it making it back to me. Which is why I think he’s been avoiding Copper Mountain.”
Deke stepped up to the map. “We think he’s hiding at one of these abandoned militia camps, but I don’t have the manpower to track him down.
State doesn’t care—he’s a low-level crook in the bush, they say.
But I’m tired of the Sorros brothers terrorizing this town.
So I’ve organized this little search party with you two sports fans.
Please don’t make me referee. I’m out of practice. ”
“You’re a cop,” Jericho said. “Isn’t that what you do?”
“I meant between you two.”
Harley folded her arms. “No problem. I am all about the job here. And I can play nicely. Besides, I’ve been tracking these guys for years. I’ll get him.”
And of course, Jericho looked at her, not a little alarm in his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Calm down, Jer.”
“Harley, these guys—”
“Down, boy,” she said, cutting him off. “It’s not a hobby.
I do some PI work for the state prosecutor.
The Sorros family’s been dealing drugs, trafficking humans, and leaving dead bodies in their wake.
The prosecutor wants Mars, and we’ve spent years learning their behaviors—where they hide, how they move.
I know them better than most.” She paused, her voice dropping. “For reasons.”
His eyes narrowed, and it felt sort of like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
Oddly, he set his hand on the dog’s fur, ran his fingers across his head.
“What’s the dog’s name?” she asked.
“Orlando.”
“As in Bloom?”
“As in a high German name that means famed throughout the land, and a heroic knight in an epic French poem.”
She rolled her eyes. Turned back to Deke. “So, what, we search each camp? Won’t he run?”
“If he does, Orlando can track him,” Jericho said.
“For serious, I know these guys. We need a small army.”
Deke held up his hand. “Take a breath, Harley. We have you, me, my deputy Crew, a local FBI guy named Rio, who’s invested, and Jericho here.”
“We’re going to die.”
“Hey,” Jericho said, “I’m not just along for the ride. I did two tours in Afghanistan in combat SAR.”
She pressed her hands to her face, shook her head.
“No one will get hurt,” Deke said. “We’ll run a drone, the dog will track, and if we can’t move in, we can call for backup. We just need to find him.”
She lowered her hands. “Great. Do you have a copy of the map?”
“Yes,” Deke said. “And I think we should start here.” He pointed to a camp north of town, deep in the woods, a narrow road leading back to it. “It’s near the old Boy Scout camp, and has communications as well as access in and out, even in winter.”
“I’ll work up a search grid,” Jericho said.
“Who put you in charge?” Shoot, she wanted to slap her hand over her mouth. C’mon, HT, don’t live up to your name! He just had this way of . . .
“I’m the guy with the dog,” he said. Then he crouched and patted Orlando’s head, his fingers scratching behind his ears.
She couldn’t take her eyes off his hands, his gentleness with the animal—
“He’s not in charge, Harley. I am,” Deke said.
Harley dragged her attention back to Deke. “Sorry. Of course. I just . . . don’t want him to get away. Again.”
The door opened with a knock, and a man stuck his head in. He wore a deputy jacket and Harley recognized him from the pickup with Topher.
“Hey, Crew. C’mon in,” Deke said.
Crew was fit and came in with a hint of confidence, even as his gaze landed on the map. He drew in a breath. “I had sort of hoped we were done with the Sons of Revolution.”
“Sorry, but you know this place better than anyone. Maybe you can give us a lay of the land there. Where would Mars hide?”
“I need to finish booking the perp that Harley brought in.” He turned to her. “By the way, Travis Malone is wanted for assault and attempted murder down in Anchorage, so . . . well done.”
She stilled but found a tight smile.
And just like she might have predicted, Jericho’s shoulders stiffened, his jaw ticking, his eyes widening for a split second before his face hardened. His voice stayed calm, but she knew better. “Homicide?” His hazel-blue eyes bore down on her. “You chased down a killer on your own?”
“I knew what I was doing. Just . . .” She sighed. “Jericho, I know how to take care of myself. You can stop worrying.”
She hadn’t realized that her voice fell. He latched onto her gaze with his, a sort of desperation, maybe, in his expression.
The power of it reached right in, took her breath even as he drew in his own. What—?
Then, just like that, he shook his head and ripped his gaze away. “Sure. Whatever.”
Ouch. Clearly he still possessed the ability to make her feel, well, slapped. Weak. Silly. Maybe even a troublemaker.
And that just lit a fire inside her. “Not that it’s your business.”
Oops. Because clearly, it lit a fire in him too, as he turned back to her.
Still the low voice. Still the edge, so much more in it than his words.
“It’s my business if we’re working together.
” His eyes darkened. “You have to promise me that you’re not going to do something stupid and get me or my dog hurt. ”
The words simply scrambled inside, then. She didn’t know where to start. Except, “You’re the very last person who should lecture me on hurting people.”