Killer Romances

by Dana Delamar, Talullah Grace, Sandy Loyd, Kristine Mason, Dale Mayer, Nina Pierce Chantel Rhondeau, K. T. Roberts, H. D. Thomson, Susan Vaughan

  Annie turned and winked. “Push off, Coach.”

  “Time for a nap.” Frank stretched out on the equipment amidships and tipped his hat brim over his eyes.

  Before they left, Sam accepted the caretaker’s offer of some canned goods. He prayed they’d make it until Tuesday without further screw-ups or nasty tricks.

  Annie scanned the small yard. “How will a helicopter get in here?”

  Wolfe laughed. “Set down here? Those chopper blades’d probably do a mort o’ clear cuttin’. No, they’ll land in a field a couple miles north.” He nodded in the direction of the shed behind the swing set. “Me and the injured party will take the four-wheeler in there on the trail.”

  More discomfort aboard an ATV on a wooded trail. For two miles. “He’ll survive. No broken bones. It’s just a sprain.”

  “Ayuh. I’ll be easy on the boy crossin’ the stream.”

  As they pushed off, Annie whispered, “Carl was way off base urging Ray to sue. He doesn’t have a case. He was being defensive since he was the one who messed up.”

  “We’ll see.” He tipped his head toward the map Carl held. “You set with the navigation?”

  “Just relax and paddle. I got it nailed,” Carl said. His canoe pulled away downstream, leaving Sam and Annie to follow.

  A mile down, the water divided. The Eagle River wound east and south around a ridge of low hills until it emptied into the eastern end of Big Loon Pond. Sam said, “Wolfe will take the Eagle River route with our other gear to the takeout on Big Loon Pond.”

  “Will he meet us there?” she asked.

  “He’ll drop off our stuff and head home. Too hard to reckon the time to rendezvous with us. The way this expedition is going, that’s as unreliable as my guiding.”

  She turned and lowered her sunglasses. “That accident wasn’t your fault. Carl chose to disregard your sensible instructions to redistribute the weight in the canoe. Ray chose to tackle the dangerous part of the river.”

  “Thanks.” Pitiful. Thanks was all the eloquence he could muster. That’s how asinine he felt at the turn of events. At all the disasters. What next?

  The two canoes followed the other branch, Otter Stream, which connected a chain of ponds on the west side of the ridge. The stream flowed into Big Loon Pond’s western end.

  The rest of the route offered no challenges. No rapids and the weather seemed to be holding. They had canned food and abundant bass in the three ponds. Maybe they’d trap a few rabbits. He couldn’t relax completely, but managed a soothing rhythm of paddling.

  At the end, he’d have to face his brother. By the time they reached the takeout point, Ben would already know about Ray’s accident. And the threat of a lawsuit. Though remote.

  Without Carl’s ranting, Ray would shoulder responsibility for his actions. Hell, if they’d followed Sam’s advice, like Annie said, they’d have had no accident.

  If their so-called saboteur was Ray, they’d had the last of the pranks. He hoped to God it wasn’t Frank. It couldn’t be Frank. And he couldn’t buy Annie’s theory about the Hunter. No one could’ve trailed them. If Annie thought he was skulking around in these woods, she wouldn’t have stayed. That much was certain. They were in no real danger.

  It’d be nice if he really believed that.

  Whatever the future held, for him and for Moosewoods Resort, he could do nothing about it now except work like hell to keep going.

  In spite of the morning’s disaster, the others seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even Carl. Annie remained quiet, paddling in a strong rhythm, not jerky and awkward anymore. He conjured up her scent, the sweetness of her lips, the perfect fit of her breast in his hand. She was smart and funny and didn’t take any guff. In spite of her unaccountable obsession with a serial killer, she was the bright spot in all the disasters that had plagued them.

  Too bad once the week ended, he’d never see her again. All they had in common was sexual attraction, and he shouldn’t—couldn’t take advantage of that. He stabbed his paddle into the water, sending them forward with a surge that made her grab the sides of the canoe.

  Two hours of paddling took them to the campsite on the west shore of Upper Otter Pond.

