âOlivia,â Sebastian said gently, âplease stop fighting me. We have to go in the house.â

Her blue eyes still held the hollow look of fear. Olivia wasnât there; she was still lost. âI canâtâ¦I canât breathe in there.â Her voice was a whisper. âI need to breathe.â

Heâd thought he could keep the truth from her. That he could hold her in the safety of the house while he tracked down the stalker. He saw now that that was impossible. To keep her safe, he would have to confess the truth.

âI know you do, sweetheart. But thereâs someone out there who wants to hurt you. And heâll go through anyone and anything to destroy what I care for the most.â

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Those April showers go hand in hand with a welcome downpour of gripping romantic suspense in the Harlequin Intrigue line this month!

Reader-favorite Rebecca York returns to the legendary 43 LIGHT STREET with Out of Nowhereâan entrancing tale about a beautiful blond amnesiac who proves downright lethal to a hard-edged detectiveâs heart. Then take a detour to New Mexico for Shotgun Daddy by Harper Allenâthe conclusion in the MEN OF THE DOUBLE B RANCH trilogy. In this story a Navajo protector must safeguard the woman from his past who is nurturing a ticking time bomb of a secret.

The momentum keeps building as Sylvie Kurtz launches her brand-new miniseriesâTHE SEEKERSâabout men dedicated to truth, justiceâ¦and protecting the women they love. But at what cost? Donât miss the debut book, Heart of a Hunter, where the search for a killer just might culminate in rekindled love. Passion and peril go hand in hand in Agent Cowboy by Debra Webb, when COLBY AGENCY investigator Trent Tucker races against time to crack a case of triple murder!

Rounding off a month of addictive romantic thrillers, watch for the continuation of two new thematic promotions. A handsome sheriff saves the day in Restless Spirit by Cassie Miles, which is part of COWBOY COPS. Sudden Recall by Jean Barrett is the latest in our DEAD BOLT series about silent memories that unlock simmering passions.

Enjoy all of our great offerings.

Sincerely,

Denise OâSullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Heart of a Hunter
Sylvie Kurtz

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my family whose continued support

means the world to me.

AUTHORâS NOTE

Even a mild traumatic brain injury

can alter a person for a lifetime. Becuase of the short time frame of this story and because it is a romance, I downplayed the pain and the expected physical symptoms someone with Oliviaâs injuries would feel. Her recovery is an ongoing process that will require her to adapt and will probably last the rest of her life.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Flying an eight-hour solo cross-country in a Piper Arrow with only the airplaneâs crackling radio and a large bag of M&Mâs for company, Sylvie Kurtz realized a pilotâs life wasnât for her. The stories zooming in and out of her mind proved more entertaining than the flight itself. Not a quitter, she finished her pilotâs course and earned her commercial license and instrument rating.

Since then, she has traded in her wings for a keyboard where she lets her imagination soar to create fictional adventures that explore the power of love and the thrill of suspense. When not writing, she enjoys the outdoors with her husband and two children, quilt making, photography and reading whatever catches her interest..

You can write to Sylvie at

P.O. Box 702, Milford, NH 03055. And visit her Web site at www.sylviekurtz.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sebastian FalconerâHeâs a U.S. Marshal caught between duty to the service and love for his wife, his haven.

Olivia FalconerâSheâs an artist who doesnât remember how to paint, and a wife who doesnât remember her love for her husband.

Paula WoodruffâOliviaâs sister is determined to save her sister from her husbandâs domination.

Cari WoodruffâPaulaâs daughter wants someone to take responsibility for her fatherâs death.

Edwin SuttonâSebastianâs boss is on a fast track to success and wonât let anything stain his perfect image.

Bernie KershawâThe fugitive is wanted for armed robbery, rape and murder. Heâs out for revenge for being caged.

Nathan KershawâBernieâs brother is tired of playing second fiddle.

Mario MenardâThe Aerieâs groundskeeper keeps an eye out for trouble. But did he have a hand in the security break?

Sean GrecoâThe U.S. Marshal is angry and dirty.

Allan VeraniâGrecoâs roommate wants what he was promised.

Nelson WeldâThe small-time thief is ready to sing to keep his freedom.

Kiki BatesâWeldâs girlfriend has pinned all her hopes on the wrong man.

OLIVIAâS CHOCOLATE ORANGE SNACK CAKE

1 ²/₃ cups flour

1 cup packed brown sugar

Â¼ cup cocoa

1 tsp baking soda

Â½ tsp salt

1 cup orange juice

1 tsp vinegar

Â½ tsp orange extract

Â½ cup semisweet mini chocolate chips

Heat oven to 350Â°F. Mix flour, brown sugar, cocoa, baking soda and salt with fork in ungreased square pan, 8"8"2". Mix in remaining ingredients except chocolate chips. Sprinkle with chocolate chips. Bake 35 to 40 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Makes 9 servings.

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

The hunter had returned. Decompressing, he called the time he needed alone after coming home from an assignment. But Olivia knew it went deeper. He was trying to shake off the mind-set of the man heâd hunted for the past month. Heâd told her once it was like spending time in a sewer and he didnât want to poison her with the stench.

Was it wrong of her to want him to share his world?

She descended the stone stairs that led to the basement of their mountaintop home and the room she referred to as Sebastianâs âcave.â Sheâd called it so affectionately at first. Now there was a trace of resentment that left a bitter taste at the back of her throat. At the door she hesitated.

Bent over his paperwork, he was surrounded by all sorts of electronic gadgets that could have come from a science fiction movie set. His mind was focused, laser-sharp on his task. The lean muscles of his trackerâs body were controlled. Sheâd seen this stance often enough to recognize he was detaching himself from one world and trying to reconnect with another. Why did that passage make her so sad?

Sheâd lived with him for ten years. She knew everything about him. The way he brushed his teeth. The way he peppered his corn. The way he checked the oil in her car before he left on assignment. But she didnât know his heart. After all these years, he still kept it to himself, its contents as secret as his operations.

He loved her. She had no doubt about that. But she wanted it allâthe bad and the good. Not just the castle in the air heâd provided for her. To keep her safe, heâd said. But here in the rarified air she didnât know what she was capable of. And the longing for flightâfor something moreâgrew every day. Especially when he was gone, and she was left alone with her thoughts.

Her heartâalways so openâhad lately closed a little. She found herself keeping things from himâthoughts she knew would upset him, musings he would take the wrong way, feelings he wouldnât understand. She didnât like that extra barrier between them, didnât like the way they were growing apart. Her fault. Sebastian hadnât changed. He was the same driven man sheâd met at one of her fatherâs business functions eleven years ago. She was the one with the curl of anxiety gnawing at her.

She loved him. She always would. Just watching him and all his intense self-assurance made her soul sing like nothing else could. But where was the answering melody? Sheâd signed on for a duet and lately had become aware she was singing a solo.

He looked up from his work and smiled. The brightness of it caught her breath just as it had the first time. One touch. That was all it would take to evaporate her resolve. She slid her gaze from his. If she looked into his eyes, she would stay and she needed to go.

âIâm almost done,â he said, turning back to his work.

She hugged herself and leaned against the door frame. âTake your time. I just wanted to say good-night.â

He glanced at his watch and frowned. âSo early?â

âIâm leaving, Sebastian.â The hard thud of her heart nearly drowned out her words.

âLeaving? I donât understand.â

No, he wouldnât. He could see through the eyes of evil, but the working of his own wifeâs mind was alien. âIâm going to my sisterâs for a while.â As much as Paula wanted her to leave Sebastian, she would not approve of her plan, either.

âI just got home.â

âI know. I waited for you.â And that, she realized, had been a mistake. She should have taken the cowardâs way out and left while he was gone. âI didnât want you coming home to a note.â

After all the years theyâd shared, sheâd owed him that much. Sheâd thought hearing of her departure from her would hurt less than words scribbled on paper. She hadnât counted on seeing the ridges of fatigue drooping the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth. She hadnât known the pain in his eyes would arrow straight to her gut. And in the past month, sheâd talked herself out of the power of his magnetism.

âIâve missed you,â he said. âCanât this wait?â

âNo, Iâ¦â She knitted her fingers and breathed in courage. âI need to get away for a bit.â She needed to prove to him she could fit in his world, and she thought the course in criminal justice at the community college in Nashua would give her a startâa point from which to connect. But if she told him, he would talk her out of it. Where would that leave them? Right where they were, and she couldnât go on like this.

He closed his eyes and blew out a huff of frustration. âOlivia, Iâm tired. Canât we talk this over in the morning?â

By morning, sheâd have melted into him and it would be too late. âNo, I need to do this.â

He went predator-still. Never a good sign. âThis isnât just a vacation.â His dark gaze bored into her, making her feel caught in a trap. Was that how his prey felt when he closed in on them? âYouâre leaving me.â

She shifted to the outside of the door frame. âIâm not leaving you.â How could she explain? How could she make him understand? âIâm going to myself, not away from you.â

âThat doesnât make sense.â He gave her a puzzled look and rose from his black ergonomic office chair. He took one slow step. She had to hurry while she still could.

Looking down at her hands so primly knotted in front of her, she licked her dry lips and focused on her goal. Everything else sheâd tried to dissolve the barrier between them had failed. âYouâre a contained man, Sebastian, and I need to spill over. For a little while. Until I figure out where you end and where I start.â

âI donât understand.â The pain slashing his features twisted inside her. He took another step forward. Though she wanted to flee, she held her ground.

