“Maggie.”

Lost in her doldrums, she continued staring out the window at the driving rain, the world outside the tiny, shared cinderblock office a watery sea of gray. Across the gravel parking lot, cars of indistinguishable colors made a soft shushing sound as they sped down the dark gray asphalt of the highway, overhung by heavy gray clouds. Beyond the road, a pale gray mist snaked through a stand of gray-green pines. Even today, she thought, I’d rather be out there.

“Maggie!”

Startled, she rocked forward, the metal chair’s front legs hitting the concrete floor with a clatter.

“Sorry, what?”

Her partner stood in the doorway, broad shoulders nearly filling the frame. He wasn’t quite tall enough to need to stoop, but the crown of his hat sat dangerously close to the woodgrain trim.

“Grab your coat. We have a report of poaching down in Wolf Creek.”

Grateful for the excuse to get out of the paperwork sitting on her desk, she gave him a grin and a thumbs up, the chair legs scraping loudly as she scooted back and stood. Rolling his eyes, Rob turned to leave.

“Meet you at the truck.”

Glad to be on her feet, Maggie stretched, hearing the crackle in her back that said she’d been sitting too long. In fact, she’d been sitting for most of the week, as February’s heavy rains ground K-9 and tracking work to a halt. Thankfully, it had also slowed reports of poaching. This was the first call they’d gotten since the new year had begun. Sure, she reflected, there was plenty of other work to do -- community outreach, data collection, operations planning -- but Maggie preferred to be outdoors, handling Dutchess.

Grabbing her travel mug, coat and hat, she followed Rob across the front office, grinning to herself as she noted Heather watching the tall, well-built man walk past the Welcome desk with greedy eyes.

“New girl’s got the hots for you,” she snickered as she slid into the passenger side of the truck’s cab. Rob already had the heat on high. Moist, stale air blew through the vents. She adjusted the one in front of her, closing the slats.

He grunted as he entered an address into the vehicle’s GPS. “Huh. Why do you say that?”

Maggie leaned forward to glance under the brim of Rob’s regulation ODFW ball cap, trying to read his expression. It was bland, his amber eyes focused on the screen in front of him, full lips a little drawn in concentration. His gaze darted sideways, catching her looking, and he wrinkled his nose. “What?”

“I’m wondering if it’s humanly possible to truly be that oblivious, or if you’re having me on.”

Rob made a rough noise somewhere between a chuckle and a cough. “It must be humanly possible, because I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. What did she say? Or do?”

“She hasn’t taken her eyes off you since she started.” Maggie shrugged off her coat, already overheating. “God, can you turn that down?” She reached over and slid the fan control to low. ”Plus, she asked Sue if you’re single. She’s cute, right?”

The new receptionist was cute, in an obvious kind of way. Well-highlighted honey-colored hair, neatly applied makeup, decent enough figure, although her hips were a bit wide. Some guys like that, though, Maggie knew. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the richness of the French roast, undoctored, as nature intended.

Rob shrugged, taking the truck out of park and backing up in a smooth arc. “Sure,” he agreed, shifting into drive. “She’s cute.”

“Well? Why don’t you ask her out?” They’d been partnered for six months, and she had yet to hear of him dating anyone. It boggled her, as he was objectively handsome and, as far as she could tell, a genuinely nice guy. She’d never heard him speak a harsh word to or about anyone. After her experiences in college and during training in their heavily male-dominated profession, he was a breath of fresh air.

Flicking on the wipers and looking both ways before pulling out of the ODFW field office parking lot, Rob sighed. “Mags. Come on. She’s a co-worker, and I don’t know anything about her. Why don’t you pull up the call log and get acquainted with the file?”

Only Rob could get away with calling her Mags. Any other guy would get a sharp smackdown. But the way he said it, somehow, it was acceptable.

Raising her shoulders in acquiescence, she let it drop. “Sure.” Opening the state-mandated tablet, she typed in the password and opened the most recent call log. “Okay. We have a male, mid-thirties, out mushroom hunting off-trail near the Wolf Creek Falls hiking area.”

Rob glanced over, frowning. “In this weather?”

She shrugged. “That’s his story.”

“Huh. Okay. What did he call in?”

“Says he heard a single gunshot and didn’t think anything of it.” She glanced at her partner. “Smart guy, eh? Hope he was wearing blaze.” Hikers were encouraged to wear Blaze Orange vests to avoid being mistaken for deer and shot by hunters. While it wasn’t officially hunting season, it was unwise to ignore gunfire in the woods.

“Just one?” Rob asked, reaching into the console and rummaging with one hand.

“I’m getting to it.” She slapped the back of his hand lightly and pulled a stick from the pack of wintergreen chewing gum, deftly unwrapping its foil covering one-handed. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He grinned, popping it into his mouth. “Go on.”

“Our guy heard the single shot and kept foraging, following the edge of a small gorge with a stream at the bottom. He says he heard a ‘barrage of gunfire’ and someone screaming on the far side of the creek.” She paused. “How much is a barrage, do you think?”

Rob shook his head slightly, leaning forward in his seat to peer through the sheeting rain and foggy windshield. “Don’t know. Turn the fan back up, please?”

Maggie did as he asked, turning the setting to “defrost.” The haze on the glass grudgingly began to recede. From the GPS, a nasally British voice loudly directed them from the highway onto the “slip road” and Maggie chuckled. Both she and Rob found the English term for on-ramp endearing. She waited until Rob had successfully merged onto I-5, squeezing between two semis, before continuing.

“Okay-…barrage of gunfire and screams…he ran down into the gully, jumped the creek, and climbed up the other side. At the top, he says he thought he saw something moving in the brush about three hundred yards out, but the rain obscured his vision. Maybe a hundred-fifty yards away, he spotted a fallen deer. He says he approached cautiously, wary of whoever had been firing the gun, or guns, and examined the animal. It was a doe.”