  Annie leaped from the beached canoe and spun around, arms outstretched. “What a view! I feel like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.”

  He’d forgotten the spectacular scenery here. Or was he so accustomed to it that he stopped noticing?

  “Look!” she said. “Overhead. Bald eagles.”

  The two majestic brown-and-white birds soared east over the wooded ridge between them and the Eagle River.

  “To the west, that’s Otter Peak, the low knob.” Clouds hung like black holes in the curving blue dome over the backdrop of higher mountains. He observed the enjoyment of the scenery on her shining face. “You actually having a good time?”

  She stopped spinning and propped her hands on her hips. Her delectable breasts rose and fell with her heaving breath. Spending days in the sun had burnished her creamy skin to a golden color. “What the hell, Kincaid. Why not?”

  The others had already carried their equipment up the grassy path to the campsite.

  Her infectious grin flicked a switch inside him. Sam hefted the cooler on one shoulder and grinned. “Does that mean you’re sidelining your business with the Hunter?”

  “No, but let’s say he’s on the bench for an inning or two. Today was pretty intense.” She lifted her duffel bag from the canoe. “I need a breather. Some diversion.”

  She needed a break all right. Immersion in the obsession was taking its toll on her. He couldn’t take her to bed, but they could have some fun. Scrambling to concoct a plan, he hooked her close for a kiss. Sweet and hot. If only it didn’t have to end there.

  “And I know just the diversion,” he said.

  ***

  After camp was set up, Annie discovered what Sam intended. Fishing. That it wasn’t something else, something... personal, didn’t disappoint her. Really.

  She sat beneath a tree at the pond’s edge and watched Sam giving the others lessons with the collapsible fly rods. He had lures, but suggested the minnows he called “shiners” might work better.

  The fishing hole was a deep pool in a cove away from their camp. Alders and moosewood maples overhung the water, shading it from the sun. The hopeful anglers stood in an open place on the bank where no branches could snag their hooks.

  Back along the shore was their lovely campsite, flat and grassy, with a new picnic table and little alcoves notched into the woods for the tents. The place was so beautiful she couldn’t bemoan the missed chance for news on the radio. They left two tents behind to cut down on equipment, so Frank moved in with his mother. Under more cheerful circumstances, Annie was sure Sam would’ve tried to seduce her into joining him in his.

  She dragged her gaze from Sam to Carl, reeling in a fish. Had he done this before? Was he more of an outdoorsman than he let on? She couldn’t tell. What she was thinking raked cold chills down her spine.

  What if Ray’s injury were no accident? At first, she’d wondered if he’d jammed his foot into the canoe on purpose. But why would he cause himself that much pain? For a prank? It made no sense.

  Aware she’d clenched her hands into fists, she uncurled them. Maybe she should’ve left in the helicopter with Ray. Why she stayed was a mystery. Was it stubbornness, needing to see the expedition to the end? Was it the Hunter? Did her reporter’s need to know keep her in the fray? Or was it her insane attraction to Sam? No answers penetrated her brain.

  The bald eagle pair returned, wheeling overhead. Experts said eagles mated for life. How did an eagle choose? How could she be certain he was the one? Sam was a lost bird with a wounded wing, and she was one of those migratory songbirds that aimed so intently that it smashed into a window.

  No, she and Sam were no pair. No matter the chemistry fizzing between them. So he wasn’t the self-centered, selfish bastard Ian was. So he was more than an arrogant jock. Sh
e couldn’t let her attraction set her up for a fall.

  Still, when Sam reminded Carl to be careful removing the hook from his fish’s mouth, she kept her gaze on his smile and remembered the taste of his kisses. When he listened intently as Frank described how his dad had taught him to cast, she admired his determination to make the best of the remainder of the expedition, to make it work for this boy and the rest of them. She couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment that a few kisses were all they had.

  All they could have.

  “Look at these babies,” Frank crowed. “This is so cool!” He held up a string of four fish, each about a foot long.

  Annie pushed to her feet and gave the fish her attention. “Real beauties, for sure. Bass, aren’t they?”

  Sam gaped at her. “I bet you wrote a fishing article.”

