The town of Hancock, nestled in the Catskill Mountains, was two hours north of the City, but a world away. Ryan hadn’t seen so much green outside the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Thankfully the area drew a large amount of tourists or this city boy would have stuck out like a neon sign. Considered to be the fishing capital of the northeast, he’d found more bait and tackle shops than grocery stores.
He ran his hand over his clean-shaven face, missing the facial hair that had been there the night before. It was cooler while he had to deal with the humid, summer air.
Following the Short Line bus up from the Port Authority had made his job easy. When he left the bugged flower vase with Ms. Dryer, he figured he’d be lucky if he could narrow down Kayla’s location to a specific area of the country. Instead he got led right to the driveway entrance. And that was as close as he’d gotten in the past four days. He couldn’t risk being spotted by Christine.
He still had time. According to his brother, Bill Varnack played the part of a good parolee, checking in with his parole officer, returning to the halfway house before curfew. However, he spent hours a day in a cyber-café, and Ryan doubted the man indulged in video games or chat rooms. Varnack was searching for Kayla, which meant he still hadn’t found her.
While Kayla and her friend spent the weekend going to antique shops and the very popular garage sales, Ryan spent his own time embroiled in research at the county hall of records. Kayla had bought the hunting camp for cash three years ago at a tax sale. Since she hadn’t applied for the food service license, she didn’t run the property as a lodge the way the previous owners had. She paid her taxes on time, filed for the proper permits when she had work done, and had no outstanding complaints against her or the property. He wished he had such conscientious neighbors in Brooklyn.
Once Christine returned to the city, Ryan put his plan into motion. For the past few days, he’d tried to find the right time to approach the house. A break for the worst in the weather gave him an ideal opportunity. He hoped anyway.
At eight p.m., he drove to the camp. The dark skies overhead made it seem later than dusk. Just to make sure he covered his bases, he ran his Jeep off the road in a ravine deep enough to need a tow-truck to get out. By the time he reached her Craftsman house, he was soaked to the skin. Damn! He never thought a summer rain could be so freaking cold. A woman who fed the squirrels and birds would not turn her back on a stranded motorist. Would she?
He knocked on the door and waited. The air rumbled with a distant thunder. In the past decade, he had thought about her many times: The sad young girl with the magnificent eyes. So he wasn’t prepared for the woman who opened the door. Her eyes were that same bright blue, but the rest of her bore little resemblance to the skinny teenager in that hospital bed. Her hair had grown back and fell below her shoulders in thick black waves. Denim jeans molded long legs and a fitted tee shirt revealed a hint of cleavage at the scoop neck. But her most striking feature was the rifle cradled in her arms.
“Can I help you?”
His jaw dropped before he could stop it. Her voice vibrated with a husky timbre that sounded like a sexy whisper.
“Are you all right?” she asked. Her brow arched in question but no spark of recognition registered in her expression.
“I’m fine, but my jeep is in a ditch. Those deer are a menace.”
“They probably think the same about you. Why the heck were you out driving in this weather?” A lightning bolt split the sky, emphasizing her point. The timely display of Mother Nature brought a small smile to her lips that warmed him despite the wet clothes sticking to his body.
“I was looking for the Hancock Hunting Camp.”
She tightened her grip on the gunstock. “Why?”
“According to their flyer, they rent beds on a monthly basis.”
“What flyer?”
He pulled the soggy paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
“Are these things still around? It’s more than three years old. They’re out of business.”
He expelled a grunt of frustration. “Are you telling me I lost my jeep in a ravine for nothing?”
She shook her head and a cloud of ebony hair settled around her face. “Pretty much.”
“I can’t seem to get a cell signal. Do you have a phone I could use to call a tow truck?”
“I have a phone, but you can’t use it.”
For a shocked moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, he was gaping like an idiot. So much for his brilliant plan!
“You can’t use it because the phone lines are down. The electric, too.” Her expression was so deadpan, her voice so droll that he couldn’t tell if she was serious or enjoying a joke at his expense.
