Heart Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz
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air smelled like ironed sheets and the coldness of it shrank her lungs so that she had to open her mouth to breathe. She wrapped both arms around her middle, wishing for the comfort of the four walls of the room she had just left.
Sheâd followed him because sheâd had to. Heâs your husband, theyâd said. Heâll keep you safe. This hot anger didnât feel safe.
They were talking about her as if she werenât there, and she didnât like it. Though her insides felt as empty as eternity, she was still here and solid. Hey, you idiots, canât you see Iâm here, that I can hear every word, that Iâm not deaf? But the words were playing hide-and-seek in her mind again. Fisting her hands at her side, she forced them out of her throat. But the best she could do was to cannonball, âStop!â
Both swiveled their heads in her direction. âOlivia,â they said at once. But she wasnât done and while the words were sliding down her throat like snowmelt, she poured them out. âI do not wantâ¦to go anywhereâ¦with either of you.â
Heels digging into the hard asphalt, she spun around. Both hands went out to steady the world for a step. Then she focused on the glass doors of the building and headed toward them.
âOlivia!â Panic filled the word, made it roar, and the next moment, she was falling, and something big and black blurred a wall of hot exhaust and revving motor beside her.
Instead of bouncing on the hard asphalt, her head nested in the warm shoulder of the man. His body cushioned hers. The drum of his heart was loud and hummingbird fast against her ear. And when she looked into his dark eyes, something sweet melted inside her, then shook like the tail of a rattlesnake. This man she didnât know, this man whose name she couldnât bring herself to say, this man who was taking her to a home she couldnât remember, he would willingly die for her.
No, she wanted to say, you canât do that. She didnât know why the thought of his death frightened her so much. Because she would be the cause? Because she didnât want to sever the narrow tie that somehow held a place for her in this strange world? Because some part of her still remembered him?
Staring into his mesmerizing eyes, she knew, and the knowing was icy hot. He was the key to the hole in her mind.
Beside them the woman jumped around and sounded as if she were a cat whoâd had its tail stepped on. âAre you all right? Oh, my God! Are you all right?â she kept asking.
âYou almost got hit by a car,â the man said, smiling as he helped her up. The smile was a mask that was dry and cracking at the edges. âYou have to watch where youâre going.â He tried to make the words light, but they weighed like stones. His gaze never wavered from hers as he dusted melted snow and grains of sand from the sleeve of her coat. âAre you hurt?â
Only in places that donât show. As much as she wanted to hide in the familiarity of the hospital room, to find herself, she would have to step into that wide unknown. She would have to trust him. âI will go with you.â
He nodded and squeezed her hand. âIâll keep you safe.â
Because he expected it, she nodded. But the truth came rushing at her as fast as the truck that had nearly hit her. If she went with him, if she let him fill the dark inside her with the missing memories, it was up to her to make sure he didnât die for her.
HE WAITED FOR THEIR arrival from a safe distance. Camouflaged as he was, even Falconer with his eagle eyes couldnât see him. Lifting the high-powered binoculars heâd taken from an Army Navy store, he followed the progress of the two cars up the long drive. A man and a woman got out of the SUV, another woman out of the Volvo. Two women? He zoomed in to focus on the thin one.
Ah, yes. He smiled. That makes it even sweeter. Pain before and after and all aroundâjust as heâd had to bear for all these years. As he watched, the warmth stolen from him five years ago started to come back. He followed their track to the lovely nest perched on the side of the mountain. Their dance of return was an odd ballet of anger and fear, and he wore their discomfort like a quilt. âHow does it feel, Falconer, to have your own home turned into a prison?â
TIME WAS SPLITTING HIM in half. Sebastian needed to trace the plate of the truck that had almost run over Olivia. He needed to go through the evidence and order his thoughts on Kershaw. Something about the timing niggled at him. But if not Kershaw, then who?
What he needed to calm the sea of unrest in him was facts. But he also needed to stay with Olivia to try to make her comfortable in her own home. She looked so lost, it tore at him. He would do anything to have been the one hurt in her place.
They were inside her studio now, and Olivia was looking at her own work as if it belonged to someone else. Theyâd toured the house sheâd helped design. Heâd pointed out all the touches sheâd added to make it a homeâthe welcoming light in the foyer, the plants in the living room, the afghan in the den. Heâd seen her frown as she touchedâwilling remembrance? Nothing seemed to leave a mark of recognition. When she spoke, her voice held a curious flatness. When she moved, her actions told of a blackness inside that Sebastian could do nothing to color.
He almost wished Paula were here. Then he wouldnât have to deal with the awkwardness of showing Olivia to herself on his own. But Paula had gone back to Nashua to collect her daughter and a suitcase of clothes. âIf the Aerieâs safe for Olivia, then itâs safe for us, too,â sheâd said. His sister-in-law and his nieceâs presence in the space heâd never liked to share with anyone but Olivia was going to feel like an invasion. But he could not handle this Olivia alone.
Greenhouse windows overlooked westerly views of Mount Monadnock. Light flooded the tile floor and danced at Oliviaâs feet. It kissed her skin with soft gold and teased her hair with gilt. In that moment, from that angle, she looked like his Olivia.
But she wasnât.
Remembering that simple fact was so hard.
âYou painted that trunk,â he said when she ran a finger along the edge of a pine chest on a wrought-iron stand. He remembered the day it had come to life. âYou sat with the client. Sheâd brought pictures, and you talked to her for hours. By the time she left, youâd made a dozen sketches.â And Iâd been jealous as hell of the time this woman had stolen from me. He jerked his chin toward the chest. âThatâs the one she picked.â
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