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A ROUGH, DRY tongue rasped against his cheek as the scent of wet wolf permeated his nose. Michael kept his eyes closed, reaching for the dream of womanly curves and hair that smelled of coconut. But why was he lying in the woods, half-dressed, in a rain storm?
The wolf licking his face whined. He’d been hunting with the pack. No. Men. Hunters. LIZ! Memory flooded back. He sat up and promptly rolled to his hands and knees as dry heaves racked his body. Stars burst against his retinas and his head throbbed with pain. A warm trickle trailed from his temple and his nostrils flared at the hot, coppery scent of his own blood.
He checked the diver’s watch on his wrist. He’d been unconscious for most of the night. The wolf nosed him again. Switching positions with great care, Michael sat and combed his fingers through the wolf’s thick pelt. “Wish you could talk, big guy.” The words tumbled out thick and jumbled. He touched his fingertips to his temple to discover raw, jagged skin, half-congealed blood and another flare of pain. He’d been shot. Again. And left for dead. Big mistake on the part of the hunters.
Using a nearby tree, he managed to lurch to his feet. He leaned against the rough bark until his head cleared of dizziness. Breathing through the pain, he pushed off the trunk and stumbled back to his cabin. Shards of glass glittered under the intermittent flashes of lightning. The door hung on bent hinges, creaking as the wind waved it back and forth. He crept to the front porch, ears attuned to any living thing inside. Nothing. No sound of breathing. His nose twitched at the odor of alcohol laced with oak. Damn. That was sixteen-year-old scotch. He sniffed again. No scent of fear or adrenaline. No thumping hearts. Liz was gone. Taken.
The wolf cringed back as Michael growled, the man more beast than human at that moment. He searched the house, playing out the scenario in his mind. The good news was that he caught no whiff of Liz’s blood. She’d left here in one piece. The bad news was he had no idea where they’d taken her. Padding into the bathroom, he discovered the lights still worked. He examined his wound in the mirror, cleaned it again and slapped a bandage on it. He probably had a concussion and that would preclude him from shifting. And would need stitches, too, since he couldn’t shift.
Gripping the handrail, he hauled his protesting body up the stairs to change clothes. If he was to find Liz, he’d have to start in town. In moments, he’d pulled on a uniform, slipped boots on, and headed back downstairs. He grabbed keys and his phone, patted the wolf and headed to his SUV.
Down in Northpark, flashing lights drew him like a moth to the one grocery store in town. As Michael parked, he noticed the town constable inside talking to the clerk. Neither of them were the brightest crayons in the box but from the wild gesturing, he figured something fairly serious had happened.
As he stepped inside the clerk was explaining what the shoplifter had taken. “Goat milk. I mean, really? Who drinks that shit? And puppy chow. The guy gave me a fifty. Had the balls to tell me to ‘keep the change.’ The woman with him tried to pay but he wouldn’t let her.”
“What did she look like?” Michael butted into the conversation without a second thought.
The clerk shrugged. “Didn’t pay much attention, Ranger Lightfoot. She was short and had a big ol’ knot on her cheek, like she’d been hit with a two by four or something.”
Michael managed to keep a snarl from showing in his expression. “What about the man?”
Constable Gunderson stared at him, his mouth working like a guppy. “You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can.” He cut the other man off. “I was attacked up at my cabin last night and a state wildlife biologist was kidnapped. Do you have surveillance footage?”
Bug-eyed, the clerk nodded. “Yeah...but I can’t leave the register to take you to the office.”
“Constable Gunderson will watch it while you’re gone. Let’s go.” His tone left no room for argument.
Thirty minutes later, he had a picture of Liz’s kidnapper firmly entrenched in his memory, along with Liz’s battered face. He’d kill the sonavabitch for hurting her. He had to admire the doc, though. She’d managed to get her face plastered on every camera in the store, along with all the items she’d placed in her basket. Wherever she was, he figured he’d find the wolf pups too. Two birds, one shot. He left after taking cell phone pictures of both Liz and the man with her from the surveillance monitor.
Sitting in his vehicle, he emailed the photo to Ian McIntire, his NCO from Army days. He’d bet money either Mac or his wife, Hannah, could figure out a way to run the photos through a facial recognition program. Michael would learn if Liz was on the square and with luck, who the asshole was. In the meantime, he needed to find the big black SUV captured on the store’s cameras. Cruising the motels and cabins around town, he came up empty. That could mean they were on the road or that they were holed up in one of the remote cabins sprinkled across the mountainside.
