Jennifer D. Bokal - Under The Agent's Protection

His pace increased.

She ran after him, her lungs burning with the thin mountain air.

He stopped next to a blue pickup truck and set the tanks in the rear bed, before strapping them in place. He removed a set of keys from his pocket.

“Mr. Thornton,” she said as she advanced, her breath ragged. “That is you, right? I need your help.”

Without a word, he opened the door. “I thought you said you didn’t want my assistance.”

So that’s how he was going to act? Childish? Everly swallowed down the sharpest edges of her anger. “Look, I’m sorry if I was rude before. But I need to speak to you. It’s important, Mr. Thornton.”

“Wyatt,” he said.

“What?”

“Call me Wyatt.”

“Okay, Wyatt, I just need a few minutes of your time.”

He didn’t ask what she needed, but neither did he walk away, so Everly continued. “The sheriff told me that you found my brother’s body yesterday. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Nothing.

Repeating what she’d told the sheriff, she said, “My brother was a wildlife photographer. If he was out in the middle of the night, it was for a reason—likely some assignment or other. Did you find his camera?”

Shaking his head, Wyatt said, “I didn’t, but I didn’t know to look for one, either.”

It was the same thing the sheriff had told her. “If I could just get your permission and some directions, I could take a look. I won’t be a bother, I promise.”

“Sorry, but no.”

“No?” she asked, her voice reedy. “Why not?”

“I told the sheriff everything. The investigation’s up to him.”

“I just want to see where you found his body. It might help me understand what happened. He was my brother, my only family.” She paused, hating that she had shared more than she intended—hating even more that she was about to beg. “I really need answers. Please.”

For a long moment, Wyatt said nothing. Everly could sense the war raging in his mind, see the furrows between his brow, his jaw flex.

“Please,” she whispered again.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I can’t get involved, and letting you come out to my place won’t bring your brother back.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Wyatt looked at the ground as he scraped his toe on the cracked sidewalk. “The medical examiner’s report will be in later today or tomorrow. After that, you’ll have the answers you need.”

Another thought came to Everly—Wyatt Thornton was hiding something. To hell with being polite—she was done. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“The mountains are a hard place to survive, even with training. Accidents happen. The death of your brother is a monumental life event and you want it to have a greater meaning than just...he simply ran into bad luck.” He met her gaze. “But sometimes that’s all you have—a lousy destiny. I hope the autopsy gives you the answers you need.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Go home, anyway. There’s nothing here for you,” he said, not without sympathy.

With that, Wyatt Thornton got behind the wheel. She remained rooted to the spot as he started the engine and backed up. She watched as he drove down the main road and out of town.

He wanted her to go home—give up was more like it. Well, if he thought that she was going to be that easy to get rid of, Wyatt Thornton had better think again.

Everly parked in front of the Pleasant Pines Inn, a sprawling late 19th century building of stone and timber that overlooked the town. It was the only hotel for miles and while it wasn’t a five-star property on Michigan Avenue, it had loads of charm and would suit her needs nicely.

Trailing her suitcase behind her, she approached the front desk. A tall and muscular woman, with her blond hair pulled into a tight bun, greeted Everly with a smile. “May I help you?”

“I need a room,” said Everly, stating the obvious.

“Reservations?” the woman asked.

In her haste to get out of Chicago, Everly hadn’t bothered with the online registration. “No,” Everly said. “I hope you have something available.” If not, she’d have to make the three hour commute from Cheyenne.

The desk clerk tapped on a computer keyboard. “You’re in luck. We have one room available, second floor. There’s also a pub on-site along with a restaurant that serves dinner and breakfast. Both open today at five o’clock.” She pointed in the direction of the establishments as she spoke. “What brings you to Pleasant Pines?”

Without question, the clerk was the most helpful person she’d met in Pleasant Pines. Everly read her name tag. “Darcy, can you tell me if Axl Baker had a room here?”

The desk clerk looked over her shoulder before answering in a low voice. “He did...but Mr. Baker’s room is off-limits by the order of Sheriff Haak.”

At least Everly knew for certain that her brother had been at this hotel. The question was, how could she get the sheriff to let her search her brother’s room? Or rather, she knew that answer—he wouldn’t. What she needed was a way, legal or not, to get inside the room.

She didn’t have much time to plan, so her strategy was simple. Yet, it might just work.

Coughing, Everly touched her throat. “Any chance I can get a bottle of water?”

Darcy held up one finger. “Just a second, I can grab you one from the back.”

Heart racing, Everly waited until the other woman disappeared through a doorway. On tiptoe, she looked over the edge of the counter. Papers. Pens. A computer keyboard. She lifted a pile of papers and it fell out. It was the size and shape of a credit card with two stylized pine trees intertwined with the words Pleasant Pines in gilt script . Written in marker were four other words, the ones she needed to see: Front desk. Total access .

She’d found a passkey. Score.

She didn’t hesitate and slipped the keycard into the palm of her hand. She put the papers on the desk and stepped back just as Darcy returned.

“Here you go,” she said, holding out the water.

Everly took the bottle awkwardly with her left hand. “Thanks,” she said, slipping her right hand into her pocket, where she deposited the stolen card.

Reaching for the handle of her suitcase, she turned from the front desk. How many rooms did this inn have and, more important, how would she find out which one had been her brother’s?

“Ms. Baker?” Darcy called.

Everly increased her pace, as if she could outrun the awful truth that she had stolen a key to every door in the hotel.

“Ms. Baker? Ms. Baker?”

Damn, she’d been caught. Everly tried to think of an excuse. Nothing came to mind. Her mouth went dry. She stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

“You forgot your key.” Darcy held up a keycard, a twin to the one she had in her pocket, save for the note in marker. “Room two twenty-three. Second floor. The elevator is at the end of the hallway.”

Everly swayed as her knees went weak. She was determined to find out what really happened to her brother, a few rules be damned. And yet, she was hardly used to a life of crime. What she was used to—and quite good at—was public relations, which meant knowing her customer. If her read on Darcy was right, the other woman was likely to be helpful and sympathetic.

“Thanks,” she said again. Then she asked, “Do you happen to remember Axl Baker? He’s my brother. He was my brother.” Everly’s voice cracked on the last word.

Darcy lowered her eyes. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry, hon.” She lifted her gaze to Everly’s. “I wasn’t at work when he checked in, but he did come through the lobby on his way to and from the pub.”