Page 46 of Colton’s Secret Identity

It wasn’t the cold that was keeping her awake when she should be getting much-needed sleep, though. It wasn’t the mental planning of how they’d survive whatever situation they found themselves in next that kept her neurons firing, either. One thing she’d always been able to count on was her own skill set, her experiences to date, and she had zero doubts about Dylan as a colleague on this task force.

She sighed, imagining her breath making a long, frosty cloud above her. It was too dark to see. What kept her wide-awake and sleep elusive was the constant replay in her mind of lovemaking with Dylan, followed quickly by her self-recriminations. It was all too much mental racket to allow her to fully relax. Had Dylan believed her words? Or had he seen past her bravado, understood that she was protecting herself from a repeat of the heartbreak she’d suffered when he’d left the first time?

The reminder that Dylan’s departure five years ago had only been the first of what would become two times as soon as they completed their assignment snapped her out of her obsessive thoughts. Dylan was going to leave again, and she’d be damned if she’d allow herself to go through that level of emotional turmoil again.

Turning to her other side for the umpteenth time, she listened to the night, seeking something, anything else to focus on. They were camped near the cannonball concretions—mineral deposits at the base of stratified buttes—fifty miles from the state highway they’d taken to reach the national park. Trees surrounded their northern campsite, as did a plethora of wildlife. In the deep night it was easy to mistake the rustle of a rodent for a grazing bison, or the quick footfalls of a mule deer for a coyote. She tried to picture the prairie dogs she’d seen when she and Tawny had been here with Mom years ago, how they’d delighted at the furry mammals as they popped their heads from their tunnels. There would be no prairie dogs near this campsite, though, as it required a hike to get to their habitat.

Crunch. Creak. Thump.

She sat up. Was Dylan making a walking round of their site, or of the campground? The only way he’d do that was if he was concerned about a threat from Rex or Slim. Since both criminals believed his undercover role as Hawk, she knew that at least one or both had a price on his head.

More footsteps sounded, but this time more plodding, spaced farther apart.

She quickly slid out of the sleeping bag and groped in the dark for her outer parka—provided by the same agent who’d given them their new vehicle. Her fingertips recognized the smooth material and she was in the coat, the pair of hiking boots in her size, and reaching for the mittens and skullcap in the parka’s deep pockets.

Growl.

Definitely not a prairie dog.

Dylan froze as he sat in the front seat of the car. After confirming that the footfalls he’d heard weren’t those of a person—he’d made out a distinct four-step pattern, indicating coyote or larger—he’d seen a pinpoint of light moving about the far side of the campground.

Who was out there, and why? Had they been followed by Rex, after all?

He’d utilized every tactic he knew to prevent and shake off a tail, from taking unexpected off-road shortcuts, to going a longer way around the park, to having the ranger shut down the entrance immediately after he and Veronica had cleared it.

Had it not been enough?

Maybe it’s a park ranger, making rounds. He snorted. In temperatures right at freezing, when he and Veronica appeared to be the only occupants of this particular campground? Unlikely.

Careful to not alert the person bearing the light, he’d donned the NVGs and slowly opened the car door. Leaving it open—closing it risked more noise—he edged out of the driver’s seat, lowering himself to the flat ground, scooting as quietly as possible on his butt to the rear driver’s side. They’d set up the tent perpendicular to the sedan to provide the most protection, in case of a threat. Their tent was ten feet away, where Veronica slept.

He reached for his burner to text an alert to her—

Growl.

Dylan wasn’t a wildlife expert by any means, but that low-throated warning was one he’d heard before, in the mountains of California. A mountain lion. They weren’t usual in Teddy Roosevelt’s namesake park, but a sighting of one was not unheard of. If he were a cougar, he’d prowl at night, too. A woman sound asleep in a flimsy tent was easy eating for a hungry cat. He reached for his handgun.

It was only a bit after midnight but the cold made it feel as if it should be nearer to dawn. The night animal sounds weren’t helping, either, but all weapons were locked and loaded, ready to take out Veronica—in the tiny tent—and Hawk. Hawk had no clue that someone else was here, which was infinitely amusing. Too bad neither of the two losers would know who’d shot them, who’d sent them to their graves. It was going to be a pain in the ass to move their dead bodies away from the campground, but it’d be a small price to keep Slim free from prosecution.

Shivering was unavoidable as there had been no time to prepare for an overnight in this godforsaken part of the park. No worry, though, as a tabletop under the picnic shelter proved the perfect surface to anchor elbows, aim the long range rifle and wait.

Ziiiip. Dylan watched through the NVGs as Veronica’s form emerged from the tent. His jaw clenched and his gut tightened into a leaden mass. He hadn’t figured out where either the cat or the human was, and Veronica was vulnerable to both.

He forced his gaze off her and swept the surrounding campground. The permanent outhouse stood under a tree, door closed. The other sites, each with their own picnic table and campfire pit, remained empty. The picnic shelter—

A human form, with a rifle aimed straight at him, made him jerk. “Get down!” he shouted to Veronica as he flattened himself, drawing his weapon and aiming toward the shooter.

It was then that he saw the lion, a large, four-legged beast atop the picnic shelter. The eyes of the cat widened, its nostrils flaring. He and Veronica were about to be hit, by bullet or lethally clawed paws.

Veronica didn’t hesitate after she heard Dylan’s warning. Her ribs smacked painfully onto the ground, knocking the air out of her, and she couldn’t determine what was more alarming—the searing pain in her sternum, or the sudden inability to draw a full breath. It didn’t matter. She had to back up Dylan, be prepared to protect him as he had her.

Drawing on a strength she’d been trained to tap into, she forced herself onto all fours and moved straight toward a large oak tree that grew to the side of their cluster of campsites. A shot rang out, then a second.

“Stay there! Wait for my signal.” Dylan’s command reached her as she pressed her back up against the wide trunk, grasped her handgun with both hands and held it to her chest, ready to fire.

But at what?

The sound of running feet turned her focus on Dylan, who ran past her, his pistol still in his hand. That was all she could see as the night remained dark, their tent and vehicle mere lumpy shadows only a few yards away.