Running Wild Part 1

Running Wild.

by Linda Howard.

Prologue

LIBBY THOMPSON CROSSED her plump arms and tried to look stern, which wasn't easy considering the undeniable sadness she felt. "Don't give me that look, A.Z. Decker. Those puppy-dog eyes haven't worked on me since you were nine years old." Not that he'd had puppy-dog eyes even back then, and he certainly didn't now, but she'd learned a long time ago that the trick to handling him was to never let it show how blasted intimidating he was when he looked p.i.s.sed and flinty-eyed, the way he did now. her plump arms and tried to look stern, which wasn't easy considering the undeniable sadness she felt. "Don't give me that look, A.Z. Decker. Those puppy-dog eyes haven't worked on me since you were nine years old." Not that he'd had puppy-dog eyes even back then, and he certainly didn't now, but she'd learned a long time ago that the trick to handling him was to never let it show how blasted intimidating he was when he looked p.i.s.sed and flinty-eyed, the way he did now.

Zeke glanced down and to the side, where Libby's bags sat. They were a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs, three different makers, three different colors: red, brown, and black. The bags were all stuffed so full they bulged and threatened to split their zippers wide open. Everything she owned was in those bags.

"I gave you two weeks' notice," she said in her best no-nonsense tone, because if she gave an inch, in no time flat he'd have her talked into staying. She couldn't let her guard down, not even for a minute. The trick was to remember that he looked at problems as things he could solve if he just didn't give up, which was great if he was working on your behalf, and not so great if you were on the other side of all that bullheaded determination. you were on the other side of all that bullheaded determination.

"I tried to find a replacement," Zeke growled, glaring at her accusingly, as if his failure was her fault.

"Really?" She snorted. "You put an ad in the Battle Ridge Weekly Battle Ridge Weekly." That was when she'd realized he hadn't taken her seriously when she'd told him she was leaving, otherwise he'd have placed multiple ads in the newspapers in larger towns. As much as she loved him, that had really ticked her off. If he thought he could bulldoze her the way he did everyone else, then he was about to get his perception of the world rearranged.

"Two more weeks," he bargained.

She blew out a breath of frustration. In her fifty-seven years, she'd faced down a lot, and never let life get her down even when she was widowed at a young age and left with a baby she needed to support. But from the time she'd first come to work here at the Decker ranch, she'd needed every bit of ability she possessed to stay ahead of Zeke. As a toddler he'd been a chubby, charming h.e.l.lion; as a gap-toothed little boy he'd been a skinny, charming h.e.l.lion; and since his teenage years he'd been a heartbreaker, with a whole lot of hard-a.s.s thrown into the mix. He always got his way, but this time she simply couldn't let that happen.

She'd been working at this ranch house for thirty-odd years, at first part-time and later, after Zeke's mother remarried and moved to Arizona, full-time. She and Jenny had had their own rooms here, just off the kitchen. She knew this house as if it were her own, knew Zeke as if she'd given birth to him. His sisters had become a big part of her life, too, but they were both older, and Libby hadn't played as large a part in their lives as she had in Zeke's. For more than thirty years she'd cooked, she'd cleaned, and she'd blessed him out when he needed it.

She'd mothered him, mothered the ranch hands, and spoiled him rotten. And she was on her way out the door. She'd mothered him, mothered the ranch hands, and spoiled him rotten. And she was on her way out the door.

She sighed, and her gaze softened a little. "Zeke, I hate to leave you in the lurch, you know I do, but I promised Jenny I'd be there this coming weekend. She's at her wit's end, with Tim out of town on business more often than not and those three kids running her ragged, and another one on the way. She's my daughter, and she needs me."

"I need you," he growled, then his jaw hardened as he finally faced the reality, once and for all, that she was leaving. "Okay. d.a.m.n it-okay. I'll get by."

"I know you will." Libby stepped toward him, patted him on one cheek while she went up on her toes and kissed him on the other. She backed away, and was all business once again. "I think Spencer knows his way around the kitchen; he'll do until you find a replacement. I left a couple of cookbooks on the kitchen table. The recipe for my beef stew is in the one with the green cover." He loved her beef stew, always had. She felt more than a little sad that she might never make it for him again, but at least the recipe was there so someone someone could. could.

"Thanks."

