“Olivia,” Sebastian said gently, “please stop fighting me. We have to go in the house.”

Her blue eyes still held the hollow look of fear. Olivia wasn’t there; she was still lost. “I can’t…I can’t breathe in there.” Her voice was a whisper. “I need to breathe.”

He’d thought he could keep the truth from her. That he could hold her in the safety of the house while he tracked down the stalker. He saw now that that was impossible. To keep her safe, he would have to confess the truth.

“I know you do, sweetheart. But there’s someone out there who wants to hurt you. And he’ll go through anyone and anything to destroy what I care for the most.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Those April showers go hand in hand with a welcome downpour of gripping romantic suspense in the Harlequin Intrigue line this month!

Reader-favorite Rebecca York returns to the legendary 43 LIGHT STREET with Out of Nowhere—an entrancing tale about a beautiful blond amnesiac who proves downright lethal to a hard-edged detective’s heart. Then take a detour to New Mexico for Shotgun Daddy by Harper Allen—the conclusion in the MEN OF THE DOUBLE B RANCH trilogy. In this story a Navajo protector must safeguard the woman from his past who is nurturing a ticking time bomb of a secret.

The momentum keeps building as Sylvie Kurtz launches her brand-new miniseries—THE SEEKERS—about men dedicated to truth, justice…and protecting the women they love. But at what cost? Don’t miss the debut book, Heart of a Hunter, where the search for a killer just might culminate in rekindled love. Passion and peril go hand in hand in Agent Cowboy by Debra Webb, when COLBY AGENCY investigator Trent Tucker races against time to crack a case of triple murder!

Rounding off a month of addictive romantic thrillers, watch for the continuation of two new thematic promotions. A handsome sheriff saves the day in Restless Spirit by Cassie Miles, which is part of COWBOY COPS. Sudden Recall by Jean Barrett is the latest in our DEAD BOLT series about silent memories that unlock simmering passions.

Enjoy all of our great offerings.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Heart of a Hunter

Sylvie Kurtz

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my family whose continued support

means the world to me.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Even a mild traumatic brain injury

can alter a person for a lifetime. Becuase of the short time frame

of this story and because it is a romance,

I downplayed the pain and the expected physical symptoms

someone with Olivia’s injuries would feel.

Her recovery is an ongoing process that

will require her to adapt and will probably

last the rest of her life.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Flying an eight-hour solo cross-country in a Piper Arrow with only the airplane’s crackling radio and a large bag of M&M’s for company, Sylvie Kurtz realized a pilot’s life wasn’t for her. The stories zooming in and out of her mind proved more entertaining than the flight itself. Not a quitter, she finished her pilot’s course and earned her commercial license and instrument rating.

Since then, she has traded in her wings for a keyboard where she lets her imagination soar to create fictional adventures that explore the power of love and the thrill of suspense. When not writing, she enjoys the outdoors with her husband and two children, quilt making, photography and reading whatever catches her interest..

You can write to Sylvie at

P.O. Box 702, Milford, NH 03055.

And visit her Web site at www.sylviekurtz.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sebastian Falconer—He’s a U.S. Marshal caught between duty to the service and love for his wife, his haven.

Olivia Falconer—She’s an artist who doesn’t remember how to paint, and a wife who doesn’t remember her love for her husband.

Paula Woodruff—Olivia’s sister is determined to save her sister from her husband’s domination.

Cari Woodruff—Paula’s daughter wants someone to take responsibility for her father’s death.

Edwin Sutton—Sebastian’s boss is on a fast track to success and won’t let anything stain his perfect image.

Bernie Kershaw—The fugitive is wanted for armed robbery, rape and murder. He’s out for revenge for being caged.

Nathan Kershaw—Bernie’s brother is tired of playing second fiddle.

Mario Menard—The Aerie’s groundskeeper keeps an eye out for trouble. But did he have a hand in the security break?

Sean Greco—The U.S. Marshal is angry and dirty.

Allan Verani—Greco’s roommate wants what he was promised.

Nelson Weld—The small-time thief is ready to sing to keep his freedom.

Kiki Bates—Weld’s girlfriend has pinned all her hopes on the wrong man.

OLIVIA’S CHOCOLATE ORANGE SNACK CAKE

1 ²/₃ cups flour

1 cup packed brown sugar

¼ cup cocoa

1 tsp baking soda

½ tsp salt

1 cup orange juice

1 tsp vinegar

½ tsp orange extract

½ cup semisweet mini chocolate chips

Heat oven to 350°F. Mix flour, brown sugar, cocoa, baking soda and salt with fork in ungreased square pan, 8"8"2". Mix in remaining ingredients except chocolate chips. Sprinkle with chocolate chips. Bake 35 to 40 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Makes 9 servings.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Chapter One

The hunter had returned. Decompressing, he called the time he needed alone after coming home from an assignment. But Olivia knew it went deeper. He was trying to shake off the mind-set of the man he’d hunted for the past month. He’d told her once it was like spending time in a sewer and he didn’t want to poison her with the stench.

Was it wrong of her to want him to share his world?

She descended the stone stairs that led to the basement of their mountaintop home and the room she referred to as Sebastian’s “cave.” She’d called it so affectionately at first. Now there was a trace of resentment that left a bitter taste at the back of her throat. At the door she hesitated.

Bent over his paperwork, he was surrounded by all sorts of electronic gadgets that could have come from a science fiction movie set. His mind was focused, laser-sharp on his task. The lean muscles of his tracker’s body were controlled. She’d seen this stance often enough to recognize he was detaching himself from one world and trying to reconnect with another. Why did that passage make her so sad?

She’d lived with him for ten years. She knew everything about him. The way he brushed his teeth. The way he peppered his corn. The way he checked the oil in her car before he left on assignment. But she didn’t know his heart. After all these years, he still kept it to himself, its contents as secret as his operations.

He loved her. She had no doubt about that. But she wanted it all—the bad and the good. Not just the castle in the air he’d provided for her. To keep her safe, he’d said. But here in the rarified air she didn’t know what she was capable of. And the longing for flight—for something more—grew every day. Especially when he was gone, and she was left alone with her thoughts.

Her heart—always so open—had lately closed a little. She found herself keeping things from him—thoughts she knew would upset him, musings he would take the wrong way, feelings he wouldn’t understand. She didn’t like that extra barrier between them, didn’t like the way they were growing apart. Her fault. Sebastian hadn’t changed. He was the same driven man she’d met at one of her father’s business functions eleven years ago. She was the one with the curl of anxiety gnawing at her.

She loved him. She always would. Just watching him and all his intense self-assurance made her soul sing like nothing else could. But where was the answering melody? She’d signed on for a duet and lately had become aware she was singing a solo.

He looked up from his work and smiled. The brightness of it caught her breath just as it had the first time. One touch. That was all it would take to evaporate her resolve. She slid her gaze from his. If she looked into his eyes, she would stay and she needed to go.

“I’m almost done,” he said, turning back to his work.

She hugged herself and leaned against the door frame. “Take your time. I just wanted to say good-night.”

He glanced at his watch and frowned. “So early?”

“I’m leaving, Sebastian.” The hard thud of her heart nearly drowned out her words.

“Leaving? I don’t understand.”

No, he wouldn’t. He could see through the eyes of evil, but the working of his own wife’s mind was alien. “I’m going to my sister’s for a while.” As much as Paula wanted her to leave Sebastian, she would not approve of her plan, either.

“I just got home.”

“I know. I waited for you.” And that, she realized, had been a mistake. She should have taken the coward’s way out and left while he was gone. “I didn’t want you coming home to a note.”

After all the years they’d shared, she’d owed him that much. She’d thought hearing of her departure from her would hurt less than words scribbled on paper. She hadn’t counted on seeing the ridges of fatigue drooping the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth. She hadn’t known the pain in his eyes would arrow straight to her gut. And in the past month, she’d talked herself out of the power of his magnetism.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “Can’t this wait?”

