bullets out.”
He grinned at her again, he just couldn’t help it, and held the automatic
out to her, butt first.
“What good is it?You’ve got the bullets. Give them to me now.”
He scooped the seven bullets out of his pocket and handed them
and the automatic to her.
She eyed the gun and the bullets, then backed up another step.
“No, you want me to come a bit closer and then you can kick my
knife away. You’re fast, too fast. I’m not stupid.”
“All right,” Adam said, and he thought, Smart woman. He laid
the bullets and the gun down on the ground and took a good half
dozen steps back.
He said easily, “It’s an effective weapon, that Coonan, but if I
have to carry one of those things, I prefer my Colt Delta Elite.”
“It sounds like some western debutante.”
He laughed. “Aren’t you going to pick up the gun?”
She shook her head at him and didn’t move. She was holding
the butcher knife like a mad killer in a slasher movie, her arm
pulled back, the point out and arched. The sucker looked really
sharp. He could get it from her, but one of them could easily get
sliced up. He stayed put. Besides, he wanted to see what she’d do.
“Tell me what you’re doing here. Why did you come up to me at Food Fort? Why are you watching me?”
“I’d really rather not tell you just yet. I hadn’t expected you to
see me. When I’ve wanted to stay hidden in the past, I’ve managed
it quite well.” He suddenly looked pissed off, not at her but at himself.
She almost smiled, then tightened her grip on the knife.
`Tell me, now.’
“All right, then. I’m here to do research on why women dye
their hair.”
She very nearly ran at him with the knife. She was so mad she
nearly forgot the bone-grinding fear. “All right, you jerk, I want
you to lie on the ground and fold your hands underneath you. Do
it now.”
“No,” he said. “The windbreaker is new. It looks good on me,
hey, maybe it even looks dangerous and sexy. What do you think?
Women like black, I’ve heard. Nope, I don’t want it to get dirty.”
“I called Sheriff Gaffney. He should be here any minute.”
“Nah, you can’t bluff me on that. The last person you want here
is the sheriff. If I spilled the beans, he’d have to call the New York
cops and the FBI.”
She was so pale he thought she’d pass out. Her hand trembled a
bit, but then she got ahold of herself. “So you know,” she said. “I
don’t think you’re the stalker–your voice is all wrong and you’re
too big–but you know all about him, don’t you?”
“Yes. Now listen to me, Becca. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m
here to–Think of me as your own personal guardian angel.”
“You’re so dark, you look more like the devil, but you’re taller
than I think the devil is. What’s more, unlike the devil, I’ll bet you
don’t have a lick of charm. The last thing you are is a guardian angel.
You’re a reporter or a paparazzo, aren’t you?”
“Now you’ve offended me.” She nearly laughed. But she had to
remember that he was dangerous, fast and dangerous. No, she
couldn’t afford to forget that, not for an instant. She would still
have laughed if her gut hadn’t been frozen with fear for nearly as
long as she could remember. He was trying to disarm her, at least
figuratively this time. Thank God he didn’t have use of her gun.
And he was too far away to kick out at her. But he was fast. He had
long legs. She took another step back, as insurance.
She waved the knife at him. “I’ve had it. Tell me who you are.
Tell me now or I might have to hurt you. Don’t underestimate me,
I’m strong. No, it’s more than that. I’m beyond frightened. I’ve got
nothing to lose now.”
He looked at her–too pale, her flesh drawn tightly over her
bones, too thin, so stressed out he could nearly see her insides quivering.