He didn't sound very grateful; he still sounded p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l. Well, he could just stay p.i.s.sed, because she'd made up her mind. Ignoring his sour mood, she continued, "I filled the freezer with stew, a pan of lasagna, and corn bread. There's a big pot of chicken and dumplings in the refrigerator for tonight. Once that's all gone, you can either find another housekeeper or you can get your a.s.s busy finding another wife. That's what you really need."

That was a safe gambit, because if there was one subject Zeke avoided, it was marriage. He'd tried it once, it hadn't worked. By his way of thinking, he'd have to be nuts to put himself through the torture of trying again. He wasn't a monk, by any means, and if he put himself out to find another wife he'd find himself standing in front of a preacher in no time; he definitely wasn't hard on the eyes, with those broad shoulders, green eyes, and that thick, light brown hair. The right woman would rise to the challenge of meeting him halfway-if he were looking for a wife, which he wasn't. Why would he, when he'd been able to find s.e.x whenever he wanted and Libby was here on the home front taking care of all things domestic? All he wanted now was a cook and a housekeeper, and that was a horse of a different color. out to find another wife he'd find himself standing in front of a preacher in no time; he definitely wasn't hard on the eyes, with those broad shoulders, green eyes, and that thick, light brown hair. The right woman would rise to the challenge of meeting him halfway-if he were looking for a wife, which he wasn't. Why would he, when he'd been able to find s.e.x whenever he wanted and Libby was here on the home front taking care of all things domestic? All he wanted now was a cook and a housekeeper, and that was a horse of a different color.

Not many women would be happy on a ranch in the Middle Of Nowhere, Wyoming. The nearest town, Battle Ridge, was an hour's drive away and was d.a.m.n near a ghost town these days, anyway. Well, not really; there were still stores, but ten years ago over two thousand people had lived there, and now there was only about half that many.

And the bus only came through twice a week. Libby was about to get on it.

"Well come on, d.a.m.n it," he said, reaching for the bulging red bag. "It's time to get you to town. You're right, we'll find a way to get by until I hire someone to replace you. No one's going to starve, and I can d.a.m.n well do my own laundry." He s.n.a.t.c.hed up the brown bag, too, leaving the black one, the smallest, for Libby.

She couldn't help it. Her voice softened some when she said, "You know, you could call your mother..."

"No," Zeke said sharply. Well, she'd known that was a nonstarter. He'd love a visit from his mother, but if she came her husband-Larry-would tag along. Zeke didn't begrudge his mother happiness, but he and Larry had never seen eye to eye. A few days were about all he could stomach; no way would he ask them to move in for a stay that could turn into weeks.

"One of your sisters, then."

"No." This particular no no wasn't as harsh as the first one wasn't as harsh as the first one had been. "They've both got families, kids, jobs. Neither of them could take that much time away to stay here." had been. "They've both got families, kids, jobs. Neither of them could take that much time away to stay here."

"Kat might-"

Zeke snorted. "She's got a business of her own to run. Why would she leave it to work here?"

"She could still cook some stuff for you to freeze, for emergencies. All you have to do is unbend enough to ask her." Kat was a d.a.m.n good cook, which was why she did so well with her little restaurant in Battle Ridge; she and Zeke were first cousins, so she'd help if she could, though her schedule was so crowded there was no way he could rely on her help to keep the hands fed full-time.

Libby opened the front door for Zeke, since his hands were full, and he stepped onto the porch. Half a dozen hands were waiting by the truck, waiting to say goodbye to the woman who had become a second mother to many of them. For a couple, she was the first real caring mother they'd ever known. There wasn't a smile to be seen on any of those weather-beaten faces.

"Like I said, we'll get by." He shot a narrow-eyed look at Spencer, who shifted his feet and looked both guilty and confused, because he didn't know what he'd done to earn the boss's scowl. "Though we'll be lucky if Spencer doesn't give us all food poisoning."

"Things will work out. They always do," Libby said optimistically. She patted her hair, making sure all was in place, then rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek again. "I'll be back for a visit every now and then," she said, going down the steps to say good-bye to the ranch hands.

ZEKE WASN'T AS optimistic as Libby. As he drove her into town he tried not to growl his answers to her conversational chatter, tried to be happy for her, but- optimistic as Libby. As he drove her into town he tried not to growl his answers to her conversational chatter, tried to be happy for her, but-h.e.l.l!

