Twice Dead by Catherine Coulter

wondering if he shouldn’t leave the gun in her mailbox or slip it just inside her front door.
    He imagined she wouldn’t feel safe without it.
    He saw Tyler McBride and his son leave about ten minutes later. He saw her wave from the front porch. He saw her looking over toward where he quietly stood, surely not visible through the trees. She went back into the house after Tyler McBride and his son drove off. He waited.
    Not three minutes later she was back, standing on the front porch, looking toward him. He saw her thinking, weighing, assessing. Finally, she trotted toward him.
    She had guts.
    He didn’t move, just waited, watching her. He realized when she was only about ten feet from him that she had a big kitchen butcher knife clutched in her hand.
    He smiled. She was her father’s daughter.

NINE
    Slowly, he pulled her gun out of his pants pocket and aimed it in her general direction. “Even that big honker knife can’t compete with this Coonan you managed to get off that guy you met at the restaurant in Rockland. He was, however, pissed that you wouldn’t go to bed with him.” He grinned at her. “Hey, you got what you needed. You did good.”
    â€œHow did you know about that? Oh, never mind. My knife can certainly compete with the Coonan now. I watched you take the bullets out.”
    He grinned at her again, he couldn’t help it, and held the automatic out to her, butt first.
    â€œWhat good is it? You’ve got the bullets. Give them to me now.”
    He scooped the seven bullets out of his pocket and handed them and the automatic to her.
    She eyed the 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.”
    â€œAll 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.”
    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 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 you know,” she said. “I don’t think you’re the stalker—your voice is all wrong and