Know Thine Enemy

CHAPTER Four



She was back in the closet.

Izzie had forgotten how true terror felt. After staggering away from Harrison's bleeding body, she'd vowed never to experience anything akin to fear again. When she hungered and had no food, she hadn't worried over the future. She learned to separate herself from forces she couldn't control. Even toward the end of her stint as Harrison's daughter, compartmentalizing her emotions had helped keep her alive.

The closet was something else. The closet was the edge of the world, and there was nowhere to fall.

"She's waking up."

Izzie jerked. Her eyelids felt like deadweights. "Who's there?"

A warm female voice permeated the air. "It's all right, sweetheart. You're safe."

All right. So it wasn't the closet. The relief that rushed through her would have been embarrassing in another life. The closet was years behind her. It could not catch her now.

"Open your eyes, dearie," a woman said. A different woman, from the sound of things.

Izzie frowned and slowly forced herself to obey, everything around her blurry and disjointed. Her head felt split. Her temples pounded and her skin was soaked in sweat. Flashes of the evening shot across her mind, but what she saw made little to no sense. "What the hell did you guys hit me with?" she asked groggily.

"Sorry about that," said someone else. A third voice. male this time. Deep and confident. The sort of voice that assured the listener they were in good hands. Izzie well knew that sort of voice. Harrison had carried it to the pulpit the few times she'd heard him preach.

It took a moment for shapes to solidify. As the corners of the room smoothened into recognizable patterns, Izzie found herself at the end of a long conference table. Other details followed. She sat in a chair with her hands bound behind her and her legs tied at the ankle. A rush of adrenaline shot through her body, and her gaze darted from one end of the room to the next for signs of familiarity.

She found nothing. The room was like any other. Bland, undecorated walls, no windows. Nothing but the three people at the other end of the table.

People with exceptionally pale skin.

"Oh shit," Izzie murmured. "This is not good."

Her eyes fell to the table. Her blade sat tantalizing inches away.

"Not f*cking good," she said again. She glanced up, straining her wrists to little avail. "What the hell is this?"

"My apologies," said the male.

Izzie paused in her struggles long enough to soak in his appearance. Dark hair, dark eyes, a strong square head, and a body built like a New England Patriots quarterback. He could likely snap her in half if he felt so inclined.

Yet, unlike every other vampire she had ever encountered, this guy had donned a clean white T-shirt. White wasn't a color one typically saw on the undead.

The women at his sides looked nothing alike, but they wore the same cold expression. Izzie shivered and resumed pressing against her restraints, harder this time.

Not. Good.

The male vamp offered what passed for an authentic smile, and motioned broadly. "We had to take precautions," he said. "You've made quite a name for yourself among our kind, you understand."

Izzie took another cursory glance around the room. Nothing had changed. The ceilings were high—fifteen feet or so above her head. "Yeah, sure," she replied. "I understand."

"We're very impressed," said one of the women. The one on the left—a blonde. "You're one of the most practiced hunters we've come across."

"Yes, dearie," the other woman agreed. Her large eyes flashed with hungry eagerness. "Very adept."

Izzie wet her lips. "So what is this? Did I win the Publisher's Clearing House?"

"We needed to get you alone," the male said, folding his hands on the table. "Again, I apologize for the circumstances, but you have proven to be a little unpredictable."

The blonde woman grinned. "Those guys last night. And then earlier tonight with Ryker."

"Yes," the other woman, a brunette, agreed. "Unpredictable."

Izzie's spirits collapsed, and the barrier separating her from the remainder of the night came crashing down. She remembered him, then. Ryker. The sexy drink of danger who had apparently stalked her for days and then cornered her at The Wall. She remembered racing for the door, remembered needing to get the f*ck out of there before her defenses lowered to a point of no return.

She remembered that and nothing else. Nothing but black.

"I don't know who you are, but this is the mother of all bad ideas." Izzie pressed against her bindings, fighting a wince. "Someone will—"

"Come looking?" the male vamp ventured.

She snickered. "Come finding is more like it. He'll bring Hell with him, too."

"I have no doubt."

The satisfied smile on the vamp's lips translated into a sick sensation in Izzie's gut. Either he knew about Wright or didn't care that other hunters were in the area. Either answer wasn't promising. If this vamp and his floozies weren't worried about the scary-ass motherf*cker she traveled with, she was in deep shit. Everyone was afraid of Wright. Even his daughter at times. Hell, even Izzie.

