BRYCE PACED along the bank of windows in the living room, moving gracefully and soundlessly across the thick carpet. Outside, the rain that had begun the day before continued, turning the mountainscape shades of gray. Bryce paid no attention to the weather. He had more pressing matters on his mind. He had yet to find Samantha. She had not returned to her home in New Eden. She had not gone back to the Mystic Moose. She had simply vanished.

He didn’t like the feel of this situation at all. He had expected her to have second thoughts after their love-making; he had not expected her to flee the state. Aside from being concerned about her well-being, he was annoyed. There were plans in the works. The first of his plans for Samantha to take the world by storm. Even as he paced, Brandon Black, the fashion photographer, was on a jet bound for Bozeman. They couldn’t very well put into motion the wheels of Samantha’s success without her.

He scowled and paced some more, working to hold his temper. Interference in his plans was something he did not tolerate with good grace. Sharon’s vanishing act only added to his pique. She knew better than to leave without consulting him.

She was punishing him, of course. Her jealousy was becoming an unmanageable, unpredictable beast. Her little fits had been an irritation while he had been involved with Lucy. But her attitude toward Samantha was intolerable.

The fact that both women were missing simultaneously made him vaguely uneasy.

He checked his watch, slipped his hands back into the pockets of his linen trousers, and marched on. Ben Lucas sat on one of the leather sofas, sipping scotch and watching him with amusement crinkling the corners of his dark eyes.

“You’ve really got it for this girl, haven’t you?”

Bryce flicked him a glance. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Not at all. She’s a knockout. It’s just that you have certain… tastes… a small-town girl might find shocking.”

He flashed the Redford smile. It had a sharp edge to it, a hint of warning. “What Samantha doesn’t know won’t hurt her. She’s an innocent. I suppose that’s a strong part of her appeal. I have every intention of protecting her, teaching her, eventually she’ll learn about the real world in small doses.”

“And thank you for your tutelage?”

“That’s the plan.”

The lawyer raised his eyebrows and his scotch.

Bryce narrowed his gaze at the subtle challenge. “You don’t think I can pull it off?”

“I didn’t say that. I learned long ago not to underestimate you, friend.” Lucas stretched lazily and crossed his Cole-Haan loafers. “I plan to enjoy the show.”

“It will be dazzling,” Bryce said with a grin that faded quickly. “Provided Samantha turns up to participate.”

“Maybe she and Sharon ran away together,” Lucas suggested, biting on a smile. “A new twist on the old triangle.”

Bryce scowled at him. “That isn’t even remotely funny. Sharon has become a loose cannon of late. A situation I won’t allow much longer. If I find out she’s laid a finger on Samantha, I’ll kill her.”

The lawyer smiled an evil smile at the prospect. “Can I watch?” he asked sardonically as a doorbell sounded in a distant part of the house.

“I could probably sell tickets,” Bryce muttered. “My dear cousin has made enough enemies to fill a stadium.”

The housekeeper trundled in, wringing her hands in her apron, her face pinched with concern. “Mr. Bryce-”

“I told you I’m not seeing guests, Reisa,” Bryce snapped. “I’m very busy.”

“I believe you’ll see us, Mr. Bryce,” Sheriff Quinn said, stepping into the room behind the housekeeper. He towered over her. His shoulders filled nearly half the archway into the room. The rest of the space was taken up by the men on either side of him. “I’m Sheriff Dan Quinn. This here’s Agent Paul Lamm, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and Agent Bob Ware, wildlife agent for the state of Montana. And these,” he said, holding up a fistful of papers, “are warrants.”

“Warrants?” Ben Lucas unfolded himself from the sofa, rising with his drink still in hand.

“Search warrants, arrest warrants, like that,” Quinn explained nonchalantly. Inside his uniform he was sweating like a horse. He was arresting one of the most powerful men in the state, a man who, according to the evidence unearthed by Marilee Jennings, was guilty of a whole lot of sins. “Mr. Evan Bryce,” he said as he moved purposefully into the room with the two wildlife agents. “You are under arrest for suspected violations of the Lacey Act and a whole bunch of other state and federal wildlife regulations. You are also under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder as related to the death of Miz Lucy MacAdam.”

Bryce gaped at him as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. “This is outrageous!”

Quinn tipped his head and scratched his yellow hair. “No sir, it’s a fact. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney-”

“I’m his attorney,” Lucas interjected.

“Well then,” Quinn said, nodding, “let’s cut to the chase and take a ride downtown.”

J.D. walked down the hall of the New Eden Community Hospital with his hat in his hands. His boot heels rang on the hard polished floor, and he scowled at the prospect of drawing attention to himself. He hated this place, the smell of it, the look of it, the air of weakness and despair. It all closed in on him like a blanket drawn over his head until he felt he was smothering. Stopping outside the door to Room 102, he deliberately filled his lungs with air, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Mary Lee had her bed tilted up. An IV dripped clear liquid into her veins. The bag of blood that had hung in tandem with the IV solution the last time he had stopped in had since been taken away. She wasn’t hooked up to any bleeping, blinking machines, a memory that still haunted him from his mother’s last days. Her color was sallow except for the vibrant purple smudges beneath her eyes, but she was managing a weary smile for Nora Davis, who sat on a stool beside her. They were watching a soap opera on the television that stuck out from the wall on a black metal arm. Nora stopped talking in mid-sentence as J.D. made his entrance.

“I’ll come back later, honey,” she said, patting Mari’s leg through the thin white sheet as she slipped down off the stool. “See if I can’t sneak you in a piece of chocolate pecan pie.”

“Thanks, Nora,” Mari murmured.

Nora scooted around the foot of the bed, turning off the TV as she passed by. “J.D.,” she said.

He nodded to her, but his eyes were locked on Mari. She blinked at him sleepily.

“Hey, cowboy, how’s tricks?”

“Came to see how you’re doing.”

“So come in and see. Stab wounds aren’t contagious.”

He moved from the door to the foot of the bed and stood there, staring at her from under his straight, somber brows. He looked drawn and tired beneath his tan. The broad shoulders sloped down as if they bore the weight of the world. And he seemed wary, as if he fully expected her to add to the burden. Not exactly the way she had dreamed of seeing him.

In the half-light of dawn she had floated between memory and wishes and narcotic-induced melancholy, picturing him bent over her, cradling her against him, sheltering her from the rain and stroking her hair. She had imagined tender words and knew she was dreaming, because Rafferty was not a man of tender words.

You sure know how to pick ’em, Marilee.

“How’s Samantha doing?” she asked.

“She’s pretty rattled. It’s gonna take her a while to come out of it, I expect. Doc says her face will scar, but the cut didn’t go deep enough to sever any nerves, so I guess that’s a blessing. It’ll all heal in time.”

Except the scars no one could see, Mari thought, hurting for the girl. “Is Will with her?”