Under The Agent's Protection. Jennifer D. Bokal
Everly Baker, Axl Baker’s sister. I spoke to Sheriff Haak yesterday and he informed me that I needed to identify my brother’s body.” Her voice faltered slightly on the last words, and she took another breath to steady her emotions.
“I’m Doc Lambert, ma’am, and very sorry for your loss.” The man picked up a clipboard and lifted a sheet of paper. He looked up over the rim of his glasses. “I didn’t expect you until after noon, but once the sheriff arrives, we can make the ID.”
“Are you the medical examiner?”
“Medical examiner. Pediatrician. General practitioner. Sometimes surgeon.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see my brother now,” she said.
“It’s not the way Sheriff Haak likes things done,” said Dr. Lambert. “Besides, if the sheriff told you to meet him here, I’m sure he’ll be along directly.”
“He’s not coming right now,” said Everly, knowing that the doctor misunderstood her early arrival. Moreover, being direct was the only way to deal with the situation. “But I’m here now.”
Still looking over the rims of his glasses, he repeated, “Like I said, Miss Baker, it’s not how we do things in Pleasant Pines.”
“I have to be honest with you. I think there’s been a mistake.”
“Mistake? How?”
“I don’t think this is my brother.” She gestured to the figure on the table.
“We found an ID with the body. He’d checked into the local hotel and used a credit card in his name.”
“But aren’t I here to see the...corpse and make a positive identification? To me, that means there’s a question.”
“There is some postmortem gouging to the face.” Doc Lambert paused. “Maybe I should call the sheriff.”
“Is there a rule in Wyoming that says a law-enforcement officer needs to be present to see a body?”
“Well, no. It’s just that Sheriff Haak is particular about his cases.”
“No offense,” said Everly, knowing full well that she was being persistent—possibly too persistent, “but I’m pretty particular about knowing whether my brother is dead or not.”
With a sigh, Doc Lambert set aside his clipboard. “Since it’s not against the law, I suppose there’s no harm.” He moved to the table and pulled the sheet from the body, exposing the head, neck and shoulders.
Everly’s chest constricted. A great wave of grief washed over her, threatening to drown her. She reached out to touch her brother’s hair then pulled her hand away as the urge to scream flooded through her, pushing its way up into her throat. Yet, she stood without breathing and stared at his lifeless body.
“It’s him,” she whispered. “That’s my brother.” It was like a physical blow, acknowledging that he was, indeed, gone for good. “What happened?”
“I won’t know until I conduct the autopsy and get some test results back, but it looks as though your brother got caught out in the forest at night and died of exposure. It is fairly common in these parts. Heartbreaking, but natural.”
The loss of her brother—her rock for so many years—was unspeakably painful. She didn’t know why or how, but Everly was certain of one thing: Doc Lambert was wrong. Her brother’s death wasn’t natural.
And she was going to find out what really happened to him.
Doc Lambert had given Everly directions to the county office building, only a few short blocks away. It was located on the town square in a three-story granite building, complete with pillars and arched windows. She found the sheriff’s office on the second floor and pulled the door open.
A man with dark hair and eyes stood just inside, his hand outstretched, as if he’d been about to reach for the knob. His abrupt appearance aggravated her already frayed nerves. Her heart slammed into her chest as she jumped back. Her purse wobbled on her arm, and her phone and keys fell onto the floor in the corridor. She bent to get them, and the rest of the contents—lipstick, sunglasses, wallet, receipts, chewing gum—spilled out.
“Damn.” She dropped to her knees.
The man let the door to the sheriff’s office close and kneeled down next to her. “Let me help you with that,” he said.
She reached for her phone in the same instant as the sexy stranger. His fingers grazed the back of her hand. A shiver of awareness traveled up her arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
She jerked her phone away. “Thanks,” she grumbled. “I can manage.”
“No, really.”
He handed her a tube of lipstick. “It was my fault.”
With a shake of her head, she said, “It’s nobody’s fault.” She sighed. “I just don’t need any help. Okay?”
The man lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay.” And yet, he didn’t leave.
As Everly scooped the rest of her belongings into her bag, she examined him from beneath her lashes. He was tall, well over six feet. His shoulders were broad and, beneath the fabric of his shirt, she could see the outline of his muscular biceps. Without question, he was more than just attractive—he was achingly handsome. His eyes were a rich and deep brown. He wore a plaid flannel shirt with tones that matched his eyes. He also had on a burnt orange vest—his look was rugged and yet, casually trendy.
Despite everything, Everly’s heart gave a flutter.
His outfit was hardly anyone’s idea of a uniform. But in an out-of-the-way place like Pleasant Pines, Wyoming, who knew?
“Are you Sheriff Haak?” Her voice trembled as an electric charge danced across her skin.
“Sorry, no.” The man smiled and hitched his chin toward the office behind him. “He’s in there.”
Everly’s face flamed red and hot. She had no reason to be embarrassed for the mistake, and yet she was. Immediately, she knew why. She’d been hoping all along that the tall, dark and gorgeous stranger might be the local law in these parts.
What a cliché.
The stranger stood and held out his palm to Everly. She ignored the offered hand and stood as well, taking time to zip her purse closed. Gaze still on the floor, Everly’s eyes burned with tears that threatened to fall. How could she feel anything beyond miserable? When she looked up, the man was walking down the hallway.
Exhaling heavily, Everly entered the sheriff’s office. Two desks, both empty, sat next to windows that overlooked the town square and gazebo. At the back of the room was an inner office with the sheriff’s name stenciled onto the glass panel of the door with black paint.
Sitting behind his desk, Sheriff Haak wore a dark brown uniform and a khaki-colored tie. A six-sided tin star and gun completed his outfit. In his sixties, balding and with a definite paunch, he looked much more like a grandfather than the Adonis she had just run into. Everly decided it was all for the best that she not let anything distract her from her goal—finding out what really happened to Axl.
“Ms. Baker, I presume,” said the sheriff as he rose from his seat. He waved her into his office. “I’m sorry to meet under such terrible circumstances.”
Everly approached and tried to speak, but sadness strangled her words and she just nodded.
“Sit, please,” said Sheriff Haak as he gestured to a chair opposite his desk. As she sat, he reached for an opened folder. “An autopsy is required in Wyoming to determine cause of death. First, you’ll need to see the body and