He'd miss her. He couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been here. She was a spark plug of a woman, short and wide, with the kind of spirit that drew other people to her. When other women were settling into their senior years, Libby was dyeing her hair a different color every other week-it was flaming red right now-and bossing everyone around, making plans to take her grandchildren on a hot-air balloon ride, and generally steamrolling through life. At the same time, she had the kindest heart he'd ever seen. short and wide, with the kind of spirit that drew other people to her. When other women were settling into their senior years, Libby was dyeing her hair a different color every other week-it was flaming red right now-and bossing everyone around, making plans to take her grandchildren on a hot-air balloon ride, and generally steamrolling through life. At the same time, she had the kindest heart he'd ever seen.

d.a.m.n it. He couldn't replace Libby. Someone else might do her job, but no one could replace her.

You'd think with the economy as tough as it was, hiring someone would be easy, but folks were leaving instead of digging in their heels and fighting to keep their lives intact. Battle Ridge was full of empty houses, most of them with "For Rent" or "For Sale" signs on them, and not a sign of any renters, much less actual buyers. Businesses were closing, families were pulling up stakes and heading south, where the brutal winters didn't hammer at you, where you might still be unemployed, but at least you wouldn't be freezing.

He'd try. So far he hadn't really put his mind to it, because up until the last minute he'd thought Libby would back out of her plans and stay. It galled him to think he might not succeed, but he was enough of a realist to know that right now, the deck was stacked against him.

Getting a woman to come out to the middle of nowhere for a lot of hard work and nominal pay-he wasn't a miser, but no one was going to get rich working at the Decker ranch-wasn't as easy as she seemed to think it would be. Things didn't always work out. When G.o.d closed a door He didn't necessarily open a convenient window. No, Zeke figured he was pretty much f.u.c.ked.

CARLIN WALKED QUICKLY to her desk, a frown on her face, her heart beating too hard. to her desk, a frown on her face, her heart beating too hard. Be rational Be rational. She told herself that over and over, trying to rea.s.sure herself. She was just being paranoid; her imagination working overtime. There were thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of Toyotas that particular shade of blue in the state of Texas. Just because one had that over and over, trying to rea.s.sure herself. She was just being paranoid; her imagination working overtime. There were thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of Toyotas that particular shade of blue in the state of Texas. Just because one had appeared appeared to follow her from her apartment to work, and just because the driver-who she'd barely been able to see when she'd checked her rearview mirror-had dark hair, that didn't mean Brad had tracked her down. No way. to follow her from her apartment to work, and just because the driver-who she'd barely been able to see when she'd checked her rearview mirror-had dark hair, that didn't mean Brad had tracked her down. No way.

The frighteningly familiar vehicle had kept going when she'd turned into the building's parking garage. No one had followed her. She was perfectly safe here. d.a.m.n it, she had to stop letting that psycho get into her head! Hadn't he already done enough?

She'd completely uprooted her life because of him. She'd quit her job, moved to Dallas-which was more than a four-hour drive from the Houston suburb where she'd lived for almost a year-and left her worries behind...she hoped. She'd been working here for three months, and Brad hadn't so much as called. He sure as h.e.l.l hadn't shown up at her apartment time and again without warning, the way he had before she'd moved.

No way did he know where she lived or where she worked. She kept telling herself that. No way No way.

She'd taken precautions when she'd moved, paying all her outstanding bills before leaving town and not telling anyone where she was going, not even her coworkers at the kitchen supply company where she'd been in charge of billing. Her mail was being forwarded to a post office box on the other side of Dallas, rather than to her new apartment. She'd left in the middle of the night-literally-taking only what she could fit in her car. She wouldn't say that Brad couldn't possibly find her, but she'd been very careful and she'd hoped-and prayed-that once she was gone he'd turn his attention elsewhere. She felt a little guilty about that, because what woman deserved Brad?

She wouldn't wish him on her worst enemy...well, maybe she would, if she had a worst enemy, but right off the bat she couldn't think of anyone she disliked that much. She wouldn't wish him on her worst enemy...well, maybe she would, if she had a worst enemy, but right off the bat she couldn't think of anyone she disliked that much.

If anyone had listened to her, if even one cop had been on her side, she might still be working in Houston. She had been so naive! She'd been sure that once she filed a complaint, the authorities would take care of Brad. But when a cop decides to stalk a woman and he knows how to cover his tracks, when everyone is so quick to take his word over hers, there's not much to be done except start over, which was what she'd done.

