Riptide

wrong."
    She thought he was the stalker, the man who had murdered that
    poor old woman in front of the museum, and then shot Governor
    Bledsoe. Automatically, he let her go. "Look, I'm sorry--" He was
    speaking to the back of her head. She'd taken off the second he'd
    let her go. She was off at a dead run, through the spruce trees, back
    toward her house.
    He caught her within ten yards, grabbed her left arm, and jerked
    her around. She moved quickly. Her fist hit him solidly on the jaw.
    His head snapped back with the force of her sharp-knuckled blow.
    She was strong. He grabbed both her arms, only to feel her knee
    come up. His fast reflexes saved him just barely, thank God, and her
    knee got him in the thigh. It still hurt, but not as bad as if she'd gotten
    him in the crotch. That would have sent him to the ground,
    sobbing his guts out. He whirled her around and brought her back
    against his chest. He clamped her arms at her sides and simply held
    her against him. She was breathing hard, her muscles tensing, relaxing,
    then tensing again. She was very afraid but he knew she'd
    act again if he gave her the opening. He was impressed. But now
    he had her.
    "I don't know how you found me," she said, still panting. "I did

everything I could think of to hide my trail. How did you track me
    down?"
    "It did take me two and a half days to track you to Portland, actually
    longer than I'd expected."
    She twisted her head to look at him. "You bastard. Let me go."
    "Not just yet. I want to hang on to my body parts. Hey, you
    didn't do too badly for an amateur."
    "Let me go."
    "Will you stop with the violence? I can't stand violence. It
    makes me nervous."
    Her look was incredulous as she chewed her bottom lip. Finally,
    she nodded. "All right."
    He let her go and took a quick step back, his eyes on her right
    knee.
    She was off and running in a flash. This time, he let her go. She was
    fast, but he knew that from her dossier. She'd spotted him watching
    her house. It amazed him. He was always so very careful, so patient,
    as still as one of the spruce trees. In the past, his life had depended on
    it more times than he cared to remember. But she'd cottoned on to
    the fact that someone was out there, with her in his sights.
    Well, the stalker had been after her for more than three weeks in
    New York. That had sharpened her senses, kept her alert. There was
    no doubt she was afraid, but it hadn't mattered. She'd come out and
    confronted him anyway. He whistled as he walked over and bent
    down to pick up her Coonan automatic. It was a nice gun. It had
    a closed breech that gave it very high velocity. His brother had one
    of these babies, was always bragging about it. It was steady, reliable,
    deadly, and not all that common. He wondered how she handled
    the recoil. He dumped the seven rimmed cartridges into his hand,
    then dropped them into his pocket. He paused a moment, won

dering if he shouldn't leave the gun in her mailbox or slip it just inside
    her front door.
    He imagined she wouldn't feel safe without it.
    He saw Tyler McBride and his son leave about ten minutes later.
    He saw her wave from the front porch. He saw her looking over
    toward where he quietly stood, surely not visible through the trees.
    She went back into the house after Tyler McBride and his son
    drove off. He waited.
    Not three minutes later she was back, standing on the front
    porch, looking toward him. He saw her thinking, weighing, assessing.
    Finally, she trotted toward him.
    She had guts.
    He didn't move, just waited, watching her. He realized when she
    was only about ten feet from him that she had a big kitchen
    butcher knife clutched in her hand.
    He smiled. She was her father's daughter.

Chapter 9

    Slowly, he pulled her gun out of his pants pocket and aimed it in
    her general direction. "Even that big honker knife can't compete
    with this Coonan you managed to get off that guy you met at the
    restaurant in Rockland. He was, however, pissed that you wouldn't
    go to bed with him." He grinned at her. "Hey, you got what you
    needed. You did good."
    "How did you know about that? Oh, never mind. My knife can
    certainly compete with the Coonan now. I watched you take the
    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