Chapter 3

Nearly an hour later, they were driving at a sedate forty-five mph through Yellowstone National Park, their destination since Mindy was a hundred percent sure that's where Tate had been heading when he'd decided to go "off the grid."

"And you said you didn't have any people skills…" Mike said, chuckling beside him. "She folded like a cheap suit. I can't believe she even marked spots on the map for us."

Cyrus felt a smile tug at his mouth. "You know, she could be sending us on a wild goose chase."

Mike wrinkled his nose. "I thought about that, too. But she looked pretty worried about him." He glanced at Cyrus. "I heard you shot Norman Ellis during a takedown."

"Dumbass was goin' for his gun. I warned him. I gave him a chance to do the right thing."

"That's what I heard. Clean shooting. People still like to talk. I just think they were jealous they didn't get a piece of the action. It's not exactly exciting working in the PD. Traffic stops and domestic issues get boring as hell. Having the Montana Bounty Hunters setting up in town is the most exciting thing that's happened in a while. All the folks in the West Yellowstone PD have been gossiping like hell about the new hunters."

Cyrus kept his gaze on the highway but shook his head. "What do they think about you working for the agency? They give you any shit?"

Mike smiled. "They asked me to let them know if there were any more part-time openings. They also wanted to know how I got my ‘in' because they heard MBH was being picky. I told them to be open-minded when they cross paths with the hunters and share information if they can. We're all on the same side. We all want the bad guys behind bars. It doesn't have to be a competition."

"That's good advice. I've been in some towns where the police chiefs get their noses all out of joint because you're stepping on their territory. They can be…unpleasant."

"I can imagine," Mike murmured. "We're coming up on the RV park."

Cyrus turned onto the road leading into the park. RVs were neatly lined up in a row. They stopped in front of the park's showers and laundry building and stepped down from the SUV. They left their gear inside the vehicle, clipped their badges to their shirt pockets, and headed to the door.

Inside, a few people were folding clothes or exiting the shower room with wet hair. They stopped several and showed them Tate Smith's photo. No one had seen him. Several asked whether they should be concerned. They'd assured the park visitors that they didn't think they were in danger and weren't at all certain that Tate was even inside the park.

After they left the building, they took a slow drive through the campground, looking for anything that caught their eye.

"He'd have to show ID to get a space," Mike muttered. "I can't imagine he'd reserve a spot."

"We'll have to follow the highway around Yellowstone Lake," Cyrus said. "His girlfriend said he liked to pitch a tent on the sly. We'll check any cutouts or picnic areas. He could park, then head into the woods nearby."

"We should be looking for his truck, though I'm sure he's swapped tags." He flipped through the folder Liesel had provided them. "GMC truck, red, rear bumper dinged up."

Cyrus snorted. "We might see twenty that match that description today."

Mike nodded.

Cyrus followed US Route 14 around the north end of the lake. They took a minor road heading toward Storm Point Trail, which looped down toward the lake.

"She did mention that they'd hiked it before…" Mike said.

They parked at the trailhead beside a park ranger's Chevy Tahoe. They spotted a red truck tucked into the far end of the gravel lot and peeked inside. It was dirty enough to be Tate's but not definitive proof they'd found their man. The license plate didn't match what was in the file. They geared up anyway and headed down the trail.

As the trail approached the lake's edge, they heard a deep huffing sound and then a deep growl.

The men shared a glance and drew their weapons.

Cyrus had heard bears before, and the roar that followed was unmistakable.

In the distance, he heard a woman's muffled shout and the crisp report of a rifle.

"You fucking idiot!" the woman shouted. "Let him have the fucking fish!"

The voice was feminine but a little gruff.

They stepped off the trail, heading toward the sounds of someone running, perhaps more than one person, and the heavier thuds of something else crashing through the brush.

Both men moved toward the noises, breaking into a clearing just in time to see their target, Tate Smith, twisting to toss his string of trout at a charging grizzly bear while a woman dressed in a park ranger's grey shirt and green trousers held up a canister of what Cyrus assumed was bear repellent.

The two hunters charged forward, shouting and waving their arms, matching the roars of the bear, which paused its headlong pursuit to jump its front paws on the ground to face them. Its neck stretched alarmingly, exposing more of its mouth and large teeth as it issued another loud bellow.

