until he checked a map.
The poachers weren’t even sneaky; they seemed to be growing bolder every month, leaving traps everywhere. And the thing that had tipped Joe off initially had been an ad on Craigslist. Selling deer antlers and bear claws online? Blatant.
Yet he hadn’t run into the poison that had been found in Max’s system, even with the samples he’d sent in to the lab. He could be way off course in trying to connect the man’s death with the local poachers, but Joe sensed he was on the right track. Every bone in his body pushed him to continue with the search for Max’s killer. The man had not been accidentally poisoned. No one handled strychnine without taking precautions.
And now there was a new twist to the investigation. Could the one who had set this snare have been the one who’d shot at Skylar? It couldn’t be coincidence that the shooting site was so close to a trap.
Joe narrowed his gaze across the calm dark waters. A small light showed from what was probably Skylar’s living room. He hoped she would sleep well, with the wolf keeping guard outside. But he didn’t guess Stella would provide protection, and he wouldn’t expect it. The animal seemed skittish and hesitant to approach strangers, and that wasn’t a bad thing. But that meant Skylar was not safe.
And yet, why would a poacher shoot at her? It had to have been some kind of warning. Did she know something that someone wanted her to keep silent about? And if it had been a warning, whoever had fired would have known his target would take it as a warning.
Which meant Skylar might know more than she was letting on.
“Lieutenant Brock said something about finding illegal guns in an Ely residence.” Brent looped the coiled cable over his forearm.
“I found a cache of guns with the serial numbers filed off last week,” Joe offered. “They were in a shed with a dozen illegal deer racks.”
Brent shook his head. “You need help with any of it?”
Joe nodded. “Always. You can take this in to the county forensics van, for a start.”
“I’m heading toward Ely. I think Elaine Hester is on shift tonight. Smart chick. What are you up to now?”
“Headed back across the lake.”
He needn’t tell Brent he had decided to stand vigil outside the target’s home because he feared losing her more than his heart could stand.
STEPPING OUT OF the shower, Skylar dried off, then reached for the brandy goblet on the vanity. She downed the last two swallows. Whew! That burned. But she instantly felt the calming effects ease through her muscles, and the need to close her eyes and drop into a heavy sleep.
“Come on, Stella.”
She padded naked down the hallway to her bedroom, followed by the three-legged wolf. Stella generally slept outside, but she would never ignore an invite to stay indoors. The security panel for the entire house was positioned at eye level in the bedroom, by the door. She turned on all the door locks and the perimeter alarm, which was set only for the weight of a vehicle since she had so many animals wandering around at any given time.
Stella jumped onto the end of her bed. Her spot. And let no man try to prove otherwise.
Pulling on a long T-shirt that hung past her thighs, Skylar crawled onto the bed and lay on top of the sheets across the middle of the mattress, so she could smooth her palm over Stella’s fur.
She hadn’t seen Joseph Cash in…must be a year. He got more handsome every time she saw him. He had the “tall, dark stranger” thing going on full force. Except he wasn’t a stranger, and…she wanted to see him again.
Under better circumstances than getting shot at.
“It was a warning,” she whispered, tracing the top of her ear, which felt tender from the bruise. She caught a swallow at the back of her throat, followed by a single teardrop slipping down the side of her face.
She’d walked into a warehouse on Davis Trucking land, and before calling out for her uncle, she’d glanced around. There were crates everywhere, marked with company names. Standard inventory for a trucking outfit, she figured. But the freezers, six of them, had stood out. They were the large white chest kind, probably close to twenty cubic feet in volume.
What had been in them? With a trucking business, it could be anything. And while she’d always assumed they didn’t store goods on-site, she didn’t know enough about the operation.
A man standing over one of the opened freezers hadn’t noticed her, so she’d cleared her throat. He’d lifted his head and swung a look over his shoulder, focusing his gaze on her. She hadn’t recognized him, and he’d immediately slammed down the freezer cover and grabbed a rifle. The feeling of utter dread had overcome her. Skylar had turned and run. As she had, he’d called after her, “Don’t tell, bitch! This is none of your concern.”
She’d run straight to her truck, past a few truckers who had called out to her and whistled. The stranger hadn’t followed her. Forget talking to her uncle. She’d been creeped out, and had put her truck in gear and gotten the hell out of there.
She hadn’t told anyone. Because she wasn’t sure what she had seen. But it had been something. Because tonight they had warned her.
And yet, she’d dared to call the police. Because she would not be scared off by some idiot assholes who thought they had a right to threaten a woman. Hell, the shooter could have killed her.
Now, dare she ask Joseph Cash to protect her?
Joe woke and winced. He was sitting at an angle—ah, hell. He’d fallen asleep in the truck parked at the end of Skylar’s driveway.
The rapping noise that had woken him thumped again on his window. Sliding upright in the driver’s seat, he moaned at the tug to his aching back muscles, then managed a blinking glance to his left. And then he opened his eyes wide and took in the view.
Could a woman look more beautiful in a cowboy hat, no makeup and plain denim shirt unbuttoned to just there? He voted no. She was like sunshine and all those pretty things guys liked to look at but were always afraid to touch for fear of smearing them with dirt or breaking something delicate.
Skylar Davis was not a delicate woman. She’d made that clear to him over the years he’d known her. And he expected some stern words to follow the admonishing look she was giving him now.
Turning the keys in the ignition, Joe pushed the window button, which slid down slowly. “Mornin’, Skylar.”
“Really, Joe? Did you sleep out here all night?”
“Most of the time? Nope. Wasn’t sleeping. I was on watch. Must have fallen asleep a few hours ago.” He wasn’t sure what time it was and glanced at the dashboard. Seven o’clock. He may have gotten two hours’ sleep at most. The night had been spent with the radio turned low to the ’90s top hits, his eyes half-closed, as he’d kept an eye toward the Davis house.
“I