Rob shook his head, lips compressed. Deer hunting season had ended in November, and at this time of year, there was a higher chance that a doe would be pregnant.

“He says the ground all around the doe was a mess of blood and tracks, with drag marks leading in the direction where he saw movement, even though it looked like the doe had been killed by a single shot to the heart.”

“Huh,” Rob pondered, jaw clicking as he chewed his gum. “Musta been a herd. Poacher prolly took down a buck and was in a hurry to get outta there with it.”

Maggie nodded absently. “Maybe. But why a ‘barrage’ of bullets?”

“You ever been hunting?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Vegetarian, remember?”

He made an impatient gesture. “‘Course I remember. But you weren’t always, I’m guessing.”

“Fair. No, I’ve never gone hunting.”

He dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “Sometimes, a buck’ll charge ya, even when it’s shot. Head on, it can be tough to put it down.”

She may not have been a hunter, but Maggie knew her way around a gun. It was part of the training, and she’d taken to it like a duck to water. She immediately understood the difficulty of hitting a narrow moving target, charging straight at the shooter. “Gotcha.”

“That all?”

She scanned the file again. “Yep.”

“When’d it get called in?”

“Late yesterday afternoon.”

“Too wet for K-9 work, ain’t it?”

She sighed. “Yeah.” It had rained overnight, washing away vital information. “Dutchess can’t hold a scent in this kind of downpour. Plus, it’s so muddy, I doubt any prints or blood evidence have survived. Won’t find much beyond casings, and we don’t need a dog to find those.” She worried her dog was getting soft and out of practice, lazing around at home in front of the space heater. The German Shepherd-wolf hybrid wasn’t made for indoor living.

“News?” Rob was already reaching for the stereo dial.

“Would you just drive?” She pushed his arm away from the controls and set the dial to KLCC 89.7, the local call number for NPR. As the familiar litany of fundraising requests and sponsor acknowledgements droned in the background, Maggie settled back in her seat, gazing out at the watery, gray winter landscape sliding past the window.

Twenty minutes later, Rob was pulling off the freeway, following the curve of the off-ramp into the tiny unincorporated community of Wolf Creek. Consisting of little more than a scattering of humble homes, an RV park, a gas-station with attached market, a post office, and a library, its one claim to fame was the historic Six Bit House, a two-story inn built in the 1850s and listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Rob turned into the gas station parking lot, pulling up alongside the state police car that sat under the cover of the fueling area, waiting for them.

The silver Charger rocked as the door opened and a large, fit, Polynesian man got out, tipping his hat to Rob and Maggie as they exited the truck. His gaze lingered on Maggie for a moment before greeting the two wildlife officers. She noted the name Anaru on his uniform nameplate.

“Nice day for a hike, huh?” The big trooper laughed, gesturing at the rain spattering the concrete on the far side of his vehicle. “Glad I’m not in your shoes.”

Maggie disagreed. “I’d rather be out in the woods than standing on the side of the highway. You must get drenched every time a semi passes.” She noticed that the cuffs of his dark blue pants were damp where they met his boots, proving her point.

He waved her comment off dismissively. “Oh sure, but most traffic stops are over in a few minutes and then I’m back in my heated car. Y’all are gonna be drenched to the bone.” Bending back down to the open door, he pulled out a tablet and set it on the hood. Maggie and Rob stood next to the tall trooper and peered down at the screen, on which he resized a map of the area to pinpoint their location. “So, I swung by and talked to the informant this morning, had him show me whereabouts the deer was.” His oversized fingers scrolled, dragging the map to highlight the coordinates given in the report. “Shouldn’t be too far off the path. Turn left at the big cedar stump and walk north until you hit the creek. He said to look for the fallen tree crossing the gully; the deer was just a little ways southeast of it on the far side.”

“He say why he was out in this weather?” Rob asked, waving a hand at the uninviting vista outside the confines of the gas station. The downpour they’d been driving in had finally slowed to a steady, dreary drizzle.

“Hah. Yeah, said he goes out to get a break from the wife and kids. Could go to a bar, but he’s seven years sober and don’t want to chance it.”

“Getting wet to stay dry?” Maggie grinned.

Officer Anaru chuckled. “Guess so.”

Rob groaned. “That’s bad, Mags.” Turning to the taller man, Rob stuck out his hand. “Daylight’s wasting. Thanks for the debrief.” They shook, and the trooper took Maggie’s slender, winter-pale bronze hand in his own massive brown paws and gave it a light squeeze.

“Stay safe out there,” he cautioned.

“Will do,” she nodded, politeness winning the day, as it usually did. Her mama would have her hide if she were rude for no real reason. “You too,” she couldn’t help adding, the tiniest of smirks pulling up the corner of her full lips. “Dangerous out on the highway.”

His smile dimmed a touch, dark eyes wincing slightly. “It sure is,” he agreed. Folding himself into the front seat of the cruiser like human origami, he waved as he pulled the car out onto the empty road.

“Fuck,” Maggie cursed as she climbed into the cab. “Just had to be a smart-mouth.”

Rob frowned slightly as he turned the key. “Yup. Hurt the man’s feelings.”

“I know it. God knows how many accidents he’s seen.” Highway patrol were first on the scene for the majority of wrecks on I-5. And more than a decade ago, the state had passed a law requiring drivers to move into the fast lane when a first responder vehicle was parked on the shoulder, due to the number of officers who’d been struck by passing traffic in the line of duty.

“Not every guy is an asshole,” Rob said mildly, pulling out onto the wet pavement.

She sighed, rubbing at the tightness in her neck. “Shit, Rob, I know that. I’ll buy him a beer next time we cross paths.”

Chapter 1

Wolf Creek