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  She hoped he was right. They didn’t have much time and she’d hate to waste what little they had on an idea that wouldn’t pan out.

  Casper walked around the asphalt parking lot, picking his way one spot at a time, looking at the tire tracks like they held some kind of clue. Yet after about the tenth parking space, he ran his hand over the brim of his hat in frustration. “Damn it, I was hoping we’d get lucky.”

  “It’s fine. There has to be something else we can find. Maybe we can get someone else to give us a lead on the girl. Maybe someone saw her coming out of the shop, or meeting up with the man whose body we found.” She touched his arm, trying to reassure him, but the same familiar burn returned and she dropped her hand.

  Would it be that way every time she touched him?

  “Let’s just keep looking. Maybe peek over there in the tree line,” she said, motioning toward the woods.

  She looked down at her fingers and wiggled them as he walked away; maybe she was just imagining the feeling when she’d touched him. Maybe it wasn’t real.

  She thought back to the first time she had ever come to Glacier National Park. She had been young, and it hadn’t been long after she had been moved into her third foster home when her foster mother, Melody Finch, had brought her to Lake McDonald. The waters were so clear that the colored stones made it look like a rainbow had been trapped under the weight of the water. The peaks of the mountains had been covered in thick layers of snow, framing the natural beauty that surrounded her.

  For the first time in her life, she had felt truly and absolutely free. In that moment, with Melody holding her hand, she had felt the burn—the love of the place that surrounded her and the love for the woman who could show her such beauty and kindness.

  Looking back, she realized the sacrifice her adoptive mother had made in taking her, a child who had been through so much, into her home. She’d loved her and raised her as her own, never treating her differently than Paul, or her sisters Raquel, Treana or Anna. Without her adoptive mother, Lex didn’t doubt for a second that she would have become a lost soul—perhaps just like the biker woman they were tracking.

  It was strange how one moment in time, one little feeling, could change a life forever.

  She glanced over at Casper. He was working his way through a thick stand of timber at the side of the parking lot. Though it wasn’t especially warm, there was the sheen of sweat on his face.

  “Come here,” he said, motioning toward her.

  She gingerly made her way through the gnarled and ripping fingers of the pines to his side. On the ground, at the tip of his cowboy boot, was a thin trail, almost like a game trail, but the ground was black with organic matter that had been torn away rather than worn down.

  “Someone’s been driving through here,” he said, pointing his chin in the direction the trail headed.

  The trees that surrounded them were too close and too thick for a normal vehicle to fit through. On the other hand, it would have perfectly fit a motorcycle.

  Casper followed the path into the woods.

  “Wait,” she called after him, hurrying to catch up. She took hold of his arm and gently tugged him to a stop. “Wait. What if this is some kind of trap?” The trail ahead of them was swallowed up by the shadows of the trees, silently disappearing into the foreboding forest.

  Her question didn’t seem unreasonable; any number of things could have been waiting for them at the end of the path, but Casper looked at her like she was a skittish deer.

  “Don’t worry, there’s probably nothing on this thing. I just need to take a look,” he said, his voice soft and low. She wasn’t a damned deer. She wasn’t weak—at least, she wouldn’t ever be again. She’d had too much of that as a child. Her strength was the only thing that would keep her sane.

  “Maybe it was just some kids having a good time with their dirt bikes, Lex. Trust me, you don’t have to be scared. I’d never let someone hurt you.”

  Casper reached down and took her hand. His fingers were rough with calluses and his skin was hot, and the burn deep down in her core returned. The movement came so fast and unexpectedly, that before she could stop herself, she wrapped her fingers around his. He led her forward, and her apprehension decreased with each step they took together.

  Though she was supposed to be watching for clues, all she could look at was their entwined fingers. She knew it was her hand in his, but she couldn’t feel where she ended and he began; rather, it was as if they were one, tightening and loosening as they flexed and moved.

  Her breath hitched in her throat as she imagined what it would be like to feel him in another, more intimate way. Her cheeks warmed and she forced herself to look away from his thick, work-worn fingers.

  She closed her eyes and tried to collect her breath and force her thoughts away from the forbidden embers of dreams that he stoked.

  Not watching, she took a step forward, colliding with him, and let go. “Whoa, I’m sorry,” she said, afraid that if she looked into his eyes again, he might be able to catch a glimpse of her thoughts and the lurid dreams that she was struggling to hide.

  He didn’t say anything, and she glanced up. His back was turned to her, and he was looking at something she couldn’t see. She stepped around him in hopes of seeing what had caught his attention.

  There, parked at the base of a tree and poorly concealed by a smattering of broken-off pine boughs, was a Harley-Davidson. A thin layer of dust covered the bike’s leather seat and several days’ worth of fallen pine needles were littered over its body.

  Casper had been right. Sometimes you knew a clue the moment you saw it; and this one had two giant skulls painted on the bike’s gas tank that stared right back.

