Navajo protector

Gene Redhouse believes in signs. But when Lori Baker literally jumps into his life, the Navajo wisdom he’s learned disappears. Lori is being stalked and she’s never been so frightened, or so alone. Although it seems they belong to different worlds, the connection between them is instant and intense. And if he can keep her alive long enough, he vows to explore every inch of her....

With his chiseled features and powerful build, Gene is the safe harbor in Lori’s stormy sea. And yet with her past weighing her down, Lori must decide which is more dangerous: the stranger trailing her every step, or the one daring her to trust him.

“I really appreciate what you’re doing. I know I’ve turned your life, and whatever plans you had for your time in Hartley, upside down.”

“You’ve helped me, too,” he said.

She looked at him in surprise. “How? By helping you test your truck’s braking system?”

He laughed, then shook his head. “I’ve had a tough time of it lately. Coping with all the details surrounding a loved one’s death can be overwhelming. You’ve been a welcome, and beautiful, distraction.”

As Lori looked into his dark eyes her heart began beating overtime. For those precious seconds, time stood still. She was aware of the warmth of his body and the spark of desire in his steady gaze.

“You’re a mass of contradictions in one lovely package, Lori Baker,” he whispered.

Power of the Raven
Aimée Thurlo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Aimée Thurlo is a nationally known bestselling author. She’s the winner of a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews, a New Mexico Book Award in contemporary fiction and a Willa Cather Award in the same category. Her novels have been published in twenty countries worldwide.

She also cowrites the bestselling Ella Clah mainstream mystery series praised in the New York Times Book Review.

Aimée was born in Havana, Cuba, and lives with her husband of thirty-nine years in Corrales, New Mexico. Her husband, David, was raised on the Navajo Indian Reservation.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Gene Redhouse—His ranch and his mystical bond with animals ordered his life until a chance encounter with a woman on the run pushed him into a web of danger.

Lori Baker—Her stalker was relentless. She wanted her old life back, but with danger always just a half step away, there was no way out and no escape from her tormentor.

Duane Hays—The annoying wrangler had offended nearly every man and woman in the county, and he couldn’t keep a job for more than a week. Word was, he’d do anything for money, and now he was in trouble again.

Daniel Hawk—He and Gene had stood back-to-back since their teens, and found safety and family with Hosteen Silver, the medicine man who’d taken them in. Now Dan was prepared to break every rule in the book for his foster brother.

Steve Farmer—The man worked beside Lori at the Motor Vehicle Department, but recently he seemed to have way too many problems with computers and passwords. Was he a con man, or the one being conned?

Bud Harrington—Bud was a jewelry designer and a sleeze ball, and Lori had not only rejected his advances, she’d reported him to the police. Now the authorities were running shorthanded and the time was ripe for payback.

Paul Grayhorse—He was a former U.S. Marshal and Gene’s brother in every way that counted. If Gene and his woman needed his help, he’d be there for both of them, regardless of the cost.

To Marilyn, who always has a smile for everyone.

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 Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Chapter One

There was nothing like death to make you appreciate life. His foster father, Hosteen Silver, hadn’t been gone long, just a little over two months now, but his unexpected passing had reminded Gene Redhouse of just how unpredictable life really was.

Lifting the large bag of sweet feed his horses loved from the back of the truck, he glanced over at Grit. The horse, his foster father’s favorite mount, was prancing around the corral, tossing his head and snorting. He was beautiful, with a graceful arched neck and a strong muscular body. A black-and-white pinto, Grit had a black head with a white blaze down his muzzle. The rest of him, legs included, was white except for the rounded black spots over his body.

“Maybe Hosteen Silver mixed up some of the letters he left for the six of us and I got yours by mistake. That’s the only way things make sense, if you stop to think about it. Otherwise, why pick me to become friends with Grit?” Paul Grayhorse said, shaking his head. “You can communicate with animals in a way that’s nothing short of amazing. If anyone can befriend that surly creature, it’s you.”

Gene glanced at his foster brother, who stood well back looking at the horse. Paul was tall and muscular, but the former U.S. Marshal was still stiff from the bullet that had sliced through his shoulder a few months back while on assignment protecting a federal judge.

“Be grateful he didn’t ask you to climb up the cliff face to Winter Hawk’s nest, like Daniel and I had to do,” Gene said.

Paul nodded slowly. “Yeah.” After a moment of silence, he continued, “When I first came out to the Rez with him, I thought he’d want us to call him by his first name, like the Anglo fosters did, but he explained that Navajos don’t do that. Names have power and weren’t to be used lightly. He said we should call him Hosteen Silver. I had no idea what that meant, and I think that surprised him. That’s when he explained to me that Hosteen meant ‘mister,’ and Silver was the nickname others gave him because of his white hair. He also told me I could call him ‘uncle,’ if I preferred, since it also showed proper respect.”

Gene smiled. “It was the same for Dan and me. To his face, we always called him ‘uncle,’ but now that he’s gone, he remains Hosteen Silver to us.”

“Hey, now that we’re talking about him,” Paul said, “do you have any more ideas why he left that Changing-Bear-Maiden story for us in his safe-deposit box?”

“Not yet, but he did everything for a reason, like with those letters. I guess it’s just another puzzle we’ll have to figure out over time,” Gene said.

Paul shrugged, flinching slightly with the gesture.

Although Paul had insisted on helping him unload the truck, Gene had taken the heavier sacks of feed and grain himself. “If I were you, I’d put off working with Grit awhile longer,” Gene said. “You’re still favoring your shoulder and there was no deadline on what Hosteen Silver asked you to do. Why not put it off until you’re a hundred percent again?”

Paul shook his head. “Time meant little to Hosteen Silver, but I want to put this behind me.”

“You’ll have to rethink your tactics, then. You can’t force a horse to do anything—they outweigh you, and they’re stronger. You’ll have to persuade and outthink him. I’d advise you to befriend Grit first with some apples or carrots. Get him to come to you. If you rush it, it’ll be rodeo time and you’ll get thrown. Count on it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it work. I’ll start by lunging him and making sure he’s tired.” As Paul took the halter and lunge line, Grit, who’d been watching him, spun, bucked and started trotting around the corral. Finally, he ran to the far end of the corral, stopped and stared at them, ears pinned back.

“He’s not in a good mood. If you try to corner him now, he might just run over you,” Gene said. “Back off for a while.”

“Who are you kidding? That horse is never in a good mood,” Paul said. “I remember when Hosteen Silver first brought that foul-tempered beast home. He asked me to exercise him, but every time I tried to ride him, I ended up facedown in the dirt. I was the one who named him Grit because that’s what ended up in my mouth each time I was tossed.”

“No big deal. The ground was there to catch you,” Gene said, trying not to laugh.

Paul leaned against the fence rails and shot his brother a dirty look. “Eventually, you ended up with the job of riding him. Hosteen Silver knew that, one way or another, I’d always end up on the ground.”

“That wasn’t exactly a big secret, bro. You never showed Grit enough respect.”

“It’s a horse. You want me to bow?”

“As you said, Grit’s a horse, not your Jeep,” Gene said.

“Give me a Jeep any day of the week. Something goes wrong, you tune it up. It doesn’t toss you flat on your butt just ’cause it’s in a bad mood.”

“Hang out and do nothing for a while. Let him watch you,” Gene said. “I’m going to finish unloading.”

Gene went to the tailgate, then climbed up into the bed of his truck. Just a few more mineral blocks to put away, then he’d start topping off the water troughs. Work at Two Springs Ranch never ended, but he loved it here. This was his world, a place that fit him perfectly.

Eventually, he intended to start looking around for a wife who enjoyed ranch life as much as he did, but love wasn’t nearly as important to him as finding a compatible mate.

His brother’s shouts broke through his thoughts.

“Get back!” Paul yelled.

Gene cursed and rushed out of the barn. Paul was trapped against the rails at the far corner of the corral. Grit had him blocked off completely, and was snorting and reaching out with his mouth, making repeated bite threats.

“Stop yelling,” Gene said, slipping through the gate. “I thought you were going to wait.”

“The fool thing played me! He looked like he’d calmed down, so I came over holding the halter. He let me get close, but when I tried to slip it over his head, he went nuts,” Paul said, trying to sidestep past the horse. Grit shifted, blocking his way.

As Gene came up he sang a soft Hozonji, a good luck song Hosteen Silver had taught him. With each note, the animal visibly relaxed and soon Gene was able to reach out and grasp Grit by the mane.

