Page 53 of Love Me Dangerous

“What does your dad do outside of hunting season?” I ask to distract myself from the pain.

“Fishing is permitted all year, plus there’s wildlife and habitat research to complete. Education and outreach. He also collaborates with law enforcement.”

“Seems like a big job.” We round a broad curve, and the lake comes into view. The cloudy sky has turned the surface leaden and thick.

“He’s very dedicated.”

I detect a hint of pride in her tone, and defensiveness. As if she’s used to standing up for him. “But unpopular sometimes?”

She raises an eyebrow. “It’s part of the job. Hunters come in two varieties: Those who are respectful and understand the need for limits and regulations. And those who feel entitled to take what they want and don’t like anyone getting in their way.”

“Does poaching happen a lot?”

“It’s hard to say. He’s responsible for thousands of acres. If someone takes an animal illegally, and Dad doesn’t catch them red-handed, theonly reasons he’ll find out is if another hunter sees something or the poacher leaves evidence behind.”

“Which of those happened today?”

Her gaze meets mine for an instant, as if she’s trying to read me. “A decapitated bull elk.”

“Someone left an entire elk behind?” I’m not much of a hunter, but an elk would feed a family for a year, at least. “And this isn’t the first time?”

“Dad thinks it’s a trophy hunter.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Say you really want a mountain lion’s paw, or a Bald Eagle’s tail feathers, or the antlers from a Big Horn Sheep.”

“People kill Bald Eagles?” My neck prickles. “That’s awful.”

“Sometimes these trophy hunters use illegal methods, too.”

“Do they go to jail?”

“Depends. For hunting a federally protected species like Bald Eagles, or illegally trapping or baiting any animal in order to hunt it, yes. But most other violations don’t equal time in jail.”

“No wonder he carries a gun,” I say, mostly to myself.

She releases a soft sigh. “Thankfully he rarely has to use it.”

“You worry about him.”

Sofie turns at a light, which takes us into town. Above, to the left, Bear Mountain is hidden by the clouds, though a dusting of snow coats her flanks.

“He’s very cautious, but plenty of hunters aren’t happy to see him when he’s out patrolling. Add in that they are all carrying guns, are often drunk, and if they haven’t been successful, are pissed off, it can be a very stressful job.”

“Does he ever deal with stuff not related to hunting and fishing crimes?”

She stops at a four-way intersection, then turns left. “He helped solve a murder once. This guy killed his business partner and then claimed it was a hunting accident. Oh! Another time, there was a survivalist living illegally out in the boonies who was trying to build a bomb. Federal agents did most of the work, but Dad was part of the team that brought him in.”

I think of that trailer slash meth lab. Rowdy Whittaker has likely seen it all.

“Do people bury stuff out in the woods?”

She frowns. “Besides a dead body?”

“Maybe to cache something.”

“During the Centennial Trail Race, runners could leave supplies ahead of time at the way stations. I remember because Dad was part of the search team when one of the racers went missing.”

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