  Chapter Seven

  The two skulls leaned against each other like they had been set there as part of some kind of Mayan sacrifice to the gods, except the sockets were painted in a red so deep that it reminded him of the color of spent arterial blood. At the base of the skulls was a coiled snake, its diamond-shaped head sitting between them, as if waiting for the exact moment to deliver the fatal blow.

  The rear fender was midnight-black, like the base coat on the gas tank, but instead of skulls it had strands of silver razor wire running down its length.

  “This thing just needs a danger sign and I think it would be the full package,” Lex joked.

  He chuckled. “Everything about it just screams hug me, doesn’t it?”

  He motioned toward the Madness and Mayhem motto that was etched into the gas tank’s lid and nodded. “I think you nailed it. I mean, just look. He must be a big softy.”

  “There’s no license plate,” she said, pointing to two empty screw holes where someone had deliberately removed the plate. “So, how can we find the owner?”

  “There should be a VIN.” He searched the bike’s frame, but he was surprised when there was nothing more than a series of scratches where someone had scoured away the machine’s identification numbers. This was a bike of someone who knew there was a possibility of leaving it behind—and didn’t want it to be traced back to the owner.

  Casper searched the ground around the bike, but there was nothing, not even a cigarette butt. Whoever had dumped the thing had been clean—too clean. It made his skin prickle.

  Even so, they must not have understood the tenacity of a CBP agent on a mission; especially when the more time that went by, the less likely they were to find out the identity of the man who had been running drugs. If they couldn’t identify the man quickly, there was no chance they would find the person supplying the Canadian Blue and put a stop to the influx of drugs, at least through Casper’s territory.

  “Did you find it?” Lex asked.

  “It’s not there.” He kicked the dirt near the back tire as he stood up.

  “Is there another way?”

 
“With no plate and no VIN, there’s only one other way we can try and find out who this bike belonged to—we’re going to have to go to street level.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He smiled. “I got a friend in the US Marshal Service, Evan Steel—he can put some feelers out in the biker community and the prison system. Maybe he can get a lead on this guy for us. Then we can track down the woman from the store. In the meantime, unfortunately, we’re going to have to call in the locals on this one. We’re on the wrong side of the border.”

  He made a quick call to the local Mounties to report an abandoned vehicle and the possibility of its tie into a criminal investigation.

  “They’re on their way,” he said, slipping the phone back into the breast pocket of his blue flannel button-up shirt. As he spoke, the sky above them darkened, sending ominous, skeletal shadows. “They said they’d be here in about an hour. From the looks of things, we may be waiting out here in the rain.”

  A rattle of thunder echoed through the timber, the sound deep and crashing and so loud that Lex jumped. Casper had a primal urge to reach over and pull her into his arms and shelter her from the storm, but he held back.

  “Do you want to go back to the truck, wait there?” Lex asked, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the parking lot.

  Her eyes were wide with fear, and the urge in him worsened. Here was this strong, incredible woman...a woman who could handle death and car accidents like they were just another day at the park, yet she was afraid of thunder. The thought was endearing.

  Lex stepped beside him and took his hand. He squeezed her and let their entwined hands fall between them as he slowly led the way back down the trail toward the car. He took his time picking through the timber and weaving around trees in an attempt to keep holding her—it felt so good, her skin against his.

  His shoulder brushed hers and as they touched, he could have sworn he heard her breath catch, but he told himself that it was nothing more than the sound of the wind in the trees.

  Rain spattered down, kicking up the thick black dirt at their feet and splashing mud against their legs as they walked. Lex was frowning as if she realized that Casper was intentionally lengthening their hike, but she said nothing and instead gripped him tighter.

  He led her toward a stand of trees where two could barely fit side by side and, as they moved, she was forced to turn slightly, putting them face-to-face. She blinked slowly as she looked up at him.

  The rain fell around them, wetting their faces like spent tears.

  Reaching up, he cupped her face in his hands, running his thumbs over the soft skin of her bottom lip. Her warm breath caressed his finger, a hard contrast against the cold rain, and the feeling only made him want her more.

  “You’re so damned beautiful.” He moved closer, so close he could feel the warmth radiating off her body.

  She stepped forward, not waiting for him to make the first move, and pressed her lips to his. She ran her tongue against his, making a need deep inside him move with carnal hunger. He wanted her. This. Now.

  He pulled her against him; her body was soft and supplicating as he pressed her to the bark of the tree. He trailed his fingers down her back, grazing over the intersection of her lower back and the top of her pants and cupping her. She was round in his hands, strong and muscular and even better than he could have imagined.

  Squeezing her gently, she moaned softly into his mouth, making him rise with a want so urgent that he felt the urge to growl. There was something so right about this moment and this woman that, as he held her, all of his misgivings slipped away. Maybe they could make something work out. He’d be reassigned to another point of entry over the winter, but he could stay close—anything to be near her.