âIâve known you since I was seventeen. We were married when I was eighteen. You have five years on me. You knew what you wanted out of life. This.â She arched her arm to encompass not only the room, but all of the house. âYou. Itâs all Iâve known for the past ten years.â

âI thought you loved the house.â Another step. She stiffened.

âI do.â Sheâd helped design it herself. The way the light played with the shadows, the way it fit snugly into the rocky New Hampshire landscape as if it belonged, the way each room was a restful den, made it a home, not merely a house. âItâs not the house.â

âThe village then.â His gun hand flexed. He wouldnât let her go. âYou feel isolated.â

âNo, itâs not Wintergreen.â How could she resent a place where everyone knew her and treated her like a friend? If she wanted a taste of the city, Keene, Nashua, Manchester werenât that far. Even Boston was only a few hours away. She straightened against the stone wall and hugged herself tighter.

He stopped, let his head drop to his chest, then blazed her with a look of such sadness she nearly closed the distance between them to comfort him. âIâm sorry I canât give you the baby you want.â

That was a tiny bit closer to the truth. Without that common goal, the wall between them seemed to get thicker. But a baby wouldnât fix the hollowness growing inside her. Until Sebastian trusted her with all of himself, a baby would only complicate the situation. âItâs not the baby.â

He took another step. They stood close enough for breath to mix with breath. He knew her weakness and was going to use it against her. âThen what is it, Olivia?â The reverberation of his voice was cat smooth and cougar dangerous. âHelp me out here. I donât understand.â

Then she made her second mistake. She touched him. Just a whisper of finger against the roughness of his beard. The heat of it shivered through her. The want, the need. His. Hers. âItâs the waiting and the worrying. Itâs killing me.â

âItâs my job.â

âI know.â And she did. She understood how his parentsâ murder at the hands of an escaped convict had driven him into the U.S. Marshals Service. She understood his need to hunt criminals and put them back in jail where they couldnât hurt anyone but themselves. She understood his need to leave her for long periods of time to do his work. He was the best manhunter in the Service, and his duty to the Service always came first.

And that simple little jealousy made her feel petty. How could she ask him to stay when what he did was so important? Why did he insist on shutting her out of the most important part of his life?

âBut I want to share it.â

He frowned. âWeâve been through this before.â

âI know.â And gotten nowhere. She wanted him in her life, of that she was sure. But she needed the balance to shift. She didnât want to simply be his haven. She wanted to be his partner. This course was the first concrete step to that partnership. âYouâre so strong. And Iâmâ¦â She shook her head. âI need to find my strength.â

âYou are my strength, Olivia. Donât leave. Not tonight.â

He reached for her, eyes bright with that potent mixture of desire and danger that never failed to arouse her, and a small helpless cry escaped her. No, donât touch me. Iâll give in. She could feel her body responding to his before heâd even finished wrapping his arms around her. He held her tight. She tried to push him back, but when it came to Sebastian, she was weak.

He was passionate about everything he did. And that passion, she was loathe to admit, was part of her attraction to him. The aura of intensity around him acted as an aphrodisiac for someone unsure of her place in the world. The bad-boy looks on a man who hunted for justice had made her believe that, at his side, she could find herself. And each time he touched her, she believed it againâuntil he left.

His chin snuggled against the top of her head. The strong beat of his heart drummed beneath her hands. His heat seemed to fuse her to him. She could start a day late. She could leave tomorrowâafter this storm of return. Maybe heâd understand then. Maybe she could tell him that her need to leave was like his need to decompress before he came to her when he returned from a hunt. Something that was temporary, but necessary.

âI love you, Olivia.â

âI know.â And the slow melting started. It shimmered from her heart towards her limbs and left her limp. She twined her arms around his neck to hold herself up and accepted the brand of his kiss. The searing heat of it, the desperate need in it, erased the boundaries between them. The savage taste of him filled her. The scent of him, so primal, so Sebastian, dissolved her will. She could feel herself slipping away, and her desire suddenly tasted salty with tears. âLet me go, Sebastian. For a little while.â

âStay. Iâll take some time off. Weâll go away somewhere together. No beeper. No phone. No computer. I promise.â

âUntil the next prisoner escapes.â

He opened his mouth to answer. She covered his lips with a finger. He took the offending digit into his mouth and gently sucked.

âItâs not you.â As his hands slid up her sides, she tried to catch her breath and put some space between them and found her hands mirroring his, seeking the firm skin beneath his shirt. âItâs me. I needâ¦â

âWhat?â His thumb skimmed a nipple, drawing a gasp from her.

âSebastianâ¦â

As he continued his exquisite torture of her flesh with his hands, his mouth found the tender spot behind her ear, clouding her mind. âWhat do you need?â

âMore. I need more.â She crushed herself against him to gain focus, only to lose it again when his fingers rounded her waist and stroked the sensitive hollow at the base of her spine. âLet me go, Sebastian.â

The sudden stillness in him was more frightening than the seduction she couldnât resist. But before he could say anything, the beeper on his desk shrilled.

âAnswer it,â she said, as the invisible web making them one separated strand by strand. âYou know you have to.â When they stood apart, an aching cold made her shiver. Why had she done this? Why had she hurt him? Why was she risking the love of the one person who made her feel secure?

Because the next time that phone rang, she wanted him to talk to her about the coming hunt and not shut her out. She wanted him to know she truly understood his job, him.

He stalked to the phone and ripped the receiver off the cradle. Punching in numbers, he stared pointedly at her. She memorized the lines of his faceâthe sharp jaw, the thin nose, the full lower lip, the cleft in his chin, the upside-down V his work had creased between his eyes, the dark shadow of beard that he could never quite seem to get rid of no matter how often he shaved, the clean cut of his straight black hair. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. She licked her lips and imprinted his taste.

âFalconer,â he barked into the phone.

She opened her eyes, blinked as if taking a last picture, then turned toward the steps. She wanted to stay. She had to go. Her heart suddenly weighed heavily with the contradiction of her needs.

âOlivia! Wait.â

But she couldnât. She was leaving because sheâd nearly lost herself in him again. When she was stronger, when she was his equal, when she could stand solidly beside him without forgetting herselfâ¦then sheâd return.

âHOLD FOR MR. SUTTON,â the voice on the other end of the line ordered in a clipped voice.

Sebastian put a hand over the speaker and called, âOlivia!â

But she wasnât waiting. She was running up those stone steps as if the devil were on her heels.

Maybe he was. In the past year, heâd felt himself grow colder, harder. Had his work seeped into his home life? Olivia was so sensitive that his dark moods were bound to frighten her. Decompressing took longer and longer. Would he one day get stuck in the mind of the scum he chased?

Tethered to the phone and his boss, Sebastian watched helplessly as the ten best years of his life walked out the door. Maybe if heâd been able to give her the child she so desperately wanted. But no, he realized, the slowly widening rift between them went deeper than that. Something had been bothering Olivia for months now, and heâd gone against his habit of facing unpleasant things head-on and chosen to believe the closeting he saw in her eyes was temporary. Winter blues. She had them every year. Should he have suggested adoption? Would that have calmed the sadness in the summer sky of her eyes? A vacation. They needed a vacation. Somewhere sunny.

He strained the length of the telephone cord. âOlivia!â

She wasnât really leaving. She couldnât. He needed her. Did she know he watched her sleep? That he took comfort in the slow rise of her chest, in her simply being there, alive, beside him? That she was the reason he could keep doing what he had to do and still stay sane?

Finding her was always his first objective when an assignment was over. Getting back to Olivia. The beat of that need pulsed in him from the second he ratcheted cuffs on a fugitive. And then, when the long ride home was finally over and he saw her, alive and breathing, he could let the tension slip, let his breath out, let his heart feel again. With the first hug came a silent prayer of thankfulness. She was safe. He was home. And for now the world was right.

But not tonight. Tonight the mountain smoked from the unseasonable sweat of the day. Every year in February, winter seemed to grow weary of blowing blue and mean. For a day or two, it teased New Englanders with the false hope of spring. Temperatures rose. The sun blazed. Snow melted. And that brief flirting with spring seemed to have the same effect as a full moon, making everyone a little crazy.

Cabin fever. That was it. Sheâd be back. Heâd give her a day, then heâd show up at Paulaâs and take Olivia home where she belonged. Better still, heâd take her for that long-promised vacation and they would talkâreally talk.

âFalconer,â Edwin Sutton barked into the phone. Sutton was the executive in charge of a thirty-man, seven-state, ongoing Fugitive Investigative Strike Team covering the northeast. He liked for operations to run smooth, for the felon arrest numbers to run high, and he liked to play those successes to the press. With no wife, no kids, not even a dog, the Service was his life and ambitious couldnât even begin to describe him. âHead for Connecticut. We just lost two of our men.â

A personnel loss wouldnât look good on Suttonâs scorecard. Heâd want closure and fast. âWho?â

âSean Greco and Robert Carmichael. They were on transport. There was a fire. Two prisoners are dead. Three escaped. Somehow they cornered Greco and Carmichael outside the building, had them drive getaway, and cut the hell out of them under an overpass on I-95. This is going to get us blowback. I want it contained, and fast.â

Bad PR would tarnish Suttonâs record. With D.C. his next planned step up the ladder, he had to keep the stain from spreading. âAny leads?â

âWeâre working on IDing the three pukes on the run. Two more turned to toast in the fire. We gotta sort them out. I want you on this full time till theyâre back in their pen. And Falconer, the Feebs are involved. Crossed state lines and all that bull.â

âGreat.â That meant the case was officially the FBIâs, but protocol allowed participation of the slain officersâ agency. He didnât want to work with the Feebs. They couldnât pass wind without permission and tended to mess up investigations. Not to mention their tendency to let the Service do the work, then steal their glory. This was not going to be fun. And it would mean putting Olivia on hold. Again.