"Allow me to introduce myself." The male vamp rolled his shoulders back with an air of self-importance. "I am Prentiss. These are my associates, Juliette"—the dark-haired woman on the right curtsied—"and Moira"—the blonde bowed her head.

Prentiss pressed forward and laced his fingers together. "And you are Elizabeth Jane Bennett."

Shit.

They knew her name. Everything around her jumped from bad to catastrophic. Hunters weren't supposed to have names. They were shadows in the night, the celestial boogeyman to any unearthly beast that dared prey on human flesh. Names brought them out of the dark—names made them soft and killable.

Names meant she and Wright had been in St. Louis a day too long.

Prentiss smirked as though sensing her discomfort. "Elizabeth Bennett. Isn't there a book about you?"

"My mother loved Jane Austen." Izzie's throat tightened. It was one of the only things she knew about her mother.

"It's a lovely name."

"I prefer Izzie."

"Then Izzie it is." Prentiss sighed and leaned back. "First, I do apologize for the rough accommodations. As I said, we did have to take precautions in taking you in. We needed to get your attention."

She glanced down. "Consider it got."

"Rest assured, we mean no harm."

"You can see how that's a little hard to believe."

"We're the St. Louis CHAPTER of C.R.O.S.S."

"Cross?"

"Community Representatives of Subhuman Species," Moira, the blonde, supplied. "We're an organization dedicated to making the existence of vampires and all otherworldly creatures a matter of public knowledge through awareness and education."

It took a second for the words to make sense, but even then Izzie's mind refused to cooperate. "I'm sorry," she said slowly. "But what?"

"I understand your confusion," Prentiss said. "Vampires aren't exactly known for their social skills."

"No, they're much more known for their 'bite first, ask questions later' skills."

"That's not true," Juliette said coldly.

"It's the stigma." Prentiss nodded. "And it's unfortunate that the actions of the few spell out such a damning reputation for the many who lead normal, albeit underground, lives."

Izzie blinked, her head aching. She felt woozy, and her surroundings seemed fuzzy against the backdrop—as though viewed through a screen door. The vampires at the end of the table could just as easily be figments of an overactive imagination, since whoever had knocked her out had sure as hell done a good job. While she typically didn't dream much, she could be dreaming now. Anything was possible.

The Wall. Ryker. Connor, and his plate of heart-attack. Those were all real. She knew it. She felt it.

These vampires, though . . . their faces could be nothing but the brainchild of a bad trip.

"I sense your skepticism," Prentiss said. "It's no small wonder why."

"It's reassuring to know I have observant hallucinations."

He chuckled and raised a hand. "I'm not a hallucination."

"That's just what a hallucination would say."

"C.R.O.S.S. has been working in league with the United States government in an effort to best decide how to educate the public on the world they do not know."

"Reality TV is all the rage these days, or so I've heard."

Prentiss grinned. "I like you, Izzie."

"I'm beside myself with joy."

"You're not like your friend, Mr. Wright."

Her insides flushed cold, and though she did her damndest to wipe her face clean. Ryker had known about Wright, too, though she didn't think he'd said his name. Her inner alarm screamed, and the hairs on her arms stood at attention. "What do you know about him?"

Prentiss's brows perked. "More than you, I'd imagine."

"F*ck you."

"Mmm." He reached for a file she hadn't noticed. "Mr. Zachary Wright. Thirty-eight. Father of Kimberly Nicole Wright. Widower of Amber Lynne Wright. Former construction worker for J.P. Gage in San Diego, California. His wife was murdered—"

Izzie winced, looking away. "Stop."

"—when she was nine months pregnant with their son. He identified the killer as a vampire." Prentiss glanced up, his expression quizzical. "How did he manage to do that? Most reasonable people don't leap to such a conclusion without a background in these issues."

Izzie's lips tightened. "Why don't you tell me?"

"It's no fun that way." He shook his head and looked to the file once more. "This is a matter of public record, pieced together by survivor tales. Those Mr. Wright attempted to kill but failed, particularly in the early years of his vengeance quest. As he matured, he minimized his mistakes and left fewer witnesses. All the reports are the same, though. All mention Mr. Wright in detail. A man of considerable height, build, long hair, and hard eyes. His M.O. hasn't changed, either. Not until he picked up a plucky new sidekick a few years ago."

