Chapter One
Across the airport terminal, through the blur of hurried travelers between us, I caught sight of Dalton, facing the other way. He turned and saw me, waved me over with a smile, but as I approached I could tell by the way his eyes held mine that something was up.
Special Agent Dalton had been my partner now for nearly six months, but not without some fireworks between us. I’d learned that when he was in this mood, the best strategy was to take a deep breath and find my inner calm. I’d yet to be successful, but hey, a girl can try.
Our relationship had come a long way in a short time. I trusted him with my life. As an agent, he was top-notch. He was sharp, experienced, everything you’d want in a partner. The trouble was, he set me on fire—in more ways than one. I was still trying to figure out how I felt about him. I was pretty sure he had feelings for me. The problem was, with Dalton, well, it was complicated.
Despite our…I don’t even know what to call it, we’d just had two successful ops and now, without so much as a two-day breather, we were heading to Alaska on a mission to catch a bear poacher who’d been eluding authorities for years. That’s how things work out sometimes. Get ‘em when the gettin’s good.
I set down my duffel bag between us. “What is it?”
“Hey Poppy.” He paused for a beat. “Alaska, here we come,” he said with a forced grin.
“Seriously?” I planted my feet. “I know that look.”
He hooked his thumb in his belt, looked down at his shoes.
“Oh my god, Dalton. Spit it out.”
His eyes made their way back to meet mine. “Stan Martin called me yesterday.”
“Stan Martin? As in the head of Special Ops, Stan Martin? Our boss?” Crap. This can’t be good. “And?”
“He wants me to come in for an official interview—” his tongue stuck in the corner of his mouth for a moment “—an investigative hearing actually, on—” he stared at me “—on what happened during our op in Norway.”
My brain started to swirl around inside my skull. “I don’t understand. It was a clean bust.”
“I know. I know.” Dalton nodded, too much. “I’m sure it’s all a formality. Politics, you know. Apparently Norway officials have been making a stink about it.”
“Well, when does he want us to come in?”
Dalton managed a half-shrug.
My brain rattled. Investigative hearing. The roar of the airline passengers hustling past rose in my ears and suddenly made me feel dizzy. I sucked in some air. Oh crap. “It’s about me.”
Dalton held up a hand, a caution to stay calm. “I don’t know that for sure.”
“Of course you do.” I blew out my breath. “What’d he say exactly?”
He looked away.
“C’mon.”
“He might have mentioned that he’s not sure you understand procedures, protocol, that kind of thing.”
I held myself erect, forced calm. “I know I pushed the envelope a little. Maybe taken it right to the edge.” Dammit. “Okay, maybe a little over. But who doesn’t? It was all legal. In the end. We nailed Ray Goldman, his most-wanted. We caught the bad guy and I’m proud of it.”
“I know.” He nodded some more. “It’s just that, I think the thing is, technically, it’s standard procedure to—”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing standard about it. You said it’s an investigative hearing. So stop sugar-coating it.”
Dalton sighed, his shoulders slumped. “He used the words brazen, half-cocked, and—” he hesitated “—lone wolf.”
I looked down at my hands and drew in a long breath to keep myself from exploding. My left hand turned white where my right one wrung the life out of it. “I don’t understand. I nailed the guy and—” My jaw tensed when I realized what I’d said. “We nailed him.” Crap. This can’t be happening. “You were on board the whole time. You approved everything. We were in it together and—”
“Yes, I did.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. I’m you’re partner. I’ve got your back.”
I let myself relax a little. In spite of all the things I was still unsure of with Dalton, I trusted him. He wouldn’t lie to me.
“Well, what’s going to happen? Will I be suspended?” I couldn’t lose my job. It was everything. Everything I’d ever wanted. I’d worked hard to get where I was. And now it was at risk. Everything on the line. Because I was unorthodox, different, creative. Because I’d done it my way. Same old story.
Now I’d be summoned to the office of Stan Martin, head of Special Ops. My heart raced like a little rabbit being led into the cave of the fierce and almighty king-of-the-jungle.
“I don’t know. But I told Martin I couldn’t come in until after this op in Alaska is done. It’s too important. That will give us some time to go over the details, make sure our report was solid, our stories match.”
“All right.” Now I was the one nodding like a bobble-head.
I picked up the duffle bag, ready to get out of here. I had things to think about, to sort out.
I looked to Dalton and pasted a smile on my face.
