Like this.
An hour ago, Carter parked his patrol SUV in the campground and, without knocking, disappeared inside that brand new RV with Tennessee plates and hasn’t come out. Hasn’tbeen on the radio either. His last location check was inspecting the campground.
Leaning against an oak tree, I’m watching him. My last location check was on the hiking trail nearby, checking for fallen trees while covering my tracks to this spot.
Is there anything illegal about Carter disappearing into a camper’s RV while on the job? No.
Is it suspicious as fuck? Hell yes.
Especially when the RV doesn’t look like it belongs to weekend warriors or yearly snowbirds, campers he may know. No, it looks like fresh from a showroom.
Entering the license plate number into my phone, I’ll have Grant run it when I get back to my cabin. If I ask Nash, he’ll be here in hours, gouging eyes.
Finally, the shiny RV door swings open, and Carter emerges, adjusting his fly. The shadows at the door are too dark to see who’s inside. Can’t hear what they’re saying, either.
With way too much pep in his step, Carter aims for his SUV, so I turn, hustling through the woods, back to my truck.
Minutes later, Carter gives his next location check, making the hairs on my neck stand.
Black Balsam Knob.
Alena’s favorite spot.
I give him a few minutes’ lead time and follow him. Leisurely, driving past where he turns toward the trailhead, I find the next one where I can hump it over the ridge and intercept him again.
I have no proof, only instinct, but I trust it. It’s gnawing at my insides about him.
It takes me twenty minutes to track him down without being detected. The creep is lurking behind a tree at the edge of a clearing, hunting something.
When I take out my binoculars, I see it’s notsomething, butsomeone.
It’s Alena.
Lying on a blanket in the sun, she’s relaxing in the field, resting on her stomach, reading a book. Happily, her hiking boots kick the air as she flips the page.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Alena’s the picture of innocent seduction; she’s not wearing her uniform or hiking gear. No, her silky tawny hair curtains her face, her green sundress fluttering in the breeze. She’s enjoying the sun on the back of her legs, while the gentle wind teases a glimpse of her gorgeous ass with the next gust.
“You fucking piece of shit,” I hiss, watching Carter watch her.
Red rage igniting my veins.
He must do this every week, if the weather allows. Following Alena to her favorite spot on her day off, and perving on her. From this angle, it’s obvious he’s jerking off to the sight of her.
Grinding my molars, I use my head first, not my fists. I lift my phone, taking a video of him as ammo.
Do I have room to talk about jerking off to Alena? No, but I’m alone when I do it. Well, alone while thousands watch me online. I don’t need to violate her privacy to come so hard, imagining her.
It’s not easy sneaking up on Carter. I fear a snapping branch under my boot will give me away. But disgustingly, he’s too enthralled to hear me approach from behind.
Choking him, I slap my other hand over his mouth, hissing in his ear, “It’s really fucking personal now, Carter.”
“What the fuck?” His garbled mutter is barely audible.
“Is this what you do? Stalk a fellow ranger and violate her privacy? Indulge in public indecency at the sight of her?”
He reaches down, trying to zip his fly.
