Eye of a Hunter
Page 1
For her he’d conquer the world
Eyes burning with fervor, Abbie leaned forward and her scent of almonds and honey teased him. “I can’t go back, Gray. I can’t just sit there and wait for the next shot through the window.”
He crouched beside her and reached for her hand, trying to ignore the kick-in-the-gut need touching her brought. He thought the distance of years had made him immune to her power to dazzle him. But there it was, fizzing through his veins like a shook-up can of soda. “If you testify, you destroy his make-believe world. Without that power, he loses everything.”
“You don’t get it.”
“He’s just a man, Abbie, not some sort of a superhero.”
“He owns me.”
Gray pounded a fist against the tabletop. “Nobody owns anybody.”
She turned her face away from him. “As long as Rafe is alive, he can get to me.”
“Not if we destroy him.”
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
Summer’s winding down, but Harlequin Intrigue is as hot as ever with six spine-tingling reads for you this month!
* Our new BIG SKY BOUNTY HUNTERS promotion debuts with Amanda Stevens’s Going to Extremes. In the coming months, look for more titles from Jessica Andersen, Cassie Miles and Julie Miller.
* We have some great miniseries for you. Rita Herron is back with Mysterious Circumstances, the latest in her NIGHTHAWK ISLAND series. Mallory Kane’s Seeking Asylum is the third book in her ULTIMATE AGENTS series. And Sylvie Kurtz has another tale in THE SEEKERS series—Eye of a Hunter.
* No month would be complete without a chilling gothic romance. This month’s ECLIPSE title is Debra Webb’s Urban Sensation.
* Jan Hambright, a fabulous new author, makes her debut with Relentless. Sparks fly when a feisty repo agent repossesses a BMW with an ex-homicide detective in the trunk!
Don’t miss a single book this month and every month!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
EYE OF A HUNTER
SYLVIE KURTZ
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Flying an eight-hour solo cross-country in a Piper Arrow with only the airplane’s crackling radio and a large bag of M&M’s for company, Sylvie Kurtz realized a pilot’s life wasn’t for her. The stories zooming in and out of her mind proved more entertaining than the flight itself. Not a quitter, she finished her pilot’s course and earned her commercial license and instrument rating.
Since then, she has traded in her wings for a keyboard where she lets her imagination soar to create fictional adventures that explore the power of love and the thrill of suspense. When not writing, she enjoys the outdoors with her husband and two children, quilt-making, photography and reading whatever catches her interest.
You can write to Sylvie at P.O. Box 702, Milford, NH 03055. And visit her Web site at www.sylviekurtz.com.
Books by Sylvie Kurtz
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
527—ONE TEXAS NIGHT
575—BLACKMAILED BRIDE
600—ALYSSA AGAIN
653—REMEMBERING RED THUNDER *
657—RED THUNDER RECKONING *
712—UNDER LOCK AND KEY
767—HEART OF A HUNTER †
773—MASK OF A HUNTER †
822—A ROSE AT MIDNIGHT
866—EYE OF A HUNTER †
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Abrielle Holbrook—Abbie witnessed her father’s murder and has been running for her life since. The WITSEC program that was supposed to protect her has become a minefield of death.
Grayson Reed—Abbie was once the golden girl of his dreams, now he has to take all he knows about her, Echo Falls and tracking prey to protect the woman he loves, but can’t have.
Deputy Marshal Phil Auclair—How had the old marshal survived three deadly attacks on his subject when younger deputies had died? Was it simply devotion to his job or did he have inside help?
Raphael Vanderveer—Abbie’s camera caught him murdering her father. Now he wants her and his freedom back and nothing can stop him from getting what he wants—not even the inconvenience of being on trial for murder and treason.
Elliot Holbrook—He gave his life to protect his daughter, the family business and the town he loved.
Hale Harper—The new Seeker has a chip on his shoulder the size of California. Is he willing to trade Abbie’s life to ease his own pain?
Brynna Reed—Gray’s sister is not the girl he remembers. She’s embroiled in troubles of her own. Does she need money badly enough to betray her best friend?
Pamela Hatcher—Rafe’s assistant longs for action and adventure.
Sister Bertrice Storey—How could Abbie’s mother’s best friend betray the girl she’d treated as a daughter?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter One
Abrielle Holbrook was watching cable television in yet another cheap motel when Deputy Marshal Ed Kushner’s chair was thrown backwards. His body toppled against the television screen, blotting out Gene Kelly, who was singing in the rain.
In the next instant the lamp on the table at her elbow shattered, throwing the room into the flickering gray haze of the television’s moving pictures. WITSEC Inspector Phil Auclair tackled her to the stained burnt-orange carpet and shoved her toward the connecting door between their rooms. “Stay low.”
She knew the drill by now. Pulse frantic and hyper-ventilating, she crawled to the bathroom, still steamy from Phil’s shower, and hugged the floor. So much for witness security. Three weeks. Three relocations. Three dead deputies. She didn’t even know where she was. What day it was. Couldn’t remember her current alias. It was all too much. Her chest cracked under the spasm of her tears. When would this nightmare end?
