The Lady's Man

by Linda Turner

  I’ve seen you parading around town, thinking you’re so damn smart and no one can touch you or those damn wolves of yours. Well, think again, bitch. I can come after you anytime I want, and you won’t even know it until it’s too late. One second you’ll think you’re safe, and the next I’ll be right there in your face, making you wish you’d never been born. Think about it.

  Just that easily, the phone conversation she’d had with the monster who had left the poisoned meat at the holding pen came back to her in vivid recall, the cold flat words slapping at her, and the last of the blood drained from cheeks that were already pale with fear. At the time, she hadn’t taken the threats made against her seriously. It was the wolves that people hated, not her. But what if she’d been wrong? What if he hadn’t been content to just carry through on his threat to shoot Napoleon? He could come after her.

  Had he already? she wondered, staring wide-eyed at the fog that surrounded her on all sides. Had he seen this morning’s search as a chance to get close to her without anyone being suspicious? Conditions couldn’t have been more perfect. No one knew who he was, what he looked like, and no one would question his motive for being there. He could blend in with the rest of the searchers, the rest of his neighbors, then wait to slip up on her in the fog.

  Was he the one who was waiting just beyond her sight, silently trailing her in the mist, hunting her this time, instead of Napoleon? she thought, chilled. The fog would make it so easy for him. All he had to do was he back, wait until he was sure no one else was near, then rush her when she was least expecting it. He could push her off a cliff into a ravine, make it look as if she’d lost her way in the fog and tripped and broken her neck, and no one would be the wiser. By the time her body was found, he’d have slipped away in the fog and everyone would think she’d just had an unfortunate accident.

  The fog shifted around her, and for just a second she thought she heard the crunch of a footstep on the snow off to her left. Alarmed, she took a quick step to the right, and then another, a scream already struggling to rise in her throat. Oh, God, it was him!

  Panicking, she whirled to run, only to slam into a hard male chest In the time it took to gasp, he had her. Terror closed around her. A scream broke free from her throat and she never even knew it. Blind to everything but the need to get away, she slapped and scratched like a wild woman, fighting against the hands that tried to hold her. But he was quick and clever. Grunting when she kicked blindly out and connected with his shin, he grabbed her wrists before she knew what he was about, crossed them in front of her, and spun her away from him. A split second later he had her pinned against him, her back pressed tightly to his chest, effectively trapped. Still she struggled, sobbing.

  “Dammit, Lizzie, stop! It’s me!”

  Her breathing ragged, the roar of her blood loud in her ears, it was a full ten seconds before Zeke’s words penetrated. When they did, she literally wilted. “Zeke! Thank God!”

  It was only then that he dared to ease his grip on her wrists and turn her to face him At the sight of the fear still glazing her eyes, his frown changed to a scowl even as his hands moved to gently cup her face. “Sweetheart, what is it? Who the hell put that look in your eye?”

  Just that easily, tears welled and spilled over her lashes. With a strangled sob, she threw herself into his arms. “I don’t know! I couldn’t see him. He was just...there...in the mist. Watching me.”

  Even to her own ears it sounded like she’d gotten spooked in the fog and let her imagination run away with her. But she hadn’t, dammit! She knew what she’d felt, and it was vicious!

  Drawing back, she said desperately, “He really was there! I could feel his eyes on me, feel the hatred. I know it sounds crazy, but—”

  “No, it doesn’t.” It didn’t sound anything of the kind. When the damn fog had cut her off from him, a fear he couldn’t explain had sunk its claws in him, and he’d known something was horribly wrong. Afraid he’d lost her, he’d found himself tearing through the trees like a madman, cursing the fog that hid her from him, and making all sorts of promises to God if He’d just help him find her.

  “You think it’s him, don’t you?” he said grimly, looking past her to the thickening gray mist that cut them off from the rest of the searchers. “The bastard who planted the poisoned meat near the holding pen? The one who called you that night? You think he’s out there somewhere, masquerading as one of the volunteers, and waiting for a chance to kill you?”

  It was a plan that only a lunatic would think had a ghost of a chance of working. Her eyes meeting his unflinchingly, Elizabeth nodded. “He said he could come after me anytime he wanted. If you think about it, why wouldn’t he make a move in front of half the town? He feels justified in what he’s doing—he’s protecting his rights, his way of life, the way of the West against an outsider. In his eyes, he’s John Wayne and I’m the bad guy. He can sleep nights, knowing he saved Liberty Hill from the wolves and the ‘bitch’ who was cramming them down everyone’s throat.”

  It did, in a twisted kind of way, make sense. It also scared the hell out of Zeke. Because a psychopath who had convinced himself he was the protector of truth, justice and the American way was capable of anything.

  “Then he just blew the only shot he’s going to get today,” he said grimly, “because I’m not letting you out of my sight the rest of the time we’re on this damn ridge. Especially in this fog. I was afraid you were going to run right off the cliff.”

  “Because I was scared?” she said, surprised. “Zeke, I always knew where the cliff was. There was never any chance of me walking off it. I made sure to keep it to my left from the moment we first started searching. Even when I was terrified, I knew which direction not to run.”