From the window she saw a line of clouds on the horizon; it hadn't started raining yet, but according to the weatherman rain was coming. Carlin slipped off her red raincoat and hung it on a hook at the edge of her cubicle. She loved that raincoat so much she almost looked forward to the occasional fall shower just so she could wear it. Now her nerves were so unsettled she didn't want to deal with rain, or traffic, or even a phone call. If her phone rang now...what if it was Brad? What if he'd not only found- No, she needed to stop thinking about him. She'd seen someone who reminded her of him, but that was all. Nothing had happened.

Jina Matthews, who worked at the cubicle directly beside Carlin's, wasn't having a good day, either. She was on her phone, her expression tense. She and her boyfriend had been fighting a lot lately, and it looked as if Jina was at the end of her rope. She said a few choice words, then thumbed a b.u.t.ton on her phone. Looking across the aisle at Carlin, she made a wry face.

"It was so so much more satisfying when you could slam a phone down. Pushing a b.u.t.ton just doesn't have the same gratification factor." Her phone, set to vibrate, buzzed around on the desk as another call came in. Jina picked it up, looked at the caller ID, and jabbed the b.u.t.ton again. much more satisfying when you could slam a phone down. Pushing a b.u.t.ton just doesn't have the same gratification factor." Her phone, set to vibrate, buzzed around on the desk as another call came in. Jina picked it up, looked at the caller ID, and jabbed the b.u.t.ton again.

"Unless it's the "Unless it's the off off b.u.t.ton." She leaned forward and spoke to the silent phone. "Call all you want, jacka.s.s. I can't b.u.t.ton." She leaned forward and spoke to the silent phone. "Call all you want, jacka.s.s. I can't hear hear you," she said in a singsong falsetto. you," she said in a singsong falsetto.

In spite of herself, Carlin laughed. Jina smiled, though the anger and sadness and frustration remained clear on her face.

Jina was gorgeous. She was blond, like Carlin, and about the same height, but that was where the similarity ended. Carlin knew she was acceptable, even above average, but she'd never be a knockout. Jina was. Men literally turned around in the street to stare at her. Unfortunately she had terrible taste in men, a strange and self-destructive attraction to the bad boy. She'd probably have a new boyfriend by the end of the week, and maybe this time she'd choose more wisely. G.o.d knows she had her pick of men, so why she went for the jerk instead of the straight-up guy was anyone's guess.

Jina's phone buzzed a couple more times, and each time she rejected the call in favor of work. For a couple of hours they each handled billing for the insurance company that owned this building in downtown Dallas. It was a boring job, most of the time-all right, all all of the time-but the pay was decent. Carlin figured she was lucky to have the job, considering the general state of the economy. She wasn't in charge, like she'd been in Houston, but this was a much larger company than the one she'd left behind and there were opportunities for advancement, if she stayed for a while, kept her nose clean, and didn't screw up. When she put her mind to doing something, sheer stubbornness made her keep at it until she could do a good job. Working in billing wasn't glamorous, but so what? It paid the bills. Now and then she'd think about going back to school, but until her mind settled on one career path, what was the point? She needed a job; she didn't have a calling, and of the time-but the pay was decent. Carlin figured she was lucky to have the job, considering the general state of the economy. She wasn't in charge, like she'd been in Houston, but this was a much larger company than the one she'd left behind and there were opportunities for advancement, if she stayed for a while, kept her nose clean, and didn't screw up. When she put her mind to doing something, sheer stubbornness made her keep at it until she could do a good job. Working in billing wasn't glamorous, but so what? It paid the bills. Now and then she'd think about going back to school, but until her mind settled on one career path, what was the point? She needed a job; she didn't have a calling, and that was okay with her because that made her more flexible, instead of being focused on one thing. that was okay with her because that made her more flexible, instead of being focused on one thing.

Jina was antsy, up and down from her desk, bringing Carlin-and herself-coffee a couple of times. Just before lunchtime, she jumped out of her chair and crossed into Carlin's cubicle. "Did you bring your lunch?"

"Yeah. A sandwich and a bag of chips." Cooking wasn't her thing. Some of the women who worked in the office brought in little individual containers of homemade soup, or lasagna, or ca.s.serole, which they heated up in the break room microwave. Carlin preferred a sandwich any day over going to all that trouble.

The "yuck" face Jina made was almost comical, but then she was into gourmet stuff. "That doesn't sound very good. I'm going down the street to pick up a veggie pizza. Split one with me?"

Pizza sounded good, and Jina obviously needed company, so Carlin agreed. She pushed away from her computer, stretched out the kinks in her shoulders, and reached for her raincoat. "I'll walk with you."

