Michele Hauf - Witness In The Woods

There had been that time at a wedding reception for a mutual friend. They’d both been drunk. And, well, what had ensued that night—or rather, hadn’t—had changed things between them.

And then Joe’s best friend had stepped into the picture and had turned Skylar’s head completely away from Joe. And that was the reason he hadn’t spoken to her in a year.

Joe cast a glance down toward the extinguished fire pit. A wedding dress lay smoldering in bits and pieces. He’d like to ask about that, but he’d wait for a better time.

SKYLAR WATCHED AS Joe pulled onto the long, pine-bordered driveway that curled out to the county road. He intended to cruise to the other side of the lake and take a look around. All in a day’s police work, she felt sure. Impressive, since she was aware he’d worked a full shift today and she’d thought conservation officers generally stuck to checking hunting licenses and beach patrol.

No, she knew that wasn’t right. The conservation officers in the Boundary Waters had their hands full with poaching, theft of natural resources, search and rescue of lost hikers, and they were even called in to consult on murder cases when a body was found in the woods. They carried all the usual authority and powers a police officer would.

Much as she hadn’t expected Joe to knock on her door this evening, she was thankful now that it had been him. Because she needed…something. Help? Support? This keeping her mouth shut about the minor indiscretions Davis Trucking employees committed and hoping her relationship with her uncle would improve was getting her nowhere.

Still, Malcolm had offered to buy a section of her land. Then she’d have seed money to build the shelter. But at what price was her alliance to her uncle? Would her dad have wanted that? He’d kept the land pristine. Had always refused to sell to his brother so he could fulfill plans to expand the business. Malcolm had no love for the environment, while Merlin, Skylar’s dad, had been a certified tree hugger.

And now she’d been threatened. Seriously. She could have been killed. Had the threat come from Malcolm? That didn’t make sense. If he wanted to buy her land he should be kissing up to her. And yet…

Two days ago, Skylar had stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have seen. She wasn’t sure what had been in those freezers in the Davis Trucking warehouse, but the man with a rifle in hand who’d discovered her had not been happy to see her.

What to do?

Because, much as Uncle Malcolm had stood for the opposite of everything her father had, he was still family. And family meant something to her.

But family didn’t fire warning shots at one another.

The drive around the lake did not bring Joe to the spot where he’d determined the shooter might have been standing. Calling for backup, he got an answer from a state patrol. An officer could be around in twenty minutes. Joe predicted a hike through the woods to get to the position across from the lake to the Davis home, so he waited for the patrol officer to arrive. Otherwise, they’d never find each other in the thick pine and birch forest that offered only narrow trails here and there.

As a conservation officer, he spent 90 percent of his time roaming the woods and lakes in his territory. He knew this area. But he hadn’t spent much time on this lake. It was small and usually only boated by the residents living around it.

Antsy, and wishing he’d taken an hour in the gym this morning to work out, he bounced on his feet. His hiking boots were not the most comfortable for such movement, but he liked to stay limber. He snapped up his knee and kicked out in a Muay Thai move that could knock an opponent flat.

He’d developed an interest in martial arts from watching his mother practice her moves from the karate class she’d taken when her boys were younger. He’d started with karate, but after watching a few National Geographic specials and sports TV, he’d fallen in love with the ultrahigh kicks and swift elbow strikes Muay Thai offered. It was all about brute power. It worked his body in every way possible, and kept him limber and sharp. And a well-honed body only enhanced an ever-growing soul. He was constantly learning. His greatest teachers? Nature and the wildlife he had taken an oath to protect.

But honestly? It was a good means to get out his anger by kicking the sandbag now and then.

Pausing at the harsh, croaking call of a blue heron, Joe lifted his head and closed his eyes. He had to smile at that sound. Such utter peace here, away from the city and major highways. He opened his eyes, scanning the treetops in hopes of seeing the heron nest, but the canopy was thick. The last slivers of sunlight glinted like stars.

A car honked and Joe waved to the approaching patrol car. Brent Kofax was with the sheriff’s department. In cases where someone had been shot, or threatened, they usually joined the investigation. He stepped out of the car and gave Joe a thumbs-up. Joe had worked with Brent on a few occasions when backup was necessary. Usually when he knew he’d be approaching a boat full of drunk fishermen, or that one time Joe had needed someone to help him sort out steel traps from a burned-out Quonset building.

“What do you have tonight, Cash?”

Joe shook Brent’s hand and pointed over his shoulder toward the lake. “The Davis woman who lives across the lake was shot at earlier this evening. Judging by the trajectory of the hit, I’m guessing the shooter might have been in the woods about a quarter mile up. I need another set of eyes. You ready to do some hiking?”

“I always know you’ll give me a workout when I answer your calls. Already changed into hiking boots. Let’s do this!”

From his car Joe grabbed a backpack that contained evidence-collection supplies, water and snacks, as well as a compass and other survival equipment. He never ventured into the woods without it. At his hip, he wore his pistol, a Glock .40 caliber. Brent carried a 12-gauge pump shotgun, standard issue nowadays.

The two men picked carefully through the brush and grasses, dodging roots and ducking low-hanging pine tree branches. Brent was an avid hunter, unlike Joe, but he wouldn’t criticize the man’s need to kill innocent animals for food. The day he started doing that was the day he volunteered to have his life held under a microscope and examined for faults. He had many, but cruelty to animals was not one of them. His anti-hunting stance got him some razzing from his fellow conservation officers. They tended to think that COs with wildlife management training let their love for nature get in the way of their police work. The opposite was true. Joe protected the citizens as well as the animals.

They hiked half a mile through thick pine and aspen. The sun had set, and he and Brent were now using flashlights, but the moon was three-quarters full and there was still some ambient light glimmering off the calm lake water. Thanks to Joe’s sharp eye, they found a deer trail, as well as scat droppings under some fallen maple leaves. Their path kept them within a thirty-foot distance from the lake shore. The shooter would have gotten close enough to the edge of the forest for a good, clear shot, Joe decided. Thankful for the beaten-down brush, he tracked until he spotted shell casings. Ballistic evidence. Excellent.

They stood twenty feet in from the lakeshore, well camouflaged by tall brush and a frond of wild fern. With shell casings just behind him, and the grass trampled down around them, Joe figured this was where the shooter had been positioned. He studied the ground, which was folded-down marsh grass and moss. If it had been dirt, he might have found impressions from a tripod the shooter would have surely utilized to hold steady aim and sight in the Davis property nearly a mile across the lake, as well as shoe tracks.