  She was serious, Zeke thought, stunned. She really thought she’d been running away from the chff. Just thinking about it took ten years off his life.

  “Sweetheart,” he said roughly, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you were headed right for the cliff when I stepped into your path. Another thirty seconds and the ground would have literally disappeared beneath your feet.”

  Her eyes flew past him to the gray wall of fog at his back. “That’s impossible! I was running for the trees—”

  “No, you weren’t.” Gently taking her hand, he turned and carefully led her close enough to the edge of the escarpment so that she could see where the rock ledge just dropped away. She took one look and blanched.

  “It’s easy to get turned around up here,” he said quietly, stepping back now that he’d made his point. “Especially when you’re not that familiar with the area and you can’t see more than two feet in front of you.” Promising himself that whoever put that look of fear in her eyes was going to pay, he took her hand and turned away from the escarpment. “C’mon. If Napoleon’s up here, I’m sure he’s not this close to the cliff.”

  The fog lifted slowly, in fits and starts, stubbornly clinging to hollows and crevices before finally disappearing altogether by the middle of the afternoon. With no mist to hide behind, Elizabeth found herself studying the other searchers with a suspicion that hadn’t been there before, looking for some sign of the fury she’d felt earlier in the morning. But if whoever had been watching her with such hatred was still there, he hid his hostility well. There were no angry glares, no venomous looks directed her way. Still, she didn’t take any chances but made sure that she was never more than a few steps from Zeke at all times.

  With the lifting of the fog, locating Napoleon should have been easy. They had the radio equipment to pinpoint his general direction and thirty or more people to scour the countryside. He had to be there somewhere. But just as Elizabeth thought they had to be closing in on him, his radio signal went dead.

  “No!” she cried when she listened to the monitoring equipment herself and picked up nothing but a steady drone of static instead of the fast beep of the mortality code that signaled the wolf was in trouble. “It can’t just go dead!”

  �
��Maybe the battery gave out,” Nick suggested.

  “It shouldn’t have. It’s designed to last forty-eight hours once the mortality code kicks in, and we just picked up the code last night.”

  “What about Queenie?” Zeke asked. “Is she still in the area?”

  Peter switched the equipment to the frequency of the other wolfs collar and immediately picked up the slow, regular beep that indicated all was well. “She’s okay,” he said with a smile of relief. “But she’s not as close as she was earlier in the day. She probably got spooked by all the volunteers and moved a couple of miles farther west.”

  The other searchers, seeing that something was wrong, straggled in in groups of twos and threes. “Did you say west?” a woman in the crowd called out sharply. “That’s Wild Horse Canyon, isn’t it?” When some of the others nodded, she shook her head. “That’s pretty rough territory, and it’ll be dark soon. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t believe I want to be wandering around that canyon once the light starts to go. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I thought we were looking for the big fella, anyway,” someone else added. “He’s the one supposed to be in trouble. We start chasing after one of the others, we could go halfway to Wyoming before we ever catch up with it.”

  Heads nodded, and others grumbled, and as much as Elizabeth hated to admit it, they all had a point. She and her team could track down Queenie if she continued to migrate west. Napoleon was the one they needed help finding, but that wasn’t going to happen today. Not without a radio signal to guide them, and not after a long day of searching. People were wet and tired and miserable, and . even as they stood there, the sun sank lower in the sky.

  “You’re right,” she said, accepting the inevitable. “Napoleon is our main concern right now, and as most of you have already heard, his radio collar has gone dead. Without that to guide us, there’s not much point in continuing the search today.”

  “What about tomorrow?” Martha Hoffsteader piped up. “If you need us to show up here again tomorrow, just say the word and we’ll be here.”

  Smiling for the first time in what felt like hours, Elizabeth could have hugged her. “That’s very generous of you, Mrs. Hoffsteader, but right now I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I have to meet with my staff and decide where to go from here. But I do appreciate the offer and all the time you all put in today. We may not have found Napoleon, but thanks to all of you, we know where he’s not.”

  Moving through the crowd, she personally shook everyone’s hand and thanked them for helping. And every time a man’s hand closed around hers, she hated the suspicions that flitted through her mind. Was this the one? The one who had threatened her? The one who had probably killed Napoleon? The one who would do the same to her if she gave him a chance? Could he actually look her in the eye and smile like an old friend when he was really plotting to murder her? What kind of monster was he?

  Zeke was obviously wondering the same thing because he was one step behind her all the way, eyeing every man who touched her. Oh, he was subtle about it—she had to give him that. He knew everyone there and took a moment to chat and ask about family. But when the gathering broke up and everyone divided into groups to carpool back to town, he didn’t immediately head for his Suburban but stood at Elizabeth’s side and studied each of the men through narrowed eyes.

  Everyone who had met at the office that morning was still there, present and accounted for. Which meant she very well could have shaken the hand of the man who wanted her dead. Just thinking about it made her sick to her stomach. “Well? What do you think?” she said, arching a brow at Zeke. “You know these people. You grew up with them. Which one would threaten murder just because they don’t like the government telling them what to do?”