Jina c.o.c.ked her head and pursed her lips. "I was kinda hoping to borrow your raincoat. I left mine at home, along with my umbrella. And I really do need to walk off some of this...let's call it excess energy."

"If you're sure." It didn't seem fair that Jina should brave the rain alone for the pizza, but on the other hand Carlin definitely understood needing to work off some temper.

"Positive." Jina snagged the raincoat and slipped it on, then rubbed an appreciative hand over the sleeve. "Nice. I wish I could find a raincoat this color! If you ever decide to get rid of it..."

"I'll hang on to that raincoat until the day I die-but I'll look online this weekend and try to find one for you."

"Oooh, shopping. I'm in serious need of some retail therapy, though a mall is more my style than a computer. It's more interactive. Plus there are restaurants. We should do that this weekend." therapy, though a mall is more my style than a computer. It's more interactive. Plus there are restaurants. We should do that this weekend."

"Sounds like a plan." Carlin smiled, glad enough that she didn't have to go out in the rain. Spending part of the coming weekend shopping with Jina didn't sound like a bad idea; she could use some retail therapy herself. "I have a couple of Diet c.o.kes in the fridge, if that suits you."

"Yep. I'll be right back!" Jina hurried toward the elevator, dialing the pizza place as she walked. Carlin went on into the break room to get the drinks, paper plates, and napkins. Over pizza Jina could tell her all about this latest boyfriend issue, if she wanted to talk. Maybe she needed a place to stay until she could get the live-in cleared out, if this was a serious breakup and not just an argument. It wouldn't hurt to offer, Carlin thought.

They could make plans for shopping. She sat down and stretched her legs out, relaxing. She felt better, and ready to laugh at herself. Okay, not laugh, but at least she wasn't about to come unglued. That hadn't been Brad's Toyota; Brad was in south Texas, and had no idea where she was. She had a new life here, was making friends, and not even Brad Henderson was going to ruin it for her.

BRAD STOOD ACROSS the street from the skysc.r.a.per and watched the front entrance from the shelter of a green coffee shop awning. He sipped on his second cup of coffee, a tall, hot latte, and wondered which floor Carlin was on. If he knew exactly where she was, he might be able to corner her somewhere inside the building, in a restroom or an empty office, but that was relying too much on coincidence and happenstance. A lot could go wrong; he didn't know the routine of anyone in the building, didn't know the street from the skysc.r.a.per and watched the front entrance from the shelter of a green coffee shop awning. He sipped on his second cup of coffee, a tall, hot latte, and wondered which floor Carlin was on. If he knew exactly where she was, he might be able to corner her somewhere inside the building, in a restroom or an empty office, but that was relying too much on coincidence and happenstance. A lot could go wrong; he didn't know the routine of anyone in the building, didn't know the layout or how stringent the security was. He was content to watch and wait-for now. the layout or how stringent the security was. He was content to watch and wait-for now.

This was his second trip to Dallas since Carlin had run away from him. Normally he wasn't a patient man, but being impatient would be a mistake. These things took time, and careful planning. The b.i.t.c.h would pay for what she'd done. She thought she could file a complaint against him and just waltz away? It hadn't taken him more than five minutes to find her. He'd told her he was good with a computer; she should've believed him.

Who did she think she was, blowing him off the way she had? He'd thought they had something special. Instead she'd suddenly started turning him down when he asked her out, and when he tried to talk her around she'd freaked, filed a hara.s.sment complaint against him. Thanks to his buddies on the force no one had taken the complaint seriously, but it was on file; if anything happened to her, he'd be at the top of the list of possible suspects.

So he'd planned carefully. Yeah, this was one of his days off, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. Instead he'd looked at the situation from every angle, and he was certain there weren't any holes in his alibi.

It was laughable that the stupid b.i.t.c.h thought she could outsmart him and get away from him. She hadn't even moved out of the f.u.c.king state. How easy was this? If the opportunity didn't present itself this time, eventually it would. He just had to be prepared to act, and act immediately. She was going to die. Too bad he couldn't grab her and take her off somewhere, have some fun with her first, but he couldn't be out of town that long without setting off some alarms. What fun would it be if he got caught?

