she’d done what she’d set out to. The trial had been delayed, buying Seth some time. And there was always a chance that one of the dozens of people she’d written to over the past three months—policemen, attorneys, private investigators, her congressman—might actually decide to do what she’d begged and look into the case.
In the meantime, she was doing okay. Sure, she was lonely—just as How to Vanish warned, the hardest part of disappearing wasn’t constructing a new identity or not leaving a paper trail or even not staying too long in any one place.
The hardest part was having no one to talk to. She couldn’t count the number of times during the course of a day that she longed to hear a familiar voice or see a familiar face. As much as she missed home, what she missed even more was someone to confide in, someone she could trust.
Still, as long as she had her books, her freedom and her sincere belief that if she just continued to insist on Seth’s innocence somebody somewhere would eventually listen, she could survive anything.
Uh-huh. Except for that killer squirrel that’s lurking outside, just waiting to get you.
Well, really. What was she going to do? Let herself be controlled by a nonexistent bogeyman, animal or otherwise? Crawl under the bed, cover her eyes and hide?
She drew herself up. Heck, no. She had enough legitimate worries without letting her imagination into the act.
Before she could lose her nerve, she zipped up her parka, strode to the door and flung it open. Marching outside, she caught her breath as a blast of frigid air swept over her, but she didn’t falter. Planting herself at the top of the stairs, she scanned the clearing one more time, determined to put an end to her foolish fears. She scoured the snow for telltale footprints and searched the shadows at the base of the pines for anything out of place.
Nothing. Yet she still had the strangest feeling….
Determined to be thorough and be done with this once and for all, she turned and marched out onto the large, prow-shaped section of the deck that jutted from the cabin’s front. Again she looked and listened, but there wasn’t a thing to suggest another human presence. There was just a glint of sun on snow, the intermittent call of a hawk and the whisper of the wind sighing through the surrounding trees.
See? There’s nobody here but you.
Blowing out a breath, she forced her stiff shoulders to relax. Everything was fine. She and her memories were the only ones here. And once she had the rest of her things out of the truck and got started on the soup she planned to make for dinner, she’d feel even better. She turned and took a step toward the stairs.
Like a ghost come to life, a man materialized out of the shadows of the overhang.
Her heart slammed to a stop along with her feet as she stared at him, the blood suddenly roaring in her ears.
Like her, he was dressed for the weather in a parka, boots and jeans. But that was where all similarity ended. He was huge, six foot four at least, with powerful legs and shoulders like a linebacker’s. His hair was coal-black, cropped close to his head, and his hooded eyes were a pale, icy green.
His face was all angles, with a slash of high cheekbones, a straight blade of a nose, a stubborn chin and firm lips set in a straight, uncompromising line.
He looked dangerous as hell, and Genevieve hadn’t stayed free for three months without learning to trust her instincts.
Whirling, she ran for her life.
Two
Well, hell.
Feeling a distinct stab of annoyance, Taggart launched himself after little Ms. Bowen, who appeared to be operating under the delusion that now that he’d found her, he might actually let her get away.
He swallowed a snort. There was about as much chance of that as of him dancing in the Denver Ballet.
She might be fast, but he was faster. Not to mention bigger, stronger and trained—by the US Army Rangers—to take down considerably tougher, rougher members of society than Genevieve would ever be.
Although he had to admit, closing this case was going to make his week. Hell, who was he kidding? It was going to make his year.
Catching up to her with ease, he tackled her, hauling her close as they reached the edge of the deck, crashed into the railing, flipped over the top and plunged toward the snowbank below.
Instinctively—he wanted to take her into custody, not put her in the hospital, damn it—he twisted, taking the brunt of the impact as they slammed to the ground. He winced as his hip struck a rock and he heard a distinct crunch of plastic as his cell phone bit the dust. Then he winced again as the back of Bowen’s head slammed into his collarbone.
Baring his teeth at the pain, he loosened his grip a fraction, only to bite out a curse as his captive drove her heavily booted heels into his shins at the same time as she punched him hard in the stomach with one sharp little elbow.
That did it. Setting his jaw, he locked his legs around hers and tightened the grip he had on her midriff. “Knock it off.”
“Let go of me!” she countered. “Let go of me this instant or—” her voice wavered as he increased the pressure on her solar plexus, making it impossible for her to get a deep breath “—I swear…you’ll—you’ll be—sorry—”
She was threatening him? Unbelievable. The woman clearly had more nerve than sense. He tightened his hold even more. “Pay attention, lady. I’m in charge now. You do what I tell you. Understand?”
He waited a beat for her to answer.
When she didn’t, he increased the pressure until she couldn’t breathe at all, knowing from experience that the more he could dominate and demoralize her now, the less likely she’d be to give him trouble on their return trip to Colorado. “Understand?”
A whimper escaped her throat. “Yes,” she finally gasped. “Yes!”
“Good.” Satisfied, he loosened his hold, dumped her unceremoniously onto her side and climbed to his feet.
Knocking the snow from his pants, he considered her as she lay sprawled in the snow. With her shiny mop of hair, her eyes squeezed shut so that her inky lashes shadowed her smooth cheeks, her mouth trembling each time she took a greedy gulp of air, she looked small and defenseless, almost childlike.
Except that thanks to their recent tussle, the lush curve of her ass and the soft swell of her breasts were imprinted on his brain, leaving him in no doubt she was a thoroughly grown-up female.
And a treacherous one at that, he reminded himself, his shins throbbing annoyingly from where she’d kicked him.
“Get up,” he ordered.
She drew in one last shuddering breath, then opened her eyes. He watched her struggle to control her fear, and felt a grudging admiration as she willed herself to present a semblance of calm.
She pushed herself upright, watching him warily. “What do you want with me?” she demanded.
“I work for Steele Security. James Dunn’s parents hired us to find you.”
