Bear Claw Conspiracy (8 page)

Deputized,
Alyssa had said, which accounted for the badge, with its familiar Bear Claw P.D. insignia. But that didn’t explain why the holster bore LAPD markings…or why, when he saw her staring, his expression went brittle and he looked away.

Gigi’s instincts fired in all directions, telling her something big was going on, but not what, or how she was supposed to handle it.

In the end, she said, stupidly, “But you’re a ranger.”

He looked back at her, one corner of his sculpted mouth kicking up with zero amusement. “I am now. Before that, I had a decade on the job. Now I guess I’m doing an encore, thanks to budget cuts and the fact that Tucker knew I was going to be working this case with or without sanction.” But his expression said that was only half of the story.

She had a feeling she knew the rest. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Nobody said you did. And speaking of babies…” He looked past her to Alyssa and mock-glared. “I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy.”

Hello, subject change.
Gigi didn’t know what to make of that, what to make of any of it. But she couldn’t take her eyes off his weapon, which was an older Sig Sauer, a warhorse of an automatic.

“My darling wife is
supposed
to be on her way home,” Tucker said, coming up behind Blackthorn to shoot Alyssa a stern look.

“I’m sitting,” she said primly, but with a “don’t push me” look in her eyes. “So catch me up. Where do we stand on the Jerry Osage connection?”

Gigi only half listened as Tucker summarized what his contacts had come up with so far, which was that yes, Jerry’s murder had been the catalyst for Tanya packing up her skis and becoming a ranger, but no, there didn’t seem to be any connection between the two cases. “Nobody’s taking any bets, though,” he said, “which is why we’re mobilizing a joint task force with the park service, including our newest deputies.” He raised an eyebrow in Gigi’s direction. “You on board? Ready to get deputized so you and your partner can head out?”

Deputized. Partner.
This wasn’t happening.

Was it?

Her better sense screamed for her to take a second to think it through, turn it down. There was no way in hell she and Blackthorn would survive being partnered up. He was going to try to rein her in, marginalize her, and she was going to be tempted to be twice as reckless as usual just to prove she could.

But she nodded to Tucker. “Lay it on me.”

Because, really, there was no way she could turn down the opportunity. It meant she would be working the case on an official basis while shadowing a ten-year veteran of the LAPD. It was going to look great on her résumé. As for the rest of it…well, she would deal. She was a Lynd, she could handle anything.

Besides, maybe she would get lucky. Maybe he’d be such a jerk that her blossoming crush would wither and die.

“Here. Catch.” Tucker tossed her a badge like the one Blackthorn wore on his belt: a Bear Claw P.D. shield with the serial number blank.

She snagged it on the fly, and took a deep breath to settle the sudden churn of excitement in her belly as Tucker led her through an abbreviated swearing-in and ran through what she could and couldn’t do out in the field. “As for the rest of it,” he finished, “just ask Captain Blackthorn here, former leader of SWAT Team Four out of East L.A.” Gigi’s heart
thudda-thudded
and the bottom dropped out of her stomach, as though she had suddenly jumped onto an elevator headed straight up into the stratosphere. She stared at Blackthorn as a whole lot of clues suddenly lined up.

Blackthorn was SWAT, or had been. Not only that, he had been a team leader. The best of the best.

His face darkened. “Seriously, McDermott, don’t call me that. And if you value your face, you won’t get anyone
else
doing it, either.” He glanced over at Gigi, though she couldn’t read much in his expression.

She sucked in a shaky breath. “Blackthorn, I—”

“Call me Matt already,” he interrupted. “Not Blackthorn. Not ranger. And not captain anything. Just Matt. Got it?”

She nodded, but wasn’t capable of coherent speech as her brain finally assembled the four critical new facts and entered them into evidence:

Fact one: Blackthorn—or, rather, Matt—was a former über-cop.

Fact two: he outranked her. Even if she aced the accelerated program, it would be years before she could shoot for captain. And although logic said his old rank shouldn’t matter here and now, it did.

Fact three: he looked incredible in street clothes, and he wore his gun and badge like they were a part of him that had been missing.