“No, I…” She knitted her fingers and breathed in courage. “I need to get away for a bit.” She needed to prove to him she could fit in his world, and she thought the course in criminal justice at the community college in Nashua would give her a start—a point from which to connect. But if she told him, he would talk her out of it. Where would that leave them? Right where they were, and she couldn’t go on like this.

He closed his eyes and blew out a huff of frustration. “Olivia, I’m tired. Can’t we talk this over in the morning?”

By morning, she’d have melted into him and it would be too late. “No, I need to do this.”

He went predator-still. Never a good sign. “This isn’t just a vacation.” His dark gaze bored into her, making her feel caught in a trap. Was that how his prey felt when he closed in on them? “You’re leaving me.”

She shifted to the outside of the door frame. “I’m not leaving you.” How could she explain? How could she make him understand? “I’m going to myself, not away from you.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” He gave her a puzzled look and rose from his black ergonomic office chair. He took one slow step. She had to hurry while she still could.

Looking down at her hands so primly knotted in front of her, she licked her dry lips and focused on her goal. Everything else she’d tried to dissolve the barrier between them had failed. “You’re a contained man, Sebastian, and I need to spill over. For a little while. Until I figure out where you end and where I start.”

“I don’t understand.” The pain slashing his features twisted inside her. He took another step forward. Though she wanted to flee, she held her ground.

“I’ve known you since I was seventeen. We were married when I was eighteen. You have five years on me. You knew what you wanted out of life. This.” She arched her arm to encompass not only the room, but all of the house. “You. It’s all I’ve known for the past ten years.”

“I thought you loved the house.” Another step. She stiffened.

“I do.” She’d helped design it herself. The way the light played with the shadows, the way it fit snugly into the rocky New Hampshire landscape as if it belonged, the way each room was a restful den, made it a home, not merely a house. “It’s not the house.”

“The village then.” His gun hand flexed. He wouldn’t let her go. “You feel isolated.”

“No, it’s not Wintergreen.” How could she resent a place where everyone knew her and treated her like a friend? If she wanted a taste of the city, Keene, Nashua, Manchester weren’t that far. Even Boston was only a few hours away. She straightened against the stone wall and hugged herself tighter.

He stopped, let his head drop to his chest, then blazed her with a look of such sadness she nearly closed the distance between them to comfort him. “I’m sorry I can’t give you the baby you want.”

That was a tiny bit closer to the truth. Without that common goal, the wall between them seemed to get thicker. But a baby wouldn’t fix the hollowness growing inside her. Until Sebastian trusted her with all of himself, a baby would only complicate the situation. “It’s not the baby.”

He took another step. They stood close enough for breath to mix with breath. He knew her weakness and was going to use it against her. “Then what is it, Olivia?” The reverberation of his voice was cat smooth and cougar dangerous. “Help me out here. I don’t understand.”

Then she made her second mistake. She touched him. Just a whisper of finger against the roughness of his beard. The heat of it shivered through her. The want, the need. His. Hers. “It’s the waiting and the worrying. It’s killing me.”

“It’s my job.”

“I know.” And she did. She understood how his parents’ murder at the hands of an escaped convict had driven him into the U.S. Marshals Service. She understood his need to hunt criminals and put them back in jail where they couldn’t hurt anyone but themselves. She understood his need to leave her for long periods of time to do his work. He was the best manhunter in the Service, and his duty to the Service always came first.

And that simple little jealousy made her feel petty. How could she ask him to stay when what he did was so important? Why did he insist on shutting her out of the most important part of his life?

“But I want to share it.”

He frowned. “We’ve been through this before.”

“I know.” And gotten nowhere. She wanted him in her life, of that she was sure. But she needed the balance to shift. She didn’t want to simply be his haven. She wanted to be his partner. This course was the first concrete step to that partnership. “You’re so strong. And I’m…” She shook her head. “I need to find my strength.”

“You are my strength, Olivia. Don’t leave. Not tonight.”

He reached for her, eyes bright with that potent mixture of desire and danger that never failed to arouse her, and a small helpless cry escaped her. No, don’t touch me. I’ll give in. She could feel her body responding to his before he’d even finished wrapping his arms around her. He held her tight. She tried to push him back, but when it came to Sebastian, she was weak.

He was passionate about everything he did. And that passion, she was loathe to admit, was part of her attraction to him. The aura of intensity around him acted as an aphrodisiac for someone unsure of her place in the world. The bad-boy looks on a man who hunted for justice had made her believe that, at his side, she could find herself. And each time he touched her, she believed it again—until he left.

His chin snuggled against the top of her head. The strong beat of his heart drummed beneath her hands. His heat seemed to fuse her to him. She could start a day late. She could leave tomorrow—after this storm of return. Maybe he’d understand then. Maybe she could tell him that her need to leave was like his need to decompress before he came to her when he returned from a hunt. Something that was temporary, but necessary.

“I love you, Olivia.”

“I know.” And the slow melting started. It shimmered from her heart towards her limbs and left her limp. She twined her arms around his neck to hold herself up and accepted the brand of his kiss. The searing heat of it, the desperate need in it, erased the boundaries between them. The savage taste of him filled her. The scent of him, so primal, so Sebastian, dissolved her will. She could feel herself slipping away, and her desire suddenly tasted salty with tears. “Let me go, Sebastian. For a little while.”

“Stay. I’ll take some time off. We’ll go away somewhere together. No beeper. No phone. No computer. I promise.”

“Until the next prisoner escapes.”

He opened his mouth to answer. She covered his lips with a finger. He took the offending digit into his mouth and gently sucked.

“It’s not you.” As his hands slid up her sides, she tried to catch her breath and put some space between them and found her hands mirroring his, seeking the firm skin beneath his shirt. “It’s me. I need…”

“What?” His thumb skimmed a nipple, drawing a gasp from her.

“Sebastian…”

As he continued his exquisite torture of her flesh with his hands, his mouth found the tender spot behind her ear, clouding her mind. “What do you need?”

“More. I need more.” She crushed herself against him to gain focus, only to lose it again when his fingers rounded her waist and stroked the sensitive hollow at the base of her spine. “Let me go, Sebastian.”

The sudden stillness in him was more frightening than the seduction she couldn’t resist. But before he could say anything, the beeper on his desk shrilled.

“Answer it,” she said, as the invisible web making them one separated strand by strand. “You know you have to.” When they stood apart, an aching cold made her shiver. Why had she done this? Why had she hurt him? Why was she risking the love of the one person who made her feel secure?

Because the next time that phone rang, she wanted him to talk to her about the coming hunt and not shut her out. She wanted him to know she truly understood his job, him.

He stalked to the phone and ripped the receiver off the cradle. Punching in numbers, he stared pointedly at her. She memorized the lines of his face—the sharp jaw, the thin nose, the full lower lip, the cleft in his chin, the upside-down V his work had creased between his eyes, the dark shadow of beard that he could never quite seem to get rid of no matter how often he shaved, the clean cut of his straight black hair. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. She licked her lips and imprinted his taste.

“Falconer,” he barked into the phone.

She opened her eyes, blinked as if taking a last picture, then turned toward the steps. She wanted to stay. She had to go. Her heart suddenly weighed heavily with the contradiction of her needs.

“Olivia! Wait.”

But she couldn’t. She was leaving because she’d nearly lost herself in him again. When she was stronger, when she was his equal, when she could stand solidly beside him without forgetting herself…then she’d return.

“HOLD FOR MR. SUTTON,” the voice on the other end of the line ordered in a clipped voice.

Sebastian put a hand over the speaker and called, “Olivia!”

But she wasn’t waiting. She was running up those stone steps as if the devil were on her heels.