“Could you point me in the direction of town?”
“It’s six miles into town and it’s teaming rain out there.”
He shrugged his shoulders and feigned a disappointed frown that never failed to get him anything he wanted from his mother and sisters. “What choice do I have?”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Ryan McKenna.”
She gave no indication that she recalled his name. “Well, Mr. McKenna, I suggest you stop trying for pathetic. You don’t do it very well.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “You can wait inside until the phones come up. It’s usually never more than a couple of hours.”
He bit his bottom lip to keep from grinning as he entered. Before he took two steps, she raised one hand to stop him.
“Wait.” She left him standing in the foyer and disappeared down a hall. Seconds later, she returned with a thick bath towel.
He took it from her. “Thank you.”
“Please leave your muddy shoes by the door.”
While he used the towel to rub the dampness from his clothes, she circled the den lighting the many candles and oil lamps spread strategically around the room. Apparently, power failures happened frequently in the mountains.
“Have a seat,” she said.
He chose a wooden rocker so he wouldn’t ruin her fabric covered furniture.
When she finished, she settled into the corner of the sectional sofa across from him. She laid the rifle across her lap. She may have been too kindhearted to make him wait outside, but she was still wary.
“Are you going to be hugging that thing all evening?” he asked.
“Does it bother you?”
Only because he didn’t want her to be afraid of him. He needed to gain her trust. “I’d feel better if you told me it wasn’t loaded, but I’m guessing it is.”
“And I’d feel better if you told me the pistol in your shoulder holster is empty, but I’m guessing it isn’t.”
Again she surprised him. Nothing missed her perceptive scrutiny, even in the dimly lit room. He was so used to wearing it he hadn’t given it a thought.
“It’s licensed, but you’re right.” He slowly slid the revolver out and removed the clip, leaving it in parts on the table. “Better?”
“A little.” She rested the Remington against the side of the sofa. “Are you a cop?”
“What?” He nearly choked. Did she recognize him or had something sparked her memory?
“Isn’t that the kind of gun that cops carry?”
He had decided before arriving that he wouldn’t lie to her, no matter what she asked. He sucked at it anyway. “A private investigator.”
“Like Magnum PI?”
“Without the use of the Ferrari or the million dollar mansion,” he said.
Her soft laughter warmed places he’d long ago encased in ice. “Would you like some hot coffee, Mr. McKenna? It will have to be instant.”
“That would be great. And call me Ryan.”
“Kayla Walker,” she said as she sprung to her feet.
Before she reached the kitchen, she paused in front of a cedar chest that served as a window seat. She pushed the pillows off the top and lifted the lid to remove a hooded sweatshirt. “This might help.” She tossed it to him and continued around the breakfast bar that separated the two rooms.
Admittedly, he felt cold, but he was still impressed she noticed. He thought he hid it so well. He recognized the band’s name above the serpentine images. They were a favorite of his nephew. “Slither. Are you a metal head?”
“No. I did some work for the record company. They thought I might like it.”
“That was nice of them.”
“Yes, because every woman dreams of owning two dozen extra large sweatshirts with snakes on the front.” She had a good sense of humor. One more facet of her personality he hadn’t expected. She had gotten on with her life. Too bad a ghost from her past might soon come back to haunt her.
* * *
Kayla tucked her legs beneath her and settled into the corner of the over-stuffed sofa. She sipped the hot brew. The smell of hazelnut wafted around her. She had a strange man in her house. A gorgeous, strange man. Well, except for the drowned rat thing he had going on. She grinned like a Cheshire cat. Christine would have a fit. That really shouldn’t please Kayla so much.
She was a twenty-five year old woman and sometimes her friend still treated her like a case instead of an equal. She might have gaps in her memory but she wasn’t stupid. Something bad had happened to her. But that was the past. She wasn’t going to let fear rule her life now.