He eyed me, still tense. There was something else. I dropped the duffle. “There’s more?”
His tongue went back to the same corner of his mouth. Then I realized: he only had one gun case. He was supposed to pick up firearms for both of us.
“Where’s my gun?” I took a step back. “Don’t tell me—” No. No, no, no! “I’m already suspended?”
“Huh?” He glanced down at the gun case he’d set on the floor. “No, I put them in one case. For weight. On the small plane later.”
“Oh.” I let out my breath. “Then what is it? You’re killing me here.”
He stared at me for a long moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “Are you ready for this op?”
“Ready? Of course I’m ready. I mean, I’m a little worried now, about the Martin thing but—why are you asking me that?”
“I just need to know, you know, if you’re ready. I want to make sure, I mean, with everything going on, that you’re up for it. That it’s what you really want to do. You know, this kind of op, with all the ins and outs of it. I mean, it’s a different kind of situation and—”
“Now you’re babbling.” What the hell?
“What?” He drew back, defensive. “I don’t babble.”
“You do. And you are. What’s your point?”
He frowned, hands on his hips. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, the way he does when he’s thinking, leaving it a little ruffled.
I melted a little. That hair. Not the time. Focus.
“It’s a hunting trip. We’re going hunting.”
“I know that.”
“But you’ve got to be able to play the part.” His expression turned stern. “I know you’re against hunting.”
“I am not.” Well, not exactly. “I think hunting is…well, most hunters. I mean…”
“Yeah?” Those eyes stared at me, waiting. Those ever-so-tempting, knock-me-flat eyes. The way he’d look at me sometimes—just a glance made my insides flutter. Downright embarrassing. Focus!
“I understand hunting for food. I get it. I don’t like it, but I don’t condemn it either. I—” be honest “—accept it. Honestly, if you’re going to eat meat, hunting is more humane than factory farming and—”
“I know. I’ve heard you say it. Many times. But I’m not convinced. And it doesn’t matter anyway, this op isn’t about sustenance hunting. We’re talking about bear hunting.”
I pursed my lips together.
“Well?”
“Oh all right. It’s abhorrent. To hunt a predator, just for the sake of killing, to brag about the conquest, make the hide into a fur rug to show off your prowess, or whatever reason people do it, it’s barbaric. It’s just plain murder.”
“You see.” He rocked back on his heels, crossed his arms. “That’s exactly my point.”
“But that’s why we’re going.”
“That’s not why we’re going.” He stepped closer, lowered his voice. “We’re not going to bust bear hunters, Poppy. We’re not activists with Greenpeace. We’re federal agents and bear hunting is legal, whether you like it or not.” He paused. “Our directive is to catch them poaching. There’s a difference.”
“I know there’s a difference.” Under the law. “And yes, I have my issues with hunting. What’s your point? Are you questioning my ability to do my job?”
He stared, blinked, then blinked again as if he were carefully choosing his next words. “I’m just thinking that maybe this is too personal.”
I drew back, anger bubbling up. “Because of my dad?”
“I know this must—”
“Yes, he was killed by poachers. Yes, I’m angry about it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do my job.” I crossed my arms. “If you think I’m not qualified, fine. Or Joe thinks our cover is weak, fine. But my dad’s file is confidential. You had no right to read it.”
His eyes turned soft from…what? Guilt? Compassion?
He looked away, then back. “I was told to.”
“By whom?”
He gave me the you-know-who frown.
I turned away. Of course my boss would know about it. I’m a federal agent. They’d done a full background check when I applied. But that didn’t mean he had a right to show it to Dalton.
The file didn’t give the full story. At best, it was a few, scant reports from the investigators, low-level government employees who’d arrived on the scene days after his murder. It was Africa. The politics of an American killed by poachers could get out of control, so justice didn’t matter as much as keeping the peace.
My dad’s murder was declared inconclusive, lacking evidence, likely an accident, though anyone who knew anything about the situation knew exactly who had killed him and why. The whole thing made my dad look like an idiot. It was a load of crap.
“That report was bullshit. My dad was murdered.”
“No doubt,” he said and meant it.
My resolve softened. I looked him in the eye. “I don’t hate poachers because a few killed my dad. I hate poachers because they poach.”
He nodded in understanding.
“It’s not going to affect my job. I swear it.”
He held my gaze. “You say that but—” He shook his head.
“But what?” God, he was exasperating!