No wonder sheâd left him.

âOne more thing, Falconer. The mutt slated for transport was Kershaw.â

Sebastian went cold. âIs he one of the missing?â

âYeah.â

âDead?â

âWonât know till the toast are IDed.â

One life deserves another. Donât turn your back on that pretty wife of yours, Falconer. Iâll take from you what you took from me. Kershaw had made that promise five years ago and the cold determination in the snake-yellow eyes had matched Sebastianâs determination to put him behind bars. Thatâs why he still checked on Kershawâs welfare once a month. âWhen were Greco and Carmichael killed?â

âWe found them a few hours ago.â

âWhen were they killed?â

âAs best as the M.E. can make out, about four hours ago.â

Four hours. Enough to get from Connecticut to New Hampshire. With time to spare. He dropped the phone and raced up the stairs, taking them three by three. âOlivia!â

She jokingly called this place âFalconerâs Aerie.â Heâd built it for her high on the mountain. To keep her safe. Heâd vowed to her father on their wedding day that his work would never touch her. This house, this mountain, was a haven. For her. For him. And now she was out of his reach on the road on a dark night with a madman licking at her heels.

THE NIGHT WAS EERILY CALM, making the carâs engine sound as if it roared. Thick and white, fog rose from the road and made the mountainside seem to smoke. To her right, the dark fronds of pines and winter-bare limbs of oaks and maples poked through the mist, reminding Olivia of ancient druids in ceremony. To her left, the meager shoulder dipped into a black abyss, making the scaly snake of road appear too narrow for her car. At odd intervals, runs of wet snow slipped from the mountainâs flank to slide under her wheels, making the steering feel sluggish. Each curve on the winding road flashed jagged arms of trees, points of rocky outcroppings or dizzying flirtations with the edge of the road. Olivia had never liked carnival fun rides, and this nightmare was no exception.

Turn back, her weak side urged. No, not this time. This time she was going to be strong. âStick to the plan.â

Trying to stay on the road, she hunched over the steering wheel and peered through the wavering curtain of fog.

The tears werenât helping.

Why was she crying when she was the one whoâd chosen to leave? And this short separation was to strengthen their future. âFor once in your life grow a backbone, Olivia.â

She swiped at her eyes with the back of one gloved hand. She hadnât known it would be this hard to walk away from him. That she would miss him so much in so little time. That the emptiness in her would feel as dirty and as desperate as the fugitives Sebastian chased.

âYouâre a fool, Olivia,â she told the haggard reflection haunting her on the windshield. She had a great home. She had work she loved and didnât have to worry about making money from it to survive. She had a man who loved her and supported her. Security. âYou have everything a woman could want.â

But all of these chains of overprotection were sucking the juice from her creativity. She hadnât painted in a month. Hadnât felt the drive or the pleasure. Her next memory trunk still sat in her studio with only its priming coat on.

And the last thing she wanted was to resent the only man sheâd ever loved because sheâd lost herself inside his strength. This quarter apart would give them both the needed distance to view their relationship more clearly.

As she followed a curve, the slope of the mountain angled less sharply than before. The turn for the main road was only half a mile away. She eased her grip on the steering wheel and blew a small puff of relief.

A deer jumped onto the road. Olivia gasped, jerked the wheel to the left and stomped on the brakes to avoid the animal. Mistake. The slush on the road became as slippery as oil. Her wheels churned. The car slid sideways. She lifted her foot off the brake, spun the wheel in the opposite direction and fishtailed.

Smoke billowed up from the dashboard. The acrid smell made her choke. The black cloud blinded her. She tried to straighten, but the back end of the sedan kept going, then dipped over the edge of the road. There the car paused.

Holding her breath, Olivia leaned forward as if her weight could counterbalance the downward pull and tried not to cough on the toxic smoke. The engine whined. The headlights swirled in the mix of black haze and white fog. The undercarriage creaked beneath her as the car sought its fulcrum.

Please, donât let me die. I promise Iâll go back. I promise Iâll try harder. I wonât complain. I promiseâ

Gravity sucked the car down. Olivia screamed as she scratched at the dashboard as if she could escape her fate through the windshield. The car careened down the rocky slope, gathering speed. Boulders and trees didnât slow the metal skeleton. It simply bounced from the obstacles in pinball madness, up and over, side to side, tossing her painfully around the safety harness. Wrenching metal screeched. The air bag deployed, burning her face and suffocating her for a desperate moment. As a branch thrust through the windshield on the passengerâs side, glass cracked and the blanket of crazed glass wrapped around the sprung mushroom of air bag.

Then the right rear quarter panel smashed into a granite monolith, grinding the car to a sudden halt, canting it sideways, and sending her head crashing through the side window. She saw stars and a bright pinprick of light. A warm rush flowed over her brain, turning everything blood red, then black.

Panting, she swiped at her eyes. If she couldnât see, how could she work? How could she paint? How would she fill the endless emptiness of Sebastianâs absences?

The car slipped again. A foot. Two. She stilled and bit back the scream clawing at her throat. Pleaseâ¦

The car came to rest with the small bump of a landing elevator, bobbing her head. That gentle slap of her temple against the metal frame was the final insult.

Like a light winking out, she fell backwards into the inky chasm fracturing her conscious mind. I donât want to die! I donât want to be alone. Panic made her fight the pull of darkness. Her arms reached forward. Her mouth opened for one last desperate cry, âSebastian!â

Chapter Two

The red lights of the rescue squad turned the fog a bloody red. The slam of the closing ambulance doors cracked like a shotgun and thundered over the mountain. As the ambulance sped away, Oliviaâs blood-streaked face colored Sebastianâs vision. Her closed eyes, her pale skin, the rip in her scalp, were a punch to the gut. The fading whine of the siren was a cry that swept him back too many years and pooled old dread into his boots like cement.

He swallowed hard and shook his head. Donât go there. Itâs not going to get you anything. You have a job to do. Do it.

Olivia was in good hands. Once at the hospital, he couldnât see her right away anyway. Doctors would need to examine her and patch her up. What good would he do her pacing the hall? Here he could get a jump on Kershaw. He flexed his fists. She would be okay. But not Kershaw. Kershaw would pay. Sebastian cranked his gaze away from the disappearing red lights in the fog to the scars in the slush made by Oliviaâs tires.

Resolutely, he pushed Olivia from his focus. She crept back in on the next breath. He crouched by the side of the road. Read the facts, damn it. Pukes always leave a trace. If you let him get away, Oliviaâs the one whoâll pay.

He should be at the hospital with her. But in these weather conditions evidence would disappear fast. His gaze followed the run of the tire marks over the edge, and with each breath he got himself into Kershawâs head. Kershaw had vowed revenge. Kershaw had escaped from a maximum-security facility. Olivia was hurt. Too much of a coincidence and heâd never liked coincidence.

Concentrate. Feel what he feels. Fear what he fears. Trust what he trusts.

Sebastian turned off the emotional switch and went into hunter mode. Catch the scum, then get back to Olivia.

That was the plan.

Always.

With effort, he rose and strode toward Victor Denley, Wintergreenâs chief of police. Both the mustache, waxed Western-villain style, and the weapon, cocked at an odd angle from the chiefâs belt, seemed out of place on the six-foot, barrel-shaped man. He looked more like a caricature of a cop than a figure of authority. But the accident had taken place in his jurisdiction and this was his scene. The Service prided itself on interagency cooperation.

âHow soon can you get the car out?â Sebastian asked.

Denley snorted and shook his head. âIâm not sending anyone down there till daylight.â

Sebastian bit back his temper. He needed answers now. âWhen you do, I want it gone over with a fine tooth comb. Anything and everything that might be out of place, I want to know.â

âI donât have that kind of manpower or budget. You know that, Falconer.â

âTow the car to Cyrilâs and send me the bill.â Sutton was going to bust an artery over his next expense report, but screw him. Heâd given his all for the Service. His job was never supposed to touch Olivia. They owed her.

He hiked down the tailgate of his SUV and took a flashlight from his gear bag. âI forwarded a bulletin to your desk. I want your menââ All four point five of them. Cripes! This was a mess. ââaware of Kershaw.â

âHow serious is this guy?â

âHeâs armed and dangerous.â Sebastian clicked on a utility belt. âAnd he wants payback.â

âWish you hadnât brought that kind of trouble to my neck of the woods.â

In a town where the dayâs highlight was a free cup of coffee at McGeeâs General Store and writing a traffic ticket to an out-of-towner who strayed a mile over the speed limit, a copâs edge dulled in proportion to the spread of gut over belt. Kershaw was way over Denleyâs experience. âTrust me. That wasnât the plan. Heâs after Olivia. I want a guard posted by her hospital room.â

âBudgetââ

âFrankâll be glad for the overtime.â Frank Brandt was young and eager, even if inexperienced. He liked to relax at the local martial arts dojo and his edge wasnât yet donut dimmed. Denley opened his mouth, but before a word could spit out, Sebastian repeated, âSend me the bill.â Let Sutton choke. Danger wouldnât flirt any closer to Olivia than it already had.

