minutes, Blackthorn was on the radio with three other station heads, getting their cooperation and coordinating the mobilization.
As they neared the parking area, she shot him a sidelong look, struck by the change in him. His face was animated, his green eyes fierce and intense. More, his voice now carried a heavy weight of command that had the heads of the other stations practically snapping to attention.
She remembered the scars on his shoulder and waist, belatedly recognizing them as bullet strikes. Ex-military, she thought, and pegged him as an officer. But if he had that kind of background, why had he buried himself out in the middle of nowhere?
New interest stirred, not just for the sexy package, but for the man inside it. He’s complicated, she reminded herself. But this time she found herself thinking that maybe she could handle some complications for the few more weeks she would be in Bear Claw.
Especially if those complications looked—and sounded—like Ranger Blackthorn in get-it-done mode.
“Thanks, Harvey. I’ll be in touch,” he said into the radio, then clicked it off and returned it to his belt. They had reached their vehicles, which were dark shapes in the gathering dusk. His shadow merged with that of his Jeep, and his voice seemed to come from the darkness when he said, “The cops collected the hikers’ clothes and stuff, said they would log it all into evidence for you. And Williams suggested you take a look around the station house, particularly Tanya’s room.”
“I’ve done some work in profiling and victimology, and have helped Jack out on a couple of cases. He’s hoping I’ll see something that could point toward a motive.”
“You don’t think this was random?” His voice carried a new edge. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Suddenly reminded that he wasn’t technically part of the investigation, she said, “There’s nothing to tell yet. We’re still exploring options.”
He moved in closer and dropped his voice an octave. “Hiding behind the official line, Gigi?”
Nerves stirred low in her belly, coiling her tight, but she met his eyes and said levelly, “I’m just trying to do my job, Blackthorn, so don’t crowd me. And don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re something you’re not.” He wasn’t a cop, couldn’t expect her to keep him fully in the loop unless he cleared it with the higher-ups.
He growled something under his breath, but eased back a step. He tried the door of her SUV, found it locked, and set her field kit on the ground. “You’ll want to follow me back to the station. Wouldn’t want you getting lost.”
He headed for his Jeep with long-legged strides, un-slinging his shotgun and knapsack as he went.
Gigi watched him go, trying not to be fascinated. He held himself apart but felt responsible, knew how to lead but had buried himself far from any troops, respected competence but wanted to be calling the shots … and was attracted and didn’t want to be.
No, she had definitely been right the first time around.
She didn’t have the mental energy to deal with him right now, not even for some short-term fun.
Too bad, she thought, remembering the gleam of bronze skin, the pucker of two bullet scars, one high, one low. Then she shook her head, climbed into her ride, and focused on the puzzle of two attackers, one missing faceplate … and a gut feeling that said there was far more to this case than anyone suspected.
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