“Back up,” he said, clicking his tongue and tapping Grit on the chest. “Come on now, back up!”

The horse did as he was told, and Paul, seeing his chance, ducked out through the wooden rails of the corral. Once outside and in the clear, he waited for Gene to join him.

“If you say one word about patience, I’m going to deck you,” Paul growled.

“Something set him off like that. You gonna tell me what really happened?”

Paul gave him a slow, sheepish grin. “My cell phone went off with that new Native American tribal drum ring tone.”

“That’s going to cost you big-time, bro,” Gene said, shaking his head. “He won’t forget it. You lost ground today.”

“Yeah, I know.” Paul expelled his breath through his teeth. “Grit’s worse than ever, at least with me. These days he won’t even let me get close.”

“I think, in his own way, he misses Hosteen Silver. If it makes you feel any better, when he first came here, Grit had me running in circles—” Gene abruptly stopped speaking.

“What?”

“In the letter Hosteen Silver left for Dan and me, there was a special message at the bottom intended for me only. He said I’d see my future evolve from endless circles in the sand, and as the unlikely happened, the lost one would show me the way.”

“Any idea what that means?”

“None, but maybe Grit will play a part,” Gene said.

As they stepped out of the corral, a gentle breeze swept by, cooling Gene’s sweat-soaked chest. “Wind’s a messenger. Something’s coming, a change maybe.”

“Good or bad?” Paul asked.

“Things are good right now, so that narrows the options.” Placing his hand over the medicine pouch on his belt, Gene looked at the storm clouds overhead and heard their ominous rumbling. “Time to start watching our backs.”

Chapter Two

It was early evening in the town of Hartley and, after having supper at a local bar and grill, Gene was back on the road, looking forward to calling it a day. As executor of Hosteen’s trust, he’d agreed to take care of the paperwork that needed to be filed.

What he’d never realized until recently was just how time-consuming that would be. Although Hosteen had lived a simple life and had few possessions, the red tape had proved endless. Today he’d spent hours at the Department of Motor Vehicles transferring the title of Hosteen’s truck over to the Anglo who’d purchased it.

Knowing that Navajos, particularly Traditionalists and New Traditionalists, would want nothing to do with the possessions of the dead, he’d placed the ad in the Hartley paper, a town outside reservation borders. Though the truck was old, it was in remarkable shape, so it hadn’t taken long to find a buyer after the first test drive.

Gene felt the weight of one less detail lift from his shoulders. Although they all missed their foster father, the heavy mantle of responsibility he’d accepted had prevented him from moving forward more than the others.

Yet he knew change was coming. He could feel it, like a stirring in his blood. He glanced down at the medicine pouch fastened onto his belt, then back to the road.

As Gene slowed to take a corner, a woman suddenly darted out into the street. Gene slammed on the brakes hard, skidding and burning rubber.

Cursing loudly, he came to a full stop. At least he’d managed to avoid hitting her. His heart was still racing when she ran up to the passenger door and opened it.

Thinking carjacking, Gene automatically reached for the rifle on the rack behind him. An instant later, he recognized the woman’s face. He’d dealt with the clerk just a few hours ago at the motor vehicle department.

“Please, my name’s Lori and I need your help. I stopped at Ofelia’s Corner Diner to pick up some dinner, and when I came out I spotted a guy following me. Can you circle the block, then drop me off by my car? It isn’t far.”

“Jump in. Did you call the cops?”

“Several times, including earlier today when I noticed him following me to work,” she said, climbing in and placing her big purse on the floor between her feet. “It took forever for an officer to respond this morning because of the current work slowdown—the blue flu. I stayed in my car like I was told, but by the time the officer got there, the guy had taken off. I think he figured I’d called for help and didn’t want to get caught. Once he sees me drive off with you, he’ll probably make himself real scarce again.”

She shut the door and fastened the shoulder belt automatically. “My car’s just down the block, so it’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

“What’s he look like? Can you still see him?” Gene checked the sidewalk up and down the street, using the side mirror.

She looked out the window. “He must have ducked out of sight. He was wearing a black jacket with a hood, sunglasses and a ball cap, same as this morning. He’s close to six feet, average build, not overweight or skinny.”

Gene studied her, taking in the soft hazel eyes and shoulder- length honey-brown hair, a subtle shade that would have been hard to get from a bottle. Her forest-green pullover sweater accentuated her beautiful breasts and hourglass figure.

No man with breath left in his lungs would ever forget meeting her. After dealing with her at the DMV, he’d expected her to haunt his dreams for some time. Now, here she was.

As the light changed to green, the vehicle behind him honked.

Moving forward again, Gene smiled. “Where to?” he asked. If things went sour, he still had his rifle and he could defend himself better than anyone he knew, including his brothers in law enforcement.

She pointed ahead. “It’s not far. Just beyond that cottonwood. Once we’re there, would you mind sticking around long enough for me to get in my car and drive off?”

“No problem.”

She shifted in her seat and looked directly at him. “You look very familiar to me.” She smiled slowly. “We met at the DMV earlier today, right?” Woven through her tentative smile was also a spark of interest.

He noted it, pleased. Gorgeous women like Lori didn’t cross his path often, and after weeks of dealing with paperwork, a little excitement would do him a world of good.

“Yeah, I was there and you helped me with a title transfer,” he said. He glanced in his rearview mirror but no one suspicious was following. “Do you happen to know the guy stalking you?” He’d been around his brothers in law enforcement long enough to have heard the stories. Old boyfriends and ex-husbands could turn a woman’s life upside down.

“I can’t be completely sure because I haven’t been able to get a clear look at his face, but I suspect it’s Bud Harrington, a man who keeps coming to my window at work. He wants to go out with me and won’t take no for an answer.”

“Have you told all that to the police?”

“Yeah, and to my boss, too.” Lori pointed to an old cream-colored sedan up ahead. “That’s my car. Thanks for helping me out, though I guess I didn’t really give you much of a choice, did I?” She sent him an apologetic smile as he pulled to the curb and parked.

“You were smart to look for help when you did instead of trying to deal with the guy on your own.” Though he liked fighting his own battles, the same rules didn’t apply in this woman’s case. Stalkers could become violent and she didn’t have the right build to fight a man. She was about five foot two and all rounded corners and softness.

“Thanks for the ride.” She looked around again as she opened the door, then froze. “He’s there! Can you see him?”

“The guy in the black hooded windbreaker?”

“That’s him, but without the ball cap this time. That hoodie covers part of his face, so I still can’t tell for sure if it’s Bud.”

“Lock the door and wait here. Let me go talk to him.”

As a former foster kid, he’d seen all the tough guys who liked to throw their weight around, the bullies who only picked on those who couldn’t fight back and the ones who thought the world owed them. Street hoods came in all shapes and sizes, but they had one thing in common. They needed to vent their pent-up rage on someone and weren’t interested in a fair fight.

Gene’s walk was slow and steady, his gaze never leaving the man standing by the car. Though he still couldn’t make out his face, Gene could see the name of the Hartley’s high school team—the Scorpions—on his windbreaker.

Gene was within thirty yards of him when the man suddenly pivoted and took off at an all-out run. Gene chased him down the block, but the guy suddenly cut left, racing out into the street just as the light changed. Tires screeched, horns honked, but the runner made it across.

Gene tried to follow, but as he stepped out, a city bus turned the corner and blared its horn, forcing him to jump back. The bus pulled up to the curb right in front of him.

By the time Gene ran the length of the bus to the rear end, cars were racing by in both directions and the guy had vanished.

Gene cursed, but there was nothing more he could do now. This would have to remain a police problem. As he returned to his truck he saw Lori sitting there, looking around, searching for him.

She climbed out to greet him. “Are you okay?” she asked, handing him the key. “The second I saw him run off and you going after him, I called the police. I told them it was an emergency.”

“Call them back. There’s no hope of catching the guy now and they’re stretched pretty tight. We may be taking them away from a real life-or-death situation, like a traffic accident.”

She nodded and dialed quickly. After a second, she looked back at him. “As soon as I told them that there was no emergency, they put me on hold,” she said with a grim smile. “It’s all part of that slowdown. Negotiations between the city and the police department reached an impasse a week ago and neither side is giving an inch. Personally I side with the cops. They aren’t getting paid enough, and if they end up having their benefits cut, too…” She shrugged and held her palms up. “Doesn’t make much sense to stay in a job where you have to risk your life every day but still have to choose between paying the rent or your health insurance.”

