Prey

“All right, I’ll think about it,” Dare growled.

“That’s good. I’ll get back with you when she’s home again.” Harlan’s gut nudged him; maybe he should get Dare’s opinion on the situation. Never mind that Dare and Angie weren’t the best of friends, this was kind of a professional consultation. And if he worked this right, he might be able to wrangle something even more important out of the conversation. “Say, there’s something that’s bothering me, and I want your opinion.”

Dare paused briefly; he wasn’t someone who obligated himself without knowing the details. Harlan had no doubt that if they hadn’t known each other Dare would have said “No” and hung up the phone. But they did know each other, so he pushed the advantage. “It’s about Angie.”

A low grunt sounded. “What about her?”

“This guide trip … I feel a tad uneasy about it. She’s going off for a week with two men she doesn’t know. Well, one guy is someone she’s guided before, but she said he isn’t an outdoorsman, so I get the feeling he’s sucking up to a business associate. You ever heard of any women guides having trouble … you know, with men while they’re out on a hunt?”

“Aren’t that many women guides,” Dare said after a minute. “The few I know, other than Angie, work with their husbands. I’m not saying there aren’t more female guides working on their own, but I don’t know about them.”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

“She’ll be armed, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then she’s as safe as any other woman with a rifle in her hand. But she isn’t as safe as I’d be.” He paused. “You asked if I’d heard of any women having trouble on a hunt, and the answer is yes. I’ve heard about it, but I don’t have any firsthand knowledge, so I can’t swear what I heard was true. Common sense says it probably is, though, people being people and assholes being assholes.”

Harlan blew out a breath. “That’s what I thought. Damn it.”

His tone dragging with reluctance, Dare asked, “Where’s she going? Do you know the area?”

“Yeah. She gave me her location, and the name of the men she’ll be with.” Harlan passed along that information. “She’s supposed to call me when she gets back.”

“What are they hunting?”

“Bear, going by the bear call I saw her packing.”

Dare grunted. “And both of her clients are first-timers?” He meant the first time hunting bear in particular, not hunting in general, but he didn’t have to explain himself to Harlan.

“I don’t know about the client’s client; he might be experienced.” Harlan felt he had to be fair about that, considering all the other bad thoughts he was having about these two men whom he didn’t know. He cleared his throat, bracing himself for a sharp rejection as he moved to the main part of his objective. “Like I said, I have an uneasy feeling about this; don’t know why. Do you know anyone who could check up on her while she’s out there, kind of? You know, so she won’t know she’s being checked up on?”

There was a moment of silence during which Harlan could all too plainly imagine Dare holding the phone out and staring at it in disbelief, then his ear was blasted with a shout so raspy it sounded as if it had been fashioned out of sandpaper. “You want me to check up on her? That’s what you’re asking, right? There isn’t some convenient ‘anyone’ who’s going to be up in that area.”

“Unless you’re busy,” said Harlan, totally without shame or guilt; in fact, he felt a sense of triumph. If Dare had had a guide trip himself, he’d have immediately said he was busy, but he hadn’t, which meant he wasn’t. Harlan had taken a gamble.

“I don’t have anyone coming in, but that doesn’t mean I’m not busy,” Dare said, sounding thoroughly pissed.

“I know I’m asking a lot—”

“A helluva lot more than you know. In case you haven’t noticed, Angie and I don’t exactly get along. She won’t appreciate seeing me.”

“I had noticed,” Harlan admitted. “And if she sees you she won’t be happy. But I’d rather she be unhappy than raped or dead.”

“You really think something like that might happen?”

“Normally I don’t even think about it. This time, though, I’ve just got a bad feeling in my gut.”

“Shit,” said Dare, but it wasn’t a dismissal of Harlan’s instincts. If anything, it was an acknowledgment from someone who had been in a lot of tense situations and tight places; cops and soldiers learned to pay attention to their guts, more so than the general population. Harlan didn’t think he was psychic or anything like that, but he did think that people had an animalistic sixth sense that could warn them of impending danger, if they’d only listen to it. Maybe Angie had picked up some of the same sense of danger and would be extra cautious, which might be all that was needed, but maybe she was too preoccupied with her situation to notice some details.

“I’ll think about it,” Dare finally said grudgingly. “But if I do go up there and she shoots my ass, I’m holding you responsible.”

Fuck this. Angie Powell wasn’t his problem. She was a pain in his ass, but she wasn’t his problem.

Dare made a habit—no, a religion—of not taking on other people’s shit if he could find a way around it, and he was no goddamn babysitter. Harlan was just being an old woman, worrying about Angie because his gut told him something wasn’t right. More than likely he just felt overprotective because she was his dead best friend’s daughter, he’d watched her grow up, and all that other psychological crap, so he’d worked himself into a fit of guilt. He was discounting that Angie had chosen to be a guide, knowing damn well that taking men she didn’t know out for days or even weeks at a time would be part of the deal. She was a smart, tough cookie; she’d have thought of all that, and taken precautions.