Pride of a Hunter

by Sylvie Kurtz

  Without turning on a light, she made her way down the stairs to the kitchen, where she slipped on her barn clogs and grabbed a flashlight from the windowsill. Outside, September chill wriggled its fingers into the weave of her sweatshirt, raising goose bumps. Soon, the first killing frost would come. She had a lot of work to do before then.

  As she stepped into the yard, more than the coolness of the night shivered down her spine. Something or someone had disturbed the equilibrium of her farm’s peaceful atmosphere. She flashed her light around the yard, but could see nothing out of place.

  Reverting to old technique, she turned off the light and edged her way to the barn in a toes-to-heel stride that kept her footfalls near silent. The well-oiled barn door slid smoothly on its runners. She knew the location of every shadow, every scent, every movement. Finding the one out of place didn’t take long. She moved in on it, slowly but surely.

  Dom.

  He slept on a bed of straw in the empty stall near the enclosure the goats shared. Fanny and Faye ignored him, but doeling Fiona seemed intrigued by the hair she couldn’t quite reach through the wooden planks with her tongue. Wrinkles pleated his forehead, as if his sleep wasn’t any more restful than hers. Was Cole haunting him, too?

  Was the menacing growl of Dom’s truck what had started her dream? Why was he here? Hadn’t he caused enough trouble for one day?

  The sight of Dom there, his big body lax in sleep knocked her back as if someone had pulled a carpet from beneath her feet. Memories seeped through the wall of pain her mind fought to keep up. Dom’s sooth ing voice. Cole’s bright laugher. The friendly kidding, the easy camaraderie that turned into fierce support when needed. How often had she woken up to find Dom sacked out on the couch, looking just like this?

  No one had wanted her on the team, least of all Cole. But Dom had played negotiator from the start and, somehow, the three of them had become the best of friends. Those four years on the team were the best in her life and part of her yearned for that easy companionship.

  For that brief reprieve in time, she’d belonged.

  She clutched the flashlight more tightly in her hand. Don’t go there, Luci. That’s not the answer.

  She flicked the switch on the flashlight and shone its light in Dom’s face. “What are you doing here?”

  Dom jolted upright, ready to defend himself, then relaxed when he realized whose voice had roused him from a deep sleep. “I should’ve known you’d find me.”

  He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light. “What are you doing up so early?”

  Why don’t you sit a spell, Luce, tell me what’s on your mind? How often had Dom said that to her with his molasses drawl? How often had she done exactly that? Sagged into the comfort of his broad chest and cried her eyes out, spilling out her sad secrets while he listened without reproach? I’m trying to outrun nightmares. You should know that by now. But he was the last person she needed to share these dark dreams with. “This is a working farm. I work.”

  “Not usually this early.” He rose, brushing straw from his jeans.

  She flashed the light back into his eyes. “You’ve been watching me?”

  “I had to weigh, Luce,” he said, taking the flashlight from her hand and resting it on top of the stall wall. “I had to figure out which would hurt you less, breaking my promise to you or working around you to try to help your sister.”

  That was one thing about Dom, he was a man of his word. After he’d coached her through Brendan’s birth, and while she was still swimming in post-partum hormones, she’d made him promise never to see her again. He’d kept his word these past six years. Even with felons, he went with truth as often as he could. Using people wasn’t his style. He wanted everyone comfortable and happy.

  That wasn’t apt to happen this time. Jill was going to get hurt, and nothing would ever quite be the same. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re entertaining my goats with your snores.”

  He wiped one hand over his mouth as if reluctant to admit the truth. “Guilt. I let you down. I need to know you’ll be okay.”

  Guilt she could understand. She sagged on a bale of straw outside the stall, the wooden wall still between them, and clasped her hands around one knee. “I talked to Renwick last night.”

  Picking up the phone had taken much more courage than Luci cared to admit. After her less-than-cozy chat with her old boss, she’d stayed up past midnight, too hyped up on adrenaline and worry to find her way around to sleep.

