JANET
EVANOVICH
Manhunt
Contents
Prologue
If you took Alexandra Scott apart, piece by piece, you…
Chapter One
Michael Casey strolled along the Juneau waterfront, enjoying the briny…
Chapter Two
Casey and Bruno grinned at each other and trailed behind…
Chapter Three
Alex followed Casey through the birches and found herself standing…
Chapter Four
Alex clutched the towel to her chest and peeked around…
Chapter Five
It was just past dawn when Alex crawled from her…
Chapter Six
Looking at the geometric patterns of sunlight on her freshly…
Chapter Seven
Casey left the bed and the sleeping woman. He closed…
Chapter Eight
Arms crossed over her chest, Alex stood motionless, looking out…
Chapter Nine
Bubba was tall and broad and blond. His features were…
Books By Janet Evanovich
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
If you took Alexandra Scott apart, piece by piece, you would reach the conclusion that she was not Miss America. She didn’t have the classic prettiness of a Hollywood starlet. It was the extravagance of her features, her intense vitality, and the dramatic combination of all the pieces put together that made her into an arrestingly beautiful woman. Her eyebrows were darker than her hair, almost black, with just a slight angle. She had a straight, small nose, high cheekbones, a wide mouth that smiled easily, and large deep blue eyes, their exotic almond shape testifying to a Mongolian ancestry.
Every six weeks her thick auburn hair was cut at an expensive New York salon. When it was freshly styled, it framed her oval face in sweeping waves that flowed into a lush cluster of soft curls at the nape of her neck. But by the end of a workday, the voluminous, shining mass of hair seemed electric with energy and often contained pens, pencils, and an assortment of ineffective hair clips. It was pushed behind her ears, secured with scrunchies, and occasionally stuffed under a hat, but it was never defeated. Even her hairdresser had to admit that the more unruly the hair became, the more glorious it appeared.
Alex leaned forward, resting her elbows on the polished surface of the mahogany conference table, and hoped she wasn’t making a stupid mistake. She was a junior vice president of a large corporation, too young to be in such a position of authority. Twenty-nine going on sixty-five, she thought ruefully. She loved her job, but she was tired—from too many twelve hour days, too many deadlines, too many long commutes from the suburbs. But all that was about to change.
Her expressive hands, loosely clasped, tightened as she prepared to speak. Her hair had been temporarily tucked behind her ears, drawing attention to the soft glow of lapis-and-gold earrings. She caught her glossy, full lower lip between perfect white teeth and briefly looked at each of the eleven other people seated at the table. A sudden rush of emotion swept over her, momentarily flooding her eyes with tears before she blinked them away. She liked these people. They were her personal staff, and she’d miss them.
She’d prepared a speech, but it seemed inadequate, now. When she finally spoke she found herself stammering.
“I… I know this is very sudden, but I’m going to be leaving the firm.” She made a dismissive gesture over the notes lying in front of her. “I was going to make a speech about my future and our past, but it seems too impersonal. And I don’t think I could get through it without blubbering!”
She uncrossed her long, slim legs clad in sheer black stockings and stood at her seat.
“I’ve got some presents,” she said, moving around the table, distributing small boxes, hugging each person. Then she smoothed her black linen skirt, straightened the matching suit jacket over her azure raw silk shirt, and turned toward the door on elegant black snakeskin slingbacks.
“I don’t have time to stay and talk,” she said, biting her lip to keep her composure. “I have so many things to do, but I promise to write everyone a long letter as soon as I can.”
She walked with the hurried briskness of a Wall Street executive, as if the faster she walked, the sooner she’d be free from the troubling, sentimental feelings that had brought tears to her eyes in the conference room. She’d done something rash and frightening, and she didn’t want to dwell on it. She was, by nature, a positive person, and her positive personality made short shrift of purposeless retrospection.