He leaned toward me. “What’s rule number one when undercover?”
Eye roll. “Never break your cover.”
“Right.” His eyes narrowed. His tone turned dead serious. “Your cover is a trophy hunter and an unethical one at that. Not only do you need to cozy up to these men, you need to act like you actually like them. No doubt you can. But that’s just the half of it. Much more important is when you’re in the field, gun in your hand, with a bear in your sights, will you pull the trigger?” His eyes bored into me. “Because that’s what we’re doing. That’s where we’re going. That’s the job. Are you ready for that?”
My teeth clenched together. “You don’t need to tell me my job.”
His eyes flared with frustration.
I stared right back at him. “You assume—” I paused, thinking for a beat. I needed to find the right words.
“I know that mind of yours. You’re thinking of ways around it. You think you can outsmart them. And maybe you can. But right now, you’re under the microscope. The head of Special Ops is watching. You. Me. And I’m only willing to go so far. I’m not going to lie to him. This is it, Poppy.”
I set my jaw, reached down and picked up my duffel bag. “Well, you don’t have to worry, partner. I’ll do my job.”
Chapter Two
I turned my back on Dalton as I slid into my large, cushy, first-class seat then gave him a little wave as he passed toward the back of the plane. “See you in Anchorage.”
Having a best friend who’s a flight attendant for the airlines comes in handy. He’d upgraded me. Actually, Chris was more like family. With my life changing so dramatically lately, being called to Special Ops, off to Costa Rica, then right away to Norway, I admit, I’d neglected him. I owed him a phone call, some time together. Yep, as soon as I got back from this op, I was going to schedule a couple days to see him. A big thank you dinner was in order. Maybe a bottle of his favorite Malbec.
I exhaled. Dalton. What was I going to do about Dalton?
And this thing at headquarters. Investigative hearing. What did that even mean anyway?
I leaned my head back and took a deep breath. Right now I needed to set all that aside and focus on the mission at hand: Operation Grizzly Camp.
We were heading to Alaska to rendezvous with Joe Nash, our supervisor and Special Agent in Charge, on an op to catch a bear poacher he’d been courting for years, practically his entire career. The elusive Mark Townsend. The State boys had given up. This guy knew all of them by name and knew every loophole. He’d become untouchable. Part of the reason was he never took new clients. Well, almost never. Joe had found a way in: me. The guy liked the lady hunters, especially daughters. It ensured, in his mind, that the men weren’t law enforcement. Having me on board was Joe’s ticket. Of course I was thrilled to play along.
My cover was the daughter of a wealthy trophy-hunter (Joe, of course) from Oklahoma, land of tornadoes, rodeos, and bubblin’ crude. Oil that is, black gold, the stuff that lines our pockets and funds our adventures. And adventures we shall have. We’re out to collect every big game trophy on every continent. Daddy’s building a wing on the house to display every one of them, so any time I want, I can relive the moment, the moment when that animal breathed its last breath, when I conquered it and could call it mine.
Egads. How do these people stand themselves? That was enough prepping. I didn’t want to drive my head into a black hole of depression. I’d wing it when I got there.
I glanced around the first-class cabin, quickly assessing the other passengers. Some of the other hunters staying at the lodge we were headed to might be on this plane.
Directly behind me sat a man and woman with graying hair, wearing those oversized, square-lensed sunglasses on their heads, the kind that fit over regular glasses. The woman fondled a homemade, quilted handbag stuffed to the gills that rested in her lap. Definitely not hunters. Tourists, most likely, going to catch the train south to Seward to board one of the many monster-sized cruise ships that sailed the Inside Passage.
A flight attendant, whom I assumed was the purser since she’d already served a few drinks to other first-class passengers, came down the aisle, checking on passengers. She was a slim woman, her uniform perfectly pressed. Yep, she was in charge. “Your bag needs to fit down at your feet or go in an overhead compartment,” she chirped as she passed by.
The woman shifted and moaned, trying to shove it below the seat.
“I told you not to bring all that crap,” the man grumbled.
“Oh George, don’t start with me.”
“There’s room in the overhead,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’d be happy to put it up there for you.”
“Oh, aren’t you sweet,” she said, trying to lift it over George to hand it to me.
George crossed his arms with a harumph as I took the bag and lifted it into the storage compartment. I gave him a big smile. See if a little sugar could melt that heart.
