Killer Romances

by Dana Delamar, Talullah Grace, Sandy Loyd, Kristine Mason, Dale Mayer, Nina Pierce Chantel Rhondeau, K. T. Roberts, H. D. Thomson, Susan Vaughan

  Annie shook her head. This trip was for Emma. And the outdoors beat being cooped up in some shabby safe house. She would ignore the man and absorb the ambience of the wilderness. While she was gone, Justin could concentrate on catching the Hunter instead of protecting her.

  Her gaze skipped from Super Jock, past the small group of campers and around to the wilderness beckoning beyond. “The time will pass soon enough.”

  Justin veered his gaze back to the powerboat, revving up to head out to open water. “Who’re you trying to convince?”

  Herself, of course. How bad could a week in the woods be?

  TWO

  Donning his power-hit smile, Sam introduced himself to the mother and son duo first.

  The boy’s lime-green spikes of hair poked at the sky. A South Park T-shirt and knee-length board shorts completed his look.

  When her son, shoulder high to her, slumped even lower, Nora Lopez swiped a hand through her short blonde hair. Her brow pleated and her smile wobbled. Confusion at how to handle her rebellious offspring? “I—we—Frankie and I can’t wait to get started, Mr. Kincaid.”

  Given her sturdy build, she’d better project more confidence with her students than he saw in her interaction with her son.

  “Call me Sam.” He focused on the surly boy. “What about you, Frank? Ready for a major wilderness adventure?”

  Young Frank studied his electric-light-show sneakers as if they could answer the mysteries of life.

  Awkward silence, then Nora blurted, “I—we’re looking forward to learning outdoor skills. Aren’t we, hon?”

  The boy’s skeptical gaze crawled upward. He fisted his small hands at his sides. Sullen brown eyes bored into Sam. “Mom says you’re the Sam Kincaid who plays for the Red Sox. If that’s true, how come you’re spending the crunch part of the season here in the sticks?”

  “Frankie! That’s rude!” Nora sputtered an apology.

  Crunch part of the season, huh? So the kid knew baseball. Through the defensiveness and distrust, vulnerability and the keenness of a fan peeked through. Maybe he could work with that. “I don’t mind. It’s a legit question.”

  He felt rather than saw the hot brunette’s gaze on him. Chancing a glance her way, he caught her sneering down her nose at him. A difficult feat, since she stood at least half a foot shorter than he, but she managed, like a princess disdaining a peasant. Just as well, since this princess was beyond the moat.

  With a sneer of his own at good judgment, he dialed up his smile wattage and returned his attention to the boy.

  “So are you really a Major Leaguer?” Frank shrugged away from his mother’s grip.

  “I played one full season for Boston, all right. Batted .356 until the start of the next when this ended my career.” He held out his right hand for inspection.

  Bone-white scars zigzagged from his fingers across the back of his hand to beyond the wrist. The index and middle fingers didn’t extend straight but clawed inward.

  The boy’s eyes widened to catcher’s mitt size. He reached toward the scars, but yanked back his hand. “Holy sh—, um, what did that?”

  “Damn Yankees.” Sam wagged his head ruefully. “May 15. Bottom of the seventh. Three to three. No outs. Their new right-hander walked two and needed to get me out. Instead of the change-up I expected, he threw heat. That ball nearly exploded my fingers, split the tendons and ligaments, smashed most of the bones in my hand.”

  “Like that old player Garciaparra.” Reverence hushed the boy’s voice.

  “Worse. Nomar made it back. Even after six surgeries and therapy, I can’t catch or throw worth a damn. That doesn’t make me worth spit in the outfield.” He managed a half grin. “I can grip a canoe paddle, but not a bat.”

  There, he’d said it. Out loud. Only in the dark of night, alone, had he admitted it before.

  And without his baseball bat, who and what was Sam Kincaid, Boston College batting champ, three-time All-American, and Red Sox Rookie of the Year?

  After his fall from glory and subsequent strikeout in life, he’d come home to Greenville to nurse his wounds and forge a new future. He needed to do something that didn’t imprison him in a tie or an office.

  He needed— God, what? He didn’t know.