Maybe he was. In the past year, he’d felt himself grow colder, harder. Had his work seeped into his home life? Olivia was so sensitive that his dark moods were bound to frighten her. Decompressing took longer and longer. Would he one day get stuck in the mind of the scum he chased?

Tethered to the phone and his boss, Sebastian watched helplessly as the ten best years of his life walked out the door. Maybe if he’d been able to give her the child she so desperately wanted. But no, he realized, the slowly widening rift between them went deeper than that. Something had been bothering Olivia for months now, and he’d gone against his habit of facing unpleasant things head-on and chosen to believe the closeting he saw in her eyes was temporary. Winter blues. She had them every year. Should he have suggested adoption? Would that have calmed the sadness in the summer sky of her eyes? A vacation. They needed a vacation. Somewhere sunny.

He strained the length of the telephone cord. “Olivia!”

She wasn’t really leaving. She couldn’t. He needed her. Did she know he watched her sleep? That he took comfort in the slow rise of her chest, in her simply being there, alive, beside him? That she was the reason he could keep doing what he had to do and still stay sane?

Finding her was always his first objective when an assignment was over. Getting back to Olivia. The beat of that need pulsed in him from the second he ratcheted cuffs on a fugitive. And then, when the long ride home was finally over and he saw her, alive and breathing, he could let the tension slip, let his breath out, let his heart feel again. With the first hug came a silent prayer of thankfulness. She was safe. He was home. And for now the world was right.

But not tonight. Tonight the mountain smoked from the unseasonable sweat of the day. Every year in February, winter seemed to grow weary of blowing blue and mean. For a day or two, it teased New Englanders with the false hope of spring. Temperatures rose. The sun blazed. Snow melted. And that brief flirting with spring seemed to have the same effect as a full moon, making everyone a little crazy.

Cabin fever. That was it. She’d be back. He’d give her a day, then he’d show up at Paula’s and take Olivia home where she belonged. Better still, he’d take her for that long-promised vacation and they would talk—really talk.

“Falconer,” Edwin Sutton barked into the phone. Sutton was the executive in charge of a thirty-man, seven-state, ongoing Fugitive Investigative Strike Team covering the northeast. He liked for operations to run smooth, for the felon arrest numbers to run high, and he liked to play those successes to the press. With no wife, no kids, not even a dog, the Service was his life and ambitious couldn’t even begin to describe him. “Head for Connecticut. We just lost two of our men.”

A personnel loss wouldn’t look good on Sutton’s scorecard. He’d want closure and fast. “Who?”

“Sean Greco and Robert Carmichael. They were on transport. There was a fire. Two prisoners are dead. Three escaped. Somehow they cornered Greco and Carmichael outside the building, had them drive getaway, and cut the hell out of them under an overpass on I-95. This is going to get us blowback. I want it contained, and fast.”

Bad PR would tarnish Sutton’s record. With D.C. his next planned step up the ladder, he had to keep the stain from spreading. “Any leads?”

“We’re working on IDing the three pukes on the run. Two more turned to toast in the fire. We gotta sort them out. I want you on this full time till they’re back in their pen. And Falconer, the Feebs are involved. Crossed state lines and all that bull.”

“Great.” That meant the case was officially the FBI’s, but protocol allowed participation of the slain officers’ agency. He didn’t want to work with the Feebs. They couldn’t pass wind without permission and tended to mess up investigations. Not to mention their tendency to let the Service do the work, then steal their glory. This was not going to be fun. And it would mean putting Olivia on hold. Again.

No wonder she’d left him.

“One more thing, Falconer. The mutt slated for transport was Kershaw.”

Sebastian went cold. “Is he one of the missing?”

“Yeah.”

“Dead?”

“Won’t know till the toast are IDed.”

One life deserves another. Don’t turn your back on that pretty wife of yours, Falconer. I’ll take from you what you took from me. Kershaw had made that promise five years ago and the cold determination in the snake-yellow eyes had matched Sebastian’s determination to put him behind bars. That’s why he still checked on Kershaw’s welfare once a month. “When were Greco and Carmichael killed?”

“We found them a few hours ago.”

“When were they killed?”

“As best as the M.E. can make out, about four hours ago.”

Four hours. Enough to get from Connecticut to New Hampshire. With time to spare. He dropped the phone and raced up the stairs, taking them three by three. “Olivia!”

She jokingly called this place “Falconer’s Aerie.” He’d built it for her high on the mountain. To keep her safe. He’d vowed to her father on their wedding day that his work would never touch her. This house, this mountain, was a haven. For her. For him. And now she was out of his reach on the road on a dark night with a madman licking at her heels.

THE NIGHT WAS EERILY CALM, making the car’s engine sound as if it roared. Thick and white, fog rose from the road and made the mountainside seem to smoke. To her right, the dark fronds of pines and winter-bare limbs of oaks and maples poked through the mist, reminding Olivia of ancient druids in ceremony. To her left, the meager shoulder dipped into a black abyss, making the scaly snake of road appear too narrow for her car. At odd intervals, runs of wet snow slipped from the mountain’s flank to slide under her wheels, making the steering feel sluggish. Each curve on the winding road flashed jagged arms of trees, points of rocky outcroppings or dizzying flirtations with the edge of the road. Olivia had never liked carnival fun rides, and this nightmare was no exception.

Turn back, her weak side urged. No, not this time. This time she was going to be strong. “Stick to the plan.”

Trying to stay on the road, she hunched over the steering wheel and peered through the wavering curtain of fog.

The tears weren’t helping.

Why was she crying when she was the one who’d chosen to leave? And this short separation was to strengthen their future. “For once in your life grow a backbone, Olivia.”

She swiped at her eyes with the back of one gloved hand. She hadn’t known it would be this hard to walk away from him. That she would miss him so much in so little time. That the emptiness in her would feel as dirty and as desperate as the fugitives Sebastian chased.

“You’re a fool, Olivia,” she told the haggard reflection haunting her on the windshield. She had a great home. She had work she loved and didn’t have to worry about making money from it to survive. She had a man who loved her and supported her. Security. “You have everything a woman could want.”

But all of these chains of overprotection were sucking the juice from her creativity. She hadn’t painted in a month. Hadn’t felt the drive or the pleasure. Her next memory trunk still sat in her studio with only its priming coat on.

And the last thing she wanted was to resent the only man she’d ever loved because she’d lost herself inside his strength. This quarter apart would give them both the needed distance to view their relationship more clearly.

As she followed a curve, the slope of the mountain angled less sharply than before. The turn for the main road was only half a mile away. She eased her grip on the steering wheel and blew a small puff of relief.

A deer jumped onto the road. Olivia gasped, jerked the wheel to the left and stomped on the brakes to avoid the animal. Mistake. The slush on the road became as slippery as oil. Her wheels churned. The car slid sideways. She lifted her foot off the brake, spun the wheel in the opposite direction and fishtailed.

Smoke billowed up from the dashboard. The acrid smell made her choke. The black cloud blinded her. She tried to straighten, but the back end of the sedan kept going, then dipped over the edge of the road. There the car paused.

Holding her breath, Olivia leaned forward as if her weight could counterbalance the downward pull and tried not to cough on the toxic smoke. The engine whined. The headlights swirled in the mix of black haze and white fog. The undercarriage creaked beneath her as the car sought its fulcrum.

Please, don’t let me die. I promise I’ll go back. I promise I’ll try harder. I won’t complain. I promise—

Gravity sucked the car down. Olivia screamed as she scratched at the dashboard as if she could escape her fate through the windshield. The car careened down the rocky slope, gathering speed. Boulders and trees didn’t slow the metal skeleton. It simply bounced from the obstacles in pinball madness, up and over, side to side, tossing her painfully around the safety harness. Wrenching metal screeched. The air bag deployed, burning her face and suffocating her for a desperate moment. As a branch thrust through the windshield on the passenger’s side, glass cracked and the blanket of crazed glass wrapped around the sprung mushroom of air bag.