Call it intuition, she thought, but she felt certain that Ryan wouldn’t hurt her. Any man who would run his vehicle off a road rather than hit a deer wasn’t a threat. He posed an interesting puzzle. What else did she have to do for the evening? She stole another glance at him. What drew him to the hunting club? He didn’t look like a sportsman.
“Go ahead, ask.”
She shook her head and lowered her gaze. She was staring! How could she not? He looked finer than any Renaissance painting. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You seemed like you had a few questions on your mind.”
Sure she did. Are you married? Seeing someone seriously? Looking for a girlfriend? Stop!
The solitude must finally be getting to her. Why now? Why with him? “What’s a city guy like you doing in Hancock?”
“How do you know I’m from the city?”
“The Brooklyn accent is a dead give away,” she answered.
“Do you hear it often?”
When she first moved upstate people had told her she had that same accent. Her only memory of the borough was a hospital room. “We get a lot of tourists up here for the fishing.”
“Maybe I’m one of them.”
She shot a pointed glance towards the Italian leather loafers by the door. “Not with those shoes, you’re not.”
“You would make a good detective.”
She rolled her eyes. In her art she obsessed over every detail, but when it came to people, she rarely paid attention to the small stuff. So why the curious musing about him, she wondered? “Not really. I can figure out why you wouldn’t want to be here, but I’m lost as to why you would.”
“I needed to get out of New York for a while.”
“Problems with your wife?”
He let out a hearty laugh. “No wife.”
She swallowed a sigh of relief. She would hate to think she lusted after someone else’s man. “Working on a case?”
“I’d pay someone to send me on a case here.”
She lived in the mountains so naturally she agreed. What attracted the hunky urban dweller? “You didn’t answer the question.”
“I’m avoiding burn out. I was due a vacation.”
“And hunting is your idea of a vacation?”
“No. I figured it was off-season and I’d get a good rate. Money goes a lot further here than in the Hamptons. At least, according to the flyer it does. Now, I might be broke by the weekend.”
Kayla shook her head. She was wrong about him. He did pathetic very well. She considered some kind of arrangement to help him out when two high beams flashed through the bay window.
Instinctively he reached for the gun. Apparently he really needed a vacation.
“It’s only the sheriff. And if he sees you pointing that at him, you’ll get a free room in the Sullivan County Jail.”
Ryan replaced the weapon on the table, but the tension didn’t leave his body. “Does he always stop by?”
“Only when the electricity goes out. He checks on anyone who lives alone.”
The lawman’s drive-bys usually gave her comfort. Tonight she wanted to scream for the intrusion. She stepped onto the porch. The police SUV swung around the dirt driveway. The window lowered and the fifty-something sheriff pushed back the rim of his hat.
“Hey, Phil.”
“Everything all right here?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a jeep in the ravine down the road. Brooklyn registration. Some damn fool tourist. I can’t find the driver.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the whipping wind. “He’s here.”
“Really?”
“We’re waiting for the phones to come back up to call a tow.”
“I’ll take him into town.”
She shook her head. “No need. He’s a friend,” she fibbed. If she hadn’t, Phil would have insisted on taking Ryan and she wanted more time with him. “You have enough to do tonight. If you pass Moe’s Garage can you ask him to tow the Jeep here?”
“It won’t be before tomorrow. The road is flooded out at Willow Creek. Are you sure you don’t want me to give him a lift?”
“I’m sure.”
“All right. Call if you need anything.” She wiggled her toes against the wooden porch boards and did a little victory dance as he pulled away.
When she returned to the den, she found Ryan perched on the end of the chair. She would bet he’d kept his eyes and ears on the exchange. He was wound even tighter than Christine. Must have something to do with the air in the southern part of the state.
“I suppose you heard that,” she said.
“I tried not to eavesdrop but the door was open.” Ryan struck her as a man who consciously observed every single detail of a situation but she didn’t call him on it.
“The tow truck can’t get here until morning.”
His grin widened. “I heard. It’s too bad.”
“You sound devastated.”
“I am,” he said with no conviction.
