Wild Men of Alaska Collection - By Helmer, Tiffinie Page 0,47

bar. Pretty soon he wouldn’t have that. He texted his trooper buddy in Fairbanks and sent his GPS coordinates. Chances were this would be all over with by the time Nate could get here. Lynx was on his own, but that didn’t really bother him. He did most of his job alone.

He waited. One thing about stopping for lunch, their next step would be to relieve themselves. Then he’d catch them with their pants down.

Beer Belly was the first to stand, spitting and hiking up his belt.

“Fucking-a, Pete,” Beer Belly said. “As soon as we bag that other moose I’m going to get me some of that honey at the Lodge. Did you see the lips on that native? They’re going to look might purty around my pecker.” He turned to Chad. “Whatdaya say her name was?”

“Raven,” Chad answered, tearing off another bite of jerky.

Lynx steeled himself to remain where he was and not gut the man where he stood.

“But if I were you, I’d leave her alone,” Chad continued. “She’s got a badass of a brother who also happens to be the Refuge Officer.”

Whom they were about to meet. At least Chad was showing some sense. Dumbass. Breaking bread with these men.

“Naw,” Pete said, relaxing his stance a little. He’d yet to sit. “You can go for the native, Big Bart. I want a taste of that sweet little blonde nurse. Bet she’s a hellcat in the sack.”

Yeah, he had to die.

“You can’t be dipping your wicks in Chatanika,” Chad said, with a shake of his head. “Bad enough you’ve been hanging out there. We bag that second bull moose, and you get the fuck out of town, and forget you were ever here. No dawdling.”

“Relax, Chad,” Big Bart said. “We’re savvy enough to bag more than one trophy on this trip.” Big Bart gave a raunchy laugh along with a few hip thrusts. Pete joined in with a more sedate chuckle while Chad shook his head again.

Lynx almost felt sorry for him.

Pete looked around and then seemed to relax his guard and took a seat on a fallen log.

Yeah, get comfortable with your surroundings, Lynx thought.

Big Bart grabbed his rifle. “I’m going to go give Mother Nature a what for.” And headed off into the trees.

Lynx readied himself, inching quiet as a cat, in the direction of Beer Belly Bart.

“Don’t be taking all day,” Pete hollered. “I want to be in that blonde’s bed by sundown.”

Asshole. Sundown wasn’t happening until sometime in July, and no way was Lynx letting him get close to Eva.

“No sundown, remember,” Chad pointed out.

“It’s an expression,” Pete responded. “You’re strung too tight.”

“Let’s just get the moose and get out of here.” Chad looked around. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Pete stood, drawing his gun, scanning the clearing. A porcupine swaggered slowly by. “It’s just a rodent. You need a woman worse than we do.”

“What I need is to get this over with.”

Not to worry, Lynx thought. It will be over with soon enough.

He skirted the clearing, staying deep within the shadows. The forest seemed to hold its breath as he headed in the direction of Big Bart.

The man was whizzing on a poor bush of wild rosehips. Lynx snuck up behind him, Glock already palmed, and placed the barrel at the base of Bart’s head. “Don’t move,” he growled softly.

Bart squeaked.

“Shake it off, and put your hands in the air,” Lynx said.

“Shit, man. I need to shit.”

“Not my problem, dumbass. Come on, zip it up.” Lynx waited until the man did what he said. With his hands in the air, Lynx searched him, finding a hunting knife, pepper spray, and another firearm. He was packing more than Lynx had given him credit for.

Never underestimate your prey.

Big Bart’s rifle leaned against a tree too far out of range. First rule of the forest, you never put your rifle out of arm’s reach even while answering a call of nature.

“Hands behind you,” Lynx said.

“Come on, man, all I was doing was taking a piss. Don’t tell me there’s a law against that?”

“I’m sure the rosehips would like to file a charge. You know what this is about. You picked the wrong place to poach. Alaskans take the crime of poaching seriously.”

“P-poaching? Man, we’re out here for a nature hike.”

“Right. Hands behind you.”

“Give me a break,” Bart whined. “I can’t get my hands behind me.”

That was a problem. The man’s girth started at his shoulders and worked its way down to his gut, his legs looked fairly trim,