Then the right rear quarter panel smashed into a granite monolith, grinding the car to a sudden halt, canting it sideways, and sending her head crashing through the side window. She saw stars and a bright pinprick of light. A warm rush flowed over her brain, turning everything blood red, then black.

Panting, she swiped at her eyes. If she couldn’t see, how could she work? How could she paint? How would she fill the endless emptiness of Sebastian’s absences?

The car slipped again. A foot. Two. She stilled and bit back the scream clawing at her throat. Please…

The car came to rest with the small bump of a landing elevator, bobbing her head. That gentle slap of her temple against the metal frame was the final insult.

Like a light winking out, she fell backwards into the inky chasm fracturing her conscious mind. I don’t want to die! I don’t want to be alone. Panic made her fight the pull of darkness. Her arms reached forward. Her mouth opened for one last desperate cry, “Sebastian!”

Chapter Two

The red lights of the rescue squad turned the fog a bloody red. The slam of the closing ambulance doors cracked like a shotgun and thundered over the mountain. As the ambulance sped away, Olivia’s blood-streaked face colored Sebastian’s vision. Her closed eyes, her pale skin, the rip in her scalp, were a punch to the gut. The fading whine of the siren was a cry that swept him back too many years and pooled old dread into his boots like cement.

He swallowed hard and shook his head. Don’t go there. It’s not going to get you anything. You have a job to do. Do it.

Olivia was in good hands. Once at the hospital, he couldn’t see her right away anyway. Doctors would need to examine her and patch her up. What good would he do her pacing the hall? Here he could get a jump on Kershaw. He flexed his fists. She would be okay. But not Kershaw. Kershaw would pay. Sebastian cranked his gaze away from the disappearing red lights in the fog to the scars in the slush made by Olivia’s tires.

Resolutely, he pushed Olivia from his focus. She crept back in on the next breath. He crouched by the side of the road. Read the facts, damn it. Pukes always leave a trace. If you let him get away, Olivia’s the one who’ll pay.

He should be at the hospital with her. But in these weather conditions evidence would disappear fast. His gaze followed the run of the tire marks over the edge, and with each breath he got himself into Kershaw’s head. Kershaw had vowed revenge. Kershaw had escaped from a maximum-security facility. Olivia was hurt. Too much of a coincidence and he’d never liked coincidence.

Concentrate. Feel what he feels. Fear what he fears. Trust what he trusts.

Sebastian turned off the emotional switch and went into hunter mode. Catch the scum, then get back to Olivia.

That was the plan.

Always.

With effort, he rose and strode toward Victor Denley, Wintergreen’s chief of police. Both the mustache, waxed Western-villain style, and the weapon, cocked at an odd angle from the chief’s belt, seemed out of place on the six-foot, barrel-shaped man. He looked more like a caricature of a cop than a figure of authority. But the accident had taken place in his jurisdiction and this was his scene. The Service prided itself on interagency cooperation.

“How soon can you get the car out?” Sebastian asked.

Denley snorted and shook his head. “I’m not sending anyone down there till daylight.”

Sebastian bit back his temper. He needed answers now. “When you do, I want it gone over with a fine tooth comb. Anything and everything that might be out of place, I want to know.”

“I don’t have that kind of manpower or budget. You know that, Falconer.”

“Tow the car to Cyril’s and send me the bill.” Sutton was going to bust an artery over his next expense report, but screw him. He’d given his all for the Service. His job was never supposed to touch Olivia. They owed her.

He hiked down the tailgate of his SUV and took a flashlight from his gear bag. “I forwarded a bulletin to your desk. I want your men—” All four point five of them. Cripes! This was a mess. “—aware of Kershaw.”

“How serious is this guy?”

“He’s armed and dangerous.” Sebastian clicked on a utility belt. “And he wants payback.”

“Wish you hadn’t brought that kind of trouble to my neck of the woods.”

In a town where the day’s highlight was a free cup of coffee at McGee’s General Store and writing a traffic ticket to an out-of-towner who strayed a mile over the speed limit, a cop’s edge dulled in proportion to the spread of gut over belt. Kershaw was way over Denley’s experience. “Trust me. That wasn’t the plan. He’s after Olivia. I want a guard posted by her hospital room.”

“Budget—”

“Frank’ll be glad for the overtime.” Frank Brandt was young and eager, even if inexperienced. He liked to relax at the local martial arts dojo and his edge wasn’t yet donut dimmed. Denley opened his mouth, but before a word could spit out, Sebastian repeated, “Send me the bill.” Let Sutton choke. Danger wouldn’t flirt any closer to Olivia than it already had.

Sebastian strode toward the edge of the road.

“Hey,” Denley called, “where do you think you’re going?”

“Looking for evidence.”

“You’ll mess up the scene.”

Like that was going to make a difference with the way the EMTs had trampled it to rescue Olivia. “He already has a warrant out on him for the murder of two marshals. Whatever evidence I find here won’t change anything.” Cutting down the timeline was more important than preserving this scene—a scene that would melt away before morning. Sebastian headed into the fog that covered the black hole where Olivia’s car had plunged.

Denley shone his flashlight at him. “You should get to your wife.”

“If I don’t catch this puke, he’ll go after her again.”

“He might not have anything to do with this. There’s deer tracks. The road’s slippery. On a night like this, could be just an accident.”

No, Sebastian didn’t believe in coincidence. Not with someone as determined as Kershaw. “What if he did? You don’t want that on your conscience. To get what he wants, he’ll go through anything and anyone. He’s armed. He’s motivated. He has nothing to lose.”

“Getting aggressive and imaginative at this time of the night won’t help you collar your mutt.”

Aggressive and imaginative—cop-talk for breaking the law. This was for Olivia. He’d get as aggressive and as imaginative as it took to bring down Kershaw.

IGNORING THE BEEPER vibrating at his belt, Sebastian placed a call. Working alone, he’d woven a wide network of contacts. The best way to information was knowing who to tap.

“Felicia?” a sleepy voice greeted Sebastian on the other end of the line as he paced the hospital’s emergency-room waiting area.

Officially, Aurora Cates was a librarian. But her real persona was information specialist. Why she hid her true calling was a mystery—one that was none of his business. Five years ago, he’d accidentally discovered that if he needed a fact, any fact—obtained legally—Rory Cates could dig it up. Best of all, she could do it efficiently and discreetly.

“Sebastian Falconer.”

“Falconer?” He heard the rustling of bed sheets. “Do you know what time it is?”

He glanced at his watch. Where had the time gone?

“It’s one-thirty in the morning,” Rory informed him. “What could be so important at this time of the night?”

“I need information.”

“I figured that much.”

Sebastian swallowed around the knot in his throat. “Information on coma.”

“Coma?”

His strictest rule was to never mix business and pleasure. That’s why he’d never asked Rory why she was hiding in a library when her skills were better suited elsewhere. Business took place on one level; personal life on another. Few people knew where he lived, that he was married or anything about his background. Safer that way, he’d thought. Kershaw had proved him wrong. “My wife was in an accident.”

“Wife? You’re married? How long?”

“Ten years.”

“And I’m just finding out now?” Her laugh was a bird-song. “If I need a secret kept, I know where to go.”

Mixing both planes of his life was as awkward as doing surveillance in a snake pit, but Kershaw had smashed those boundaries. “Who’s Felicia?”

“My sister.” Rory sighed, and Sebastian heard the frazzled threads of a knotted relationship. “I haven’t heard from her in a while and I’m worried.”

“She’d call you this early?”

“This late. Yeah. I’d take her call anytime, though.” The click of a pen. The shredding of a sheet of paper. Change of subject. Just as well, chitchat wasn’t his forte. “What do you need?”

“Anything you can dig up on coma and brain damage. Recovery.” The word tasted dry and made him wince.