  “So how can a washed-up jock be our camping guide?” Frank’s swagger was back, his mask in place.

  Sam winced inwardly. “Don’t sweat it, slugger. Everything’s cool.”

  To the mother, who had stood by their exchange in stunned silence, he said with a wink, “The boy lives up to his name.”

  Frank took a step away from the adults. “Huh?”

  Sam gave Nora a casual salute and edged away to greet the two single men on the expedition. While they introduced themselves, he couldn’t help being aware of the princess. Annie something was the name on his list.

  She waited with the two admirers who’d carried down her gear. He slanted them a glance. Neither was worthy of her. Not that it mattered.

  Her gear was so new that Fed Ex had probably delivered it to the dock. L.L. Bean waterproof duffel. A good bet the sleeping bag and pad in the other Bean waterproof shell were state of the art. His gaze meandered from Tevas that hadn’t yet seen water up her shapely legs to the trekking shorts and shirt and Oakleys hanging around her elegant neck.

  No outdoorswoman, for damn sure. What in hell was she doing on this expedition?

  “Well, I’ll be a dirt dog. Look who’s here,” one of the princess’s admirers exclaimed. “Sam, Sam Kincaid, come on over here, you old base stealer.”

  Sam peered at the man standing to the brunette’s right. About his age, six feet, dark hair neatly clipped but not quite a crew cut, mocking blue eyes.

  He almost dropped his clipboard when he recognized the man. “Wylde, when did they let you out of jail?”

  Justin Wylde laughed. “I’m on the outside of the bars these days, buddy. I’m a Maine State Police detective.”

  The two men shook hands as Justin explained to the other two. “Sam and I were classmates at MCI. You know, that extra year I did to pump up my grades.” The Maine Central Institute was a private school popular for post-graduate work before college.

  “You too, Sam?” Thomas asked.

  “College baseball was my reason. I needed a year for my muscles to catch up to my height.” His peripheral vision told him that Annie was perusing said muscles.

  “I heard about your injury, man. Tough break.” Justin shook his head.

  “Yeah.” Sam kept his expression neutral. No sense bellyaching. “Gives me more time in the woods.”

  Justin grinned. “Let me introduce you to my sister. You’re going to be spending some quality time together.”

  Annie Wylde, Justin’s sister. Thomas Wylde, the older brother. Ah, not admirers but the princess’s brothers.

  Annie placed her hand in his, with only a blink at his scars. Her tender palm was cool as her gaze. Her eyes—a soft gray color—glittered with steely perception and skepticism. And, if his instincts hadn’t failed him, the heat of reluctant sexual interest.

  Keeping her hand, he circled his thumb on the skin of her wrist. “A pleasure, Annie.”

  She snatched away her hand and folded her arms in a determined stance. “What’s this about jail?”

  As she turned from one male to the other, her thick ponytail swished behind her, wafting a light fragrance in its wake. Sweet, but with a bite to it. Like the woman.

  “Oh, nothing,” Justin said. “A charity fundraiser at MCI. People donated money to get us out of a mock jail cell.”

  Sam chuckled. “They let me out by lunchtime, but somehow your brother was stuck in the pokey all day.”

  “Yeah, I wonder how that happened.” Justin affected a scowl at Sam.

  Sam clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’ll never tell. That was a long time ago. Maine state detective, huh? Family man?”

  “Thomas is the only married one of us.” Justin’s smile flattened. “Only another cop could u
nderstand the job, and I sure as hell wouldn’t marry another cop.” He barked a laugh that projected no humor.

  “A feeble excuse,” Thomas said. “The guy’s married to his job. He thinks it’s his personal mission to solve every murder in the state of Maine. What about you, Sam?”

  He generally tried not to think about Tricia. She’d dropped him like a broken bat when she’d realized his Major League career had ended. “I was married once. Didn’t take.”

  Annie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not at all what I expected in a Maine Guide.”

  “Sam’s never what people expect,” Justin said. “One thing that made him so great with a bat. After college and a few years in the minors, the big guy played a season for the Red Sox.”

  “A jock.” Annie’s slight nod and the quirk to her mouth indicated a total lack of awe. Or surprise. “So what are you, Mr. Kincaid, a baseball player or a guide?” Her smoky gaze assessed him from head to toe. “Or a surfer?”