Sebastian strode toward the edge of the road.

âHey,â Denley called, âwhere do you think youâre going?â

âLooking for evidence.â

âYouâll mess up the scene.â

Like that was going to make a difference with the way the EMTs had trampled it to rescue Olivia. âHe already has a warrant out on him for the murder of two marshals. Whatever evidence I find here wonât change anything.â Cutting down the timeline was more important than preserving this sceneâa scene that would melt away before morning. Sebastian headed into the fog that covered the black hole where Oliviaâs car had plunged.

Denley shone his flashlight at him. âYou should get to your wife.â

âIf I donât catch this puke, heâll go after her again.â

âHe might not have anything to do with this. Thereâs deer tracks. The roadâs slippery. On a night like this, could be just an accident.â

No, Sebastian didnât believe in coincidence. Not with someone as determined as Kershaw. âWhat if he did? You donât want that on your conscience. To get what he wants, heâll go through anything and anyone. Heâs armed. Heâs motivated. He has nothing to lose.â

âGetting aggressive and imaginative at this time of the night wonât help you collar your mutt.â

Aggressive and imaginativeâcop-talk for breaking the law. This was for Olivia. Heâd get as aggressive and as imaginative as it took to bring down Kershaw.

IGNORING THE BEEPER vibrating at his belt, Sebastian placed a call. Working alone, heâd woven a wide network of contacts. The best way to information was knowing who to tap.

âFelicia?â a sleepy voice greeted Sebastian on the other end of the line as he paced the hospitalâs emergency-room waiting area.

Officially, Aurora Cates was a librarian. But her real persona was information specialist. Why she hid her true calling was a mysteryâone that was none of his business. Five years ago, heâd accidentally discovered that if he needed a fact, any factâobtained legallyâRory Cates could dig it up. Best of all, she could do it efficiently and discreetly.

âSebastian Falconer.â

âFalconer?â He heard the rustling of bed sheets. âDo you know what time it is?â

He glanced at his watch. Where had the time gone?

âItâs one-thirty in the morning,â Rory informed him. âWhat could be so important at this time of the night?â

âI need information.â

âI figured that much.â

Sebastian swallowed around the knot in his throat. âInformation on coma.â

âComa?â

His strictest rule was to never mix business and pleasure. Thatâs why heâd never asked Rory why she was hiding in a library when her skills were better suited elsewhere. Business took place on one level; personal life on another. Few people knew where he lived, that he was married or anything about his background. Safer that way, heâd thought. Kershaw had proved him wrong. âMy wife was in an accident.â

âWife? Youâre married? How long?â

âTen years.â

âAnd Iâm just finding out now?â Her laugh was a bird-song. âIf I need a secret kept, I know where to go.â

Mixing both planes of his life was as awkward as doing surveillance in a snake pit, but Kershaw had smashed those boundaries. âWhoâs Felicia?â

âMy sister.â Rory sighed, and Sebastian heard the frazzled threads of a knotted relationship. âI havenât heard from her in a while and Iâm worried.â

âSheâd call you this early?â

âThis late. Yeah. Iâd take her call anytime, though.â The click of a pen. The shredding of a sheet of paper. Change of subject. Just as well, chitchat wasnât his forte. âWhat do you need?â

âAnything you can dig up on coma and brain damage. Recovery.â The word tasted dry and made him wince.

âJeez, Falconer,â Rory said as she scribbled down what heâd told her. âIâm really sorry. I hope sheâs all right. She has to be a saint to put up with someone like you.â She gave a mirthless chuckle. âIâll see what I can find for you.â

Not a saint, but his angel. âThanks, Iâll owe you.â

âIâll hold you to that.â

AS SEBASTIAN WAS disconnecting, the emergency-entrance doors burst open and his sister-in-law strode in like a witch riding a twig broom. Her ICBM-like gaze zeroed in on him. He didnât stand a chance, so he braced for the blow.

âWhy wasnât I called immediately?â Her question screeched across the room, making the nurses at the desk look up. Her bottle blond hair bobbed with every laser-sure step in his direction.

âIâm just coming up for air myself.â

One of Paulaâs hands beat the air like a conductor gone mad. âFor hours no one answered the blasted phone. I was going out of my mind. Then I had to find out about Olivia from that man.â

That man being Mario Menard, the Aerieâs groundskeeper and handyman. That man was even now installing another layer of protection to keep Paulaâs baby sister safe. Sebastian couldnât figure out if she treated Mario like a nonentity because he was the hired help or because he was always polite to her even when she was giving him her best impression of a third-degree black belt witch. The situation only seemed to get worse after the bankruptcy and suicide of Paulaâs husband and Paula had to get a job.

âYou were next on my list, Paula,â he said gently. After all, Paula had raised Olivia. Paula had been more of a mother to Olivia than their own mother, who hadnât wanted the burden of a menopause baby.

âNext? I should have been first. What happened? How is she? When can I take her home?â

âWhoa, there.â He put up both hands against her verbal assault. âSheâs coming home with me where she belongs.â

Paulaâs eyes narrowed to barbed slits. âSheâs coming home with me. We both know she was leaving you. Thatâs where she was going at that ungodly hour. To my home. Away from you. I figured you were giving her a hard time and thatâs why she was so late. I never thought youâd actually hurt her.â

âI would never hurt her. The hour wasnât ungodly. She left before seven.â

Both of her hands exploded upward. âSeven? That was almost six hours ago!â

âI had other things on my mindâlike Olivia and her welfare.â

Paulaâs hands hitched to her bony hips. âHer welfare? When have you ever bothered with her welfare? She wasnât happy with you. You should have seen that years ago. But no, not Mr. Important Deputy Marshal.â She pecked her fingernail into his chest. âYou were too busy doing your important job to see that she was dying inside. If youâd once bothered to ask her what she wanted instead of assuming she wanted whatever you wanted, then we wouldnât be in this situation right now.â

âPaulaââ

âNo, donât Paula me. Your selfishness almost killed her.â Rusty mascaraed tears dripped from Paulaâs pale blue eyes. Her voice cracked. âI want to see her.â

âSheâs not allowed visitors yet.â

Hand at her throat, she gulped. âHow bad is it?â

âWe wonât know until she wakes up.â

âComa?â One hand covered her trembling lips; the other wrapped around her waist. The drips of tears turned to a stream. âOh, God, no.â

âI have another neurologist scheduled to see her first thing in the morning.â

Paula keened. âNeurologist? Thereâs brain damage?â

Sebastian tentatively reached for his sister-in-law and patted a shoulder. âSheâs going to be okay, Paula.â

Paulaâs eyes narrowed and skewered him with pure hatred. âSheâd better.â

Sebastian backed away. Knowing what to push was only part of an investigation; you also had to know when to let things slide. This was a slider. He headed toward the entrance.

âWhere are you going?â Paula called after him.

âHome to shower and change. Iâll be back.â

Paulaâs gaze rested on his shirt and traced the pattern of Oliviaâs blood staining the white cotton. âWhat if she wakes up while youâre gone?â

âYouâll be there to make your final bid for her to leave me. Thatâs what you want, isnât it?â

Her shoulders bowed and she wrapped both arms around her stick figure. âI want whatâs best for Olivia.â

âThen we agree on one thing.â

EVEN AT EIGHT in the morning, the lights in the hallway outside Oliviaâs room seemed unnaturally bright. Such a dazzle should have cheered Sebastian, made him expect the best. But as the doctor exited the room, the brilliant islands of light only served to rush all that could go wrong at him in a giant black wave. Olivia, you canât die. You canât leave me this way. We never got to talk.

âHow is she?â Sebastian asked, hands fisted deep in the pockets of his pants. Heâd demanded the best neurologist available and been told this beat-up dog was it.

Dr. Iverson crossed both arms over his chest like a shield. Fatigue seemed to sag his aging features into bloodhound droopiness. âPrediction of improvement is difficult at this stage.â

Sebastian closed his eyes for a second. Patience, he reminded himself. âWhen will you know?â

âAgain, making predictions at this stage is impossible.â Dr. Iverson shrugged. âThere are many factors involved in your wifeâs recovery. A loving, stable relationship is a great asset and will do more for your wife than anything we can offer her.â

Stable relationship. A ticking like a time bomb settled in Sebastianâs gut. Would she want to come home? Would she let him help her? He frowned. âWhat does that mean?â

âIt means time is the best healer, and sheâll need all the support you can give her. As soon as she wakes up, weâll know the extent of the damage.â

Damage. He swallowed hard. Trying to ignore the mad ticking, he grasped on to âwakes up.â âSheâll be okay then.â

Dr. Iversonâs forehead wrinkled more deeply. âWeâre optimistic, but weâre dealing with an acceleration/deceleration head injury and you should be prepared.â

The ticking flared, started to burn. That could mean anything. Let him explain. âFor what?â

âIn this type of injury, the head, which was moving forward, came to a sudden stop when it hit a stationary object. In your wifeâs case, the driverâs side window. When this happens, we often find bruising of the frontal and/or temporal lobes. Your wife may not be the person she was before.â

âWhat do you mean?â

Dr. Iverson turned sideways. The good doctor would scram if he got half a chance, Sebastian thought, and blocked the doctorâs route of escape. Youâre not going anywhere until I have answers.