“True, but their situation sure doesn’t help you much right now.”

Someone finally answered the call, and Lori listened to the woman officer at the other end. “I’m sure this wasn’t an attempt to steal my car,” Lori told her. “I’ve got a sedan that’s older than dirt. No one in their right mind would want it. And a purse snatching doesn’t seem right, either. I do have my laptop inside, but you can’t see it. If you check your records, I reported seeing a man following me this morning. Heck, I even blogged about it on my webpage during a coffee break.”

A few seconds later, Lori hung up and focused on Gene. “In all the craziness, I don’t think I introduced myself to you properly. You know my first name, but my last name’s Baker,” she said, extending her hand. “And you’re Gene…”

He smiled. So she’d remembered his first name. This was turning out to be a good day, after all. “Gene Redhouse,” he answered. Like most Navajos, he generally disliked touching strangers, even in a handshake, but he’d adapted to the Anglo custom. As he shook her hand, it surprised him how soft and small it felt in his.

For the first time since they’d met she gave him a full smile. Her whole face lit up and the effect took his breath away. She was heart-stopping gorgeous.

“Did the police say what they wanted you to do next?” he asked.

“They asked me to write down the details of what happened as soon as possible. Since no officer will be available for at least two hours, they want to make sure I don’t forget anything. They’ll also want to talk to you.”

“Just to make sure I understand you, you gave the police the name of the man you think is stalking you?” he asked, verifying it. He remembered his brothers complaining about victims who protected their tormentors.

“Oh, sure, but Bud’s a real creep. When I first filed harassment charges, he told the investigating officer that I’d come on to him and he even accused me of stalking him.”

“So then it became your word against his?”

“Exactly,” she said, and expelled her breath in a whoosh. “Reporting him not only got me nowhere, it brought my credibility into question.”

“I don’t think the police necessarily doubt your word,” Gene said, “but their job requires them to rely solely on evidence. ‘He said, she said’ cases take a while to sort out.”

“Maybe so, but it still stung. I wanted to force this guy to back off, but all I really did was create new problems for myself. Now, because he can’t bother me at work without looking like a liar, I guess he’s decided to follow me before and after hours. What scares me is that I’m not sure how far he’s prepared to take this.”

“How did you happen to spot him tonight? Were you looking for him?”

“I was on my guard, mostly because I’d had to park a little farther from the restaurant than I’d intended. After dinner I was walking back to my car and caught a glimpse of someone following me. I thought it was Bud, so I called out and told him to get lost. That didn’t work, so I got scared. I ran out into the street to flag someone down.”

“Which turned out to be me. But what made you think you weren’t about to trade one problem for another?”

“Two sickos in a row? Not likely. As it was, I had no reason to think of you as a threat, but I knew the guy following me was trouble.”

Gene didn’t believe in coincidences. The universe had a pattern, and within that was order. Remembering Hosteen’s prediction, he suddenly wondered if Lori was somehow connected.

Hosteen Silver had mentioned circles, and Gene had been rounding a curve when she’d stepped out in front of his truck. Then again, Hosteen Silver had also written about a lost one who would show him the way, and neither Lori nor he had been lost. Maybe he was trying too hard to make sense of his foster father’s prophecy.

Lori looked around slowly, then, as if making up her mind, met his gaze. “I’m not going to stay out here at this time of night, not with Bud wanting to make trouble for me. If the police want to question me, they can come to my home,” she said. “They’ll want to talk to you, too, so how about following me there? I could fix you something to eat, or if you’ve already eaten, we can have something to drink and snacks. It’ll be my way of saying thanks. Then, after we talk to the police, you’ll be free to be on your way,” she said, and gave him one of her extraordinary smiles. “Or maybe you have a family to get home to.…” she said, and looked down at his left hand, probably checking for signs of a wedding ring.

He smiled. She was totally irresistible. He had no particular plans tonight besides watching the basketball game on that monstrous set of Preston’s. Staying at his brother’s, who was currently out of town, had its perks.

“I’m not married and a drink and snacks sounds great,” he said, accepting.

“Then follow me over to my place. I’ll lead the way.”

Her words sent a sudden chill up his spine. He wondered if this was the beginning of the change his foster father had predicted.

He walked with her to her car, then watched her fasten her seat belt, his gaze drifting over the graceful curve of her breasts. She probably had more than one secret admirer—not to mention her pick of men willing to keep her safe.

“I don’t usually bring strangers home, but I think we both need to get out of the open.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Moments later, he was in his truck following her to the main thoroughfare, then into an old residential neighborhood across town. Houses were crowded together here, too much so for his tastes. He liked lots of open space and clear views of the sky.

As she pulled into the driveway of a small house halfway down a narrow street, he noticed that she wasn’t much for gardening. The outside was decorated with colored gravel and a few drought-resistant Southwest plants.

All things considered, he figured that whatever change was coming into his life wouldn’t be likely to include Lori Baker. From what he’d seen of her so far, she was a town girl. The things that made her happy—like the high heels she wore and living in this crowded urban neighborhood—didn’t fit in with the lifestyle of a hardworking rancher.

Still there was no harm in a quick drink. He was a single man with time on his hands, and a gorgeous woman had offered him a drink at her house. He would have been crazy to say no. He’d spend some time with her, no complications, no strings. It didn’t get better than that.

He was just stepping down from his pickup when a hard gust of wind came right out of nowhere. It caught the door like a sail, forcing him to hold on to it to keep from springing the hinges.

Gene tucked in his chin and shut the door. As the gust swirled around him, peppering his face with fine dust, he thought he heard Wind’s whispered warning—the danger had not yet passed.

Chapter Three

Gene went to meet Lori where she stood in front of her closed garage door. “We weren’t followed here. I’m good at spotting things like that,” he said, seeing her looking around, a frown on her face.

“Okay, then. Let me put my car inside the garage, then we can both go into the house and out of this wind.” She unlocked the single car garage’s door handle, gave it a twist, but nothing happened. “I got a door installed that I could pull open, but I think the springs are weak.”

Gene stepped over and pulled it up for her.

“Thanks,” she said.

Moments later her car was safely inside and the door closed and locked. Gene followed her through a side door.

He stepped inside what appeared to be a pantry, then into the kitchen.

“My house is a work in progress. This room’s already finished, so we can sit here without tripping over paintbrushes and cans.”

Gene followed her into the dining alcove that faced the front. “How long have you lived here?”

“I was born and raised in the Four Corners, but in this house, only about five months. I wanted to own, not rent, and I got a really good deal on this place. The important things like the heating and cooling and the plumbing all work fine, so I figured I’d add all the finishing touches as time and money allowed.”

Lori waved him to a chair by the table, but he shook his head. “Let’s find a place in the living room so I can have a better view of the front yard and street. I’d like to keep a lookout for a while longer.”

“You think he’ll come here?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

“Even assuming he knows where you live, he probably wouldn’t push it right now. This guy has no way of knowing what the police will do next, like maybe set up a neighborhood patrol. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

“Maybe I should turn on more lights,” she said, leading the way into the living room.

“Not necessary. The one in the kitchen is enough. Any more, and it’ll be harder to see outside because of the glare on the windows,” Gene said, walking past the ladder propped against the wall. The living room held more paint buckets, brushes, drop cloths and assorted tools than furniture.

She waved him to the sofa after removing a cardboard box containing paint rollers and a plastic tray. “It’s cold in here,” she said. “Why don’t you put one of the logs in the fireplace? I’ll bring us something to drink. I’ve got beer and colas.”

“Beer’s good.”

She went into the kitchen and came back a second later. “I should have told you. It’s not alcoholic beer.”

He stared at her. “There’s another kind?”

“Yes, and it tastes much better,” she said, laughing. “Want to give it a try?”

“Sure.” He watched her leave. Everything about this woman was just a little out of the ordinary. Even the firewood wasn’t firewood, but one of those artificial logs wrapped in paper. He placed it on the fireplace grate, found a matchbox on the mantel and lit the paper wrapping below the arrows.

Lori soon brought out two amber bottles and, seeing him sitting on the hearth, placed one bottle in front of him. “All my glasses were jelly jars at one time, so I figured you’d prefer to have it straight from the bottle.”