“Did you also hear him call you a damn fool tourist?”
“I must have missed that, but I did hear you tell an officer of the law that I was a friend of yours so he’d leave me here.”
Figures, she thought with a shake of her head. Men had selective hearing. “It’s not too late to have him come back for you. As soon as the phones come on I’ll call...”
He waved his hand to cut her off. “Did I say that? Don’t change my words.”
She dropped down in her comfortable corner of the sofa. “And I said you were a friend, not a friend of mine. Don’t change my words.”
He tipped his head to concede the point. “So what was the outcome of that exercise in semantics? Are you going to rent me a room?”
She laughed. Did he imagine some five star accommodations? No one would mistake the dormitory style bunkhouse for one of the lavish bed-and-breakfast inns that dotted the mountainside. Even if he didn’t mind the rustic amenities, the smell of oil and acrylic paints would drive him out after a day or two. And if not, the complete lack of entertainment would do the trick. Why did that bother her? She’d known the man for all of one hour.
“I can’t rent it out. I don’t have a boarder’s license. But you can stay there the night. We’ll see how it goes tomorrow.”
* * *
One hour later, when the rain stopped and the electricity returned Ryan followed Kayla across the grassy lawn to the large log building formerly known as the Hancock Hunting Camp. Finding that flyer pinned to a corkboard in the back of a gun store had been good ole Irish luck. Something he hadn’t placed much faith in lately. He couldn’t have asked for a better place to keep an eye on her, except maybe inside her house. Since she still caressed her Remington, he figured she didn’t trust him yet. Then again, she had given him back his own weapon, so maybe something about the native wildlife kept her wary.
The door of the bunkhouse opened into the main hall. The lingering smell of turpentine and paint mingled with the scent of burnt wood. Three large picnic tables lined the center of the room like dominos. The kitchen area took up the back wall. To the right, sliding doors gave privacy to two large sleeping areas.
All the comforts of home.
If home was a military barrack.
Ryan glanced around the rooms. He had a choice of twenty bunk beds, all with flat pillows and scratchy wool blankets. Before Kayla had taken over the property, several marine buddies had owned the camp. Evidently they decorated from the army/navy surplus store. He wasn’t about to complain. He needed to remain here.
“Are there more bunks on the other side?” he asked.
“There used to be. Now, it’s my studio.”
“You’re an artist?” He should have realized by the odors but he figured she was doing work on the place. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll show me your paintings.”
“We’ll see.” She hadn’t made up her mind about him yet. “The bathrooms are off either end of the kitchen. There are water bottles in the refrigerator and your Jeep should be back here early tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded and walked toward the front door then turned back. “Ryan, make sure you slide the deadbolt when I leave.”
He arched his eyebrow. “Do I need to protect myself from you?”
Her smile touched him in places that had lay dormant for years. “Not me. Big Betty. She’s a black bear and she’s figured out how to open the outer latch.”
“I like dark-haired girls.”
She didn’t rise to the bait but she didn’t look worried either. “In that case, she’s just your type.”
So was Kayla, and that could be a problem. In all his plans and preparations, he had not taken one very important fact into account. Kayla Walker was no longer a kid. She was a complicated, intelligent, beautiful woman. Just the kind of distraction he didn’t need.
He watched from the door until she returned safely to her own house. Thank God for the clearing between the two buildings. The camp encompassed twenty-six wooded acres on a mountainside. A hunter’s paradise perhaps, but a logistical nightmare to secure with conventional surveillance equipment. The summer foliage made the job even harder. He wasn’t sure how long he had before Varnack located his stepdaughter but Ryan intended to proceed as if his time had already run out.
* * *
Kayla woke the following morning feeling strangely refreshed. As usual, dark images filled her dreams, but for some reason they didn’t frighten her. She probably could have slept for another few hours if Moe hadn’t made a racket towing the Jeep up to the house. So how did her accidental boarder manage to miss the commotion?
