Bear Claw Bodyguard

Bear Claw Bodyguard

Jessica Andersen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JESSICA ANDERSEN has worked as a geneticist, scientific editor, animal trainer and landscapes … but she’s happiest when she’s combining all of her many interests into writing romantic adventures that always have a twist of the unusual to them. Born and raised in the Boston area (Go, sox!), Jessica can usually be found somewhere in New England, hard at work on her next happily-ever-after. For more on Jessica and her books, please check out www.JessicaAndersen.com and www.JessicaAndersenIntrigues.com.

To the readers who have put Bear Claw State Park

on the map. Thank you!

Chapter One

“You’re off the case, Jack—period, end of discussion.”

The decision being handed down by Tucker McDermott—who was the head of the Bear Claw P.D.’s Homicide Division and, therefore, Jack’s immediate superior—wasn’t a shocker, but that didn’t stop the veteran detective from wanting to launch himself from the visitor’s chair in Tucker’s office and pace. Or maybe go over the desk to try and shake some sense into his boss. But that kind of behavior was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, so Jack made himself take a breath and do a three-count before saying, “You know you can’t afford to bench me right—”

“What part of ‘end of discussion’ are you not getting?”

Tucker’s don’t-mess-with-me tone probably should have been a clue, but it wasn’t until Jack saw a muscle twitch at the corner of his friend’s jaw that he got it. “Oh.” He leaned back. “Damn. This is coming from Mendoza, isn’t it?”

“Even if the chief hadn’t made the call, I probably would have pulled you off the case.”

“I … Yeah.” Frustration welled up, and it wasn’t entirely aimed at Tucker. It’d been an accident, but the reality was that Jack had had his hands on the witness when he went down. And with Mayor Proudfoot slashing the city’s budgets like he was clear-cutting for a financial strip mine, the P.D. couldn’t afford the bad press.

“And you did it in front of a rook,” Tucker said, reaching for the antacids that’d taken up residence in his top drawer over the past month, ever since the birth of his daughter had coincided with the explosion of two major cases that had, thanks to budget cuts, landed in his lap.

“Doran won’t get the wrong message,” Jack said of his rookie partner. “He’s solid.”

“Maybe, but you’re not. Ever since this case got hot, you’ve been on the warpath.”

At six foot and one-ninety, with prematurely salted chestnut hair and light blue eyes, Jack didn’t make any claim to native blood. But, yeah, he had some warpath going on these days. What Bear Claw cop didn’t? Out in the Colorado wilderness they were playing hide-and-seek with members of a militia so slippery they were practically ghosts, while in the city they were losing the battle against a new fad drug that was ripping through the underground and leaving bodies behind.

Leaning in, Jack grated, “You need me out there on the streets. We’re way too far behind the curve on this Death Stare thing.”

That was what the media was calling the new drug, thanks to the fixed, almost terrified looks on the victims’ faces. Why the hell that plus the number of bodies piling up hadn’t been enough to scare people off, he would never understand. But to the hard-core users, the promise of an incredible high was apparently worth the risk.

Tucker shook his head. “You screwed up, Jack. You know it, I know it, Mendoza knows it … and even if the higher-ups weren’t involved, I can’t ignore the fact that you’re way too invested in this case, and it’s making you unreliable.” His eyes softened a bit, showing the tired guy, new father and dedicated cop behind the thick “I’m the boss” layer. “Look, I’m sorry, but if I let you back on the case now Mendoza will have my butt in a sling faster than you can say ‘what the hell is this damn drug, and where is it coming from?’“

Unfortunately, there was no arguing that one. Jack shifted in his chair, still not letting himself pace off the restless frustration even though he was tempted. “So put me on background stuff. Hell, I’ll even ride a desk if that’s what you want. But don’t boot me all the way off the investigation. I need to—” He broke off. “Look, I need to be in on this.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you put your hands on your wit. Accident or not, I can’t let it go.”

“I … Damn it.” Jack slouched back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face, knowing that Tucker was right, he had only himself—along with a grease spot and volatile city politics—to blame. “This sucks.”

“No argument there.” Tucker slid a single-page printout across his desk. “Take this. It’s your new assignment.”

Jack eyeballed it, found airline info for an incoming flight landing at the local hub mid-morning and heaved a sigh. “You want me to play taxi? Who for?”

Actually, that wasn’t the worst gig he could’ve gotten handed. There had been numerous law enforcement comings and goings in the past few weeks, and Tucker had pressed senior cops into chauffeur duty a few times before to get some informal lines of communication open between the local and federal teams.

