Riptide by Catherine Coulter

“It’s an effective weapon, that Coonan, but if I have to carry one of those things, I prefer my Colt Delta Elite.”
    â€œIt 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.
    â€œTell me what you’re doing here. Why did you come up to me at Food Fort? Why are you watching me?”
    â€œI’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.
    â€œTell me, now.”
    â€œAll 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.”
    â€œNo,” 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.”
    â€œI called Sheriff Gaffney. He should be here any minute.”
    â€œNah, 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 youknow,” 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?”
    â€œYes. Now listen to me, Becca. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to—Hey, think of me as your own personal guardian angel.”
    â€œYou’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?”
    â€œNow 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.”
    â€œA bit out of hand,” she repeated slowly, then laughed, an ugly, raw sound. “You have no