Phil shouted into his cell phone while Gene Kelly tap-danced in the next room. At this moment Abbie would give anything to slip into Debbie Reynolds’s role and join Gene on the wet movie set. Even rain sounded good. Maybe it could wash away the image of blood constantly tainting her vision. Closing her eyes, she let the click-clack of taps and the beat of familiar music form the colorized pictures of the oft-seen movie. And against the screen of her mind she shadowed Gene’s every move.
The next thing she knew, someone was tugging on her elbow. She blinked up at him and for a second mistook the gray hair and worried blue eyes for her father’s.
Phil all but yanked her to her feet. “Time to go.”
Even though there were half a dozen armed men patrolling the parking lot, Phil scanned every shadow as he hurried her to the waiting armored car with the tinted windows. He’d barely slammed the door shut before the car sped off.
Abbie sank into the seat that smelled of cigarette smoke and canned deodorizer and let her heavy head plop against the window. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Phil patted her elbow. “Ten more days, princess. Once the trial’s over, you’ll be safe.”
She tried to draw reassurance from the man who’d become her lifeline in the past year since her camera lens had captured her father’s murder at the hands of his partner. But the soul-deep cold wouldn’t leave. Safe? She didn’t think she’d ever feel safe again. “I can’t.”
What good was she doing her father like this? “I just want my life back.”
“If Vanderveer is set free, you never will.”
You won’t ever be free from me, Abrielle. I won’t ever let you go. I’ll be in your dreams and in your nightmares. I’ll follow you wherever you go.
Somehow even behind bars Rafe Vanderveer had managed to do just that. Even from behind bars he would kill her. When was the last time she’d slept without having a nightmare about him? When was the last time she’d slept through the night? “Ten days is a long time to stay alive when my protectors keep dying.”
In the dim light from the dashboard Phil’s jaw seemed to sag with the weight of his responsibility. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
But doubt tailed her the three long hours until the car stopped again. It followed her in the shower, where even blistering heat couldn’t loosen the icy horror glued to her skin. It cozied up to her on another too-soft mattress of another motel bed with sheets that were too stiff and a pillow that was too flat.
Phil checked the doors and window, made a call, then slid into the second bed fully dressed. “Try to get some sleep.”
Code phrase for We’ll be moving again in the morning.
She aimed the remote at the television, turned the volume down low and flicked through channels until she landed on West Side Story. As Richard Beymer sang his heart out to Natalie Wood, Abbie relaxed. Then later, as the Sharks and the Jets duked it out, the doubt mutated into a fear so sharp, it cut her breath.
Someone knew. Not just anyone. Someone on the inside. How else could they have found her? The first time was her fault. She’d needed to hear a familiar voice and had called a friend from back home. But not the other two times. She’d trusted Phil. She’d believed he had her best interest at heart.
She craned her head toward the man who’d become a friend since she’d entered the program. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and wrinkled his forehead. Purple moons bruised the skin beneath his eyes. Eyes that were kind and understanding like her father’s. Was experience enough to account for his being alive while three younger men were dead? What reason did he have to betray her?
Even if he hadn’t, someone else had.
He couldn’t keep her safe. No one could. Raphael Vanderveer had too much to lose by letting her live.
WITSEC had taken everything from her, erased her past as if she’d never existed. But it wasn’t enough. Rafe remembered her. He wouldn’t let go. Not when she was the only thing between him and his freedom.
Somehow he’d done this to her and would keep doing it until she was dead. Then the town, the mill, the house, everything that was still part of her fondest memories would be his to abuse and destroy.
If she was to stay alive to avenge her father and make sure his murderer never left prison or touched her beloved town, if she was to have a chance to once again live an ordinary life, she could trust no one.
When Phil’s gentle snores told her he was asleep, she slunk out of bed. No point trying the front door. He’d be up with the first clink of the lock. She stumbled to the bathroom as if she’d just woken up. He’d heard her do that often enough in the past three weeks to think nothing was out of the ordinary.
In the bathroom she checked out the small window. Doable. Like Phil, she’d crawled into bed fully dressed. She’d given up on pajamas after the second attack. She glanced at her feet and wriggled her toes. No shoes. But she couldn’t risk going back for them. Hiding the slide of the window with a flush from the toilet, she took a deep breath. Then, balancing on the seat, she pushed herself onto the sill.
Outside, cold asphalt met her bare soles. Panic snaked up her spine until her teeth chattered. If Phil can’t hide you, what makes you think you have any chance to stay alive on your own? Glancing at the window, she thought of crawling back to her only safety net. A safety net full of holes. No, her best chance to stay alive was on her own.
A thick gray fog wrapped around her like a shield, giving her a skin of courage. Become smoke.