I made a quick scan of the other passengers before I sat back down in my seat. On the other side of the aisle, two men, also in the row behind me, looked like possibilities—morning stubble, camo baseball caps, flannel shirts. Once we were in the air, I would be able to hear them talking. I could even strike up a conversation with them. They couldn’t have been five years older than me. A little flirting might do the trick.
The woman seated next to me, by the window, sat upright with the posture of a 1950s debutante and had the hairdo to match, all pinned and coiffed.
With my Oklahoma accent, which I’d been practicing for a couple weeks, I asked, “What takes you to Alaska today?”
A warm smile spread across her face. “Visiting my grandchildren. My son is in the service, stationed in Anchorage. And where are you going, my dear?”
“Oh, I’m heading out to the backcountry.”
“Well, you be careful. There are bears everywhere, you know.” She patted the back of my hand. “Make sure you wear bells on your shoes.”
I stifled a grin. Someone, somewhere had come up with the notion that wearing little bells would scare bears away. No doubt some ambitious souvenir vendor. Sure, you wanted to make your presence known, avoid startling a wild animal, but little jingly bells tied to your shoelaces were more likely to arouse curiosity than to actually scare away a bear. Bells aren’t terribly loud and the jingling is easily lost on the wind or amid the sounds of the forest. It’s much more effective to use your own voice.
“I won’t need any bells,” I said with a grin. Then, loud enough for the men behind me to hear, “I’ll have my Ruger 375 H&H Mag rifle. I’m taking me home a trophy.”
Her face turned stone-like and her lips made a tiny pucker.
Yeah, I’m with you, Grandma.
She slowly reached into the seat pocket, pulled out the in-flight magazine, and with a curt smile, turned her attention to it.
Well played, Grandma. Well played.
I turned in my seat, caught the eye of one of the hunters, and gave him a little you-get-it shrug.
He nodded and asked, “Where are you headed?”
The man seated next to him leaned in to hear my reply.
Gotcha. “A lodge near Katmai. Hunting bear.” They both nodded, as if they knew where that was. “You?”
“North of Fairbanks,” the one said. “We’ve got two more flights after this one.”
I could see now, by their eyes, they were brothers. The one chattered on. “Bears are fun, but a bull moose in rut, whew-weee, now there’s a beast to reckon with.”
The other one chimed in. “What my brother means is, statistically, you’re more likely to get attacked by a moose than a bear. Here in Alaska about ten people are wounded or killed by moose annually.”
The woman behind me leaned over her husband to join the conversation. “Are you sayin’ them moose is dangerous? I thought them were big deer. They’s just grazers, ain’t they?”
“They are,” the first brother replied. “Deer that weigh fifteen-hundred pounds with spiked antlers that span six feet.” He held his hands up in the air, spreading them wide. “A moose gets fired up in the rut, he’ll plow down half the forest to get to you. If one comes after you, run like hell.”
“A moose can outrun you though,” the other brother added, his face full of life. They were all fired up.
“Yeah, you’ll want to zigzag between big trees.”
“Zigzag?” she said, incredulous.
He nodded. “Zig zag. They don’t corner well. Kinda top heavy.”
“So you’re on a moose hunting trip, I take it?” I asked.
Their heads bobbed, grins taking over their faces. They were downright giddy.
The first brother’s eyes lit up. “We’ve been planning this trip our whole lives. We can’t wait to take one down.”
I hid my dismay behind a cordial smile. These men’s lifelong dream was to kill a living being. A beautiful, magnificent creature. To chop it down. Rather than be thoughtful, introspective, they were bouncing in their seats. I really wanted to slap some compassion into them. Instead, I did my job and stayed in character. “Boy, that sounds exciting. You been hunting your whole lives?”
“Yep,” the first brother answered. “We own a family ranch in Texas.” The other brother dug around in his pockets for his wallet while the first kept talking. “A game farm. Two hundred fifty acres.”
The brother handed me a business card that read: Wilson’s Hunting Ranch. Giraffes, Kangaroos, Deer & More! Native & Exotic. 40+ Species for Hunt. 100% Success Rate. Book a hunt today!
My mind stuck on the size of the ranch. Two hundred fifty acres. Hunting there, if you could call it that, would be like shooting fish in a barrel. These brothers sold canned hunts. Whatever animal the hunter wanted they’d release from a cage into a small fenced area, so it could be shot on the spot.
