Eye Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz

where the zigzag-scar souvenir of that battle resided. “He tore your jeans to shreds.”

      It was worth every rip of denim and skin to have Abbie fuss over him once the mutt had hightailed it back to the farmhouse. The way she’d clung to his arm all the way back to the mansion had had him preening peacock-proud for days.

      Don’t go there, Gray. His brain frantically fired warning messages. The past wasn’t someplace he wanted to get stuck. He’d worked too hard to free himself from the bonds of Echo Falls to get trapped there. “Good thing I’ve got a tough hide.”

      “Not tough enough for Rafe. He has no conscience.”

      “Bullies rarely do.” Gray had to remember all the hard-learned lessons beaten into him in that snake pit of a town.

      “It’s not the same, Gray. We’re not in high school anymore. He’ll kill you to get to me.”

      A frown rucked her forehead, and he had to stop himself from ironing it out. No, they weren’t in high school anymore. They’d moved on. Abbie to her career and him to his. In spite of her situation, she still belonged in a world of light and color. She’d always be his golden girl, but he was the wrong kind of man for a woman like her. He saw that now. She needed someone who could share Echo Falls and the mill and all the responsibilities that went with privilege and position. And he needed to keep showing bullies the error of their ways. Raphael Vanderveer was next up on the slate. “Failure is not an option.”

      Not then. Not now.

      There was no need to revisit old patterns of emotions they’d both outgrown.

      “Four people have already died because of me. Three deputies and my father.”

      “And you’re thinking that because of that you should go it alone until the trial?”

      She gave a small nod and her voice dipped into a featherlight whisper. “I have to.”

      His brave, foolish girl. Her willingness to sacrifice herself for the things she held dear was one of the qualities he’d admired about Abbie. But her sacrifice wasn’t acceptable. Protecting Abbie was his job. Getting her to Seekers was his job. Seeing her make it in one piece to testify was his job. “It’s out of your hands. There’s too much at stake.”

      The squish of Sister Bertrice’s soft-soled shoes returned. “Because of the weather, the police can’t come until morning.”

      “Then we’d better lock up tight.”

      He always got the job done.

      “THE CHOCOLATE ORDER SHOULD be in state by tomorrow night,” Pamela announced toward the end of their daily briefing phone call. The faint clanging of a bell buoy pealed in the background and had Rafe cursing Abbie for all she’d stolen from him. “I ran into a bit of trouble, but I have a tracer on it. I know the expected arrival time and destination.”

      Rafe went giddy with joy at the prospect of having Abbie back in his sights but kept his voice strictly business. “That is good news indeed.”

      “It’s going to be held at customs for a while, though, unless I can get the release numbers I need. It’s because of the Limburger cheese that somehow came with it.”

      Stinky cheese. Cops of some sort. Who had tagged on to Abbie? Phil Auclair again? He thought he’d taken care of the determined marshal. Why did Pamela need information from their inside patsy? Talking to that contact too often could compromise his advantage. “When did this happen?”

      “Yesterday. It’s from a private reserve.”

      Private cops? Had Abbie turned to her pathetic childhood pal? He had to nip that in the bud. “Contact our friend and say we need that customs release information. That we can do much to keep this import business thriving if our request is expedited.”

      “And if there’s trouble rerouting the cheese?”

      No cop—private, public or paid for—was going to get between him and what was his. He had no qualms about ridding the world of one more badge-wearing bull. “We’ll simply make fondue.”