âThe injury is located on the left hemisphere,â Dr. Iverson said. âShe may have changes in thinking, behavior and personality. Problems with motor skillsââ

âLike painting?â God, no. Olivia came alive when she painted. She created magic with her colors and brushes. If she couldnât paint, there would be nothing to hold her home. And he needed her. Why hadnât he told her so before? Why had he let her go? Because heâd never been good with wordsâat least the out loud kind.

âPainting. Writing. Organizing,â Dr. Iverson said. âWith the temporal lobe involved, she may also have problems with memory. But itâs really too early to tell.â

The ticking stopped and something seemed to implode. âMemory? As in amnesia?â

Dr. Iverson shrugged. âAmnesia. Short-term memory.â

âTemporary?â His fists curled. What if she couldnât remember him? Their life together? She would remember. She had to.

âWeâll hope for the best.â

Hope? Doctors were supposed to do more than hope. They were supposed to have answers. There was always some other trail to sniff, some other trigger to follow, some other fact to unearth. âCanât you run some tests? There must be something you can do.â

âWeâve done everything we can for now. When she wakes up, weâll do a full neurological workup designed to tell us problems with reasoning, memory and other brain functionsââ

âWhen will that be?â

âThereâs no way to tell. The sooner the better.â

A squawky announcement over the P.A. system had the doctor cocking his head. Was it standard procedure? Give the doctor two minutes with the family, then page him to save him from their stupid questions? âI want to see her.â

Dr. Iverson nodded. Without a goodbye, he spun on his heels and squeaked his way down the green hall and through the beige swinging double doors.

Sebastian fought the urge to follow him, grab him by the collar and shake him until he had answers. But the doctor couldnât give him answers he didnât have.

Amnesia. Brain damage. He did not want to go there. Sheâd be okay. She had to.

His beeper vibrated against his hip. He didnât bother glancing at it. Sutton was probably three shades of purple by now. But heâd have to wait. Kershaw was after Olivia. He had to make sure Olivia was safe before he focused on Kershaw.

What if he isnât after Olivia? What if you read him wrong because of your fear for her? Then Kershawâs timeline was getting bigger by the minute. Sebastian dragged a hand over his face. Donât go there. Oliviaâs accident on the heels of Kershawâs escape was too much of a coincidence.

The beeperâs renewed massage centered him. What do you know? You know Kershaw wants to hurt you through Olivia. You know he means to keep his promise. You know heâs on his way.

Donât you?

He took his handheld computer from his pocket and punched in numbers. He was letting his fear for Olivia screw up basics. First things first. Check to see if the fugitives were back into custody.

Not as of five minutes ago. That would be too easy.

Kershawâs transfer was to the new federal prison in Berlin, and he had a mother who lived in Nashua. Sheâd been vocal in her demands for a closer incarceration so she could visit. Cruel and unusual punishment having her boy so far away, sheâd claimed. As if sonnyâs kidnappings, rapes, armed robberies, felony assaults and murders were nothing more than school-yard scuffles. Sheâd abet her worthless spawn in a second and lie through her false teeth about it. He made a note to put a check on her telephone records and tack on some surveillance.

The safest thing for Kershaw to do was to hunker down. Hunkering down meant getting outside help. But Kershaw also had an agenda. Heâd keep moving. Moving, he made a target. All Sebastian had to do was connect the dots.

And protect Olivia.

He swore. One was never supposed to touch the other. That was the agreement. That was the plan. How could he be two places at once? How could he stay by Oliviaâs side and stalk Kershaw?

He had to find a way or else all heâd built over the last twenty years was worth nothing.

âBING!â UP POPPED the instant-message window asking if he wanted to accept a message. He clicked yes when he saw Okieâs name highlighted on his buddy list.

Okie: Hey, I think somethingâs gone wrong.

Sk8Thor: No slip, sliding?

Okie: Slip, slide all right. Slip slide right into a coma.

Sk8Thor: Him?

Okie: Her. U said itâd B ok.

Sk8Thor: Heâs hurting, isnât he?

Okie: Yes.

Sk8Thor: Thatâs what you wanted, wasnât it?

Okie: Yes.

Sk8Thor: Then whatâs wrong?

He could feel the hesitation and cursed it. Thatâs what came of counting on someone else. But this required finesse, and one trick heâd learned long ago was how to make the best of any hand he was dealt. This one was too sweet to pass up.

Sk8Thor: He wouldnât help u when u needed it. He had to pay, didnât he?

Okie: Yes, but, sheâs nice, u know. I didnât want 2 c her hurt so bad.

Sk8Thor: This way heâs hurting more. Youâre not gonna quit on me, are u?

Okie: 2 late now.

Thatâs right. Too late now. Youâre my hands and eyes, and youâre my fall guy. One by one he was going to breach each of Falconerâs defenses. Then heâd pull the last pin and watch while all Falconer stood for caved in around him. How far did you have to push a man to betray his ideals? Not as far as most people thought. Affluence made people cream cheese soft. Falconer thought he knew it all, thought he could shed one skin and slip into another without the fat at the seams showing. But Sk8Thor saw through the stitches. A manâs heart never changed. And Falconerâs heart was as black as his. Sk8Thor was lean and mean and hungry. And Falconer, even wearing his hunter skin, couldnât compete with a lifetime of surviving in the sewers.

Falconer didnât stand a chance.

âTime to set up for show-and-tell.â He typed one last note to Okie and pressed the send button. Laughing, he asked the screen, âWho do you trust, Falconer? Who do you trust?â

Chapter Three

When Sebastian could no longer put off Sutton, he stepped out of Oliviaâs room and got out his phone. Leaning against the hallway wall, he tried to blink away the image of Oliviaâs too-still body, but it was etched into his brain. Every detail of angry bruises on chalky skin became a horrid scene filled with accusations. As he punched in Suttonâs number, he started to stride. The only way to stay ahead of the nightmare was to move.

âWhere the hell are you?â Sutton barked.

âHospital.â Sebastian paced the outside of Oliviaâs room as if it were a cage.

Sutton swore more colorfully than a seasoned sailor. âWhat happened?â

âKershaw got to Olivia.â

Sebastian wished for static over the clean phone line. Anything to break the density of Suttonâs silence.

âAre you sure?â Sutton asked.

Sutton liked black and white, but Sutton hadnât worked the field in a long time. And the field was nothing but shades of gray.

At Sebastianâs silence, Sutton cursed again. âNot the gut thing.â

Never mind that gut was often the thing that broke a case wide open. âKershaw swore heâd get back at me through Olivia. The fact Olivia was hurt the same day as Kershawâs escape canât be coincidence.â

âGot anything to back you up?â

âSoon,â Sebastian said, thinking of Oliviaâs car. Cyril Granger should be done with the automotive autopsy by the end of the day.

âHow soon? I need results.â

No doubt because the prison riot, the murder of his men and the escape of three dangerous felons had become a media circus. Wiser to say nothing.

âIâm sending in a team,â Sutton said, his words tight and sharp.

âNo.â

A fist banged on wood. âListen, Falconer, that lone-eagle crap isnât going to fly this time.â

âYouâre glad enough for it when you need clean-up.â

âThis situation is raking in too much media. It needs containment now.â

Sebastian stilled. âKershawâs here. Heâs after Olivia. Iâll get him.â

âIâm pulling you off duty. Take some personal time.â

âKershawâs mine.â

âYouâre too emotionally involved.â

What no one realized was that he always got emotionally involved. All he had to do was think of the victim and he couldnât help it. He couldnât walk away from Kershaw. Not when he was after Olivia. âI canââ

âBull! If it comes to choosing between Kershaw and your wife, youâll pick your wife. Why do you think I donât have any ties?â

It wasnât a question, but a simple statement of fact. For Sutton, the Service and life were one and the same.

âI know Kershaw.â Sebastian bit his words to contain the temper swirling like a hurricane about to beach. âI know how his mind worksââ

âHow are you going to handle this?â

âSolo.â

Sutton swore again.

âI want carte blanche,â Sebastian pushed on as a plan formed in his mind. âI want a clear path in the field. I donât want roadblocks from the locals. But if I need something, I donât want to have to ask twice.â

âThatâs not how we operate.â

âIâve never let you down.â

âThis isnât the time to go for glory.â

Sebastian sneered. This was a bust that would garner attention, and Sutton wanted itâpreferably before the Feebs beat him to it. âIf it was glory I wanted, I couldâve had it years ago. Iâve let you take the credit for every one of my collars. I made my bones a long time ago. I donât have anything to prove.â

âWhat about Olivia?â

The mention of Olivia brought back the image of her bruised face in 3-D color. He resumed his pacing. âWhat about her?â

âWhoâs going to watch over her while youâre out enforcing the law?â

No, not the law. Justice.

And there was the pinch.

Hunter and husband. Duty and love. And in the middle, justice and obligation. He owed both to Olivia.

The lone eagle. The clean-up guy. The guy who got the job done. People thought he worked alone because he didnât trust anyone. That wasnât the reason. He worked alone because he didnât want the responsibility of someone elseâs life on his shoulders. If he got himself killed, then it was his tough luck. He already had three souls on his conscience; he didnât want any more.

