Under The Agent's Protection

Easing her car into a parking place, Everly turned off the engine. Her throat tightened as a fresh wave of anguish rose from her gut. She drew in a deep breath and waited for the grief to pass.

Using the rearview mirror, she checked her appearance quickly. Her green eyes—puffy. Cheeks—blotchy. Lips—colorless. For the day, she’d swept her hair into a ponytail and a tendril of auburn hair had come loose. Everly was far from put-together. But then again, what did she expect? She’d gotten the call as she was getting ready for work, and still wore the same clothes she’d changed into—black leggings, shearling-lined boots and a long cream-colored sweater.

It was 11:10 a.m. She’d reached her destination with twenty minutes to spare until her meeting with the sheriff.

She hoped that it gave her enough time for a quick detour—even if it wasn’t as much as she wanted. Years of experience in public relations had taught Everly to never attend an important meeting without getting all the facts. And as far as Everly was concerned, there was nothing more important than finding out what really happened to her brother.

After draping her purse across her forearm, she hustled through the biting wind to the hospital, situated two blocks from the town square. She followed signs to the morgue, which was located in the basement. The slap of footfalls on the tiled floor kept time with her racing heart as she descended the stairs.

Cold sweat covered her brow as she walked down the white-tiled hallway. A blue plastic sign hung, suspended by chains from the ceiling. Morgue. A metal door was the only thing that separated Everly from the truth. With a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped in.

A row of metal tables bisected the large room. There was a figure on the center table, shrouded with a blue sheet.

Sure, the sheriff had told Everly that her brother’s body had been found. And yeah, the body had Axl’s ID. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder—what if it wasn’t Axl under the sheet? What if this had all been a mistake? Because there was one thing Everly knew for sure—her brother didn’t die of exposure as the sheriff suggested was the most likely possibility.

She reached out with a shaking hand. Her fingertips inched closer to the sheet, brushing the fabric.

“May I help you?” A man with sparse hair, glasses and a goatee stood next to the sink at the far side of the room.

Everly gasped and pulled her hand away, startled. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as her racing heart slowed.

“I hope so,” she said. “I’m Everly Baker, Axl Baker’s sister. I spoke to Sheriff Haak yesterday and he informed me that I needed to identify my brother’s body.” Her voice faltered slightly on the last words, and she took another breath to steady her emotions.

“I’m Doc Lambert, ma’am, and very sorry for your loss.” The man picked up a clipboard and lifted a sheet of paper. He looked up over the rim of his glasses. “I didn’t expect you until after noon, but once the sheriff arrives, we can make the ID.”

“Are you the medical examiner?”

“Medical examiner. Pediatrician. General practitioner. Sometimes surgeon.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see my brother now,” she said.

“It’s not the way Sheriff Haak likes things done,” said Dr. Lambert. “Besides, if the sheriff told you to meet him here, I’m sure he’ll be along directly.”

“He’s not coming right now,” said Everly, knowing that the doctor misunderstood her early arrival. Moreover, being direct was the only way to deal with the situation. “But I’m here now.”

Still looking over the rims of his glasses, he repeated, “Like I said, Miss Baker, it’s not how we do things in Pleasant Pines.”

“I have to be honest with you. I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Mistake? How?”

“I don’t think this is my brother.” She gestured to the figure on the table.

“We found an ID with the body. He’d checked into the local hotel and used a credit card in his name.”

“But aren’t I here to see the...corpse and make a positive identification? To me, that means there’s a question.”

“There is some postmortem gouging to the face.” Doc Lambert paused. “Maybe I should call the sheriff.”

“Is there a rule in Wyoming that says a law-enforcement officer needs to be present to see a body?”

“Well, no. It’s just that Sheriff Haak is particular about his cases.”

“No offense,” said Everly, knowing full well that she was being persistent—possibly too persistent, “but I’m pretty particular about knowing whether my brother is dead or not.”

With a sigh, Doc Lambert set aside his clipboard. “Since it’s not against the law, I suppose there’s no harm.” He moved to the table and pulled the sheet from the body, exposing the head, neck and shoulders.

Everly’s chest constricted. A great wave of grief washed over her, threatening to drown her. She reached out to touch her brother’s hair then pulled her hand away as the urge to scream flooded through her, pushing its way up into her throat. Yet, she stood without breathing and stared at his lifeless body.

“It’s him,” she whispered. “That’s my brother.” It was like a physical blow, acknowledging that he was, indeed, gone for good. “What happened?”

“I won’t know until I conduct the autopsy and get some test results back, but it looks as though your brother got caught out in the forest at night and died of exposure. It is fairly common in these parts. Heartbreaking, but natural.”

The loss of her brother—her rock for so many years—was unspeakably painful. She didn’t know why or how, but Everly was certain of one thing: Doc Lambert was wrong. Her brother’s death wasn’t natural.

