Every Step She Takes (Who's Watching Now Book 2) Read online

  A larger smile flashed. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  “It takes all kinds.”

  They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Grace took in some breathtaking scenery below. After a while, the drone of the plane’s engine lulled her into near slumber. She’d been up well before dawn to catch a flight from San Francisco to Anchorage via Seattle. Probably the same plane her seatmate was on, though she hadn’t noticed him before switching to the puddle jumper. The blond college kid in 2C looked vaguely familiar, as did the guy sitting in the single seat across the aisle with his nose buried in a copy of Fishing the West.

  She closed her eyes.

  A deep pocket of turbulence jarred her into full consciousness. Reaching for the hand rest, she grabbed onto a muscled forearm. “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem.” He pulled back his arm and clasped her hand in his warm one instead, giving it a squeeze. “A bouncing plane can be nerve-wracking.”

  “You’ve got that right.” She managed the comeback between gritted teeth.

  Her stomach dropped and pitched in concert with the gyrating aircraft. He didn’t look one bit bothered. His blue eyes were steady and confident as he held her gaze. She focused on breathing evenly. When the jostling stopped, she reluctantly released his hand.

  “Thanks.”

  “You bet. Feels like we’re starting our descent.” He leaned against her shoulder and pointed out the window. “See those buildings way down to the right. That must be Moose Flat.”

  He vaguely smelled of some woodsy scent. With her heart beating a tattoo against her ribcage, she dragged her gaze from his hard jaw perilously close to her cheek to focus on the dark specks far below. The town of Moose Flat, if she could call it a town, was situated in a long valley between towering mountains. A splash of blue surrounded by endless green forests was undoubtedly Moose Lake, their ultimate destination. She imagined her chances of finding a decent coffee shop anywhere nearby were slim.

  “Goody.”

  He laughed. “Sarcastic little thing, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know about the little part.” In heels she looked most men straight in the eye, but Travis made her feel—delicate. Why did I swear off casual, meaningless relationships? Gee, that’s right, at thirty-four, her dormant biological clock had finally started to tick. She stole a covert glance at her distracted seatmate. The timing for that momentous event sucked.

  “Yep, we’re definitely losing elevation.”

  He turned to face her, his direct gaze revealing a hint of interest that made her breath catch in her throat.

  “I’m sure we’ll bump into one another at the retreat. The place isn’t very big, but it’s been a pleasure sharing the flight.”

  The man was gorgeous and polite. So he liked tramping through the woods and baiting hooks. Was that really so horrible? Maybe she should revise her Required Qualities in a Prospective Mate list and step out of her comfort zone. Live dangerously.

  She licked dry lips. “You kept me from chewing my nails through the entire flight. My manicurist and I are deeply in your debt.”

  “I like the sound of that. Fasten your seatbelt, Grace. We’re headed for a landing.”

  * * * *

  Travis’s gaze strayed to the woman in the front passenger seat of the van as she laughed at something the driver said. Somehow his seatmate from the flight had ended up in the choice position riding shotgun rather than squashed in the back with the rest of the guests traveling to Moose Lake Lodge. Not that it surprised him. He was willing to bet every man Grace Hanover came in contact with went out of his way to accommodate her wishes. The woman was a drop-dead beauty with a body that didn’t quit.

  Sandwiched between a loud-mouthed Cubs fan and a frat boy wearing new hiking boots and a bored expression, he let out a breath and met the gaze of Joe College. “Tight squeeze. Who would have thought a fishing retreat would be so popular?”

  “It’s a drag,” the kid answered after a brief pause.

  Not much of a talker, unlike the guy to his left with the thick Midwest accent. Skewed in his seat with an elbow digging uncomfortably into Travis’s ribs, the man kept up a running conversation about the likelihood of the Cubs winning the pennant with the guy in the rear seat who clutched a dog-eared fishing magazine. Next to the angling expert sat two middle-aged women wearing similar tan walking shorts and pale green camp shirts who finished each other’s sentences in a way that grated on Travis’s nerves. He couldn’t decide if they were sisters or lovers.

