Read Online Endangered (9781101559017) by Pamela Beason - Free Book Online

it back? It would be a good opportunity to speak to Zack’s parents again.
    The feeling of being observed suddenly prickled up her spine. She turned her head toward the woods. Leaning against a large ponderosa was a tall, lean man, his gray suit and burgundy tie distinctly out of place amid the trampled grass and gnarled trees. His arms were folded authoritatively across his chest. His dark eyes regarded her with suspicion.
    â€œWho are you?” he demanded.

5
    SAM stood up. “ You’re the one who scared me to death. I get to ask the questions. Who are you ?”
    Something glinted in his eyes. Annoyance? Amusement? He reached into his breast pocket and extracted a leather wallet. Stepping toward her, he flicked it open. “FBI.”
    A gold-toned badge on top. Photo ID on the bottom. She grasped the wallet and compared the photograph with the man. Good-looking picture, although a trifle severe. Better-looking man. Raven hair, a square jaw with the blue-black sheen of whiskers lurking under just the bronze skin. Deep brown eyes, not the dense hue of chocolate, but a dark clear brown. Like a potent tea, or maybe an expensive brandy.
    â€œSpecial Agent Chase J. Perez,” she read aloud.
    He pulled the wallet from her grasp and snapped it closed. “Okay, now we both know who I am. Who are you ?”
    â€œSummer Westin.”
    He returned the wallet to his breast pocket, traded it for a pen, and pulled a small notepad from a rear pants pocket. “How do you spell that?”
    â€œSummer?”
    His lips twitched, but he kept his gaze focused on the pen point he had pressed to the page. She had to give him credit for poise. “The whole thing.”
    She spelled it.
    â€œMiddle name?”
    It took her a second to come up with it. “Alicia.”
    He looked up from the notepad.
    â€œI never use it,” she explained.
    His expression was skeptical. “ID?”
    â€œYou’re kidding, right?”
    â€œNo. But first”—he dug into a pocket inside his suit coat, brought out a plastic zipper-lock bag, and held it open—“the toy.”
    Feeling like a shoplifter caught in the act, she dropped it into the bag.
    â€œNow,” he said, zipping the bag, “the ID.”
    Disgusted, she exhaled loudly. “It’s in the car.” She stomped the fifty yards across grass and gravel to the vehicle, slid into the front seat, dug through her knapsack for her billfold. Through the windshield she observed Perez watching her. His right hand had disappeared under his suit coat. Probably resting on a pistol in a belt holster, just in case she emerged with a weapon.
    She took him her Washington State driver’s license. He jotted down her license number and birth date, flipped the laminated card over and back again, then scrutinized the photo, compared it with her face.
    â€œYou shaking down everyone in the park?” she asked.
    Again, the hint of a smile. He pressed his lips together briefly before responding. “Only women from Bellingham, Washington, who are making off with certain toy trucks.” He handed back the license.
    â€œI was not ‘making off’ with it. I was going to return it.”
    â€œThis is a crime scene. You shouldn’t be touching anything.”
    â€œReally? You should have gotten here earlier to tell that to the other hundred people who tramped through here today, Special Agent Perez.”
    The scowl that darkened the FBI man’s face made her regret her sarcasm. Kent was right, she was a wiseass.
    The crunch of gravel distracted them both. A park-issue truck pulled up behind her car, and a familiar lanky form emerged. Kent strode over, distinctly cleaner than earlier in the day. Shaking hands with Perez, he said, “Ranger Kent Bergstrom. Sorry it took me so long.” He scrunched up his nose and flapped a hand in her direction. “Whew, Sam, is that you?”
    Her face flushed at the reminder of