“You’re meeting a Dr. Tori Bay … and you’re going to be doing more than playing taxi. You’ll be escorting her out to the Forgotten and watching her back while she’s there.”

Jack’s tension eased some. If he couldn’t be on the drug investigation, this case was the next best thing. A few weeks earlier, the members of the Shadow Militia—also a name that came courtesy of the media—had attacked a ranger, torched large sections of the state forest, shot down a government helicopter, nearly killed two deputized cops … and then vanished from the camo-netted campsite that had been hidden within the Forgotten, a barren region at the farthest edge of the state park.

It wasn’t just the three dozen or so people who had been living at the campsite who had vanished, either; there hadn’t been any sign of the equipment and heavy vehicles that had left tracks in the drought-parched dirt. With the feds unable to pick up anything on satellite imagery or closer-in scans, the investigation had fallen back on forensics and old-school tracking. And even those avenues had come up dry, as if the entire armed camp had simply disappeared into thin air.

Given the city’s issues a couple of years ago with terrorist mastermind al-Jihad, the feds were taking the threat seriously, sending their best and coordinating things with the Bear Claw P.D. So Jack made a “bring it on” gesture. “The militia case? Hell, yeah, sign me up.”

But Tucker shook his head. “This isn’t about the militia. It’s about the trees.”

“The …” Jack trailed off, remembering the weird tree fungus that’d also been found in that same part of the Forgotten, along with a remnant population of barred eagles, which had previously been thought extinct. Thanks to those discoveries, there had also been a steady stream of scientists coming and going from the barren, dangerous 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 expression caught between interest and triumph as she purred, “Are you looking for someone?”

He nodded. “Yes, indeed. And I believe I’ve found her.” He looked over and down—way down—to Tori. “Dr. Bay, I presume?”

Blondie’s smile instantly lost its wattage and her face took on a look of Really? But Tori barely noticed because she was busy doing a double take of her own, as surprise that he had noticed her was compounded by the hoo-boy of having those baby blues locked on to her.

His outdoorsy vibe might’ve made her think of the mountains, but his eyes were the cerulean of a perfectly flat high-country lake beneath a cloudless sky. The kind of lake that hikers would take a day’s climb to reach, and then be grateful to simply sit and stare. Which was exactly what she was doing.

Staring up at him. Like a five-foot-nothing dork.

Say something, idiot!

“Yes, I’m Dr. Bay,” she blurted, loud enough to make herself wince. Forcing her voice to something approaching its normal businesslike tone, she added, “How did you recognize me?”

The university typically didn’t send much advance info on their field researchers, never mind photos. Then again, the people requesting her services typically didn’t insist on police protection either.

The corners of his eyes crinkled arrestingly. “Given the knapsack, hiking boots and the insignia on your wind-breaker, I figured it was a good bet you were the tree doctor.”

Catching Blondie’s smirk in her peripheral vision, Tori bristled. She didn’t need to look down at herself to know that she was rocking the earthy-crunchy factor in jeans and a plain forest-green T-shirt, along with a U.S. Plant Pathology Association windbreaker that was a couple of sizes too big because they didn’t come in extra small. And, yeah, given that she had her bark-brown hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail and was wearing her glasses because airplanes did wonky things to her contacts, she wasn’t even close to being in Blondie’s league. And not just because she was lacking the designer suit, stilettos and a foot of height.

Worse, she had actually bothered to catalog those differences.

Hello, she thought loudly, hoping both her libido and her brain would listen up, you’re not here for a fieldwork fling. You’re here to do a job. Granted, she’d combined the two more than once in the past, but this particular job fell under the category of “potential disaster, probably shouldn’t let yourself get distracted, hunky escort or not.”

Besides, he was a cop.

Deliberately, she put her head back in the work zone where it belonged. The U.S. National Park Service was worried about the newly discovered breeding population of barred eagles, and the strange, threadlike fungus that was killing huge chunks of forest near the eagles’ nesting area. Given the ecological chaos caused by the recent oak-blight epidemic in California’s Point Reyes Park, the Park Service wasn’t taking any chances in Bear Claw Canyon. When the local scientists hadn’t been able to crack the fungus’s life cycle or the real cause of the problems the trees were experiencing, Tori had gotten the call.

Her family might not understand her choosing to save trees rather than people, but she was very good at what she did.

Giving the cop a cool look, she said, “I prefer the term ‘phytopathologist.’ Or ‘plant disease epidemiologist’ is okay, too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How about we go with Tori and Jack instead? Seems easier, and half the time when I hear ‘Detective Williams,’ I turn around to see if my dad or uncle are standing behind me.”