He laughed. He’d been right. Everything about Lori came with a qualifier. Yet despite that, or maybe because of it, he found himself liking her anyway. Except for those heels, there was a down-to-earth quality about her. She was who she was and made no apologies for it. That took confidence and it appealed to him.

Moments later they sat on the hearth rug in front of the fireplace with a huge paper bowl of popcorn between them. “I see you’re still using paper dinnerware,” he said with a quick half smile. “Is this left over from when the kitchen was being redone?”

She shook her head. “No, actually, since I don’t really know how long I’ll be staying here, I try not to weigh myself down with stuff. The only exception to that rule is shoes and purses. They’re my weakness.”

“So you’re planning on selling this place after you fix it up?”

“Hopefully, but as far as the timing goes, that’ll depend on the housing market. I consider this my starter home, something that will eventually allow me to buy up.”

He unscrewed the top off his bottle and did the same for hers. After taking a cautious sip, he smiled. “Hey, this is pretty good.”

“It’s low in calories and tastes better than regular beer. It’s brewed from barley and hops, but hasn’t been fermented. Think of it as nonalcoholic young beer, or wheat soda.”

“It’s smooth.” He went to the window and, standing to the side and out of view, looked toward the street. It was quiet and no one was lurking about outside. Satisfied, he returned to where they were sitting.

“Did you hear something?”

He noticed the way she gripped the bottle. Her knuckles were pearly-white. “No. Everything’s fine, just as it should be.”

“Good,” she said, relieved. Lori looked at her bottle, lost in thought, then spoke. “I really should take the plunge and buy at least two matching beer steins.”

“So your clothing budget trumps anything in the domesticity department?”

“Yeah, but there’s a reason for that.” Lori paused, as if trying to find the right words. “I can pack my clothes in several suitcases and be ready to go at a moment’s notice, but it’s different when it comes to household things. Some people equate filling every nook and cranny of their homes with security. I find that…constricting. Too many possessions can slow you down.”

“It sounds to me like you’re in a hurry to get someplace, or maybe just restless.”

Lori shook her head, her expression serious. “Neither. My life is in transition, that’s all. I’m searching for something that’ll give me a sense of purpose, that’ll make me greet each morning with a smile, or maybe just renewed determination.” She sighed. “It’s hard to put into words, but until I figure things out, I want to make sure my options stay open.” She glanced over at him. “What about you?”

“I’m where I want to be,” he said. “I’m a rancher, and though the days are long and the work’s hard, it’s what I was meant to do.”

“I envy you. You have what I’m searching for,” she said.

“A ranch?”

“No, your life’s passion. You’ve found your place in life, so your work is the embodiment of who you are.”

As they talked, time slipped by. After about an hour, a patrolman came by and took their statements. Unfortunately, the officer couldn’t offer any hope that he’d be able to do much more than file the report. Without a positive ID, the department had no evidence to go on.

After the officer left, Gene could see how the interview had worn Lori down. He stayed with her until he was sure she’d be okay, then looked at his watch. It was shortly after ten. It surprised him to see how quickly the evening had gone.

Gene gave her his cell number. “Call me if you run into any more problems. I’m staying at my brother Preston’s apartment while I’m in town on business.”

“Then back to the ranch?”

He smiled and nodded. “Maybe you could visit me there someday. It’s a real special place.”

As they said good-night at the door, their eyes met. The power of that one look shot through him like a bolt of lightning. He was aware of everything about her. He heard the catch in her breath and saw her breathing quicken. When she used the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips, he nearly groaned.

He wasn’t an impulsive man. He tested the water before diving in, but the temptation was too great to resist. He reached out to pull her to him, but instead of yielding, she suddenly stood on tiptoes and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

“Good night, Gene, and thank you so much for all your help,” she said softly. “If you ever need a friend, you can count on me.”

“I’ll see you again, Lori.” Even as he spoke he knew it wasn’t an idle promise. Something inside told him that he would, and sooner than either of them expected.

As she turned on the porch light and closed the door behind him, he started down the path to his truck. He’d gone only about ten feet when he caught a glimpse of movement off to his left.

It was probably just someone’s stray cat, judging from the barking dog next door, but he needed to make sure. Stopping, he reached into his pocket and pretended to be searching for his keys.

Although he never turned his head, his focus was on the bushes by the house. Next door, the neighbor’s dog continued to growl and bark, its head popping up intermittently as it jumped up and down just beyond the block wall.

A second later Gene saw the bushes beneath one of the windows sway slightly, odd because the breeze had died down after sunset. Uncertain of the threat, he took a few things out of his pocket, glanced down at his hand, then, as if he’d forgotten something, headed back to her door.

Gene walked slowly, furtively, studying the ground to his left in the glow of the yellow porch light. The footprints on the sandy earth didn’t belong to an animal, and were too large to belong to Lori. If he’d had to take a guess, he would have said they belonged to a size ten or eleven boot—not his own size twelve.

Gene knocked on her front door and Lori answered almost instantly. “Couldn’t stay away?” she said with a teasing smile.

“What can I say? You’re great company,” he said, laughing, then leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Don’t react, just go call the police. You’ve got a trespasser out here beside the house.”

Lori pulled him inside. “Come back in,” she said, shutting the door behind him.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “I’ve got this covered. I’m going to slip out your back door and go after the guy. Keep the kitchen lights off and call the police.”

“Are you crazy? You don’t know what you might be up against. He could be armed! Wait here with me for the police.”

“I’ll surprise him before he even knows I’m coming. Stay here.”

Gene opened the door a crack and slipped outside. He knew how to move through the shadows without making a sound. Hosteen Silver had said that his ability was the natural result of always being in harmony with his surroundings. He wasn’t sure about that, but he knew he was a match for whoever was out there sneaking around.

As Gene slipped around the far corner of the house he heard a low scraping sound. He waited, peering into the darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust. Despite the long gray shadows, he could see a shape huddled below the window directly ahead.

Gene moved toward the man cautiously, scarcely breathing and carefully placing each footstep to avoid making any noise. In the muted half-light, he could see the figure ahead. From the sheen and flattened appearance of his face, it was obvious the person was wearing a stocking mask. He could see something in his gloved hand, too, some kind of tool. It was probably a screwdriver, undoubtedly intended to help the intruder pry the window open.

Gene moved even closer, then stopped, hearing slow footsteps behind him. Nobody had ever been able to successfully sneak up on him—that was one skill he’d had as far back as he could remember. More than once, as a kid, that ability had helped him avoid getting beaten up by a bully.

He flattened against the wall of the house, farther into the shadows. A second later, Lori appeared, crouched low and holding something in her hand.

He grabbed her and covered her mouth with his hand as he pulled her toward him.

She slammed her elbow into his gut.

“Be still. It’s me,” he whispered.

The intruder must have also heard, because quick footsteps sounded up ahead.

Gene placed himself between her and the intruder just as something came flying in his direction. Gene blocked the object with his forearm, and it bounced off the house with a loud thud. It was the screwdriver.

“Wait here,” Gene told Lori, then took off after the running man, who’d now ducked around to the front of the house.

As Gene raced around the corner, the fleeing man stumbled over a lawn sprinkler and nearly lost his balance. Seeing Gene closing in, he grabbed a rake from the neighbor’s yard and hurled it at him.

Gene dodged, but it slowed him down, and when he looked up, the man had reached a car parked on the opposite side of the street. Before Gene could narrow the distance separating them, the guy raced off and Gene had no chance to read the plates.

Gene cursed as he stared at the fading taillights. If Lori hadn’t come outside and tipped the guy off, he would have had him for sure. He was crossing back across the street when Lori came out toward him, holding a mop handle in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

“I wish you’d stayed inside,” Gene said, his voice calm now. It was no use getting riled up after the fact. “He heard you coming and spooked.”

“I won’t abandon a friend and you were out here alone. I grabbed the closest thing I had to a weapon, and came to help you.”

The tremor in her voice sliced through what was left of his anger. Although she’d been terrified, she’d risked her own safety to help him. The gesture was touching. With the exception of his foster family, no one had ever done that.

Lori was unpredictable, but she had heart. As he looked at her, he felt the tug in his gut—and lower.

“Give me the flashlight, then stay close behind me,” he said, forcing his thoughts back on to safer channels. “I want to take a look around, but I don’t want you out of my sight again.”

“The police are on their way,” she said.

“Good. Just give me some room. I want to figure out what he was up to out here,” he said, walking back to the house.

