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It was hard to believe that this patch of wilderness was only a few miles from Paradise’s picturesque downtown. But almost half of the island was a dedicated wildlife reserve, a safe haven for an assortment of native wildlife. At least, that was the idea. Today, the reality had been far different. And although logically she couldn’t have prevented this, the weight of responsibility was heavy on her shoulders as she made her way to where the boy had last seen the frightened fawn.
Her boots sank in the soft, waterlogged ground, squishing as she pulled them from the mud. Not exactly the best circumstances for a search attempt. There wasn’t much daylight left, and the damp dusk buzzed with bloodthirsty mosquitoes. She should have stopped to apply a fresh coat of repellent, but time was running out if she wanted to have any chance of tracking the orphaned deer. So she swatted and swore under her breath as she followed the V-shaped tracks of the fawn.
Weaving her way through between the trees, she kept to the higher and dryer ground on the side of the trail to avoid covering the deer tracks with her own footprints. Twenty minutes in, she’d gone in what her GPS said was nearly a full circle, and was edging up to a gravel access road. There the trail stopped, the ground too rough for tracks.
Would the fawn have crossed it, braving the relative open?
Or stuck closer to the trees and run parallel to the road?
Taking a drink from her water bottle, she made her way east, checking the soft shoulder for any tracks. Nothing. Retracing her steps, she then went the other way, but there was no sign of the deer. Later tonight, there would be possum and raccoon tracks, but they were just waking up and the dirt was unmarred, washed clean by the earlier rain. Which meant the deer must have crossed the road. Plucky little thing.
Crossing, she scanned the ground on the far side, spotting the tiny tracks heading into a tangle of kudzu vines and trees. “The Vine That Ate the South” was what they called the invasive plant, growing fast and thick across anything that didn’t move. A bitch to hike through, but the perfect place for a tired and frightened fawn to hide.
She was halfway to the thicket when she spotted the other tracks. Man tracks. Had the poachers returned?
That didn’t make any sense. What would they want with a fawn? Besides, she hadn’t seen any other tracks before now. Of course, someone could have kept to the sides of the trail, as she herself had done. The ground was rougher and dryer there, and if she was honest, she hadn’t been looking for prints. Her attention had been on the deer tracks.
Resting a hand on her sidearm, a Glock 17, she eased forward more cautiously than before. A second-generation wildlife officer, she’d grown up in these woods and knew how to tread quietly. No need to advertise her presence—not until she knew who she was dealing with.
She ducked under the green canopy of leaves, pushing through the outer layer of vines. Ahead, a narrow game path snaked through the press of branches before opening into a clearing a few yards up. Impressions in the ground marked the progress of both deer and man. For a moment, she wondered if the teen who’d called it in could have come back here while waiting for her, but the prints were too large and deep.
A rustle up ahead stopped her in her tracks. It could be the deer she’d been tracking or some other wildlife. Or it could be a poacher. Drawing her weapon, she moved toward the sound.
Chapter Two (#ulink_5130e6df-cc67-5e22-9d89-f46755b50893)
Dylan had actually been starting to feel pretty confident. The tracks were easy to read, and the clouds had broken up, offering some extra daylight. Everything had been better than he’d hoped, right up until he’d slipped on a pile of wet leaves and gone crashing into the underbrush like a drunken tourist. Now he was face down in the muck with mud oozing into places mud should never, ever go. Pushing up, he got his hands and knees under him, then froze.
There, not ten feet away, was the fawn, curled up under the fronds of a cabbage palm, hidden well. Dylan might have walked right by him and never seen him. As it was, he was nearly eye level with the little guy. Or girl; too hard to tell from here.
Easing up slowly, he slid one foot toward it, then another. The deer blinked at him, but didn’t move. Most fawns were pretty easy to handle away from their mamas. And this one was too tuckered out to be much of a problem. At least, Dylan hoped so. Holding his breath the last few feet, he eased down into a squat in front of the bedraggled creature. A curious sniff, and then a startled sneeze. “Yeah, I know, I don’t smell very good. But I’m here to help, I promise.”
As if accepting his words or more likely, too tired to protest, the orphan simply sighed.
“Good boy. Now I’m going to get us out of here, okay?” In a move he’d learned on his parents’ ranch, he lifted the deer up onto his shoulders. “There we go. Let’s go get some chow. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“Freeze.” The voice came from directly behind him, feminine but commanding.
Damn it.
