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Doc Lambert had given Everly directions to the county office building, only a few short blocks away. It was located on the town square in a three-story granite building, complete with pillars and arched windows. She found the sheriff’s office on the second floor and pulled the door open.
A man with dark hair and eyes stood just inside, his hand outstretched, as if he’d been about to reach for the knob. His abrupt appearance aggravated her already frayed nerves. Her heart slammed into her chest as she jumped back. Her purse wobbled on her arm, and her phone and keys fell onto the floor in the corridor. She bent to get them, and the rest of the contents—lipstick, sunglasses, wallet, receipts, chewing gum—spilled out.
“Damn.” She dropped to her knees.
The man let the door to the sheriff’s office close and kneeled down next to her. “Let me help you with that,” he said.
She reached for her phone in the same instant as the sexy stranger. His fingers grazed the back of her hand. A shiver of awareness traveled up her arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
She jerked her phone away. “Thanks,” she grumbled. “I can manage.”
“No, really.”
He handed her a tube of lipstick. “It was my fault.”
With a shake of her head, she said, “It’s nobody’s fault.” She sighed. “I just don’t need any help. Okay?”
The man lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay.” And yet, he didn’t leave.
As Everly scooped the rest of her belongings into her bag, she examined him from beneath her lashes. He was tall, well over six feet. His shoulders were broad and, beneath the fabric of his shirt, she could see the outline of his muscular biceps. Without question, he was more than just attractive—he was achingly handsome. His eyes were a rich and deep brown. He wore a plaid flannel shirt with tones that matched his eyes. He also had on a burnt orange vest—his look was rugged and yet, casually trendy.
Despite everything, Everly’s heart gave a flutter.
His outfit was hardly anyone’s idea of a uniform. But in an out-of-the-way place like Pleasant Pines, Wyoming, who knew?
“Are you Sheriff Haak?” Her voice trembled as an electric charge danced across her skin.
“Sorry, no.” The man smiled and hitched his chin toward the office behind him. “He’s in there.”
Everly’s face flamed red and hot. She had no reason to be embarrassed for the mistake, and yet she was. Immediately, she knew why. She’d been hoping all along that the tall, dark and gorgeous stranger might be the local law in these parts.
What a cliché.
The stranger stood and held out his palm to Everly. She ignored the offered hand and stood as well, taking time to zip her purse closed. Gaze still on the floor, Everly’s eyes burned with tears that threatened to fall. How could she feel anything beyond miserable? When she looked up, the man was walking down the hallway.
Exhaling heavily, Everly entered the sheriff’s office. Two desks, both empty, sat next to windows that overlooked the town square and gazebo. At the back of the room was an inner office with the sheriff’s name stenciled onto the glass panel of the door with black paint.
Sitting behind his desk, Sheriff Haak wore a dark brown uniform and a khaki-colored tie. A six-sided tin star and gun completed his outfit. In his sixties, balding and with a definite paunch, he looked much more like a grandfather than the Adonis she had just run into. Everly decided it was all for the best that she not let anything distract her from her goal—finding out what really happened to Axl.
“Ms. Baker, I presume,” said the sheriff as he rose from his seat. He waved her into his office. “I’m sorry to meet under such terrible circumstances.”
Everly approached and tried to speak, but sadness strangled her words and she just nodded.
“Sit, please,” said Sheriff Haak as he gestured to a chair opposite his desk. As she sat, he reached for an opened folder. “An autopsy is required in Wyoming to determine cause of death. First, you’ll need to see the body and give an identification. I warn you, it may be difficult—”
“I know,” said Everly, interrupting what she imagined was a well-worn speech. “I’ve already been to the morgue.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“I met with Doc Lambert and identified the body.” She sighed. “It’s my brother’s.”
“That’s not how we do things around here,” said the sheriff.
“I heard,” said Everly, “I’m not interested in procedures. Only in finding out what happened to Axl.”
“Doc Lambert is as good a medical man as you’ll find anywhere, and will conduct a full examination. After that, you can take your brother’s body back to Illinois. I’d have to say that the ME’s findings will be like mine. Sadly, we have several cases like this each year—tourists who don’t understand the danger of the mountains. The way I see it, your brother died of exposure and his death was accidental.”
“You’re wrong,” she said.
The sheriff spluttered. “I’m what?”
She had gone through the scenario several times in her mind, but now that she had the chance to plead her case the reasoning seemed thin. No, she reminded herself. It wasn’t her case. She was here for Axl. And Everly would be damned if she was going to let a small-town sheriff talk her out of what she knew to be true.
“My brother was an experienced outdoorsman. He worked as a wildlife photographer,” she continued. “He was here for his job—and more than that, he’d never wander off alone. He was murdered.” There, she’d said it.
“Hold on a second.” The sheriff poked the desk with his finger. “With all due respect—this isn’t some big city, where folks get shot on every corner. Pleasant Pines is a nice, quiet town with nice people, and I’ve kept them all safe for decades.” The sheriff leaned forward, his tone softening. “I’m sure this is all very hard for you to accept.”
“My brother had been a wildlife photographer for more than twelve years. Even if he did end up lost on a cold night, he’d know what to do.” Everly knew she had to convince the man. “My brother has photographed Alaska’s Denali National Park in winter. He’s also done photo shoots of Death Valley at noon in July.” She pressed on. “What about his camera? Did you look at the pictures he’d taken so far? There might be some kind of photographic evidence.”
The sheriff leaned forward in his chair. “There wasn’t a camera found with the body,” he said pointedly.
Everly went numb. She’d given Axl a top-of-the-line camera for his thirtieth birthday two years ago. It cost as much as her last month’s rent and he kept it with him always. “Are you sure?”
The sheriff slid a piece of paper across the desk. “This is the list of all his belongings from the scene. I catalogued everything myself. There’s no camera.”