Fact four: she was in serious trouble. Because if there was one thing a Lynd woman liked better than being the best at what she did, it was meeting a man who was even better.

Chapter Seven

Within about a minute of walking into the lab, Matt had decided that if Gigi at full throttle had put a serious scare in him, she was even more terrifying when shocked into silence. Worse, she was staring at him like he’d just grown a second head…or thrown a cape over his shoulders and whipped off his shirt again, this time to reveal superhero spandex.

Ah, crap. He hadn’t seen this one coming. Maybe he should have, but he was seriously rusty on the man-woman stuff. And Gigi was…well, she wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever met. Or kissed.

And, yeah, the kiss was going to be a problem; it had been since the moment he’d moved in, his body overriding his usual survival instincts. He didn’t know how much further it would have gone if Tucker hadn’t shown up, but the simple kiss had made him all too aware of how damn long it had been for him. She was hot—if unconventional—and he was horny, and he had decided that was a bad combination even before Tucker called to float the idea of them working together.

His first response had been a flat-out “No way in hell!” But Tucker had promised him that Gigi would be gone in thirteen days. The word from her home base was that they would need her one way or the other: either she would be heading for the academy or she would be covering for someone who was.

That was why sometime during the long hours Matt had spent staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, far too aware of Bert tossing and turning on the couch in the main room of his quarters, he had talked himself into going along with Tucker’s plan. He had told himself that being deputized would get him smack in the loop, and it would mean he’d be stepping on fewer toes.

Really, though, there was only one real reason he was doing it: to keep Gigi from getting herself killed.

He had sworn off trying to fix people’s lives, it was true. But given all the stuff that had gone down in the past twenty-four hours, and the fact that he knew damn well that she was going to keep herself square in the middle of the case, he hadn’t been able to walk away. Not from her. Not from Tanya. And not from whatever was going on in his sector.

He could handle himself around Gigi for a couple of weeks. Or so he’d thought. But that was before he’d strapped the gun and badge back on, and things had gotten even weirder.

The moment he’d felt those familiar weights, old feelings came flooding back: the responsibility and connectedness; the knowledge that the whole damn world was riding right over his shoulder, breathing down on him…and the low-grade acid churn that said no matter how good he was, how much he planned things out, plugged gaps and covered contingencies, the odds were that he’d lose someone.

Worse, now Gigi was staring at him like she expected him to leap tall buildings and shoot laser beams from his eyes. Oh, she was trying to hide it, of course, but it was there.

This was a bad idea. He should back out now, head up to the mountains where he belonged, and join one of the search parties.

Or, better yet, go search on his own.

But if he did that, she’d be riding along with Jack Williams, who thought she’d make a hell of a cop.

At the thought, the churn got worse.

“How is this going to work?” she asked him, a reasonable question that put him back in the too-familiar role of calling the shots. He didn’t kid himself, though. Soon enough the shock would wear off and the loose cannon would return.

“Security here in the P.D. is going to be ramped up until we know one way or another about the terrorist connection.” That was a no-brainer, given that the building itself had been infiltrated once before. “But any time you want to be out in the field, you’ll hit me up and we’ll make arrangements to meet.”

Her eyes narrowed. “News flash. You’re supposed to be my partner, not my bodyguard.”

“I’m the one with the gun.” He patted his hip, wishing he had his damn shotgun instead. And wishing that the Sig didn’t feel like such an old friend.

She rolled her eyes. “Hello? Sharpshooter here. My ACP is in my locker and I’m licensed to carry concealed.”

“Hell.” This just got better and better.

“If I could interject?” Alyssa said drily.

“Only if you’re going to tell her not to go out without backup.”

Gigi’s expression went smug. “She’s seen me shoot. The only time I hit the granny cutout was when I meant to. And I called it first.”

“Which isn’t the same thing as taking down another human being. Especially one that’s shooting back and aiming to kill.”

She didn’t have a comeback for that one, just scowled at him.

“He’s right,” Alyssa said, “and what’s more, you know it. Or you would if you took a breath and chilled for a second.” Gigi transferred her glare, but Alyssa just blinked unperturbed, and continued, “Regardless of whether or not Tanya’s attack and the arson were committed by al-Jihad’s people, the cases are clearly connected to each other.”

