“Stacy is—” Connor began.
“I’m visiting in town, and Connor agreed to show me around.” Stacy flashed a warm smile at him. “We’re old friends.”
Nina looked from one to the other. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.” She snapped a leash onto her dog’s harness. “Sky and I will get out of your way.”
“If anyone needs me, just radio,” Connor said. “I’ll be over at the magazine.”
“Will do.” Nina waved, then left.
Stacy turned to Connor. “I should have mentioned before—I’m here undercover.”
His eyes narrowed. “But you really are an FBI agent?”
“Yes.”
“You never showed me any identification.”
She hesitated, then unzipped her jacket, folded down the top of her leggings and slipped out her identification folder and passed it to him.
He studied it a moment, then passed it back. “Why undercover?” he asked.
“I’m hoping to get close to the protestors who are advocating violence and eventually learn the names of the leaders who have moved in from the national group we’re tracking. People need to believe I’m just a regular person who believes the same things they believe.”
The dog at his feet let out a low whine.
“All right, Farley,” Connor said. “We’re almost ready to go.”
“Farley.” Stacy knelt and beckoned the dog. He hurried toward her, his whole body wiggling. She buried her fingers in his soft fur and rubbed his ears. “You’re even more adorable than your picture,” she said. She looked up at Connor, who was still scowling at her. “It’s so great you get to bring your dog to work.”
“He’s an employee, too. Well, an unpaid one. He’s a trained avalanche rescue dog. All of the dogs are.”
She turned her attention to the row of kennels. Each bore a tag with a name—Sky, Shelby, Darth, Farley and Daisy. “Do they ever have to rescue people?” she asked.
“Sometimes.” He snapped on Farley’s leash. “Let’s go.”
They threaded their way through crowds of skiers at the base of the main lift, past a row of shops and around the side of a hotel, until they reached a large, mostly deserted parking lot. Connor unclipped the leash, and Farley bounded ahead across the lot. He raced to a dumpster at the far end and began sniffing around it.
“There’s a fox that likes to visit that dumpster, and Farley is fascinated by it,” Connor said.
“You don’t think he’d hurt it, do you?” Stacy asked.
“He might if he got the chance, but the fox is too fast and smart for that. In any case, he won’t be there this time of day. We’ve only seen him early in the morning. We saw him New Year’s day, in fact.”
Farley sniffed around the dumpster, then suddenly whirled and raced toward them once more. He skidded to a stop at Stacy’s feet and looked up, a goofy grin on his face.
“Good boy!” she said and patted his side. “I think he likes me,” she told Connor.
“He likes everybody.” He looked away and gestured toward a low stucco building. “That’s the munitions magazine.” He moved ahead of her, and Farley hurried to catch up.
With amusement, Stacy noted that dog and owner bore a resemblance. At least, they both had reddish curly hair and melting brown eyes.
“I’ll show you where the thieves broke in,” he said and led the way around the side of the building. They walked along the back until they reached a sheet of plywood screwed on to the wall. “There’s a hole under there, two feet by three feet. Looks like it was cut with a saw.”
“How did they saw through a wall without someone hearing?” She looked around them. There weren’t any buildings close, but a sound that loud would have carried.
“If they did it on New Year’s Eve, there were fireworks, with loud music.”
She studied the plywood and said nothing.
