Eye Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz
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like a shadow.
The chief finished collecting his evidence and taking his notes, then joined Gray at the edge of the water. “Nothing much to do for kids around these parts, so they go out and shoot targets. First time for Retreat, but it happens all the time on the smaller islands.”
Probably just as well the chief didn’t seem too disturbed about last night’s events. He would get their statements and they’d be out of here in less than two hours. Gray planned on hitching a ride back with the cops. They’d be safe enough on the water.
But on the highway, Corrine, his red vintage Corvette, would make them sitting ducks.
IN THE PILOTHOUSE OF THE police patrol boat, Abbie sat stiffly while MacAllister stood at the controls. Her restless fingers clasped and unclasped the buckle of the small leather bag in her lap. Here she was again, in a small enclosed space, surrounded by cops. What if one of them died because of her?
The chop of tarnished-silver water bounced the boat around. Wind whipped her hair. She scraped the flailing locks back into a ponytail and tied them with an elastic band she found in the pocket of her polar-fleece vest. She scanned the horizon for another boat, another threat, another sniper’s rifle seeking her out.
Gray leaned against the railing at the prow, looking—even without a shirt under his suit jacket—like a carefree tourist. But his shoulders betrayed tension and his gaze swept the water as if his glasses were X-ray devices able to spot the skeleton of a would-be assassin.
He meant well, of course. He didn’t realize that this wasn’t just another scrape. That this situation had dire consequences. Mostly for those around her. Maybe he even thought he was keeping her safe just for old times’ sake. Because Bryn was her friend and that was the only way he could show his sister he cared.
He’d seen WITSEC from the deputy’s viewpoint. He’d gotten to go home most nights and sleep in his own house, in his own bed. He’d gotten to keep his name, his past—himself. He couldn’t know what it was like to lose yourself piece by piece, to live in fear that at any moment a bullet would shoot through some window and destroy what was left of you.
She tore her gaze away from Gray’s face and tried to focus on the instrument panel as complicated as any jetliner’s. It didn’t work. The red lines reminded her of blood and dead deputies. She rubbed her hands against the thigh of her slacks but couldn’t stop the flow of cold sweat. How long before they got to shore? How long before she was out of this tin-can target? How long before she could get away?
Since high school she’d gained a certain sense of self, of who she was and what her duties and obligations were. She’d embraced both her public goodwill image at Holbrook Mills and her unofficial role as ambassador for Echo Falls. She’d also cultivated a personal passion to capture a person’s truth on film. She loved catching kids. Life hadn’t tainted them yet and there was such purity in all their expressions.
Until Rafe had taken over his father’s role as partner.
He’d chipped at the gleaming facade that was her life and broken it all apart until she’d wondered about her choices, about her values and about the meaning of her life.
Not exactly what Rafe had had in mind. He’d hoped that his remarks would make her as soft and as pliable as the parachute nylon the mill produced. What he forgot was that Holbrook fabric was not as fragile as it looked.
Even though there was nothing left of what she once was, she still wanted that life back. She loved Echo Falls. She loved the mill. She loved the people who made up both.
Rafe had meant to distance her from her environment and had instead brought her closer to her roots.
By now she was supposed to have married him. And what was hers was supposed to be his. She shuddered.
At first he’d charmed her with his polished manners, his dazzling smile and his smooth bass voice. She’d almost fallen under the spell of his persona. Until the press conference, when Holbrook Mills had announced its new contract with the Army. As was her custom, she’d photographed the event. When she’d processed the film, something in Rafe’s eyes had shivered dread down her spine. She’d thought it was a trick of the light. But the look of pure evil she’d frozen on film had surfaced again, both at her home and at his office, when he’d thought no one was looking. He’d shown his true colors the day he’d murdered her father.
Because she’d seen his soul, he had to destroy her. He had to destroy everything she cared for.
Against her will, her gaze once again sought Gray. The stubble-shadowed jaw took nothing away from the clean-cut looks he’d sculpted out of the clay of his dirt-poor youth. A leaden weight dragged at her heart.
Her father would approve of the man Gray had become. They shared a deep sense of ethics and the values of honor and loyalty. Bryn probably wouldn’t agree, but Bryn tended to forget she was the one who’d slammed shut that particular door. Abbie had seen the letters from Gray that Bryn had discarded unopened. Gray was the one who’d arranged and paid for his mother’s stay at the hospice when liver disease had made staying at home impossible. He’d offered to pay for Bryn’s college education, too, but pride had made her refuse.
Seeing him again, so strong and solid, so determined to act as her protector, spiked her heart with a quick jump. She wished for one of his smiles that made her feel as if all was right with the world.
She was tired of constantly looking over her shoulder. She was tired of being afraid. She was so marrow-deep tired that she was actually considering letting Gray take her to Seekers, Inc., letting him take care of her. Letting Rafe test just how high-security Seekers’ safety bunker was.
The last few weeks of bloody horror were making her weak.
You’re as strong as Steeltex.
Sneering, she shook her head and opened the small leather bag that contained the few changes of clothes Bryn had provided her and the camera Bert had loaned her. She took out the Nikon and loaded a fresh roll of film.
She wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, to slide into darkness and stay there until the trial was over. Until someone could assure her that the shackles around Rafe were so tight and so solid, he could never again rally allies to do the dirty work he was denied.
“We’ll find him, you know,” MacAllister said, slanting her a look that came too close to pity for comfort. “Something like this, the perp always comes to light.”
“Of course.” She raised the camera and searched through the magic frame.
“He won’t be able to keep the secret. It’ll itch at him and itch at him till he bursts and has to tell someone else about the deed. Small town like this, a secret like that won’t stay quiet too long.”
“Thanks.”
His fresh-scrubbed face was still eager and filled with idealism. How long would it take for lines to carve dispassionate grooves around his eyes and mouth like those that etched Simms’s face? “Can I take your picture?”
“Me? What for?”
“I like the look in your eye.” She wanted to capture the youthful passion shining lighthouse bright on his face. As a reminder that some parts of the world were still worth looking at.
He grinned. She snapped.
MacAllister slowed the boat as he approached the dock. “We’re almost there.”
One hand on the wheel, the other on the throttle, he twisted around to face her. He opened his mouth as if to add something more. She adjusted the focus ring. Surprise rounded his eyes. Glass shattered. The report of a gun cracked through the sudden rev of the boat’s engine. MacAllister crumpled, taking her down with his dead weight.
“CAN WE STOP?” ABBIE ASKED as Gray’s Corvette burned up I-95. Red streaked the sky, reminding her yet again of MacAllister’s blood all over the patrol boat deck. Another dead cop. Because of her. Her stomach was a tangle of greasy knots, her mind a maddened beehive