Page 26 of High Intensity

“It’ll be cozy, but he should fit between us,” he suggests, indicating the dog. “I’ll strap your gear to the cargo rack.”

A few minutes later we head down a narrow trail. Murphy is enjoying the ride with his front paws on Wolff’s shoulders, tongue lolling, and his nose stuck in the breeze. There’s barely any direct contact between me and Wolff because the dog is wedged between us, but that doesn’t stop my heart from beating a little faster.

I like him. I like that he comes across as this somewhat reserved, controlled guy, but shows up on my doorstep last night looking everything but. It’s almost as if he seeks me out, despite his reluctance to get close. Call me an idiot, but I find that attractive.

Heis attractive. Tall, built like a swimmer with wide shoulders and narrow hips. Not usually a fan of long hair on men, I really like it on Wolff. An almost rebellious contrast to an otherwise pretty buttoned-up guy. Same with the gray-speckled beard; facial hair is not normally my thing but, more than once in the past few days, I’ve found myself fantasizing how the neatly trimmed bristles would feel on my skin.

And then those steel-blue eyes…

You’d expect them to be cold, yet they’re anything but. In fact, I’ve caught more heat than I would’ve thought possible in those baby-blues on a few occasions.

It’s tempting.He’stempting, and I’m not quite sure yet what to do with that.

Any musings on the subject evaporate from my thoughts when Wolff brings the snowmobile to a stop, and I catch sight of the debris field in front of us.

“Don’t touch anything.”

The order comes from an older man wearing a navy parka with NTSB initials on his chest, who walks up as we are getting off the snowmobile. I know the type: old-school, protective of his turf, suspicious of any outsiders, and maybe even disapproving of women in any professional capacity. In my experience, ignoring the attempts at intimidation and killing with kindness works best to disarm guys like this.

I slip my glove off and hold out my hand.

“You must be the investigator in charge.”

“Polman,” he confirms curtly, accepting my hand almost as an afterthought.

“My name is Jillian Lederman, and this is Murphy.” Before he has a chance to respond, I continue, “We won’t disturb anything, we just need to allow Murphy to pick up a scent. I’m sure you would be able to direct us to an item that belonged to the girl, maybe her seat. Something that is most likely to have her scent on it.”

He seems a little taken aback, and there’s a slightly awkward silence I’m happy to wait out with an expectant smile on my face.

“Right,” he gives in. “Would her suitcase be helpful? We started gathering up personal belongings from the site this morning.”

He points at an ATV with a small trailer attached.

“That would be perfect, actually.”

He starts moving in that direction while I clip on Murphy’s lead. The dog’s demeanor instantly changes; he knows it’s time to work.

“Nicely done,” Wolff whispers as we follow the investigator.

I flash him a smile and a wink.

Polman is already flipping back the brown tarp covering the small trailer and pulls out a hard-shell carry-on with country flags printed all over. One side looks almost as if it melted.

“Was there a fire on board?” I wonder out loud.

The investigator’s narrowed eyes snap to Wolff behind me.

“Hey, she didn’t get that from me.”

I point out the deformed edge of the suitcase. “I was just curious about this.”

Polman’s lips are tight when he answers.

“We have reason to suspect there may have been a small explosion. I would appreciate if you kept this information to yourself. It’s an ongoing investigation.”

“Of course,” I reassure him. “The reason I ask is because the smell of smoke can have a bit of an effect on Murphy’s ability to pick up a good scent.”

“No, no evidence of a fire,” he clarifies.

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