* * *
The fourth time she nearly drove off the road, Alex knew she had to stop.
She had barely slept in forty-eight hours, counting the single night with Kieran. She hadn’t eaten in longer than she could remember, except for a fruit roll and a handful of peanuts left over from the original travel supplies. Her mouth was dry as cotton. It might be only a matter of hours to Lovell, but without coffee she’d never be able to negotiate winding mountain roads or keep herself awake long enough to make it there, especially in the dark.
Her luck had held so far. Twice she’d seen RCMP vehicles on the road, and both times they’d passed by or been otherwise occupied. Only a few more hours was all she needed, all she asked of fickle good fortune.
At the next exit advertising food she pulled off the expressway. Another nondescript roadside cafe, but it would have coffee. Her hands trembled as she pulled on her cap and muffler. In and out; that was all it would have to be. A quick trip to the rest room and a few sips of caffeine, no more.
She walked stiffly into the coffee shop, relieved to see that she was only one of many travelers who’d stopped for a drink or a meal. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. She ordered her coffee and took the steaming foam cup into the rest room, burning her tongue as she sipped.
The coffee was nearly half gone by the time she got back to the truck. She took one last, hasty glance at the map to be certain of her route. She was very near Kamloops now; Lovell was north and a little east from here. Sometime tonight she’d reach it. Kieran would either already be there—though he’d have to have hitched a ride—or she’d be waiting…
The hand that covered her mouth was big and very strong. That was the only thought she had time for as the cup of coffee was knocked from her hand and the man dragged her away from her truck and into the shadows.
She struggled, but she might as well have been a child. He held her easily, maneuvering her backward until her body hit something solid. Another vehicle, a dark truck of some kind.
His bare, callused hand slid over her mouth. “If you scream,” he said softly, “I’ll have to hit you.”
She shook her head. He let his hand fall and opened the truck door one-handed, his arm locked around her throat. She couldn’t have screamed; she could barely breathe.
He pushed her into the truck and slid in beside her. Her head bumped the window. She felt blindly for the door handle. Her captor caught her wrist and twisted it behind her; the pain brought tears to her eyes.
“Where is Kieran?”
For the first time she saw him, his face faintly illuminated by the light from the coffee shop. Fifty-five, she thought, or sixty; a face weathered with outdoor living, stubbled and gaunt with exhaustion. Iron-gray hair visible from under the hunter’s cap he wore. Expressionless, almost—except for his eyes.
Green eyes, hard with purpose. Ageless eyes. They demanded something of her, and she felt if she looked long enough she would give this man whatever he asked.
“Where is he?” he repeated. He held her almost lightly now, his grip no longer painful. “I know he’s been with you.”
She kept her head, even though her body tightened in mindless fear. “Who are you?” she countered. “What do you want?”
He closed his eyes and sighed, as if annoyed by the stubbornness of a recalcitrant child. “My name is Joseph Arnoux.”
Arnoux. For a moment her mind went blank, and then she remembered. Julie had told her what little she knew of dim—a backwoodsman, a recluse who’d been known as a wolf hater. A man Howie had mentioned in his tirade about killing the black wolf, before Kieran had come back into Alex’s life.
But that had been back in Minnesota, over a thousand miles away.
“And you are Alexandra Warrington,” he said. “I know all about you, and I’ve come a long way to find you.”