I looked up at them, lost for words. Their whole lives revolved around killing. I could hardly stomach any more. “Well, good luck,” I said and started to turn around in my seat when I saw Chris, zipping down the aisle toward me from the back of the plane. I didn’t know he’d actually be on the flight. A smile spread across my face.
He gave me a wink. Crap. My eyes went right to the hunters. I had to be careful. “I need your seat belts buckled,” Chris said as he blew through. I couldn’t believe it. He’d rearranged his schedule to be on my flight.
The man behind me gave his wife a look of disgust. “Of all the stewardesses in the world, we get this candyass,” he said aloud while he took his sweet time fastening his seatbelt.
His wife’s cheeks turned pink and her eyes dropped to her hands.
Asshole. I swung around and faced forward. Chris dealt with bigotry all the time, and always with class, it was one of the things I admired about him, but it got my cockles up. I tried to push it out of my mind. And the hunters and their lust for killing. What was it with this world?
I pulled out the in-flight magazine and stared at the pages, not reading a word. Focus on the op. Mark Townsend was his name. And we were going to nail him.
So sit back and enjoy the flight.
The aircraft pushed back from the gate. We were headed north.
No matter how many times I fly, I still love that sensation when the plane goes racing down the runway, the landing gear rattling and shaking, as the sheer power of the jet engines thrusts me back into my seat. Then there’s that moment, that tiny, precious moment, when the wheels leave the ground and I’m airborne. Defying gravity. Freedom.
As we climbed and climbed, I leaned over to see out the window. All I saw, for miles and miles, was a landscape sectioned off in green and brown squares, with lines and lines of concrete roads, crisscrossing in intricate patterns. Amazing how we’ve carved and shaped and formed the earth to fit our needs. No part of this world has gone untouched, unaltered. I fear we’ll regret it someday when all the animals are gone, and the ecosystems are damaged beyond repair, ecosystems we rely on more than we can possibly comprehend.
Over billions of years, the earth has come to a beautiful ecological balance, one where humans have thrived. Mess with it too much and we won’t. Simple as that. Why doesn’t everyone see what we’re doing to this world?
Once the captain turned off the seatbelt sign, Chris came to my seat. “The purser would like to speak with you. Would you follow me?”
“Sure,” I said with a shrug.
He led me to the galley area up front, just behind the cockpit and hidden from the view of most of the passengers.
“This is a full flight,” he whispered. “I had to do some serious negotiating to get you in first-class.”
I wrapped my arms around him in a big hug. I didn’t realize until now how much I’d missed him. “Thanks, you know I appreciate it, but why didn’t you tell me you were going to be on the flight?”
“I wanted to surprise you. I’ve never been to Anchorage and we haven’t seen each other in forever and you’ve been so distracted and—”
“Oh Chris.” I hugged him again then lowered my voice, “Just remember, I’m undercover and I—”
“I know. I know. I just—we haven’t talked in a long time.” He paused, drew in a breath. “You know, talked.”
“What? We talk all the time on the phone.”
“Yeah, but, well, you talk, but I just really, you know.” He sighed. “It’s just that I have something I’ve been wanting to tell you. In person.”
“What? What’s happened? Are you okay?”
He chewed on his bottom lip. “I guess I didn’t think this through.”
“Now you have me worried. What is it?”
He frowned. “Everything is great. I promise. It’s good news.” He stared at me for a moment with an intensity I hadn’t seen for a long time, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t have come. You’re undercover right now. It can wait until after you get back.”
“Are you sure? Because I can—”
“No, really. How long will you be gone?”
“Two weeks.”
“Perfect.” He smiled, satisfied. “We’ll plan to get together then. You’ll take a few days off, right? Promise me.”
“Absolutely.”
“Not some quick layover lunch. Mexico. For a real, honest-to-goodness va-cay. You need to take a deep breath and I need a long-deserved break. Beach, cocktails, sunshine. You got me?”
I nodded. “I can’t wait.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek, then started back toward my seat, but turned around. I had to know. “One little hint?”
“It’s all right. Honestly. It can wait.” A grin creeped across his face. “But I almost forgot. I got you something.” He pulled a bag from a galley cabinet and handed it to me.
Inside was a jacket. Pink camouflage. “You didn’t!” I grinned.
“I did.” He snickered. “I couldn’t resist.”
“This is god-awful tacky.”
He tried to contain a full-out giggle. “It’s perfect.”
A smirk came to my lips. “You’re bad.”
“I know.”
I put it on. Snuggly fleece.