And she was going to find out what really happened to him.

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.”

Her pulse began to hammer, and her breath froze in her chest. She scanned the list, not seeing anything. “This doesn’t make any sense. If my brother wasn’t taking pictures, why was he outside in the middle of the night?”

“Even a seasoned outdoorsman, like your brother, could’ve gotten lost,” said the sheriff. “I’ve likely been sheriff longer than you’ve been alive, Ms. Baker. In my experience, in cases like this, there’s alcohol involved. And if your brother’d been drinking...” His voice trailed off, but she heard the implication loud and clear.

She couldn’t deny that the sheriff’s explanation was plausible. Sure, it had been years since the last time her brother drank. But, more than once, Axl had sworn off drinking, then fallen back into old habits. Was the explanation really so simple? She wasn’t sure, but Everly refused to give up on her brother so easily.

“Have you searched for his camera?” she asked.

“Until now, I didn’t know to look for one.”

“Well, you should see what you can find.”

Sheriff Haak gave an exasperated sigh. “Ms. Baker, why don’t you let me do my job?”

Biting off what she really wanted to say, Everly clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. This man wasn’t going to be any help, she could tell. That meant it was up to Everly to discover the truth. “Then if you can point me in the direction of where my brother’s body was found, I’ll look myself.”

“Can’t do that.”

The hollow nothingness of grief was slowly replaced with a seething fury. She managed to keep her voice calm and steady. “Why not?”

“First, you could contaminate the scene,” he said. “But there’s more. Your brother was found on private property. You’d need the owner’s permission to go traipsing around his land. He was the one who found Axl Baker, by the way, and called in the report.”

Jaw still tight, she asked, “Can you introduce me to the owner of the property?”

“Don’t need to. You’ve met him already.”

Before Everly could ask what in the world the sheriff meant, he said. “Wyatt Thornton—he’s the man who almost knocked you ass-over-teakettle at the door.”

Not bothering with a goodbye, Everly rose to her feet and rushed into the corridor. She knew it was probably a bad idea to blow off the sheriff like this, but she refused to miss a chance at finding Wyatt Thornton and learning everything he knew.

But where had he gone?

She pushed out the front door and stood in the bitter cold. Luckily, Wyatt Thornton was tall, and therefore easy to find. He stood on the opposite side of the square with a large tank of propane in each hand. He began to cross the street and she rushed after him.

“Mr. Thornton,” she called. “Mr. Thornton, can I speak to you for a minute!”

His pace increased.

She ran after him, her lungs burning with the thin mountain air.

He stopped next to a blue pickup truck and set the tanks in the rear bed, before strapping them in place. He removed a set of keys from his pocket.

“Mr. Thornton,” she said as she advanced, her breath ragged. “That is you, right? I need your help.”

Without a word, he opened the door. “I thought you said you didn’t want my assistance.”

So that’s how he was going to act? Childish? Everly swallowed down the sharpest edges of her anger. “Look, I’m sorry if I was rude before. But I need to speak to you. It’s important, Mr. Thornton.”

“Wyatt,” he said.

“What?”

“Call me Wyatt.”

“Okay, Wyatt, I just need a few minutes of your time.”

He didn’t ask what she needed, but neither did he walk away, so Everly continued. “The sheriff told me that you found my brother’s body yesterday. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Nothing.

Repeating what she’d told the sheriff, she said, “My brother was a wildlife photographer. If he was out in the middle of the night, it was for a reason—likely some assignment or other. Did you find his camera?”

Shaking his head, Wyatt said, “I didn’t, but I didn’t know to look for one, either.”

It was the same thing the sheriff had told her. “If I could just get your permission and some directions, I could take a look. I won’t be a bother, I promise.”

“Sorry, but no.”

“No?” she asked, her voice reedy. “Why not?”

“I told the sheriff everything. The investigation’s up to him.”

“I just want to see where you found his body. It might help me understand what happened. He was my brother, my only family.” She paused, hating that she had shared more than she intended—hating even more that she was about to beg. “I really need answers. Please.”

For a long moment, Wyatt said nothing. Everly could sense the war raging in his mind, see the furrows between his brow, his jaw flex.

“Please,” she whispered again.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I can’t get involved, and letting you come out to my place won’t bring your brother back.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Wyatt looked at the ground as he scraped his toe on the cracked sidewalk. “The medical examiner’s report will be in later today or tomorrow. After that, you’ll have the answers you need.”

Another thought came to Everly—Wyatt Thornton was hiding something. To hell with being polite—she was done. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“The mountains are a hard place to survive, even with training. Accidents happen. The death of your brother is a monumental life event and you want it to have a greater meaning than just...he simply ran into bad luck.” He met her gaze. “But sometimes that’s all you have—a lousy destiny. I hope the autopsy gives you the answers you need.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Go home, anyway. There’s nothing here for you,” he said, not without sympathy.

