Free Prey by Linda Howard Page B

One nightmarish job had included two teenage daughters. He’d rather be shot than do that again. But a woman … how many wives would be more comfortable with another female around? Angie probably wouldn’t be as annoyed by the constant chatter of a young woman as he was. He’d barked at that one girl when she’d squealed because she saw a deer, and then she’d cried. The trip had gone downhill from there. It wasn’t like having women around was the norm, but still … it was worth some thought. Why hadn’t Angie attempted to specialize in couples, families? Why hadn’t she used her gender to her advantage? Instead she’d tried to step into her father’s shoes and continue on as he had, as if nothing had changed, when in fact everything had changed.
    It wasn’t the best time of year for fly-fishing. Weather and water conditions were changing, but the trout weren’t in their winter lies just yet. He might have good luck in a slow current, maybe target some pre-spawn browns. A big pan of trout would taste a helluva lot better than a power bar and jerky.
    And if he happened to coincidentally keep an eye on Angie at the same time, well, keeping her safe would make one part of him very happy. His brain knew better, but his dick hadn’t given up hope. Not just yet, anyway. This trip might be just what he needed to convince his little brain that it had had a lucky escape.

Chapter Six
    Chad Krugman waited in the terminal at the Butte airport as the SkyWest flight carrying Mitchell Davis taxied closer. There were only a few commercial flights a day coming in and out of Butte, most of the traffic was general aviation, but for all that the flight times were decent. Davis was an experienced hunter, so he wasn’t expecting to be able to fly first class in a 747 right up to the hunting area. Out-of-the-way was pretty much the norm for good hunting.
    Out-of-the-way was perfect for his plans. In fact, the more remote the area their guide, Angie Powell, took them to, the better. He’d made a point of asking her about the general area, keeping the tone of his e-mails casual, but there was nothing casual about his interest. Once he’d known where they were going to be hunting, at least within about ten square miles, he’d studied maps, downloaded images from Google Maps, and taped them together to give him a better idea of topographical features and possible landmarks. The images weren’t as close up and detailed as he’dhave liked, but they did give him a very good idea of the terrain and what he would have to do to execute his plan.
    He’d known this day would be coming, had known it from the moment he’d begun skimming cash from the money-laundering service he provided for Mitchell Davis. No, even before that, because what he’d done had been carefully thought out, and all possibilities considered, before he’d ever taken that first step. With that in mind, he’d set a silent alarm on the accounts and computer files, an automatic notice if anyone tried to access certain files and information. That was his tripwire, and he was so good at what he did he’d even anticipated how long it would take Davis to become suspicious, and timed this trip accordingly.
    Chad couldn’t help feeling a little smug. As the time neared for the hunting trip he’d begun to wonder if he’d overestimated Davis, the vicious bastard, but then,
bang!
—just yesterday his silent tripwire had sent out the alarm. The precision of the timing made him almost giddy with triumph. Was he accurate, or what?
    For the past year he’d been training for this, making preparations, studying and learning and getting the timing down just right. Maybe he was too careful in making certain nothing he did would signal Davis that he himself had been alerted, but he’d bypassed certain toys and tools that might, if Davis was enterprising enough to search his belongings, have made him wary because they weren’t something Chad would ordinarily have