Manhunter

This would be the first time an RCMP officer with the rank of sergeant had been posted to this tiny self-governing First Nations community—one of the only two Yukon communities with absolutely no road access—and already everyone was wondering why the Mounties were sending a veteran homicide cop to Black Arrow Falls where nothing much happened beyond a marauding moose, an overturned snow machine, or a domestic spat spurred by bootleg liquor.

Harry Peters, chief of the tiny Black Arrow Nation for which the town was named, had explained to his people that the RCMP were enlarging what was traditionally a three-man detachment because of the new copper mine opening about 150 miles south of here. The new mine would bring a new road next summer. And more people to town.

More trouble, too, thought Silver.

The wheels of the plane touched dirt with a sharp snick, and the craft bounced along the gravel runway, trailing a cone of silt, coming to a stop across from her as the props slowed.

Silver leaned back against the warm hood of her truck, hooking the ankle of one boot over the other, swatting at a cloud of tiny black insects as she watched the cop alight from the plane. His formidable size and stature struck her instantly, and her pulse quickened.

He hesitated briefly at the top stair, taking in his surroundings, dark hair gleaming in the sun. Then he shouldered his gear, coming quickly down the rest of the steps and striding confidently toward the hangar where she was standing. She noticed that he favored his right leg slightly and was trying to hide that fact.

It spoke of pride, or vanity maybe. Or perhaps an unwillingness to admit weakness or failure.

Newcomers were always a diversion, and Silver studied this one unabashedly, reading his posture just as she read creatures in the wild. And as he neared, she could see right off that there was something different about this cheechako.

Something dangerous.

He telegraphed the classic command presence of a cop, walking with a tall, broad-shouldered gait, his spine ramrod straight, jaw held proud. But there was an additional edginess about him that the neat yellow stripes down the sides of his pressed RCMP pants, and the polished gleam of his weapons belt and boots, couldn’t quite hide.

Trapped inside that crisp Mountie uniform was a renegade, someone gone a little wild. Someone who might have a problem with authority.

The man was trouble.

If Silver were picking a dog for her team, she’d be leery of one with body language like his. He didn’t look like a team player. He looked unpredictable.

His rank and bio suddenly made sense—the RCMP had sent damaged goods. And what better place to dump a problem cop than the backwaters of Black Arrow Falls, just south of the Arctic circle?

A whisper of irritation and wariness laced through her instinctive interest in the man.

Silver had bad experience with the federal force. The Mounties had let her down when she’d needed them most.

And they had the power to put her away.

She turned away from him as he approached, ordering her dogs to sit with a soft whisper as she bent to lift the last feedbag into her truck. Her hounds regarded him warily as he neared.

“Need a hand?” His voice rippled like dark wild honey over her hot skin. Silver froze, startled by the shock waves he’d sent through her system.

Her answer was to tighten her grip on the sack of feed and heft the bag up, dumping it into the truck herself with a heavy thud. She slapped the tailgate closed with a dull clunk before locking it into place, trying to tamp down the energy crackling through her body before facing him again.

She turned, dusting her palms against her jeans and swinging her long, heavy black ponytail back over her shoulder. “Hey,” she said, extending her hand, unable to read his eyes behind the mirrored shades. “You must be Sergeant Caruso. Welcome to Black Arrow Falls.”

He lifted his shades slowly, his gaze locking onto hers, and Silver’s heart did a tight little tumble. She hadn’t anticipated eyes like that. They were a warm liquid brown, fringed by soft black lashes, but the lines that fanned out from them—the way they etched into his ruggedly handsome features and olive skin—spoke of something she recognized all too well.

This man had been roughed up, hurt. But he was pretending otherwise.

Strong fingers closed around hers as he clasped her hand firmly, the charge as his skin connected with hers instant. Silver’s pulse raced.

Sergeant Gabriel Caruso oozed danger—not for Black Arrow Falls but for her personally.

Silver had not experienced this kind of visceral response to a man since a brutal assault and rape five years ago had emptied her of all feeling. She’d remained hollow since then, beginning to think she was incapable of ever feeling physical lust again. And by the sharp flicker in his eyes, she saw he’d felt something, too.

A quiet fear snaked through her belly.

A Mountie was the last person on this earth she needed to be attracted to. Especially a homicide cop.

Not with her dark secret.

Not with the cold case files buried in the Black Arrow Falls detachment drawers.

She valued freedom too much.

“I’m Silver,” she said, words suddenly dry like dust in her mouth, an irrational urge to flee surging through her. But she held her ground, outwardly calm. Flight triggered chase. It showed weakness.

Silver hated appearing weak.

And she wanted to do nothing that would pique the new cop’s curiosity, nothing at all that might send him digging back into the old murder files.

His eyes swept over her, taking in her rifle, the brutal hunting knife sheathed at her hips, her dusty scuffed boots, the faded and torn jeans.

He was reading her, thought Silver. Sizing her up just as she had done to him, taking in his new surroundings, yet he gave nothing away in his features. This was a man from whom a person didn’t keep secrets. The instinct to pull away intensified as fear rustled deeper into her belly, the raw kind of fear that came from being a so-called criminal faced with the penetrating eyes of law enforcement.

The kind of fear that came with the surprising reawakening of her body.

Gabe felt her hand in his, noting the bracelet of leather knotted with small colorful beads around her slender wrist. She wore no ring.

He was conscious of rings. Engagement rings.

He couldn’t help seeking the small circle of promise on other women’s fingers. A promise a killer had denied him. His chest tightened as he recalled the reasons that had brought him here.

She answered his handshake with a startlingly firm grip despite her willowy stature. Her palms were rough, not like the hands of any women he knew.

Even Gia’s—his hardworking, no-nonsense, cop fiancée’s hands—had been softer. Yet there was something alluring—challenging even—in Silver’s assertive grip.

She met his gaze just as directly, her indigo eyes showing an unveiled interest that sent a tingle down his spine.

The startling color of her almond-shaped eyes stood out dramatically against skin the color of burnt sienna. Her cheekbones were equally exotic, angled high, and her sleek black hair was harnessed into a waist-length braid that shimmered in the sunlight as she moved, reminding Gabe of the multifaceted rainbows hidden in a raven’s feathers.

Gabe had never seen a woman quite like Silver.

And a woman had never looked at him with quite the same intensity. Her eyes cut into him like blue lasers, as if she could see straight through to his soul. It was as intimate as it was provocative, and he felt his energy instinctively darken and hum.

“He’s on his way,” she said, sliding her hand free from his grasp, backing away, her voice husky, low. Smooth. The kind of voice that made a guy think about whiskey and sex, things Gabe hadn’t thought about in a long time.

“Pardon?” he said, distracted.

Silver swung open the cab door of her truck and whistled for her dogs to jump in the back. “I said your constable is on his way. He’d have waited until he saw your plane come in. No rush up here. There he is now—” She jutted her chin to indicate a column of gray dust churning along the distant dull-green tree line beyond the runway.

Gabe squinted, making out the distinctive white truck with bold RCMP stripes and logo as the police four-by-four neared.