“Jeez, Falconer,” Rory said as she scribbled down what he’d told her. “I’m really sorry. I hope she’s all right. She has to be a saint to put up with someone like you.” She gave a mirthless chuckle. “I’ll see what I can find for you.”

Not a saint, but his angel. “Thanks, I’ll owe you.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

AS SEBASTIAN WAS disconnecting, the emergency-entrance doors burst open and his sister-in-law strode in like a witch riding a twig broom. Her ICBM-like gaze zeroed in on him. He didn’t stand a chance, so he braced for the blow.

“Why wasn’t I called immediately?” Her question screeched across the room, making the nurses at the desk look up. Her bottle blond hair bobbed with every laser-sure step in his direction.

“I’m just coming up for air myself.”

One of Paula’s hands beat the air like a conductor gone mad. “For hours no one answered the blasted phone. I was going out of my mind. Then I had to find out about Olivia from that man.”

That man being Mario Menard, the Aerie’s groundskeeper and handyman. That man was even now installing another layer of protection to keep Paula’s baby sister safe. Sebastian couldn’t figure out if she treated Mario like a nonentity because he was the hired help or because he was always polite to her even when she was giving him her best impression of a third-degree black belt witch. The situation only seemed to get worse after the bankruptcy and suicide of Paula’s husband and Paula had to get a job.

“You were next on my list, Paula,” he said gently. After all, Paula had raised Olivia. Paula had been more of a mother to Olivia than their own mother, who hadn’t wanted the burden of a menopause baby.

“Next? I should have been first. What happened? How is she? When can I take her home?”

“Whoa, there.” He put up both hands against her verbal assault. “She’s coming home with me where she belongs.”

Paula’s eyes narrowed to barbed slits. “She’s coming home with me. We both know she was leaving you. That’s where she was going at that ungodly hour. To my home. Away from you. I figured you were giving her a hard time and that’s why she was so late. I never thought you’d actually hurt her.”

“I would never hurt her. The hour wasn’t ungodly. She left before seven.”

Both of her hands exploded upward. “Seven? That was almost six hours ago!”

“I had other things on my mind—like Olivia and her welfare.”

Paula’s hands hitched to her bony hips. “Her welfare? When have you ever bothered with her welfare? She wasn’t happy with you. You should have seen that years ago. But no, not Mr. Important Deputy Marshal.” She pecked her fingernail into his chest. “You were too busy doing your important job to see that she was dying inside. If you’d once bothered to ask her what she wanted instead of assuming she wanted whatever you wanted, then we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

“Paula—”

“No, don’t Paula me. Your selfishness almost killed her.” Rusty mascaraed tears dripped from Paula’s pale blue eyes. Her voice cracked. “I want to see her.”

“She’s not allowed visitors yet.”

Hand at her throat, she gulped. “How bad is it?”

“We won’t know until she wakes up.”

“Coma?” One hand covered her trembling lips; the other wrapped around her waist. The drips of tears turned to a stream. “Oh, God, no.”

“I have another neurologist scheduled to see her first thing in the morning.”

Paula keened. “Neurologist? There’s brain damage?”

Sebastian tentatively reached for his sister-in-law and patted a shoulder. “She’s going to be okay, Paula.”

Paula’s eyes narrowed and skewered him with pure hatred. “She’d better.”

Sebastian backed away. Knowing what to push was only part of an investigation; you also had to know when to let things slide. This was a slider. He headed toward the entrance.

“Where are you going?” Paula called after him.

“Home to shower and change. I’ll be back.”

Paula’s gaze rested on his shirt and traced the pattern of Olivia’s blood staining the white cotton. “What if she wakes up while you’re gone?”

“You’ll be there to make your final bid for her to leave me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Her shoulders bowed and she wrapped both arms around her stick figure. “I want what’s best for Olivia.”

“Then we agree on one thing.”

EVEN AT EIGHT in the morning, the lights in the hallway outside Olivia’s room seemed unnaturally bright. Such a dazzle should have cheered Sebastian, made him expect the best. But as the doctor exited the room, the brilliant islands of light only served to rush all that could go wrong at him in a giant black wave. Olivia, you can’t die. You can’t leave me this way. We never got to talk.

“How is she?” Sebastian asked, hands fisted deep in the pockets of his pants. He’d demanded the best neurologist available and been told this beat-up dog was it.

Dr. Iverson crossed both arms over his chest like a shield. Fatigue seemed to sag his aging features into bloodhound droopiness. “Prediction of improvement is difficult at this stage.”

Sebastian closed his eyes for a second. Patience, he reminded himself. “When will you know?”

“Again, making predictions at this stage is impossible.” Dr. Iverson shrugged. “There are many factors involved in your wife’s recovery. A loving, stable relationship is a great asset and will do more for your wife than anything we can offer her.”

Stable relationship. A ticking like a time bomb settled in Sebastian’s gut. Would she want to come home? Would she let him help her? He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means time is the best healer, and she’ll need all the support you can give her. As soon as she wakes up, we’ll know the extent of the damage.”

Damage. He swallowed hard. Trying to ignore the mad ticking, he grasped on to “wakes up.” “She’ll be okay then.”

Dr. Iverson’s forehead wrinkled more deeply. “We’re optimistic, but we’re dealing with an acceleration/deceleration head injury and you should be prepared.”

The ticking flared, started to burn. That could mean anything. Let him explain. “For what?”

“In this type of injury, the head, which was moving forward, came to a sudden stop when it hit a stationary object. In your wife’s case, the driver’s side window. When this happens, we often find bruising of the frontal and/or temporal lobes. Your wife may not be the person she was before.”

“What do you mean?”

Dr. Iverson turned sideways. The good doctor would scram if he got half a chance, Sebastian thought, and blocked the doctor’s route of escape. You’re not going anywhere until I have answers.

“The injury is located on the left hemisphere,” Dr. Iverson said. “She may have changes in thinking, behavior and personality. Problems with motor skills—”

“Like painting?” God, no. Olivia came alive when she painted. She created magic with her colors and brushes. If she couldn’t paint, there would be nothing to hold her home. And he needed her. Why hadn’t he told her so before? Why had he let her go? Because he’d never been good with words—at least the out loud kind.

“Painting. Writing. Organizing,” Dr. Iverson said. “With the temporal lobe involved, she may also have problems with memory. But it’s really too early to tell.”

The ticking stopped and something seemed to implode. “Memory? As in amnesia?”

Dr. Iverson shrugged. “Amnesia. Short-term memory.”

“Temporary?” His fists curled. What if she couldn’t remember him? Their life together? She would remember. She had to.

“We’ll hope for the best.”

Hope? Doctors were supposed to do more than hope. They were supposed to have answers. There was always some other trail to sniff, some other trigger to follow, some other fact to unearth. “Can’t you run some tests? There must be something you can do.”

“We’ve done everything we can for now. When she wakes up, we’ll do a full neurological workup designed to tell us problems with reasoning, memory and other brain functions—”

“When will that be?”

“There’s no way to tell. The sooner the better.”

A squawky announcement over the P.A. system had the doctor cocking his head. Was it standard procedure? Give the doctor two minutes with the family, then page him to save him from their stupid questions? “I want to see her.”

Dr. Iverson nodded. Without a goodbye, he spun on his heels and squeaked his way down the green hall and through the beige swinging double doors.

Sebastian fought the urge to follow him, grab him by the collar and shake him until he had answers. But the doctor couldn’t give him answers he didn’t have.

Amnesia. Brain damage. He did not want to go there. She’d be okay. She had to.

His beeper vibrated against his hip. He didn’t bother glancing at it. Sutton was probably three shades of purple by now. But he’d have to wait. Kershaw was after Olivia. He had to make sure Olivia was safe before he focused on Kershaw.

What if he isn’t after Olivia? What if you read him wrong because of your fear for her? Then Kershaw’s timeline was getting bigger by the minute. Sebastian dragged a hand over his face. Don’t go there. Olivia’s accident on the heels of Kershaw’s escape was too much of a coincidence.

