Spirit Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz

of marks. But he couldn’t let her get to him. She was a Camden, and he’d had enough Camden anguish to last him a lifetime.

      He’d known from the second his phone rang that it meant trouble, and Nora Camden was proving him right. Fences, man. You’ve got to learn to keep up your fences.

      She wouldn’t last an hour out in the mountains, especially bushwhacking. Even if it cost him time, he’d get her to the Aerie, where the Colonel and his goons couldn’t hurt her.

      This time, he’d do things right.

      The Colonel’s men scattered like cockroaches, not bothering to cushion their steps. Twigs snapped. Leaves rustled like snakes. They didn’t care if Nora knew they were coming. They probably wanted her scared. Made the sport more fun. Pinheads.

      Despite her slight body, Nora wasn’t exactly Miss Light Foot as she trailed him, so all the hired guns’ noise gave her some cover. But then why should she know how to stalk? A refined woman like her belonged at country clubs and charity balls, surrounded and protected by friends and family. Not running for her life from the megalomaniac who was supposed to keep her safe. He remembered her bright smile, how she’d made Tommy so happy on their wedding day, and wished he’d warned her about the Colonel all those years ago.

      Sabriel headed downslope, toward the private road farther west where he’d camouflaged his Jeep. Nora huffed and puffed behind him, but scared to death as she was, she kept pace like a trooper.

      The intent footsteps on both sides grew nearer. Two pairs, parallel.

      “Here, Nora, Nora, Nora!” the goon on the left taunted—as if she were a dog. Laughter exploded through each syllable at his own little joke.

      Sabriel grabbed Nora’s arm, making himself a wall between her and the threat. He assessed his position on the fly. Hell. They wouldn’t get back to his Jeep fast enough. He had to find some place to hunker down till the goons moved on.

      He propelled them toward a rock formation jutting out from the side of a hill up ahead, and hoped, despite the piled scat and acorn shells, that no creature was renting space there at the moment. The last thing he needed was for Nora to scream and give away their location while they were cornered.

      Without ceremony, he pushed her into the crevice between two slabs of granite. The space was barely big enough for one, let alone two, but he wedged in front of her, his camo gear blocking out the white flag of her cream sweater. He unsnapped his holster and forced his pulse to slow.

      “Don’t talk. Don’t move. Don’t breathe,” he whispered into her ear.

      Her head rubbed a nervous “okay” against his arm, and the almost forgotten softness of a woman shot static into his muscles and scrambled his thought process for a second. He shoved the thought aside and sought to separate the sounds of the forest from those of the enemy.

      In the darkness of the narrow cave, his senses sharpened. But like a compass needle seeking north, they kept bouncing back too close to home.

      The sweet almond of her scent, the keenness of her fear, the mossy tang of the earth tugged at memories. Anna and Ranger school. The pills and Tommy. The sweat and the survival. His jaw ground down the unwanted flashes, and he forced his awareness back to his surroundings.

      The cool hardness of the rock pressed against his sides. The warmth of the body pinned against his front. Her curves fitting into his knees, hips and shoulders like water. How long had it been since he’d held a woman this close?

      Footsteps approached from above, getting nearer, their vibrations pulsing through the soft earth. A distinct crunch and pop that came from no woodland creature broke two feet from their hole. The hitch of Nora’s breath against his neck, its intimacy, brought on an unexpected reaction. Hell. He didn’t need a complication like that now. He gritted his teeth, squeezing as much space between their bodies as he dared. He needed his senses clear and alert, not jumbled by primitive urges.

      She was shaking so hard, he feared the clacking of her bones would attract the hunter’s attention. In the cramped space, Sabriel slowly slid his right hand up her arm and cupped it around her nape, releasing calming energy into her body the way Grandma Fiona had taught him, quieting them both.

      The roof of moss dipped under a boot, cascading a small avalanche of dirt onto their heads.

      The pulse in Sabriel’s left hand pounded against the Beretta’s cold steel. One man. He could take him. But killing had never come easy, and his life wasn’t yet in jeopardy.

      The moss ripped. A boot plunged through the opening. The tip of the toe scraped against Sabriel’s temple.

      Nora’s feet climbed his leg like a tree. Her shaking fingers dug into his neck, cutting off his circulation. Her chest beat like a machine gun against his. But somehow she kept her terrified sobs caged.

      Something scurried across his boots. Sabriel caught a flash of gray waddling into the clearing, snorting and snuffing.

      Thank you, brother porcupine.

      “Stop!” the Colonel’s man ordered. He rescued his foot from the hole and drew his weapon.

      “Got something, Hutt?”

      Boggs. Off to the right. Within line of sight.

      Don’t move, Nora. Whatever you do, don’t move. As if she’d heard him, her body went death-still.

      “Nothing.” Hutt swore. “Just some freaking porcupine.”

      “Frisk him. He might know something.”

      “You’re a riot, Boggs.”

      “Keep looking.”

      “We’ve already disabled her car. Let’s just leave her and come back after we find the kid.”

      “We don’t know who she might have met here. I don’t like to leave loose ends behind.”

      Nora’s throat pistoned against Sabriel’s shoulder.

      Shh. It’s okay. I’ll get you out of here.

      The footsteps faded and disappeared. Sabriel didn’t move. He kept listening to the sounds of the woods, much too aware of the woman wrapped around him like a second skin, imprinting herself into his flesh.

      Five minutes. Ten.

      Only when the high-pitched chip-chip-chip of a chipmunk resounded nearby and the watery toolool of a blue jay rolled above did Sabriel relax. “They’re gone.”

      “How do you know?” A hint of cinnamon rode on her breath, and he wanted to taste her.

      “The birds.”

      Her breath whooshed in a gust. “They’re singing again.”

      He eased out of the rocky fissure, surveyed the woods, then offered her a hand, which she ignored. She slapped at the dirt sprinkled on the shoulder of her sweater, making the stingy strings of sunlight poking through the trees weave through her brown hair in golden ribbons. “What if they come back?”

      “We make sure we’re not here.” Sabriel cupped her elbow, aware of her delicate bones, of her heat, of her fear, and turned her toward the trail. With Boggs in the mix, finding Tommy was going to be hard enough. He didn’t need this extra liability.

      As he walked, he reached for his phone and placed a call to Falconer’s private number. When Falconer answered, the wedding reception boomed in the background. “Everything okay?”

      Sabriel’s jaw tensed, and the words ground out with more bitterness and resentment than he’d intended. “I need help.”

      He gave Falconer a synopsis of his afternoon.

      “I’ll alert Kingsley to fire up the computer,” Falconer said. “Liv’ll have a room waiting for your friend.”

      Sabriel had no choice but to open what he thought of as a closed chapter in his life to Falconer. He couldn’t leave Nora in