But he had a shoulderful of responsibility now. Olivia was here, in this hospital bed, in a coma, because of him, because of what he did, because of his need to rid the world of scum. Marrying her ten years ago was an act of selfishness. He knew it then; he knew it now. Heâd tried to protect her.

And failed.

She was his strength. She was the one weakness he wasnât able to resist. And she was paying for his flaw. Heâd gambled with her safetyâand lost.

He closed his eyes and up popped the image of that purple-black bruise marring the left side of her too-white face. For once, he had to make her his priority. He had to stay by her side until she was well. And when she was, they would have to redraw the boundaries of their relationship.

How could he live without hunting? It was in his blood. Yet how could he live without Olivia? She was his soul.

When in doubt, act. If he couldnât physically leave, then heâd have to figure out a different way to track.

âGive me a team,â Sebastian said. Teamwork wasnât his strength, but for now he was grounded. Someone else would have to do the flying. If he couldnât do the hunting, then he wanted to head the team that would. âIâll find him.â

âA team?â

âFour men.â With four men, he could cover his target. If he had to operate with a team, he wanted men he could trust. âGrayson Reed. Noah Kingsley. Dominic Skyralov. Sabriel Mercer.â

Sutton whistled. âThe best of the best.â

âDo you want this circus over or not?â

A heartbeat. Two. âIâll set it up.â

Sebastian punched out. The win should have felt good. It didnât.

Kershaw was on the loose. Olivia was his target. And heâd have to depend on others to catch his prey.

SHE AWOKE THIS TIME to a view of night through a window. Clouds raced across the moon, leaving a moving trail of patchy light on the gray linoleum floor. The metallic click of an artificial pulse kept her own company. The strong smell of sickness and floor wax twitched her nose. The blanket covering her right arm was strangely heavy.

When she moved her head to look at the warm weight, pain shrieked like a banshee and zigzagged through her brain with a lightning burn. The room spun around her. Her vision dimmed. Nausea rose and fell with roller coaster sharpness.

Whatâs happening? Where am I?

Suddenly a hard and warm wall caught her. She fought against the strangling hold until a calming murmur penetrated through the roar in her mind. âOlivia, shh, itâs okay. Iâm here.â

Olivia? Who was Olivia? Limbs shaking, she clung to the solidness of the man holding her to steady herself. Who was he? Why was he here? Did she know him?

âDo you want me to call a nurse?â

Nurse? âNo,â she croaked.

âAre you dizzy? The doctor said that was normal.â

Doctor. A vague image like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle reassembled itself in the black of her mind. Real? It seemed so opaqueâas if the glue holding the pieces together wasnât quite dry. Yesterday? Today? Brown hair streaked with white. Droopy face. Hospital. Someoneâthe man holding her?âanswering a myriad of questions whose answers didnât mean a thing to her. Was she making up the impatience that throbbed from him like the boom of a drum? Accident. She was in an accident. At least thatâs what the man said. Car, heâd said. And the scarecrow woman, too. Her voice, thin and sharp like her body, had mixed words into a whirl until none made sense.

Then the doctor had poked and prodded, asking her to do all sorts of thingsâsmile, chew, swallow, follow his fingertips, walk, stand on one footâuntil all she could feel was layer upon layer of pain.

Just when she thought she could return to the security of her bed, someone had rolled in a wheelchair. Then theyâd dragged her from machine to machine until fatigue took over. Finally, theyâd left her alone, and sheâd slipped into the welcoming blankness of sleep.

She saw all this in her mind as if it were happening to someone else, making her feel as if she had no more substance than a ghost.

âI should call a nurse,â the man said. His worry was crushing, and all she wanted was distance.

âNo.â She didnât want any more poking and prodding. She wanted to be alone. Struggling out of his hold, she slipped to the other side of the bed and hung on to the side of the mattress with fists curled around the stiff sheet. A wave of nausea surged, then ebbed. The throb in her head steadied. The room stabilized.

âOlivia?â

âI have toâ¦â The words were in her head. She could feel them there, pinging like flies against a lightbulb in the dark. They stumbled across her tongue like stinging bees and spit out already half spent. ââ¦go bathroom.â She slid one foot to the coldness of the linoleum floor and held her breath while the room wavered around her.

âLet me help you.â

âNo.â Donât touch me. But she got tangled in the wires connecting her to machines.

He came around the bed, unhooked the clothespin-like device biting her finger and untangled the white cord that had wrapped itself around her forearm. Dark eyes stared down at her, their intensity unnerving. Who was he? Why was he here? Her skin crawled with an electric buzz when he wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her up.

âI fine.â She shrank away from the too close contact of his body against hers.

His hand reached for her chin and gently forced her to look into his eyes. âOliviaâ¦â

She saw pain flash bright in the near blackness of his eyes, felt an unasked question float between them, sensed a fear that echoed along her nerves, sending them jangling like alarms. âI haveâ¦to go.â

âOkay.â He looked away. She swallowed hard. A hollow keening rang inside her. The sense of loss was so deep she nearly buckled beneath it.

âIâve got you.â He tightened his hold on her.

âNo. Iâm. Fine.â

âLet meâ¦â

Pain again. In his voice. In the pinching of his forehead. In the downward arch of his eyes. She tried to relax in his grip, but tasted tears with each step.

She walked stiffly, grateful when they arrived at the bathroom. He turned on the light. âDo youâ¦?â He shifted his weight and glanced at the toilet against the beige tile wall. âDo youâ¦umâ¦needââ

âNo.â She pushed away his supporting hand. The thought of him watching her while she emptied her bladder was too embarrassing. âIâm fine.â

âIâm right outside if you need help.â

She nodded, then regretted the move when it set the room in motion once more. Holding on to the sink with one hand and the wall with the other, she held her breath until the man was no longer blurry.

Forehead rucked like a V of geese, he nodded and closed the door.

Once alone, she let her breath out in one long swoop. Turning, she braced both hands against the sink and caught a reflection in the mirror. Long strands of dark hair hung limply around a pale face streaked with blotches of purpling black on the left. A row of stitches crimped the hair-line from temple to ear. The eyes, with their eerie ring of blue around too-wide pupils, lent the image an air of panicâas if the woman in the mirror would take off at any second. Was that what the man had seen? This panic? Was that what scared him?

Me? she wondered, searching every corner of the face. No, how could it be? She would know herself, wouldnât she? Nothing looked familiar.

âOlivia.â She tasted the name and swallowed it all wrong. It didnât fit.

âOlivia.â She tried again, straining for a scrap of recognition. She bit her lower lip with her upper teeth and watched helplessly as the image before her started to shake and tears to race a shiny run over the pale cheeks.

âMrs. Falconer,â she sobbed. The echo of the name theyâd called her as theyâd probed and poked grated like a door needing oil. âOlivia Falconer.â

Theyâd called the man with the intense eyes and the serious face her husband. Safe, theyâd told her. Heâll keep you safe. A quiver of cold prickled down her spine, raising goose bumps along her arms. Married. She was married. To him. Then why did he feel like a stranger? As if sheâd never seen him before? Shouldnât she feel something more than panic when he held her, when he looked at her?

She peered deep into the eerie blue eyes, tried to climb into the dark pupils to find the answers hidden beneath the shell of skull. And saw nothing. Her breath came in short bursts. Sweat, cold and clammy, slipped her hands along the edge of the white sink. And all she could hear was the thud of her heart.

She reached a hand to the image of the woman she did not recognize in the mirror. âWho are you?â

The knock on the door made her gasp. âOlivia? Are you all right? Should I get the nurse?â

âNo. Iâmâ¦fine.â Closing her eyes against the reflection taunting her, she backed to the toilet and took care of natureâs call. Then she sat elbows on knees, head in hands, eyes closed, trying to glimpse into the deep velvet blackness of her mind. When he called to her again, she reluctantly stood and opened the door.

He helped her back into bed. She slid as far away from him as she could. He took the open mattress space as an invitation and climbed in beside her. The solidness of his body against her side, the furnace of heat he generated, stiffened her.

Go away. Leave me alone, she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her dry throat. An ill feeling crawled across her skin like a long-legged spider. She did not want to anger this man. Was he dangerous? Did a part of her know that? She rolled onto her side and stared at the restless chase of clouds over the moon. What was happening to her? Why was there nothing in her mind? What would become of her?

âThe doctor said you could come home today,â the man said, startling her with his ability to read her mind.

Home? Her heart thudded hard in her chest. Where was home? Why could she draw no pictures of the place where sheâd lived with this man? For how long? The ache in her head started to burn again. Her throat tightened. She couldnât go to a strange place with a strange man. But if not with him, then where?

She drew the blanket tight under her chin. âAm I losing my mind?â

âNO, SWEETHEART. Youâre not going crazy.â Sebastian leaned in closer, wanting so badly to hold her. She bit her lower lip and curled her legs up to her chest, rounding her shoulders away from him like a baby in the security of a womb. Even though the doctor had warned him that the amnesia would cause anxiety, he hadnât expected this rejection. Needing some sort of connection, he touched her shoulder. She rounded away from his touch and nestled her head deeper into the pillow, closing him out.

Swallowing hard against her withdrawal, he rolled onto his back. She doesnât know me. Hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. Where do we go from here?