The beeper’s renewed massage centered him. What do you know? You know Kershaw wants to hurt you through Olivia. You know he means to keep his promise. You know he’s on his way.

Don’t you?

He took his handheld computer from his pocket and punched in numbers. He was letting his fear for Olivia screw up basics. First things first. Check to see if the fugitives were back into custody.

Not as of five minutes ago. That would be too easy.

Kershaw’s transfer was to the new federal prison in Berlin, and he had a mother who lived in Nashua. She’d been vocal in her demands for a closer incarceration so she could visit. Cruel and unusual punishment having her boy so far away, she’d claimed. As if sonny’s kidnappings, rapes, armed robberies, felony assaults and murders were nothing more than school-yard scuffles. She’d abet her worthless spawn in a second and lie through her false teeth about it. He made a note to put a check on her telephone records and tack on some surveillance.

The safest thing for Kershaw to do was to hunker down. Hunkering down meant getting outside help. But Kershaw also had an agenda. He’d keep moving. Moving, he made a target. All Sebastian had to do was connect the dots.

And protect Olivia.

He swore. One was never supposed to touch the other. That was the agreement. That was the plan. How could he be two places at once? How could he stay by Olivia’s side and stalk Kershaw?

He had to find a way or else all he’d built over the last twenty years was worth nothing.

“BING!” UP POPPED the instant-message window asking if he wanted to accept a message. He clicked yes when he saw Okie’s name highlighted on his buddy list.

Okie: Hey, I think something’s gone wrong.

Sk8Thor: No slip, sliding?

Okie: Slip, slide all right. Slip slide right into a coma.

Sk8Thor: Him?

Okie: Her. U said it’d B ok.

Sk8Thor: He’s hurting, isn’t he?

Okie: Yes.

Sk8Thor: That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?

Okie: Yes.

Sk8Thor: Then what’s wrong?

He could feel the hesitation and cursed it. That’s what came of counting on someone else. But this required finesse, and one trick he’d learned long ago was how to make the best of any hand he was dealt. This one was too sweet to pass up.

Sk8Thor: He wouldn’t help u when u needed it. He had to pay, didn’t he?

Okie: Yes, but, she’s nice, u know. I didn’t want 2 c her hurt so bad.

Sk8Thor: This way he’s hurting more. You’re not gonna quit on me, are u?

Okie: 2 late now.

That’s right. Too late now. You’re my hands and eyes, and you’re my fall guy. One by one he was going to breach each of Falconer’s defenses. Then he’d pull the last pin and watch while all Falconer stood for caved in around him. How far did you have to push a man to betray his ideals? Not as far as most people thought. Affluence made people cream cheese soft. Falconer thought he knew it all, thought he could shed one skin and slip into another without the fat at the seams showing. But Sk8Thor saw through the stitches. A man’s heart never changed. And Falconer’s heart was as black as his. Sk8Thor was lean and mean and hungry. And Falconer, even wearing his hunter skin, couldn’t compete with a lifetime of surviving in the sewers.

Falconer didn’t stand a chance.

“Time to set up for show-and-tell.” He typed one last note to Okie and pressed the send button. Laughing, he asked the screen, “Who do you trust, Falconer? Who do you trust?”

Chapter Three

When Sebastian could no longer put off Sutton, he stepped out of Olivia’s room and got out his phone. Leaning against the hallway wall, he tried to blink away the image of Olivia’s too-still body, but it was etched into his brain. Every detail of angry bruises on chalky skin became a horrid scene filled with accusations. As he punched in Sutton’s number, he started to stride. The only way to stay ahead of the nightmare was to move.

“Where the hell are you?” Sutton barked.

“Hospital.” Sebastian paced the outside of Olivia’s room as if it were a cage.

Sutton swore more colorfully than a seasoned sailor. “What happened?”

“Kershaw got to Olivia.”

Sebastian wished for static over the clean phone line. Anything to break the density of Sutton’s silence.

“Are you sure?” Sutton asked.

Sutton liked black and white, but Sutton hadn’t worked the field in a long time. And the field was nothing but shades of gray.

At Sebastian’s silence, Sutton cursed again. “Not the gut thing.”

Never mind that gut was often the thing that broke a case wide open. “Kershaw swore he’d get back at me through Olivia. The fact Olivia was hurt the same day as Kershaw’s escape can’t be coincidence.”

“Got anything to back you up?”

“Soon,” Sebastian said, thinking of Olivia’s car. Cyril Granger should be done with the automotive autopsy by the end of the day.

“How soon? I need results.”

No doubt because the prison riot, the murder of his men and the escape of three dangerous felons had become a media circus. Wiser to say nothing.

“I’m sending in a team,” Sutton said, his words tight and sharp.

“No.”

A fist banged on wood. “Listen, Falconer, that lone-eagle crap isn’t going to fly this time.”

“You’re glad enough for it when you need clean-up.”

“This situation is raking in too much media. It needs containment now.”

Sebastian stilled. “Kershaw’s here. He’s after Olivia. I’ll get him.”

“I’m pulling you off duty. Take some personal time.”

“Kershaw’s mine.”

“You’re too emotionally involved.”

What no one realized was that he always got emotionally involved. All he had to do was think of the victim and he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t walk away from Kershaw. Not when he was after Olivia. “I can—”

“Bull! If it comes to choosing between Kershaw and your wife, you’ll pick your wife. Why do you think I don’t have any ties?”

It wasn’t a question, but a simple statement of fact. For Sutton, the Service and life were one and the same.

“I know Kershaw.” Sebastian bit his words to contain the temper swirling like a hurricane about to beach. “I know how his mind works—”

“How are you going to handle this?”

“Solo.”

Sutton swore again.

“I want carte blanche,” Sebastian pushed on as a plan formed in his mind. “I want a clear path in the field. I don’t want roadblocks from the locals. But if I need something, I don’t want to have to ask twice.”

“That’s not how we operate.”

“I’ve never let you down.”

“This isn’t the time to go for glory.”

Sebastian sneered. This was a bust that would garner attention, and Sutton wanted it—preferably before the Feebs beat him to it. “If it was glory I wanted, I could’ve had it years ago. I’ve let you take the credit for every one of my collars. I made my bones a long time ago. I don’t have anything to prove.”

“What about Olivia?”

The mention of Olivia brought back the image of her bruised face in 3-D color. He resumed his pacing. “What about her?”

“Who’s going to watch over her while you’re out enforcing the law?”

No, not the law. Justice.

And there was the pinch.

Hunter and husband. Duty and love. And in the middle, justice and obligation. He owed both to Olivia.

The lone eagle. The clean-up guy. The guy who got the job done. People thought he worked alone because he didn’t trust anyone. That wasn’t the reason. He worked alone because he didn’t want the responsibility of someone else’s life on his shoulders. If he got himself killed, then it was his tough luck. He already had three souls on his conscience; he didn’t want any more.

But he had a shoulderful of responsibility now. Olivia was here, in this hospital bed, in a coma, because of him, because of what he did, because of his need to rid the world of scum. Marrying her ten years ago was an act of selfishness. He knew it then; he knew it now. He’d tried to protect her.

And failed.

She was his strength. She was the one weakness he wasn’t able to resist. And she was paying for his flaw. He’d gambled with her safety—and lost.

He closed his eyes and up popped the image of that purple-black bruise marring the left side of her too-white face. For once, he had to make her his priority. He had to stay by her side until she was well. And when she was, they would have to redraw the boundaries of their relationship.

How could he live without hunting? It was in his blood. Yet how could he live without Olivia? She was his soul.

When in doubt, act. If he couldn’t physically leave, then he’d have to figure out a different way to track.

“Give me a team,” Sebastian said. Teamwork wasn’t his strength, but for now he was grounded. Someone else would have to do the flying. If he couldn’t do the hunting, then he wanted to head the team that would. “I’ll find him.”