  “That couldn’t have been easy. Especially after the way he treated you.” Renwick had not been amused by Luci’s and Cole’s secret wedding. Rules strictly forbid family from working on the same team.

  A note of hurt cracked the low, slow richness of Dom’s voice. “You thought I’d lied?”

  “I—” Her shoulder lifted in a hesitant jerk. Sharing Brendan’s birth with him had bonded them in a way that had scared her. Turning to him then had been a moment of weakness she couldn’t repeat. The last thing she’d needed was a reminder of her failure every day of her life. The sight of Dom would always pull along the memory of Cole. She wasn’t strong enough to endure that torture. “I had to hear it from someone else.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She picked at the hole starting to fray on the knee of her jeans. “How’d Warren—or whoever he is—find Jill?”

  “Her divorce probably made the papers. The Walden and the Courville names often make the society pages. She makes an easy target.” Dom leaned his forearms against the top of the stall and looked down at her. “I’ll do this however you want, Luci. I won’t let you or your sister get hurt.”

  She could kid herself that the past didn’t matter. But it did. Every day she lived with that truth. She had to wash Cole’s blood out of her eyes every morning before she could put on her mom-skin for Brendan. And every time she looked at her son’s dark hair and smiling face, guilt pinged in her heart. She’d taken his father from him. He’d missed out on what fathers and sons did together, those manly rituals a woman could never hope to understand. J.J., Jill’s ex, was a good father to Jeff, but he’d never wanted to include Brendan in their father-and-son times.

  Every instinct sharpened and honed by grief shouted that allowing Dom to stay was a mistake. Another vivid reminder that her son was growing up without a father. But her arrogance had already cost her the man she loved. She couldn’t risk her sister’s life because of pride. For Jill, she’d endure the torture. “The guest room is off the living room. I’ll get you some clean sheets.”

  Chapter Four

  In the darkest hour before dawn, Dom followed Luci to the back door of the old Victorian house. A single light out on the front porch made a soft halo appear to shimmer around it.

  She walked across the packed dirt with an economy and efficiency of movement he’d often admired. He matched her stride with the ease of familiarity even six years of absence couldn’t erase, wishing she’d lean on him as she once had. Her tall and lanky body paired his at the hip, shoulder and head. He’d always liked that she was equal to him like that, eye to eye, heart to heart. Her ramrod posture betrayed her inbred country club etiquette and the military-like training Special Operations Groups endured.

  She pushed open the back door, and the squeak of spring on the outer screen reminded him of home. He needed to call his parents and touch base. The anniversary of Nate’s death was creeping around the corner. Losing their eldest son so tragically had aged both his parents prematurely. They seemed to grow more brittle with each passing year.

  Luci turned and held the door for him, the scent of her herbal soap a balm to his tired senses. Her narrow face was set and unreadable, except for the wariness and emotional exhaustion in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. He must seem like the omen from hell, appearing out of the blue like that and bringing out all the demons she’d tried so hard to beat back.

  “I can sleep in the barn,” he said, hand on the cold doorknob. If he could redo that day seven
years ago—but no, he had to live with his mistakes. The least he could do was to make his presence here as painless as possible for Luci.

  “What would the neighbors say?” She crooked one half of her mouth, bitterness rolling off her tongue so softly it took a moment before its acid burned.

  She stepped out of her green rubber clogs and brushed by him before heading out toward the deeper recesses of her home.

  “Forget the sheets,” he said, letting the unexpected longing the accidental graze sparked in him settle. “It’s too late for sleep.”

  She hesitated, turned around and, at the white Formica counter, flipped the switch on the coffeemaker. It gurgled and hissed, then dripped, counting the seconds stretching between them. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her hard-gained peace, but if he was right, then the rage that drove Swanson’s obsession to ruin divorced women was escalating and what happened to Laynie McDaniels could happen to Jill. Dom would do everything he could to save Luci from losing her sister the way he’d lost his brother—the way they’d both lost Cole.