He froze, half crouching, half standing. “I can explain...”
“First, put the deer down.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.”
“It’s Officer, not ma’am.”
“Excuse me, Officer,” he corrected, his muscles straining at the awkward position he’d been forced to hold. “But I’m guessing you’re here for this fawn, same as I am. And if I set him down he’s liable to take off again.” Probably not, given how tired the little guy seemed, but it could happen. “So if you don’t mind, I’d rather just hold on to him and save all of us the trouble.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing out here, and then I’ll decide what happens next.”
“Can I at least stand up, so we can talk face-to-face?”
“Slowly. No sudden moves.”
Taking her at her word, he straightened, his hamstrings protesting at the slow pace. Nothing like a sustained squat before deadlifting a deer to round out the workday. Once upright he turned to find one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen holding a gun on him.
“Think you could put that away?”
She kept the gun steady. “You said you had an explanation.”
Fine. “I’m the director of the Paradise Wildlife Rehabilitation Center. One of my volunteers saw some poachers kill this guy’s mama, and called me to see if I could help.”
Her dark, almond-shaped eyes relaxed a bit. “Do you have any ID on you?”
“In my back pocket.”
She nodded, her ponytail of coffee-colored hair bouncing at the movement. “Get it.”
He complied, grabbing his wallet and holding it out so she could see his license as well as his work ID. “I’m licensed with the state. I’ve got a copy of my permit back in the truck if you need to see it.”
She lowered the gun, holstering it before answering. “I’ll need to see it before letting you leave with the deer, and I’ll need your statement.”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, Officer.” The fawn squirmed and he tightened his grip. “I just want to get this guy back to the center and then go home, that’s all.”
She nodded curtly, then turned on her heel and headed back out the way they’d come. “If someone had told me you were going to be out here, we could have avoided...any complications.”
“Sorry, I thought Jason would have told you. I know you guys usually want to be first on the scene, but—”
“But you figured the rules don’t apply to you?”
“No, but I thought finding the fawn was more important. I had no idea how long it would take for someone from Fish and Wildlife to get here, and didn’t want to lose the daylight. Playing by the rules could have meant losing the fawn.”
She stopped, her shoulders straightening. “I do get that. Saving the fawn was a priority, for both of us. But next time, let the authorities know if you’re going to be tramping around a crime scene.”
“Trust me, I don’t plan on making a habit of it.” He shifted the deer, his tight back muscles reminding him that he’d spent the day nailing shingles. “Believe it or not, this wasn’t how I planned to spend my evening.”
She looked him over, no doubt taking in the wet and filthy clothes and tar-crusted hair, and for the first time a real smile played on her lips. “What could possibly have been better than this?”
He smiled back. “A beer and a hot shower, in that order.” His stomach grumbled. “And food. Maybe a pizza, maybe some television. Not deer wrangling, and definitely not having a gun pulled on me.”
* * *
Sam felt her cheeks heat. That hadn’t gone the way she’d planned. “Like I said, the rules are there for a reason. Going off on your own, half-cocked, when there are poachers around—”
He held up a hand and grinned, his white teeth in stark contrast to his tanned skin. “Hey, no hard feelings. You did what you had to do.”
“Exactly.”
“And so did I. And hey, it all turned out all right in the end.”
She started to argue, but there was no point in antagonizing him. At least he wasn’t going to give her grief about drawing her weapon. Yes, she’d followed protocol, but a civilian complaint would still look bad on her record. Not to mention the paperwork it would mean. She had enough of that as it was.
Besides, she needed to maintain a good rapport with the locals. She’d been born here on Paradise Isle, but between boarding school and college she’d spent too many years on the mainland to be considered an islander anymore. Time and distance had made her an outsider, and since she relied on tips like the one the volunteer had called in today, gaining the trust of the residents was her top priority. And given that she’d just threatened to shoot one of them, she had her work cut out for her. Time to take it down a notch and try to defuse the situation.
Of course, it would be a bit easier to relax and make nice if he was more normal-looking. Maybe even a bit homely. But no, he had to be drop-dead gorgeous: tall, with broad, athletic shoulders and a lean swimmer’s build. She pegged him for a surfer. He had the sun-bleached shaggy hair and perfect tan that seemed typical of the beach bum crowd, with ocean-blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He definitely didn’t look like the director of a nonprofit, and truth be told, his movie-star looks were a bit intimidating.
