“It could also lead down,” I say to the absent patriarch. Ha, Absent. He’s been AWOL since I was sixteen. Brought me and Mom here to Australia and then decided he wanted nothing more to do with us. Jerk.
The dragonfly dances past me, heading up the track.
“Oh, I’ve got you now,” I whisper, hurrying after it. Without bushes and scrubs and plants to worry about, all I need to focus on is the flying target.
It continues to waltz up the track. I follow, snapping occasional photos I know aren’t good enough. I’ve been takingphotos of wildlife ever since Dad left. I’m sure a therapist would tell me it’s a coping mechanism, and they’d probably be correct. Now, though, I do it because I want to.
And I want to photograph this goddamn freaking?—
“Hey!”
I stumble to a halt at a male voice shouting—anangrymale voice—and blink at the sight of a mountain of a man storming down the track toward me. Behind him was a small house framed by dense bush, trees, and shadows. So many shadows.
Oh fuck.
My heart smashes up into my throat.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ve seenWolf Creek. I know all about strange men out in the middle of the Australian wilderness.
“Hey!” the man shouts again, a scowl darkening a face that is way too good-looking for a psychopath. “I swear, I’m going to lose my fucking shit, and you’re going to regret ever coming up?—”
Run!my brain screams.
Flinging my camera over my shoulder, I spin around, trip over my own goddamn feet, and fall face-first onto the track, camera smacking the back of my skull.
The last thing I see before everything goes black are two jeans-clad legs stopping near my head.
And behind them, a flitting, dancing Giant Dragonfly.
And then nothing…
Chapter Three
Jake
Since when are paparazzo so…so…
Sexy?
Confusing. So confusing.
I adjust my arm’s position on the back of the unconscious woman’s thighs, roll my shoulders a little to make sure they aren’t digging into her stomach and chest, scowl, swallow, and resume stomping home.
Since inadvertently launching myself into the public eye, the paparazzi stalking me have all been men of dubious personal hygiene with no obvious moral compass.
None had looked terrified when I confronted them.
This one, though…
And this’s why you’re carrying her back to your place? Rather than calling Robert and have her charged with trespassing? Or is it because looking at her stirs parts of your body that staring at the others didn’t?
No, that has nothing to do with it. She knocked herself out with her own camera. Of course, I’m not going to leave her unconscious on my driveway. Not with night falling. Her ilk might piss me off, but I’m not a jerk.
Giving my shoulders another gentle roll, I tighten my grip on her limp wrist and lengthen my stride, stare locked on the dark shape of my home. I’ll deposit her on the sofa andthencall Robert. The Hartley Ridge sergeant can deal with?—
A sharp gasp cuts the quiet dusk, and the woman becomes a writhing banshee, thrashing about on my shoulders.
“Put medown!”