She quickly traveled the long, carpeted corridor to her office, all the while going through a mental checklist. All necessary forms had been completed. All projects were tidy. She marched straight to the plateglass window behind her desk and saluted the Statue of Liberty in the harbor below. From her thirty-third-floor office the monument looked like a little green toy. She held her breath for a moment, sorting through her emotions, feeling an enormous sense of relief. She felt taller. Younger. Older. Definitely excited.
“Good-bye, Statue of Liberty,” Alex said.
She turned from the window and pulled a pair of running shoes from the bottom drawer of the huge, elaborately carved cherrywood desk. “Good-bye, desk. Good-bye, slingbacks,” she said, kicking the black shoes halfway across the room.
She laced up the running shoes, slung a canvas tote bag over her shoulder, and let loose a war whoop that rocked the halls of the staid brokerage firm. Once she had composed herself, she closed her office door with a smart click and walked to the bank of elevators.
“Bruno and I are going to Alaska,” she explained to an elevator filled with strangers. “I’ve bought a hardware store.”
Chapter One
Michael Casey strolled along the Juneau waterfront, enjoying the briny smell of the early morning mist and the screeching Keee of seabirds overhead. He rubbed his thumb across the dark stubble of beard on his chin, ruffled his unkempt sandy-colored hair, and admitted that he was a bum at heart. In an hour his cargo plane would be loaded with salmon, and he would be off to San Francisco, but for now, he was at leisure to do as he pleased.
He watched the Alaskan state ferry dock and swing its boarding ramps into place. Cars and campers began to trickle from the lower deck, and a few passengers hustled down the gangplank to stretch their legs while the ship went through the loading and unloading process. A young woman struggled along the ramp, dragging a mountain of a dog behind her. She was tall, maybe five-foot-eight, Casey guessed, and had the bones and slim angular beauty of a high-paid fashion model. She paused for a second to shove a mass of glossy red-brown hair behind her ears and to push the sleeves of her fuzzy cream-colored sweater above her elbows. Casey smiled unconsciously as he watched her, wondering about her destination, enjoying the spectacle she was creating as she tried to drag her reluctant dog down the gangplank.
Alex didn’t notice the man watching her from the dock. She had more pressing places to direct her energy. Bruno was being a pain. She took a firm grip on his leash and silently cursed her grandfather for willing her a rottweiler. Why couldn’t she have inherited a small, polite animal? A hamster, or a guppie, or a hermit crab.
“Listen up, Bruno,” Alex said, gritting her teeth, “I’ve dragged you all the way from the cargo deck so we could take a walk while the boat is being loaded, and I’m not going to give up now. Either you haul yourself down that ramp, or I’ll cancel your subscription to Dog World.”
In all honesty, she couldn’t blame him for throwing a temper tantrum. She’d carted the animal three thousand miles across the country in a two-seater sports car, and for the past four days he’d been kept in a kennel cage belowdecks.
The big black dog, obviously no
t impressed with the threat, settled in an uncooperative heap at her feet.
Alex narrowed her eyes and reached for the gold-chained Chanel purse slung over her shoulder. “Okay, I guess I’ll have to use my secret weapon.” She took a foil-wrapped package from her handbag and waved it under Bruno’s nose. “A doughnut!”
The dog’s ear pricked up. His eyes opened wide.
Alex unwrapped the doughnut, and Bruno heaved himself to his feet. He swayed side to side for a minute, contemplating the treat his mistress held high above his head, his stump of a tail wagging vigorously, his tongue lolling at the side of his mouth in slobbering anticipation.
Alex smiled in smug satisfaction at her cleverness. “Be a good doggie and follow me down the ramp, and we’ll have a picnic.”
“Woof,” Bruno said, planting two massive front paws on Alex’s chest as he lunged for the doughnut, knocking her against the guardrail. The doughnut sailed off into space, and without a moment’s hesitation Bruno jumped the rail in pursuit. He vaulted seven feet straight out, then dropped like a stone into the narrow space between the ship and the wooden slip. He hit the water with a loud splash and instantly sank below the surface.
