Page 4 of Beauty and the Bounty Hunter

“Not until you’re dead!” Sasha yelled back.

Laura pushed the plate toward me. “Here. On the house since it’s your first visit. What are you doing in town?”

It took every ounce of willpower not to devour the cookie right there in front of her. “My name’s Harbor Stryke. I’m looking for someone who used to live here. Maybe you know her. Katrina Dobbs?”

A tiny furrow creased her brow. “She went to high school with my sister. I haven’t seen her in a while, but thank God she divorced that dickhead Pete. Sorry. Shouldn’t swear.”

“Not a problem, Ms. Marshall.” From what I’d gleaned of Pete Dobbs in my cursory investigation, it was an accurate description. “Do you know where her parents might be? Anyone who might have seen her?”

Sasha came out of the back room holding a to-go cup of coffee. “Her parents work up at Serenity Bay, on the lake. It’s about thirty minutes northwest of here. You could ask there.” They set the coffee cup in front of me.

“I’ll do that.” I removed my wallet from my pocket but Laura Marshall tsked.

“Already told you, Mr. Stryke. First one’s on the house.” She swept the cookie from the flamingo plate into a small paper bag and handed it to me. “Don’t be a stranger.”

I almost went off the road twice on the drive to Serenity Bay. Once, when I swooned because the coffee was the single best cup of coffee I’d ever had, including the Sumatran blend my Army buddies and I had smuggled into camp one night. Then again when I tasted the cookie, which melted onto my tongue in such a divine combination of butter and spice, it was almost like seeing heaven.

Fortunately, I kept the SUV in its lane, though both of my treats were gone far too early.

I pulled into the luxury lakeside resort. There was a long, tree-lined drive leading up to the log cabin-style manor house, with parking lots scattered around and a circular conference center toward the back. Wondering if I’d have time to stop at the bakery again before I found a place to sleep for the night, I followed the signs for the self parking lot.

As I headed for one of the back corners, the better to avoid a massive pile of snow falling from a tree onto my rental, a woman in a puffer coat, with a long black ponytail streaming from underneath her thick woolen cap, ran out in front of me.

I slammed the brakes, and the SUV shuddered to a stop.

What were the odds?

Katrina Dobbs pounded on the passenger side window. Dumbfounded, I unlocked the doors. She slid in and turned to me, her expression wild. “Help. Please. I’m being followed.”

This was where training and adrenaline were helpful in one’s life. Without fully considering how my bounty practically landed in my lap—or the fact that she smelled better than a Sweet and Salty snickerdoodle—I swerved the car into reverse and fishtailed it onto the main road.

“Thanks,” she said, sniffling. She pulled her cap off her head, releasing a puff of her perfume that almost made me swoon for the third time that day. “I’m so sorry to stop you like that. I had to get out of there.”

I gripped the steering wheel. “Sure. Where are you headed?” I turned away from town, not even knowing where this little jut of land ended. It didn’t matter. My heart pounded in my chest like a thunderstorm. She was here, with very little effort on my part. I should have turned south, toward Milwaukee. That had been the plan, after all.

But Katrina Dobbs in person? She defied all a man’s best laid plans.

“I don’t even know.” She sniffed again, then, completely without warning, put her hands over her face and started to sob.

CHAPTER 4

Katrina

It occurred to me very quickly that this was ten thousand bad decisions rolled up into one. Apart from marrying Pete Dobbs, this may even be Bad Decision Number One.

Getting into a stranger’s car? Check.

Sobbing uncontrollably so I forgot to protect myself? Check.

Still crying with face in hands because I couldn’t bear to look up and see if this guy was really some sort of serial killer, prowling the parking lots of chic, remote lakeside resorts? Check, check, triple check.

I peeked between my fingers at my errant rescuer. Despite the possibility of him being a serial killer, he was incredibly handsome. He had a rough and tumble good looks about him. Dark brown skin, thick muscles, gruff. Definitely sexy, though that was not an attribute I was prepared to consider at the moment.

I sniffled. He raised his hand, like he was considering touching my shoulder or something, but then seemed to rethink the whole thing and patted the arm rest. “You’ll be alright,” he said. His voice was a little softer than I would have imagined. “I’ll get you where you need to go.”

The unexpected softness was what made me raise my head at long last. “I’m so sorry to inconvenience you.”

His knuckles rolled over the steering wheel before returning exactly to ten and two. “Do you know who’s chasing you?” He had an East Coast accent, New Jersey maybe, or Philadelphia.

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