Bear Claw Conspiracy. Jessica Andersen

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       Chapter Three

      Wow. That was all Gigi’s brain could formulate as she followed Blackthorn along a narrow game trail that led up a sharply rocky incline.

      Wow, he had a seriously fine body beneath that drab, tan-and-green park service uniform. His sleek bronze skin covered sculpted muscles, its perfection marred by two scars, one high on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his waistline.

      Wow, that had been the hottest stand-and-stare moment of her life. Her blood was still humming, her coordination slightly off as her body focused inward.

      And wow, this was way outside her comfort zone.

      It had been a while since she had made the time or effort, but she’d had her share of relationships, all based on affection, attraction, and the freedom to move on when the time came.

      Those relationships had been fun. Satisfying. And not once, not even in the bedroom, had any of those guys lit her up the way she had just ignited from nothing more than seeing Blackthorn’s chest.

      Even now, as she scanned the rocks and scrub for scuff marks, the image of his naked torso seemed burned onto her retinas.

      Temporary insanity. That was all it was. They’d both had their tempers up, and his adrenaline had probably been pumping for hours. More, she had been disarmed by the way he had backed down, owning his bad behavior when she called him on it.

      In her experience, that wasn’t the way real jerks operated. Which meant … well, it didn’t matter what it meant. Her gut said he was complicated, and she didn’t have any room in her life for personal complications. She was there to do her job … which was about evidence, not ogling.

      Deliberately, she forced her mind back on track.

      The bagged shirt was tucked in the bottom of her field kit. She would process the feather back in the lab, where she could keep absolute track of the environment. But she already knew some of the assessments she would need to make: Was it real or fake? Where had it come from? Why had Tanya been clutching it?

      The last question wasn’t really part of an analyst’s job—it was up to the cops and attorneys to turn the data into a story.

      But then again, she lived outside the box.

      When Blackthorn hit the top of the high ridge, he paused and turned back to her. Surprise flickered when he saw that she was only a few paces behind him and not even breathing particularly hard.

      She grinned. “When I was in my early teens, my parents went on a survivalist kick and decided all four of us kids needed to know how to take care of ourselves, no matter what. Our family vacations turned into something out of Survivor for a few years. Yosemite, the Sonoran Desert, Alaska … Some of it seemed like torture at the time, but looking back, it wasn’t. It’s just the way my family operates.” “As survivalists?”

      “As the best at whatever we choose to do. Usually it’s academics. In my case, crime scene analysis.”

      He held her eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Point taken.”

      “Then let’s get to work.” She gestured around them. “How are you at tracking?”

      “Fair to good, but when we came up this way the first time, I was looking more for four-legged predators than two-legged tracks. I can’t swear to it, but I don’t think there were any fresh footprints other than Cochran’s at that point, and even those were pretty faint. I took a closer look around once Tanya had been airlifted out, but nothing jumped out at me.” He grimaced. “Frankly, given the rock, hardpan and loose gravel, we’re not looking good for tracks.”

      “Hopefully I’ll have better luck.”

      “It’s a mess down there.”

      “So I heard.” But as she moved up beside him at the crest of the ridge, she sucked in a breath. “Okay. Yeah. That’s a mess.”

      Their vantage point overlooked an oblong flattened bowl that fell away into a dry riverbed on one side. There was a brushed-clean spot where the helicopter had come and gone; ropes snaking across the shale, which was gouged where they had been moved and dragged; and a scattering of detritus in the bottom of the wash.

      Although she gave Blackthorn points for not cleaning up the med techs’ leftovers after Tanya was airlifted, the overall effect was not encouraging.

      He shot her a look from beneath lowered brows. “Tell me you can do something with it.”

      “I’ve seen entire cases hinge on a few strands of hair or a fingernail scraping,” she said. Which wasn’t quite an answer, so she added, “I’ve worked under worse conditions. At least here I won’t have to waste time going through СКАЧАТЬ