Prentiss raised his gaze again. "So, Elizabeth Jane Bennett, where do you fit in?"

Izzie held her tongue.

"Her information was harder to find," Moira said. "But not impossible."

"Not impossible." Prentiss nodded. "You grew up in Billerica, Maine, isn't that right?"

Izzie's jaw felt welded shut, cold, hard rage sweeping through her body, washing away any symptom of fear. Billerica. They knew about Billerica. If they knew about Billerica, they knew everything. Finding the rest wouldn't have taken much effort at all.

However, even though the knowledge shook her, it didn't bother her at the moment as much as it should. Knowledge couldn't hurt. Whatever they said, whatever memories they dredged up, would pale in contrast to actually living in Harrison's House of Horror. Still, for the very crime of knowing her, knowing her ghosts, knowing what chased her in the dark, she would burn this place down.

"Twenty-six years ago, a woman named Kathleen Watson announced to the Archdiocese that she was pregnant with the child of a priest." Prentiss scoured the text before him. "Father Harrison Bennett was named as the father."

Izzie shuddered but held her tongue. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of verbalizing her discomfort.

"What occurred was not as common as one might think. Excommunication is typically reserved for sins of the gravest nature, and, while Father Bennett was never fully excommunicated, scandal forced him from the public light and turned him into a recluse."

Her stomach churned and, despite her best efforts, a slight whimper pressed against her lips.

Prentiss ignored her. "Kathleen died giving birth to you, and the good priest just couldn't leave his child at the mercy of the State. He took you in and raised you, rarely going into town, save for one or two Sundays during which he substituted for other preachers. Most of his groceries were delivered, and aside from a few trips to the emergency room, he fell from sight." The vampire paused. "Then, one day, he was found dead in his daughter's room, covered in blood, a deep wound in his chest, and no sign of the girl."

Her temples pounded. Her skin felt saturated in a thick paint of cold sweat. Hard, sharp breaths rocketed through her chest and the room began to spin.

No, no, no, no.

"That was you," Moira said softly. "Wasn't it?"

"What do you want?" Izzie demanded. "It has to be something. Just tell me what it is so I can go home."

"We want your help."

She blinked dumbly. "You . . . what?"

"Your help," Prentiss said. "We would like to enlist your assistance in getting C.R.O.S.S. off the ground."

"And you decided to woo me by taking me down memory lane?"

He shrugged. "I wanted you to let you know that you and I have no secrets."

"Except that you've kidnapped me, tied me up, and forced me to remember things I've spent years trying to forget. Oh, right, and I don't know jack about you except you fail at people skills."

"I am one of the founders of C.R.O.S.S. I have spent the last several months tracking the known hunters in the continental US via a scattering of reports from C.R.O.S.S. members and affiliates across the country." Prentiss's brows flickered. "You and your friend were among the top."

"Lucky us. I take it Zack's behind door number one?"

"Oh, no." He laughed. "Mr. Wright didn't make the cut."

She should have been relieved, but the knowledge that Wright wasn't in the vicinity sent another tremor of fear down her spine. "Oh."

"Look, I know our methods are questionable," Prentiss said.

"Well, thank God for small miracles."

"But our intention is just," Prentiss said, "We are not vampires who prey on the blood of humans, or in any way impede the progress of the human race."

Izzie snorted. "A message that rings particularly true seeing as how you drugged me and tied me up."

"Our goal is to integrate ourselves into your society."

"My goal is to bash your head in."

Prentiss smirked, but waved a hand. "Our goal, admittedly, has been met with resistance from others in the community. Vampires like your friend, Ryker."

Izzie frowned. "What?"

"Mr. Ryker. He is a friend of yours, correct?"

"Is that what this is about?" she asked. "Look, I don't know that Ryker guy. He came out of nowhere yesterday and then he just kinda bogarted my table and started talking my ear off. He said he's been following me—"

Prentiss nodded. "He has."

"But so have you."

"Comes with the territory."

"The stalker territory," she muttered, "So you know Ryker."

There was little point in asking. From the way Prentiss's expression darkened, from the deep loathing set on his face, she already knew the answer. It was the same look that befell Wright every time he thought about his dead wife or the events that had led him to the hard life he wore now.

"We are acquainted," Prentiss said softly.

"But he's not one of yours."

