eyes like a goof? Maybe she’d been in shock. If so, she was better now and she wanted a little elbow room. She said, “I’m good. Thanks.”
He switched off the flashlight and stood. Perching on the edge of the table, he said, “If Parker wants her mother’s alleged killer brought to justice, why direct her private eye to call her instead of the cops?”
“Alleged?” she said, sitting forward. “Didn’t you kill Elaine Greason?”
He stared at her. “Does it matter? You don’t care if I’m guilty or innocent, right? Just as long as you collect your money. You can’t be a bounty hunter because I was never bonded. Why don’t you have some kind of license or permit? You were carrying concealed. Is that lawful between Nevada and California?”
She ignored his questions because she didn’t really know what he was talking about. Was there a law against a concerned citizen tracking down a wanted killer? Her intention had never been to confront him.
He frowned at her, narrowing those rich, dark eyes in the process.
He said, “You took that picture of me in the truck when I went to see my daughter.”
She nodded as though she knew this was a fact. In truth, she had no idea when or where her father took the picture. But she did know Skye had left a little girl in Reno. In fact, that knowledge had tipped the scales in her mind when it came to looking for him. She had no patience for men who abandoned their children.
“So you know about Megan. You didn’t mention her to the Parker woman, did you?”
“Why would it matter?” she said. “The cops don’t want your daughter.”
“If it’s the cops she has in mind, no,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you or didn’t you mention Megan on the phone?”
“I don’t remember,” Annie said. Had she?
His gaze turned introspective for a second. Then he took a heavy-looking gold watch from his pocket. He’d looked at the watch in the parking lot of the store. She hadn’t noticed the cover design before, but she did now. The heavy embossing depicted a bridge arcing over a river. He popped it open, checked the time and repocketed the watch.
“Why is it so important?” she asked.
He stood abruptly and walked into the kitchen. His limp was better. When he returned, he carried a length of rope.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, standing. “You are not going to tie me up again. I refuse.”
He spared her a cursory glance. “I’m going to bank the fire,” he said. “It should stay warm until morning. I’d leave you free to move around the cabin, but you’d just follow me.”
“What—”
He picked up the rifle from where it sat against the wall. It had been sitting there when he went to the kitchen and she hadn’t grabbed it and turned it on him. Merciful heavens, she had zero survival instincts. He pointed it at her. “Don’t let my friendly smile fool you, Annie. The last time I escaped I shot a man.”
“Randy Larson.”
“Right. And I liked Randy.” He gestured toward the big heavy chair by the fireplace. “Sit down.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll shoot you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He strode toward her, any semblance of a smile gone, grim determination settling in his eyes. She scrambled back until she more or less fell into the big chair. For a second she thought of fighting him but abandoned that thought as she caught another glimpse of the rifle. He stooped over her, pinning her to the chair with the sheer volume of his body.
“It’s for your own good,” he said, staring down into her eyes.
“Sure it is,” she said.
Setting the rifle aside, he once again tied a rope around her wrists. The knot wasn’t very tight. Then he knelt and secured her ankles. He used additional knots to secure her to the chair. The effort seemed halfhearted.
He stood when he was finished. “Maybe you should find a new line of work. Something a little less violent.”
“You wish,” she said.
He cracked a smile. Shaking his head, he took the duffel bag into the kitchen. She heard him opening and closing drawers before reappearing. He held a bottle of water.
“It’s too late to untie you and give you something to eat. I’ll help you take a drink.”
“So I’ll have to sit here without a bathroom? Thanks anyway.”
“You’ll get thirsty.”
“I’ll live. I got away once, I can do it again.”
“Suit yourself,” he said as he banked the fire by adjusting the flue and closing the glass door.
Damn. The rest of Shelby Parker’s money was about to saunter down the hill and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Annie mentally apologized to her dead father and his living widow. Sorry about the loan sharks, sorry about being a failure, sorry, sorry, sorry.
Garrett snagged a thick jacket off a hook by the front door and shrugged it on over the leather jacket he still wore. Opening the duffel once again, he dropped in her wallet and cell phone, the camera and her father’s gun.
“Wait a second,” she protested. “Those things are mine.”
“There’s no phone in this cabin. I’ll borrow yours so I can call someone to come get Scio. I didn’t tie you very tight. You should be able to get out of the ropes in an hour or so. All I need is a head start.”
“There’s no need for ropes—”
“Sure there is. You have dollar signs in your eyes. If you’re still tied up in the morning when someone comes to get Scio, try hollering.”
“And the rest?”
“I’m doing you and the world a favor by disarming you.”
“You’re a thief as well as a killer,” she said.
A smile tipped his face from handsome to roguish. He once again knelt by the chair. This time he ran his fingers along her jaw. His touch did something to her, enflamed something inside she’d kept buried. She tried to twist her head away, but couldn’t and it wasn’t because ropes restrained her.
“Goodbye, Anastasia Ryder,” he whispered. His face came close to hers, his warm breath wafted over her skin. The next thing she knew, his lips had connected with hers. For a second she forgot where she was, who he was. Caught up in sensation, she became oblivious to reality.
The man was quite a kisser. Open mouth,
