Her mind organized facts while she reached for the needles and yarn from her laptop bag to keep her hands busy. She had to turn the conversation to the bodies they’d found, because he was withdrawing so much he might just leave her to work the case alone. “I noticed cameras in the parking area at the bottom of Snowblood Peak. How long do you keep recordings?” The needles clacked together.
“Six weeks,” Huck said, eyeing the small booties. “Fish and Wildlife have the cameras in case a hiker goes missing and to catch poachers. I’m sure the local office will collect the data and provide a list of license plates.”
That was good. “I seem to lack a team right now, so I appreciate any help you can provide,” she said, masking a yawn.
“I’m not part of any team,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked. The sofa was too comfortable to ignore.
He kicked back and shut his eyes. Manners . . . done.
She fought sleep and kept knitting. “The last body we found before the storm forced us out was probably . . . what? Deceased for two weeks?” The victim had been intact enough to reveal bruises still marring the flesh at her neck. “If Fish and Wildlife has pictures and videos going further back, we might have the killer on tape.”
“Snowblood Peak is easily accessible from that area,” Huck murmured, his eyelids still closed. “But it’s possible the killer parked elsewhere and rode through, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“I never do,” she said, yawning again. “Hope isn’t what catches killers.”
Huck stretched his neck. “The dumping ground is partly on state land, which abuts federal land. You should leave the case to the state and return to DC.”
Should her feelings be hurt that he didn’t want her around? They weren’t. She tried not to yawn again. “You don’t think the two agencies should work the case together?”
“Don’t know and don’t care.” With that, he stood, gathered the dishes, and took them to the kitchen. “The storm is letting up—probably temporarily. I’ll drive you home.”
The man seemed even more solitary than was she. Interesting.
Chapter Six
“Thanks for the ride,” Laurel said as Huck pulled into her mother’s driveway, morning light glittering across the snowy yard.
“You’re welcome.”
She turned to study the cute old farmhouse that was located down a long private driveway with mature trees on both sides. Christmas lights sparkled from every corner, and even a couple of the outside trees were all lit up. “I’ll need the list of license plates as well as the results of any attempts to locate the owners of the vehicles.”
“Call Fish and Wildlife,” Huck said.
She frowned. “Isn’t that you?”
“No.” He stared out at the drifting snow. “Besides, it’d be better if the FBI took a back seat on this.”
“So you indicated.” She stepped out of the vehicle and put weight on her injured ankle. It held her easily with only a twinge of pain. So she pulled her overnight bag from the back seat along with her laptop bag. “The bodies are on both federal and state land, you and your officers know the area, and I have access to federal databases as well as profiling knowledge. The logical result is that we work this case together.”
He scrutinized her, his topaz-colored eyes dark in the dimming light of dusk. “Call Fish and Wildlife, Agent. This isn’t my case.”
So they were back to “agent” again. “I believe this is your case,” she murmured. “However, I don’t want to pull rank. It’s not my style.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose. The one over his left eye. “You don’t have any rank to pull. You’re in my territory.” He didn’t seem to be speaking about the issue of state versus federal land.
She had no patience for jurisdictional battles. There was a killer out there dumping bodies down long cliffs. That was all that truly mattered. “So long as you don’t urinate all over the place, your declaration of territorial rights doesn’t concern me.”
His instant grin contrasted with his grumpy message. “I’ll try to keep it in my pants, Laurel.”
She had no reply to the humorous innuendo, especially since it was the first time he’d used her first name. The way the consonants rolled around on his tongue and out of his firm mouth uncurled something heated in her belly. “Thanks for the ride.” She shut the door and strode along her mother’s shoveled rock path to the weathered, red front door. Genuine barn planks made up the outside of the entire home, and a myriad of wind chimes in different shapes and tones hung from the eaves above the front porch. The porch swing and furniture had obviously been stored for the winter, leaving a set of mysterious-looking gnomes scattered to guard the perimeter.
Christmas lights had been strung along every eave and around the windowsills and twinkled merrily.
She used her key to unlock the door. Her mom kept the door locked at all times. “Mom?” She stepped inside and warmth instantly surrounded her.
“Laurel?” Her mom hustled through the kitchen alcove, wiping her hands on a towel. “Oh my. I was getting so worried.” She hurried to Laurel and surrounded her with a strong hug. “Where were you? You said you were staying with a colleague to ride out the storm, but that was a man in that truck. Who was he?” Panic edged her voice and she hugged harder, engulfing her daughter.