"No. Mr. Ryker represents the very sort of monster C.R.O.S.S. is determined to eradicate. It is our intention, Izzie, to enter a world wherein vampire hunters such as yourself are no longer required to serve as guardians of the human race." He shrugged. "Ryker and those like him are of the belief that humans are below us in the food chain, and that it is our right to pick you off."

"We believe vampires are a subhuman species," Moira chimed in. "Those who pledge dedication to C.R.O.S.S. are those who were turned against their will, or unknowing what they would become."

Juliette nodded. "Feeding on blood isn't right."

"There are those who believe themselves godlike for their ability to defy time, cheat death, and feast on the flesh of the living," Prentiss said. "Mr. Ryker is one of them. He is of the same breed that butchered Mr. Wright's family, and therein leading him on his dark path."

Izzie wet her lips, the pain in her head stretching until she felt numb. Everything throbbed and pulsated. Nausea crept into her stomach. "I'm not the one you want for this."

"No?"

"You . . . mentioned . . . you mention Harrison. My father."

Prentiss inclined his head.

"Vamps have done nothing to me. Hunting is just a job. Or a favor, really. A favor to Wright. I owe him, and that's why I do what I do. It's nothing personal."

"But Harrison Bennett did," Prentiss said. "Do something to you."

Izzie winced and did her best to ignore him. "I'm with Zack because he saved me."

"You're here because you're different from the other hunters."

She frowned, her thoughts tugging her back to The Wall. Hadn't Ryker said the same thing? Did she have something tattooed somewhere? Hunters weren't typically known for their conversational skills. How anyone could determine she wasn't like every other badass in her field was beyond her, but it had definitely become a nuisance, and rendered her effectively pissed.

"Mr. Wright wouldn't listen to us if he was the one sitting in that chair," Prentiss observed.

"Mr. Wright wouldn't have been dumb enough to wind up in this chair in the first place," Izzie replied. "He would've nailed your ass to the wall."

"And that's why we want you," Moira said. "You don't act before you think."

"He does what he has to."

"He does it for revenge," the blonde continued. "You don't seek revenge on us."

"Not yet. Keep talking, though, and you might convince me."

Prentiss grinned. "See. And that's why I like you."

"I'm flattered." Izzie looked quickly to the quieter woman . . . Juliette, or whoever. She didn't like the way the vamp studied her neck. Maybe she was fresh off the tap. It could be Izzie's imagination, but the chick looked like she could fall off the wagon at any time.

"You haven't closed your mind off," Prentiss said, drawing her attention back to him. "You're still listening."

Izzie smiled through her teeth. "Mistake number one."

"Our interests right now are solely in cleaning up the streets," Prentiss said. "Which is in league with your interest . . . or at the very least, the interest of your friend, Mr. Wright."

"And you're doing it by kidnapping one hunter at a time?"

The man shrugged. "Our methods differ from town to town. Finding you here was a happy coincidence, and Mr. Ryker has clearly taken an interest in you. That makes you a weakness where he is concerned."

Izzie arched a brow. "Don't get me wrong, but he doesn't seem like the type to have such an obvious weakness."

"You wouldn't think so, wouldn't you?"

"Unless you're another one of those closest cases who's read Twilight too many times. Vamps don't go moon-eyed for us puny mortals. Ryker wants nothing to do with me."

Prentiss just grinned. "My dear, you don't know Mr. Ryker as I do."

"What? You guys go to the same summer camp?"

The grin thinned just a bit, and became all the more menacing. A shudder coursed through her, but Izzie ignored it. Whatever she'd said had visibly struck a nerve, and she wasn't the sort who dabbled in other peoples'—or vampires'—affairs. When it got personal, it got nasty, and she was already in it up to her hips in Wright's personal war. No way would she allow some two-bit vegan bloodsucker manipulate her into doing his dirty work.

"Mr. Ryker and I were once very close," the vampire confessed.

"And he broke your fragile heart?"

Prentiss stiffened, but the disgust on his face was too genuine for a star-crossed lovers thing. Perhaps his self-proclaimed conservatism extended to bigotry.

"Mr. Ryker is the worst sort of monster," he said. "He feigns empathy to get close, but, rest assured, Izzie, he will destroy you just as readily as he would anyone else. He only has his own preservation in mind."

She barked a laugh. "How is this different from any other animal?"

