Page 4 of Crimson Moon Falling

A flicker of embarrassment hit me before the chip swallowed it. “It’s standard procedure,” I muttered. Beau tilted his head, and a blush crept up my neck. “I’m Alpha Segerson’s Mate.”

Beau blinked and slowly sat back. “Conall Segerson mated with an ISB agent and a Cog?” He tapped his nose. “Bison have an advanced sense of smell. I scented your magic before you walked in the building. But I didn’t predict on my Bingo card this morning that the ISB agents would be a Cognizant Alpha Mate and a troll. No offense, but you don’t seem like the Alpha Mate type.”

Gunnar smirked. “Take it as a compliment, Blackthorne. Most Alphas are called Alpha-holes for a reason, and their mates are usually snooty, mean bitches. Pun intended.”

I stood, cutting off the conversation. “We’ll search through his cabin first thing tomorrow. We also need his personnel files.”

Beau also stood. “My assistant stocked a few essentials in your kitchen for tonight, and I’ll email Viggo’s file over. I also have search team reports and topo maps of the areas we’ve covered. Viggo mentioned your father once or twice, Ms. Blackthorne. I understand he was a well-respected ranger and administrator.”

I stilled. “Call me Riley. Viggo Johansen knew my father?”

“They worked together a long time ago. He spoke highly of your dad, and since Johansen has a strong aversion to people, that’s saying something.”

Hope flickered in my chest, even though I knew it was a long shot. Gunnar glanced at me as we left Beau’s office.

“You good with this case?”

I knew what he was asking. Our case involved a missing ranger in a National Park. It was my dad’s situation all over again. But if Viggo knew my father personally, maybe there were clues here.

“I’m good.” Even if I wasn’t, they couldn’t have pried me off this case with a crowbar.

We headed to our vehicle, and I leaned against the SUV's door, watching a group of tourists snap photos of a distant geyser. “I think I remember him.”

Gunnar raised his craggy brow. “The missing ranger?”

I nodded. “When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time during the summer with my dad. There was this ranger who used to come by sometimes. He was a little gruff, didn't talk much, and never smiled. Except one time when he and my dad got drunk and sang Irish beer-drinking songs all evening”

“Sounds like the man Beau described.”

I nodded. “He brought maps a few times, and they’d spread them out on the kitchen table and talk in low voices.” The memories were hazy, like looking through frosted glass. “I’d peek from the hallway. They always stopped talking when they noticed me.”

“What were they discussing?”

I shrugged. “I was only seven or eight at the time.”

“You think Johansen’s disappearance is connected to your father’s?”

“I don’t know, but it feels too coincidental. Except my father was a registered Cog with a high Resonance designation, and the FBCI took over his case almost immediately.”

“Johansen isn’t a registered Cog, so it stays with us for now. You think he’s also a Resonant, or maybe a Tracker?”

“I don’t know, but I always assumed Dad went missing because of his abilities. But what if it was because of something he knew?”

Freda came around the side of the SUV. “Let’s go. You can talk when we get inside.”

The last rays of sunlight painted the sky in bands of orange and purple as we pulled up in front of the bungalow. As we got situated, my mind kept circling back to Viggo knowing my father. It was another thread in the tangled web of my past, another possible lead to what happened years ago when Dad walked into the forest and never walked out.

The employee housing area was tucked away from the main tourist zones, a cluster of rustic buildings that blended into the surrounding forest. Our assigned bungalow was built of weathered timber and rough-hewn stone. A wide porch wrapped around the front, complete with rocking chairs that creaked in the cool breeze.

I braced and walked inside, but only benign vibrations washed over me. It echoed with decades of rangers and their families, living and working in the wild heart of Yellowstone. The comforting energy reminded me of the red cliffs above my Airstream trailer near Zion National Park, and my shoulders loosened.

“Not bad,” Gunnar muttered, ducking his head to avoid the low entryway.

There was an old stone fireplace in the main living area, a small kitchen, and what looked like bedrooms branching off a short hallway. The wood furniture and wool rugs were sturdy and built to withstand years of use. The place had a timeless, mellow feel.

Bennion began checking windows and doors as my phone vibrated in my pocket again, but I didn’t pull it out.

“I’m going to clean up, then we can review those files.” Everyone took a bedroom, and Freda took the one right next to mine.