Laurel almost took a step back. Six foot four, black hair, brown eyes, solid shoulders. Large boned hands, wide chest, rugged jaw. His shaggy hair curled beneath his ears, looking both uncared for and surprisingly appealing. The brown eyes had flecks of gold around the irises, and they held a world of experience. Some good and a lot bad. He had to be in his early thirties, but if she believed in her mother’s teachings, he’d be an old soul. “Captain Rivers?”
He didn’t open the door but instead scrutinized her from head to toe. “Who’s asking?” His voice was both unwelcoming and such a low timbre it was soothing. Interesting.
“I’m Laurel Snow, and I need your help.” Every instinct she had told her not to flash her badge.
He immediately opened the door. “You’re not dressed for the weather.” His expression remained difficult to read. “You look like a Fed.”
Nobody had ever said that to her. “I do?”
“Black pants, wrong shoes for the local terrain, carefully clipped and beige-colored fingernails.” He cocked his head to the side. “Except the hair. You don’t have the hair of a Fed.”
She also didn’t have an answer for that, which was unusual for her. “What do I have the hair of?” When was the last time she’d ended a sentence with a preposition? Possibly in grade school.
“Not a Fed,” he said. “It’s too long and it probably cost you a fortune to get that color.”
This was the oddest conversation she’d had in ten years. Maybe twenty. “I don’t pay for color. Or a cut, usually.” She hadn’t had time for such indulgences in far too long. Maybe she should get a haircut from a professional hairdresser instead of an elderly neighbor who had arthritis and cloudy vision.
“You’re telling me that’s your natural hair color?” He leaned in closer, bringing the scent of pine with him.
She frowned. “I’m not telling you anything. It’s just hair.” For Pete’s sake. “It’s brown.”
“We both know that’s not brown. It’s auburn, and that combination of brown and red is unreal. Mostly.” He looked down at the dog sitting patiently at his side. “Right, Aeneas?”
Laurel tilted her head to study the canine. His markings were unique: a white hourglass shape across his face, surrounded by black fur. The white fur continued down his chest and covered each paw. “Aeneas? As in Homer’sIliad?”
“More like Virgil’sAeneid,” Huck returned.
A chilly wind blasted her, and she rubbed her arms. “He’s beautiful.”
Huck opened the door wider and gestured her inside. “Where the hell is your coat?”
“In Washington DC.” She stepped inside a sparsely furnished cabin that was messy but fairly clean.
“Why?” He stood much taller than she, even in his sock-covered feet. His left sock had a hole in the toe. Two duffel bags, a folded tent, and muddy boots had been dropped by the other side of the door.
“This was an unexpected detour.” She looked at the gear. “Are you going somewhere?”
Captain Rivers shut the door. “What can I do for you, Laurel Snow?” He crossed his arms while his dog remained patiently at his side, both of them looking like predators in a calm mood.
She faced him directly. Appealing to his need to protect would be her best move. “I am with the FBI and need a guide up Snowblood Peak. It has been years since I headed that way, and I could use help.”
“Why?”
She paused. “What do you mean, why? They’ve found at least three dead bodies, and there are no doubt more. I’d like to observe the scene before the weather wipes out the evidence. Will you at least let me borrow an ATV?” What kind of Fish and Wildlife captain didn’t want to investigate the scene of a murder himself?
“What are you talking about?” His jaw hardened.
“This morning bodies were found.” She looked at the gear by the door and then at the dog. “Oh, I understand. You were training out in the wilderness.” That also explained why he and the dog looked so rough. “That’s why you don’t know anything about the dead bodies, right, Captain Rivers?”
“Huck. My dad was Captain Rivers.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, ruffling the heavy waves even more. “You’re right. I’ve been unplugged for three days up in the mountains training with Aeneas. No service. Just got back thirty minutes ago and was going to grab something to eat. What’s this about dead bodies?”
Laurel condensed the report for him, and he was shoving his feet in the muddy boots and grabbing the heavy-looking flannel coat off the packs before she’d finished.
“Let me know where you’re staying in town, and I’ll call you after I’ve reviewed the scene.” He moved toward the front door.
“No.” She crossed her arms.
He paused. “Excuse me?” Apparently the captain wasn’t accustomed to people disregarding his orders.
