Mask Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz

tote bag for her laptop. First things first. She needed information on nine-month-old children, and she needed it fast: www.parenting.com. Then she could worry about Ace Lyon and Mike Fletcher and the illegal activities that hid behind the illusion of New England small-town charm in Summersfield.

      RORY WAS STRUGGLING with a spoonful of mashed carrots when the roar of a motorcycle peeling around the town common snapped her out of her concentration and Hannah, who was strapped to her high chair, into a wail. Whatever Felicia lacked in proper nutrition for herself, she’d made sure Hannah would not run out of junior meat sticks, vegetables and fruits any time soon. There were enough jars in the cupboard to feed an entire daycare class for a year. Rory had spent the last half hour trying to interest Hannah in chicken sticks, mashed carrots and green beans. Finger eating might encourage dexterity, but it sure didn’t make for a neat meal. Armed with a baby spoon she waved like a baton, Hannah had seemed more interested in decorating Rory’s hair with carrots than eating them.

      Until the motorcycle.

      What kind of idiot races down a main road where children could be playing? Rory picked up the bawling Hannah and headed for the bay window facing the street.

      The black-and-chrome steel monster stopped below. When the bearded Viking looked up, she swallowed hard. Was it too late to douse the lights and pretend no one was home? She recognized him, of course. Felicia had sent pictures. Even in the Christmas family portrait that was supposed to show tight bonds, there was something cold and empty about Mike’s eyes that had her questioning what Felicia saw in him.

      Mike shut off the engine and leaned the monster bike on its stand. Hannah’s wail subsided to sniffles, and she promptly mashed her tear-streaked face into Rory’s hair. Had she packed shampoo? Patting Hannah’s diaper-padded rear, Rory kissed the crown of the baby’s head. “It’s okay, little angel. I won’t let him touch you. I don’t care if he is your father.”

      Rory’s heart pounded to the rhythm of the heavy boots tromping on the stairs. Wanting to prevent his entry into the apartment, she inched the door open. Night air with an edge of frost swirled around her legs.

      “Well, hello there, little girl.” His voice had a certain seductive edge to it—if you were into snakes. He didn’t look at Hannah, but straight at her. It set Rory’s teeth on edge, but she swallowed her sarcastic retort. If she wanted to get information out of him, she could not start on adversarial ground.

      His green eyes widened with appreciation as his gaze slid down her body, making her wish for steel armor.

      “What’s wrong with her?” Mike asked as Hannah’s tears hiccupped to new heights. His shaggy blond hair brushed his shoulders. His slightly darker beard could use a trim. He wore the standard biker gear of black engineer boots, denim jeans with a chain securing a wallet from his belt to a rear pocket, a black jacket with Mike tooled into the leather, and a gray T-shirt with the words Graberbootie & Pinch printed in darker gray on its front. Bits of various tattoos showed at the collar of the T-shirt and the cuffs of his jacket sleeves. Most disturbing of all, he carried a Buck Knife at his belt. Wasn’t that illegal for a felon?

      “She misses her mother.” Rory placed a protective hand over the baby’s tender head. Maybe she wasn’t totally devoid of motherly instincts after all because the last thing she wanted was this hulk to place his greasy hands on Hannah’s soft skin.

      “Well, she should feel right at home then.” His oily gaze settled on her chest. Rory shifted Hannah to cover the objects of his interest. “You look just like her with all that red hair.”

      Had he even noticed that Felicia’s eyes were blue not amber? Or was his interest stuck on breasts even for the woman he supposedly loved? “What can I do for you, Mike?”

      He leaned against the doorframe and hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. “I heard you were here and wanted to make sure you settled in okay.”

      “Do you know where Felicia is?”

      He shrugged. “Not a clue.”

      “Aren’t you worried?”

      “Nah, it’s just like her to skip out like this. Ask anyone. We had a disagreement. Give a couple of days, and she’ll be back.”

      Before Hannah, before the ATF thing, Rory might have agreed with him. But now, seeing Mike so calm and indifferent, an icy premonition skated down her back. Facts, Rory, look for facts. Emotions never got you anything but hurt. “A disagreement about what?”

      His gaze narrowed, and its warning hit home as surely as if he’d used the knife. Don’t mess with me or I’ll mess with you. “Man and woman things.”

      That didn’t sound good. “Where do you think she went?”

      “Who knows?”

      Rory made a mental note to ask Sebastian to check on Felicia’s credit-card and bank-account activity. “Take a guess.”

      His gaze strayed to the horizon, copper against the jagged silhouette of the row housing and brick shops surrounding the town common. A car horn tooted below and a pair of swishing headlights accentuated the harsh lines of Mike’s face. “Sometimes she goes to her friend Karla’s place and they have a pity party.”

      And left Hannah behind? And a cryptic message to Candace to call Rory if she didn’t show up for her shift? It didn’t make sense. “Does Karla have a last name?”

      “Leach.”

      “Where does Karla live?” Why did this feel as if she were pulling worms out of a carcass?

      “Manchester, I think.” He shrugged again. “Sometimes Felicia goes on benders and holes up in a motel.”

      Not since Hannah. Rory would bet her last dollar on that. As if she agreed, Hannah tugged on Rory’s hair and babbled a few watery syllables. “Well, thanks. I’ll start with that.”

      “It’s best if you just let her work things out.” He said this as if Felicia were a bad dog who’d run away and would surely return when she got hungry enough.

      “She has a baby to take care of.”

      “She left the kid in good hands.”

      “Candace has to work.”

      He jerked his head toward the apartment upstairs where the soft strains of Enya trickled through the open window. “That’s why she’s got the sitter lined up.”

      “A baby needs structure, routine.”

      He gave her another slimy once-over. “A stranger looking after her sure won’t give her that. She knows Penny.”

      “You’re right. But I’m family, so she might as well get used to me.”

      He pushed himself off the doorframe. “If you need anything, you let me know.”

      Because you’ve been so helpful already? “Thank you.”

      He took two steps onto the narrow deck, then turned. “Hey, there’s a party at the clubhouse next Saturday. Why don’t you come? Who knows, Felicia might show up. She was always up for a good party.”

      Rory’s hold on Hannah, who busily gummed a strand of Rory’s hair while she mouthed nonsense syllables, tightened. Felicia was missing and he wanted her to go to a party? What kind of prehistoric slime was he? “Hannah—”

      “I’ll pay for the sitter.”

      As if that was going to make a difference. Don’t worry, Hannah, I’m not going to leave you.

      The chain to Mike’s wallet jingled, catching Hannah’s attention. A wet strand of her own hair stuck against Rory’s cheek as Hannah reached a chubby hand down toward the chain. Mike didn’t seem to notice his daughter’s interest in him. He peeled three twenties from the wad, then handed them to Rory. When she didn’t free her hands to accept his gift, he stuffed the bills in the pocket of her linen pants, copping a feel as he released the cash.