Promise of Hunters Ridge (Hunters Ridge #3)
Mia Morgan doesn’t let anything get to her. After freeing herself from an obsessive boss and saving loved ones from a serial killer, she feels like she can handle anything life throws at her.
But now that killer – a deranged hunter who preys on women for sport – is coming for her. And if she runs, others will pay the price. As if that’s not enough, Ben Bowden, the brilliant detective who has made her life hell for the past four years, has some insane plan to protect her. If she collaborates with him, Mia might just have to acknowledge her true feelings. But if she keeps him out, will she let the hunter win?
Ben Bowden is sick of finding dead bodies. If being the lead detective on the biggest case in the country didn’t come with enough pressure, now the psychopath Ben is chasing has Mia Morgan in his sights. And Mia doesn’t want his help. She hasn’t forgiven him for the past, and is being less than cooperative with his investigation. Protecting her is a challenge, and the sparks that fly whenever they’re together aren’t helping. But he has to make her trust him – somehow – because she has a plan that terrifies him to the bone.
Can he convince her to work with him? Or will she risk everything to single-handedly turn the hunter into the hunted?
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She was going to die.
The sharp blade of the hunting knife had already pierced her throat; a shocking, stinging taunt, nothing more. The burning sensation contrasted with the cold, clammy sheen of fear that suffocated her. The expression on the hideously damaged face just inches from her own resembled that of a wild animal, ready for a kill. The smell of his excitement and body odour flooded her heightened senses, overwhelming the mustiness of the old cabin.
She had to get free.
She sawed at her bound wrists. The more she rubbed, the more she bled. The more she bled, the slipperier the knots became. She was panting, the instinct to survive encompassing her whole being. She couldn’t die like this, tied to a wooden post. Wouldn’t.
‘I’m gonna hurt ya, Mia,’ the Devil spluttered, his distorted image hovering in front of her as perspiration blurred her vision. He winced as he adjusted the cloth over the wound she’d inflicted to his face moments earlier. ‘Ya almost killed me with my own knife. I reckon you’re the only woman I’ve ever come across that’s got that kind a guts. Shame ya weren’t born with a pair, ya could have made a good hunter.’
‘Cops are coming!’ warned a gravelly voice over the two-way. Rob Littleton spun and glared at the radio, then paced towards it swearing violently. He stopped short, snarling, his shifty eyes moving with whatever thought was racing through his perverted mind. Those eyes swung back to her. What she saw in them was calculated and terrifying.
A smile slid slowly across his face. ‘I got a problem.’
He leaned in close, too close, and ran a finger lightly down her arm. ‘I can’t kill ya—I’ve been ordered not to. I can’t take ya either, you’ll give us away. So what should I do with ya?’
Her stomach rolled. ‘Get your filthy hands off me!’
‘Or what, Mia? Just what are ya prepared to do, I wonder, to make all this go away?’ He moved closer, his lips to her ear. ‘Because I promise ya, by the time this is all over, you’ll know what it’s like to kill, or you’ll know what it’s like to die.’