Using the flashlight, and careful not to obliterate any footprints, he studied the gouges on the window.

Next, he aimed the flashlight beam toward the ground and quickly located the screwdriver. Hoping there was still a chance of recovering the man’s fingerprints, he left it on the ground and backed away.

“He tried to pry that window open,” he said, pointing. “What’s on the other side?”

“My bedroom,” she whispered in a shaky voice.

Chapter Four

A tired-looking police officer, Sergeant Elroy Chavez, responded to the call ten minutes later. Gene filled him in.

“You didn’t touch anything, right?” Sergeant Chavez asked.

“No. I figured you’d want to check for prints, but I should warn you, the guy was wearing gloves,” Gene said.

“You sure it was a man?” Chavez pressed.

Gene nodded. “I saw his shape and the way he ran.”

“It’s got to be Bud Harrington,” Lori said, looking at both men and trying hard to appear calm. Inside, she felt as if she were unraveling a little at a time. “The creep’s playing with my head, hoping to make me too scared to even go home.”

She and Gene stayed well back as the sergeant collected whatever evidence he could find and took a few photos. “This is all I can do here right now.” Sergeant Chavez looked at her, then added, “I’d advise you to stay somewhere else for a few days, or find someone to keep watch. The few officers we have available are working double shifts and dealing with a lot of extra calls. On top of that, our detectives are up to their necks investigating an organized gang of identity thieves working our area. We’re overworked at every level, so response times are really slow. You’re just lucky the guy didn’t wait until you’d gone to sleep.”

She swallowed hard. “I’ll get an alarm.”

“If it’s personal, that might just make him angrier, and still not be enough in the long run,” Sergeant Chavez said. “We’ll have extra patrols in the area tonight, but you really should consider making arrangements to stay elsewhere, at least for a while.”

“This wasn’t the work of a pro. If it had been, he wouldn’t have left one of his tools behind and risk having it somehow traced back to him,” Gene said, thinking out loud. “Taken at face value, what happened tonight makes no sense. A burglar would have waited until no one was home, or Ms. Baker was asleep. At the very least, it would have made a lot more sense to wait until after I’d left.”

“Maybe he didn’t know you were still here, but either way, none of that lessens the threat. Give some serious consideration to what I suggested,” he said, looking back at Lori.

As Sergeant Chavez walked away, Lori’s heart was hammering and her mouth was dry. Fear pounded through her with each beat of her heart. She had absolutely no idea what to do now.

“Would you like me to stick around for a few more hours?”

“Do you think he’ll come back tonight to try and finish what he started?” Her voice rose and her throat tightened.

“Normally, I’d say no, but this guy doesn’t act in a way that makes sense to me. That makes him unpredictable.”

“I won’t be getting much sleep tonight,” she said softly.

“So you’re not going to take the officer’s advice and move out for a while?”

“Move where? How can I possibly justify staying at a friend’s, knowing I could be leading danger right to their doorstep? I could go to a motel, but I’ll be endangering others there, as well.” She took a shaky breath. “But it’s more than that. Allowing fear to dictate what you do is never a good thing. You lose a piece of yourself when you do that. Can you understand?”

He nodded. “I hear you.”

As they stood by his truck, she glanced at his rifle, hung on a rack and locked in place in the cab. “How about letting me rent that from you for a few days?”

“It’s got a powerful kick. Do you think you can handle it?” He unlocked the rack and took it down. “It’s a Winchester .30-30. It’s accurate up to a couple hundred yards. Have you ever handled one before?”

“No, but how hard can it be? Point the barrel and pull the trigger. Just show me how to put bullets in it.”

He shook his head. “No, forget that. If you’ve never used one, you won’t be able to handle it, especially if you’re frightened. You’re more likely to have it taken away and used against you. Maybe someday I can bring you to my ranch and show you how to shoot, but without any training you’re far more likely to hurt yourself or a neighbor. Bullets travel far and have a way of hitting unintended targets. That’s why rifles, by and large, are too dangerous in urban areas.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “I need to think of something else.”

As she looked at him she had to bite back a sigh. She would have loved hiring him as a guard. Gene was tall, his shoulders broad, his chest muscular. Having a man like him beside her would have practically guaranteed the safety of everything but her heart.

Nothing about Gene was ordinary. His skin was the color of warm caramel, but it was his dark eyes that attracted her the most. Despite his strength, they mirrored only gentleness.

Trying to focus on something safer, she pointed to the braided leather bridle that hung on a hook in the back of the pickup’s cab. “That’s beautiful.”

“That belongs to Grit, my brother Paul’s horse. Our foster father left the animal to him. Grit’s a handful, and Paul’s as stubborn as they come, so those two have a minor war going on now. In all fairness, Grit doesn’t make life easy for anyone. I left the bridle too close to his stall, so he bit through it. I had to have a section replaced.”

“It sounds like he’s going to take careful handling.”

“Grit has problems,” he said, nodding. “So far, I’m the only one who can ride him. Grit’s an old rodeo horse that was about to be sold to a slaughterhouse when my foster father found him. Hosteen Silver never had a problem with Grit, but the horse wouldn’t accept any other rider, not without a showdown.”

“You’re good with horses, I take it?”

“For the most part, yeah,” he said without any false modesty. “Horses, like people, have different temperaments. Each one requires individual attention. Grit enjoys hassling my brothers and me,” he said. “It’s like a game for him.”

“I love animals. I don’t know where my life’s going to eventually lead me, but I’m sure of one thing. Animals are going to be part of the picture.” She wanted the conversation to continue forever. She liked hearing him talk and didn’t want him to go.

As they stood by his truck, Lori noticed Gene’s own reluctance to say good-night. Looking into his eyes, she realized that he was worried about her. The knowledge sent a pleasant rush of warmth through her.

“It’s really getting late. You better call it a day. I’ll be fine,” she said at last. “Sergeant Chavez promised extra patrols in the area.”

“Stay away from the windows and keep my phone number handy. I’m just a call and probably fifteen minutes away.”

Lori went back inside and made sure the door was locked and bolted. Still scared, she went into the kitchen, and taking an armful of pots and pans, stacked them near the windows and the doors. If anyone tried to break in, the pans would fall and make a dreadful racket. That would buy her time to run, or hide and call the police.

Lastly, she took her large butcher knife out of the silverware drawer. She’d be sleeping with that, her flashlight and the cell phone beside her pillow tonight.

As she went into the bedroom, her thoughts drifted back to Gene. Would it have killed her to invite him to spend the night? A man like that would not only have kept the intruder away, he would have made each hour an adventure to remember.

Yet even as the thought formed, she laughed. Casual intimacy just wasn’t her style. Her heart’s needs required more than a few hours of passion. For her, it would have to be all or nothing.

Her mother and father had gone from the perfect marriage to divorce—from love to hate. The shock of learning they were splitting up, and the painful aftermath, had left its scars. She’d never settle for the kind of love that came with requirements, boundaries or time limits.

She wanted it all and was willing to wait however long it took to find it.

GENE DROVE AWAY FROM THE house slowly. There was something about Lori Baker that had definitely gotten under his skin. Though she was afraid, she’d still managed to reach down into herself and find the courage not to back down. That alone was worthy of his respect, but there was a lot more to Lori than just that. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been drawn to her. She was a beauty, and the way she looked at him made him want to take on an army to keep her safe.

He’d spent a lot of years as the underdog and knew the pain and frustration it brought. The fact that he’d been the skinniest runt in the foster home had made him fair game to the bullies, and he’d been on the losing end of a lot of fights growing up.

Time had changed all that. Now he was over six feet tall, as strong as a bull and could stack seventy-pound bales of hay all day, if that’s what he had to do. Work had built up his muscles and he could hold his own in any fight.

Tonight he’d equalized the odds against her, but something continued to nag at him. Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, something rare for him, he pulled over to the curb and called his brother Paul. “So what do you think?” he asked after updating him.

“The incidents could be related, bro, but what the heck are you doing getting involved in all that? No, wait—let me guess. She’s hot?”

“Man, you’ve got a one-track mind. Why can’t she be an ordinary lady who happened to ask for help?”

“Because you’re still worried about her. Face it, bro. Up till now, the only females you’ve been interested in have had manes and tails,” Paul said. “So she must be something special. What’s the lady’s name?”

“Planning on doing a background check?”

