Hot Target. Elle James
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“I’ll be in my truck when you’re ready.” Before she could say more, he turned and strode toward the corner of her house.
For a moment, Grace allowed herself the pleasure of watching the way his butt twitched in his blue jeans. The man was pure male and so ruggedly handsome he took her breath away. What was he doing hanging around her? Since she was being forced to ride with him to the clinic, she’d drill him with questions until she was satisfied with the answers. For starters, why did he call himself Caveman? And what was the importance of Bethesda, Maryland, that had made him go from being relaxed and helpful to stiff and unapproachable?
Caveman disappeared around the corner.
Grace faced her house, fished her key from her pocket and climbed the stairs. She opened the screen door and held out the key, ready to fit it into the lock when she noticed something hanging on the handle. It rocked back and forth and then fell at her feet.
She jumped back, emitting a short, sharp scream, her heart thundering against her ribs. With her hand pressed to her chest, she squatted and stared at the item, a lead weight settling in the pit of her belly as she recognized the circular band with the rectangular plastic box affixed to it.
It was the radio collar for the wolf she’d been looking for earlier that day, and it was covered in blood.
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