  “Make it Sam... Annie. Over the next week, we’ll be too...close for you to call me mister anything.”

  His old life had ended. He might have to resist the sleeping-bag samba with the princess, but for damn sure he couldn’t stifle his male instincts. He offered her his best smile, guaranteed to melt any female.

  Except this one. Her mouth thinned and he wanted to run his finger along the seam of those lips. The woman was wound tighter than a rookie pitcher. She needed a vacation but this might not be the one for her. Once they hit the lake, things were bound to get interesting.

  “I’ve left the Majors behind me. You see before you a fully certified Registered Maine Guide. I grew up on these waters. I could lead this expedition in my sleep.” He tried to dull the razor edge to his voice, but two people challenging his abilities in the past ten minutes pushed his limit. “As for my attire, princess, I believe in comfort.”

  “My name is Annie.” She blessed him with a regal smile, then stared past him toward the lake. “I hope you also believe in punctuality. If that man in the cut-off jeans is your pilot, I think he’s signaling you that he’s ready to leave.”

  Sam turned to see the pilot on the platform next to his Cessna Caravan. Sam returned Boomer’s wave. “Okay, folks, let’s get this show on the road. We’ll load your gear. The food and equipment are already on board.”

  He dug his Red Sox cap from his back pocket and settled it on his head. Leading this expedition made him the team manager. Pulling this disparate and doubting group together challenged all that he’d learned in years of team play. He’d have to do better than this rough start if he was to make a success of guiding and be an asset to the business. If he was to be competent at something.

  Anything.

  ***

  After the floatplane disappeared over the tree-spiked hills, Justin dusted his hands together. “There. She’s safe for at least one week.”

  “Safe? What’s the deal?” Thomas plucked the newspaper from his pocket. “Safe from this guy, the Hunter?”

  “She’d have howled like a caged cat if I’d let on, but I wanted her out of town before she was the Hunter’s next victim. The Feeb profiler’s getting a handle on this slime. Maybe we’ll have him before she gets back.” He tapped the headline with a knuckle. “I was afraid this would change her mind. Where’d this paper come from?”

  “Not sure.” Thomas glanced toward the resort buildings. “I think someone left it on the picnic table up there. Why do you think she was in danger?”

  “She didn’t tell you, but she’s been receiving phone calls. Maybe from him.”

  “Threats?”

  “Creepier. Friendly overtures, offers of information. He thanked her for giving him the nickname. Spoke in a sort of mechanical whisper.”

  “Did you tap her phone?”

  Justin pounded a fist into his other palm. “Did no good. He used disposable cell phones. Never stayed on long enough for us to nab him.”

  “So you don’t know if it’s him.”

  “Could be a publicity hound or some other faker, true enough. We’ll keep a tap on her phone. Little idiot doesn’t think she’s in danger, wants to research the guy.”

  “You sure she’s safe? This sick son of a bitch kills women in the woods, and look where we just sent our sister.”

  “Safest place. Towns and cities are his hunting ground, where he trolls for victims. We smuggled her out of town, and someone’s answering her phone. The Hunter thinks she’s in Portland. He’ll never suspect she’s at the other end of the state, almost at the Canadian border.”

  “Okay, I’ll admit it. Smart move.”

  “We’ll see.” Justin loosened his Taz tie and laughed. “We may have to hide from her when she returns.”

  “What do you mean? She’ll be fine. Not exactly spa luxury, but not too rugged.”

  “I didn’t tell you about it because you have less than a poker face.”

  “I have a sinking feeling. Tell me what?”

  Justin withdrew a folded brochure from his shirt pocket. “I pushed her into scheduling it this week. Made it a safe house or this. She took the first available trip. Guess she didn’t notice it was the Moosewoods Wilderness Immersion Safari.”

  “How did our little crusader miss that important fact?”

  Justin grinned. “She was so busy organizing her camping gear that she didn’t pay much attention to the details.”

  Thomas skimmed the pamphlet before emitting a long whistle. “Map and compass navigation, paddling rapids, trapping dinner, bushwhacking, shared chores.” He shook his head. “Campfire cooking and digging latrines? Our Annie?”

