Jennifer D. Bokal - Under The Agent's Protection

Despite everything, Everly’s heart gave a flutter.

His outfit was hardly anyone’s idea of a uniform. But in an out-of-the-way place like Pleasant Pines, Wyoming, who knew?

“Are you Sheriff Haak?” Her voice trembled as an electric charge danced across her skin.

“Sorry, no.” The man smiled and hitched his chin toward the office behind him. “He’s in there.”

Everly’s face flamed red and hot. She had no reason to be embarrassed for the mistake, and yet she was. Immediately, she knew why. She’d been hoping all along that the tall, dark and gorgeous stranger might be the local law in these parts.

What a cliché.

The stranger stood and held out his palm to Everly. She ignored the offered hand and stood as well, taking time to zip her purse closed. Gaze still on the floor, Everly’s eyes burned with tears that threatened to fall. How could she feel anything beyond miserable? When she looked up, the man was walking down the hallway.

Exhaling heavily, Everly entered the sheriff’s office. Two desks, both empty, sat next to windows that overlooked the town square and gazebo. At the back of the room was an inner office with the sheriff’s name stenciled onto the glass panel of the door with black paint.

Sitting behind his desk, Sheriff Haak wore a dark brown uniform and a khaki-colored tie. A six-sided tin star and gun completed his outfit. In his sixties, balding and with a definite paunch, he looked much more like a grandfather than the Adonis she had just run into. Everly decided it was all for the best that she not let anything distract her from her goal—finding out what really happened to Axl.

“Ms. Baker, I presume,” said the sheriff as he rose from his seat. He waved her into his office. “I’m sorry to meet under such terrible circumstances.”

Everly approached and tried to speak, but sadness strangled her words and she just nodded.

“Sit, please,” said Sheriff Haak as he gestured to a chair opposite his desk. As she sat, he reached for an opened folder. “An autopsy is required in Wyoming to determine cause of death. First, you’ll need to see the body and give an identification. I warn you, it may be difficult—”

“I know,” said Everly, interrupting what she imagined was a well-worn speech. “I’ve already been to the morgue.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I met with Doc Lambert and identified the body.” She sighed. “It’s my brother’s.”

“That’s not how we do things around here,” said the sheriff.

“I heard,” said Everly, “I’m not interested in procedures. Only in finding out what happened to Axl.”

“Doc Lambert is as good a medical man as you’ll find anywhere, and will conduct a full examination. After that, you can take your brother’s body back to Illinois. I’d have to say that the ME’s findings will be like mine. Sadly, we have several cases like this each year—tourists who don’t understand the danger of the mountains. The way I see it, your brother died of exposure and his death was accidental.”

“You’re wrong,” she said.

The sheriff spluttered. “I’m what?”

She had gone through the scenario several times in her mind, but now that she had the chance to plead her case the reasoning seemed thin. No, she reminded herself. It wasn’t her case. She was here for Axl. And Everly would be damned if she was going to let a small-town sheriff talk her out of what she knew to be true.

“My brother was an experienced outdoorsman. He worked as a wildlife photographer,” she continued. “He was here for his job—and more than that, he’d never wander off alone. He was murdered.” There, she’d said it.

“Hold on a second.” The sheriff poked the desk with his finger. “With all due respect—this isn’t some big city, where folks get shot on every corner. Pleasant Pines is a nice, quiet town with nice people, and I’ve kept them all safe for decades.” The sheriff leaned forward, his tone softening. “I’m sure this is all very hard for you to accept.”

“My brother had been a wildlife photographer for more than twelve years. Even if he did end up lost on a cold night, he’d know what to do.” Everly knew she had to convince the man. “My brother has photographed Alaska’s Denali National Park in winter. He’s also done photo shoots of Death Valley at noon in July.” She pressed on. “What about his camera? Did you look at the pictures he’d taken so far? There might be some kind of photographic evidence.”

The sheriff leaned forward in his chair. “There wasn’t a camera found with the body,” he said pointedly.

Everly went numb. She’d given Axl a top-of-the-line camera for his thirtieth birthday two years ago. It cost as much as her last month’s rent and he kept it with him always. “Are you sure?”

The sheriff slid a piece of paper across the desk. “This is the list of all his belongings from the scene. I catalogued everything myself. There’s no camera.”

Her pulse began to hammer, and her breath froze in her chest. She scanned the list, not seeing anything. “This doesn’t make any sense. If my brother wasn’t taking pictures, why was he outside in the middle of the night?”

“Even a seasoned outdoorsman, like your brother, could’ve gotten lost,” said the sheriff. “I’ve likely been sheriff longer than you’ve been alive, Ms. Baker. In my experience, in cases like this, there’s alcohol involved. And if your brother’d been drinking...” His voice trailed off, but she heard the implication loud and clear.

She couldn’t deny that the sheriff’s explanation was plausible. Sure, it had been years since the last time her brother drank. But, more than once, Axl had sworn off drinking, then fallen back into old habits. Was the explanation really so simple? She wasn’t sure, but Everly refused to give up on her brother so easily.

“Have you searched for his camera?” she asked.

“Until now, I didn’t know to look for one.”

“Well, you should see what you can find.”

Sheriff Haak gave an exasperated sigh. “Ms. Baker, why don’t you let me do my job?”

Biting off what she really wanted to say, Everly clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. This man wasn’t going to be any help, she could tell. That meant it was up to Everly to discover the truth. “Then if you can point me in the direction of where my brother’s body was found, I’ll look myself.”

“Can’t do that.”

The hollow nothingness of grief was slowly replaced with a seething fury. She managed to keep her voice calm and steady. “Why not?”

“First, you could contaminate the scene,” he said. “But there’s more. Your brother was found on private property. You’d need the owner’s permission to go traipsing around his land. He was the one who found Axl Baker, by the way, and called in the report.”

Jaw still tight, she asked, “Can you introduce me to the owner of the property?”

“Don’t need to. You’ve met him already.”

Before Everly could ask what in the world the sheriff meant, he said. “Wyatt Thornton—he’s the man who almost knocked you ass-over-teakettle at the door.”

Not bothering with a goodbye, Everly rose to her feet and rushed into the corridor. She knew it was probably a bad idea to blow off the sheriff like this, but she refused to miss a chance at finding Wyatt Thornton and learning everything he knew.

But where had he gone?

She pushed out the front door and stood in the bitter cold. Luckily, Wyatt Thornton was tall, and therefore easy to find. He stood on the opposite side of the square with a large tank of propane in each hand. He began to cross the street and she rushed after him.

“Mr. Thornton,” she called. “Mr. Thornton, can I speak to you for a minute!”