  “Hold tight, folks. The road gets rougher from here on out.” The driver spoke with a touch of humor in his voice as he took a firmer grip on the steering wheel.

  Grace turned and met his gaze. Green as shamrocks, her eyes danced with amusement as he jostled against the sports fanatic. When Travis casually brought his elbow up to dig into the other man’s ribs for a change, the Cubs fan finally faced forward, grasping the edge of his seat for support.

  “There’s this new invention called pavement.” Readjusting the ball cap on his balding head, he spoke in a loud whisper.

  Grace’s smile broadened. “A fellow concrete junkie. What brings you to the wilds of Alaska?”

  “After a heart attack and triple bypass surgery that my idiot doctor blamed on stress, my kids sprang for a relaxing vacation. They think a week of communing with Mother Nature will do me a world of good.”

  “Sounds like they care about their father.”

  The creases in his face eased. “They’re good kids.”

  Grace turned toward the blond, gray-eyed boy to Travis’s right. “Let me guess, you’re on summer break from college and searching for adventure?”

  His fair complexion flushed pink. “I graduated from UCLA a couple of years ago.”

  Travis took pity on the kid. Grace’s undivided attention was enough to rattle a glib player, let alone this youngster. “Looking for a human interest story, Grace?”

  She laughed. “No, I’m just naturally nosy.”

  “You’re a reporter?” The man in the backseat piped up.

  Grace nodded. “I’m writing a story on wilderness retreats. How about you?”

  “I came for the fishing. I choose a different camp each year. The wife is visiting her mother in Florida, and I have a week of peace and quiet with no one to remind me to pick up my socks.”

  The Cubs fan snorted. “Given a choice, most men would rather wade through dirty underwear than be nagged. Isn’t that right?” He nudged Travis in the ribs.

  Wincing, he rubbed his side. “My marriage didn’t last long enough for me to find out. I’m Travis, by the way, Travis Barnett.”

  “Lou Russo from Chicago.” He stuck out a hand with short, blunt fingers, nails buffed to a high gloss, and a surprisingly firm grip. “We may as well get acquainted since we’ll be spending the next week or so together.”

  “I’m Alma Fitzgerald, and this is my sister, Judith Dickson. We’re from Minneapolis.” The woman spoke in a forthright voice from the rear seat. “We bird watch and hike in addition to fishing. You’d have to ask our husbands if we nag.”

  Turning in his seat, Travis eyed the two sisters and grinned. Alma was probably the senior. Her hair was more gray than brown, and the camp shirt hung on her thin frame. Judith reminded him of a plump sparrow. Curious brown eyes regarded their seatmate with the fishing magazine.

  He cleared his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Andy Smith from Salt Lake City, Utah.”

  The college boy spoke quietly into the brief silence. “Archer Nielsen.”

  “And I’m Grace Hanover from San Francisco.” Grace faced the driver. “How many other guests are staying at the lodge?”

  “Only a handful. I took a vanload to the airport when I picked you all up. There’s a family with a couple of young kids, a pair of older gentlemen who visit us every summer, and a single guy who spends most of his time hiking.” He flashed Grace a smile. “I’m Mitch Cannon. If you need a guide for fishing—or anything else—I�
��m your man.”

  Travis rolled his eyes. Could the guy be any more obvious? He sounded like a porn star in a low budget flick.

  A hint of a smile curved Grace’s lips. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mitch.”

  The driver gestured to his right. “There’s Moose Lake up ahead through the trees. The lodge is on the far shore.”

  They bumped and jostled down the dirt road, catching intermittent views of clear blue water as they drove through the thick forest. When the trees thinned, the lake stretched before them, easily a couple of miles in length. Sunlight sparkled on the shimmering water. Near a three-story log structure, a dock jutted into the lake with canoes tied in a cluster close to shore.

  “It’s gorgeous.” A female voice spoke from behind him, presumably Judith.

  Her sister was quick to agree. “Breathtaking.”

