Blake tapped his pen against the notepad. He’d have to ask how well she knew his brothers later. He’d left for college before they’d started high school. A curious sense of frustration knotted inside him.
Marissa dropped her arms to her sides. “Did you always want to work for the FBI?”
“No.” The Garretts were a family of law enforcement and everyone in Cade County knew it, but Blake never wanted to be sheriff. Though there was a certain pressure for Blake to conform, he’d wanted to do something bigger than hand out traffic tickets and break up marital disputes. He’d gone as far as to finish his law degree, dreaming of a judgeship, before the allure of a shiny badge had caught up with him. Something about those coveted initials, FBI, had changed his life plan without warning.
Marissa leaned her slender backside against the table and crossed her ankles. Soft, distracting scents of coconut and pineapple lifted off her. “Whoever he was, I caught him off guard. I left him on his back by the lake and ran until I saw a car. I flagged the guy down and asked him to drop me off here. My car’s still at the base camp parking lot. I had to run in the opposite direction, and I was afraid to double back. I can pick it up when we go see the crime scene.”
* * *
THE SWOON-WORTHY AGENT stretched onto his feet and loomed over Marissa. His sharp blue eyes cut a line across her bruised face, lingering at her equally sore collarbone before returning to her eyes. “Fine. We can talk more on the way.”
He patted a rhythm on the wall, and his brothers appeared. “Give me five minutes to change, then follow us up to the lake.”
The men exchanged looks and broke off in three separate directions.
Several minutes later, Blake returned in a pair of low-slung jeans, military boots and a slate-gray T-shirt. He’d screwed a plain navy ball cap over his thick dark hair and covered his serious blue eyes with tinted aviators. An impressive FBI badge completed the look. “Time to saddle up.”
Marissa followed a line of Garrett men to their cars. She smoothed her hair and straightened her shirt, uncertain if the bubbling of nerves in her core was caused by a return to the crime scene or something else entirely. Plenty of women’s daydreams had begun like this in Shadow Point. Alone with multiple uniformed Garretts. Fortunately, Marissa had spent four years of high school learning about the inevitable heartbreak a lady could expect from any one of those unbelievably attractive packages. What she couldn’t figure out was why Blake Garrett had thrown her off balance? The others didn’t faze her, but they also didn’t command a room with their presence the way Blake did. If she remembered correctly, he was just four years older than West. Five years older than her. He’d left town long before she’d thought about guys beyond their inability to beat her at anything at all.
The men stopped beside a big black pickup. The truck hadn’t been in the lot when Marissa arrived. Blake pointed a fob in the truck’s direction and the locks popped up. “Miss Lane?” He extended his hand. “Boost?”
Why not? She grabbed the open door frame in one hand and placed her opposite palm on Blake’s. His warm, calloused skin sent a jolt of electricity through her. Blake closed strong fingers over hers and waited as she bounced into the cab.
The door snapped shut behind her, and the Garretts circled up, speaking too low for her to understand. The men seemed to take turns examining her through the closed window. Blake adjusted his ball cap a few times before breaking free from the group and swinging into the driver’s seat.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“No.” He slid his eyes in her direction briefly, checked the rearview, and gunned the engine to life. “Someone attacked you today. That’s a big problem, and I plan to fix it.”
Chapter Two
Blake slowed his truck at the national park entrance where a line of cars blocked the gate. A park ranger moved car to car, waving his hands and pointing toward the exit.
“What the hell?” Blake powered his window down and shoved an elbow over the frame. He tipped his head through the open window. “Hey, what’s going on?”
The ranger, still two cars away, shot him a dirty look and continued arguing with the driver of a rusted hatchback.
Blake shifted into Park and climbed down from the cab. He gave Marissa an authoritative stare. “Stay put.”
She released her seat belt and twisted on the seat, scanning the scene outside. A big white van with a satellite on top came into view, along with a cluster of people and cameras. “This day keeps getting worse.”
“What?” Blake peered over the crush of stalled vehicles. “The reporter?”
“I think the good Samaritan who drove me to the sheriff’s department is being interviewed by that news crew.”
“Sonofa—” Blake slammed his door and headed into the chaos. His FBI shield bounced against his chest on a beaded metal chain. “Hey,” he called again, “what’s this about?”
The ranger sagged in relief. He motioned to Blake’s badge. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were FBI. It’s pandemonium up here.”
“You want to fill me in?” Blake asked.
“Some guy showed up with a news crew an hour ago. He says a woman was attacked here this morning. They aired a live interview snippet, and people started pouring in to have a look at the crime scene. Campers are scared. Some are leaving. The phone won’t stop ringing.”
Blake could barely hear the phone inside the little guard booth. He climbed onto a massive tree stump painted with the park hours and strained for a better look at the crowd near the white van. A man in Dickies and flannel stood beside a woman Blake recognized from
