Incriminating Evidence

Copyright © 2015 Rachel Grant

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 9780989301060

ISBN-10: 0989301060

Cover art and design by Naomi Ruth Raine

Copyediting by Linda Ingmanson

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

From enemies to allies…

When archaeologist Isabel Dawson stumbles upon an unconscious man deep in the Alaskan wilderness, her survival skills are put to the test. She tends his wounds and drags him to shelter, only to discover she’s saved the life of Raptor CEO Alec Ravissant—the man who may have covered up her brother’s murder to save his senatorial campaign.

With no memory of the assault that landed him five miles deep in the forest, Alec doesn’t know what to believe when he wakes in the clutches of the beautiful redhead who blames him for her brother’s death, but he quickly realizes he needs her help to uncover the truth about his lost hours.

Isabel never imagined she’d find herself allied with Alec, and he’s the last man she ever expected to find attractive. But the former Army Ranger-turned-politician proves seductively charming, and he’s determined to win much more than her vote. When their quest for answers puts Isabel in the crosshairs, Alec must risk everything—his company, his campaign, and his life—to protect her.

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Incriminating Evidence
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This one is for Jocelyn,

Because she goes to Cross-Fit even though she hates it, has vehement opinions on which Doctor is the best Doctor, and knows how to answer the question, “What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?” Plus, she loves cats.

Chapter One

Tanana Valley State Forest, Alaska

September

I
t was a show tunes kind of afternoon, which was unusual for Isabel, but the words to the old songs came to her effortlessly as she walked downslope, deep in the Tanana Valley State Forest. Loud, full-voiced singing was necessary to warn bears she was working in this remote Alaskan wilderness and was intended to scare the creatures away. Given her off-key voice, singing pretty much guaranteed humans would stay away as well. A decided bonus.

Although, now that she was on day four of the timber sale survey, she was ready to be done. She’d had enough solitude this week and wouldn’t mind meeting up with Nicole for a beer at the Tamarack Roadhouse. It was getting late, already after five p.m., and she was still a two-hour hike from her truck, but her extra-long lunch excursion put her behind schedule and she had one more parcel to inspect before she’d be done with the archaeological survey. It was worth the long day to avoid hiking all the way back here tomorrow.

Most of this week’s survey soundtrack had been sad songs, but yesterday had been Vincent’s birthday, so her melancholy was understandable. Then suddenly, this afternoon Rodgers and Hammerstein popped into her head. She’d started with
Oklahoma!,
continued with
The Sound of Music,
and now she’d moved on to Gilbert and Sullivan’s
The Pirates of Penzance
, specifically, “I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major-General.”

She’d feel ridiculous singing at the top of her lungs, except after months of working in Alaska, she’d grown used to the need to make noise while conducting pedestrian survey. She’d found straight-up talking to herself disconcerting, so she’d taken to singing. Now it was second nature. She barely even heard her own voice as she studied the ground for telltale signs of prehistoric human activity.

She paused, taking a deep breath, preparing for the next rapid verse, when she heard a branch crack, followed by a grunt.

Not the grunt of an animal, but one of a human. In pain?

She stopped. With her head cocked toward the wind, she listened. Again she heard a sound. Faint. Human. Definitely not happy.

She scanned the woods. The underbrush was thick and mosquitoes vicious. Whenever she stopped walking, they swarmed. She fought the urge to wave her arms to shoo them away so she could listen.

But all she heard was wind. Birds. Buzzing mosquitoes as the bloodsucking females feasted on her cheeks and arms. Normal forest sounds.

She slapped away the biters. Maybe she’d heard a wolverine. Their grunts could easily be mistaken for human. Shaking off the foolish notion she’d cross paths with another person out here on the edge of the bush, she resumed walking and singing, but the happy beat was lost. Now she sang solely to ward off bears. She scanned the ground as she walked, looking for signs of prehistoric occupation or use. Her job was to find archaeological sites that would be destroyed by the coming timber harvest. That was what she was here for. She needed to focus on what paid the bills.

