Joe picked up a branch and used it to nudge the snare. The trap sprang and released the snare in a flutter of leaves. Joe would disassemble the entire thing and take it in to the county forensics lab for a thorough study. With any luck, they’d find fingerprints.
“You got wire snips in that backpack?” Brent asked as Joe sorted through his pack. When he proudly displayed just that, Brent shook his head. “Never mind. Mowgli knows what he’s doing.”
Yeah, he didn’t care for the moniker so much from people who weren’t family. Joe snipped the cable and, latex gloves still on, untangled it from around the tree trunk. Brent gathered it into a loop.
The disturbance uncovered a few bits of bait meat. The smell was rancid, but Joe bagged it as well. The forensic lab could determine a lot from testing bait meat, such as the animal it had come from, and possibly even pick up some fingerprints. Briefly, he wondered if the meat was poisoned. It was an important detail that he wouldn’t have proof of until tests had been run.
Stuffing the evidence bags into his backpack, Joe stood and looked out over the chrome-and-hematite-sheened lake. His investigation into the poaching hadn’t taken him quite this far south. Now he’d expand that range. First, he needed to check whose land this was. He’d thought it was state owned, but he couldn’t be sure 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?
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