Tucker stepped in. “Gigi’s attacker wanted to destroy something. Maybe there’s a drug connection? There’s been some buzz lately about a new product on the streets, and there have been a couple of really weird ODs.” He paused. “And let’s not forget about all those break-ins up at the upper-level ranger stations over the past few months. They could fit in somehow, too.”

“Huh,” Matt said. He hadn’t gone there, but Tucker was right. It played.

“Whoever these guys are, and whatever they’re after,” Tucker continued, “the one Gigi saw has got to be seriously stressed.”

Gigi scowled. “Having Alyssa do a detailed sketch of the back of his head isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“He doesn’t know that’s all you saw, and the fire made it on the news, so they probably know that you survived. Are you willing to bet they’re not going to come after you to finish the job?”

“We could use me to lure—”

“Like hell,” Matt growled over Tucker’s calmer “Let’s hold off on that.”

Gigi drew breath to argue, but Alyssa lurched to her feet, getting their attention in a hurry. To Gigi, she said, “I want you to promise me you’ll let the P.D. protect you. No sneaking off, and no ditching your backup. If you don’t want to work with Matt, I’m sure Jack will trade.”

“Hold on a minute—” Matt began.

“No, you hold on.” To his surprise, Alyssa rounded on him, eyes stormy. “I don’t care what you and Tucker cooked up. Gigi is my analyst, and she’s right, I’ve seen her shoot. She’s good. Better than good. In fact, she’s good at just about everything she tries. She’s also one of the most intuitive analysts I’ve ever worked with. Which means she doesn’t need a babysitter—she needs someone who’ll give her room to do her job. If you can’t do that, whether because of your history, or because of what is or isn’t going on between the two of you, then you need to step aside. I will
not
run the risk of someone getting hurt because you’re wrangling when you should be watching out for each other.”

Gigi’s wince was almost comical. Almost.

Matt gritted his teeth, but Alyssa was right, he was riding on adrenaline and emotion, and that wasn’t going to do any of them any good. He needed to get a freaking grip, and he needed to do it now. Because handing Gigi off to Williams might make sense, but he couldn’t do it.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said, flinching when he heard the words come out in his crisis-mode voice: calm and level, a total lie that covered up the other stuff inside. “Your call, Greta Grace.”

He saw Alyssa mouth,
Greta Grace?
but kept his eyes locked on Gigi.

She made a face. “You call me that again, and I’ll ‘Captain Blackthorn’ you so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

“Noted.” But something inside him uncoiled a notch. “So we’re good? Partners?” He thought about holding out a hand to shake, but stuck his thumbs in his belt loops instead.

“I don’t know if I’d call us ‘good,’” she said, voice going wry, “but yeah, partners. Largely because I need a bird expert, and I’d probably have to ask you for an intro anyway. You being a ranger and all.”

“I already gave a buddy over at the university a heads up that we’d be there right after lunch.” At her look, he shrugged. “The feather was in
my
shirt.” And he’d been planning on working the case with or without a badge. Or a partner.

“Fine. Ready when you are.” Gigi avoided his eyes as she moved past him to grab a fresh evidence bag and tweeze the feather into it.

“And you promise not to ditch him?” Alyssa pressed. When Gigi hesitated, she made big, mournful eyes. “You wouldn’t want your oh-so-pregnant friend to spend another sleepless night worrying about you, right?”

Gigi winced. “No fair.”

“I mean it.”

“Okay. I swear. Pinkie swear, even.” She sealed and signed the evidence bag, then slanted a look in Matt’s direction. “Aren’t you going to make him promise?”

“I’m not worried about him.”

Maybe you should be,
he thought. Not because he would ditch his partner, but because he wasn’t in the zone anymore. And even when he had been, he’d failed, badly. But there was no point in bringing that up now, so he tipped his head toward the door. “Come on, partner. Let’s go see a man about a feather.”