  Under her skin, pale with fatigue, was a classic bone structure. Even etched with the weight of years of griev ing, her features evoked an unyielding strength of character. Luci was a survivor, but even survivors needed support now and then.

  He swallowed the ache of emotion he’d fought at Cole’s funeral, at Brendan’s birth and most days since Luci had made him promise to steer clear. He’d fought the pull Luci had on him and stayed away—more as an act of penance than an ethical duty.

  “Do you want to talk now or later?” he asked, leaning against the door and mirroring her crossed arms and crossed ankles. There was no way to soften all the little darts he’d have to throw her way in the next few days.

  She plucked two mugs from a doorless cupboard. She placed them on the counter and held on to them, as if to anchor herself, while the coffee continued to drip into the pot. “Like I said, this is a working farm. In a bit, I’ll have goats to milk and feed.”

  “I can help.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I want to.”

  “I don’t.”

  She’d talked herself through pain before. But Luci had refused to talk about Cole and his death. Still did.

  Doing what they’d done, they’d known the risks going in and accepted them. Luci’s living death, that was something else.

  He wanted to take her in his arms, as he’d done so often while she was grieving Cole, lay her head against his heart and let the vibrations of her voice seep into his blood and into his bones.

  If he’d—No, stick to Jill. Forget the rest.

  “Talk to me about Jill,” Dom said as Luci poured the fragrant brew into the mugs.

  “Don’t you have everything you need in your files?”

  She handed him a mug and, like a glutton for punishment, he reached for the coffee he didn’t want, deliberately skimming his fingers against hers, letting the brief contact sigh inside him.

  “I have the black and white. I need the gray.”

  “You always did have a way with words.” She leaned her trim rear against the counter once more, closed her eyes, shutting him out as if even looking at him was too painful to bear, and sipped. “Ask your questions. I’ll try to answer.”

  “Does Jill have life insurance?”

  “I would imagine she does, but I don’t know.”

  “What’s the source of her income?”

  Luci swallowed hard, scrunching her closed eyes even tighter. “Aside from child support, mostly investments. If Warren wiped her out, she’d end up in a bad fix.”

  The tautness of her jaw made him think she was imagining the possible destruction of Jill’s life. Jill wasn’t as strong as her sister; that’s why she’d made an easy mark. Swanson would never pick someone like Luci—too much work. “What do you know about her investments?”

  “Not much.” Regret tainted her voice as she blinked her eyes open. “Jill and I have always had a prickly relationship. The boys are what allowed us to get closer these past few years.”

  Luci had shed a gallon of tears on his shoulder over the way her family had stayed away after Cole’s death. He didn’t want to take those freshly renewed ties away from her. “What about her mortgage or any other loans?”

  “J.J., that’s Jill’s ex-husband, paid off the house as part of their divorce settlement. She owns it free and clear. All she has to worry about is the taxes and the interest from her investments pays that. As far as I know, she doesn’t have any other outstanding loans.”

  “Does her investment interest cover the rest of her bills, too?”

  Luci nodded. “She also gets a generous monthly child support check.”

  “Does she get along with her ex?”

  “As well as can be expected when your husband leaves you for an older woman.” Luci gave up on the coffee and bricked up her protective shield by crossing her arms. “What exactly are you after here?”

  “I’m looking for patterns.”

  “See any?” A hint of fear warbled through her voice.

  “For him, yeah. Jill’s situation follows the perfect template, right down to the young child. And it looks like most of her assets are the kind he’d be able to talk her into signing him on as beneficiary or co-owner.”

  Her gaze snapped to the ceiling as if she were seeing right through the layers of Sheetrock and flooring and into her son’s room. She’d do anything to protect her son—and Jill’s, too. The innocents, they’d always been her number one concern. “He wouldn’t hurt Jeff, would he?”