“I got you something else,” he said. From his pocket, he handed me a tiny box.
“What is this?”
“Open it,” he said. “And hurry up. I’ve actually got to work on this flight.”
“I mean, what’s it for? It’s not my birthday or anything.”
“I just”—he shrugged—“wanted you to have it.”
Inside the box was a silver chain with a pendant—a tiny compass.
“To help you find your way,” he said, his eyes all moist, which got my eyes all moist. Oh Chris. “I mean, I know it doesn’t actually work—”
“I love it.”
“It’s just that you’ve been, well…”
Suddenly my throat stuck shut. “Oh god, Chris, what am I going to do if I get fired?”
“What?” He jerked backward. “What are you talking about?” His eyes softened. “Oh my god, you’re serious. What’s happened?”
I shook my head. “I can’t talk about it right now.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute. Dalton’s probably just gotten a little hot under the collar. I’m sure if you talk to him—”
“Not Dalton.” I puckered. “Stan Martin. Head of Special Ops.”
“Head of—what the hell? Poppy! What did you do?”
“Nothing!”
He gave me that look.
“Dalton got called for an investigative hearing on our op in Norway. They’re investigating me.”
His hand went to cover his mouth. “Oh shit, girl. That ain’t good.”
“Dalton says not to worry, it’s all politics, but—” I clamped my lips together. “If I make one mistake, one bad move, one slip on this op with Joe, it’s all over.”
“Okay, now I’m confused. I thought you said the head of Special Ops. Joe’s your boss. But isn’t he Joe’s boss?”
“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point. I mean, it’s Joe’s op, so—I just need to—”
“You need to take a deep breath.” He pulled me to him, wrapped his arms around me. “It’ll be okay. Trust Dalton. I’m sure he’s right. If this Martin guy is the head of the department, he’s getting his ass chewed about something and he’s got to pass it down the line. It’ll probably blow over.”
“I don’t know. He’s summoned Dalton for an interview and I don’t know if he’ll—”
Chris pulled away to look me in the eye. “Dalton’s a lot of things, but he’s no snitch. He’ll stand up for you.”
I nodded. “I know. You’re right. You’re always right. But it’s just that…”
“Just what?”
“He knows about my dad. He’s questioning whether I can do my job because of it.”
Chris took hold of me by the shoulders. “You’re the strongest woman I know. And the smartest. What happened to your dad has no bearing on that.”
I managed a smile.
He took the necklace from the box, held it around my neck, and hooked the clasp.
I fingered the tiny compass, trying to find words. I looked into his eyes and was sure that he knew that I would lose it if I stood there any longer. “I should get back to my seat.”
He nodded. “I need to get to the back and set up the cart service.”
He shoved the empty shopping bag into the cabinet. As he turned, I thrust my arms around him again. “I love you.”
“Me too,” he said as he nudged my chin with his, just like my dad used to do. It made me smile and relax a little. “Everything’s going to be okay. So don’t go getting all sappy on me now. You’re a big, bad hunter. Let’s go.”
I grinned and headed back to my seat, Chris right behind me. The old lady saw me coming and looked away. As I turned to slide into the seat, I noticed the man behind my seat’s eyes fixed on Chris. I lingered, standing in front of my seat, as Chris passed me.
The man put out his arm to block his way. “I want another Jack and Coke.”
Chris smiled his hospitality smile and said, “I’ll let the purser know, sir,” then tried to continue down the aisle, but the man grabbed him by the arm.
“You can get it for me. You’re a stewardess, ain’t ya?”
My pulse rate shot into the stratosphere.
Chris calmly responded over his shoulder. “The purser takes care of first-class. She’d be happy to get your drink. I’ll let her know right away.”
The man yanked Chris’s arm, pulling him backward.“You’ll do it now, fag.”
My brain caught on fire. “Hey, hands off, mister!”
The man scowled and started to rise from the seat but got caught by the seatbelt. His face flushed red. He flicked the buckle open. “How dare you, girl,” he growled, rising from his seat with surprising strength. He still had a grip on Chris’s arm, tugging him.
I pushed into the aisle, chopped at the asshole’s wrist with my forearm, breaking his grip on Chris. I latched on and twisted his arm back into an arm bar. “I said hands off.” His face turned beet red.
Chris had his hands in the air. “It’s all right. No harm done. Let him go.”
I twisted harder. The man clenched his teeth and glared at me.
