Riptide

gun and the bullets, then backed up another step.
    "No, you want me to come a bit closer and then you can kick my
    knife away. You're fast, too fast. I'm not stupid."
    "All right," Adam said, and he thought, Smart woman. He laid
    the bullets and the gun down on the ground and took a good half
    dozen steps back.
    He said easily, "It's an effective weapon, that Coonan, but if I
    have to carry one of those things, I prefer my Colt Delta Elite."
    "It sounds like some western debutante."
    He laughed. "Aren't you going to pick up the gun?"

She shook her head at him and didn't move. She was holding
    the butcher knife like a mad killer in a slasher movie, her arm
    pulled back, the point out and arched. The sucker looked really
    sharp. He could get it from her, but one of them could easily get
    sliced up. He stayed put. Besides, he wanted to see what she'd do.
    "Tell me what you're doing here. Why did you come up to me at Food Fort? Why are you watching me?"
    "I'd really rather not tell you just yet. I hadn't expected you to
    see me. When I've wanted to stay hidden in the past, I've managed
    it quite well." He suddenly looked pissed off, not at her but at himself.
    She almost smiled, then tightened her grip on the knife.
    `Tell me, now.'
    "All right, then. I'm here to do research on why women dye
    their hair."
    She very nearly ran at him with the knife. She was so mad she
    nearly forgot the bone-grinding fear. "All right, you jerk, I want
    you to lie on the ground and fold your hands underneath you. Do
    it now."
    "No," he said. "The windbreaker is new. It looks good on me,
    hey, maybe it even looks dangerous and sexy. What do you think?
    Women like black, I've heard. Nope, I don't want it to get dirty."
    "I called Sheriff Gaffney. He should be here any minute."
    "Nah, you can't bluff me on that. The last person you want here
    is the sheriff. If I spilled the beans, he'd have to call the New York
    cops and the FBI."
    She was so pale he thought she'd pass out. Her hand trembled a
    bit, but then she got ahold of herself. "So you know," she said. "I
    don't think you're the stalker--your voice is all wrong and you're
    too big--but you know all about him, don't you?"
    "Yes. Now listen to me, Becca. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm
    here to--Think of me as your own personal guardian angel."

"You're so dark, you look more like the devil, but you're taller
    than I think the devil is. What's more, unlike the devil, I'll bet you
    don't have a lick of charm. The last thing you are is a guardian angel.
    You're a reporter or a paparazzo, aren't you?"
    "Now you've offended me." She nearly laughed. But she had to
    remember that he was dangerous, fast and dangerous. No, she
    couldn't afford to forget that, not for an instant. She would still
    have laughed if her gut hadn't been frozen with fear for nearly as
    long as she could remember. He was trying to disarm her, at least
    figuratively this time. Thank God he didn't have use of her gun.
    And he was too far away to kick out at her. But he was fast. He had
    long legs. She took another step back, as insurance.
    She waved the knife at him. "I've had it. Tell me who you are.
    Tell me now or I might have to hurt you. Don't underestimate me,
    I'm strong. No, it's more than that. I'm beyond frightened. I've got
    nothing to lose now."
    He looked at her--too pale, her flesh drawn tightly over her
    bones, too thin, so stressed out he could nearly see her insides quivering.
    He said slowly, his voice as unthreatening as he could make
    it, "To hurt me you'd have to come closer. You know better than to
    do that. Yeah, you're strong, maybe I wouldn't even want to run
    into you in a dark alley. But there's a big something you're wrong
    about. Everyone has something to lose, including you. Things have
    just gotten a bit out of hand for you, that's all."
    "A bit out of hand," she repeated slowly, then laughed, an ugly,
    raw sound. "You have no idea what you're talking about." She
    waited, just stood there, the knife up and arched, her hand starting
    to cramp, her muscles starting to protest, staring at him, wondering
    what to do, wondering if she could believe him and knowing she'd
    be a fool even to consider it.
    "Actually, I do. What I wanted to say was that the media and the

press are after you in full force, that's a fact, but you should be safe
    here."
    "You found me."
    "Yeah, but I'm so good I occasionally even surprise myself."
    She raised the knife even higher. She felt the sun warm between
    her