Alex clung to the railing, unable to move, unable to feel anything but a numb astonishment. The air had disappeared from her lungs, and her stomach felt oddly suspended in space.
Suddenly the dog’s black head reappeared, and he paddled around in confusion, searching for land and finding none. Alex could hear the labored breathing of the overweight animal. She closed her eyes for a split second, trying to pull herself together.
“Dear Lord,” she whispered, “someone help him.” She frantically looked around, but no one seemed to be moving toward Bruno. He was going to drown in the oil-slicked water.
Michael Casey couldn’t believe his eyes. That crazy broad just deep-sixed her dog! She sent him sailing off to fetch The Big One. He saw the rottweiler bob to the surface next to the ship, and from the corner of his eye caught a flash of bare thigh as the woman hiked her skirt up and straddled the railing.
“Oh, man,” Casey said, “what is she doing now?”
She was going to jump in after the dog! He broke into a run, reaching the dock’s edge just as she went under. He kicked his boots off, uttered an expletive, and plunged in after her.
Alex gasped for air as she floundered in the freezing water and knew she was in deep trouble. This water was cold. She was going to be a Popsicle in twenty seconds, and her wet clothes felt as if they weighed four hundred pounds. She was going to die, no doubt about it. And she’d never get to wear her new raspberry cashmere sweater. Three hundred dollars, and she hadn’t even worn it once.
A life preserver was forcefully thrust into her chest. “Paddle this to the ladder at the end of the slip,” a masculine voice shouted in her ear.
“My dog—”
“I’ll take care of your dog!”
Alex turned to face him, squinting into the sun just in time to see another life preserver drop out of the sky. There was a sickening thud as it hit her rescuer square in the face. He went slack beside her, and a dark red slick appeared on the surface of the water as blood poured from his smashed nose. Alex clawed at his shirt, pulling him toward her, dragging him partially over the preserver. She clenched her chattering teeth and kicked out with rubbery legs, praying she could make it to the ladder. There was a splash behind her, and strong hands roughly pushed her forward, then lifted her up onto the dock.
She lay there, gasping air for a moment, while Bruno was hauled up after her. Thank goodness he was safe, she thought. A blanket was draped around her and a cup of steaming coffee was thrust into her hands. She struggled to catch a glimpse of the bleeding man being helped onto the dock, but was thwarted by uniformed ferry representatives trying to get her warm. She heard the wailing siren of an ambulance somewhere in the distance, then the warning blast of the ferry getting ready to depart.
Her car was on that ferry! She grabbed Bruno’s soggy leash and was swept along in a throng of people anxious to embark. She glanced back at the blanketed figure being given first aid and debated whether or not to go on. She didn’t want to leave him. She needed to thank him. She shouted to him, but her voice didn’t carry, and the man never looked her way. There was a hand at her elbow, propelling her forward, steering her toward the boarding ramp.
An hour later she sat on her bunk, feeling much better after a hot shower, and allowed her thoughts to return to the man who had tried to rescue her. It seemed callous that she’d gotten on the ship and left him behind. She hadn’t thanked him. She didn’t even know his name. Hadn’t even gotten a good look at his face. Not a good beginning, she decided. She hoped it wasn’t a forerunner of things to come.
She turned to her map of Alaska, hoping to take her mind off the incident. They’d be disembarking in Haines shortly. The town was nothing more than a small dot on the large map, but it was very important to her. It was where she’d pick up the highway that led to Fairbanks. A thrill of excitement coursed along her spine as she traced the route with her finger and wondered about the cabin and hardware store she’d bought, sight unseen, from Harry Kowalski.
Two days later, Alex parked her candy apple red BMW sports car on the side of a deserted two-lane road. She made a hopeless attempt to tame her tangled hair and checked her directions. This was it. The gravel road up ahead should lead to Harry’s cabin. Her stomach fluttered in a momentary rush of self-doubt.