They came out of the woods behind the gas station just as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Dylan moved past her in the dim twilight, heading for an old, beat-up pickup parked beside the gas station. There were what looked like dog kennels in the back, the kind used for airline travel, lashed in place with cables. Without a word he lifted the baby deer from his shoulders and tucked it into the largest cage, securing the latch with a sigh. “I’ll take him back to the center, get him fed and settled in for the night.”
She tried to smile around what felt like a dismissal. “I still have some questions for you. For my report.”
He shrugged and raised the tailgate. “Well, then, I guess you’re coming, too—Officer.” He gave a mock salute before climbing in the cab of his truck and driving off.
Sam counted to ten twice as she made her way back to her patrol vehicle. What an arrogant...well, arrogant pretty much summed it up. The man oozed confidence from his pores. She was in full uniform, carried a badge and had even drawn her weapon, but he’d been the one in control of the situation, from start to finish. Even covered in mud, he had a bearing that demanded respect. Meanwhile, she still felt like she was playing dress-up half the time. Maybe her instructor at the academy had been right; maybe she wasn’t cut out for this line of work. But damn it, she’d aced her course work and held her own in the physical tests, as well. She’d even broken the academy record for sharpshooting.
She’d worked hard to prove her instructor wrong, to prove that she had what it took. So why did she still let guys like this get to her? He hadn’t even done anything particularly awful. Yes, he should have waited for law enforcement to get there, but even she could see his motives were good. And he’d stayed calm and relaxed even when she’d been sweating bullets. Maybe because he had the kind of easygoing confidence she’d always envied. The kind that came from really knowing yourself and being comfortable in your own skin. That was something she hoped to find for herself, and one of the reasons she’d come back to the only true home she’d ever had.
Getting in her car, she checked the GPS. The rehab center wasn’t far, and if she hurried she could pick up some food first. An “I’m sorry I almost shot you” gesture. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to think this was something other than professional. Friendly was good, flirting was not.
Shaking her head at her own indecision, she started the engine and rolled down the windows. Maybe some fresh air would clear her head. She’d initially been drawn to law enforcement because of her father’s involvement, but the clear lines between law and order, right and wrong resonated with her. Unlike some of her fellow officers who chafed at following protocol, she found freedom in following the rules. Rules created order out of chaos. Rules made her feel in control. Without rules, anything could happen, which was probably why she’d reacted so badly to him tracking all over her crime scene. That, and her inner teenager’s reaction to a hot guy. Neither was an excuse she felt like sharing.
Letting her stomach do the thinking, she pulled into Lou’s Pizza. She needed to eat dinner at some point anyway—might as well share.
Inside, the tangy aromas of tomato sauce and pepperoni tickled her nose, bringing back memories of Saturday night pizzas with her dad. Once upon a time, they’d made it a weekly tradition, just the two of them. That was before her mother died, before the close relationship she’d had with the man she’d worshipped as a hero had degraded into long-distance phone calls and painfully awkward visits home.
Now that she was back in Paradise, she was going to change that. After all, if she couldn’t win over her own father, what chance did she have with the townspeople?
* * *
Dylan’s hands were kept busy over the next half hour as he dealt with the logistics of caring for an orphan fawn, but his mind was focused on the sexy wildlife officer who’d almost shot him. Shoveling clean shavings into a pen, he wondered what was wrong with him. She’d been armed, rude and way too uptight to be his type. He liked free spirits, women who knew how to let loose and have fun. Women who understood that life was about finding happiness while you could.
He wasn’t sure Officer Finley—he’d seen her name on the badge—even knew what fun was. All work, no play was the vibe she gave, with her perfectly pressed uniform and no-nonsense ponytail. No jewelry, no noticeable makeup. Of course, she hadn’t needed any, not with her looks. She almost had an exotic appeal, like a buttoned-up version of Angelina Jolie. He had a way with animals and women, and something told him there was a vixen hiding behind that badge.
The fawn pushed up against him, demanding attention.
“All right, I get it. You’re almost as bossy as she was.” He took a minute to smooth down the bedding, and then headed toward the main building, the animal tottering along beside him. He was just about to unlock the door when the sound of gravel crunching announced a visitor. He’d wondered if she’d show. He waved, then waited as she climbed down, then opened the back door and pulled out a flat white box. Oh, holy hell. She’d brought food.
“If some of that’s for me, you can arrest me right now and I won’t resist.”
