Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(42)

His thick blond brows drew downward as he scanned the arts section, looking for Shiloh’s name.

Nothing.

His thick lips flattened. Opening up his laptop on the round table, he decided to go to her Facebook page. He’d gotten onto it with a false name. She had twenty thousand followers and all were avid readers of her books. Smiling as he went to her page, he knew that she had probably never even given his name a second glance. She was too busy gathering a reader base to maintain the popularity of her books. The little bitch.

Hatred welled up in Anton. Why the hell hadn’t he realized Shiloh, at ten, was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching him stab stupid Isabella? In the bloodlust of killing the woman, he’d allowed Shiloh to escape. Because he was going to stab her next. But the kid had run out of the apartment before he could get his own shit together to go after her.

With a shake of his shaggy head, his blond hair barely touching his thick, heavily muscular shoulders, he stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. Scanning Shiloh’s Facebook page, he saw her daily entry. All it referred to was what she was writing.

So where was she? Anton had staked out her apartment with binoculars. He could easily stand in the shade between two ten-story apartment buildings, six feet of alleyway between them. It was the perfect hiding place where he couldn’t be seen, but he could see her. Unsure if the parole board had contacted Shiloh after he was given five years off for good behavior and released from prison, Anton had come back to the city to finish what he started.

But all of the last week, there were no lights on in her apartment. She had chiffon curtains across all her windows so he couldn’t see well, but he could always see her at her desk. Where did she go? Did she run away? On vacation? What? Anton didn’t know.

After being released from prison, he’d located her apartment, watched her, got her daily schedule, and then began a slow but sure campaign to unhinge the woman. Anton wanted her so distracted that when he went in for the kill, Shiloh Gallagher would never see it coming. And he’d do it in such a way that the cops would never pin it on him.

For the last six months, Anton had watched his stalking techniques work like magic on Shiloh. Last month, she rarely left her apartment, now a virtual prisoner in it. She’d become too afraid to jog daily in Central Park. Now, instead of going out to get her groceries, she had them delivered. His lips twitched. There was a soaring feeling of triumph flowing through him as he finished his coffee. He shut the lid on his laptop and stood to his six feet, stretching languidly, feeling his muscles flex.

Today, he’d go to the gym and do a two-hour workout with heavy weights. He’d picked up weight lifting in prison and found it not only made him fit and healthy, but it also took off the angry edge that was always with him. If Shiloh, at eleven years old, hadn’t been the star witness for the prosecution, he’d never have gone to prison. Too many years of his life had been lost and as he walked down the hall to the bathroom, Anton swore he would find Shiloh. And he would kill her.

*

By the end of the day, the sun close to setting, Shiloh sat on the newly constructed porch, her hands draped between her open thighs. The sun spread silently through the wide valley. In the west rose the jagged Wilson Range. To the east were the Salt River Mountains. North lay the narrow valley where Yellowstone National Park sat as well as the Grand Tetons National Park.

She tugged off her work gloves, which were damp from her perspiration. Watching Roan get them two cups of water from the big dispenser in the bed of his truck, Shiloh smiled to herself. Looking to her left, she felt satisfaction. She’d cut Trex to the correct lengths for all three sides of the porch. Between them, they’d screwed it into place.

Shiloh held out her hand as Roan stopped in front of her and gave her the plastic cup. “Thanks,” she murmured.

Roan sat down next to her, about a foot between them. “I would never have guessed a writer could lay a porch,” he told her wryly, turning, meeting her eyes. Shiloh’s hair was mussed, her ponytail coming somewhat loosened over the afternoon’s hard work. Tendrils stuck damply to her temples and cheeks. He could see she was happy, her green eyes radiant, her mouth curving into that soft smile of hers. His body wanted her, no question. Roan had worked to ignore her feminine side, the woman in her. When Shiloh had shed her chambray shirt, stripping down to a sleeveless tee that outlined her breasts beneath it, Roan had groaned inwardly. The sweat had gleamed off her shoulders and arms as she used fasteners to screw the Trex into place. She was a woman who wasn’t afraid to get her hands or herself dirty. Another plus in his book.

“And who would have guessed an Army Special Forces guy would build his own home?” she teased in return. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he tilted his head back, slugging down the water, thirsty. His flesh glistened and his masculine scent filled her nostrils. Her heart squeezed with a combination of need and happiness. Working with Roan today made her feel so different. So . . . fulfilled. And yes, working as a team member on something important made her happy.

Shiloh had always known she was a team person. And Roan had been a patient instructor when necessary, quietly directing her or showing her how to use the air-powered nail gun. She remembered how impatient and angry Anton Leath had become with her as a child; Roan was the complete opposite. This allowed Shiloh to not only enjoy working beside him, but also the pleasure of simply being in his company. He was a hard worker, just like herself.