The sun was up now, sparkling through the branches of the pine trees circling Northpark. The rain hadn’t followed him down the mountain. He parked outside the one real estate office in town. If anyone knew about strangers in the area, Monica Presgrove would. The woman was a complete snoop. The “Closed” sign showed on the door so he settled in to wait.
A tap on his window made him jump. He’d dozed off without realizing it. Monica stood outside, holding two cups of coffee. He rolled down the window.
“You’re up early, Ranger. You drink your coffee black, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He accepted the Styrofoam cup from her and inhaled deeply. The scent of caffeine was almost as bracing as swallowing the stuff. She backed away so he could open his door and step out.
She blanched as she saw his face full on. “What in the world happened to you?”
“Long story, Miz Presgrove. I need to know if you’ve noticed anyone suspicious hanging around the area lately?”
She waggled her finger at him. “No, you want to know if I’ve leased a cabin to someone who wants to stay out of sight. As a matter of fact, a group of fishermen leased Lone Pine Cottage last week.”
He waited for her to enlighten him. She cleared her throat, sipped her coffee, and gestured for him to follow her up onto the porch of the old Victorian house she used for an office. She settled in the porch swing before she continued. He bit back his impatience. This was the way Monica worked and he couldn’t rush her.
“Problem is, ranger, they didn’t have any fishing gear. Guns? Now those they had. In spades. I mentioned that hunting season didn’t start for a couple of months and the man who seemed to be in charge insisted they were here for the trout.”
“Seemed to be?”
She offered him a sly smile. “The big scary hulk who stayed in their SUV had everyone cowed.”
He held out his cell phone to her. “Him?”
Her forehead crinkled in surprise and she and nodded. “Yes. I do believe so. But there was no woman with them. Just two skinny little geeks, the big guy on your phone, and three guys cut from his cloth.”
“What’re the terms of their lease?”
She opened her mouth to protest his question but obviously saw something in his expression that changed her mind. “A month. Cash up front. Option to keep it for another two months.”
“Thanks, Miz Presgrove.” He turned to leave but she called him back.
“Ranger Lightfoot? Don’t go up there alone. The geeks are trivial but those other men? They mean business.” She blinked and tilted her head, watching him with far too much knowledge in her eyes. “Like you.”
“Like me?”
“Yes. They are dangerous men. But unlike you, they don’t care which side they’re on, just so long as there’s money involved and they get their share.”
He stared at her a long moment. “That’s very astute, Miz Presgrove.”
She laughed, the sound a gay twitter. “I wasn’t always old and I wasn’t always a real estate agent in a one-stop-light town.” She met his quizzical stare with a wink but then grew serious. “These guys are not to be trifled with, Ranger. Please take back up with you. Call the sheriff. Get some deputies.”
His phone beeped before he could respond—Mac calling him back. He thanked her quickly and returned to his car before speaking. “Did you find something?”
“Your doc is just who she says she is. A wildlife biologist with a background in genetics employed by the Wyoming Division of Wildlife Management. The dude? Bad news, Lightfoot. He popped up all over the place and not in good ways. At the moment, he’s employed by Black Root Security.”
“Damn.”
“Double damn, man. You can’t take on these guys alone. Want me to send up the Bat Signal?”
He shook his head then realized Mac couldn’t see him. “No. I need to scout the terrain first. I’ll be in touch.”
Mrs. Presgrove remained on the porch watching him. He offered a small wave before climbing into his SUV. He headed down the street and almost chuckled as Constable Gunderson parked in the spot he’d just vacated. He hoped the real estate agent would keep the man occupied until he could get out of town and cover his tracks. He headed home to get the gear he would need for a reconnaissance mission.
LIZ CURLED UP and braced as best she could against the bumpy ride. If the driver didn’t wreck, he’d probably kill her once they got back to the house. Either way, she figured she was about to die. Looking back, she’d led a miserable life not worth recounting. No flash of clarity, no moments of heart-breaking remembrance, nothing to note she’d lived her life well. One of two things—she wasn’t going to die today or the poets were wrong. She prayed it was the former. She didn’t doubt for a minute that the man in the driver’s seat would kill her and the wolf pups without a second thought.