“Hey, you called me for advice, so let me do what I do,” he said. “Tell me everything you know about her.”

As Gene spoke, he could hear Paul typing away at his keyboard.

“Okay, I’ve got a description and address on that Bud Harrington guy. He’s five foot eleven, one hundred sixty-five pounds,” he said, then read off the address. “Drive by his house and see if anything in particular catches your eye, like a familiar vehicle. Just don’t go poking inside private property or I may have to bail your butt out of jail.”

Gene drove up the well-lit neighborhood street twenty minutes later. Bud Harrington’s house appeared to be an unremarkable, middle-class split-level home. The front had a well-tended lawn and several mature trees. For a home in town, it wasn’t half-bad.

Slowing down to look things over carefully, Gene noted that the porch light and a front room lamp were both on. He could also see at least three newspapers thrown on the porch, and letters and flyers sticking out of the mailbox. A late-model blue pickup was parked in the driveway, but judging from the leaves atop the cab and a tumbleweed jammed under the rear axle, it probably hadn’t been driven recently.

It was time to call it a day. He’d avoided going to his brother Preston’s apartment long enough. He hated downtime whenever he was away from the ranch because that’s when he’d start thinking of all the chores that needed doing back home.

Tonight was different. He’d have other things to occupy his thoughts. Lori Baker remained at the edges of his mind, tantalizingly out of his reach. He shook his head. The real problem was that he hadn’t had a woman in his life for far too long. That, all by itself, could scramble a man’s thinking. His life lacked balance.

GENE AWOKE TO SUNLIGHT playing on his face. He stretched, working the kinks out. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa, his legs on the coffee table, watching TV. He must have been more tired than he’d thought. As he got up, ready to undress and shower, his phone rang. He reached over and lifted it off the coffee table

“Hey, you awake, farm boy?” Paul said. “I’ve got some interesting information for you. Why don’t you come over to my place?”

Twenty minutes later Gene picked up four breakfast burritos from the Hen House up on Twentieth Street, then drove over to Paul’s.

They emptied the sack of food on the kitchen counter, loaded up their plates, then stepped over to the small dining table. A laptop lay open on one side and Paul took the seat by it.

“Are you sure Lori Baker’s worth all this trouble? There are a lot of unattached ladies out there, bro.”

“She needs a little backup right now. She’s getting picked on by someone who doesn’t fight fair, and I’ve never had a lot of patience with bullies,” Gene said.

“Okay, let’s see what I can do for you.” He went into the next room, then came back with a small leather case. “Here. It’s a photo ID I made up for you. Take it. It may come in handy.”

“Grayhorse Investigations,” he said, opening it. “So I’m a consultant for your P.I. firm?”

“Anytime you decide to give up ranching, you can come work for me.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” he said.

Paul sat down by his computer and typed for a moment before looking up. “Harrington’s bad news when it comes to women. Last month the police broke up a fight between him and the very protective father of a twenty-year-old college cheerleader he kept hounding for a date. Though Harrington could have pressed for assault, he apparently wasn’t big on making it an issue, either.”

“He definitely sounds like the stalker type, but I drove by his house and it looks like he hasn’t been there for several days. His pickup hasn’t moved for at least that long. Of course it’s possible he has a car or another home here in town, or maybe a girlfriend.”

“Nothing I could find,” Paul said. “I’ll tell you what. Bring the ID I gave you and let’s go have a chat with his neighbors, see what else we can find out about him.”

Gene hesitated. “You shouldn’t be out in the field yet, not with that gimpy shoulder of yours. If we run into a problem…”

“You can handle it,” Paul said with a wide grin. “I’ll stand back and keep score.”

Gene choked on his coffee. “Like you could actually stay out of any street fight.”

“We’ll find out. Let’s go. You drive.”

Chapter Five

Lori went to work early the following morning, hoping that if Bud Harrington was around, he’d show up too late to follow her.

Her supervisor, Jerry Esteban, would probably be thrilled to see her come in early instead of right under the wire. Punching in the entry code on the keypad lock, Lori let herself into the building using the back door and went straight to the break room. Her best friend, Miranda Hoff, was already there, sitting at the table eating a glazed doughnut.

Seeing Lori, she smiled. “Busted. I came in early so I could eat my doughnuts in peace.”

Lori laughed. “Charlie’s still after you to stay on that health food diet?”

She patted her huge belly. “The baby will be here in six weeks, and since he knows how much I love junk food he’s watched over me like a hawk.” She made a face. “If I see one more fruit smoothie or those green health food shakes of his, I may scream and traumatize our offspring.”

Lori laughed.

“But why on earth are you here so early?” Miranda asked, eyes narrowed.

Lori filled her in, and then ended the story by telling her about Gene. “He really stood up for me when it mattered.”

“Are we talking the tall Indian man with the cowboy hat who was at your window late yesterday afternoon?”

“You noticed?”

“I’m pregnant, not dead,” she said with a sly smile. “It’s like I’ve always said, the bad things in life often lead to something good.”

“You’re the eternal optimist,” Lori said.

Miranda looked at the clock. “Time to get out there. I wanted to clean up my workstation before we open.”

Lori watched her friend walk away. She envied Miranda. Charlie adored her, and Miranda was crazy about him in return. Now they were expecting their first baby.

She wondered if she’d ever find the focused, purpose-driven life she craved. Time marched on, and with each day that came, her hopes seemed to vanish under the glare of the morning sun.

Lori walked out into the main office and saw Steve Farmer, her coworker, and Harvey Bishop, their security man, sipping cups of coffee and watching people already gathering by the entrance. In five minutes Harvey would be opening the doors.

A man in a cowboy hat was standing just outside, and Lori thought about Gene, wondering when she’d see him again. On impulse, she decided to call his cell and invite him out to lunch today. She wasn’t the kind to sit idly by a silent phone wishing and hoping. The direct approach was more her style.

GENE AND PAUL WALKED DOWN the sidewalk toward Gene’s truck after talking to the last resident on Harrington’s block. “You really should consider a career as a P.I., bro. People open up to you without even thinking about it,” Paul said.

“No, that wasn’t it. Harrington’s neighbors don’t like him very much, and they’re hoping someone will drive him out of town.”

As he slipped behind the wheel of his truck, Gene’s phone rang. He picked it up and smiled as he heard Lori’s voice. “Where and when?” he asked seconds later.

When he hung up, Gene noticed the odd way Paul was looking at him. “Let me guess,” Paul said. “That was Lori?”

“Yeah, she wants to meet for lunch. She’s buying.”

“You’ve got it bad, bro. I hate to break it to you, but you’re going down,” Paul said, shaking his head.

LORI DROVE TO SIMPLE Pleasures, looking forward to lunch with Gene at her favorite Hartley restaurant. Though it was across town, the drive was well worth it.

Realizing she was early, Lori asked to be seated at a booth by the front window. She could watch for Gene from there.

As she glanced up and down the street looking for Gene’s pickup, she spotted a maroon van parked on the south side of the restaurant.

The driver got out and Lori held her breath. He was wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses and a Scorpions windbreaker. Absolutely certain that it was Harrington again, she reached for her cell phone and called the police.

“Has he made any threatening moves or tried to approach you?” the dispatcher asked.

“No, Harrington’s just standing there by his van, probably waiting for me to come back outside.”

“Stay inside the restaurant. You should be safe there. We’ll have an officer on the scene in twenty minutes. If anything changes, call back immediately.”

Frustrated, Lori closed the phone and leaned closer to the window, trying to get a better look at the man outside. It had to be Bud Harrington, but she couldn’t figure out why he was doing this to her.

Trying to follow the dispatcher’s instructions, she fought the urge to go outside and confront him once and for all. Yet it was such a busy street. What could he possibly do to her out in the open?

She started to get out of her seat, then sat back down. She’d need to warn Gene to stay away. Afterward, she’d go. Lori reached for her cell phone, called and told Gene what was happening. “Don’t come over. I’ll buy you lunch some other time. I’ve already been in touch with the police and there might be trouble.”

“Is he still out there?”

“Yeah, and I’m going to go have it out with him. He’s not going to attack me right beside a crowded street and I’m tired of this nonsense.”

“Stay where you are. Busy street or not, you can’t be sure what he’s going to do,” Gene said. “What did the police say their response time would be?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“I’m less than five minutes away. Let me handle this. I can hold him there for the police.”