  The van rolled to a stop in front of the lodge. One by one, the passengers extracted themselves. Twisting his shoulders, Travis stretched to ease tight muscles, then took a long look around. A single canoe with two occupants floated in the middle of the lake, fishing lines trailing in the water. The two older gentlemen, he guessed. A burly fellow with a full beard followed by a short, plump woman walked out onto the porch and called out a greeting in the still afternoon as the screen door slapped shut behind them. Undoubtedly their hosts. There was no sign of the family the driver had mentioned—or Sutton.

  Grace stood with her hands fisted on her hips, surveying her new surroundings. Bright sunlight gleamed on long, mink-brown hair. Perfectly straight, it hung in a fall over her shoulders. So sleek, it looked like she ironed it. With those amazing emerald eyes and high cheekbones, the woman was stunning. Too bad he wasn’t here to start something he wouldn’t have time to finish.

  The thought left him feeling deflated.

  Grabbing his duffle bag, he crossed the gravel drive to the wide, weathered front porch of the lodge. The sooner he settled in, the sooner he could go looking for Sutton. Instinct urged him to find the man fast and get him far away from Moose Lake.

  The skin on the back of his neck prickled as he glanced over his shoulder at his companions still standing in the yard. The drone of bees in a tub of petunias near the porch blended with birdsong from the surrounding forest. The lazy atmosphere reminded him of summer days camping with his dad when he was a kid. Idyllic. Yet the uneasy feeling persisted. None of the lodge guests looked like a threat, but complacency could get him—and Sutton—killed. Until he was safely away with his charge, he had to assume everyone had a hidden agenda.

  His gaze locked on Grace. Her eyes narrowed as she looked toward a winding path disappearing into a grove of western hemlock. Wearing a pair of pristine white pants and a sleeveless top that hugged her curves and displayed toned arms, she was every man’s wet dream. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. She probably had no connection to Sutton, but her mere presence was a distraction he couldn’t afford.

  Despite the attraction he felt for her,—hell, because of it—staying clear of Grace Hanover was a must.

  Chapter 3

  Grace rolled her suitcase through the doorway and glanced around the spartan room. A single bed spread with a patchwork quilt, a small dresser and a desk with a straight back chair. Not exactly the Ritz. A rag rug covered a portion of the wide plank flooring, and a door in the corner presumably led to a private bathroom. Thank God she wouldn’t have to share. No story was worth that indignity.

  Flopping onto the bed, she kicked off her shoes and closed her eyes. A nap before dinner sounded like heaven, though she knew she should go looking for Sutton. There’d been no sign of him downstairs or on the grounds of the property. A look through the old-fashioned registration book when she checked in hadn’t revealed his name. Not that the feds would be stupid enough to sign him in under his real identity. The lone entry with any promise was for a man named Mark Johnson.

  Not very original, but he had registered three weeks before, which was about the time the initial story about Sutton broke. If Mark Johnson wasn’t Casey Sutton and she’d come all this way for nothing... She pressed fingers to temples niggling with the beginnings of a headache.

  If this turned out to be some elaborate wild goose chase, she swore to dismember Tia slowly and feed her piece by piece to the sharks.

  On a groan, she levered off the bed and searched her purse for a bottle of aspirin. Too bad napping wouldn’t get her the story. No time like the present to look for her quarry. The sooner she found Sutton, the sooner she’d be on a plane out of this bucolic hellhole. Swallowing the tablets dry, she unzipped her suitcase and hunted for a pair of socks and sneakers, finding them under a pair of jeans. Suitably shod for hiking in the woods, she stuffed her mini recorder, a notepad and pen, a bottle of water and a couple of bags of airplane pretzels in a tote bag then headed downstairs.

  Their hostess, who had introduced herself earlier as Berta French, stood in the central hallway, a smile on her dimpled face as she talked to a boy who looked about seven or eight years old. The youngster tore off, letting the screen door slam shut behind him. Berta turned to face Grace. Curly red hair framed round cheeks and twinkling hazel eyes, reminding Grace of an elf.

  “Are you off to explore?”