From not far away came the sound of trucks rumbling by on a highway. Like the swish of a lighthouse, the beams of the trucks’ headlights cut starry circles into the dark murk. She couldn’t go home, but she could disappear. All she had to do was hide for ten more days.
With one last look over her shoulder she faded into the mist.
“HEY, HOLLYWOOD, CONGRATULATIONS on your successful hunt.”
Grayson Reed paused at the door of what served as a briefing room in the basement bunker of Seekers, Inc.—also known as the Aerie—surveyed the four men around the conference table through the mirrored lenses of his glasses and copped a superhero pose. “No sweat.”
As Noah Kingsley strode past him toward the octopus of wires attached to the computer system, he jabbed Gray in the ribs with an elbow. “Never any sweat with you.”
Not that his target had made the game of hide-and- seek easy, but once he was cornered, he’d seen that walking out willingly was the wisest of options—especially with the LAPD SWAT team surrounding him. Gray had dealt with bullies often enough to have learned a few tricks. Even scum wanted to believe it deserved respect. Gray let them think he gave them what they wanted; then they gave him what he wanted. He was always one for win-win.
Dominic Skyralov studied the plate of muffins in front of him, chose a lemon-poppy seed and grinned his good-old-boy smile as he peeled the paper. “How was the mother state?”
They all thought Gray was a California boy born and bred. They’d choke on their coffees if he told them he’d lived less than an hour from Wintergreen until he’d graduated from high school—then he’d gone as far away as he could from the butt-end-of-nowhere town that was Echo Falls. Moving away to someplace where no one knew him, where no one had any expectations, had allowed him to reinvent himself. He flashed Skyralov a toothpaste-commercial smile because the blond cowboy expected it. “All sunshine and surf.”
As Kingsley set up the computer for whatever presentation Falconer had planned, he eyed Gray up and down. “What happened to you? The dry cleaner run out of perchloroethylene?”
Gray smoothed the wrinkles on his silk-blend dove-gray blazer. What was the point of buying cheap when suits took such abuse in this line of work? Cheaper to buy top-of-the-line in the long run—not that any of them gave him a break for his good sense. “Red-eye. Couldn’t wait to see you guys, so I didn’t even stop home.”
Skyralov and Kingsley smirked.
Gray dropped into a leather chair around the cherry-wood conference table. Farthest from the door—his usual post. Lounging against the wall, Sabriel Mercer, with his dark and dangerous looks, nodded acknowledgment but didn’t speak. Never did unless he had something important to say. Hale Harper, the new guy, was still feeling his way into the group. He was almost as dark and brooding as Mercer. For the life of him Gray couldn’t figure out why Falconer had hired someone with such a big chip on his shoulder. That could only lead to trouble.
Sebastian Falconer, head honcho of Seekers, Inc., strode in and took his place at the head of the table.
As Gray reached for an orange-date muffin in a basket with a lacy doily, he chuckled. “You really ought to tell Liv that lace clashes with the macho image we’re trying to build here.”
“Eat up those blueberries.” Falconer’s features remained stiff and formal while he shuffled papers in readiness for their meeting, but amusement leaked into his voice. “Liv wanted me to mention they’re good for the prostate.”
Laughter exploded. Skyralov scooped blueberries onto the plate next to his muffin. “Next she’ll issue Kevlar vests every time we leave the bunker.”
“Back-ordered. Won’t be here till next week.” The corner of Falconer’s mouth twitched in what, for him, passed as a smile. His wife, Liv, had sustained a brain injury a year and a half ago. She couldn’t remember a thing of her l
ife before the accident, but since then, the organizational skills she’d had to learn to cope with her condition had made her an invaluable part of Seekers, Inc. She fussed over them all as if they were family. None of them minded.
Falconer tented his hands on the table in front of him. “Okay, bring me up to date.”
Grasping his red suspenders, Kingsley gave the daily security update. Mercer clipped through his usual terse report on the activities of his current tracking cases. Between bites, Skyralov announced he was leaving for Louisiana in an hour to follow up on a tip on the serial marrier who squeezed his brides dry, then left them hanging. An Austin society dame had hired Seekers, Inc. to find the man who’d defrauded her daughter out of her fortune. The mother didn’t care how long it took or how much it cost as long as the “dirty, rotten scoundrel” never enjoyed a penny of her family’s money.
The screen at the front end of the room went blue, and Kingsley said, “Ready when you are.”
Falconer reached for the remote that controlled the PowerPoint presentation. “Yesterday afternoon we were hired by our old outfit.”
Skyralov paused, a spoonful of blueberries hovering just outside his mouth. “The U.S. Marshals Service?”
Falconer nodded. “One of their WITSEC subjects bolted and they need her back.”
Gray leaned back in his chair as if that would help him take in the whole situation. “Why are they involving us?”
“They seem to think one of their own is responsible for compromising her security.”
Gray gave a low whistle. Admitting that one of theirs was dirty was never easy for the Service. Having worked the WITSEC program in the past, he knew its usefulness even as he saw the possibilities for betrayal. Every good had its ugly side.