GENE HAD JUST BEEN ABOUT to leave Paul’s apartment when Lori’s call came in. Placing the phone back in his jacket pocket, he gave his brother a quick update.

“Give me a chance to call my client and reschedule my morning meeting,” Paul said. “Then I’ll go with you.”

“It’s not necessary. If it’s the same guy I saw last night, I won’t have a problem.”

Paul, already on the phone, muttered a curse when he got put on hold. “All right, go. I’m going to need my own vehicle, so I’ll head your way in a few minutes.”

Gene ran to his pickup and drove away, mentally planning the quickest route to Simple Pleasures.

He made good time and all the lights, right up to the last intersection. When he stopped at the red light just down the block from Simple Pleasures, he saw the maroon van she’d described. A guy wearing a blue cap and a dark hooded sweatshirt with the Scorpions logo was leaning against the driver’s door.

The distinctive clatter of Gene’s big diesel engine made the man glance casually up the street. The second he spotted Gene’s truck the guy jumped into the van, and in a matter of seconds, the van had backed out of the slot and was on the move.

Pinned in by the cars ahead, beside and behind him, there was no way Gene could get through the intersection before the light changed.

Just then Paul called and Gene put the phone on speaker.

“He’s in the van now, heading toward the north end of the parking lot,” Gene said. “Where are you?”

“Coming up from behind,” Paul said. “I see you. I’ll go straight. You take the right turn and cut through the parking lot just in case he decides to turn east.”

“Gotcha.” Gene made a quick right, then a left into the front of the restaurant lot. Ahead, he could see the van cutting back left, right out into the street. Paul was now in the best position.

Gene had slowed for a stop sign when Lori suddenly rushed up and jumped onto the passenger-side running board.

“Let me in,” Lori shouted, tugging at the door handle.

He hit the button and the lock clicked open.

Lori jumped in, then scrambled for her shoulder belt.

“What is it with you and moving cars, woman? You’re an accident waiting to happen,” he snapped.

“Later. Let’s catch him before he gets away.”

Gene concentrated on his driving. He took the same route as the van, entered the next parallel street, then whipped left.

“I can’t see him anymore. There are too many cars,” Lori said, straining to see ahead.

“I’ve got him.” Paul’s voice came from the phone on the console. “He just passed through Ellison, still heading north. He’s in the center lane.”

“Great!” Lori said, looking down at the phone. “Gene, you didn’t tell me you were bringing backup.”

“No, Gene’s the backup,” Paul said over the speaker. “I’m the closest you’ve got to law enforcement here. You two are civilians, don’t forget that.”

Gene didn’t argue, focusing solely on closing the gap between him and Lori’s stalker and trying to beat the next light.

“Keep left, and I’ll take the right lane,” Paul said. “Whichever way he cuts, one of us will be in position to stay on his tail.”

“Done.” Gene raced along, sometimes throwing Lori back into the seat despite the shoulder harness and seat belt as he whipped around slower vehicles. Over the speaker, they could also hear Paul’s engine racing and tires squealing.

Gene could see the van now, as well as Paul’s Jeep. As he watched, Paul closed in.

The van ran a red light, barely missing a white utility truck. The utility truck driver, who’d spun the wheel trying to dodge a direct hit, came to a screeching stop. Gene had to stand on his brakes to keep from rear-ending a two-seater sedan not much bigger than a riding mower.

“Forget it. We’re screwed,” Paul said at last. “Traffic is snarled up here and I can’t get through.”

More vehicles entered the intersection on the cross street. All were forced to a screeching stop because the utility truck’s sudden maneuver had sent its ladder flying into the middle of the street.

“There goes Harrington,” Lori said, pointing. The van, now at the top of a low hill, disappeared to the east around a wide curve. “Can we turn right and cut him off?”

Gene looked over at her, then at the two full lanes of back-to-back vehicles on her side. “No way.”

“So he’s gone again,” she said softly, and leaned back in her seat.

“Paul, did you get a look at the plates?”

“I only got a partial, but I’m running the few numbers I’ve got against Harrington,” he said, then, after a beat, continued. “Looks like that plate might belong on his Ford pickup. Harrington doesn’t own a van.”

“Harrington had a blue pickup in his driveway,” Gene said. “But something doesn’t make sense here. Why would Harrington bother to switch the plates onto that van? The van didn’t point directly to him, but the plate does.”

“It doesn’t make any sense to me, either,” Paul said.

“I guess I might as well buy you lunch,” Lori said with a shaky smile. “You, too, Paul.”

“Not yet. We need to report this to the police. Let’s head over to the station. We’ll back up your statement, Lori,” Paul said.

“Afterward, we eat,” Lori said. “You guys have been terrific.”

“I’ll have to pass on that lunch invitation,” Paul said. “I’ve got to meet a client as soon as we’re done at the station.”

“Then it’ll be just you and me, Gene,” she said.

“Works for me,” he said, and smiled.

Chapter Six

They were seated inside a small office at the police station, preparing to sign their statements. Sergeant Chavez, waiting with them for the clerk to reappear, offered them coffee.

“Isn’t there any way you can arrest Harrington?” Lori asked, accepting the offered foam cup.

“Not on the basis of what you’ve given us,” Chavez said. “There weren’t any fingerprints on that screwdriver, either. Face it, Ms. Baker. You still haven’t been able to make a positive ID. One of our officers stopped by to interview Harrington, but no one was at home. We’ll keep trying.”

“It’s got to be him. He’s the only person I’ve had a problem with at the DMV. I grew up in this community, and I’ve lived a very quiet life. Most of the time if I’m not on the job, I’m working on my home. It’s a fixer-upper.”

“What about old boyfriends?” Paul said.

“I date on occasion, but not regularly. It’s been at least six months since I went out on a date,” she said. “That’s why I keep saying that it has to be Bud Harrington. His body type and clothing fit, too.”

“That’s not conclusive evidence, Ms. Baker,” Chavez said.

“But the absence of any other possibility—” she said.

“Is still not evidence,” Chavez said, finishing her thought. “We spoke to the suspect after your first complaint and you know how that came out. He claimed he was the injured party.”

Lori took a sip of the hot, bitter coffee, then stood and began to pace. “I’m not sure what else I can do. This isn’t going to just go away.”

“You need to seriously consider taking my advice. Get out of town for a while,” Chavez said. “Whoever’s after you is getting bolder, and that’s not a good sign.”

Just then a clerk came into the room and placed the typed statements before Sergeant Chavez.

Chavez handed them their statements. “Read them over carefully and then sign.”

When they were done, Chavez took the forms. “I’ll follow up on this and take it as far as I can,” he told Lori. “Just don’t expect miracles. You’ve given me very little evidence to go on.”

“There’s the question of how the license plate that belongs on Harrington’s pickup got on that van,” Paul said. “Is there any way you can stake out Harrington’s home?”

Chavez shook his head. “We don’t have the manpower right now. No one’s life is in immediate danger, so it’s not going to be given a high priority,” Chavez said. “I wish things were different, but they are what they are.”

As Paul, Gene and Lori left the building and walked out into the parking lot, Paul spoke. “I have to get on a flight to D.C. tonight and meet with my former boss. The Marshals Service has requested that I review some new evidence that’s turned up on my last case.”

“Do they have a lead on who ordered the hit on the federal judge?” Gene asked.

“I’m not sure. I wasn’t given any details on the phone. I’ll know more when I meet with my district marshal,” he said. “I’ll probably be gone for a day, maybe two, so try to stay out of trouble.”

“We’ll do our best to manage without you,” Gene said in a labored voice, then flashed Paul a teasing grin.

“Do me a favor. Just don’t do anything stupid,” Paul growled.

After Paul left, Gene and Lori walked out to Gene’s pickup. “Do you want me to drive you back to your car, or straight to work?” Gene asked.

“I asked for the afternoon off,” she said. “What I’d really like to do now is drive by Bud’s place.”

“Sure. I was going to take another pass by there again anyway. Maybe Harrington’s home now.”

“If he’s there, we can both talk to him.”

“No way,” Gene said.

“I can’t keep running from him forever, Gene. Better that I should face him when I’ve got someone beside me than run into him when I’m alone.”

For several long moments Gene considered what she’d said, then finally spoke after they’d climbed into his pickup. “Here’s my deal. I’ll take you there and stand by you if you decide you want to confront him—but if there’s trouble, I want you to run back to the truck, lock yourself in and call the cops.”

