“Laurel,” she said, staring out the front window as the snow pelted them. “I’m not with a unit. I hold a supervisory position as a specialist, sent to assist in certain cases such as this one appears to be.”
She seemed awfully young to have reached such a high rank. “Such as violent crimes and possible serial murders?” He kept his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. His headlights were strong and illuminated the snow-covered trail; it was a good thing he’d switched out the tires for tracks last week.
She cleared her throat. “Yes. Violent crimes and possible serial murders.” Now she sounded stiff but not defensive, just matter-of-fact. “It’s my understanding that the Seattle FBI office is heavily involved in another case right now, so if this is an FBI matter, I’m on my own.”
He didn’t know exactly what kind of case this was yet, but it wasn’t an FBI matter. “We’ve got this,” he muttered.
“Such decisions are beyond my pay grade, but if it’s a serial murder, I’ll keep the case,” she said, looking over at Aeneas in the back seat. “I take it he’s a search and rescue dog?”
Aeneas’s ears flicked and he turned his head to look at her.
“He’s a Karelian Bear Dog,” Huck said, turning the wheel to navigate the UTV around a sharp rock to head farther up the mountain. Visibility was less than he liked. He tried to banish the thought that dead bodies had been found in his backyard.
“Really? I haven’t heard of that breed.” The woman sounded surprised.
Several chunks of solid ice rained down from above and Huck swerved to keep from getting nailed. “It’s a specialty breed that chases bears. We have a program in Washington to deal with problem bears and citizens, and Aeneas is one of the best. He’s also secondarily trained in search and rescue as well as detecting and locating poached wildlife and human remains.”
Apparently bored with the discussion, Aeneas put his head back on his paws, waiting for his chance to get to work.
Huck turned another corner, and the world lit up. “Looks like they managed to get every spotlight they had access to up here.” The cliffside was bright through the falling snow, and figures dressed in yellow hazmat suits worked diligently, gathering objects off the ground. Three tents had been set up to protect evidence from the weather. He parked his UTV behind two department UTVs and three snowmobiles. “Your boots won’t give you much traction on this ice and snow, so be careful, City Girl,” he said.
She released her harness and opened her door. “City girl? I grew up in Genesis Valley, Captain Rivers. I’m a country girl all the way.” She stepped gingerly onto the frozen ground and shut her door, pulling on the borrowed gloves.
Country girl? He didn’t think so. He jumped out and opened the rear door to secure Aeneas’s search and rescue collar and activate its beacon. When the dog wore that particular collar, he knew it was time to work. The bluish collar he wore when chasing bears away from civilians was a lighter weight. “Down,” Huck ordered, and the dog jumped gracefully onto the icy trail.
Crossing around the front of the rig, Huck waited for Agent Snow to finish placing the hat on her head. Snow blitzed them, covering her cap within seconds. That spectacular hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back, catching flakes and making them sparkle before melting. He’d never seen hair that color in real life. “This way,” he murmured. She was a distraction, that was for sure.
She reached him, surprising him again with her small stature. The woman had to be five foot two, if that. Yet she stood straight and seemed taller, thanks to her quiet presence. Blinking against the snow, she leaned over and peered down the embankment, where the techs struggled against the weather. “Let’s go to that tent.” She pointed one glove-covered hand toward the nearest tent, which was still at least twenty yards down the rapidly disappearing trail.
“All right. You’re gonna have to hang on to my arm, Agent,” he said, holding out his arm as if he’d invited her to dance. He didn’t want to make nice with the woman, but he wasn’t going to let her get hurt, either. “Those boots won’t give you much traction, and you’ll tumble down.”
She hesitated only a second before gripping his arm with her gloved hand. “If I fall, don’t let me take you down with me.”
The idea tickled him, and a chuckle emerged before he could stop it. Even when she stiffened next to him, he couldn’t banish his smile, even though amusement felt unnatural on his face. The woman was half his size and wearing crappy boots in the beginning of a winter storm. She couldn’t get him down the mountain if she tried. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She also hadn’t read him correctly if she thought he’d let any woman fall down a cliff.
“Good.” She moved forward, toward the closest thing to a trail leading down to the nearest tent.
Cadaver dogs wove through the storm, while several teams smoothed snow and mud around in different areas. “Let me go first, and you put your hands on my shoulders,” he said. It’d be easier if he could just carry her down to the tent, but no FBI agent would want to arrive on scene like that, save one with a broken leg.
“Okay,” she breathed, her nose turning pink.
He turned, braced his feet, and waited until her hands curled over his shoulders before stepping over the edge onto the roughly cut path. His boot slipped and he regained his balance, waiting to make sure she was okay behind him.
“You’re too tall.” Her hands slid down his back to press against his waist. “I’ll keep my balance this way.”
He ducked his head against the stinging wind. Maybe he could leave her with whoever was in charge of the scene. If they needed his skills, they’d ask. Aeneas scouted ahead, his red beacon showing his location.
Huck kept his balance and noted the clean turns of the makeshift trail. They soon reached the nearest tent, and Huck opened the flap wider for Laurel to walk inside, where she wiped snow off her face.
Upon seeing Huck, Captain Monty Buckley looked like he’d swallowed charcoal. “Hi.” Buckley slid their way from the opposite side of the tent, his white eyebrows lifting. “I didn’t call you in. Why are you here?”
Huck took in the captain of the regional office. Monty was in his late fifties and strong as the mountain around them. Solid and quick. His white hair was thick above his weathered face, and he wore a Fish and Wildlife jacket with a rip down the side. “The FBI showed up on my doorstep.”
Monty frowned and then looked at Laurel. “Well, hello.”
Huck moved an inch farther away from the woman.
She held out her blue glove, her puzzled gaze going from one man to the other. “FBI Special Agent Laurel Snow.”
