Antler Dust (The Allison Coil Mystery Series Book 1) by Mark Stevens Page A

Teamwork is unheard of. My boss, Bridgers, isn’t even told when and where the task force meets. It’s pathetic.”
    “So you don’t even know the strategy?” said Allison.
    “Do what I’m told, which isn’t much now that every hunter in the state has been quizzed.”
    “What if I heard the shot that killed Ray Stern? Reports say Stern wasn’t too big. Maybe he got shot and then the killer needed to move him. Dragged him for a ways, got tired, plunked him in the middle of nowhere, but off the trail.”
    “Long ways from where you were. And how’s that fit with your elk?”
    “I want to know why nobody thinks these things are related, that’s all.”
    “Long way to carry anybody from up near Lizard’s Tongue all the way down to where Stern’s body was found. Think how weird you’d feel moving a corpse around.”
    In the drink of Long Island Sound, she had bobbed around with a few others who hadn’t been so lucky. Slater was right.
    “One question, okay?” said Allison.
    “Shoot.”
    “Do you believe me?”
    “What’s to believe?”
    “I was wondering if you think I’m making things up.”
    “Of course not,” said Slater.
    The women were climbing out. Steam flew from their skin. The vapors were quickly zapped by the cold night. Slater slipped back into the water and Allison watched him as he watched them.
    She eased her hand down Slater’s chest, over his stomach. She let her hand linger where the hair on his belly, a few inches south of his navel, was wet and curly. She felt further down and found him limp.
    “Those two naked girls didn’t do it for you?”
    He answered by reaching over with a free hand to cup her breast. He kissed her on the mouth.
    “Relax,” she said. “We’re all alone now. Just us and the steam and the night.”
    “I’m getting relaxed,” he said.
    “Not all of you, apparently,” she said.
    She passed the bottle back to him and he took a drink. Slater inhaled with a soft moan as she stroked him. He nuzzled and kissed her under the ear. He was harder now. Her fist splashed gently in the water where his hips broke the surface. The sound was like a frustrated fish working its way upstream. Slater raised his hips above the water and the splashing subsided, but not his desire. Allison pressed against him and he turned and gave her a full, warm kiss as she stroked. His hand was reaching for her and she felt that wonderful ache as he touched her. She rested her head on his chest and took in the view down his chest and the water, ripples gilded by the fire. The tight loop of pleasure and yearning was worth savoring and she slowed down, worked her hips around and enjoying his touch. Was the journey better than the destination? In this case, she would cast an emphatic vote for yes. He counted down “three ... two ... one ...” in a half-moan, half-whisper and his body quaked and he turned to her, holding her tight and then not. He sunk into the water and let out a long sigh. He shuddered and rolled over, his back to her. Allison picked up the wine and sipped, letting the wine tingle on her tongue.
    “You’re next,” he said.
    “Promises,” she said.
    “I’m not a man of my word?”
    “It’s worth making sure,” she said. “Never hurts.”
    Slater rolled on top of her, kissed her gently on her forehead, eyes, cheeks, stomach, hip bones and down.
    As she closed her eyes and felt the ache surge, her mind drifted maddeningly and immediately back to Ray Stern. It was hard to connect the death of Ray Stern with what she’d seen and heard. Hard, yes, but not impossible. Was the man dragging Ray Stern? She could not stop thinking about the man and his awkward, nearly angry, work—tugging something like he was taking out the trash and none too happy about the chore. As Slater found a rhythm with his tongue, Allison leaned further back and concentrated on banishing all thoughts of worry and problems and questions and theories. What mattered was right now. What mattered