“I can’t just leave if you—”

“My way or no way,” he interrupted. “Your choice.” He placed the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine.

She wanted to argue, but knew from the set of his jaw that his mind was made up. “Okay. I agree to your terms.”

He got under way shortly thereafter. “What did you tell them at work?”

“The truth, though I was a little worried about doing that. I didn’t want them to think I posed a danger to the others, and frighten everyone for no reason.”

“How do you like working there?”

“It’s a good job and I get a decent salary, but it’s not what I plan to do the rest of my life.”

“What kind of work would you do if you had complete freedom of choice?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I’m still looking around, exploring. All I’m one hundred percent sure about is that once I find the right place for myself, I’ll know it.”

“What is it that you’d like to find in a job—excitement, maybe?”

“It wouldn’t exclude excitement, but it goes beyond that. What I’m really looking for is work that’ll allow me to contribute something worthwhile, maybe the kind of job where I can make a difference in my own way. I’d like to know I’m doing more with my life than just using up oxygen and getting by.”

“You want to know that you’re working toward something, not just working. That’s exactly the way I feel about my ranch,” he said with a nod. “You’ll find what’s right for you, too, if you keep looking and refuse to give up.”

As their eyes met, she felt a delicious prickle of awareness. More than anything, she wanted to get to know him better, to see the man beyond the yummy package.

Yet, although it was tempting to lower her guard, in the past, that kind of trust had led her straight to heartbreak and disappointment. Those memories were powerful enough to urge her to pull back.

Fifteen minutes later, they drove slowly past Bud Harrington’s house. The newspapers and mail Gene had seen before were still on the porch. In the daylight, Gene could see that a layer of dust covered the pickup, windows included.

“Someone screwed the license plate back on the truck,” he said, calling her attention to it.

“Maybe it’s not the same plate,” she said. “After all, Paul only saw the letters and wasn’t totally sure about the numbers.”

Gene stopped just behind the tailgate of the pickup. “There’s no dust on the plate, unlike the truck. How else could that happen except by taking off the plate, then putting it back on?”

“But why on earth would Bud go through all that trouble? Does he think he can somehow weasel out of this by using his own plates on the wrong vehicle? Or is someone messing with his mind?”

“And yours,” Gene said. “All good questions, and if he’s back, why not pick up the mail and those newspapers, too? It could very well be that someone else is responsible. Keep in mind that, as near as we can tell, Harrington doesn’t own a van, and the maroon one we saw didn’t look like a rental. Rental vans are usually white—or black.”

“So where does that leave us?” she asked.

“Right where we started. Nowhere.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess, Gene, but I’m glad you’re here.”

He gave her a slow smile. “I’ve got no regrets. I happen to like you.”

She bit her bottom lip and smiled. “I don’t care if that’s just a line. You make it sound good.”

He laughed. “It’s no line, sweetheart. You’re unpredictable and a bundle of trouble, but you’ve also got more than your share of courage and determination. You don’t back down, even when you should.”

She had started to answer when her phone rang. It was Miranda. “What’s wrong?” she asked immediately.

“We’re really shorthanded here, and Jerry wanted me to ask you if there’s any way you can come back in this afternoon. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment, so I’ve got to leave here soon, and we’ve got a real backlog,” she said. “Are you still at the station?”

“No, I’m not, but tell me something. Does everyone know what happened?” Lori asked.

“Yeah, Jerry told Harvey, then us to keep an eye out for anyone acting strangely,” she said. “Right now Jerry’s working your window, but he has a report to finish for Santa Fe this afternoon, so he’s pretty tense.”

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” she said, and hung up. At least there was a measure of job security knowing she was needed. “I have to get back to work ASAP. Can you take me to my car?”

“Sure. We’re just a few minutes from the restaurant now,” Gene said. “You can drive on to work from there and I’ll tail you until you arrive just to make sure there are no more surprises.”

“I really appreciate that, but I’m starting to feel guilty. You’ve been spending all your time with me, and I’m sure you’ve got responsibilities of your own you’ve been neglecting because of that.”

“Do you trust me?”

The quick, blunt question took her by surprise. “Of course. You’ve put your own safety on the line because of me. Why on earth wouldn’t I trust you?”

“All right, then,” he said with an approving nod. “You remember Officer Chavez suggested you get away from home for a while?”

“Yeah, but—”

He held up one hand. “I happen to think he’s right and I’ve got an idea. You get off work at five?” he asked.

“Thereabouts. More like five-fifteen or so.”

“Okay. I’m going to be waiting outside when you get off work, but don’t look for me. I’ll hang back and follow you home. Then I want you to pack up a few things and come with me.”

“Where to?”

“I’m staying at my brother’s place. It’s a small apartment, but you can have the bedroom. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She shook her head slowly. “You’ve been really terrific, but I can’t keep doing this to you. It’s just not fair.”

“I’m volunteering, so it’s fair,” he said with an easy smile. “You’ve met Paul, who’s in law enforcement, or at least was. I’ve also got two more brothers who are federal agents, and then there’s Preston, whose apartment we’ll be using. He’s a detective with the Hartley Police Department. If at any time you think I’ve said or done anything that’s out of line, you can pick one or two of them to come arrest me.”

She laughed, then, growing serious, answered, “What you’re offering me is very tempting, but standing on my own two feet is also important to me.”

“There are some fights that can’t be won alone, Lori. Think about my offer. This really isn’t a good time for a solo act.”

After Gene dropped her off by her car, she drove directly to work. She wasn’t sure what to do. As a kid she’d learned the hard way to rely only on herself, especially after her parents’ divorce. The bitterness between them had left her caught up in the middle. She’d learned to look only to herself for help since no one else was there for her. Those lessons had come at a high price and explained at least partially why close relationships made her uncomfortable. She’d worked hard to become independent, but, now, this new situation was forcing her hand.

Lori entered the DMV building, nodded to Harvey, the security guard, then walked across the room to her window, where Jerry now sat.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said. “Before you get started, I’d like to have a word with you. Come to my office, please.”

Lori followed the tall, shaved-headed man in his mid-fifties down the hall and into his small office.

“Take a seat,” Jerry said, then shut the door behind them. “I’ve heard about your continuing problem with Mr. Harrington. I’ve already alerted security, but I need to know if he may pose a danger to anyone else in this office.”

“No, he won’t. He’s focused on me, but I should tell you that I have no proof my stalker really is Bud Harrington,” she said.

Jerry leaned back in his chair. “This office has had problems with Harrington before, especially during a time when he was selling off a car collection and had to conduct business here frequently. On the surface, he’s a respectable jewelry maker, the owner of Harrington Designs, but the guy’s nuts. He gave one of our former clerks a hard time by harassing her at her window, but it never went any further than that. Security escorted him out.”

“I hadn’t heard about that.”

“I told the police all about it when they called earlier. It happened before your time here. Ann King, a former employee, had problems with him. It was nothing more than off-color remarks, but the second time, Steve Farmer was working the window next to hers and overheard him. He waved over a security guard, who threatened to hold him for the police. There were no more problems after that.”

“Then it looks like Harrington’s behavior went down a notch or two,” she said, and updated him.

“So he’s learned to disguise his identity,” Jerry said slowly. “Do you have any doubt that it’s Harrington?”

“Not in my own mind, but I also have no proof, so the police can’t arrest him.”

Jerry considered it silently, steepling his fingers and staring down at his hands, deep in thought. “I want you to keep me informed,” he said, then stood. “You know I’m about to go on vacation, but I can switch around the dates if there’s a chance you’re going to need a leave of absence.”

“I don’t foresee that. He’s no threat to me here with all the people around and Harvey on guard.”

“All right, then. Let’s get back to work and see if we can process everyone by closing.”

IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON AND Lori was working at her window when she finally decided to take the next step on her own. If she confronted Harrington, put it on the line by telling him that she knew he was the one stalking her, maybe he’d stop playing these crazy games—or at least back off for a while.

Fifteen minutes later, Lori closed her window. As her break started, she found the telephone number for Harrington Designs in the phone book, reached for her desk phone, then stopped. Calling him from here was a bad idea. Harrington’s caller ID would show the origin and he might use it to get her into trouble. She didn’t want to give up her cell phone number, either.

Lori walked to the lobby. Mounted on the wall was one of the few landline public phones in the area.

She inserted two quarters and dialed the number, trying to figure out the best way to say what she needed.

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