With that, Wyatt Thornton got behind the wheel. She remained rooted to the spot as he started the engine and backed up. She watched as he drove down the main road and out of town.

He wanted her to go home—give up was more like it. Well, if he thought that she was going to be that easy to get rid of, Wyatt Thornton had better think again.

Chapter 2

Everly parked in front of the Pleasant Pines Inn, a sprawling late 19th century building of stone and timber that overlooked the town. It was the only hotel for miles and while it wasn’t a five-star property on Michigan Avenue, it had loads of charm and would suit her needs nicely.

Trailing her suitcase behind her, she approached the front desk. A tall and muscular woman, with her blond hair pulled into a tight bun, greeted Everly with a smile. “May I help you?”

“I need a room,” said Everly, stating the obvious.

“Reservations?” the woman asked.

In her haste to get out of Chicago, Everly hadn’t bothered with the online registration. “No,” Everly said. “I hope you have something available.” If not, she’d have to make the three hour commute from Cheyenne.

The desk clerk tapped on a computer keyboard. “You’re in luck. We have one room available, second floor. There’s also a pub on-site along with a restaurant that serves dinner and breakfast. Both open today at five o’clock.” She pointed in the direction of the establishments as she spoke. “What brings you to Pleasant Pines?”

Without question, the clerk was the most helpful person she’d met in Pleasant Pines. Everly read her name tag. “Darcy, can you tell me if Axl Baker had a room here?”

The desk clerk looked over her shoulder before answering in a low voice. “He did...but Mr. Baker’s room is off-limits by the order of Sheriff Haak.”

At least Everly knew for certain that her brother had been at this hotel. The question was, how could she get the sheriff to let her search her brother’s room? Or rather, she knew that answer—he wouldn’t. What she needed was a way, legal or not, to get inside the room.

She didn’t have much time to plan, so her strategy was simple. Yet, it might just work.

Coughing, Everly touched her throat. “Any chance I can get a bottle of water?”

Darcy held up one finger. “Just a second, I can grab you one from the back.”

Heart racing, Everly waited until the other woman disappeared through a doorway. On tiptoe, she looked over the edge of the counter. Papers. Pens. A computer keyboard. She lifted a pile of papers and it fell out. It was the size and shape of a credit card with two stylized pine trees intertwined with the words Pleasant Pines in gilt script. Written in marker were four other words, the ones she needed to see: Front desk. Total access.

She’d found a passkey. Score.

She didn’t hesitate and slipped the keycard into the palm of her hand. She put the papers on the desk and stepped back just as Darcy returned.

“Here you go,” she said, holding out the water.

Everly took the bottle awkwardly with her left hand. “Thanks,” she said, slipping her right hand into her pocket, where she deposited the stolen card.

Reaching for the handle of her suitcase, she turned from the front desk. How many rooms did this inn have and, more important, how would she find out which one had been her brother’s?

“Ms. Baker?” Darcy called.

Everly increased her pace, as if she could outrun the awful truth that she had stolen a key to every door in the hotel.

“Ms. Baker? Ms. Baker?”

Damn, she’d been caught. Everly tried to think of an excuse. Nothing came to mind. Her mouth went dry. She stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

“You forgot your key.” Darcy held up a keycard, a twin to the one she had in her pocket, save for the note in marker. “Room two twenty-three. Second floor. The elevator is at the end of the hallway.”

Everly swayed as her knees went weak. She was determined to find out what really happened to her brother, a few rules be damned. And yet, she was hardly used to a life of crime. What she was used to—and quite good at—was public relations, which meant knowing her customer. If her read on Darcy was right, the other woman was likely to be helpful and sympathetic.

“Thanks,” she said again. Then she asked, “Do you happen to remember Axl Baker? He’s my brother. He was my brother.” Everly’s voice cracked on the last word.

Darcy lowered her eyes. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry, hon.” She lifted her gaze to Everly’s. “I wasn’t at work when he checked in, but he did come through the lobby on his way to and from the pub.”

The pub. Had Axl decided to have a beer? Or more? It wouldn’t have been the first time he thought that he could handle a little alcohol and been wrong. Hadn’t she worried that eventually out-of-control drinking would be the death of him? More than that, the sheriff had all but predicted that drinking was involved in the accidental death.

That was, if Axl’s death was an accident. “Any idea what he was doing?”

“I’m not sure,” said Darcy with a shake of her head. “He wasn’t there long—thirty minutes or so.” She paused and bit her bottom lip. “The bartender comes in at four o’clock—she might remember something.”

Everly checked her phone for the time. 12:04 p.m. What might Everly discover in the next three and a half hours?