about the only thing I’m aware of going down in this backcountry tourist mecca is my blood pressure.”
The man he knew as Jayme Sheppard—or rather, Shep—stopped his coffee mug halfway to his mouth, amusement creasing the corners of his intelligent brown eyes. “You obviously haven’t had any dealings with the Grange ladies yet. And maybe if you charged reasonable fees, several of those global economies would stabilize.”
“I’ll start charging less when they stop trying to hang me out to dry right along with the bad guys so they can skip the payment part entirely.” Gunnar also stilled in the act of lifting his beer. “Wait. Is there something going down here I should know about?”
That got him a chuckle. “Not unless an uptick in jaywalking constitutes the beginnings of a conspiracy. Hell, I’ve seen rowdier tombs.” Shep’s expression turned hopeful. No, more like desperate. “Come on, Wolfe, you can tell me if you’re after a particular . . . tourist you heard is planning to visit this ninth natural wonder of the world. I promise not to buy a full-page ad in the Bottomless Press Herald announcing you’re here.”
“Sorry, my friend, I’m merely on sabbatical.” Good word, he told himself; could mean lots of different things—change of scenery, romantic interlude, career transition. If even he didn’t know why this mission mattered so much, it sure didn’t make sense to give Shep any accidental clues.
“Last I knew you liked hanging out with a bunch of nomads in northern Russia whenever you got tired of acting like a civilized human being. You get the tribal leader’s daughter pregnant?”
Gunnar merely snorted and took another sip of beer.
Shep gestured at the badge on the table. “I thought I was finally going to get to draw my weapon when the council voted to make you interim chief instead of the other guy.”
Christ, Shep had been at the meeting? “Is there a reason our paths haven’t crossed in the last two weeks?” Gunnar drawled to hide his consternation. How in hell had he missed the only black guy in the room tonight—especially one wearing enough law enforcement paraphernalia to stop a full-blown riot?
“Because I always made sure I saw you first,” Shep drawled back.
Gunnar cut himself some slack, recalling the bastard had once spent two weeks searching an English manor right under the noses of the entire family and staff.
“Those were some pretty impressive credentials I heard Duncan listing off,” Shep continued. “Refresh my memory. Instead of getting a master’s degree in fire science, weren’t you rotting in prison in some obscure little country on the Bering Sea three years ago?”
“The country was Shelkova, and I was recovering from a gunshot wound under house arrest. And since timber is their major resource, the only non-dry reading in the palace library was on fighting forest fires.” He shrugged. “If the woods around here ever go up in flames, I’m the man you want to call.”
“Your house arrest was in a palace?”
Gunnar shot him a grin. “Once I was healed and I promised my buddy, who was Prince Markov at the time, that I’d stop using Shelkova’s remote coastline for some of my sting operations, he kindly commuted my sentence.”
Of course, that hadn’t stopped Gunnar from getting a little revenge four months ago by forcing the recently crowned king to spend three days tracking down Anatol’s tribe in order to retrieve his wife. In his defense, how was he supposed to know Markov had been that much in love with the little termagant? “So, if you’re not here on patriotic duty,” Gunnar continued, “what’s up with the uniform and shiny badge? Hell, Shep, aren’t you afraid to trip over all that equipment while you’re chasing down jaywalkers?”
Officer Sheppard leaned back while adjusting the radio mike on his shoulder, then smoothed down the front of his crisp blue shirt. “It’s a proven fact women are attracted to men in uniform,” he said deadpan. “And it’s Jake. Our K-9 officer’s name is Shep. And,” Jake ground out when Gunnar choked on the sip of beer he’d just taken, “Cole and I decided to trade in our cloaks and daggers for jobs with a longer life expectancy.”
Gunnar stilled, forcing himself not to look around. “Wyatt’s here, too?” he asked, hoping to God he sounded casual. Shep sure as hell better be telling the truth about their motivation. Since this case was personal—Jane would hunt him down and finish him off personally if he didn’t find her friend and figure out what