Free Shadow Woman: A Novel by Linda Howard Page B

that he was armed, but if anyone noticed he could always flip out his fake badge. Yeah, the badge was against the law; a lot of what he did was, so he didn’t sweat it. Even if he did get busted, he’d be released as soon as they ran his ID.
    A rush of adrenaline burned in his veins, then his heart, his whole body; then he settled into the cool calm, every sense heightened, that always came over him when he closed in on his prey.
    The automatic doors swooshed open and the particular scent of a pharmacy hit him, part plastic, part medicinal, barely detectable under the sweet scents of cosmetics and lotions. Cool air washed over his face as he stepped inside, already scanningleft and right as he went in, something he’d have done even if he hadn’t been looking for her. She’d be in the pharmacy section, probably, so he bypassed the makeup and toys and candy, his long legs covering the territory fast.
    There.
There
, ambling down an aisle of shampoo and other crap. Her back was to him, and she carried a wire shopping basket with plastic-covered handles. No doubt it was her, though; he knew that mane of dark hair, the erect set of her shoulders, the way she carried her head and, holy shit, the inverted-heart curve of her ass.
Lizzy
—in person, after years of only hearing her voice or seeing photos.
    Even so, he took the time to pause and make a deliberate survey of the area. No one was watching her. No one was watching him. The aisle was empty except for her; the next closest person was a plump, gray-haired staffer, two aisles over and busy shelving items.
    One of the wire shopping baskets sat beside a center display of leftover Fourth of July stuff. He grabbed it up, seized a spray can of deodorant and a bag of candy as camouflage, tossed them both into the basket, then closed in, his rubber-soled boots silent on the tiled floor. Deliberately he turned so his shoulder was to her and bumped into her, hard enough to almost throw her off balance.
    Someone pushed her, hard, making her take a half-step back to keep from falling on her keister. Without thinking, Lizette transferred her weight to her back foot and whirled, alarm skittering through her, her grip tightening on the basket handles as she instinctively prepared to swing it at her attacker as hard as she could.
    “Sorry!” a man said in a deep, slightly rough voice as he turned toward her. “I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”
    On some level she noted that he’d been turned away from her, and the spurt of panic eased. He was carrying a shopping basket, and a quick flick of her gaze told her that the most dangerous thing in it was a can of deodorant—well, maybe the chocolate candy, depending on whether or not she was on a diet or looking for a weapon.
    Then she looked up at his face, and her heartbeat stuttered. Her skin registered what felt like a physical impact, as if every nerve in her body was reacting to … something: chemistry, body heat, testosterone—whatever it was, it was too much, too strong and direct. The hair on the back of her neck lifted, chills ran up and down her arms, and her nipples shrank to tight nubs.
    The harsh fluorescent lights of the pharmacy faded, sound receded, and for a few disconcerting seconds her vision narrowed to him, just him, as if they were alone in the middle of the store. The volatile mixture of reactions was so confusing she reached behind herself to grip a shelf for support as she backed up a step, needing some distance between them.
He
was too much.
    Her eyes big, her lips going numb, she all but gawked at him as she tried to come to grips with herself. She didn’t react to men this way, not even nice, sweet, stable, gainfully employed men any normal woman would love to meet, and certainly not this—this
predator
. “Nice” and “sweet” were two words she was certain had never been applied to him. She should run. She should obey her gut instinct and get as far away from him as fast as she