  Justin laughed as he twirled his tie in the air.

  A smile twitched at Thomas’s mouth as they ambled up the dock. He flipped the newspaper onto the picnic table where he’d found it. “She’ll kill you.”

  “Not just me, bro. We’re in this together.”

  THREE

  Northern Maine woods

  Annie crumpled the Moosewoods Wilderness Immersion Expedition brochure. She shook it at the floatplane as it disappeared south.

  A light breeze ruffled the clear water lapping at her feet. Gomagash Lake stretched wider than ten city blocks. It extended east beyond a trio of islands in its middle, the direction they’d be paddling. Just thinking about it cramped her shoulders.

  The pilot had deposited them on this sandy shore. After helping unload the gear, he’d departed with a whirr of propellers and a dip of wings.

  In the ensuing quiet, Sam Kincaid had dropped a bomb. Several, starting with the true nature of their expedition. Not only was there no chef, but the campsites were primitive and everyone would share the work. All the work.

  Canoe paddling she expected, but Wilderness Immersion? She didn’t dare contemplate what that meant in real terms.

  A year ago, when Emma’s enthusiasm had convinced her to sign up for a week, she’d closed her eyes and written the check. After setting the date for this week, she bought the required equipment. She never investigated the “immersion” aspect of the expedition. Some journalist.

  But she’d bet another week in a canoe that Justin knew. Thomas too.

  “You look like you’re ready to pound somebody. The pilot? Not me, I hope.” Sam stood behind her, his mustache twitching with humor. How had he sneaked up so silently?

  “No one.” She fought the urge to throw something at his arrogant face. “Maybe my brother. Maybe myself. I should have known I was heading into a northern version of Deliverance. No Chardonnay on the beach, right?”

  He was too big. He dwarfed her and he stood too close, close enough for her to smell his sun-warmed skin—salty and very male. She refused to back away.

  “Nope. Maine Guides aren’t allowed to provide alcohol. Too many potential problems. Drunks around the campfire.” He shrugged. “Though you could’ve brought your own wine.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  He put down the two large sausage-shaped bags he was holding. “Princess, I unders
tand that you didn’t expect hardship. Wilderness adventuring is asking too much of a fragile flower.”

  “Don’t call me princess.”

  He stood quietly, arms crossed over his solid chest, eyeing her critically, daring her. He seemed to see inside her with those mocking eyes, light brown—no, dark gold like amber or fine whiskey, tawny like his hair and skin.

  She chanced a glance at the others, who knew what they were getting into, perusing the chore list and loading the three cherry-red canoes. A storage shed at the edge of the woods held the gear not transported by air. She had no choice but to take part, but her insides knotted.

  Emma, I’m doing this for you. But I need your help.

  Annie poked Sam’s chest with her index finger. She tried to ignore the heat and latent power in those firm pecs. At least he’d buttoned his silly tropical shirt—softness over hardness.

  “Fragile flower, my ass,” she said. She might hate every minute, every dip of the paddle, but she was no shirker. “I’m a Wylde, and no Wylde ever wimps out.”

  “Sure you can hack it? These woods won’t be like your nice safe city. No coffee bar at the corner.” Challenge emanated from his pores. The man had a definite edge to him. No matter how he tried to convey a laid-back attitude, beneath that flirtatious exterior lay an angry core.

  Nice safe city. If only he knew the truth. Annie gave a mental shudder at the Hunter’s last muffled words to her. “You’ll see me, but you won’t know me.”

  “Wilderness or city streets, I’m up to the challenge.” As long as Mother Nature wasn’t in a devilish mood.

  He captured her hand, enveloping it in his big one. “So the princess has a competitive streak. Wanna make it a little more interesting?”

  A bet. But not for money. The gleam in his eyes was for an entirely different prize. His heat seeped into her fingers and up her arm, threatening to infuse her with his sensuality, to cloud her judgment. She yanked her hand away. “No bets. I grew up with a father and brothers so competitive that the Sox and Yankees’ rivalry pales by comparison. I can field any pitch you send my way, Mr. Baseball.”