Manhunter

He lifted his shades slowly, his gaze locking onto hers. Silver’s heart did a tight little tumble. Fringed by soft, black lashes, his eyes were a warm liquid brown. But the lines that fanned out from them spoke of something she recognized all too well.

This man had been hurt. But he was pretending otherwise.

Strong fingers closed around hers as he clasped her hand firmly. Silver’s pulse raced. Sergeant Gabriel Caruso oozed danger—not for Black Arrow, but for her personally. And by the sharp flicker in his eyes, she saw he’d felt something, too.

A Mountie was the last person on this earth she needed to be attracted to. Especially a homicide cop.

Not with her dark secret.

Dear Reader,

The North attracts a free-spirited and disparate sort. It’s wild country, a last frontier—a harsh and beautiful place where temperatures can plunge to-58º Fahrenheit, where inhabitants must endure long periods without sunlight, a sense of isolation and a culture foreign to most of us.

Those who weren’t born to the North are often lured above the 60th parallel in search of something—gold, silver, meaning. Adventure.

Others go to escape—the law, past relationships, bad mistakes, themselves.

But although the area is vast, it’s not an easy place to hide. The inhospitable terrain bonds unlikely allies, and the social circles are in fact small. Mistakes can mean death, and the loneliness forces people to look inward, to dig deep and find their true mettle. The North forms larger-than-life characters, larger-than-life adventure…and to me, it inspires romance.

I hope you enjoy the first book in my WILD COUNTRY series—tales from this vast land, and the characters it shapes.

Loreth Anne White

Manhunter

Loreth Anne White

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LORETH ANNE WHITE

As a child in Africa, when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, Loreth said a spy…or a psychologist, or maybe marine biologist, archaeologist or lawyer. Instead she fell in love, traveled the world and had a baby. When she looked up again she was back in Africa, writing and editing news and features for a large chain of community newspapers. But those childhood dreams never died. It took another decade, another baby, and a move across continents before the lightbulb finally went on. She didn’t have to grow up. She could be them all—the spy, the psychologist and all the rest—through characters. She sat down to pen her first novel…and fell in love.

She currently lives with her husband, two daughters and their cats in a ski resort in the rugged Coast Mountains of British Columbia, where there is no shortage of inspiration for larger-than-life characters and adventure.

To Mary J. Forbes and RCMP Assistant Commissioner

Gary Forbes for helping me find the soul of my Mountie.

To Meretta Pater and Canadian Air Force Corporal

Clint Pater, my true north friends.

And as always, to my editor Susan Litman.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Prologue

Naked as the day he was born and smeared head to toe with slate-gray river mud, he crawled up the slope, circling above the cabin, careful not to stand in case he was seen from below when lightning flashed.

The night was black and evil, rain slashing horizontally, wind ripping branches and crashing them down to the forest floor, rivers rising and breaking banks.

There would be dogs soon, he knew. And he was leaving a heavy trail of blood.

But tonight the weather was his friend.

He flattened himself into the wet loam, his breathing ragged as he studied the small cabin in the clearing below, the whites of his eyes stark against his mud camouflage.

Lightning cracked open the sky, and for a brief moment the darkness split, revealing a monochromatic snapshot of the churning gray river beyond the cabin, giant logs spinning violently among bobbing flood debris.

Then the image was gone.

He waited for a second for his vision to readjust, then approached the cabin slowly on hands and knees, creeping round to the side with no windows.

Rain leaked into his eyes and blood continued to gush from the ragged bullet trough across his left thigh.

Pain was his friend, he told himself. Adrenaline was his friend.

Twelve months in maximum security might have blunted the brutal edge of his massive physique, but not the steel of his mind. Being a prisoner of war had trained him for this.

U.S. military black ops had trained him for this.

His art was combat. Tracking. Evasion. Infiltration. Torture. He was a killing machine.

A human hunter.