The ground sloped at a grade above fifteen percent. Poor conditions for finding a site, because the ground was too steep for occupation. If there were a site in the vicinity, she’d find it at the base of the slope. She continued in that direction, determined to do a good job for her employer, the Alaska Department of Natural Resources.

Branches snapped below her, to the right.

She stopped signing midword.

Any number of fauna could have triggered it. She hadn’t seen any scat, at least nothing fresh and therefore worrisome, for the last half mile. But still, she dropped a hand to the grip of her pistol while the other grabbed the bear spray. Of the two, the pistol was the least effective, but the noises had her on edge. While a pistol wasn’t good defense against a bear, it was excellent for dealing with humans.

These woods, remote, abundant with resources, yet marginally accessible due to logging roads, could be a gateway to the bush for people on the run. Maybe she’d been foolish to brush off the noise as a wolverine.

Another sound carried on the breeze, and she ducked behind a tree to listen and wait. In her gut, she knew she wasn’t about to face down a bear. She held the gun in front of her, pointed upward, clasped between both hands like a prayer. Her heart pounded, but she had no real understanding why. This just didn’t feel
right
.

She couldn’t stay behind a tree gripping a gun forever and eased out from her feeble hiding spot. Slowly, silently, she crept down the hillside toward whatever—or whoever—had made the sounds.

She spotted him immediately. Sunlight filtered between the leaves, highlighting the red splatter of blood that covered the man’s face. He lay still. Unconscious or dead?

She’d heard of archaeologists finding bodies on survey before, but the accounts always had the earmark of urban myths—two people removed from the teller of the tale. She’d never met anyone who’d actually encountered a corpse themselves. She supposed she’d considered how scary such a find would be, but hadn’t really thought beyond that, because really, it just didn’t happen.

It was like planning for a head-on collision. She’d been certain that sort of thing would never happen to
her.
Car accidents, kidnappings, tornados, and random bodies in the woods were all on the list of things that happened to other people.

And yet here she was. Adrenaline flooded, frozen with shock, and facing a body in the deep, bear-infested woods.

Her past speculation had been wrong. It wasn’t scary; it was utterly terrifying. Worse than facing down a bear, a pair of rattlesnakes, and a brown recluse all at the same time. Nature, she could handle. This wasn’t nature.

This was murder.

She glanced left and right. She would never hear anyone approaching over the roar of her racing pulse. She stepped toward the man, slowly. Gun out. Pointed at the body.

As she neared, she caught the slightest rise of his chest. He was alive.

Not murder, then. Attempted murder? Assault?

His face was swollen. He’d taken several blows in addition to the gash on his temple that bled profusely. She dropped to her knees at his side. She had no choice but to holster the pistol to check his vital signs.

His pulse was solid even though his breathing was shallow. It was likely a blessing that he was unconscious, because if he were awake she’d bet his head would hurt like a sonofabitch.

What to do? Whoever had done this to him could return. But if she left him here, unconscious, vulnerable, he could die. No.
Would
die. There were too many scavengers and predators in the area to believe he could survive, bleeding, unconscious, and alone.

But then, he could be the villain in this. Drug dealer. Poacher. Criminal on the run. This could be his just reward. She searched his pockets for a wallet with ID, but came up empty. His clothing didn’t argue for poacher. His clothing—business casual slacks and a blood-saturated button-down shirt—didn’t belong in these woods at all.

She checked his mouth, looking for rotting teeth, signs of drug use, anything that would indicate she had something to fear from helping him. But his teeth’s perfect alignment could only be attributed to orthodontia. Bright white and nary a silver filling.

She opened his shirt, searching for other causes for his blood-soaked clothing besides the gash on his temple. All she found was hard muscle. Whoever this man was, he took good care of himself.

Given his build, in spite of his city clothes, he could be a Raptor operative who’d strayed from the compound. That thought had her considering leaving him. The bears and wolves could have him. Or whoever had done this to him could come back and finish the job.