Jennifer D. Bokal - Under The Agent's Protection

Using the rearview mirror, she checked her appearance quickly. Her green eyes—puffy. Cheeks—blotchy. Lips—colorless. For the day, she’d swept her hair into a ponytail and a tendril of auburn hair had come loose. Everly was far from put-together. But then again, what did she expect? She’d gotten the call as she was getting ready for work, and still wore the same clothes she’d changed into—black leggings, shearling-lined boots and a long cream-colored sweater.

It was 11:10 a.m. She’d reached her destination with twenty minutes to spare until her meeting with the sheriff.

She hoped that it gave her enough time for a quick detour—even if it wasn’t as much as she wanted. Years of experience in public relations had taught Everly to never attend an important meeting without getting all the facts. And as far as Everly was concerned, there was nothing more important than finding out what really happened to her brother.

After draping her purse across her forearm, she hustled through the biting wind to the hospital, situated two blocks from the town square. She followed signs to the morgue, which was located in the basement. The slap of footfalls on the tiled floor kept time with her racing heart as she descended the stairs.

Cold sweat covered her brow as she walked down the white-tiled hallway. A blue plastic sign hung, suspended by chains from the ceiling. Morgue. A metal door was the only thing that separated Everly from the truth. With a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped in.

A row of metal tables bisected the large room. There was a figure on the center table, shrouded with a blue sheet.

Sure, the sheriff had told Everly that her brother’s body had been found. And yeah, the body had Axl’s ID. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder—what if it wasn’t Axl under the sheet? What if this had all been a mistake? Because there was one thing Everly knew for sure—her brother didn’t die of exposure as the sheriff suggested was the most likely possibility.

She reached out with a shaking hand. Her fingertips inched closer to the sheet, brushing the fabric.

“May I help you?” A man with sparse hair, glasses and a goatee stood next to the sink at the far side of the room.

Everly gasped and pulled her hand away, startled. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as her racing heart slowed.

“I hope so,” she said. “I’m Everly Baker, Axl Baker’s sister. I spoke to Sheriff Haak yesterday and he informed me that I needed to identify my brother’s body.” Her voice faltered slightly on the last words, and she took another breath to steady her emotions.

“I’m Doc Lambert, ma’am, and very sorry for your loss.” The man picked up a clipboard and lifted a sheet of paper. He looked up over the rim of his glasses. “I didn’t expect you until after noon, but once the sheriff arrives, we can make the ID.”

“Are you the medical examiner?”

“Medical examiner. Pediatrician. General practitioner. Sometimes surgeon.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see my brother now,” she said.

“It’s not the way Sheriff Haak likes things done,” said Dr. Lambert. “Besides, if the sheriff told you to meet him here, I’m sure he’ll be along directly.”

“He’s not coming right now,” said Everly, knowing that the doctor misunderstood her early arrival. Moreover, being direct was the only way to deal with the situation. “But I’m here now.”

Still looking over the rims of his glasses, he repeated, “Like I said, Miss Baker, it’s not how we do things in Pleasant Pines.”

“I have to be honest with you. I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Mistake? How?”

“I don’t think this is my brother.” She gestured to the figure on the table.

“We found an ID with the body. He’d checked into the local hotel and used a credit card in his name.”

“But aren’t I here to see the...corpse and make a positive identification? To me, that means there’s a question.”

“There is some postmortem gouging to the face.” Doc Lambert paused. “Maybe I should call the sheriff.”

“Is there a rule in Wyoming that says a law-enforcement officer needs to be present to see a body?”

“Well, no. It’s just that Sheriff Haak is particular about his cases.”

“No offense,” said Everly, knowing full well that she was being persistent—possibly too persistent, “but I’m pretty particular about knowing whether my brother is dead or not.”

With a sigh, Doc Lambert set aside his clipboard. “Since it’s not against the law, I suppose there’s no harm.” He moved to the table and pulled the sheet from the body, exposing the head, neck and shoulders.

Everly’s chest constricted. A great wave of grief washed over her, threatening to drown her. She reached out to touch her brother’s hair then pulled her hand away as the urge to scream flooded through her, pushing its way up into her throat. Yet, she stood without breathing and stared at his lifeless body.

“It’s him,” she whispered. “That’s my brother.” It was like a physical blow, acknowledging that he was, indeed, gone for good. “What happened?”

“I won’t know until I conduct the autopsy and get some test results back, but it looks as though your brother got caught out in the forest at night and died of exposure. It is fairly common in these parts. Heartbreaking, but natural.”

The loss of her brother—her rock for so many years—was unspeakably painful. She didn’t know why or how, but Everly was certain of one thing: Doc Lambert was wrong. Her brother’s death wasn’t natural.

And she was going to find out what really happened to him.

Doc Lambert had given Everly directions to the county office building, only a few short blocks away. It was located on the town square in a three-story granite building, complete with pillars and arched windows. She found the sheriff’s office on the second floor and pulled the door open.

A man with dark hair and eyes stood just inside, his hand outstretched, as if he’d been about to reach for the knob. His abrupt appearance aggravated her already frayed nerves. Her heart slammed into her chest as she jumped back. Her purse wobbled on her arm, and her phone and keys fell onto the floor in the corridor. She bent to get them, and the rest of the contents—lipstick, sunglasses, wallet, receipts, chewing gum—spilled out.

“Damn.” She dropped to her knees.

The man let the door to the sheriff’s office close and kneeled down next to her. “Let me help you with that,” he said.

She reached for her phone in the same instant as the sexy stranger. His fingers grazed the back of her hand. A shiver of awareness traveled up her arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

She jerked her phone away. “Thanks,” she grumbled. “I can manage.”

“No, really.”

He handed her a tube of lipstick. “It was my fault.”

With a shake of her head, she said, “It’s nobody’s fault.” She sighed. “I just don’t need any help. Okay?”

The man lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay.” And yet, he didn’t leave.

As Everly scooped the rest of her belongings into her bag, she examined him from beneath her lashes. He was tall, well over six feet. His shoulders were broad and, beneath the fabric of his shirt, she could see the outline of his muscular biceps. Without question, he was more than just attractive—he was achingly handsome. His eyes were a rich and deep brown. He wore a plaid flannel shirt with tones that matched his eyes. He also had on a burnt orange vest—his look was rugged and yet, casually trendy.