of Anna Red Shoes. Her name was all but written in Henry’s blood. He knelt and felt the bloody tracks in the carpet. He wasn’t that far behind her, and there was no time to waste. He went to his closet and pulled out his hunting gear, including his Marlin 30-30. The problem with calling the sheriff was that Lem Polluck was sheriff in name only. He was a popular man who meant well, but he wasn’t a tracker or a hunter. And he didn’t have a brilliant record of crime solving.
Lem was no match for a cold-blooded killer who was the granddaughter of Thunder Horse. He’d only muddy up the trail, confuse things.
Jeremy made a quick decision. He’d track Anna and as soon as he captured her, he’d call the sheriff to make the arrest.
Jeremy checked the gun, grabbed ammunition and went to his truck. One good thing about research was that he knew enough about the history of Anna’s fore-bearers to start his search for her. He’d bet dollars to doughnuts that he knew exactly where she was. There was a place on the west side of town that had been sacred to Thunder Horse. And Anna had mentioned something about camping. That was the place to hunt for her.
He made sure his cell phone was in his pack so he could call Lem as soon as he found her.
ANNA SHIFTED TO HER left side on the hard earth. Not thirty feet away, Calamity and Allegro grazed peacefully. The sound of the horses’ strong teeth pulling at the rough grass was soothing. When dawn broke, she’d saddle up and ride to the place where she’d scattered her grandfather’s ashes, the place that had once been sacred to her people—before it was stolen from them. Once she paid her respects, she’d pack up and head for home. The entire trip had been a fool’s errand.
She drifted into a light sleep, deviled by nightmares of bodies, and a tall, broad-shouldered man who taunted her. He held a book and seemed to be laughing at her.
Anna wasn’t certain exactly what brought her to full wakefulness, but she opened her eyes and saw that her fire was still high. She realized that the horses had stopped grazing. One of them blew out a loud snort.
Anna listened.
The sound of a truck engine suddenly stopped. Instead of sitting up, she forced herself to remain perfectly still in her bedroll, but her fingers found the small knife that she always kept beside her. Her rifle was only a foot away. She wasn’t a hunter—had never killed for food or fear. But she knew how to do it.
But this wasn’t a coyote or panther searching for dinner. This was a creature far more deadly.
Whomever it was came up the hillside with great care. Only the slip of a piece of shale, the rustle of winter grass not yet green and springy, gave away the progress of the stalker. Anna’s grip tightened on the knife, and she kept her breathing regular and easy as she waited.
She rethought her steps. The hillside she’d chosen for her campsite was a place where her people had once camped. Below her the Guadeloupe River gurgled over flat, smooth rocks. To her knowledge, the land was not used by anyone, so she hadn’t bothered to seek permission. The person creeping up to her campsite might only be the landowner checking to see who was on his property. If that was the case, she didn’t want to act rashly. After all, she was the trespasser. Under the circumstances it would be better to remain calm and then explain her reasons for being there.
But as she listened to the stranger’s approach, she knew better. The person headed her way was sneaking, taking great care to hide his arrival. That meant that he hoped to surprise her—and that, in turn, meant only one thing. Trouble.
She didn’t move, though she could feel her heart thumping hard in her chest.
She heard him, now only ten yards away as he came up on the level with the campsite. Though her back was to him, she could feel him staring at her. She imagined what he saw: a lone camper turned on her side, face to the cheerful fire.
One of the horses stomped the ground and blew hard, a wheezing sound that spoke of distrust and fear. She wanted to speak to the horse, to calm her, but she kept silent. She wanted the stalker to get closer—close enough that she could jump him.
She felt his approach. He made no sound, but she didn’t need her ears to tell her what was happening. Every one of her senses was attuned. She held the knife tightly, ready for her chance. It was as if her grandfather were beside her, whispering into her ear, telling her to be calm, to be brave, to wait for the exact moment.
That moment arrived.
Anna whipped out of the blankets, rolling low and fast and with enough momentum that when she caught the stalker in his lower legs with the full thrust of her body, she knocked him off balance. Before he could recover, she was on her feet and in a headlong tackle.
She brought him down with a satisfactory thud. To make certain that his lungs were empty, she threw herself across him and allowed her full body weight to land on his chest and ribs. She heard a whoosh of air, then rolled off him, stood and brought her boot-clad foot squarely into his chest area, connecting soundly with his sternum.
“Auuugh!”
It was the sound she wanted to hear. She pressed the point of her knife into his throat. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re one breath away from dying,” she said as she allowed the blade to prick the skin.
Chapter Three
“Who are you and what do you want?”
Jeremy didn’t try to answer. He was too busy trying to breathe. But he wasn’t too badly winded to understand that he’d made a serious miscalculation. One that could have an expensive price tag. He felt the trickle of blood on his neck where the point of Anna’s knife barely broke his skin.
“You’re in enough trouble,” he said. “Don’t make it worse.” Of course, that was ridiculous. She’d already killed one man. They couldn’t hang her twice.
There was a sudden intake of breath, and Jeremy knew that she’d recognized him. His body tensed, but he didn’t move. To do so would have invited bloodshed. His own.
“I knew you were a liar when I read your book,” Anna said, her voice low and deadly. “I didn’t know you were a coward. What did you intend to do, sneak up here and bushwhack me?”
Jeremy pondered her question. She was darn good at turning a situation to her advantage. It was almost as if she weren’t aware of her own actions. He had read enough psychology to know that a sociopath never had regret for anything she did. Anna Red Shoes was displaying classic symptoms.
“We can work this out,” he said calmly. “There’s no reason for anyone else to get hurt.”
“Anyone else?”
He had to give it to her. She was smart. And alert. And she could playact with the best of them. Or else she was crazier than he’d thought—a scary possibility—because she sounded completely innocent.
“What happened to Henry was a mistake, okay?” He felt a twinge of betrayal of his friend. What had happened wasn’t a mistake—it was cold-blooded. But he had to talk himself out of a tight situation. And if Anna was as crazy as she acted, then maybe—
“What happened to Henry—and who is he?”
“My editor.” He took a breath, glad at last that his lungs were working