“Now say you’re sorry,” I hissed.
He lifted his free hand as though to slap me across the face, but the two hunters were on their feet behind me.
“The lady’s right,” the one brother said. “You were out of line there, Mister.”
The man hesitated before easing back into his seat, his eyes on the brothers.
The brother nodded toward my hands where I still had the man’s arm pinned back. “I think you’ve made your point.”
I released my grip.
The purser appeared behind me, all perky smiles. “Everything all right here?”
The other brother piped up. “This man was choking on a pretzel, but he’s fine now.”
With a suspicious nod, the purser slowly turned before heading back to the front of the plane.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the brother, filled with shame for how I’d judged him before.
Dalton came up behind Chris. “What the hell’s going on, Sis?”
Shit.
“I’ll get your drink right away, sir,” Chris said. He turned to me, glaring. “Would you kindly get back in your seat?”
I glanced around the cabin. Everyone was silent, staring.
Dalton pushed past Chris and hustled me toward the front of the plane to the galley. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I…I just—”
He shook his head. “You just what? Dammit, Poppy.”
I held up my hands. “I know. I know.”
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“Nothing. I wasn’t. I just, he was harassing Chris.” I leaned closer and said through clenched teeth, “He called him a fag.”
He spun around, hands on his hips. “Is that all? Do you not understand what it means to be undercover?”
“Yes, and I don’t need a lecture.”
“Apparently you do.”
Chris poked his head around the corner. “What the hell, Poppy? Are you trying to get me fired?”
“What? No. Why would—”
“I got you in first-class. Under my company ID! You know the rules, the code of conduct.”
Shit.
Chris flung open a drawer, mixed the Jack and Coke, then stomped off.
Dalton looked me up and down, shaking his head. “You’d better get your shit together.”
* * *
Four and a half hours later, my nose dry and tongue like sandpaper, the plane banked right and started to descend. Chris hadn’t said another word to me the entire flight. I owed him an apology, big time. Dalton was right. I did need to get my shit together, like he said, as clichéd as that might be. It was one thing to have my own job on the line for my impulsive behavior, but I’d put Chris’s at risk too—oh, what was I thinking?
And Dalton. He’d just warned me about this very thing. I’d probably ruined any chance of us being able to work together again. That is, if I still had a job after this op. Maybe it wouldn’t matter anyway.
I was tempted to start belting down some Jack and Cokes myself.
The plane banked again and we leveled off for the approach to the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport, the third-busiest cargo traffic airport in the world. Snow-capped mountains spread out forever in several directions. Cook Inlet provided a dazzling reflection of the Anchorage skyline, a metropolis the size of Delaware with a population exceeding 400,000, right smack in the middle of pristine, unending wilderness.
One of the many advantages of flying first-class is not having to wait for everyone else to deplane. Once on the ground and the door opened, I grabbed my duffle and bolted.
At the end of the jetbridge, I spotted a Cinnabon and figured standing in line there was the perfect place to watch for the man and his wife, see if he made a complaint to the airline agent greeting passengers as they filed past. Besides, I was in the mood for some sugar therapy.
I watched the couple as they stopped to catch their breath after huffing up the jetway, then pass the agent and head toward the bathroom. Maybe I’d get lucky and that was the end of it.
Dalton sauntered up to me looking like he’d just woke from a refreshing nap. SEALs.
“Well, look at you. As fresh as a daisy,” I said.
“Am I?” he said, looking down at his shirt. “And I wasn’t the one in first class.”
“Yeah, well.” I frowned.
His eyes fixed on the Cinnabon case. “Seriously?”
“I thought it was a good place to keep a lookout.” I made a subtle nod toward the jetway. “See if he files a complaint.”
“Yeah? And what will you do if he does?”
I shrugged. I had no answer.
“You don’t have to make an excuse if you want a cinnamon bun.”
“Look what I’m wearing.” I tugged at the pink camouflage.
He grinned. “It suits you.”
“Funny.” I smirked. “Anyone who’d seriously wear this would beeline for a Cinnabon.”
“Uh huh.”
“Really. It fits my cover.”
“Yep.” His lip curved up at the edge. His half-grin, I called it. Irresistible.
“You’re so aggravating.”
“If you say so.”
I gritted my teeth. He was. Aggravating, that is. At least he was talking to me now.
Once I had downed half that bun of oozy, gooey sweetness, my stomach did a barrel roll in objection. I puffed out my cheeks, feeling stuffed.