  Staring after the departing crowd, Zeke knew the answer should have been easy. She was right—he knew everyone there, knew their politics, knew who cheated on their wives and their income tax. Granted, he hadn’t lived in Liberty Hill for years, but people’s basic nature didn’t change. A man without scruples didn’t usually develop them later in life—he just learned to hide the fact that he didn’t have any.

  And that was what had him worried. Most of the men who had participated in the search were, as far as he knew, honest, God-fearing men who wouldn’t dream of threatening a woman under any circumstances. But how much of that was an act? When push came to shove and Elizabeth’s life was on the line, who could she really trust?

  “I can speak for myself and my brother and Nick,” he said flatly. “After that, I don’t know. I wouldn’t turn my back on any of them.”

  Huddling in her jacket, her eyes stark, she said wryly, “Well, that narrows it down, I guess.”

  It was, he silently admitted, a sorry state of affairs. And the situation only got worse when they got back to town. Because there in the parking lot at her office were television news crews, complete with satellite dishes and relay equipment, from all over the state. Zeke took one look at them and started to swear. Who leaked the news to the press?

  Muttering curses, he was out of his truck before he’d hardly thrown the transmission into Park, his only thought that Elizabeth didn’t need this now, not after the day she’d had. But before he could get to her, she was surrounded.

  “Ms. Davis, did you find the dead wolf?”

  “How was he killed? Do you have any idea who the killer is?”

  “According to reports from the Department of Fish and Wildlife, you released the wolves early because of opposition you were getting from the locals. Considering what’s happened, do you think that was wise, Ms. Davis? Is there a possibility that Wolf Number Eight would be alive today if you hadn’t botched things by rushing the release date?”

  Like a swarm of locusts pressing in on her, threatening to devour her, the reporters shoved microphones in her face and threw questions at her from all sides, hardly giving her time to reply to one question before they were throwing another at her. Lost in the shuffle, she almost went down.

  Snarling, Zeke started to fight his way through the mob, but before he could push his way to Elizabeth, she reached the front steps of her office. Instead of bolting inside as he’d expected, however, she took the first two steps, then turned to face the crowd with a quiet dignity that immediately silenced the jerks still shouting questions at her.

  “If you’ll just be patient, I’ll answer all your questions,” she said stiffly “But one at a time, please. No one can hear anything when you’re all shouting.”

  “What about the wolf? The big male that’s missing. Somebody said you named him Napoleon. Is he dead or alive?”

  The question hit her like a dart, right in the heart. She didn’t so much as flinch, and the pain in her eyes was quickly concealed, but as she explained about Napoleon’s radio collar and the mortality code, Zeke knew she was hurting. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. This was her project; she was the head honcho, and as such, it was her responsibility to deal with the press. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t step in and draw the fire from her.

  He knew that, accepted it. But that didn’t make it any easier for him to stand there and watch her try to hang on to her composure as she was forced to admit that yes, Napoleon was, in all likelihood, dead. Damn the bastards, couldn’t they see what they were doing to her! Why was it so important for them to hear her say the words?

  More than once over the course of the twenty-minute impromptu news conference, he seriously considered stepping in, anyway, and stopping the whole thing. She was white as a sheet, obviously exhausted, and so close to fighting tears, her eyes were glistening. His jaw grinding on an oath, Zeke told himself he was letting her answer one more question That was it. If he overstepped his bounds, that was just too damn bad.

  But before another question could be shouted out, she decided on her own that she’d reached the end of her rope. “That’s all I can tell you tonight,” she said abruptly in a voice that was hoarse with strai
n. “I will release more information as events warrant. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day.” And before anyone could dare to ask another question, she pushed through the crowd to her Jeep, climbed in and drove off.

  For all of ten seconds, Zeke gave serious thought to going after her. After all that she’d been through, she’d held up remarkably well, but sooner or later it was going to hit her that Napoleon really was dead. And when it did, she had no business being alone. He wanted to be there for her, dammit, to help her through this. But a couple of dances and a kiss didn’t give him the right to go home with her. Swearing, he had no choice but to let her leave.

  Chapter 8

  The second Elizabeth saw the package waiting for her on her front porch, she knew it wasn’t good. There was nothing sinister about it—wrapped in brown paper, it was small, not much bigger than a paperback book, and appeared harmless—but anyone who wanted to give her a gift would have given it to her personally, not left it for her on her porch like a thief in the night. She took one look at it and wanted to turn and run.

  No, it definitely wasn’t good, she thought grimly, scowling at it warily from six feet away. Not if the churning in the pit of her stomach was anything to go by. Dammit, she didn’t need this tonight! It had been a miserable day; she was tired and cold, and all she wanted to do was soak in a steaming tub, down a cup of soup and go to bed and forget the world.

  Leave it, a voice whispered in her head. There’s no law that says you have to deal with it now. Just step over it and go in the house. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.

  Tempted, she almost did just that. But just knowing it was there on the porch, waiting for her the minute she opened her front door in the morning, would, she knew, nag at her all night. If she wanted to get any sleep at all, she’d do better to take care of the problem now, rather than later.