He inched around the cabin, peered up into a window. He needed clothes. Equipment. A needle. Thread. Disinfectant. Then he needed to make it appear as if he’d drowned in that river while he was heading south for the Canadian-U.S. border.

But he was really going north, to the Yukon. To the small town of Black Arrow Falls where they were sending Gabriel Caruso, the cop who had put him behind bars.

He wanted that Mountie.

The game isn’t over yet, Caruso, he told himself. It’s not over until one of us dies.

He found a rusted piece of crowbar buried in the grass. Ducking round to the front door, he quickly jimmied the bar between the lock and the door. One sharp jerk, and the lock splintered away from wood.

He stilled. Listened. The heavy iron fisted at his side, he entered the dark cabin.

The real hunt had just begun.

Chapter 1

Black Arrow Falls

Northern Yukon

Population 389

Silver Karvonen swung her hunting rifle round to her back and hefted a bag of feed into the bed of her red pickup, three husky-wolf crossbreeds milling around at her feet. The bag landed with a dull thud, releasing a cloud of fine gray glacial dust.

Everything was dry. Hot. The leaves had turned brittle gold and the bush was redolent with the scents of late autumn, the air adrift with the white fluff of fireweed gone to seed, blowing on the hot afternoon breeze like summer snow.

Silver swiped the perspiration from her brow with the back of her wrist as she returned to the shade of the airstrip hangar for another load.

Although the night had brought fresh skiffs of snow to the high granite peaks, the mid-September afternoon had spiked to sweltering temperatures. Even so, it would be a mere matter of days before snow blew into the dusty streets of Black Arrow Falls itself, blanketing the small northern town for six months of long, dark and isolated winter.

Silver didn’t mind. She liked winter best.

That’s when her work at the hunting lodge was over. Time was her own, and she could run with her dogs.

But right now she was tired, and in need of a shower. She’d been tracking a large grizzly sow for the better part of the day, arising when the grass was still stiff with night frost and the trail easy to follow.

She’d set off at first light with her three favorite hounds, moving quickly, wanting to sight the grizzly one last time before nightfall.

Silver had encountered her quarry in a wide valley colored rust with fall berry scrub. She’d observed her bear quietly from up high on a ridge, downwind of the animal.

The omnivore was massive—maybe five hundred pounds, close to her peak hibernation weight, sunlight glinting on a majestic golden-brown coat that rippled over powerful haunches as she foraged along the valley bottom.

Within a week the bear would be digging a den oriented leeward of prevailing winter winds. She’d enter it a few days later when she scented the first winter storms in the air. Hopefully her troubles would then be over.

This grizzly had mauled a British hunter last week.

Silver had been contracted by the understaffed conservation office to hunt—and shoot—her.

But after tracking and watching the sow for the last three days, Silver did not think she was a predatory man killer. The British hunting party had alleged one story, but the tracks had told Silver another.

From the evidence around the attack site, Silver deduced that the men had encountered the sow shortly after she’d been injured in a fight with an aggressive and mature male grizz who’d just killed her male cub-of-the-year.

The sow had fought off the much larger male but lost her cub and a claw on her left front paw in the process.

From that point Silver had dubbed her Broken Claw, and as always, she began to emotionally connect with the creature she was tracking.

Injured and severely stressed, Broken Claw had been guarding her cub’s dead body when the hunters had startled her along a narrow trail high on the rocky outcrop. She had charged the group in an attempt to warn the hunters back. The men fled, triggering chase.

The grizz swiped at the last hunter who’d been spared death only because the power of her blow had sent him tumbling like a rag doll down the sharp scree of a narrow ravine; he’d later been airlifted out. This much Silver knew from the conservation officer’s report. The scuffs and tracks, the remains of the cub, told her the rest.

Retreating quietly from the rock ridge with her dogs, Silver had made up her mind this afternoon to let the bear be.

There was no way she was going to kill that bereaved mother to satisfy a misguided lust for vengeance. Things had played out as nature had intended. Wild justice, she called it.