She’d never done anything this impulsive. For many years her life had been tightly ordered, controlled by thoroughly thought-out decisions. As an executive, she’d been meticulous with details, researching all possibilities before making a commitment. It was all those damned perfect decisions that had finally done her in, she decided. She’d gone on cerebral overload, and somewhere along the line she’d switched from rational thought to gut feeling. One day she had awakened to a pounding headache and the overwhelming certainty that she needed to get away.
That was the day she met Harry Kowalski, and he suggested the trade. A hardware store and a cabin in the woods sounded heaven sent. Her lawyer had advised against it. No one in her right mind would quit her job and trade her condo for two pieces of unseen real estate in Alaska, he had told her.
Alex gently fondled Bruno’s silky black ear. “He was right, of course,” she told the dog. “But he didn’t understand that I had to do this. The job, my condo, the closet filled with business suits and silk shirts—none of that mattered to me anymore. I didn’t care if I was making a shrewd business investment. I just knew it was time to leave. I suppose I was afraid that if I gave this too much thought, I’d get cold feet.”
Looking at it from her present perspective, she wondered if her gut feelings had been ill founded. Maybe she shouldn’t have trusted an old sourdough like Harry Kowalski. Prettiest little place ever, he’d told her. Nice quiet neighborhood, too. And she wouldn’t have to worry about traffic.
“He was right about the traffic,” Alex said to Bruno. “We’re the only ones on this road.” For all she knew, she and Bruno might be the only ones left on the planet.
She squinted through her dusty windshield at the scrubby woods on either side of the car. “Where are the shopping centers? Where are the doughnut shops and convenience stores? Where are all the people?” She draped a comforting arm around the rottweiler and chewed on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to alarm you, Bruno, but this is a little more secluded than I’d expected.”
Bruno rested his head on her shoulder and snuffled.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Alex said, “there’s probably a pizza place hidden behind the trees somewhere. I bet we just passed fast-food burgers and didn’t even know it. This is Alaska. They probably try to keep it looking rustic.”
Alex shifted her car into first and attacked the narrow drive that curved steadily uphill, away from the two-lane paved road. At thirty-five miles an hour the BMW raised a dust cloud that could be seen for miles. Horri
fied voles scurried to remove themselves from its path, hawks and jays took to the air, and the rottweiler cowered in its seat as the sports car rattled over the dirt-and-gravel surface.
After the third hairpin curve, Alex slowed to barely creeping and watched the odometer. When it had measured off exactly two miles she pulled the car onto the shoulder and cut the engine. A twelve-foot-wide swath had been carved into the woods to her left, allowing an assortment of bushes and new saplings to grow in profusion alongside it. The twin ruts of four-by-four truck tires were the only indication that this was a traveled roadway.
Alex groaned and thunked her head against the steering wheel. “Don’t tell me! This is my driveway!” She looked around. There were no other possibilities. Wonderful. She took a deep breath and got out stiff-legged from the car, Bruno tumbling out after her.
“Well, what do you think, Bruno? Should we follow this… driveway?” She stomped into the high grass and wished she could leave a trail of bread crumbs like Hansel and Gretel. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any bread crumbs. Even if she did, she thought ruefully, Bruno would most likely eat them before they hit the ground.
Fifteen minutes later Alex struggled to catch her breath as she emerged from the woods into a large clearing. The parcel was almost perfectly square, the borders clearly delineated by stands of white birch and rugged fir. Alex felt her heart catch in her throat as she stared awestruck at the panorama surrounding her.
The slope of the land provided her with a broad, spectacular view of the valley. Muskeg stretched for several miles in front of her, its monotony broken by a few small ponds that sparkled in the waning sunlight. Beyond, the snowcapped Alaska Range rose pale and serene on the horizon. She owned seven acres and a right-of-way, but she felt as if she’d just bought the world. There was no visible indication of civilization—not a road, not a curl of smoke, not a neighboring house or power line.