She hooked the badge on her belt, tucked away the evidence bag, exchanged a few words with Alyssa about other pieces of evidence, and headed for what looked like a break room, calling over her shoulder, “Let me just grab my gun and we can go.”

He winced, but didn’t argue.

P
ARTNERS
,
G
IGI THOUGHT,
fighting not to hang on to the door handle as Matt sent his Jeep hurtling through the city like a madman.

A day ago, she would’ve thought he was driving like he was in the backcountry, heedless of traffic and signs. Now, though, she knew better: he was driving like he had a siren and wig-wag lights going, and he was hustling his team to a crisis call.

His jaw was set, his knuckles white, his bearing screamed
cop
…and her stomach was knotted with a mix of nerves and desire.

This was the guy she had seen last night when he was organizing the search, the one who blew her away, turned her on. Where Ranger Blackthorn had tried to lose himself in isolation, Captain Blackthorn was right there with her. And he was hurting.

He had fled to the backcountry to escape something that happened while he was on the job, she realized now. More than the scars, this was the unhealed wound.

“So,” she said when he seemed content with silence. “What made you leave L.A.?”

He cut her a dark look. “Could we not do this right now?”

She knew she could run a Google search for it, but she wanted to hear it from him. Not just because it would be coming from the perspective of a team leader—a goal she hadn’t yet even really admitted to herself—but because…well, because. “When, then?”

“Later.”

“Which really means never.”

“It means later. I say what I mean.”

She thought about it, realized he’d withheld information, but never actually lied to her, at least not that she knew. “Fair enough. I can be patient.”

He snorted, but the air lightened between them. A few blocks later, he unbent enough to say, “The arson investigators confirmed that they used Molotov cocktails in the bedrooms and kitchen, and gas around the exterior.”

Her stomach gave a low-grade twinge, but she said only, “I keep trying to figure out what they were trying to get rid of. Whatever it was, either Tanya hid it well, or it wasn’t in her bedroom.”

“If it was in the station, it’s gone now.” He paused. “Maybe they just wanted to wipe out her connection to Jerry.”

Which brought them back to the terrorists. “How would they know to look for that sketch? And why now?”

“No clue. And given that the search hasn’t turned up Tanya’s Jeep, never mind any radio parts, we probably won’t know unless she wakes up.” He took a corner so fast that the outside edge of the Jeep got light. Cursing under his breath, he got the vehicle back in line, and eased off on the gas. “Sorry.”

Her fingers dug into the door handle, but she kept her voice mild. “Just get us there alive and without collateral damage, and we’ll call it even.”

She didn’t blame him for being angry, would’ve respected him less if he hadn’t been. And she already respected him far too much.

He fell silent, but kept the Jeep within ten of the legal limit for the rest of the drive out to the sprawling U.C. Bear Claw campus, where he weaved through interconnecting roads, bumped the vehicle up onto the curb in front of a big stone building and killed the engine in a No Parking zone.

His slanted look dared her to comment, but she just climbed out, plenty used to city cops in “get it done” mode. And as they headed up the stone steps of a big, museum-like building, walking shoulder-to-shoulder, she realized she was relating to him better on that level than she had as a ranger.

Up in the backcountry, he had stared off into the distance as he had watched over her, standing motionless on the ridgeline. Here at the outskirts of the city, he watched the corners and shadows and stayed on the move. His energy was different now—edgy and restless.

“Tell me about your bird guy,” she said as they passed beneath a sign that read “Absalom Center of Environmental Studies” and went into the building.

“Ian Scott. He’s a friend.”

He said it simply, but she had a feeling there weren’t many people he considered friends. Tucker, maybe. “Did you meet him rangering?”

“In college.” He ignored her sidelong look and turned down a wide, waxed hallway that was weekend-empty, though the building had the faint vibe of life that said it wasn’t totally deserted. “We had some classes together back in the day.”

“Was he why you picked Bear Claw?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” He pushed open a glass door with “Ornithology” stenciled in black. “What matters right now is that he’s our best bet for a quick ID on that feather.”

It all matters,
she thought as she preceded him into an open office space that had a seemingly random assortment of cubicles, bird posters on the walls and the distinctive airlock door that led to a working lab.