Silver understood what it meant to lose a child to an aggressive male. She knew just how far a mother would go to eliminate a threat.

It didn’t make her a killer.

In a few days the healing snows would come, and Broken Claw would be asleep in her den.

She lifted another sack of horse feed from the airstrip hangar, lugged it to her truck, perspiration dampening her T-shirt as she launched it into the back. One more to go, and then she’d be done with the delivery Air North had flown in for her that morning.

But she stilled at the distant drone of a plane. Silver squinted up into the hazy sky and saw the small twin-engine prop used by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police emerge shimmering between gaps in the massive snow-capped peaks.

The new cop, she thought, shading her eyes, watching as the plane banked around Armchair Glacier, coming in for the steep descent necessitated by the valley formation and prevailing crosswinds.

In a community this small, everyone already knew the new Mountie’s name—Sergeant Gabriel Caruso. Big shot detective from British Columbia.

This would be the first time an RCMP officer with the rank of sergeant had been posted to this tiny self-governing First Nations community—one of the only two Yukon communities with absolutely no road access—and already everyone was wondering why the Mounties were sending a veteran homicide cop to Black Arrow Falls where nothing much happened beyond a marauding moose, an overturned snow machine, or a domestic spat spurred by bootleg liquor.

Harry Peters, chief of the tiny Black Arrow Nation for which the town was named, had explained to his people that the RCMP were enlarging what was traditionally a three-man detachment because of the new copper mine opening about 150 miles south of here. The new mine would bring a new road next summer. And more people to town.

More trouble, too, thought Silver.

The wheels of the plane touched dirt with a sharp snick, and the craft bounced along the gravel runway, trailing a cone of silt, coming to a stop across from her as the props slowed.

Silver leaned back against the warm hood of her truck, hooking the ankle of one boot over the other, swatting at a cloud of tiny black insects as she watched the cop alight from the plane. His formidable size and stature struck her instantly, and her pulse quickened.

He hesitated briefly at the top stair, taking in his surroundings, dark hair gleaming in the sun. Then he shouldered his gear, coming quickly down the rest of the steps and striding confidently toward the hangar where she was standing. She noticed that he favored his right leg slightly and was trying to hide that fact.

It spoke of pride, or vanity maybe. Or perhaps an unwillingness to admit weakness or failure.

Newcomers were always a diversion, and Silver studied this one unabashedly, reading his posture just as she read creatures in the wild. And as he neared, she could see right off that there was something different about this cheechako.

Something dangerous.

He telegraphed the classic command presence of a cop, walking with a tall, broad-shouldered gait, his spine ramrod straight, jaw held proud. But there was an additional edginess about him that the neat yellow stripes down the sides of his pressed RCMP pants, and the polished gleam of his weapons belt and boots, couldn’t quite hide.

Trapped inside that crisp Mountie uniform was a renegade, someone gone a little wild. Someone who might have a problem with authority.

The man was trouble.

If Silver were picking a dog for her team, she’d be leery of one with body language like his. He didn’t look like a team player. He looked unpredictable.

His rank and bio suddenly made sense—the RCMP had sent damaged goods. And what better place to dump a problem cop than the backwaters of Black Arrow Falls, just south of the Arctic circle?

A whisper of irritation and wariness laced through her instinctive interest in the man.

Silver had bad experience with the federal force. The Mounties had let her down when she’d needed them most.

And they had the power to put her away.

She turned away from him as he approached, ordering her dogs to sit with a soft whisper as she bent to lift the last feedbag into her truck. Her hounds regarded him warily as he neared.

“Need a hand?” His voice rippled like dark wild honey over her hot skin. Silver froze, startled by the shock waves he’d sent through her system.

Her answer was to tighten her grip on the sack of feed and heft the bag up, dumping it into the truck herself with a heavy thud. She slapped the tailgate closed with a dull clunk before locking it into place, trying to tamp down the energy crackling through her body before facing him again.