Which meant he wasn’t just a cop, he was straight out of a cop family, with all the “save the world and pat the little lady on the head” machismo that it entailed. Or maybe that was just her family, she thought, trying to smooth out the sudden tug of irritation he hadn’t earned.

Which just left her realizing that she had just told her local liaison to use her professional titles. God, she was still such a dweeb sometimes, especially when faced with a guy who felt just that little bit out of her league, turning him into a challenge.

Making herself grin rather than groan, she nodded. “Tori and Jack it is.”

She didn’t bother asking herself what it was about this guy that had her caught somewhere between lust and dorksville. He was seriously hot; she was exhausted by having done a week’s worth of grant writing in two days to make this trip; and it had been a few months since she and her last equally on-the-go lover, Greene, had called it quits. So she was noticing the handsome detective in a chemically combustible way, and it was making her a little silly. Okay, more than a little.

Focus. “We should get going. I understand that the site is pretty far off the beaten path.”

“That’s an understatement. We’ll be using Ranger Station Fourteen as a base camp and driving out to the Forgotten from there on a daily basis.”

“Wait. What?” She frowned up at him. Way up, which made her feel short, and in turn, irritated her. “We won’t need the ranger station. We’re camping out at the site for the duration.” That was SOP for the more remote locations, and she’d been assured there would be no problem.

His expression tightened and those lake waters chilled. “Not with an armed militia out there, we’re not.”

“An …” She blew out a breath, not liking the sound of that one bit. “I was under the impression that the area was secure.”

“That might be the official line, but it’s not the reality as far as my contacts within the investigation are concerned. So here’s the deal: either we bunk at Ranger Station Fourteen and day-trip it out to the Forgotten, or you hold off on your investigation until we’ve got a real handle on the Shadow Militia. Your call.”

Even as jitters took up residence in her stomach, she narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out if he was on the level or if this was another version of the familiar song that went I’ve got better things to do than drag you around; I wish you’d go away.

Most of the time, her escorts were happy to bring her to the infected site and eager to hear what she had to say about their problem. Occasionally, though, she ran into the other kind: the ones who didn’t want her around, whether because she’d been foisted on them, they saw her as a threat or because they didn’t want to be anyone’s chaper-one. She didn’t peg this guy as foistable or threatened, but he also didn’t strike her as the type to volunteer to babysit a visiting scientist. What she didn’t know was whether he was overemphasizing the danger in an effort to run her off … or if there was really a chance that there were still armed killers hiding somewhere in the Forgotten, which had the rep of being seriously rough territory in its own right.

Her jitters edged toward nerves, but she held her ground because logic said it couldn’t be that bad or her assignment would’ve been called off. Whether or not she agreed with it—which she didn’t—investigations into plant outbreaks often got shunted back behind human factors, and she’d had cases canceled over far smaller problems before.

Testing the waters, she said, “If it’s that dangerous, I’m surprised your bosses okayed the investigation.” Glancing down, she went for her phone. “Maybe I should call—”

He caught her wrist. “Don’t.”

For a few agonizing seconds all she could feel was the warm touch of his hand and the press of his fingers over her pulse. Heat washed up her throat to her face, bringing a heady mix of attraction and nerves. Her heart pounded, she couldn’t catch her breath, and … Knock it off, she told herself. He’s not that hot.

Okay, maybe he was, but that didn’t change his basic makeup: namely, a cop from a cop family. What was more, she had her answer. He was trying to play her.

Tugging her arm from his grip, she regarded him coolly. “Level with me, then. How high is the risk really, Detective?”

“Too high.” But when she just kept looking at him, he glanced away and made an annoyed sound. “Look, it’s nothing solid at this point, or else you’re right, your people or mine would’ve already called things off. But some of the cops on the task force—good cops, people I trust—say their guts are telling them that the militia is still in the area. There’ve been some signs.” He looked back at her, his eyes making her think once more of clear, still lakes and reflected skies. But there was zero sunshine in his voice when he continued, “If I’m under orders to keep you safe, then I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t suggest that you hold off on your investigation until we’re sure the area is secure. The Forgotten has been there for a long time—another few weeks or months won’t make a difference to the trees.”

It wasn’t what he said that had annoyance bubbling up inside her; it was the way he said it, with practically a verbal pat on the head. Stop being so dramatic, the woods will be fine. And even if they’re not, who cares? There are lots of trees in the forest—ha ha.