wasteland. His stomach sank. “You can’t possibly want me to babysit a tree hugger. That’s a ranger’s job, or maybe a rook’s.” The Bear Claw Canyon Park Service had been coordinating with the P.D. to keep the scientists safe, both from the militants who might or might not still be in the area and from the inherent dangers of the backcountry.
“For the next couple of days it’s your job,” Tucker retorted. “Be grateful I’m not suspending you.”
“Right,” Jack said, trying to get the bitterness and “oh, hell, no” out of his voice. “Punishment.”
Granted, he deserved a smack-down for his behavior, but it seriously sucked that his reassignment was going to hurt the ongoing investigations. The department was already so shorthanded that the detectives were partnering up with uniforms; his being out in the Forgotten on babysitting duty sure as hell wasn’t going to help.
“I’d prefer to call it a few days out in the woods to get your head put back on straight.”
“I can pull it together. You don’t need to send me off to the Forgotten.”
But Tucker shook his head even as he said, “Yeah, I really do. It wasn’t just Mendoza leaning on me; it was the mayor’s office, too. I need you off their radar screens for the next few days at an absolute minimum, until something else comes along to take their minds off your blowing one of the few leads we’ve had since the overdoses started.”
Jack grimaced, huffing out a breath as he came to grips with the no-win he was up against—and the fact that it was purely his fault that he was up against it. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.” Like there had ever been any real question on the matter. He hesitated, seeing the strain in Tucker’s face and knowing the other man had undoubtedly gone to bat against the higher-ups on his behalf. “And thanks. I know it could’ve been a whole lot worse.”
“Yeah, so behave yourself.” Tucker leaned back in his chair. “And keep your eyes open, okay? The abandoned campsite is smack in the middle of the worst of the tree fungus.”
Jack narrowed his eyes at that little tidbit, which said there was more to this assignment than babysitting and navel gazing. “You think there’s a connection between the tree crud and the militia?”
“Maybe, maybe not … and even so, what’s the chicken and what’s the egg? The environmental chemists didn’t find any evidence of weird contamination, but there are stranger things on heaven and earth, and all that. Maybe this Dr. Bay will see something the others missed … or maybe you will.”
Jack took what felt like the first real breath he’d drawn since he heard the brittle crack of his witness’s wrist. It wasn’t the Death Stare case, but at least he was still on active duty, and with an unofficial sanction to work the militia case. More, if he stayed out of trouble long enough he was pretty sure Tucker would shift him back over to the Death Stare investigation, which was where he wanted—needed—to be.
The key there being “stay out of trouble,” he reminded himself as he rose and grabbed the airline info. “Guess I should go get my tree doctor. Any idea what she looks like?”
“No clue.” One corner of Tucker’s mouth lifted. “Maybe she’ll turn out to be a tall, cool blonde. That’s your type, right?”
“Used to be,” Jack said, and shot Tucker a kiss-my-butt grin. “Too bad you got to Alyssa before I did.”
That was total bull. There’d never been anything between Jack and Alyssa Locke-turned-McDermott, the CSI who had become Tucker’s wife, but as a diversion it worked just fine, especially given that Alyssa had the long, cool blonde thing going on in spades.
Tucker just grinned. “Eat your heart out, bachelor boy.” He tapped the clamshell photo frame on his desk. “I’ve got myself two long cool blondes of my very own.” Technically, only Alyssa fit the bill; two-month-old baby Laurel was more along the lines of short and wide-eyed, though the fine wisps of hair caught in a bubble gum-pink bow were definitely blond. But the two of them together, yeah, that brought a pang. It was what Jack had thought he’d had lined up, the future he’d seen himself living.
Hadn’t worked out, though, and he’d moved on. Maybe he hadn’t found his one and only yet, but he’d worked out his process—slow and steady won the race when it came to relationships, at least as far as he was concerned—and he’d come to grips with being single long after most everyone else in his generation of Williamses had paired off.
In the meantime, though, he had a good job, good friends and Bear Claw was home, even if it was having its problems these days.
It was those problems that occupied the forefront of his mind as he strode across the parking lot to his SUV, subverting the more pleasant thoughts of a tall, cool anything. And as he started mentally reviewing what he knew of the Forgotten and the militia case, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to call a few contacts on the way out to the airport and make sure he was up to speed.
He might not want this assignment, but it was his ticket back on to the more important investigation. Besides, he’d be damned if anything happened to a visiting scientist on his watch.
Chapter Two
Tori saw the guy the moment she hit the baggage claim area, and only partly because the badge on his belt marked him as her Bear Claw P.D. liaison.
Mostly it was because he was really hard to miss.
In fact, she was pretty sure the brief hesitation in the determined stride of her seatmate from the plane came from a “Hello, handsome” moment rather than dismay over the “Delayed” sign blinking next to their flight number on the board.
Tori and the tall, blonde businesswoman might have waged a low-grade and unstated war over foot room and control of their supposedly shared armrest during the endless-feeling flight, but in that moment she had a feeling they were united in feminine appreciation.
The guy was maybe a shade over six feet, with dark auburn hair, piercing, pale blue eyes and an aggressive jut of a nose that made him seriously good scenery in a full-on masculine sort of way. He sported a hint of silver at his temples, but Tori put him at closer to thirty than forty, rugged and handsome in a way that made her think of mountains and fast-running rivers.
Wearing jeans, a light blue button-down that was open at the throat and rolled up over his tanned forearms and a pair of hiking boots with enough scars to suggest they had seen some rough trails, he probably should’ve looked like he had just stepped out of an ad for an expensive cologne, but even without the badge, she would’ve pegged him as a cop. It was in the way he held himself, the way he watched the flow of human traffic.
Or, rather, the way he had been watching the flow. Now he was watching the blonde.
Typical, Tori thought on a beat of disgust, and didn’t let herself try to match the other woman’s long-legged stride as she swaggered over to the cop, who was lounging against a support beam, looking like someone had dropped a piece of the wilderness in among the overprocessed, touristy posters that lined the walls.
If Blondie hadn’t spent the entire flight being a space invader, Tori might have admired the way she moved past her prey, pretending to ignore him as she frowned prettily up at the display. As it was, she sneered inwardly as the cop took the bait and said something to her. Tori wasn’t close enough to catch his opening line, but as she drew near, Blondie glanced at him, her