Prentiss slammed his hands against the table. "You're not listening!" he snarled. "Ryker and all like him must be put down. You're the professional in this sort of pest control. I have a problem and I want it fixed."

"So you admit that this might be just a teensy bit more personal than you let on?"

Juliette and Moira exchanged glances.

"Let me be very clear," Prentiss said slowly as his facial muscles plainly attempting to pull his mouth into a grin. "My personal feelings have little weight on this matter."

That grimace of his was one of the most disturbing displays Izzie had ever seen. She snickered again. "Obviously."

"You are not the easiest girl to reason with."

"And I wanted so bad for you to like me. Though get real—I can't imagine anyone would like being tied up by a bunch of bloodsuckers and lectured as to who the really bad guys are."

Moira stirred at that, her expression darkening. "We're not bloodsuckers."

"Dollface, you wouldn't be standing here if you weren't getting it somewhere, on or off the tap." Izzie shook her head. "There was this small religious sect a few hundred years back in New England. One of the tenets of their faith was they couldn't bump uglies, so guess what happened?" She paused. "Yeah, if you don't do the nasty, you can't survive. That includes you guys. Except in this case, 'the nasty' is blood and is, well, actually nasty."

Prentiss made a sound that might have been a chuckle in a former life. "You either have utter faith that we won't bring you harm or an inflated superiority complex."

"Can't it be both?"

His frozen grin tightened. "We drink blood because we must," he acknowledged. "But no one here takes pleasure in the act. We survive only to reach others . . . and hopefully put an end to this epidemic."

"The vampire epidemic?"

"Yes."

"This isn't like smallpox or something," Izzie said. "There will always be vampires who like violence and mayhem just as surely as there will always be Presbyterians. You can't just hope someone doesn't fall into their line of thinking."

He shook his head. "If we isolate and destroy the problem, we will have order."

"That sounds an awful lot like a dictator I've read about . . . ."

Prentiss glared at her. "You're not interested in helping us, are you?"

"Gee, you catch on?"

"You truly do not want to be part of the solution."

"Not the Ultimate Solution."

He snickered. "Some hunter."

"The ones you want are the ones who'd just as soon kill you as look at you." Izzie fought the urge to look at her dagger. God, what she wouldn't do… "The ones like me struggle enough to give a shit about what they do in the first place."

"There are none like you," Juliette offered, the hungry gleam still present in her eyes. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but either way, the lady gave Izzie the wiggins. "You're the first without a vendetta. A reason to do what you do. We thought you could help us."

"Sucks to be you," Izzie replied. "So, what? Is this the part where you kill me out of mercy?"

Prentiss's eyes narrowed. "We don't kill here," he said. "I told you, human life is something we consider precious."

"So that's it?" Her hands flexed. She took another glance around the room, but nothing had revealed itself since the first look, and her head still ached. "You just kidnapped me to give me a sales pitch and now I leave . . . no harm, no other stuff?"

The look on the vampire's face clearly betrayed he would like nothing more than to leap down the length of the table and ravage her throat, but he hid it behind another tight smile.

"That's right," he said. "If you feel there's nothing you would like to do for us, then you're free to go."

"After I'm untied."

"That's right."

"And I won't be asked to make a blood donation?"

"We don't drink human blood," Prentiss said. "Our supply comes from butchers willing to give us a cut of their stock. Pig, cattle . . . we eat whatever we can, so long as it didn't come from a human host."

"You know," Izzie said. "Piggies have feelings, too."

He ignored her. "If you think you might reconsider—"

"I won't."

Prentiss huffed and waved a hand. "Very well. Juliette, if you will."

The dark-headed female at his right nodded and slowly made her way around the table, focused intently on Izzie's face. Izzie returned the stare with all she could muster, though she wouldn't deny the nervous thrill that rushed down her spine as the woman neared. Now or never, if the girl wanted a bite. It didn't help that Juliette possessed a pair of disturbingly large brown eyes—the sort that seemed ordinary but became unsettling the longer they remained attached to one object. By the time the vampire was within reach, a bone-rattling shudder had racked through Izzie's body, but she refused to look away. She wouldn't give Juliette, or Prentiss, the satisfaction.

At last, Juliette looked down, her hands prying at Izzie's bonds.

"Here you go, dearie," she purred. "Good as new."