“A team?”

“Four men.” With four men, he could cover his target. If he had to operate with a team, he wanted men he could trust. “Grayson Reed. Noah Kingsley. Dominic Skyralov. Sabriel Mercer.”

Sutton whistled. “The best of the best.”

“Do you want this circus over or not?”

A heartbeat. Two. “I’ll set it up.”

Sebastian punched out. The win should have felt good. It didn’t.

Kershaw was on the loose. Olivia was his target. And he’d have to depend on others to catch his prey.

SHE AWOKE THIS TIME to a view of night through a window. Clouds raced across the moon, leaving a moving trail of patchy light on the gray linoleum floor. The metallic click of an artificial pulse kept her own company. The strong smell of sickness and floor wax twitched her nose. The blanket covering her right arm was strangely heavy.

When she moved her head to look at the warm weight, pain shrieked like a banshee and zigzagged through her brain with a lightning burn. The room spun around her. Her vision dimmed. Nausea rose and fell with roller coaster sharpness.

What’s happening? Where am I?

Suddenly a hard and warm wall caught her. She fought against the strangling hold until a calming murmur penetrated through the roar in her mind. “Olivia, shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Olivia? Who was Olivia? Limbs shaking, she clung to the solidness of the man holding her to steady herself. Who was he? Why was he here? Did she know him?

“Do you want me to call a nurse?”

Nurse? “No,” she croaked.

“Are you dizzy? The doctor said that was normal.”

Doctor. A vague image like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle reassembled itself in the black of her mind. Real? It seemed so opaque—as if the glue holding the pieces together wasn’t quite dry. Yesterday? Today? Brown hair streaked with white. Droopy face. Hospital. Someone—the man holding her?—answering a myriad of questions whose answers didn’t mean a thing to her. Was she making up the impatience that throbbed from him like the boom of a drum? Accident. She was in an accident. At least that’s what the man said. Car, he’d said. And the scarecrow woman, too. Her voice, thin and sharp like her body, had mixed words into a whirl until none made sense.

Then the doctor had poked and prodded, asking her to do all sorts of things—smile, chew, swallow, follow his fingertips, walk, stand on one foot—until all she could feel was layer upon layer of pain.

Just when she thought she could return to the security of her bed, someone had rolled in a wheelchair. Then they’d dragged her from machine to machine until fatigue took over. Finally, they’d left her alone, and she’d slipped into the welcoming blankness of sleep.

She saw all this in her mind as if it were happening to someone else, making her feel as if she had no more substance than a ghost.

“I should call a nurse,” the man said. His worry was crushing, and all she wanted was distance.

“No.” She didn’t want any more poking and prodding. She wanted to be alone. Struggling out of his hold, she slipped to the other side of the bed and hung on to the side of the mattress with fists curled around the stiff sheet. A wave of nausea surged, then ebbed. The throb in her head steadied. The room stabilized.

“Olivia?”

“I have to…” The words were in her head. She could feel them there, pinging like flies against a lightbulb in the dark. They stumbled across her tongue like stinging bees and spit out already half spent. “…go bathroom.” She slid one foot to the coldness of the linoleum floor and held her breath while the room wavered around her.

“Let me help you.”

“No.” Don’t touch me. But she got tangled in the wires connecting her to machines.

He came around the bed, unhooked the clothespin-like device biting her finger and untangled the white cord that had wrapped itself around her forearm. Dark eyes stared down at her, their intensity unnerving. Who was he? Why was he here? Her skin crawled with an electric buzz when he wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her up.

“I fine.” She shrank away from the too close contact of his body against hers.

His hand reached for her chin and gently forced her to look into his eyes. “Olivia…”

She saw pain flash bright in the near blackness of his eyes, felt an unasked question float between them, sensed a fear that echoed along her nerves, sending them jangling like alarms. “I have…to go.”

“Okay.” He looked away. She swallowed hard. A hollow keening rang inside her. The sense of loss was so deep she nearly buckled beneath it.

“I’ve got you.” He tightened his hold on her.

“No. I’m. Fine.”

“Let me…”

Pain again. In his voice. In the pinching of his forehead. In the downward arch of his eyes. She tried to relax in his grip, but tasted tears with each step.

She walked stiffly, grateful when they arrived at the bathroom. He turned on the light. “Do you…?” He shifted his weight and glanced at the toilet against the beige tile wall. “Do you…um…need—”

“No.” She pushed away his supporting hand. The thought of him watching her while she emptied her bladder was too embarrassing. “I’m fine.”

“I’m right outside if you need help.”

She nodded, then regretted the move when it set the room in motion once more. Holding on to the sink with one hand and the wall with the other, she held her breath until the man was no longer blurry.

Forehead rucked like a V of geese, he nodded and closed the door.

Once alone, she let her breath out in one long swoop. Turning, she braced both hands against the sink and caught a reflection in the mirror. Long strands of dark hair hung limply around a pale face streaked with blotches of purpling black on the left. A row of stitches crimped the hair-line from temple to ear. The eyes, with their eerie ring of blue around too-wide pupils, lent the image an air of panic—as if the woman in the mirror would take off at any second. Was that what the man had seen? This panic? Was that what scared him?

Me? she wondered, searching every corner of the face. No, how could it be? She would know herself, wouldn’t she? Nothing looked familiar.

“Olivia.” She tasted the name and swallowed it all wrong. It didn’t fit.

“Olivia.” She tried again, straining for a scrap of recognition. She bit her lower lip with her upper teeth and watched helplessly as the image before her started to shake and tears to race a shiny run over the pale cheeks.

“Mrs. Falconer,” she sobbed. The echo of the name they’d called her as they’d probed and poked grated like a door needing oil. “Olivia Falconer.”

They’d called the man with the intense eyes and the serious face her husband. Safe, they’d told her. He’ll keep you safe. A quiver of cold prickled down her spine, raising goose bumps along her arms. Married. She was married. To him. Then why did he feel like a stranger? As if she’d never seen him before? Shouldn’t she feel something more than panic when he held her, when he looked at her?

She peered deep into the eerie blue eyes, tried to climb into the dark pupils to find the answers hidden beneath the shell of skull. And saw nothing. Her breath came in short bursts. Sweat, cold and clammy, slipped her hands along the edge of the white sink. And all she could hear was the thud of her heart.

She reached a hand to the image of the woman she did not recognize in the mirror. “Who are you?”

The knock on the door made her gasp. “Olivia? Are you all right? Should I get the nurse?”

“No. I’m…fine.” Closing her eyes against the reflection taunting her, she backed to the toilet and took care of nature’s call. Then she sat elbows on knees, head in hands, eyes closed, trying to glimpse into the deep velvet blackness of her mind. When he called to her again, she reluctantly stood and opened the door.

He helped her back into bed. She slid as far away from him as she could. He took the open mattress space as an invitation and climbed in beside her. The solidness of his body against her side, the furnace of heat he generated, stiffened her.

Go away. Leave me alone, she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her dry throat. An ill feeling crawled across her skin like a long-legged spider. She did not want to anger this man. Was he dangerous? Did a part of her know that? She rolled onto her side and stared at the restless chase of clouds over the moon. What was happening to her? Why was there nothing in her mind? What would become of her?

“The doctor said you could come home today,” the man said, startling her with his ability to read her mind.

Home? Her heart thudded hard in her chest. Where was home? Why could she draw no pictures of the place where she’d lived with this man? For how long? The ache in her head started to burn again. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t go to a strange place with a strange man. But if not with him, then where?

She drew the blanket tight under her chin. “Am I losing my mind?”

“NO, SWEETHEART. You’re not going crazy.” Sebastian leaned in closer, wanting so badly to hold her. She bit her lower lip and curled her legs up to her chest, rounding her shoulders away from him like a baby in the security of a womb. Even though the doctor had warned him that the amnesia would cause anxiety, he hadn’t expected this rejection. Needing some sort of connection, he touched her shoulder. She rounded away from his touch and nestled her head deeper into the pillow, closing him out.

