“But you don’t know who he might be working with, and it’s illegal to just run around and take people’s blood or ask them to spit—right?”
He grinned. “Something like that,” he told her. He was looking out toward the trees; she felt him straighten, and for a moment, she thought that he had seen someone he mistrusted—or perhaps the ghost of someone walking in the trees.
But he lowered his head and said softly, “Hey, take a look. Be quiet, and he’ll hang around awhile. There’s a moose over there.”
She turned slightly. And she was awed by what she saw. The animal wasn’t a hundred yards away from her; he was beautiful. And huge. She’d seen a moose before—in a zoo. But it had been a little one, and it hadn’t been standing in the snow by the beautiful rich green canopy of a field of pines.
“You do have to be careful with them. They’re very powerful, and if they’re frightened...” Thor warned.
“Do you know, the last thing on my mind is thinking of a way to bug a moose,” she said.
He grinned. “We get them by the compound, and some of them come up for scraps now and then. But, sometimes, people just want to feed them and they do it awkwardly and they wind up getting kicked, and a kick can do you some damage. Wildlife is just that—wild life.”
“He’s fantastic,” Clara said, and she studied the strong lines of his face. “You love Alaska, don’t you?”
He looked back at her. “I do love it. It is my home. I’ve lived away from it. I may live away from it again. I am a Bureau guy—when I need to move around, I do. But there’s always a little Alaska in my heart. You?” he asked her. “Do you love home—New Orleans?”
“Magical and unique, and yes, of course, I love it. But...I do what I do. I leave when I need to.” She grinned. “Yep, and there’s always a little NOLA in my heart!”
He seemed lighter that evening. He’d found a tool that had been sharpened and honed and used to chop a woman in two. She knew that he cared about the victims of crime, and cared deeply.
And still, he somehow seemed a bit lighter.
She liked to think it was because of her. And the night they had shared.
And it was, or so it seemed. He gave her a wry grin and said, “Hm. Kind of like one of those old magazine articles my mom used to read—‘Can a charming Southern actress and hard-nosed Alaskan G-man find happiness somewhere in between?’ Anyway, I guess that’s for the future,” he added huskily. “There are so many men working this damned thing, you’d think that we’d turn up more than what we’re finding.”
She nodded, entranced by his words—and yet he had quickly changed in demeanor.
“Any sign of anything on the mainland?” she asked him.
“Not that I know of yet,” he told her. “Shall we see what’s up with Jackson? I could go for some hot coffee—it’s been a long day.”
She looked over at the moose one more time. The majestic animal was watching them in return. She smiled and turned to Thor. “Yeah, we should go in. But...he’s amazing. The moose. He’s just watching us.”
He grinned. “Something like that. Yes. Down by you, the gators just watch, right?”
“Out in the bayou. Honestly, I haven’t seen one walking down Bourbon Street lately.”
His arm still around her shoulder, he led the way to the porch so they could join Jackson.
Jackson said, “Let’s get somewhere private. FaceTime with Angela—she has some reports for us.”
A police officer was reading a newspaper in the living room; they headed through to the office that Marc Kimball had allowed for their use, glad to see that Kimball wasn’t about.
Jackson headed to the desk and tapped on computer keys until Angela’s face appeared before them.
She greeted them quickly. “We’re still tracing letters to and from Tate Morley when he was in prison. Some went to women we’ve found around the country,” Angela said, and shook her head. “It never ceases to amaze me—the amount of men and women who fall in love with serial killers, many of them believing that they are the one who can cure a bad boy or girl. At any rate, we’re following up on a few leads where someone was mailing from a drop box in Los Angeles. There was nothing about killing, meeting up with one another, escaping—anything like that—in the letters. But Will is working on this—you know his computer and illusion skills!—to figure out what is really being said.”
“Same LA address on a number of exchanges?” Thor asked.
“Yes, and they’re all about finding God, whiteness, purity, and leading a new life in all that’s pure,” Angela said. “Thing is, we should be able to track whoever these letters are going to and coming from, but...it’s a mailbox. And it hasn’t been paid in a few weeks. It was rented to—and you’re going to love this—Jane Doe.”
“Someone just rented a box to someone named Jane Doe?” Jackson asked. “Really?”