Jennifer Bokal - Under The Agent's Protection

Immediately she wondered why he’d come to Wyoming and, more important, why not tell Everly if he had a professional opinion about her brother’s death?

She clicked on the article, which was four years old. A string of killings—all single men—had stunned the hard-to-shock city of Las Vegas. The FBI, through their behavioral scientist, Thornton, had a suspect. On closer scrutiny, the suspect had an alibi for one of the killings. It was a fact that had been missed, or possibly suppressed, by Thornton.

The media didn’t have a killer, but they had an incompetent or possibly dishonest FBI agent. Thornton had been crucified by the press. And the killings? They stopped. One subsequent article wondered if it hadn’t been a fabrication of Thornton’s all along.

For a moment, she felt sorry for Wyatt. And then she wondered—if he’d have come to her for public-relations help, what would she have said? Probably that he should move someplace where no one knew who he was, or didn’t care.

At least she knew what he’d been trying to hide and why he wanted no part of a possible murder investigation.

She hesitated for only a minute before pushing back from the desk. She grabbed the keys to her rental car. As she picked up the hastily copied address, she made a decision. Wyatt Thornton had investigated murders before. He was an expert in unexplained crimes. He would know how to put all the puzzle pieces together and his was an expertise she was determined to use.

Wyatt sat behind his desk and stared at the computer screen. Nearby, a fire crackled in the hearth. Gus was lying in the middle of the room, soaking up the warmth. Eyes closed, the dog’s chest rose and fell with each breath.

Call it a compulsion, but despite vowing that he’d leave the Axl Baker investigation alone, Wyatt had dug an old case file from where he stored his important paperwork in the spare bedroom. He’d also opened an internet search for the deceased. So far, there was nothing of interest. Criminal record: two DUIs along with one violation of the Illinois open-container law. All three incidents had occurred more than seven years ago.

Wyatt also found a testimonial from Axl detailing his time in a Chicago addiction treatment center, along with several of his photographs that were part of an auction held five years back. Since that time, there’d been nothing.

Professionally, Baker was a successful photographer who worked freelance for some of the world’s most popular nature magazines. Just as his sister had said, he had plenty of experience to survive a night or two outside in the wilderness. Could it be suicide? It was impossible to really know anyone. Still, taking his own life didn’t seem to fit the profile here.

Gus lifted his head and looked toward the window, letting out a bark.

He heard the engine a moment before he saw the car’s light cutting through the gathering storm. A car turned from the main road onto his driveway. The promised snow had arrived, and the car’s headlights illuminated the flakes as they fell.

Standing at the window, Wyatt peered into the storm. Gus moved to his side and lifted his paws to the sill, barking as the car pulled up to the house.

“I see her, boy.” Even from a distance, he could see the driver—Everly Baker. The feeling of her hand beneath his fingertips returned. The memory ran up his arm and traveled down his spine. With a shiver, he threw another log on the fire.

Gus began to bark in earnest and Wyatt saved the internet search for Axl Baker, then powered down his computer. The doorbell chimed, and he paused a moment. Everly Baker was the first visitor to his house and Wyatt’s jaw instinctively tightened.

He glanced around the room—sofa, desk, easy chair. TV on the wall. Exposed wooden beams on the ceiling. He’d done all the work to the house himself, knocking down walls to create a single room. More that, Wyatt had kept the original moldings and window seat. Through all his time and effort he had created more than a home—a refuge.

Yet, he hadn’t dedicated years to have his house invaded by an uninvited guest.

He opened the door and there she was, on his stoop, hand lifted and ready to knock. The wind whipped through her hair, making it look like she was surrounded by flames. She was more than beautiful, she was fierce—the vengeful goddess of a Celtic clan. Then he reminded himself that her problem was not his and he decided to be as unfriendly as possible. “What do you want?”

Gus nosed past Wyatt, his tail wagging. The dog approached Everly, panting.

She bent down and ran her hands through the dog’s coat. “Well, who’s a handsome boy?”

The dog licked Everly’s chin. So much for being unfriendly. She giggled.

“Gus, come here.”

His order went ignored.

“Gus,” he said, dropping his voice.

The dog looked over his shoulder and trotted to stand at Wyatt’s side.

“Sweet dog,” said Everly, rising to her feet.

Wyatt shrugged. “You didn’t come here to meet my dog. What do you want?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said.

“It’s freezing out here and I just want to talk to you for a minute.” She blew on her hands and rubbed them together. “I bet Gus has a warm belly that he likes to have rubbed.”

The dog barked excitedly. Wyatt opened the door. “You can have a minute but leave my dog’s belly alone.”

After leading her to the den, he gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat.”

She sat as he took a chair opposite her. She slipped out of her coat and Wyatt took a moment to admire her outfit and the way it molded to her curves. A long, cream colored sweater accentuated her breasts and a pair of leggings skimmed over her long legs. Despite the simplicity of her outfit, Everly Baker was chic and totally out of place in his modified farmhouse.

“I won’t waste your time with small talk,” she began. “I need your help.”

“Lady,” he said. “I’m the wrong person to come to for help.”

She ignored his statement and continued to speak. “There’s something wrong regarding my brother’s death and I don’t know what it is. I get the feeling the sheriff wants this all to go away quickly and aside from him, there’s no one I can trust.” Everly paused, then said, “Except you.”

“What makes you think I’m trustworthy?”

Gus wandered to the sofa and placed his head on Everly’s lap.

Traitor.

“I did a little Googling.” She stroked the top of Gus’s head and continued, as if talking to the dog. “It wasn’t like the information was hard to find. I know who you are, Special Agent Thornton. More than that, I know that you can help me figure out what happened to my brother.”

Wyatt hadn’t been called Special Agent for years. Nor did he ever want to hear his old title spoken again. His insides turned cold and hard. “You really should leave.”

“The press didn’t treat you fairly,” Everly continued as if he hadn’t just ordered her from his home. “I mean, it’s their job to sell papers and get viewers—but I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

Who was she to decide how he’d been treated? She wasn’t there. She didn’t know what it was to have his life ruined by innuendo and implications. Rising to his feet, he pointed to the door. “Out,” he said.

Everly lifted her palms. “Like I said, I’m trying to figure out what’s going on. I need an expert and you’re an expert. I need you. I can pay, if that’s the problem. Just name your price.”

“My past is none of your business and I’m definitely not interested in your money.” His pulse raced, pounding in his skull. Clenching his teeth, Wyatt said, “Get the hell out of my house and don’t ever come back.”