Running Free (Woodland Creek)(35)

I climb out of the bed and pull her naked body against me. “Do you know how to shoot a shotgun?”

She freezes in my arms. “Otis taught me.”

“Good, then we’ll go bear hunting tonight. After your shift. It’s my damn job so I’ll already be on patrol looking for that f*cker. But when you get off, you can come with me. The forest ranger said it’ll take a few shots to kill the damn thing.”

“Thank you,” she says and relaxes into my arms. “I have to protect anyone else who knows me. I know it seems like a bear is doing this but trust me, Gunnar. There is more to this that you don’t understand.”

I stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head. “Like what?”

The missing puzzle piece. A big one.

It’s like she’s clutching it behind her back — internally warring on whether or not she should give it to me.

Hand it over, hádanka.

Her sigh is loud and I know today won’t be the day I find out what it is she’s hiding. “Just more. Don’t rule out that there’s someone with ‘motives.’ This wild bear story just isn’t it. I can feel it.”

“I trust you, Frankie. While you work your shift, I’ll keep following leads. When I pick you up at two, we’ll go hunting,” I tell her as I grip her ass. “But until your pretty little ass goes to work, I’m going to feed you.”

She pulls away and gives me a saucy grin. “I’m in the mood for hot dogs.”

My mind goes straight to the gutter and she giggles when my cock hardens between us.

“No, really, Gun. You make the best hot dogs.”

She’s still having a good laugh at my expense when Cutie Pie pushes through the bedroom door proudly carrying one of her boots. It’s been chewed all to hell.

Oh, shit.

“You little f*cker!”




I grin as I pull down a long gravel driveway. Earlier, Frankie was pissed that Cutie Pie ate not one but both of her boots and chewed her underwear all to hell. It was embarrassing that my dog dragged all of her clothes out of the house and into the backyard. He’s been such a good pup until today. I’m not quite sure what’s gotten into him.

Pulling into the circular driveway, I park in front of the small cabin where smoke billows from the chimney. I snatch up my printed paper from the office and glance at it. Fitz and I have been combing the homes that dot the lake, questioning everyone if they know anything in regards to the Woodland Pond murders. So far, nothing’s turned up, but we keep trying despite the forest ranger’s belief the homicides were from a bear.

My phone chimes with a text, interrupting my thoughts, so I pause to read it. Fitz. Earlier, I asked him to look up Joe Harrison to make sure he wasn’t fostering anymore kids and if he was to contact the local authorities to see about opening up an investigation. He’d told me he’d get back to me with an update.

Fitz: Harrison died nine years ago. Murder. Apparently really f*cking gruesome. Don’t have to worry about him touching kids anymore. The witness was underage and was attacked too but survived.

The news should have me shouting from the damn rooftops for Frankie’s sake. Instead, I’m thrown yet another curveball. A part of me wants to connect this new puzzle piece to the crimes here in Woodland Creek. Another piece that links to Frankie.

Frankie seems far from convinced that these murders had anything to do with a bear. I know I’m the detective here, but I can’t help but believe she’s right. If someone built the right kind of weapon, a knife that resembles the claws of a bear, it would be easy to throw the police off. And, duplicating bear prints wouldn’t be that difficult either.

I’m with Frankie on this one.

Something stinks.

I can’t be convinced all these homicides, all teens who knew Frankie, are just f*cking coincidence. Someone is out to ruin her.

I climb out of my Tahoe and trot to the front door. My heavy footsteps clatter on the wooden porch steps and before I can raise my hand to knock, the door cracks open. A dog yaps like crazy in the background and I’m instantly on guard. Slipping my hand to my gun, I use the other to show the occupant my badge.

“Woodland Creek PD. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

The door opens further and a man, much larger than me, breathing like he just ran a f*cking marathon fills the space. “About what?”

His voice is gruff and a nasty scar runs down his forehead, splitting his eyebrow, and continues down his cheek to his jawbone. Beads of sweat are on his upper lip despite the cooler temperatures.

I can’t hardly think with the dog going nuts and apparently he feels the same because he jerks his head over his shoulder to look back into the house. “Shut the f*ck up.” I’m shocked that the dog quiets at his words but my hackles are raised by his odd behavior.

“Do you know Jennifer Collins?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Never heard of the name.”

I grit my teeth at his uncaring attitude. “Well, she was pregnant. And someone murdered her last night.”

“Sucks to be her.”

“Yeah,” I snap. “Sucks to be her. Can I ask you where you were between the hours of midnight and two in the morning?”

He scowls at me and wipes at his brow with the back of his hand. “What are you insinuating?”