From the distance of a few feet, I stared at the skinned carcass of a red fox. Standing over the body, Agent Callahan scattered the flies covering the bloodied flesh by waving a stick before she took a few photographs.
“How long do you figure it’s been dead?” I asked.
With a gloved hand, she manipulated the dead animal’s rear left leg.
“Blood is only semi-congealed. No signs of rigor and no larval infestation, which would be present if rigor had come and gone,” she answered, her voice detached as she began to walk around the animal in a widening circle. “I figure a maximum of three to four hours since it died.”
“So whoever did this could still be in the park?”
“Yes, but unlikely.”
As the woman walked, I noticed that a small limp affected her gait. I had no idea when it started because my attention had been riveted to her other physical attributes during the hike. Her hips were a favorite. And that nice, round backside that bobbed hypnotically in front of me like a birthday balloon.
Can’t forget her breasts, I thought, running my thumb against my lower lip. Those were definite handfuls. Just the thought of them made my fingertips tingle and my cock begin to lengthen down my leg.
My brain clouded for a second with the question of what her nipples were like. Thick, for sure, but what color? Hell, I didn’t care what color. I would happily suck them to the dark red tint I preferred before moving down her ripe body to lick and tease other areas.
Maybe then, she’d tell me her first name.
“Something wrong?” Callahan asked when she caught me staring at her.
I swallowed, my head moving in a motion that was neither a nod nor a shake.
“Your leg, did you hurt it today?”
Her cloudy gaze darkened.
I pointed at her left leg. “You’re limping. You seemed fine when we were at the job site.”
She garbled a reply then bent down and took another photo. After the first shot, she pulled the measuring tape from her pocket, slid it out next to the object and captured a second image.
I was curious about what she’d found, but the dismissal of my question about her leg bothered me more.
“You’re limping,” I repeated.
“Broke my tibia a few years back.” Callahan pulled an evidence bag from her pocket, placed the object inside then wrote on the bag. “Acts up sometimes.”
I decided to let it go—for the time being.
“What did you find?”
“Shell casing, small caliber, 22.”
I grunted, my brain and body confused. I couldn’t decide whether a woman walking around with a gun strapped to her hip, identifying casings and rattling off forensic details and conclusions was sexy or off-putting.
Catching her gaze locked on me as she prowled in my direction, my brain and body reached a sudden, irrevocable agreement.
Agent Callahan was definitely sexy. Especially with all those curves. I didn’t even need to imagine her gold-brown hair escaping its ponytail and laying loose around her elegant shoulders or neck.
“Your foot,” she snapped, pointing at my right boot.
Looking down, I saw light reflect off clear wire.
“Fishing line?”
“You see so much as a creek around here?”
I shook my head. She was forceful, but I was accustomed to being around strong women. My family was full of them.
Only this was the first time I found the quality downright sexy. Like, rock hard sexy.
I smiled.
Callahan glared.
Meeting her gaze even when it was angry didn’t bother me. She had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen—a smoky gray that belonged in a bedroom. My bedroom, I amended, imagining my fingers digging into the ample flesh of her thighs as I held them apart and penetrated her core.
Ending the staring contest, Callahan bent down and pushed my leg until I took a careful step backward.
“The wire could be part of a snare,” she explained, pulling out her camera and running through the same steps as she had for the cartridge. With the wire marked as potential evidence, she returned to the case she had brought with her and pulled out a large black bag. “I need to check on the den before we lose daylight.”
I nodded, my tongue numb as she unzipped the bag and I realized its purpose and Callahan’s intent. She was taking the carcass with her.
“Do you think you can carry my case?” she asked, carefully maneuvering the animal into the body bag.
“Sure…I mean, no—” Shaking my head, I pointed at the black lump she had just zipped up. “I mean, I’ll carry whatever you want me to. If you’d rather take the case, I can carry the carcass. Or both.”
“Just the case.”
She clipped two straps onto the body bag then threaded her arms through them before heading north with a grim smile. I followed. We hiked in silence for about a mile. Callahan led the way, her limp worsening to the point I wanted to stop and demand she let me carry both the case and the macabre package strapped to her back.
She held her hand up, signaling a halt. Pointing some twenty yards in front of us, she directed my gaze to a hole in the side of a short mound. If that was the den, there were no cubs or adult foxes on the outside and no sounds suggesting they might be inside.
Callahan resumed taking pictures, moving in ever-decreasing circles until she reached the den and pronounced it empty.
“Could they have just left?” I asked.
Predators much larger than foxes had always been the concern on my family’s cattle ranch. Mountain lions, coyotes, and wolves could not only take down an animal, they could stress the entire herd to the point of some of the pregnant cows miscarrying. Foxes just weren’t a consideration, so I knew nothing about them.
Callahan shrugged. “The adults might have scented the dead fox and abandoned the den, taking the cubs. Or they could have left days ago.”
Frowning, she put her face close to the foxhole and sniffed.
“Fresh urine.”
Okay, not everything about Agent Callahan was sexy, I mused for half a second before the needle began to swing back in her direction because, yeah, there certainly was something to be said about a woman who had that kind of dedication to work.
Would she bring the same level of commitment to a relationship?
Getting a little ahead of yourself, I thought, schooling my expression to something neutral as Callahan stood up and walked toward where she had left me with her case and the body bag with its dead fox inside.
“I really appreciate you bringing me out here,” she said, shouldering the carcass. “Evidence is fragile in these conditions. Between the weather and other animals, the bullet casing and snare wire could have been gone tomorrow and the body dragged off, maybe even buried depending on the local badger population.”
Forcing down a flicker of guilt, I nodded. My motives for offering her the ride, even goading her into the trip, had been purely selfish. She was a beautiful woman who flushed prettily when riled up. Without those qualities, I was ashamed to admit I would still be at the job site waiting for Gamble to appear and investigate who was trying to sabotage my operations.
“We should be getting back to the truck,” I said, looking at how close the sun had gotten to the horizon. “Going to start losing daylight pretty fast.”
“Agreed.” She walked past me, a subtle smile making her face glow.
Shouldering the case, I hurried to catch up.
“Hey, I wanted to apologize for the whining about the Feds thing I did at the job site,” I said. “It’s just that my brother works for the FBI and, counting today, there have been four incidents.”
“He might have passed it off to the local office,” she offered.
“Uh—no,” I snorted, my grip on the case’s strap tightening. “He IS the local office.”
“He may wish to avoid the appearance of impropriety or stepping on the local LEO tails.”
With a barking laugh, I shook my head. “Emerson would stomp all over their tails, but I imagine you’re right about the impropriety thing. He’s probably the biggest starched shirt you’ll ever meet.”
“Well, if I meet him, I’ll send you my official assessment.”
My hand reaching out to cup the woman’s elbow, I stopped. “Was that a joke, Agent Callahan?”
She smiled, her cheeks colored by the setting sun. “I guess. And, uh, forget calling me Agent Callahan.”
I returned the smile, my body growing warmer despite the temperature dropping several degrees since we had first reached the den.
“What should I call you?”
“First name is Ashley, but most people wind up calling me ‘Ash.’”
Because of those smoky bedroom eyes, I thought, my smile breaking into a grin.
“Well, Ash,” I said, extending my hand. “You be sure to call me Walker when your job doesn’t dictate otherwise.”
She responded with a mock growl. “You better hope it doesn’t dictate otherwise. You’ll lose your Junior Deputy badge if I have to talk to you in an official capacity.”
I stared at the woman for a long minute, savoring the play of evening colors against her fair skin and gold-brown hair. With my grin widening, I threw her a wink.
“You can take the badge, just leave me the handcuffs.”