Cyrus sucked in a deep breath. Facing a bear with a head nearly as broad as his chest would rattle the bravest man. Just when he braced his weapon on his empty palm, the ranger sprayed a stream of bear repellent, and the bear jerked back, shaking its head. Then, peering back at the four people in the clearing, it must have decided the odds weren't in its favor and turned and ran toward the water, its bellows sounding more like cries.

For a long moment, the four in the clearing bent at the waist and breathed hard. Cyrus recovered first and aimed his weapon at Tate Smith. "Tate Smith, I'm a Fugitive Recovery Agent, and I'm taking you in. Raise your hands where I can see them."

Tate Smith's mouth tightened in a sneer, and his gaze cut to the side.

Cyrus cussed under his breath and headed toward Tate before the man broke away and darted into the brush. Cyrus gave chase, Mike was on his heels, and he was pretty sure the ranger was, too.

What a fucking clusterfuck. Cyrus kept his gaze glued to the back of Tate's red and gray plaid shirt, knowing if he didn't keep him in sight, Tate could give them the slip. Running through the forest at breakneck speed wasn't the way he'd wanted to spend his afternoon. He hopped over fallen limbs and stubbed his toe a time or two on vines hidden in fallen leaves.

Mike passed him and ran at an angle from Cyrus's straight line, putting himself between Tate and the trail in case their target decided to change directions.

Cyrus was glad Tate was in flight mode and likely not thinking with all the adrenaline pumping through his body. When his shirt disappeared from view, the racket he made crashing in the underbrush pointed the way.

The park ranger stayed on his heels, which surprised him. She wasn't especially tall, and his long limbs were stretched trying to keep up with Tate's wild dash.

Ahead, he heard a cry and a crack. He halted and turned his head to the side to listen. A howl arose, followed by a string of curses. He moved steadily toward the direction of where Tate was making a huge commotion.

He'd fallen, and his foot had tucked under a fallen tree trunk while his shoulder had slammed to the ground on the opposite side of the trunk. From the unnatural angle his foot made wrapped around the trunk, Cyrus guessed he'd broken it. From the way he wasn't moving his shoulder and was taking quick breaths like a woman giving birth, he figured he might have broken a collarbone or a dislocated shoulder, too.

"Well, shit," he said, holstering his weapon and moving closer to his skip. "Today hasn't been your lucky day, has it, Tate?"

Tears filled the man's eyes. "It's fucking not fair. First, a fucking bear. Then a fucking goddamn tree. You can fucking go to hell."

"Yeah, well, I don't care if you cuss, but there's a lady here with us." He glanced to the side and saw the ranger raise a single eyebrow. "Why were you with Tate in the first place?" he asked.

"He parked his truck at the trailhead. It was the second day in the same place, which meant he was either in trouble or camping where he shouldn't be. I was going to encourage him to pack up and move on." She narrowed her green gaze on Cyrus. "You're bounty hunters—he the reason you're here, too?"

He nodded.

The woman looked across at Tate. "Yeah, you must've stepped on a lot of pavement cracks. Let's see about getting you to a hospital."

"We'll take care of him," Cyrus said.

"He's in the park. We can take him to the Lake Medical Clinic in Lake Village. It's not far."

Cyrus glanced at Mike.

Mike grimaced. "We'll have to do a two-man carry."

"I don't think you should move me. Send a helicopter," Tate said, sounding breathless.

"We're not gonna do that, Tate," Cyrus said, his tone not the least sympathetic. "You broke an ankle. You're not anywhere near dying. Just shut up. You've already been a huge pain in the ass."

The woman removed the radio from her belt. "I'll radio the clinic to let them know we're on our way," she said.

Milly Bauer followed the two burly bounty hunters back to the trailhead as they carried Tate Smith between them. They made it look easy, although both men were coated in sweat by the time they arrived back at their vehicle. When she mentioned loading Tate into her Tahoe, she'd gotten another of the bigger guy's scowls. He acted like she was trying to horn in on his takedown. She didn't give a rat's ass who got the credit. However, they were operating inside the park, so it was her duty to make sure rules were followed.

Once at the clinic, the nicer one followed Tate Smith to the imaging center to get X-rays of his right foot and shoulder. It looked like he had indeed broken his ankle and several smaller bones in his foot, as well as dislocated his shoulder.