She startled for a second, then shrugged and grinned. “You said you wanted pizza, and I hadn’t eaten yet, so...”
“So you took pity on me. I wouldn’t have thought I liked pity, but if it comes with pepperoni I think my ego can handle it.”
“Pepperoni and sausage.”
“My angel of mercy. Come on in.” He held the door for her, flipping on the lights to illuminate the way-too-small office area that served as command central. He pointed to the largest of the cheap metal desks. “You can sit at my desk if you like. I’ve got to go finish up with the fawn, but it shouldn’t take me very long.”
“I can help, if you like. Might go faster with two people.”
That he hadn’t expected. Maybe he was right, and she wasn’t as standoffish as she pretended to be. “Sure, another set of hands is always welcome here.”
Picking up the fawn, who had curled up on the floor at his feet, he headed for the door at the rear of the room. “The treatment area is back here.”
Without being asked, she flipped the switch by the doorway, flooding the large utilitarian space with fluorescent light. Twice the size of the office and reception area, the room boasted stainless-steel counters, refrigerators, an industrial washer and dryer, and several examination tables. One full wall was taken up by cages of various sizes, only one of which was occupied. The current resident, a tortoise with a wounded foot, looked up and then promptly went back to sleep.
Dylan put the fawn down on a large walk-on scale and made a mental note of its weight. He’d fill out a treatment form for him once he was settled. “Officer, could you keep an eye on our furry friend here, while I mix up some formula for him?”
“Sure.” She took his place at the orphan’s side, stroking the dappled fur.
He moved to the back counter, where the milk replacement powder and bottles were kept. “You know, if we’re going to eat pizza together, maybe you could tell me your first name? It seems a bit formal to keep calling you Officer.”
She bit her lip, obviously more comfortable with that layer of formality between them, before nodding reluctantly. “It’s Sam, Sam Finley. I guess I didn’t get around to introducing myself before.”
“No worries.” He knew when to back off, when to stop pushing. She was as skittish as the fawn, more so really. The little deer had already started bonding with him. She, however, was doing that one-step-forward, two-steps-back thing that he often saw in the animals they took in. Better to let things lie for a bit, rather than scare her off.
He mixed up the powder with warm water, then screwed the top on the bottle. “Want to try feeding him?”
She looked up, eyes wide. “Me?”
“Sure. It’s not hard, and he might appreciate a woman’s touch. He certainly seems taken with you.”
She looked down to where the fawn was practically wrapped around her legs, then reached for the bottle. “Just tell me what to do. I don’t want to hurt him.”
He handed it to her. “You won’t. Just tickle his lips with it a bit, and hold on tight.”
She started to crouch down to the fawn’s level.
“No, up high. Remember, the mama deer would be standing up.” He guided her arm up into the right position, surprised by the firmness of her biceps and by the heat that shot through him at the casual touch. She was stronger than he’d realized, and more potent, too. Like aged whiskey, she packed a quiet punch.
Leaning against the counter, he watched as she coaxed the deer. Her smile was back, and when the hungry baby head butted her clumsily she actually laughed out loud. “Careful, or I’m going to start think you’re a nice person.”
She looked up, startled. “Excuse me?”
“First you bring pizza, now you’re helping out and enjoying it. Laughing even. What happened to the by-the-book wildlife officer that held me at gunpoint?”
Chapter Three (#ulink_a781e09a-9ead-5c2b-8e6b-ae9f76efc55f)
Sam turned back to the deer, her shoulders stiffening. “You’re right. I’m on duty, I should let you do this so I can do what I need to do. Then I can get out of your way.”
“Hey, I’m just teasing.” He motioned for her to stay where she was. “I mean, you do seem different, but in a good way. No offense, but you were giving off a very different vibe out there in the woods.”
“Maybe because it was a crime scene?”
He shook his head, rejecting her defense. “No, I mean, sure, that explains some of it. But you’re doing it again right now, putting up some kind of virtual keep-out sign. Which, hey, if that’s the way you want it, is fine. We can go back to the cops-and-robbers routine if you like that better.”
No, damn it, she didn’t like that better. Keeping people at a distance was exactly the opposite of what she was supposed to be doing. Old habits died hard, but if she was going to learn to connect to the citizens here, to earn the kind of trust she needed for her job, she needed to find a way to be more approachable. Too bad she had no idea where to start.
Realizing he might be mistaking her silence for agreement, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “I’m kind of out of practice when it comes to making friends.” Pathetic, but true.