She turned, dusting her palms against her jeans and swinging her long, heavy black ponytail back over her shoulder. “Hey,” she said, extending her hand, unable to read his eyes behind the mirrored shades. “You must be Sergeant Caruso. Welcome to Black Arrow Falls.”

He lifted his shades slowly, his gaze locking onto hers, and Silver’s heart did a tight little tumble. She hadn’t anticipated eyes like that. They were a warm liquid brown, fringed by soft black lashes, but the lines that fanned out from them—the way they etched into his ruggedly handsome features and olive skin—spoke of something she recognized all too well.

This man had been roughed up, hurt. But he was pretending otherwise.

Strong fingers closed around hers as he clasped her hand firmly, the charge as his skin connected with hers instant. Silver’s pulse raced.

Sergeant Gabriel Caruso oozed danger—not for Black Arrow Falls but for her personally.

Silver had not experienced this kind of visceral response to a man since a brutal assault and rape five years ago had emptied her of all feeling. She’d remained hollow since then, beginning to think she was incapable of ever feeling physical lust again. And by the sharp flicker in his eyes, she saw he’d felt something, too.

A quiet fear snaked through her belly.

A Mountie was the last person on this earth she needed to be attracted to. Especially a homicide cop.

Not with her dark secret.

Not with the cold case files buried in the Black Arrow Falls detachment drawers.

She valued freedom too much.

“I’m Silver,” she said, words suddenly dry like dust in her mouth, an irrational urge to flee surging through her. But she held her ground, outwardly calm. Flight triggered chase. It showed weakness.

Silver hated appearing weak.

And she wanted to do nothing that would pique the new cop’s curiosity, nothing at all that might send him digging back into the old murder files.

His eyes swept over her, taking in her rifle, the brutal hunting knife sheathed at her hips, her dusty scuffed boots, the faded and torn jeans.

He was reading her, thought Silver. Sizing her up just as she had done to him, taking in his new surroundings, yet he gave nothing away in his features. This was a man from whom a person didn’t keep secrets. The instinct to pull away intensified as fear rustled deeper into her belly, the raw kind of fear that came from being a so-called criminal faced with the penetrating eyes of law enforcement.

The kind of fear that came with the surprising reawakening of her body.

Gabe felt her hand in his, noting the bracelet of leather knotted with small colorful beads around her slender wrist. She wore no ring.

He was conscious of rings. Engagement rings.

He couldn’t help seeking the small circle of promise on other women’s fingers. A promise a killer had denied him. His chest tightened as he recalled the reasons that had brought him here.

She answered his handshake with a startlingly firm grip despite her willowy stature. Her palms were rough, not like the hands of any women he knew.

Even Gia’s—his hardworking, no-nonsense, cop fiancée’s hands—had been softer. Yet there was something alluring—challenging even—in Silver’s assertive grip.

She met his gaze just as directly, her indigo eyes showing an unveiled interest that sent a tingle down his spine.

The startling color of her almond-shaped eyes stood out dramatically against skin the color of burnt sienna. Her cheekbones were equally exotic, angled high, and her sleek black hair was harnessed into a waist-length braid that shimmered in the sunlight as she moved, reminding Gabe of the multifaceted rainbows hidden in a raven’s feathers.

Gabe had never seen a woman quite like Silver.

And a woman had never looked at him with quite the same intensity. Her eyes cut into him like blue lasers, as if she could see straight through to his soul. It was as intimate as it was provocative, and he felt his energy instinctively darken and hum.

“He’s on his way,” she said, sliding her hand free from his grasp, backing away, her voice husky, low. Smooth. The kind of voice that made a guy think about whiskey and sex, things Gabe hadn’t thought about in a long time.

“Pardon?” he said, distracted.

Silver swung open the cab door of her truck and whistled for her dogs to jump in the back. “I said your constable is on his way. He’d have waited until he saw your plane come in. No rush up here. There he is now—” She jutted her chin to indicate a column of gray dust churning along the distant dull-green tree line beyond the runway.

