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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.

      â€œHow 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.”

      â€œI don’t have that kind of manpower or budget. You know that, Falconer.”

      â€œTow 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.”

      â€œHow serious is this guy?”

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

      â€œWish 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.”

      â€œBudget—”

      â€œFrank’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.

      â€œHey,” Denley called, “where do you think you’re going?”

      â€œLooking for evidence.”

      â€œYou’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.”

      â€œIf I don’t catch this puke, he’ll go after her again.”

      â€œHe 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.”

      â€œGetting 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.

      â€œFelicia?” 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.

      â€œSebastian Falconer.”

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

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

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

      â€œI need information.”

      â€œI figured that much.”

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

      â€œComa?”

      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.”

      â€œWife? You’re married? How long?”

      â€œTen years.”

      â€œAnd

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