  “So far, he’s always left the kids alone. He doesn’t touch what’s theirs.” But Swanson took abnormal glee in watching his pigeons flounder and flail, in watching them fall. “This is the closest I’ve managed to get to him.”

  “What are you hoping to get this afternoon?”

  Dom shrugged. “His passion, his personality, his Achilles’ heel. Something that’ll trip him up. If I can get him to talk about something that’s real, maybe I can trace him back, find out where he’s from and where he’s going. What it is he really wants.”

  Luci straightened, her eyes rounding with horror. “Oh, no.”

  “What?”

  The beat of her fear pulsed at her neck. “Two weeks from tomorrow.”

  “What about it?”

  Her hands reached back for the counter and hung on to it as if she were suddenly dizzy. “Jill turns twenty-nine.”

  “And?”

  The knuckles of both hands whitened. “The trust fund my grandfather set up for her reverts to her then.”

  “How much?”

  “Over a million by now. And she can do with it anything she pleases.”

  The unspoken—even hand it over to a con man—hung in the air like frost.

  “That’s Jeff’s future,” Luci said.

  Just as Dom suspected, Luci had used her trust fund to secure Brendan’s.

  Another innocent victim. Even if Jill were walking into Swanson’s con willingly, Jeff wasn’t. With that, Dom had secured Luci’s partnership. For both of them, the exercise would be hell. “We won’t let him take it away.”

  ALL THIS STRESS, Luci decided as she discarded yet another outfit after lunch, wasn’t good for her. A barbed wire fence wasn’t as tightly wound as she was at the moment. The last thing she wanted to do was snap—especially in front of her mother. And this, she thought, looking into the oval mirror above her dresser, wasn’t helping. With each new dress or skirt, she could imagine her mother’s objections. “That yellow isn’t the most flattering color on you, Lucinda. That dress is ten years out of style. Perhaps if you did something with your hair.”

  Too gawky to have grown into the elegant and graceful society swan her mother had desired, Luci had stood a head above her classmates until college, when a few of the boys had caught up with her. In dresses and high heels, she was an awkward duck, but in shorts and sneakers, she could stand up to anyone on the volleyball court, basketball court an
d softball diamond. Which led her to the U.S. Marshals Service and the Hostage Rescue Team, something her mother had never accepted, but that her father had secretly cheered.

  Luci tugged on the pumpkin-orange silk dress and set the hanger clanging against its neighbors.

  Holding the dress draped across her front, Luci braved another look into the mirror. This wasn’t going to work, either. Too formal for a family barbecue. She dropped the dress on the wide pine floorboards, looked into her closet and sighed. She’d run out of options all the way around. She snatched the last item left hanging in her closet—a red moleskin skirt. From the dresser, she pulled an old apple-green cardigan. That would have to do.

  As she raked fingers through her hair to unwind her braid, laughter streamed up the stairs—Brendan’s boisterous one and Dom’s deeper one.

  Don’t think about Dom downstairs with Brendan. Think about Jill and Jeff and that scum pond Warren.

  If she were a dirtbag going around pretending she was someone she wasn’t and building up another identity for the next scam, where would she do her dastardly deed? Sitting on the edge of her bed, she ran a brush through her hair, then replaited the strands. No place where anyone could catch the double life, so probably not at his showplace office or whatever rat’s nest he called home. So where did Warren The Worm hide his sticky dealings? She’d let that percolate in her subconscious. Maybe by the time she got home, she’d have an answer.

  She found Dom and Brendan in the living room, zapping alphabet aliens on the computer. Maggie kept butting her head against Dom’s hand and her flapping tail swirled hair onto his black pants. Great, now her mother would also have Dom to criticize. Maybe for once her mother’s gaze wouldn’t go farther than Dom’s hypnotizing blue-jeans eyes and she’d forget to look for imperfection. As she had with Cole the few times they’d met.

  “We’ll take my van,” Luci said, wanting some sort of control over the situation. The truck cab was too narrow with its one long seat. She needed space between them. “Brendan, go find your shoes.”