Gabe squinted, making out the distinctive white truck with bold RCMP stripes and logo as the police four-by-four neared.

“That would be Donovan.” She climbed into her truck as she spoke, folding those impossibly long denim-clad legs under the steering wheel of her cab.

Gabe replaced his shades, uneasy with his own physical reaction to this unusual woman, not wanting her to read it. She seemed to be reading everything.

“Mostly he uses the ATVs.” She slammed the door, leaning her elbow out the open window as she started the ignition. “Can’t go far with that vehicle in a town with roads that don’t lead anywhere.” She threw him a final glance, or was it a challenge?

“How long is your posting? Two years?” she asked, a shrewd look in her eyes.

He was glad for his shades. “You’ve only just welcomed me, and you’re ready to see me leave?” She wouldn’t be the first to want to see the back of him.

Amusement whispered over her lips. “Everyone goes back to where they came from, Sergeant. Sooner than later. Cops included. Most come north of 60 looking for something, you know? Gold, silver, escape, freedom. Some don’t even know what it is they’re searching for.” She shifted her truck into gear. “Sometimes they find it. Sometimes they don’t. But eventually they all do go back.”

She smiled, an incredible slash of bright white teeth against her brown skin, a wild glimmer of light in her eyes. “Apart from a few special ones.”

Then she hit the gas, leaving him standing in a cloud of silt, her wolf dogs yipping with excitement in the back.

Gabe couldn’t help thinking the woman was like this place—strikingly gorgeous and seemingly open, yet hostile to those unequipped to deal with the terrain.

She’d left his blood racing.

And for the first time in what had been a very long year, Gabe thought that maybe he didn’t want to die after all.

Chapter 2

Gabe’s bitterness resurfaced as soon as the RCMP truck drew to a stop and a young, eager, and smiling Constable Mark Donovan stepped out to greet him.

Gabe reached forward to shake his hand, thinking how much he’d been like Donovan once, filled with idealistic notions of a bright future, of what it meant to be a Mountie, to maintain le droit across this vast country in a tradition dating back to the 1800s.

As a young boy growing up in the Italian quarter of Vancouver, Gabe had devoured heroic tales of the Northwest Mounted Police sent to crush the U.S. whiskey peddlers controlling the prairies. After that came the Klondike gold rush with hordes stampeding from Alaska over the Chilkoot Trail, crossing into Canada’s harsh, frigid and unforgiving Yukon, with the most famous Mountie of all, Sam Steele—Lion of the Yukon—guarding the pass in his red serge, wide-brimmed Stetson and high browns.

The legends of those Mounties staking claim to the great North, keeping order and saving lives, were the stuff that had fueled young Gabriel Caruso’s boyhood dreams and driven him to become a cop.

Ironic, he thought, to be posted to Yukon soil now that he was facing the end of his policing road after 17 years of exemplary service, now that his childhood dream had been darkened by the grit of realism.

Working the major crimes unit in a tough urban centre could do that to you. But it was a more recent incident that had sunk his soul.

On passing his sergeant’s exam two years ago, Gabe had accepted a promotion as sergeant of operations at Williams Lake in British Columbia’s interior. He’d have preferred to stay in major crimes as a senior investigator, but he’d taken the more administrative job because Gia, the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, had been posted as a new corporal to the Williams Lake detachment.

But a shocking run-in with Kurtz Steiger—a psychopathic serial killer the media had dubbed the Bush Man—had ended Gia’s life shortly after they’d gotten engaged.

And life as Gabe knew it was over.

Now, a year later, he was here. Alone. About as far north as you could hang a Mountie out to dry, facing a looming godforsaken winter of 24-hour darkness, endless snow, and a bleak future. Steiger’s words slithered back into his brain.

I saw her eyes, Sergeant. I watched her die. I was the last thing she saw, and it was a great pleasure…