Raising the Stakes. Karen Rock

didn’t expect trouble. Not from the men. The spitfire he’d left at the clinic, on the other hand...she was a handful. Just as she’d vowed, she’d followed him and the bear in a beat-up pickup, tailgating him all the way despite the winding roads. Steel lurked beneath her pretty face and expressive eyes.

      She’d put up a fight when he returned for the bear. No doubt about it. Hopefully, he wouldn’t find the mother dead and could release the cub to rejoin its parent. The other alternative, however...

      The ugly thought lingered. He’d never been a hunter. Didn’t relish killing, though he’d done his duty as a marine in Afghanistan. His mind veered from those brutal memories.

      Ending a young animal’s life was horrible. Yet the cub couldn’t survive on its own, and without a trained caregiver, humanely putting it down might be the only option.

      Unless he considered Vivie’s outrageous proposal...

      He punched on the radio, the music overriding his crazy thoughts. Of course he wouldn’t let a novice take on such a large task, even under his supervision. Vivie didn’t have a clue what it entailed.

      Plus, she was already acting possessive of the cub. If he went along with her plan, she’d still have to surrender it when he released it this fall. If the jaw didn’t heal properly, he’d need to find a permanent home at an animal reserve or sanctuary. Would she be able to let it go? He doubted it. She seemed like the type to get emotionally involved.

      He shook his head, thankful he’d never let himself get attached to anyone or any place...not after the war. Room. Freedom. That was what he needed.

      When he opened the windows, the rushing air making him want to follow wherever it led. His sister Mary Ann accused him of having wanderlust and he didn’t correct her. She couldn’t know what’d really happened to him in Kunar, Afghanistan. None of his family needed the extra pressure while they helped his twin brother, Niall—also an army vet—deal with losing his leg. Instead, Liam kept what had happened to him buried deep, wishing he could hide it from himself, too.

      Every few years the compulsion to get out was too intense, so he relocated. He’d been investigating positions in Yellowstone National Park lately, the familiar pressure growing stronger and heavier each day. Hopefully it wouldn’t be difficult to get time off for Mary Ann’s August wedding if he got hired.

      Mammoth fir trees flashed by as he whizzed up Vivie’s road, the majestic sentinels impressive as always. A small brook wove along the roadside, its water sparkling under the strengthening sun. Cedar-scented air filled his lungs.

      As he rounded a bend, a smallish home, two stories, with white siding and a red tin roof came into view. He’d passed it on his way to Vivie’s this morning and noted that the mailbox number matched the address she’d given him. He pulled in behind a navy truck parked in front of a detached, single-car garage. As he eased outside, a large pit bull perked up its ears, then raced toward him, barking and straining against its chain.

      “Easy, big guy,” Liam murmured, pitching his voice low and firm. The dog’s massive jaws snapped a foot short of his leg. Liam’s eyes roamed over the thick metal links wrapped around a willow tree, an overturned water bowl and a bone the size of his calf resting beneath it. He gave the animal a wide berth and strode up to the porch, his hand automatically running over his Glock and flipping open the holster’s snap. It paid to be ready in case these guys surprised him.

      He rang the bell a few times, then tugged open the metal screen to knock, peering through the side glass panels. An empty living room and a narrow hall were visible. Little else. Still, with a vehicle on the premises, his suspects could be out back.

      He shooed away the blackflies nagging at his ears and paced around the house, listening for voices.

      Tinkling wind chimes sounded and birds called out their territory from the surrounding trees. Otherwise, silence reigned. When he rounded the house’s rear corner he pulled up short, the air sticking inside his lungs.

      A black bear hung from a massive maple, rope tying its paws to a thick limb. He smothered an exclamation, his worst suspicions confirmed when he noted the animal’s swollen teats. A lactating female. Most likely the cub’s mother. He pulled out his cell phone and snapped a couple of photos.

      Had the men answered the front door, any evidence he found without a search warrant wouldn’t be admissible. Yet glimpsing it while trying to contact them at the back door—that would squeak by the judge. And these guys would see their day in court.

      His eyes narrowed as he turned away from the bear. He’d haul them in today. Vivie had mentioned they weren’t New Yorkers. Out-of-state meant flight risk and an appearance before the bench. His lips stretched in a grim smile. Justice was sweetest when served fast.

      After another regretful look at the beautiful animal, he called in backup, then marched up concrete-block steps and rapped on the door. When no one answered, he pounded on it again, using the side of his fist. He doubted the hunters would leave their prize unguarded. They were skulking inside and someone better open the door, quick, before his patience ran out.

      Poachers.

      The lowest life-form on the planet.

      “Open up. DEC!” he ordered loudly.

      At last a man swung the door open, his eyes red and puffy, dark stubble shading his sagging jaw, chin and neck. At the sight of Liam, he straightened his slouch, his lax mouth closing.

      Liam flashed his badge. “Officer Walsh. May I come in?”

      The man nodded, then seemed to remember he had a voice. “Uh, yeah.” His eyes darted over Liam’s shoulder to the bear, then swerved back. “Come in.”

      Liam stepped inside a small, square kitchen littered with beer cans and a nearly empty pizza box on the table. He scrunched his nose at the sour smell of cheap malt and sweat, and noted a high-powered rifle with a scope leaning in the far corner. No signs of fishing gear...

      Liam pulled out his notebook and spoke, keeping his voice neutral. Measured. “If anyone else is here, go get them.”

      The man dug at his ear and gaped at him.

      “Now,” Liam repeated, his voice harder. This wasn’t a social call. Not by a stretch.

      The man hurried off, his loose belly jiggling over a pair of boxers. When he returned, another man trudged behind the first, his face pinched, skin pale. In contrast to his fleshy friend, his limbs were elongated and sticklike, kneecaps nearly cutting through flesh.

      “Any more weapons in the house?”

      The thin man nodded, his eyes darting around the kitchen like hummingbirds. “My rifle.”

      “Go get it.” Liam wasn’t worried about these guys pulling anything on him. Besides, his backup would be here in minutes.

      The guy whirled and disappeared the way he’d come.

      “ID?”

      “I’m Tim Favero and that’s my brother Matt.” Tim lumbered over to a couple of flannel jackets hanging on the backs of chairs, pulled out wallets and fished out Montana driver’s licenses.

      Liam scribbled down the information, then glanced up as Matt returned carrying his weapon.

      “This is it.” He placed his gun beside the pizza box, scattering empty cans. They clattered to the floor and rolled.

      “How’d that bear end up in the backyard?” Liam stared them down. Tim lowered his gaze and Matt’s mouth worked for a moment.

      “Someone needs to start talking,” Liam barked. “Now.”

      “I-it’s ours,” Matt sputtered, cracking his bony knuckles.

      “Looks like it’s been shot.”

      “Tim got it last night. About eight miles west of here.”

      Matt ducked his head at his brother’s