Sylvie Kurtz - Heart Of A Hunter

THE NURSE HAD SHOOED Sebastian out of Olivia’s room while they got Olivia ready to go home. Leaving the stiff stranger in the bed was a relief, and he hated that it was. She was his wife; she deserved his understanding. How was he going to get through the weeks, maybe months, before she was well again without going crazy?

Paula had dropped off a bag of clothes the night before and threatened to return early enough to spirit Olivia to Nashua rather than let her return to the Aerie. Sebastian hadn’t told Paula about Kershaw yet, but he would have to, and he dreaded the blowback that would create.

First he had to get Olivia home, then he’d worry about Paula.

Needing to do something other than dwell on Olivia or Paula or the way his life was crumbling like slag on the side of a mountain, he snagged the phone out of his pocket and checked messages. Three from Sutton—the reason why he’d turned off the ringer. And one from Cyril Granger. He checked his watch and bit back a grumble, then punched in the garage’s number anyway. At the sound of Cyril’s cigar-gruff voice, Sebastian gave silent thanks for early risers. “Sebastian Falconer.”

“Falconer! I got the results you wanted.”

Hand in pocket, Sebastian braced. “Shoot.”

“Lucky your wife had all that metal around her or she’d a been dead.”

He’d made sure she had the safest car on the market—that was no accident. “What happened?”

“As far as I can tell, she probably hit the brakes for some reason. Maybe deer. Maybe snow. Maybe something else. Skidded and went over the embankment.”

Sebastian couldn’t wrap his mind around the information. He’d been sure Kershaw had tampered with the car. “An accident?”

“Looks that way.”

“No tampering?”

“Here’s the interesting part. I couldn’t get the taste of smoke out of my mouth.”

Sebastian frowned. “Smoke? From the crash?”

“No, that’s just it. It didn’t taste like engine smoke. It was more electrical. So I followed my nose and, sure enough, I found something.”

“What?” Sebastian prodded as he ground tight steps the length of Olivia’s room.

“Someone swapped the brake switch fuse from a 5 amp to a 40 amp.”

Sebastian stilled. “What does that mean?”

“Means that if she woulda gone five more minutes down the road, smoke woulda billowed up and blinded her. She woulda choked on it. Her eyes woulda watered. Then you coulda blamed the accident on tampering.”

Five more minutes would have put her on Mountain Road—close enough to run into a sheer wall of granite or into Trotter’s Pond if she lost sight of the road.

Kershaw.

“Can you tell when the swap was made?” Sebastian asked.

“No way to tell for sure. Anytime between the last time she used the car and got into it again. It’d take about ten minutes for the wiring harness to catch fire.”

And there was no way to ask Olivia when she’d used the car last. No way to ask her if she’d had any visitors. No way to put Kershaw at the scene, with the melting snow making any trace of him vanish. Because of the time limit on the wiring fire, the tampering had to have happened at the Aerie. And that was impossible. Not with all the security he had in place. “Thanks, Cyril. I’ll need a written report.”

Cyril humphed. “Well, I got a busy day ahead’a me. It’s gonna be a coupla days.”

“I’ll need pictures of the brake switch fuse and the burnt harness.”

“Anson’s got himself a new digital camera. I’ll get him to take the pics.”

Anson was Cyril’s college-aged son. “Great. Have him e-mail me the file.” He gave Cyril his e-mail address and punched out.

The connection had barely closed before he entered another number.

“Menard,” a sleepy voice said.

“Falconer,” Sebastian said as he started pacing again. “When was the last time Olivia used her car?”

“Three days ago when she got groceries.”

“Anybody come by for a visit?”

“Only Paula and her daughter.”

Sebastian’s steps got shorter, faster. “Meter reader? UPS delivery? Anything else?”

“Special delivery from the post office two days ago. Propane yesterday.”

That gave him some place to start. “Did you make sure the security system was on at all times?”

“That’s what you pay me for,” Mario said, voice sore as if Sebastian had poked a bruise. Mario’s hawks squawked in the background.

Things weren’t stacking up right. Sebastian rubbed a hand over his chin. Could someone who’d just escaped a prison riot, killed two marshals and traveled four hours from a murder scene have been careful enough to leave no trace?

Kershaw wasn’t into finesse. He was into results. Leaving evidence would mean nothing to someone bent on revenge. He’d have wanted Sebastian to know he was the cause of his grief.

Sebastian spun on his heels and faced the closed door of Olivia’s room. If not Kershaw, then who? Who would want Olivia dead?

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