The weapon he carried couldn't be traced back to him; he'd taken it off a low-life drug dealer who had subsequently been dumped in the bay, and filed the serial numbers off. He'd also programmed his computer to show intermittent activity during the day: chat rooms, Facebook posts, instant messages...it would look as if he'd been on the computer off and on with no eight-hour-plus break to drive to Dallas and back. him; he'd taken it off a low-life drug dealer who had subsequently been dumped in the bay, and filed the serial numbers off. He'd also programmed his computer to show intermittent activity during the day: chat rooms, Facebook posts, instant messages...it would look as if he'd been on the computer off and on with no eight-hour-plus break to drive to Dallas and back.

Security in the parking garage was too tight for him to try to catch Carlin there. Eventually she'd leave, though. Maybe she'd walk to one of the nearby restaurants for lunch, or she might even head his way for a cup of coffee. Wouldn't that be a f.u.c.king kick? He'd love to see the expression on her face when she recognized him, right before he put a bullet in her head.

All he had to do was wait, and watch. He was good at waiting.

Just before noon, he saw her. She'd been wearing a red raincoat that morning when she'd left her apartment, and she was wearing it now; he actually spotted her before she stepped through the gla.s.s front doors and onto the sidewalk, even though the rain was falling hard enough to blur visibility. The hood was up, a silky hank of blond hair peeking out, as she lowered her head against the driving rain and started down the street.

She didn't cross the street toward him. Well, that had been asking a lot. The possibility had been fun to think about, but he'd known it was a long shot. Instead she turned right, walking fast through the rain.

Brad thought about setting what remained of his coffee on a nearby outdoor table, but thought better of it. DNA was a b.i.t.c.h. He poured it out, and stuffed the paper cup in his jacket pocket.

He pulled his own dark hood up and forward, hiding his face. Thanks to the rain, no one would think anything about it; almost everyone else was doing the same.

He mirrored her movements on the opposite side of the street, and crossed at the corner, his eyes focused on that red raincoat the entire time. He didn't want to lose her, but he'd have to be p.i.s.s-poor at trailing someone if he did. The circ.u.mstances were perfect; everything was falling into place, as if this opportunity was a gift. Rain kept a lot of people off the streets, and those who were out kept their heads down and their focus on their feet. It wasn't a day for a leisurely stroll, for checking out the other pedestrians. And with the rain falling as it was and his hood up, even if someone did look his way they wouldn't be able to see him well. No one would be able to give a description. Eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable. And even if they did manage a vague description, he had his alibi. He mirrored her movements on the opposite side of the street, and crossed at the corner, his eyes focused on that red raincoat the entire time. He didn't want to lose her, but he'd have to be p.i.s.s-poor at trailing someone if he did. The circ.u.mstances were perfect; everything was falling into place, as if this opportunity was a gift. Rain kept a lot of people off the streets, and those who were out kept their heads down and their focus on their feet. It wasn't a day for a leisurely stroll, for checking out the other pedestrians. And with the rain falling as it was and his hood up, even if someone did look his way they wouldn't be able to see him well. No one would be able to give a description. Eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable. And even if they did manage a vague description, he had his alibi.

His stride was longer than hers, and while Carlin walked with purpose, so did he. He was right behind her, so close-closer than he'd been in months. A part of him wanted to look her in the eye as he pulled the trigger, wanted to make sure she knew that he had been the one to kill her, but the situation was what it was. He'd take what he'd been given. He'd offered Carlin Reed his devotion, and all he'd gotten in return had been insults and rejection. She deserved to die.

Ah. She turned down a side street, and they had a long section of the sidewalk to themselves. Yes, a gift gift, that's what this was. It was a near perfect opportunity that might never come again.

He reached into his pocket and gripped the automatic. His pace fast and smooth, he closed the distance between them, his rubber-soled shoes silent on the wet sidewalk. When he was just a few feet from her, Brad pulled out the weapon, aimed, and fired, then immediately tucked the weapon back into his pocket.