Dalton shook his head. “Shall we get our baggage now?”
“You still here?”
I spun around. It was Chris. His eyes dropped to the remains of the Cinnabun in my hand.
“I’m sorry, Chris. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I held out the bun to him. An offering.
“Do you think a Cinnabun is going to fix it?” He glared at me, hands on his hips.
“No.” I hung my head. “Do you think he’ll—”
“I doubt it,” he said as he snatched the bun from my hand and tore off a bite. “I kept serving him Double Jack and Cokes. I don’t think he’s in the mood to make a complaint. Besides, I don’t think his wife was very happy with him either.”
I nodded and stood there in the uncomfortable silence.
Chris held out his hand to Dalton. “I’m Chris, by the way. We haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said with a quick look around to make sure no one was within earshot. “This is my partner, Special Agent—” I paused for emphasis “—G. Dalton. Yep, you heard me. I don’t actually know his first name.”
Dalton gave me the tiniest smirk. “Just Dalton,” he said to Chris.
Somehow, without my noticing during the introductions, the three of us had started walking. Chris chattered on about air travel or something. My head was lost in a sugar haze.
Near baggage claim, Chris stopped in front of a giant glass-encased grizzly bear. The animal stood on its hind legs, its mouth forced into a permanent roar. “Holy shit! Are they really that big? That thing’s ferocious.”
“It’s a world record take,” Dalton said. “Bigger than most.”
“Yeah, but still.” Chris shuddered. “You’re going to be out there in the wilderness with those? What if one decides you’d be a tasty lunch?”
Dalton eyed Chris, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll be with her the whole time.”
What was it with these two? “I can take care of myself.”
Dalton went on as if I hadn’t said anything. “The thing about bears is, if they do charge, it’s often a bluff. Eight times out of ten. The key is to never run.”
“A bear comes after me, my skinny ass is outta there.”
“Not if you want to survive,” Dalton told him. “If you run, you’ll incite the bear to chase. They can sprint thirty-five miles per hour.” He grinned. “I don’t think you can hit forty.”
I added. “Dalton’s right. But generally you don’t have to worry. They’re the ultimate predator, yes, but their diet mostly consists of roots and grasses, berries and nuts, and salmon in the fall.”
“Define mostly,” Chris said, deadpan.
“I’m just saying. They’re not the ferocious killers people make them out to be. They’re really fascinating, actually. Did you know that a bear’s sense of smell is seven times more powerful than a bloodhound’s?”
Dalton tapped on the glass case, pointing to a plaque inside. “Look here.” It read: World record Kodiak Brown bear (ursus arctos middendorffi) Skull score – 30 10/16 inches, harvested on April 20, 1997.
“Harvested?” Chris said, eyebrows raised.
I rolled my eyes. “Like a field of wheat.” I leaned toward Chris. “The poor bear was probably snoozing when he shot it. Then it gets mounted in that heinous pose.”
Dalton gave me a look.
I frowned. I know.
I stared up at the bear, into his glass eyes, and imagined meeting his real gaze in the wild. This beautiful creature once lived, breathed, walked the woods in all his majesty. Digging for clams with those six inch claws. And those teeth. Ripping a spawning salmon apart for the roe.
“I don’t understand it,” Chris said.
“Don’t understand what?” Dalton asked.
“Bear hunting. I mean, I get wanting to feed your family, all that. But to go after a bear like that? Look at the size of that monster. His teeth. Those claws.”
“It’s a testosterone thing,” Dalton said.
Chris turned to me, eyebrows raised in his playful way. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“No, nope, uh uh,” Dalton stuttered. “Not at all.”
“He means it makes them feel manly,” I said. “Killing something. Something powerful.”
“Yeah? Then why would a twenty-four year old girl want to hunt one?”
“Yeah, Poppy,” Dalton said, glancing around. “You got that one figured out yet?”
I did. Those hours on the plane had given me time to think, to sort some things out. I winked. “It’s an adrenaline rush, the thrill of the hunt.”
“Now that sounds like you,” Chris said and turned to go. “Remember, you owe me. A real vacation in Mexico.”
I nodded. Did that mean he’d forgiven me? “I promise. The moment I get back.”
His smile turned serious. “Be careful out there. With a beast that powerful,” he said, gesturing toward the bear, “you can’t be sure who’s the hunter and who’s the hunted.”