  “I thought I’d take a walk in the forest. Maybe you could suggest a trail?”

  Her gaze dropped to Grace’s feet, and she frowned. “I recommend boots for a serious hike, and jeans. I’d hate to see you ruin those beautiful white pants.”

  Grace gritted her teeth. “I won’t go far. I’m sure there must be someplace close by that’s popular with your guests.”

  “The trail to the right of the lodge follows a creek. You can go for miles and miles, but there’s a lovely spot about a half-mile away with a gorgeous view of the valley.”

  “Sounds perfect. Am I likely to run into anyone else up there?” She held her breath, waiting for the answer.

  “Possibly. A few of our guests are out and about. Enjoy yourself.”

  Without coming right out and asking where she could find Casey Sutton, a.k.a. Mark Johnson, it was the best she could do. Surely the man would be on his way back to the lodge for dinner. She’d nab him on the trail before he arrived. Thirty minutes alone with Sutton would send her career soaring into the stratosphere.

  Grace found the trail without a problem. It was the same one she’d noticed when she arrived. Setting off at a brisk pace, the exercise felt wonderful after hours sitting in a cramped plane. As her muscles stretched and flexed, her headache disappeared. Maybe there was something positive to be said for hiking, after all.

  Patches of flowers lined the rocky path, blue forget-me-nots, and tall purplish-pink weedy looking things she didn’t recognize. At a flicker of movement, Grace glanced skyward. A hawk circled in an air current. Her breath caught at the grace and beauty of the creature as it dived toward the earth. A shrill squeal echoed in the still afternoon. Shuddering, she turned away as the bird rose with some helpless rodent clutched in its talons.

  “Did you see that?”

  “Geez!” Pressing a hand to her chest, she spun on the heels of her sneakers. “Oh, my God, you scared me to death.”

  “Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. Travis’s eyes, the pale blue of the summer sky, glimmered with amusement. “That was amazing.”

  “Vicious and bloodthirsty is more like it.”

  “Hey, birds of prey have to eat, too.”

  “I suppose.” She studied him for a long moment, and her eyes narrowed. “I thought you were meeting a friend up here.”

  He shifted, his hiking boots scraping against a rock. “I haven’t seen him yet. He must be out for a walk.”

  The friend wasn’t a woman. The knowledge sent anticipation darting through her then nearly stopped her heart. There weren’t a lot of candidates for his missing buddy. If he was this Mark Johnson person, she’d come a long way for nothing. The breath left her in a whoosh.

  “Are you okay?”

  Hopefully there w
as some other explanation, a guest she hadn’t noticed on the registration ledger. Possibly an employee at the lodge. Or maybe Travis wasn’t just a gorgeous guy on a fishing trip. Her investigative reporter instincts kicked in. Does he have an ulterior motive?

  “Uh, I’m fine.”

  “You went a little pale. Do you want to sit down for a minute?”

  “Really, I’m okay.”

  He shrugged. “If you’re sure. There’s supposed to be a vista point not far from here.”

  “You must have talked to our hostess. She told me the same thing.”

  She’d never met anyone with a more direct gaze. Of course she could lie with the best of them without blinking an eye. Most reporters learned that trick early on if they coveted any measure of success.

  “This close to dinner, hauling out the fishing gear seemed like too much of an effort. A hike was easier.”

  She fell in behind him as he started up the narrow trail. Ten feet away, a creek filled with spring runoff rushed toward Moose Lake, making conversation nearly impossible over the water’s roar. Which left Grace plenty of time to consider the possibilities. She didn’t like many of them.

  Best case scenario, his friend had neglected to sign the register, and Travis was as innocent as a kitten. Worse case, he was a rival reporter hot on the trail of her story. If he thought he could out wit and out play her, he had another think coming. She’d get Sutton’s story if she had to tie Travis to a tree, cover him in honey and leave him for the grizzly bears.

  She smacked into his broad back when he stopped in front of her. The image of his muscled torso dripping honey had…distracted her. Turning, he grabbed her upper arms as she swayed.

  “Easy there.”