It was a good shot, but he'd known it would be. He was the best shot on the force. The bullet entered Carlin's brain just an inch or two above the nape of her neck. Her body jerked and she dropped, facedown, onto the sidewalk. By his calculations, she'd been dead before she landed. The hole in the back of her red hood was neat; the view from the front would not be so clean, but he couldn't stick around to turn her over to survey the damage. The gunshot had drawn attention from those few who were walking in the pouring rain, and at least one man was looking directly at him, but Brad didn't think he'd seen the pistol. People-from the sidewalk, from the businesses along the way-ran between him and the man. He lost sight of the witness as he calmly walked away, confident that the rain and the hood and the excitement would make the eyewitness less than useful. was the best shot on the force. The bullet entered Carlin's brain just an inch or two above the nape of her neck. Her body jerked and she dropped, facedown, onto the sidewalk. By his calculations, she'd been dead before she landed. The hole in the back of her red hood was neat; the view from the front would not be so clean, but he couldn't stick around to turn her over to survey the damage. The gunshot had drawn attention from those few who were walking in the pouring rain, and at least one man was looking directly at him, but Brad didn't think he'd seen the pistol. People-from the sidewalk, from the businesses along the way-ran between him and the man. He lost sight of the witness as he calmly walked away, confident that the rain and the hood and the excitement would make the eyewitness less than useful.

The rain began to fall harder, steadier. Head down, Brad took long strides toward his car. It was his car, but the license plate on it wasn't his; he'd taken the precaution of stealing one that morning off a junker that looked as if it hadn't been cranked in years. He'd covered all the possibilities. He kept his hands in his pockets, his right hand on the pistol grip in case the man who'd seen him at the crime scene decided to do something stupid, like follow him. But no one came after him, and he got lost in the confusion. Sirens sounded in the distance-he needed to get in his car and on the road before streets were blocked. He had time. Not much, but he had time. Already his mind was working ahead. He'd dump both the coffee cup and the gun somewhere between Dallas and Houston. He'd also dispose of the stolen tag and reattach the right one. No one would ever be the wiser.

He felt good. Lighter. Vindicated. Carlin was dead, and he was happy. Dead Dead. It was her own fault. She was his, he'd laid claim to her, and she'd tried to run away. He'd missed her at first, but not now. What choice had he had? None. None at all. his, he'd laid claim to her, and she'd tried to run away. He'd missed her at first, but not now. What choice had he had? None. None at all.

There was no reason to second guess himself. Carlin had gotten what she deserved. It was done.

Chapter One

IO MONTHS LATER

BATTLE R RIDGE, WYOMING, didn't look like much. Carlin Reed pulled her faded red Subaru into a parking s.p.a.ce in front of an empty store and looked around. There probably wouldn't be any jobs here, but she'd ask around anyway. She'd found work in some of the d.a.m.nedest places, doing things that she'd never before have considered. Work was work, money was money, and she'd learned not to be picky. She wasn't above doing yard work, washing dishes, or just about anything else as long as it didn't involve prost.i.tuting herself. Her first attempt at mowing a lawn on a riding mower had been something worthy of a clip on YouTube, but she'd learned.

From what she could see, Battle Ridge had fallen on hard times. Her atlas gave the population as 2,387, but the atlas was six years old, and from what she had seen driving in, she doubted Battle Ridge supported that many residents now. She'd pa.s.sed empty houses, some with "For Sale" signs that had been up so long they'd become dingy and weather-beaten, and empty stores with "For Sale or Lease" notices in the windows. Here in the West it would still be considered a fair-sized town, especially in a state the size of Wyoming, with a grand total population of half a million people. Nevertheless, the reality was that half the buildings around her were standing empty, which meant she'd likely be moving on. in the West it would still be considered a fair-sized town, especially in a state the size of Wyoming, with a grand total population of half a million people. Nevertheless, the reality was that half the buildings around her were standing empty, which meant she'd likely be moving on.

Not right this minute, though. Right now, she was hungry.

Not surprisingly, traffic was light. Hungry or not, Carlin sat in the dusty four-wheel-drive SUV and through her dark sungla.s.ses carefully studied everything around her, every vehicle, every person. Caution had become second nature to her. She hated losing the unconscious freedom and spontaneity she'd once known, but looking back she could only marvel at how unaware she'd been, how vulnerable vulnerable.

The level of her vulnerability might change depending on circ.u.mstances, but she was d.a.m.ned if she'd add in the factor of not being aware. She'd already noted that the license plates of the cars and trucks parked on each side of the street were all from Wyoming. There was little chance her movements could have been antic.i.p.ated, since she hadn't known she'd be stopping here, but she still checked.

Two buildings down on the right was a cafe, The Pie Hole; three pickups were parked in front even though two o'clock in the afternoon wasn't exactly a prime mealtime. The name of the cafe amused her, and she wondered about the person who had come up with it, whether a quirky sense of humor or a don't-give-a-d.a.m.n att.i.tude was behind the choice. Her amus.e.m.e.nt was momentary, though, and she returned to studying her surroundings.