Mask Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz

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СКАЧАТЬ Mr. Esteleone, but information is my business. You moved to New Hampshire last September.” She punched the page-up button on her computer. “You placed your sixteen-year-old sister, Bianca, at the Cheshire Academy.” She raised an eyebrow in snooty judgment. “Specializes in dealing with troubled teens, I see. Not cheap. Quite a coup for someone with less than five hundred dollars in his bank account. I’m guessing there was some trouble back in New York. Ah, yes, there it is. Shoplifting. Runaway. And not for the first time.”

      How had she found this information? Bianca’s records were sealed. Leaning back in the chair, he slung an arm over the chair’s back and gave her his best impression of aloof. Stay cool, Ace. Don’t let her get to you. What did she know about Bianca? About their lives? Facts only told one part of the story. Certainly not enough to pass judgment. “What does that prove? That you can find your way around the web? I already knew that. It’s all facts.” He waved his free arm toward the wide outdoors outside the reinforced concrete walls of the basement bunker. “Facts won’t keep you safe out there.”

      “Facts are what you’re looking for. I can find them.”

      “Evidence is what convicts. For that you need the ability to become whatever you’re hunting.”

      “Okay.” Falconer brushed muffin crumbs from his fingers. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

      “You care for your sister,” Rory put her laptop back in its case at her feet, “so you took her out of a bad situation. That’s a fact. I’m trying to do the same.”

      “Then you’re two years too late. You should’ve yanked her out the moment she set eyes on Mike Fletcher.”

      “Enough.” Falconer pushed the plate in front of him. His dark glare demanded compliance.

      The flame completely fizzled out of Rory’s eyes, and Ace wondered why he’d thought of her as such a potent threat. She was nothing but a small woman who was bent on getting in a situation that would drown every last bit of the fire inside her. He turned to Falconer. “She doesn’t understand how dangerous Fletcher is.”

      “Then you’ll have to explain. Aurora is going to Summersfield whether we want her to or not. Legally, there’s nothing we can do to stop her. We might as well make use of her expertise. I want you to keep an eye on her. Make sure no harm comes to her.”

      “I have to find Felicia.” And in her voice he heard a familiar note of shame. He clamped back a curse. He didn’t want to feel anything for her, especially not understanding.

      “Kingsley will be her contact,” Falconer continued. “She’s not going to interfere with your work.”

      “Yeah.” Ace crossed his arms over his chest. That he had to see. He’d bet his last five hundred that she’d have half of Summersfield ticked off at her before the end of the day. Curious women always caused trouble.

      Rory slanted him the coldest smile he’d ever seen. “I’ll pretend you don’t exist.”

      “Yeah, you do that.” The ice, he realized, was a poor mask for the fire still burning hot somewhere in that lean body. Like the suit that did its best to hide the curves in the right places, she was damping back her true nature. That ignited a spark of curiosity he quickly snuffed. Don’t get involved. She was just one more problem in a whole vipers’ nest of them.

      Kingsley, the electronics wizard who ran the Seekers’ command center, knocked and poked his head through the door. With his red suspenders and easygoing nature, Kingsley reminded Ace of a golden retriever. “I have the parts you wanted.” He held out a box with the rocker covers Ace was supposed to be picking up for his classic Indian.

      On his way out, Kingsley gave Rory the once over, and Ace had to laugh. “Forget it, pal. She’ll burn you before she gives you the time of day.”

      It wasn’t until he grabbed his gloves and sunglasses that he remembered there was a good reason he hadn’t become a firefighter. Fire made him choke, and he was partial to breathing. “Give me a chance to get back before you send her out.”

      “Candace will call the Division Child, Youth and Family if I don’t get there before her shift.” Rory scraped her chair back and collected her belongings.

      For a second, the image of kindling flashed across his mind, and he sighed silently. “If she knows you’re coming, she’ll wait.”

      “How do you know?”

      He slid the sunglasses over his eyes. “Because I deal with people, not names on a computer screen.”

      He could feel the scorch of her gaze long after he’d fired up the Indian and opened the throttle as far as it would go. That couldn’t be good. Not at all.

      Chapter Two

      The instant Rory saw her niece, a pool of guilt filled her to near drowning. Why hadn’t she come to visit in the past nine months? Why hadn’t she dragged Felicia and Hannah home with her? Why had she let all the painful memories stored in the granite bed of this state turn her into a coward?

      Across the cramped living room, Hannah sprawled in a mesh-sided travel crib swaddled in a pair of pink footed pajamas. Her arms were splayed at her sides, and her loose fists showed off smooth palms and tiny fingers. A nine-patch quilt in shades of pink lay beside one hand. One corner looked gummed as if Hannah had used it as a pacifier. Flyaway curls of a soft brown with red highlights surrounded her face. A face that, in sleep, spelled innocence and vulnerability, and at once made Rory feel as needed as a calculus book in a poetry class.

      She was used to order, to things done her way, to being the master of her days. This baby, who didn’t look much bigger than a library edition of the Oxford English Dictionary, actually had her pulse skittering as if she were facing an armed madman demanding she produce plans for a nuclear device. She swallowed hard. “I don’t know anything about babies.”

      She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Candace’s voice grated against her ears. “Hannah’s an easy baby.”

      Which meant next to nothing to Rory. Easy was an instruction manual, and she didn’t see one lying conveniently around. She let her tapestry tote bag slip from her shoulders to the rust-carpeted floor and peered farther over the edge of the crib at the creature sleeping there. What did Hannah eat? How long did she sleep? How did one entertain a nine-month-old child? Then there were diapers and baths and tears. The responsibility of it all gave her legs the sturdiness of wet sponges. She’d never worn helplessness well. “Tell me about her routine.”

      Candace, dressed in black stretch pants and a light-blue sweatshirt with a sledding snowman printed on the front, finished tidying up the coffeemaker in the kitchenette and moved to the tiny living room where a soap opera played on the television. “Felicia usually covers the breakfast and lunch shifts at the diner, so Hannah goes to the sitter’s around 5:00 a.m. and gets picked up around 3:00 p.m.”

      Candace headed to a pile of knitting on the seat of a faded lime-green armchair. She stuffed the balls of light-blue yarn and steel needles into a yellowing canvas bag with a Summersfield town centennial logo. Then hands on hips, she frowned at the floor as if she were looking for something. “Other than that, Hannah pretty much leads the way. She still takes a couple of naps a day, but sleeps through the night. She’s a good eater. It doesn’t take much to keep her happy.”

      With a humph, Candace bent at the waist СКАЧАТЬ