Swallowing hard against her withdrawal, he rolled onto his back. She doesn’t know me. Hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. Where do we go from here?

How could this person who wore Olivia’s skin, spoke with Olivia’s voice, moved with Olivia’s grace, not be Olivia? Medical explanation aside, reality was hard to take. How could one moment erase ten years, a lifetime? Don’t dwell on it. She’ll be back. This is just temporary.

“You were in a car accident.” He tried to reach her on the level of facts, if not on the physical one that grounded him. “And your brain was a little shaken up. The doctor said it might take a while for you to get your memory back. Headaches, anxiety, dizziness. They’re all normal. They should all go away. And we’re going to do everything we can to help you.”

The information Aurora had faxed him earlier in the day wasn’t reassuring. Given the location of the damage to Olivia’s brain, permanent memory impairment was a possibility. What if Olivia never remembered the life they’d shared? What if she never loved him again? What if this Olivia left him for good?

He gave a sharp shake of the head. No, he couldn’t accept that. “Dr. Iverson recommended a rehabilitation therapist who specializes in traumatic brain injuries. She’ll help you improve your motor skills and give you techniques to improve your concentration and manage the pain.” And if he was lucky, she’d perform a miracle and give him his Olivia back—the way she was before. “I’ve arranged for her to meet us at the house.”

He turned his head toward Olivia. She wasn’t asleep. Her muscles were wound too tight; her breath came too fast and shallow to be restful. “Olivia?”

She didn’t answer. The force of her fear stole his breath. And all he was doing was adding to it. His touch had once calmed her, aroused her, made her melt. Now, it sharpened her fear.

As she’d slept earlier, he’d tried to get into her head. What would it be like to remember nothing? The depth of the dark emptiness had almost swallowed him whole. No shared past. No trust. No love. Only fear. Getting into the most evil of criminal minds couldn’t compare to the terror of having a lifetime erased.

If he believed in prayer, he would pray now. But he didn’t. Hadn’t in a long time. The future—their future—had always seemed so bright. But now, caught between an Olivia who wasn’t Olivia and Kershaw’s need for vengeance, he couldn’t conjure up any of the dreams that usually saw him through his trips through the sewers of society for the scum that thrived there.

Catch the scum. Get back to Olivia. That was the plan. Always.

But the rules had changed and this was a whole new game.

Sebastian ran a hand over his face. He was stuck here, waiting, just waiting like a paralyzed slug. The trail was getting cold. He couldn’t look for Kershaw. He couldn’t find the information he needed. He couldn’t seek the triggers to bring the whole damn thing to an end.

And in the panic-stricken eyes of the woman who looked like Olivia, he could not find the wife who’d been his haven.

Kershaw was God-knows-where. The team he’d requested was on its way, giving Kershaw time to do whatever evil his rotten mind plotted. Olivia wasn’t safe here—not even with him watching over her, not even with the guard outside the door. Every doctor, every nurse, every aide who walked through that door was a possible threat. He needed to get Olivia to the safety of the Aerie. And for that, he needed to earn a slice of her trust.

He slid out of her bed and into the hard chair beside it. She would come back to him. She had to. In the meantime, she needed him even if she didn’t know him. He leaned forward, dangling his hands between his knees. Closing his eyes, he touched her the only way he could—with his voice. “Let me tell you about home…”

THE NURSE HAD SHOOED Sebastian out of Olivia’s room while they got Olivia ready to go home. Leaving the stiff stranger in the bed was a relief, and he hated that it was. She was his wife; she deserved his understanding. How was he going to get through the weeks, maybe months, before she was well again without going crazy?

Paula had dropped off a bag of clothes the night before and threatened to return early enough to spirit Olivia to Nashua rather than let her return to the Aerie. Sebastian hadn’t told Paula about Kershaw yet, but he would have to, and he dreaded the blowback that would create.

First he had to get Olivia home, then he’d worry about Paula.

Needing to do something other than dwell on Olivia or Paula or the way his life was crumbling like slag on the side of a mountain, he snagged the phone out of his pocket and checked messages. Three from Sutton—the reason why he’d turned off the ringer. And one from Cyril Granger. He checked his watch and bit back a grumble, then punched in the garage’s number anyway. At the sound of Cyril’s cigar-gruff voice, Sebastian gave silent thanks for early risers. “Sebastian Falconer.”

“Falconer! I got the results you wanted.”

Hand in pocket, Sebastian braced. “Shoot.”

“Lucky your wife had all that metal around her or she’d a been dead.”

He’d made sure she had the safest car on the market—that was no accident. “What happened?”

“As far as I can tell, she probably hit the brakes for some reason. Maybe deer. Maybe snow. Maybe something else. Skidded and went over the embankment.”

Sebastian couldn’t wrap his mind around the information. He’d been sure Kershaw had tampered with the car. “An accident?”

“Looks that way.”

“No tampering?”

“Here’s the interesting part. I couldn’t get the taste of smoke out of my mouth.”

Sebastian frowned. “Smoke? From the crash?”

“No, that’s just it. It didn’t taste like engine smoke. It was more electrical. So I followed my nose and, sure enough, I found something.”

“What?” Sebastian prodded as he ground tight steps the length of Olivia’s room.

“Someone swapped the brake switch fuse from a 5 amp to a 40 amp.”

Sebastian stilled. “What does that mean?”

“Means that if she woulda gone five more minutes down the road, smoke woulda billowed up and blinded her. She woulda choked on it. Her eyes woulda watered. Then you coulda blamed the accident on tampering.”

Five more minutes would have put her on Mountain Road—close enough to run into a sheer wall of granite or into Trotter’s Pond if she lost sight of the road.

Kershaw.

“Can you tell when the swap was made?” Sebastian asked.

“No way to tell for sure. Anytime between the last time she used the car and got into it again. It’d take about ten minutes for the wiring harness to catch fire.”

And there was no way to ask Olivia when she’d used the car last. No way to ask her if she’d had any visitors. No way to put Kershaw at the scene, with the melting snow making any trace of him vanish. Because of the time limit on the wiring fire, the tampering had to have happened at the Aerie. And that was impossible. Not with all the security he had in place. “Thanks, Cyril. I’ll need a written report.”

Cyril humphed. “Well, I got a busy day ahead’a me. It’s gonna be a coupla days.”

“I’ll need pictures of the brake switch fuse and the burnt harness.”

“Anson’s got himself a new digital camera. I’ll get him to take the pics.”

Anson was Cyril’s college-aged son. “Great. Have him e-mail me the file.” He gave Cyril his e-mail address and punched out.

The connection had barely closed before he entered another number.

“Menard,” a sleepy voice said.

“Falconer,” Sebastian said as he started pacing again. “When was the last time Olivia used her car?”

“Three days ago when she got groceries.”

“Anybody come by for a visit?”

“Only Paula and her daughter.”

Sebastian’s steps got shorter, faster. “Meter reader? UPS delivery? Anything else?”

“Special delivery from the post office two days ago. Propane yesterday.”

That gave him some place to start. “Did you make sure the security system was on at all times?”

“That’s what you pay me for,” Mario said, voice sore as if Sebastian had poked a bruise. Mario’s hawks squawked in the background.

Things weren’t stacking up right. Sebastian rubbed a hand over his chin. Could someone who’d just escaped a prison riot, killed two marshals and traveled four hours from a murder scene have been careful enough to leave no trace?

Kershaw wasn’t into finesse. He was into results. Leaving evidence would mean nothing to someone bent on revenge. He’d have wanted Sebastian to know he was the cause of his grief.

Sebastian spun on his heels and faced the closed door of Olivia’s room. If not Kershaw, then who? Who would want Olivia dead?

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