How could this person who wore Oliviaâs skin, spoke with Oliviaâs voice, moved with Oliviaâs grace, not be Olivia? Medical explanation aside, reality was hard to take. How could one moment erase ten years, a lifetime? Donât dwell on it. Sheâll be back. This is just temporary.

âYou were in a car accident.â He tried to reach her on the level of facts, if not on the physical one that grounded him. âAnd your brain was a little shaken up. The doctor said it might take a while for you to get your memory back. Headaches, anxiety, dizziness. Theyâre all normal. They should all go away. And weâre going to do everything we can to help you.â

The information Aurora had faxed him earlier in the day wasnât reassuring. Given the location of the damage to Oliviaâs brain, permanent memory impairment was a possibility. What if Olivia never remembered the life theyâd shared? What if she never loved him again? What if this Olivia left him for good?

He gave a sharp shake of the head. No, he couldnât accept that. âDr. Iverson recommended a rehabilitation therapist who specializes in traumatic brain injuries. Sheâll help you improve your motor skills and give you techniques to improve your concentration and manage the pain.â And if he was lucky, sheâd perform a miracle and give him his Olivia backâthe way she was before. âIâve arranged for her to meet us at the house.â

He turned his head toward Olivia. She wasnât asleep. Her muscles were wound too tight; her breath came too fast and shallow to be restful. âOlivia?â

She didnât answer. The force of her fear stole his breath. And all he was doing was adding to it. His touch had once calmed her, aroused her, made her melt. Now, it sharpened her fear.

As sheâd slept earlier, heâd tried to get into her head. What would it be like to remember nothing? The depth of the dark emptiness had almost swallowed him whole. No shared past. No trust. No love. Only fear. Getting into the most evil of criminal minds couldnât compare to the terror of having a lifetime erased.

If he believed in prayer, he would pray now. But he didnât. Hadnât in a long time. The futureâtheir futureâhad always seemed so bright. But now, caught between an Olivia who wasnât Olivia and Kershawâs need for vengeance, he couldnât conjure up any of the dreams that usually saw him through his trips through the sewers of society for the scum that thrived there.

Catch the scum. Get back to Olivia. That was the plan. Always.

But the rules had changed and this was a whole new game.

Sebastian ran a hand over his face. He was stuck here, waiting, just waiting like a paralyzed slug. The trail was getting cold. He couldnât look for Kershaw. He couldnât find the information he needed. He couldnât seek the triggers to bring the whole damn thing to an end.

And in the panic-stricken eyes of the woman who looked like Olivia, he could not find the wife whoâd been his haven.

Kershaw was God-knows-where. The team heâd requested was on its way, giving Kershaw time to do whatever evil his rotten mind plotted. Olivia wasnât safe hereânot even with him watching over her, not even with the guard outside the door. Every doctor, every nurse, every aide who walked through that door was a possible threat. He needed to get Olivia to the safety of the Aerie. And for that, he needed to earn a slice of her trust.

He slid out of her bed and into the hard chair beside it. She would come back to him. She had to. In the meantime, she needed him even if she didnât know him. He leaned forward, dangling his hands between his knees. Closing his eyes, he touched her the only way he couldâwith his voice. âLet me tell you about homeâ¦â

THE NURSE HAD SHOOED Sebastian out of Oliviaâs room while they got Olivia ready to go home. Leaving the stiff stranger in the bed was a relief, and he hated that it was. She was his wife; she deserved his understanding. How was he going to get through the weeks, maybe months, before she was well again without going crazy?

Paula had dropped off a bag of clothes the night before and threatened to return early enough to spirit Olivia to Nashua rather than let her return to the Aerie. Sebastian hadnât told Paula about Kershaw yet, but he would have to, and he dreaded the blowback that would create.

First he had to get Olivia home, then heâd worry about Paula.

Needing to do something other than dwell on Olivia or Paula or the way his life was crumbling like slag on the side of a mountain, he snagged the phone out of his pocket and checked messages. Three from Suttonâthe reason why heâd turned off the ringer. And one from Cyril Granger. He checked his watch and bit back a grumble, then punched in the garageâs number anyway. At the sound of Cyrilâs cigar-gruff voice, Sebastian gave silent thanks for early risers. âSebastian Falconer.â

âFalconer! I got the results you wanted.â

Hand in pocket, Sebastian braced. âShoot.â

âLucky your wife had all that metal around her or sheâd a been dead.â

Heâd made sure she had the safest car on the marketâthat was no accident. âWhat happened?â

âAs far as I can tell, she probably hit the brakes for some reason. Maybe deer. Maybe snow. Maybe something else. Skidded and went over the embankment.â

Sebastian couldnât wrap his mind around the information. Heâd been sure Kershaw had tampered with the car. âAn accident?â

âLooks that way.â

âNo tampering?â

âHereâs the interesting part. I couldnât get the taste of smoke out of my mouth.â

Sebastian frowned. âSmoke? From the crash?â

âNo, thatâs just it. It didnât taste like engine smoke. It was more electrical. So I followed my nose and, sure enough, I found something.â

âWhat?â Sebastian prodded as he ground tight steps the length of Oliviaâs room.

âSomeone swapped the brake switch fuse from a 5 amp to a 40 amp.â

Sebastian stilled. âWhat does that mean?â

âMeans that if she woulda gone five more minutes down the road, smoke woulda billowed up and blinded her. She woulda choked on it. Her eyes woulda watered. Then you coulda blamed the accident on tampering.â

Five more minutes would have put her on Mountain Roadâclose enough to run into a sheer wall of granite or into Trotterâs Pond if she lost sight of the road.

Kershaw.

âCan you tell when the swap was made?â Sebastian asked.

âNo way to tell for sure. Anytime between the last time she used the car and got into it again. Itâd take about ten minutes for the wiring harness to catch fire.â

And there was no way to ask Olivia when sheâd used the car last. No way to ask her if sheâd had any visitors. No way to put Kershaw at the scene, with the melting snow making any trace of him vanish. Because of the time limit on the wiring fire, the tampering had to have happened at the Aerie. And that was impossible. Not with all the security he had in place. âThanks, Cyril. Iâll need a written report.â

Cyril humphed. âWell, I got a busy day aheadâa me. Itâs gonna be a coupla days.â

âIâll need pictures of the brake switch fuse and the burnt harness.â

âAnsonâs got himself a new digital camera. Iâll get him to take the pics.â

Anson was Cyrilâs college-aged son. âGreat. Have him e-mail me the file.â He gave Cyril his e-mail address and punched out.

The connection had barely closed before he entered another number.

âMenard,â a sleepy voice said.

âFalconer,â Sebastian said as he started pacing again. âWhen was the last time Olivia used her car?â

âThree days ago when she got groceries.â

âAnybody come by for a visit?â

âOnly Paula and her daughter.â

Sebastianâs steps got shorter, faster. âMeter reader? UPS delivery? Anything else?â

âSpecial delivery from the post office two days ago. Propane yesterday.â

That gave him some place to start. âDid you make sure the security system was on at all times?â

âThatâs what you pay me for,â Mario said, voice sore as if Sebastian had poked a bruise. Marioâs hawks squawked in the background.

Things werenât stacking up right. Sebastian rubbed a hand over his chin. Could someone whoâd just escaped a prison riot, killed two marshals and traveled four hours from a murder scene have been careful enough to leave no trace?

Kershaw wasnât into finesse. He was into results. Leaving evidence would mean nothing to someone bent on revenge. Heâd have wanted Sebastian to know he was the cause of his grief.

Sebastian spun on his heels and faced the closed door of Oliviaâs room. If not Kershaw, then who? Who would want Olivia dead?

Chapter Four

As the nurse left with the wheelchair, Sebastian guided Olivia out the glass front doors of the hospital toward the parking lot.

âI will wait,â she said, tugging her arm free from his grasp.

Standing still she made too big of a target, but he couldnât explain that to her without frightening her. âI canât leave you here by yourself.â

Her hands knotted in front of her, and she shrank back toward the hospital entrance. âI will be fine.â

She was afraid, and he didnât know how to make her feel safe. âI wonât.â

Her blue eyes searched his and made him feel like a heel for manipulating her cooperation. Iâm not your captor, he wanted to say. But that wasnât really the truth. The Aerie would become a prison of sorts until Kershaw was caught. For her own good. With a sad nod, her gaze slid away and she stepped beside him.

Sebastian had almost made it to the SUV when the shriek of brakes had him instinctively putting Olivia behind the shield of his body and drawing his weapon.

The driver wasnât Kershaw or some other unknown piece of scum bent on mowing them down; it was Paula shooting visual daggers at him through the windshield of her ancient Volvo. While he holstered his weapon, he thought heâd rather deal with Kershaw.

âOh, no you donât!â Paula stormed from her car and blocked the path to his vehicle. âSheâs coming home with me.â

âYou canât protect her.â

âFrom what?â

He didnât answer. Couldnât. Paula more than anyone would relish his failure and throw it back in his face.

A small wounded sound came from Paula. She half sank to the asphalt, then sprang up. âI knew it. This is all your fault.â

âItâs no more my fault than Rogerâs leaving you penniless.â Below the belt, but she was pecking at him as if she was a vulture, and he couldnât just lie there like carrion. He needed to get Olivia out of this open space and into the safety of their home.

The second Paulaâs face hardened, he regretted the flash of temper. Roger was dead; Olivia was still alive. Paula wasnât a fugitive. Fighting her dirty wasnât fair.