Izzie shivered, her aching skin humming with relief as the ropes fell away. She glanced at her dagger, and though her hand ached for the familiarity of its smooth handle, she kept herself from seizing it. No sudden movements seemed to be the best bet—she wouldn't believe they truly intended to let her walk out the door until she had put at least three county lines between them.

"If you reconsider," Prentiss said, "we'll leave word at The Wall concerning how you might find us."

Izzie paused. For whatever reason, she'd assumed The Wall was Ryker's sanctuary. If they had informants from within Connor's place, there might be nowhere safe for the mysterious vamp to hide. At least not in this town.

Then again, it wasn't any concern of hers.

Not really.

"Yeah, well," she said, shaking off the thought as her fingers inched toward her blade. "I'd say don't hold your breath, but something tells me that won't be a problem."

Prentiss smiled thinly. "It's been a pleasure."

"There's a word for it."

"Don't forget your knife."

Her feigned aloofness vanished the second he referred to the blade. Izzie fisted the handle and relaxed. She glanced at Juliette and smiled faintly before turning back to Prentiss.

No sudden movements.

"Don't worry," she said. "Never go anywhere without it."

"Yes," Prentiss replied, his tone ominous. "I know."



* * * * *



He didn't like this.

Ryker didn't know how long he'd stared at the sliver of sidewalk where Izzie's scent hung the heaviest, annoyed with himself for caring but unable to stop his inner cricket from singing.

He hadn't intended to come out this way at all, but Connor had asked him to lock up the front, which typically meant ensuring the rowdier customers hadn't made a mess outside. The sweet, natural aroma of a young woman was something no vampire could resist. It was the first thing he'd noticed about Izzie, the first thing he'd committed to memory. Her scent. Her pure, undoctored, all-female scent.

Women nowadays bathed in perfume, and while he understood the appeal to human males, such fragrances were often an affront to his super-heightened senses. Izzie smelled like soap and toothpaste. Either she knew what attracted the seedy underbelly of the demon world, or she didn't care to scrub down in frilly foam or whatever else the girls of today enjoyed. Ryker liked it. Were circumstances different, it likely would have led him straight to her throat.

Thus, when he stepped outdoors, he couldn't help but drink in the lingering hint of her scent.

Something had happened here.

"Evertin' all right?"

Ryker shoved his hands into his coat pockets and kicked the curb. "The girl."

"Whut?"

"Izzie. She came out this way."

"Right." Connor huffed in agreement. "After she din't eat no food."

Ryker domed a brow and favored his friend with a slanted look. "That wasn't personal, you know. The girl's a hunter. She probably doesn't make a habit of taking food from strangers."

"Coulda taken it from me."

"Yeah, but she didn't know that."

Connor gaped at him for a minute then furrowed his brow as though he hadn't considered this before. "Err. Right."

Ryker inhaled and nodded, his attention returning to the slab of pavement where Izzie's scent was the strongest. "Something happened here."

"Happened?"

"Yeah. Girl like that doesn't stop to fumble for her keys. She made tracks to get away from me and stopped a hair outside the door?" He shook his head. "Something happened here. She ran into something."

"Or sumfink ran into 'er."

That might have been the most intelligent thing Ryker had heard the other man say. He nodded and looked to the numerous shadows and alleyways in which a predator might hide.

"Ya tink sumfink grabbed 'er, is that it?"

"Maybe." He didn't like jumping to conclusions.

"'Nother bloodsucker, ya tink?"

Ryker frowned. No, that didn't make sense. None of this made much sense. The odds of a vamp making a random successful grab of a talented hunter were steep.

"No."

"Coulda followed her."

"I followed her. If someone else was on her tail, I would've known."

"Ya tink?"

The note in Connor's voice lent him pause, but Ryker decided not to pursue it, or Izzie's mysteriously hovering scent.

Perhaps he was thinking too hard. After all, it had been over a century since a woman had stirred in him more than a mere passing interest. The most action he'd seen in years was the blood he nursed off a willing neck before bringing his bedmate to fruition. Izzie was different. She knew what he was, yet she wasn't afraid or disgusted. Even as a hunter, she didn't reach for her weapon unless she was under fire.

Perhaps that was why he was concerned.

Perhaps.

Either way, she was a clever, resourceful girl. He wasn't one to worry, and he definitely didn't want to start now over someone he'd just met.

Not now. No. Though something told him if she didn't show up by the following evening, his answer would change.