  The tree bark crackled as he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist. She was hot against him—her body’s response to their kiss. She wanted this. She wanted him.

  Breaking their bond, she leaned her head back and sucked in a breath as he trailed kisses down her neck. He pulled back her shirt, just exposing the top of her pale skin. She was so soft. So warm. So his.

  “Is that you, eh?” a man with a thick Canadian accent asked, shattering the moment.

  Casper let go of her, and she swayed slightly. He took her hand in an attempt to help her catch her balance, but truth be told, he was unsteady, as well.

  He turned at the sound of a man’s laugh.

  “We didn’t mean to interrupt you all. If you want we can all come back a little later—give you some privacy, you know.”

  He wanted them to disappear, so he and Lex could finish what they had started. But before he could speak, Lex, who was brushing off the back of her shirt, stepped around him. “We were just waiting for you. Glad to see you could finally make it.”

  Casper gave the sergeant and his man a quick rundown of the case, giving them what little information he had. It ate at him to include more people in the investigation, but it was good to have their cooperation in finding anything on their side of the border.

  The sergeant nodded as he spoke, but the man couldn’t seem to keep his gaze from drifting to the bike.

  “You know anything about the bike? Who it may belong to?” Casper asked.

  The officer beside the sergeant leaned in and whispered something about a razor, but as hard as he tried, Casper couldn’t hear everything that was said.

  The sergeant shook his head and gave the man a look that said shut up in every language. The man shut his mouth immediately.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t a clue, but rest assured we will be looking into this bike and its owner,” the sergeant said.

  “We’d appreciate it. Any information we could get would be great. Right now we have little more to go on than a wing and a prayer,” Casper said in an attempt to build a little comraderie.

  The sergeant smiled; the motion was so tight and high that Casper suspected the man liked to hear about their failings.

  Did they think they were better than some silly Americans? Or was it something else that made the man react like he had?

  He shook the thoughts from his head. In the end, it didn’t matter what the Mounties thought. They just needed to work together to get as much information as possible.

  As they loaded the bike onto the flatbed truck to tow it away, Casper made sure to snap a few more close-ups of the bike and scene. He emailed them with a note explaining everything to his friend, Evan Steel.

  His phone rang. He turned to Lex. “Will you be okay here?”

  She gave him a confused look. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He glanced over at the Mounties, who were busy talking to the tow truck driver. Maybe he had them all wrong, but a gut feeling warned him not to leave them alone with Lex. “I gotta answer this, but stay where I can see you, okay?”

  She frowned and gave him a confused grin that he found so sexy. “No problem.”

  He walked back into the timber and out of earshot from the Mounties, but close enough that he could still keep an eye on Lex.

  “Stuck, huh?” Steel said, his words resting in the middle ground between a question and a statement.

  “Never said that,” Casper said with an acknowledging chuckle. “But I’m glad you called. You ever seen a bike like this one before?”

  “I had a chance to run an image search for you in the database. According to what I found, the two skulls and the snake image is used by only one specific motorcycle club, a group called Hells Keepers. It sounds like they do a lot of the club’s dirty business.”

  “Where are they out of?”

  “Their main clubhouse is in Calgary, but there are quite a few chapters along the borders.”

  “You know anybody that has had run-ins with these guys?”

  Steel sighed. “They are slippery. From what I’ve managed
to put together about them, they are just like American clubs—they have their own laws, and when we run into them, we have a heck of a time trying to pull any information. They are one-percenters through and through.”

  “Do you know if they are missing a member? We’d like to get an ID on the body.”

  Steel’s laughter was as tough-sounding as his name. “Trying to find out if there is a missing member would be like trying to find out if ghosts are real—in all honesty, that’s basically what these people are. They have nearly perfected a lifestyle out of staying off law enforcement’s radar, and when and if they are in it, they know how to disappear.”

  “Do you think you can at least get me a list of the most recent known members?”

  “I’ll send you whatever I can get my hands on.”

  Casper glanced over at Lex, who was leaning against their car. She was staring off into the distance and he wondered what she was thinking. Absentmindedly, she ran her finger slowly over her lip and his body went rigid with the thought of their kiss.

  “Do you know anything about their women?”

  “That we have a little more information on—we have a few of their names and addresses. I’ll send you that, as well.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “And hey, Lawrence, if you need anything else, don’t hesitate. I’ve made it a personal mission of mine to bring down as many of these clubs as possible. They’re bad business... They’re one of the abhorrent parts of our society. I hope you get your bastards. And who knows, maybe we can use this to help raise awareness of drug running across the Canadian border? Everyone talks about Mexico, but Canadian suppliers are just as dangerous and their drugs are more diversified.”

  Casper moved to hang up but stopped. “Steel, have you seen any new Canadian Blue hitting the streets in and around Montana?”

  “Over the last few years, the DEA has seen a steady stream of Blue coming through Montana and spreading across the Dakotas, Idaho and Washington.”