She sat on her front porch swing with a strong cup of coffee and a muffin. Dunking the day old corn bread didn’t help the flavor so she tossed it to squirrels and birds that had been eyeing her. The summer sun fought to burn off the fog left over from last night’s storm. She inhaled the fresh smell of damp earth. At least the heat wave had snapped.
What should she do about her unexpected guest? She slouched into the cushions with a sigh. He wasn’t the first person to show up after finding one of the many old flyers that had been posted in every store in the state. What was it with men? Heaven forbid they should pick up a phone and dial a number first.
She had complete sympathy for anyone who needed to get away from the city. So why had she never considered a request in the past? She knew why. Ryan was sexy as hell, but there was substance beneath the gorgeous exterior. He didn’t hunt for sport. He didn’t treat his gun like some Freudian extension of himself. Most important to her mind, he had disabled the weapon without making her do the same.
Ryan McKenna didn’t need to prove himself, yet he’d managed to anyway. The way he looked at her made her feel she could trust him. The fortuneteller at the county fair would probably say she knew him in another life. Kayla would settle for getting to know him in this one.
Fifteen minutes later he finally emerged from the bunkhouse. “‘Bout time you dragged yourself out of bed.”
He walked towards her, stifling a yawn. With the sun to his back, a mythical glow surrounded him. The gods had delivered Adonis to her door.
“It must be something in the air,” he said.
“It’s called oxygen. You breathe carbon monoxide in the city.”
He stumbled up the wooden stairs to the porch, looking disheveled and absolutely heart-stopping. Jeans rode low on his hips and his tee shirt clung to well defined abdominals. “That’s why I have to stay. To purify my system.”
She glanced at her watch. “Thirty seconds. You don’t waste time.”
“I haven’t got time to waste.”
“You will if you stay here. There’s not a lot to do.”
“Does that mean I’m staying?” His full eyebrow arched hopefully.
Kayla shook her head. The rustic amenities could not have overwhelmed him. “I don’t get you.”
“Is that important to you?”
She mulled over the question. Did she really need to know his reason for “hiding out” in the middle of nowhere? Wasn’t she doing the same thing? She felt at peace here. Maybe he felt the same. “The accommodations don’t bother you?”
“I’ll probably buy myself a blanket rather than that sandpaper on the bed. Otherwise, it suits me fine.”
“I use half of the building as a studio. Sometimes I’m inspired to paint in the middle of the night.”
“I can sleep through an earthquake.”
“I believe that,” she muttered.
He just laughed and relaxed against the support beam.
“I have one rule, and I’m serious about it. If you feel the need to tie one on, you can do it down at the local bar and sleep it off in your jeep.” She never brought alcohol into the house. She had an aversion to the smell of it on people. Another quirk in her personality she never wanted to dissect.
“I don’t drink,” he said.
“Not at all?”
“No.”
She didn’t know what to say. The guys up here considered beer one of the basic food groups.
“Any other rules or can we talk money.”
She came to her feet and joined him at the rail. “Now we have a problem. I don’t have permits to rent the bunkhouse. I don’t want any problems with the police.”
“Have you had problems with cops before?”
“No. They saved my life, I’ve been told, but I don’t remember.” Surprise flashed in his hazel eyes but he didn’t ask questions. He seemed to respect her privacy despite his profession. “Let me get you some coffee and we’ll figure out how you can earn your keep.”
He smiled. Adorable dimples bracketed his mouth. Her heart fluttered. Something familiar stirred inside. Why did she get the feeling that she’d known him for years?
As she went to pass him, he brushed his fingers over her arm. “You are an angel.”
A jolt of electricity shot straight through her and the wind rushed from her body. She doubled over the rail. Not now. She closed her eyes against a blinding light. Her migraines always began this way. She waited for the pain, but this time it didn’t come.
The brightness unfolded to reveal the silhouette of a woman holding out her arms like wings. Kayla struggled to make out the features but the woman’s face remained obscured in shadows. She inhaled deeply. Was it a memory or a hallucination?