Hunter's Need by Shiloh Walker Page A

trousseau.”
    “Oh, yes,” Beverly said, beaming. “My mother spent weeks and weeks working on that one. And they still do make them. In some of the smaller villages, especially. Women use the belts kind of like a papoose.”
    “Be careful, Ana. My Beverly could talk for hours about this subject. I’m Kyle, by the way, Beverly’s husband.”
    “It’s nice to meet you.”
    He nodded, an absent look on his face. “I just came to get some more coffee. I’ve got to get back to work.”
    While he poured himself a cup, Beverly chattered on, about the belt her mother had made, about her own attempts. She kept it up until his footsteps faded down the hall and they heard a door shut somewhere in the house. Beverly heaved out a breath and gave Ana a grateful look.
    “Thank you. I’m sorry, but I just felt lying seemed best. I was so upset after that book came out. I was depressed for weeks and I didn’t want Kyle . . . well . . . ” She sighed and shook her head, brushing her hair back from her face. “Kyle shouldn’t have to keep picking up the pieces each time I fall apart.”
    “But isn’t that what he’s there for?” A sympathetic smile curled Ana’s lips even as a ribbon of envy curled through her. She knew what it was like to fall apart, but she didn’t know what it was like to have somebody there to help hold her together, to help her pick up the pieces. “You’d do the same thing for him, I imagine.”
    “Of course I would.” Beverly smiled. “And yes, I imagine that’s one of the benefits of being married, having somebody you love living your life with you—so you can share the burdens. Still, this burden just keeps getting heavier and heavier, not easier. I don’t want him to keep worrying about me so.”
    “You didn’t want him to know that I’m here asking about your sister. You don’t want him upset.” She shoved the envy aside.
    “No. No, I don’t.” Beverly braced her elbows against the table. Her dark eyes, cool and direct, bored into Ana’s. “Please don’t make me regret talking to you. Please don’t make me regret lying to my husband.”
     
     
    S HE liked to go hiking up in the Mat-Su Valley. Loved the glacier .
    Everything else that had been said had fallen on mostly deaf ears, and Ana doubted if she could have recalled the conversation with any credibility, because as soon as she’d heard the words Mat-Su Valley , that nagging, impatient demand had flared to vibrant, hot life.
    The valley. Something had happened in the valley, and Ana was going to have to go there. Which was why she took two personal days, why she shelled out a ridiculous amount of money to rent a car for the weekend and why she was driving north on Thursday morning instead of catching a bus to her job.
    Four days. She’d give it four days and see if she figured anything out.
    Off in the distance, mountains rose into the sky, tall and green, vibrant against a sky so blue, it hurt to look at it. Along the roadside, the skeletal remains of trees jutted upward, the remnants of an earthquake that had hit Alaska decades earlier.
    Somebody had told Ana the stands of dead trees were called ghost forests. When the 1964 earthquake hit, huge areas of land dropped below the sea level, leaving the trees’ roots submersed in saltwater from the ocean, killing them.
    They were eerily beautiful but today, for some reason, they took on a more macabre slant and Ana found herself working to not look at the trees. She didn’t want to see them. Or the mountains, either.
    Just focus on the road. Focus on whatever lies ahead and whatever you’re getting into.
     
     
    D UKE was going out of his damned mind. Edgy.
    Itchy. Edgy.
    Restless.
    It had gotten worse after the run-in with Brad a few days earlier and all he wanted to do was head out again. Go back on patrol for a few more months. Just climb on his bike and ride out, maybe head north up the coastline this time. Bounce around New England for a while.
    A lot of the