With a skinny hand, Paula slapped his cheek with all her might. The sound echoed across the parking lot like a shot. The mark burned and throbbed. âYou bastard.â

Contrite, he reached for her arm. âPaulaââ

She twisted from his grasp. âNo, you stay away from me. And from Olivia. Iâm taking her home.â

He grabbed her as she tried to go around him. Turning them both away from Olivia, he whispered, âYou canât.â

Her pale blue eyes searched his face and disgust narrowed them. âWhat have you done?â

He swallowed hard around the lump of his failure. âSomeone I put in prison escaped. He wants to kill Olivia to hurt me.â

Paula mewled.

âThe Aerie is protected,â Sebastian insisted, scouring the parking lot for hidden dangers.

âA lot of good that did her.â She waved toward the hospital building with her free hand. âLook where she ended up.â

âThis isnât the time or place to discuss this.â

âYouâre right. Iâm taking her home where I can look after her. Youââ She jabbed him in the chest. ââshould do what you do best. Leave her alone while you hunt your fugitives. I canât believe youâve done this!â

He maneuvered to keep Olivia safe between the shield of parked cars and his body. âIf I thought leaving with you was the best thing for Olivia, Iâd do it in a heartbeat. This guy has nothing to lose, Paula. Heâll go through you, through Cari, to get to her. Do you really want to put your daughter in danger just to win this point?â

Paula shook her head. âNo, youâre lying. You want to keep Olivia to yourself. She was leaving you, and youâre too selfish to admit she wanted out of your life.â

Oliviaâs leaving had nothing to do with this hardheadedness. He had to keep her safe. It was his duty and his obligation. He reached behind him and found the softness of Oliviaâs coat. âDo you want to look at his rap sheet? Kidnapping, rape, felony assaults. He murdered two marshals to get here. Tortured them. Cut them up like bait. He doesnât want to go back to jail. Heâd rather die. He has nothing to lose, Paula. And he wants to hurt me by killing your sister. Look what heâs already managed.â

He scanned the lot, took in the duo of nurses chattering to his left, the orderly with hunched shoulders hurrying to his right and the traffic getting heavier on the road. He needed to get Olivia out of there now.

Paula sniffed, shaking her head. âI canât let her go with you. I have to protect her from you. She was leaving you, Sebastian. She was leaving you. You donât deserve another chance to change her mind.â

Because Paula was half right, Sebastian offered her the white flag of a promise. âWhen Kershawâs back where he belongs, then Olivia can make her own choice. Until then I will protect her with everything I have.â

He didnât deserve this second chance, but he would take it. Heâd never told Olivia how much her serene presence meant to him when he returned from the chaos of the ârealâ world. Heâd never told her just how deeply he loved her. He owed a debt to Olivia for all the times heâd kept her waiting and worrying for him, for all the times heâd assumed she would always be there when his job was done. And the thought that he would fail Olivia scared him more than any special operation heâd ever worked. He felt her shift behind him and blocked her in.

âIâll fight you in court if I have to,â Paula said.

Because he needed her as an ally and not an enemy, he tendered an olive branch. âOliviaâs confused now. Sheâll need a woman to talk to. Stay with us. She needs you.â

The shimmer of tears in Paulaâs pale blue eyes, the trembling of her lower lip and the press of her fist against her heart told him heâd finally said the words sheâd wanted to hear all along.

SHE WATCHED THEM, the hard man and the stick woman, a breath away from her. They stood like gunslingers, exchanging barbs as hot as flying bullets. Anger rose from them in writhing snakes, and all she wanted to do was leave. But where would she go?

Standing here between the solid body of the man and the cold steel of a truckâs tailgate, for a moment, she was disoriented. The sky was so wide and so blue, it spun around her and she was the eye of a hurricane. The pale yellow sun was so bright, its light washed everything in glittery white and, for a heartbeat, she was blind.

The odors were different, too. The crisp air smelled like ironed sheets and the coldness of it shrank her lungs so that she had to open her mouth to breathe. She wrapped both arms around her middle, wishing for the comfort of the four walls of the room she had just left.

Sheâd followed him because sheâd had to. Heâs your husband, theyâd said. Heâll keep you safe. This hot anger didnât feel safe.

They were talking about her as if she werenât there, and she didnât like it. Though her insides felt as empty as eternity, she was still here and solid. Hey, you idiots, canât you see Iâm here, that I can hear every word, that Iâm not deaf? But the words were playing hide-and-seek in her mind again. Fisting her hands at her side, she forced them out of her throat. But the best she could do was to cannonball, âStop!â

Both swiveled their heads in her direction. âOlivia,â they said at once. But she wasnât done and while the words were sliding down her throat like snowmelt, she poured them out. âI do not wantâ¦to go anywhereâ¦with either of you.â

Heels digging into the hard asphalt, she spun around. Both hands went out to steady the world for a step. Then she focused on the glass doors of the building and headed toward them.

âOlivia!â Panic filled the word, made it roar, and the next moment, she was falling, and something big and black blurred a wall of hot exhaust and revving motor beside her.

Instead of bouncing on the hard asphalt, her head nested in the warm shoulder of the man. His body cushioned hers. The drum of his heart was loud and hummingbird fast against her ear. And when she looked into his dark eyes, something sweet melted inside her, then shook like the tail of a rattlesnake. This man she didnât know, this man whose name she couldnât bring herself to say, this man who was taking her to a home she couldnât remember, he would willingly die for her.

No, she wanted to say, you canât do that. She didnât know why the thought of his death frightened her so much. Because she would be the cause? Because she didnât want to sever the narrow tie that somehow held a place for her in this strange world? Because some part of her still remembered him?

Staring into his mesmerizing eyes, she knew, and the knowing was icy hot. He was the key to the hole in her mind.

Beside them the woman jumped around and sounded as if she were a cat whoâd had its tail stepped on. âAre you all right? Oh, my God! Are you all right?â she kept asking.

âYou almost got hit by a car,â the man said, smiling as he helped her up. The smile was a mask that was dry and cracking at the edges. âYou have to watch where youâre going.â He tried to make the words light, but they weighed like stones. His gaze never wavered from hers as he dusted melted snow and grains of sand from the sleeve of her coat. âAre you hurt?â

Only in places that donât show. As much as she wanted to hide in the familiarity of the hospital room, to find herself, she would have to step into that wide unknown. She would have to trust him. âI will go with you.â

He nodded and squeezed her hand. âIâll keep you safe.â

Because he expected it, she nodded. But the truth came rushing at her as fast as the truck that had nearly hit her. If she went with him, if she let him fill the dark inside her with the missing memories, it was up to her to make sure he didnât die for her.

HE WAITED FOR THEIR arrival from a safe distance. Camouflaged as he was, even Falconer with his eagle eyes couldnât see him. Lifting the high-powered binoculars heâd taken from an Army Navy store, he followed the progress of the two cars up the long drive. A man and a woman got out of the SUV, another woman out of the Volvo. Two women? He zoomed in to focus on the thin one.

Ah, yes. He smiled. That makes it even sweeter. Pain before and after and all aroundâjust as heâd had to bear for all these years. As he watched, the warmth stolen from him five years ago started to come back. He followed their track to the lovely nest perched on the side of the mountain. Their dance of return was an odd ballet of anger and fear, and he wore their discomfort like a quilt. âHow does it feel, Falconer, to have your own home turned into a prison?â

TIME WAS SPLITTING HIM in half. Sebastian needed to trace the plate of the truck that had almost run over Olivia. He needed to go through the evidence and order his thoughts on Kershaw. Something about the timing niggled at him. But if not Kershaw, then who?

What he needed to calm the sea of unrest in him was facts. But he also needed to stay with Olivia to try to make her comfortable in her own home. She looked so lost, it tore at him. He would do anything to have been the one hurt in her place.

They were inside her studio now, and Olivia was looking at her own work as if it belonged to someone else. Theyâd toured the house sheâd helped design. Heâd pointed out all the touches sheâd added to make it a homeâthe welcoming light in the foyer, the plants in the living room, the afghan in the den. Heâd seen her frown as she touchedâwilling remembrance? Nothing seemed to leave a mark of recognition. When she spoke, her voice held a curious flatness. When she moved, her actions told of a blackness inside that Sebastian could do nothing to color.

He almost wished Paula were here. Then he wouldnât have to deal with the awkwardness of showing Olivia to herself on his own. But Paula had gone back to Nashua to collect her daughter and a suitcase of clothes. âIf the Aerieâs safe for Olivia, then itâs safe for us, too,â sheâd said. His sister-in-law and his nieceâs presence in the space heâd never liked to share with anyone but Olivia was going to feel like an invasion. But he could not handle this Olivia alone.

Greenhouse windows overlooked westerly views of Mount Monadnock. Light flooded the tile floor and danced at Oliviaâs feet. It kissed her skin with soft gold and teased her hair with gilt. In that moment, from that angle, she looked like his Olivia.

But she wasnât.

Remembering that simple fact was so hard.

âYou painted that trunk,â he said when she ran a finger along the edge of a pine chest on a wrought-iron stand. He remembered the day it had come to life. âYou sat with the client. Sheâd brought pictures, and you talked to her for hours. By the time she left, youâd made a dozen sketches.â And Iâd been jealous as hell of the time this woman had stolen from me. He jerked his chin toward the chest. âThatâs the one she picked.â

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