The Wharf. Carol Ericson
“You are not going to traipse down to the wharf alone at eleven o’clock at night.”
A little thrill raced down Kacie’s back. She couldn’t help it. “He’ll never talk if he sees you there.
“Who said he’s going to see me?”
She waved her hand over Ryan’s imposing form. “Little hard for someone like you to blend in.”
“I have my ways.”
“As long as you stay out of sight. I don’t want you spoiling my meeting.”
“How about saving your life?” He pushed back from the table and stepped around it to pull her chair out for her. “Is that okay with you?”
She nodded as silly schoolgirl butterflies took flight in her belly.
She’d have to watch herself with this man, in more ways than one. Because she couldn’t let a sexy grin and a pair of strong arms deter her from exacting her revenge.
The Wharf
Carol Ericson
CAROL ERICSON lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website, www.carolericson.com, “Where romance flirts with danger.”
To my editor Allison, who gets it
Contents
The clanging of the halyards against the masts of the sailboats docked at the pier echoed across the water, sounding like a death-knell chorus.
“He wants revenge against you for tricking him, and he’s gonna get it if you don’t watch yourself.”
Kacie Manning’s back tingled with the warning, as if someone had already placed a target there. She peered at the man three feet away from her. His face was obscured by a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead and a bandana hiding his mouth and chin.
“Would you be willing to go to the police and tell them what you just told me? He can’t make threats like that from prison.”
The figure hugging the shadows hunched his shoulders. “I’m not getting on his bad side. The man’s a straight-up psychopath. If the warden pays him a visit, Dan’s gonna know who talked.”
Kacie hugged herself, dipping her hands into the sleeves of her baggy sweater to ward off the chill of the night...and his words. “How’s Dan going to get the word out on the street? The prison monitors his communication.”
The man whistled between his teeth, and the bandana puffed out from his face. “I thought you knew Daniel Walker. You wrote a book about him, didn’t you?”
“You know that, or we wouldn’t be here.”
“Then you should know what he’s capable of, Kacie. He ain’t just a psycho. He’s a crafty psycho.”
Goose bumps raced across her flesh, and she rubbed her arms. This ex-con obviously knew Daniel Walker well. Not everyone did—his own family sure hadn’t. “Did he actually confess to the murders?”
“No way.” He scratched at his chin beneath the bandana. “He’s too smart for that. He still wants to keep on pretending. He started talking to me about karma one day before my parole. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but then he explained it’s like revenge, comeuppance. And he told me you were gonna get yours.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why are you warning me?”
“I dunno.” He shuffled a step closer, careful to keep his face in the darkness. “You’re a pretty little gal, Kacie. I saw you once or twice when you came to the big house to interview Walker.”
She tried to swallow, but her dry throat wouldn’t allow it.
He’d seen her at Walla Walla? Maybe Walker had sent him to take care of his business. She shuffled back a few steps. “That still doesn’t explain why you’d risk Walker’s anger to warn me.”
“You remind me of my sister a little bit.” His eyes glittered in the dark. “Besides, I ain’t risking nothing. It’s not like you’re going to go running to Walker telling him someone from the state pen warned you about him, right?”
“Of