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window heading west. According to her map, the road through Cisco turned into a scenic byway once it hooked up with the Colorado River. With the thermometer hovering over the hundred-degree mark, she figured the river was the only smart place to be going in Utah in June.
    Admonishing herself to get back to business, she left the gas station through a half-hung back door and made her way across a stretch of barren ground toward the nearest shack. A quick look around inside only confirmed her suspicion: Quinn Younger wasn't living in a two-room hovel in Cisco.
    Wild-goose chase,
she thought, turning around to leave. That's what she was on, a lousy wild-goose chase. Five more buildings to go and not so much as a crow or a dust devil stirred in the whole damn town.
    Correction,
she told herself, coming to a stop just inside the hovel's doorway. The blue SUV was back, and it was pulling up in front of the gas station. Before it disappeared around the corner of the building, she saw two men inside. Suddenly she wished she'd parked her car someplace else—like Arizona. Slamming car doors revved up her heartbeat and made her doubly aware of how precarious her position might be.
    She backed deeper into the shadows of the broken-down room. And froze.
    There was no sound, no warning, but in that instant she knew she wasn't alone.
    The fact no sooner registered than a steely arm wrapped around her waist; at the same time, a powerful hand clamped over her mouth. Before she could kick or scream or even register the depth of her alarm, he pressed her up against the shack's wall—pressed hard, his whole body flat against her back, immobilizing her.
    Adrenaline washed into her veins on a river of stark, icy fear.
    “I'm not going to hurt you, but I can't vouch for the guys in the four-by-four.” His voice was soft and gravelly, and very close to her ear, his breath blowing across her skin as he spoke. “We're going to stay just like this for now. Real quiet, until they leave. Got it?”
    She managed a sharp, terrified nod.
    “Good. Now take a breath, then tell me if you locked your car before you went into the gas station.”
    She had to think for a second before she nodded. Yes, she'd locked her car. It was a careful city-girl's habit.
    “Are you lost? Is that why you stopped?”
    She debated her answer for a second, but then shook her head no, telling the truth. She wasn't lost. Scared senseless, but not lost.
    “Then I guess that leads us to the obvious question.” He spoke so quietly, she had to strain to hear him. She had to focus on him, focus on his breathing and slow down her own.
    It wasn't going to happen. Not as long as her heart was racing, totally at odds with the slow, steady beat of his. She could feel it against her back. She was frightened, but he wasn't. He was calm, breathing normally, holding her, but—she realized—not crushing her, not hurting her. It was very effective, what he was doing, and made all her diligently attended self-defense classes moot. He had immobilized her in one second flat. She felt shrink-wrapped between his body and the wall. She could feel the splinters in the boards and the old nails where they protruded. A cobweb was draped across her face, and she had to blink to keep the dust and spider silk out of her eyes.
    Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he asked his obvious question.
    “Did you come here looking for me?”
    The slight loosening of his hand over her mouth gave her just enough leeway to turn her head. He was close, and she was so scared, it took a couple of seconds for his face to register. When it did, she slowly nodded. Yes, she'd come all the way hell out to Cisco, Utah, and had the holy crap scared out of her just so she could find him. He was unmistakable, his eyes dark green and deep set beneath black lashes and the straight dark lines of his eyebrows. His hair was longer than on the framed
Newsweek
cover Wilson kept at home, the lines of his face more defined