  She shrugged. “My dad and brothers used to catch these guys. I tried casting, but I hooked either Thomas or myself.” She’d eaten her share, but the males had always cleaned them and her mom had cooked them. Fresh caught, the bass smelled mildly of lake water and algae, but cleaning them was another matter. Not for her. Mother Nature and her promise to Emma notwithstanding. “I hope you’re not—”

  “I caught two of them,” Nora said with awe in her voice and on her face. “They... they just jumped on my hook.”

  Carl held up his single catch. “Not bad for a female. Mine’s bigger.”

  Nora grinned and rolled her eyes at Carl’s predictable behavior. She waved and strolled toward the camp with him.

  “Your turn.” Sam crooked a long finger at Annie. “This isn’t nearly enough.”

  “But I’m sure Frank—”

  “I volunteered to start cleaning these,” said the boy, jogging to catch up to the others. “Mom would puke.”

  Sam folded his arms across his broad chest. He’d shed his luau shirt, and sunlight gilded the fan of cinnamon hairs on his powerful chest. Sculpted legs spread, brows lowered, he should have looked imposing, not sexy. “Diversion. Remember?”

  Hooked.

  SEVENTEEN

  “If I snag a log and whack you over the head with it,” Annie said, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Sam puzzled at the tightness in her voice. Her war with Mother Nature again? He hadn’t plotted to get her alone, but he’d accept the others’ abandonment as a gift.

  “It’s as good a fishing hole as I remembered,” he said. “The shade’s good camouflage. Stand here. Cast out toward the middle. Ol’ Mr. Bass will jump at the shiner on your hook.”

  Annie wrinkled her nose at the bait, caught earlier by Frank and Carl, but fitted on a wriggling shiner without demur. She looked so damned appealing and smelled so sweet and fresh that he nearly threw aside the rod then and there.

  “You have done this before.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’ll work.” Frowning, she gave the rod a shake and flicked the line toward the pool. The baited hook landed about a yard from the near shore.

  He grinned. “Good way to shock a few shiners. Looks like you need a lesson in casting.”

  “What I need is to get back to my tablet.”

  He wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. “If you haven’t found a clue in those notes so far, you’re wasting your time. Let it go.”

  She sighed. “I can’t help the feeling that the Hunter has caused all our disasters. That he’s here. It ties me in knots.” She pushed the fishing rod at him.

  “Wait.” He covered her hand on the rod and held on. Her fingers were small and delicate, and surprisingly cold. She was afraid. Still her touch ripped fire through his blood. “How could he be here? As the Invisible Man?”

  She didn’t pull away, but gripped the rod with her other hand, as if holding a lifeline. Anxiety darkened her mist-gray eyes. “I’m afraid it’s Carl.”

  Astonishment popped open his mouth. “That’s nuts! You are paranoid. Where the hell did you get that idea?”

  “Think about it, Sam. None of us saw the canoe accident. Carl could have engineered it to get rid of Ray. And he couldn’t keep his eyes off Wolfe’s gun case. Bird hunting, my ass. And picture Carl bounding through the woods on our first bushwhack. A man accustomed to the woods. How do you know he’s really who he says he is? Maybe he killed the real contractor and took his place.”

  He released the fishing rod and scraped a hand through his hair. “Thanks a hell of a lot for the worst-case scenario. You should take up mystery writing instead of reporting.”

  “First the Hunter was toying with us. Now he’s picking us off one at a time. Who’s next? Frank? Nora?” Her intense gaze held him, forced him to accept her conjecture.

  He pivoted away, punched fingers through his hair. She was wrong. She had to be. “Hell, I’m no detective. Give me bases to run or a canoe to paddle. This is way out of my league.”

  “Did you see an ID when he arrived? A driver’s license?”

  “Well, no. We don’t check camper’s identities. Never saw the need.” He turned to grip her arms, felt the tension humming through her body. Fear tinged her sweet-tart scent. “Wait. You said Carl could’ve caused the accident.”

  She nodded.

  “Carl blamed me. Ray blamed the canoe. But he never fired back when Carl blasted him with being a wuss and a geek.”

