Page 3 of Crimson Moon Falling

Gunnar pointed at the photo. “That’s Viggo Johansen there, the one on the end.”

I examined the man. He had a beard that didn't cover his scowl, and he stood a little apart from the other rangers. Something about his face tickled my memory.

Movement caught my eye, and I turned to see a bulky man with curly brown hair, a sweeping mustache, and dark brown eyes step out of the last office. “I’m Harlan, area administrator for the Old Faithful District. Are you the ISB agents?” He was close to Gunnar’s size, and a steady, grounded energy rippled around him. Freda had mentioned Beau Harlan was a bison shifter. Beau eyed Freda and Bennion curiously.

“We’re Betas from the Northwestern Pack, and Riley’s bodyguards,” Freda informed him.

The administrator’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Can someone tell me why Alpha Segerson sent two Beta enforcers with you? We’ve coexisted without issue for years.”

Freda glanced at me. “We’re here for Ms. Blackthorne, Patriarch Harlan. We’ll be outside.” Gunnar and I walked into his office, and Freda closed the door behind us. I assumed “Patriarch” was the term for the male in charge of a bison herd.

The man’s gaze sharpened as he gestured to the chairs across from his cluttered desk. The seat creaked under Gunnar’s weight, and I felt like a small child next to these two giants.

Beau turned to Gunnar and absently twirled a mustache end between his fingers. “Neither of you are wolf shifters, and those hellhounds belong to Alpha Segerson. What’s going on?”

Chapter 2

Riley

Gunnar raised an eyebrow at me and nodded toward the Park administrator. I looked younger than my age, and most people overlooked and underestimated me. It was safer that way, but sometimes it grated.

I straightened. “Don’t worry about them. What can you tell us about Viggo Johansen’s disappearance?”

Beau glanced at the thick, double-headed wolf necklace at my throat as he lowered his bulk into his oversized office chair. He stared at us until the silence grew uncomfortable. When neither of us rushed to fill it, he leaned back.

“Johansen retired not long ago after thirty years as a ranger. He lives in Alpine, Wyoming, down by the Snake River and still volunteers with searches and rescues.”

“When was the last time anyone saw him?” Gunnar asked.

“Six days ago. His neighbor noticed his mail was piling up, and he hadn’t asked her to keep an eye on his place like he usually did. It was out of character, so when he didn't come home, she filed a missing-person’s report with the Sheriff. We found his truck in the Yellowstone Lake parking lot, with blood on the driver-side door.”

“Has he disappeared in the past?” I asked as I studied Beau’s energy. He didn’t seem too torn up about Viggo’s disappearance.

“He’s a loner, and doesn’t like people that much. He can be mean as a wounded badger, but Viggo is mostly quiet and introverted.” He shook his head. “He knows the backcountry and is good at locating missing people. Hikers, lost kids, lost pets. He can usually find them even when no one else can. He swore he wasn’t a Cog, but the man has better skills than most high-level Trackers.”

I exchanged a glance with Gunnar. “Was he registered?”

“No, and he doesn’t read as a Cog. About fifteen or twenty years ago, he got caught in a forest fire and has burn scars on his hands and arms, but he was able to get out. Those are his only identifying marks that I know of.”

“So he’s not the type to wander off without telling someone. Or get lost,” Gunnar concluded.

“Exactly.” Beau turned to the credenza behind him, picked up a worn map, and laid it across his desk. “His cabin’s in Alpine, just off the Snake River, about an hour and a half south of here.” He pointed to the map. “Viggo fishes there most days when the weather’s good. Zaria, his neighbor, says his gear is still at home and there are no signs of forced entry. Here’s his address.” He wrote it on a sticky note and handed it to me.

“Any security cameras or phone records?” I asked.

“He barely tolerated electricity, and rarely had his phone on him.”

My finger traced the winding line of the Snake River. “What’s your theory?”

Beau shrugged a massive shoulder. “The blood worries me, which is why I called you. It could’ve been a heart attack, or maybe he fell somewhere. He might’ve run into trouble, either the two or four-legged kind. But a week is a long time. We’ve also had increased bear activity this season.” He paused, his dark eyes meeting mine. “Or someone took him. Viggo knows this Park better than anyone living. He knows about forgotten places that aren’t on any map.” Was Beau hinting at something?

“We’ll need to see his cabin,” Gunnar grunted.

“The local sheriff knows you’ll be calling. Unless you have other lodging, I’ve arranged for you to stay in one of our employee bungalows while you’re here.” He glanced at the door. “Looks like you’ll need the larger, four-bedroom one with your other guests. I figure it’s better than a motel in West Yellowstone.”

“We appreciate it,” I replied.

Beau leaned forward. “I can call Conall Segerson when you walk out, or you can just tell me. Why do you have such heavy protection? Freda Benten is one of Alpha Segerson’s top Betas. And he sent his hellhounds with you.”