Deathscape by Dana Marton Page B

eyes anywhere.
    But he did introduce himself.
    “ Jack Sullivan. I stopped by to thank you for what you did for me.”
    He had been covered in mud and blood the last time she’d seen him. Now she had no trouble making out his features, the square jaw and the planes of his face. He looked gaunt, had probably lost weight from his ordeal and while recovering. Yet his aura was definitely not weak.
    His unwavering focus and his intense gaze were complemented with a good dose of masculine energy. His sculpted lips made his face interesting. He would have made a great study for a painting. The edgy darkness in him made looking away from him difficult, something that would have come through in a painting if the artist did it right.
    Another woman might have found him handsome. She found him, his presence at her house, terrifying. She would have preferred never having to see him again.
    “ Why don’t we go into the house?” She moved forward out of sheer desperation, against instinct. She didn’t want him in her house or anywhere near it, but she needed to draw him away from her paintings.
    “ I don’t want to keep you from your work.” His gaze slid to the pile. He stepped closer. “How about I give you a hand with this?”
    * * *
    She might have been shooting him a cool look, but she was hot. He’d missed that before.
    Of course, the first time they’d met, he’d barely been conscious. And while he’d watched her nearly every day since he’d made his escape from the hospital, he’d watched her from afar.
    She had large green eyes a man could fall into, with shadows at their depth that pulled at him. Her perfectly symmetrical face, beauty without artifice, was the face of a distressed angel. All that purity somehow accentuated her swollen lips that looked as if they’d been made to sin. Her body was mostly covered up by her coat, except for her legs that were long enough for a pole dancer.
    As he looked her over, he felt a responding tug at his groin, which he ignored. He hadn’t come here for cheap thrills. He’d come to make her lead him to Blackwell.
    And she probably knew it. She was as nervous as a king crab at an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet, although she tried to hide it. But she couldn’t stop her feet from shuffling over the frozen ground, her hands grasped tightly together in front of her.
    “ I have a few questions about that night. I’m a police officer.” Jack watched for her reaction.
    His occupation set some at ease, carried a certain amount of respectability and trustworthiness, he supposed; others got decidedly nervous. Ashley Price didn’t relax. Nor did his revelation surprise her. She’d known, and he wondered how. Bing had kept all details from the media. Of course, there was no way to stop gossip from spreading in a small town like Broslin.
    “ I was hoping I could ask you some questions.” He laid his first card on the table, the only one he was willing to show her.
    “ I already told the police and the FBI everything I know.”
    Or everything she would admit to, he thought. He’d had his own tête -à- tête with the FBI, and given an official victim statement. He’d held back plenty. As nervous as she was acting, he had no doubt Ashley Price had done the same.
    “ It will only take a few minutes,” he said in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t leaving.
    “ All right, um… We should go inside.” She moved forward but stopped after only one step.
    He was standing between her and the house. She seemed reluctant to come too close to him.
    “ I’m sorry if I was difficult when you rescued me. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
    Her gaze flew up to his. “You kidnapped me.”
    So he’d given her a fright. He couldn’t rightly say he regretted it.
    “ Sorry. Again,” he apologized for form’s sake.
    She nodded, pushing thick auburn waves out of her face with the back of a gloved hand. The face of an angel, he thought again. Except, he didn’t believe in angels, and he