"They'll be a while," she warned the bigger guy. "I'm Milly Bauer, by the way," she said, holding out her hand and hoping he'd give her a name because "nicer guy" and "bigger guy" would likely blurt from her mouth if she didn't have a proper name to assign the two hunters.

She guessed his eyes remained permanently narrowed—maybe it was genetic—because his eyes didn't widen when he reached slowly to shake her hand.

"Cyrus Walsh."

"And your friend?"

"Mike Meakin. He's a police officer with the West Yellowstone PD."

"So, he's got a real job when he's not hanging with bounty hunters?" She meant it as a joke, but the chilly look he gave her said he didn't appreciate her humor. She held up her hands. "Didn't mean to offend."

He grunted and turned in his seat to stare down the hallway where his friend had disappeared. "You don't have to wait around with us. We've got this handled."

"My boss wants me to stick with you and escort you out of the park after your prisoner is fixed up. He really doesn't like bounty hunters."

Again, he grunted, and she found she rather liked the rude sound. Most men weren't as honest about their disinterest in her.

"So, have you ever faced a grizzly before?" she asked.

"Have you?" he asked, his head swiveling toward her.

She unclipped her can of bear spray from her utility belt. "Nope, but I did come prepared." She sniffed the fingers that had held down the nozzle when she'd sprayed. "Can't believe soap and water worked so well."

"I was curious why you didn't go straight for your gun," he said.

"I didn't want to kill the bear if I didn't need to."

"He was charging you and Tate."

"I was in his territory."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'd have pulled my Sig," she said, patting the weapon in her holster, "but that was a grizzly, and if I'd shot him, I might have only pissed him off. Who says I'd have had a chance to take a second shot."

His jaw rotated, and then he clamped it tight.

"Seeing as you're so gun-ho ," she said, wincing at her own pun, "why'd you decide to make noise and charge the bear instead of shooting?"

"I wasn't close enough to be in any danger." His mouth curved into a slight smirking smile.

She narrowed her eyes. "But I was."

He shrugged. "You looked like you had things handled with your can of bear piss."

Was he trying to piss her off? "It's not bear piss; bear repellent is made of hot peppers, capsaicin to be specific." She laughed and shook her head. "Are you always such an asshole?"

He sighed and wiped a hand over his face. "I'm not good with people."

"No kidding." Still, she grinned—and noted that his gaze dropped to her mouth before darting back up to her eyes.

His scowl deepened, his eyebrows drawing together.

Milly rather liked earning those frowny faces. At least he wasn't ignoring her.

He cleared his throat. "Seeing as how Mike's going to be a bit, you want to get some coffee?"

She hid her surprise and shrugged. "We can get fast food, or there's Wylie's Canteen in Lake Lodge. We can get coffee and some sandwiches there if you like. Maybe bring something back for your friend and Tate, too…?"

Cyrus rose to his feet. "I'll text him and see if he needs to visit the facilities before I leave."

He pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly typed a message. "He says he's good. He'll eat anything but hates mayo."

"I'll drive since I know where we're going. The canteen, right?" At his nod, she pulled her keys from her pocket. "It's not far."

The short drive was made in silence. The cafeteria wasn't too busy, so they quickly queued up their trays and pushed them along the rail. Such a domestic thing to do, and she knew they looked absurd—her in her uniform, standing beside a big brute of a handsome man. Everyone was craning their necks to watch as they plucked pre-made sandwiches from refrigerated displays, adding chips and drinks before sliding their stacked trays toward the register.

"I got this," Cyrus said.

"I'll get my own food."

"Already have my wallet out."

She raised both eyebrows and slowly nodded because she figured he was determined to win. "I appreciate it. Thank you. Do you want to eat here or back at the clinic waiting room?"

He glanced at his phone. "They're still waiting on imaging. Let's eat here."

They took seats at a small table overlooking the parking lot and began unwrapping and opening their food and drinks.

"You live in the park?" he asked.

She was surprised he was making an effort at polite conversation. She lifted a crisp potato chip. "I don't. Actually, I live in West Yellowstone. I was born and raised there." She chomped on the chip while he gave her another hard-to-read frown.

"Well, hell," he said under his breath.

She laughed, although she knew she should've felt insulted by his lack of enthusiasm for what she'd shared. "Thought you'd never bump into me again, didn't you?"