A ripple of grief moved through her soul. Michael was dead. Why did her heart lurch and ache when she thought of him? He’d been a jerk. He’d also saved her life at least once. Okay, more than once. And he’d died trying to save her again. But there was something else, some deeper connection. The feel of his arms wrapped around her, the strength of him, even the way he smelled—wild and rich like he’d never been touched by civilization.
She had to physically shake her whole body to get her thoughts back on track. Her office wouldn’t miss her for several days. They knew she’d gone into the field and wouldn’t expect her back. Michael was... She couldn’t voice the thought. He couldn’t be dead. That was just wrong in ways she didn’t want to think about. Blinking back tears, she inhaled deeply. Nobody would save her but herself. And she was determined to save the pups, too.
Liz hadn’t worked out all the details but these thugs weren’t stealing the pups to be sold. There was something darker at work here. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d end up a casualty of war. She inhaled again, working past the pain in her chest. War. Yes, that’s exactly what this felt like. She was a prisoner of war, but she wasn’t a total girlie girl. She might be small but so was Mighty Mouse. And Speedy Gonzales. Roadrunner was smarter than the coyote. She just needed to think smarter. Big Dude had messed up back at the grocery store. The clerk would have notified the authorities. Her face—and his—was on the security tapes. She’d gladly get arrested for shoplifting.
The big vehicle rocketed around a tight curve and she was thrown against the opposite door with enough force her shoulder popped. Pain radiated but she could still move it. That contact would leave a bruise for sure. She shifted slightly to brace better but the SUV slowed for a long climb along a bumpy road. As ready as she was to get back to the wolves, she wasn’t quite prepared for the ride to end. She didn’t have a plan yet.
Big Dude climbed out, opened the door, grabbed the collar of her shirt and yanked. She spilled out on the ground at his feet. Moments later, he jerked her upright, shoved some bags into her arms and hustled her toward a sweet, Victorian-style cottage. Her brain scrambled to catch up, completely unable to wrap around the concept of these mercenaries staying in an ivy-covered cottage. A giggle welled up from deep in her chest but she swallowed the hysteria creating it. Hysterics could come later. Right now, she needed to remain focused.
She didn’t have much chance to look around as Big Dude hustled her toward the back and the little room where she’d awakened. She could hear the puppies whimpering as one of the other guys opened the door. A meaty hand shoved her between the shoulder blades and she ended up on her knees. More bruises to add to her collection. She bit back an angry reply as the door slammed shut behind her. For now, she was alive and so were the pups.
Crooning to them, she lifted them out of the box and cuddled them. Both tried to lick her face and burrow into her shirt. The male eventually squirmed loose and rooted around in the sacks. She needed to get food into them. But she also needed something to heat the milk and make a warm mash of the dog food. Before she could yell at her captors, the door opened. One of the guards held a microwave and a few plastic bowls. The male pup chased after him as he strode across the room. The man kicked the little wolf and Liz leaped off the floor, flailing at the man with her fists without a second thought.
One man grabbed her from behind, growled some orders, and held her still while another man set up the microwave and plugged it in. The little male cringed with his sister as the man stomped out, laughing. Moments later, she was free and whirled just in time to see the door close. An unmistakable click indicated the door was locked once more.
Liz opened the microwave to set the milk inside and found an old-fashioned can opener. She used it to open the dog food while the milk warmed. Mixing some kibbles with the canned food, she set it in the oven to heat while she tried to bottle feed the pups. They suckled hungrily, like they hadn’t eaten in days.
After the pups were sated, they settled in the box for naps. She’d turned it on its side so it was more cave-like. They snuggled together on her jacket and were soon sound asleep. Now that things were quiet, she realized she hurt. All over. She bet her bruises had bruises. Even so, she had no time to relax. Creeping to the door, she pressed her ear against it. Silence. No TV. No radio. No conversation. Were her guards still here? She gripped the door knob. The thing wouldn’t move, not even to rattle.
She lay down in front of the box and attempted to get comfortable. Worn out, her body decided the hard floor wasn’t so uncomfortable after all. Her eyelids drooped and she didn’t suppress the yawn stretching her jaw. She and the pups were still alive. That was enough. For now.