  Her eyes widened like a crack in her theory. “And Carl was sitting in front. Ray was steering.”’

  “Now you’re using common sense. Carl’s no killer. All you have to do is listen to him go on about his business and the excessive government regs.”

  She smiled, a sparkle back in her eyes. “I suppose all those complaints of cost overruns and the prices of lumber and OSHA regs are real. The Virginia accent is real.”

  “See. No Hunter after all.” He moved behind her to encircle her with his arms. The tight press of her body against him dialed up the temperature in his veins. “Now for that casting lesson.”

  “I have the feeling I’m in for more than fishing.” The husky humor edging her comment buoyed his confidence.

  She was tall enough that her head tucked beneath his chin. He curved himself against her back closer than a shadow. The fragrance rising from her thick hair distracted him, filled his head. She’d changed into shorts and a tee shirt, but the thin fabrics shielded little of her very feminine shape from him.

  Reveling in the soft curves imprinted on his front, he slid his hands down her arms. A throbbing tightness built in his groin. “Grip the rod loosely in your left hand like this.”

  “Like this?” Her voice was low, breathy.

  “That’s it.” He covered her left hand with his and bent so his head was level with hers, his mouth beside her right ear. The pink shell tempted his tongue. Not yet. “Now aim for that shaded pool out there. Play out the line a little with the reel. Haul the rod back and send it forward with a snap.”

  The line with its hook glinting in the sun flicked back, then forward and out over the water. The baited hook settled about a foot inside the target and in the shade.

  “Damn good,” he whispered in her ear. “Now we wait.” In fact, he could wait like this for a long time. He was at the right angle to see her breasts rise and fall with her quick, shallow breaths. He could turn a fraction to the left and sample her. He could—

  “Sam?”

  “Hmm?” His right hand found its way to the incredibly soft skin of her neck where her pulse beat as fast as a bird’s.

  “The line moved.”

  A fish? Damn.

  Sure enough, something had jerked the hook from below. Ripplets spread outward from the disturbance. It jerked again. “Okay, give him some line. Let him get a good bite.”

  With shaky turns, she reeled it out. “Like that?”

  “Good, good.” He straightened to get a better look. The line held taut. Somewhere below the surface the fish hung on. “Now start reeling him in.”

  As soon as she began to rewind, the hook popped free of the lake. Empty.

  No bait. No
bass.

  “Dammit.” She wound in the line.

  “No sweat.” He nuzzled her ear, kissed the succulent lobe. So sweet. He could barely gather breath to whisper. “Happens to the best anglers. I’ve missed more fish than—”

  “You’ve struck out. I know.” She turned, smiling, in his arms. Her breasts pressed against him, the hard nipples evidence of her arousal.

  The humor in her eyes undid him. “Annie. I want you.”

  “I can’t.” But the same desire that fogged his brain clouded her gray eyes. She swayed toward him.

  He plucked the rod from her yielding fingers and dropped it to the ground.

  They came together in an embrace that banished her resistance. As soon as their mouths met and opened to each other, she pressed closer to him with a sizzling kiss that jolted his senses.

  The sweep of her tongue against his coursed waves of need through his body. She nibbled at his lips, brushed her mouth across his mustache, rubbed her fingertips over his chest hair, over the contours of his muscles. She was sweet and bold, strong and vulnerable, and he wanted her with a desperation that made him shudder.

  He tugged up her shirt and ran his hands over her smooth flesh, the curve of her waist, the indent of her spine. His mangled fingers wouldn’t cooperate to unclasp her bra, so he pushed it out of the way until he could cup one breast. Her tremulous murmur when he massaged the velvety aureole hardened him to the aching point.

  “Sam,” she sighed, pressing her breast into his palm.

  He bent to give her what she seemed to ask for. Taking her sweet breast in his mouth, he suckled the taut rose-colored nipple. “Beautiful. So sweet. God, I want you, Annie.”

  “Sam, we can’t... I won’t...” Her hands stilled on his body. Pulled away.

  He fought for control. Panting, he raised his head. Ben was right. He shouldn’t have sex with a client. But this was Annie. He didn’t understand, but he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman. “Tonight. Come to my tent.”